I Left My Cell Phone At Home

I Left My Cell Phone At Home

I stepped inside my husband Ted’s Black Mustang at 5:30 in the morning.  Nestled between my right knee and the car door sat my oversized Bohemian-chic purse.  We were headed toward the San Jose Airport so I could catch a 6:45 flight to Seattle. The business trip would last five nights, six days.

Our amiable early morning chit-chat bounced between what Ted would eat for dinner that night, and how his new Fit-Bit would light up and spray virtual confetti when he topped 10,000 steps.

“What