Looking Forward: Just a Matter of Time.

“We are the luckiest people in the world to live in Brooklyn,” a friend said to me the other day over coffee. “Brooklyn is the coolest place on the planet right now. When we’re older, we’ll be able to tell our kids, ‘We lived in Brooklyn when it was just becoming Brooklyn.’ Think about that.” I’ve thought about it, and it’s true. Brooklyn is a wonderful place to be young and creative. Everyone (well, maybe not everyone, but it seems that way) is an artist, a writer, a musician, a designer. The place bristles with energy. Imagination. New ideas.

It’s exhilarating, for sure. But sometimes it can be downright intimidating. Everyone seems so cool, confident, and creative, it’s easy to feel discouraged about my own burgeoning career as a writer. It’s easy to feel small.

Do I stand out? Is my work good enough? Is my writing terrible? Is it lame? Worse, is it boring? 

I’ve found myself sucked into this anxiety-ridden spiral on more occasions than I’d like to admit. And while I think a little self-doubt can be healthy, I’ve found that more often than not, dwelling on insecurity has been a waste of time. So when the questions feel crushing, I try to keep three things in mind:

I’m still learning. I forget this all the time. I’m young. I’m new to this (though I’ve always loved to write, I only decided to pursue writing professionally a year-and-a-half ago). Creatively, not everything I produce is going to be up to my standards. But that’s okay---it’s practice. (Ira Glass had it right when he said this.) 

Feeling small can be a good thing. Sometimes I read something that’s so incredibly, heartbreakingly good that I feel like I might as well abandon my career. What’s the point of going on, asks drama-queen me, when there are so many brilliant writers in the world? This is where slightly-more-rational me steps in: it’s wonderful that the world is full of amazing writers. It’s inspiring. It’s a push.

My time will come. It may not happen tomorrow; it may not happen for weeks, months, or years. But I know that someday, I’m bound to reach a place that feels more secure than this. I know my creative confidence will build with time. I know that as a writer, I’ll find my voice.

Of course, I’d love to get there sooner rather than later. But for now, I'm doing my best to be patient. I'm keeping calm and carrying on, if you will. "Someday" will come soon enough, I figure---it's only a matter of time.

The Beginning

To write this piece I inevitably have to go back some years and take a look at my former self. It’s like talking about a completely different person. You know when you get together with friends, have a few drinks, and reminisce on what you did and what you were like in high school? Well my story . . . my story generally blows most people's out of the water. Now, I know there are many who have more dramatic tales than mine. The stuff that happens in some people’s lives no Hollywood screen writer could ever make up. However, what I think makes mine a good one is that I came out a well-adjusted, fully-functioning, professional member of society. It could easily have gone another way. I first started thinking about suicide when I was 10 or 11. It blows my mind to write that sentence. I come from a large loving family; I wasn’t abused by my parents; nothing extraordinarily tragic happened to me; nor was there a single event that precipitated my depression. But just like some people don’t produce enough insulin and have diabetes, I have an irregulation with serotonin and suffer from depression. And it happened when I was very young.

My depression took me and my family on quite the journey of drugs, in-patient psych wards, and reckless behavior. Most nights were a real struggle not to harm myself. And of all those countless nights where I stayed up crying and wishing it would end, there were only 3 times in the span of 7 years where I gave up on all the things that usually held me back and said “Fuck it. No more.” And each time I was always saved. I recall years later my psychologist telling me that out of all the patients he’d seen throughout the years, he thought I would be one of the few to actually kill myself.

It was a struggle to keep it together. At one point, for a brief span, I was going to individual drug therapy, group drug therapy, family drug therapy, NA meetings, and seeing my individual psychologist…every week. To say the least my dance card was booked! However, counseling, the right medication, and a large helping of my parent’s unequivocal devotion to keeping my butt on this earth were huge factors of me being here today.

But there was something else.

My middle sister by 4 years had done a program while in high school where she volunteered as a health educator for the summer in South America. She did it a few times and eventually had a significant role in leadership. By the time I was old enough to consider it my parents were well familiar with the organization. Also, at that stage I had made progress with my emotional stability and general behavior, so more trust was established.

So when I was 17 for 2 months myself and another girl worked in a remote village of 800 Zapoteca Indians in Southern Mexico. Our project was to do health education and build latrines. I worked long hours doing manual labor in a skirt. I ate beans, rice, and hot coffee with virtually every meal. I slept on a cot in the post office because the families were too poor to take on two more people in any individual home. I had immersed myself in a completely different language, culture, and comfort zone, and I thrived on it.

I can remember the exact moment when I knew this is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Dusk was approaching and I sat on the hard packed mud ruins of stairs leading down to the remains of what used to be someone’s adobe home. As I sat there watching rain clouds gather over the mountain valley, I knew I would never try to take my life again. My struggle with depression hadn’t ended but I would never again have a hand in my own demise.

(To be continued...)

[image by Jenny Huang via flickr]

Erin Loechner: Stories I've Only Told My Mom

If you didn't already know the incredibly talented and just plain sparkly Erin Loechner from Design for Mankind, then maybe you recognize her from her HGTV home renovation column, or maybe it's from her brand new site Design for Minikind (it's just as smart and stylish as Design for Mankind, but for littles and their parents).  In any case, Erin is one of those people who exudes warmth and positivity.  She's also incredible at supporting people in becoming their best selves (case in point: resource parties), a mission we can fully get behind here at the Equals Project. In honor of Mother's Day, and mentoring, and the bravery it takes to claim the path that's right for you, Erin is letting us share this piece she wrote for Stories I've Only Told My Mom.  If you are a mom, you have a mom, or you've ever sought wisdom other women's stories, we highly recommend you download this beautiful anthology, edited by Sarah Bryden-Brown.

Stories I've Only Told My Mom by Erin Loechner

Dear Mom,

It was Tuesday and I think I was 7. I know it was Tuesday because I was wearing my day-of-the-week underwear and we both know how dutifully I relied on my unmentionables to celebrate the passage of days.

I don’t know that I was 7 for sure. They didn’t make undergarments for that sort of thing.

I told you I wanted to be a receptionist when I grew up. I had seen a classified listing for a receptionist in the newspaper that afternoon while we snacked on Little Debbie’s Zebra Cakes (my favorite) and Walnuts Brownies (yours). I’m not sure where my sisters were -- probably playing basketball at the neighbor’s house like normal children. I liked to read newspapers and eat treats littered with high fructose corn syrup, watching you grade your students’ English essays and circle typos with a red Papermate.

You peered over your Sally Jesse Raphael style glasses and smiled. “A receptionist for whom?” you asked.

It hadn’t occurred to me that this mattered. I would be typing, talking on the phone and greeting people daily. I would be The Gatekeeper Of The Office. The Hostess Of The Lobby. The Fixer Of The Fax Machine.  Every day. And I would get paid for it! $17,000 dollars. Every year. What else mattered?

“Who you work for always matters,” you answered as you corrected a 4th grader’s misspelling of the word “tomahawk.”

Do you remember saying that, Mom?

It changed my life.

I did, eventually, as you know, become a receptionist for a high profile music executive in Los Angeles. I was paid much more than $17,000 a year and was, indeed, The Gatekeeper Of The Office. But after four months of collating concert paperwork and babysitting Sharon Osbourne’s countless canines, I remembered your words.

“Who you work for always matters.”

I quit that day, Mom. Somewhere between papercuts and expense reports, I knew I wanted to live my life with integrity and do work that mattered, for someone who mattered.

Someone like myself.

Since that day, I’ve had many odd jobs as I attempted to supplement an income that could support the life I wanted to live --- inspiring creative artists, designers and writers to pursue their dreams.

As you inspired me to pursue mine.

And along the way, I never accepted a job from someone that I didn’t believe in, and in doing so, created a professional life of integrity. Your words of wisdom on that Tuesday have shaped the way I present myself as a business owner, entrepreneur and writer.

I am now, proudly, The Gatekeeper Of Encouragement. The Hostess Of My Life. The Fixer Of Un-Inspired Souls.

Thank you, Mom.

p.s. Want to know a secret? I made exactly $17,000 working for myself. Dollar for dollar.

p.p.s. I loved every Tuesday of it.

Welcome!

It was a dark and stormy night—no really, it was.  Our boutique creative agency YOU + ME* was in need of a retreat/vision quest/mini sabbatical/whatever you want to call it and we decided the perfect location was Salt Lake City in January.  We weren’t there to seek inspiration at Sundance or on the slopes (though that would have been a solid plan following the storm that blew through town).  Instead, we flew three quarters of the way across the country to attend the Altitude Summit, lovingly referred to as Alt, a design and social media conference that attracts creative powerhouses from all over the country. If you think boondoggle when you hear conference, it might not be obvious why we expected to forge a bold new path for our business from the lobby of the Grand America Hotel.  But forge we did.  It was time to step away from the glare of our computer screens and into the warm glow of shiny notebooks and neon pencils.   We wanted to liberate our brains from practical matters like business taxes and invoicing systems and let our minds wander toward our biggest dreams and grandest plans.  Most importantly, we needed to meaningfully connect—with old pals, new friends, and each other.

Over the course of our four-day trip, we had a blast (um, as you can see), extended our wheelhouse with a few new tricks, and figured out the next step on our never-ending quest to create a business that reflects our values and leads to fulfilling personal and professional lives. We stayed up late into the night discussing the fact that our internet circles are closing, rather than widening, comparing our experiences of the world, and chatting about our desire to connect women to each other in ways that extend beyond what our houses and weddings look like, what we cook for our families, and how we conceive of and present our outer selves. We downed coffee after coffee contemplating the fact that the online world has been one in which women have been framed as tearing each other down rather than building each other up. We lamented the dearth of online content for women that acknowledges that we are more than our outfits, our homes, and our consumption habits.

From that, the Equals Project was born.

And it looks like others have been thinking along the same lines. From the growing "Things I'm Afraid to Tell You" movement among bloggers, to the focus on meaningful gatherings in Kinfolk magazine, to people sharing incredibly thoughtful stories online with the sole intention of helping other people achieve happiness, it's clear that the internet is evolving from a place where we store and showcase our (often-unattainable) goals into a place where we can be real, multi-dimensional people. As we slow down and think about what we are really consuming on the internet, it seems as if we as a society are aching for meaning and process, rather than destinations and results. We hope you will find here a collection of stories, discussions, and art from women across the country (and across the world) that compels you to think, contribute your own stories and thoughts, and most of all, to act.

We are more than what we can cook, we are more than what we can create, more than our makeup, our jewelry, our aesthetic tastes. We are people with complex ideas, and conflicting thoughts, who read, travel, discuss, do, and make. We are people who are influenced and inspired by the women who came before us, and we aspire to create something greater than the sum of our parts.

After many months of work, tellingly accompanied by more grins than swear words, it’s finally time for us to make the Equals Project a reality.  We still have to pinch ourselves a little bit when we think of the talent, the stories, and the passion found among this amazing group of contributors and collaborators.  And we only get more excited when we think of how the Equals Project will be interpreted in print early next year.  We've also taken to jumping up and cheering on an hourly basis when we think about kicking off Equals Does, our philanthropic call to action--money is not the only tool for making a difference in the world.  In a short while, we’ll be announcing our first project representing Equals Does and featuring a series of inspiring projects that share a similar spirit. If you’re interested in supporting the Equals Project, you’re in luck:

• Follow us on facebook and twitter for regular updates
• Share The Equals Project with your friends, family, and every nice person you meet
• Contribute your writing, photography, or video (see submission guidelines)
• Send us a story of how you’ve used your skills, talents, or sheer gumption as a force for good in the world

Let's continue this conversation and get to know each other better, shall we?

Warmly,

Elisabeth & Miya

Taking First Steps

It’s a gift to be able to tell when something is ready. I’ve always admired people who can identify that perfect moment to quit their soul-sucking job and completely change paths, break off a relationship that leaves them feeling terrible about themselves, move to a far-off city where they don’t know a soul, take a class in something that scares the bejeezus out of them, or even just leave a karaoke bar before the mood deteriorates from Sweet Caroline to All By Myself. I’m terrible at that, all of it. I love supporting people who are on the precipice of change, who need some hand holding and cheerleading before they embark on a solo adventure to Nicaragua or run off to open a surf shop in Montauk (I don’t discriminate on goals though. If your dream of a lifetime is to become a real estate attorney, I will check out all the books on property law for you). You should hear my speech about how doors start opening for you when you’re following the right path. There may even be a part about how it’s like leaning into the yoga pose that you hate the most because the discomfort is a sign that something deserves to be strengthened.  It sounds cheesy, but it’s very inspiring; you’ll have to take my word for it.

When it comes to my own next steps, I’m much more hesitant (An image popped into my mind of my daughter poised to launch herself down a particularly steep slide when she had second thoughts, bolted toward me, and clung to my leg muttering incoherently about broken arms and bears waiting at the bottom. That’s pretty much how I feel about change.).

Given my commitment to the constraints of the known instead of the abyss of the unknown, it shocks me to think of how many times I’ve jumped right into something that truly frightened me. That person almost seems like a stranger to me. I guess I’d really like to be her though. I’d like to be someone who says “yes,” even—no especially—to things that give me goose bumps and an ache in the pit of my stomach. And so I pretend that’s who I am when it counts.

I don’t do it often (which is quite possibly a good thing given that a certain level of commitment to your present life tends to be an asset to things like marriages and parenting), but every couple of years something proves sufficiently inspiring to compel me to be another person for long enough to send me on my way. It’s like I close my eyes, hold my breath, and commit to being brave until I’ve gone too far to turn back.*

I’m holding my breath right now. It’s incredibly uncomfortable to release something into the world that really matters to me. My urge is definitely to hold this project close---to spend many more months trying to come up with the perfect way to describe it, to tweak the site until it’s all that we want it to be, and to reach a point where I don’t worry about sending it off to play with the big kids. But instead I'm being brave because it's the right thing to do.

*Apparently, pretending to be another person is a common theme in my life. I wasn’t kidding when I said that I have to give myself a crutch for any large gathering where I’m expected to be chat and mingle like someone who wouldn’t rather be at a quiet dinner with her nearest and dearest. I should figure out the appropriate bravery talisman and then we’ll sell them to pay for printing.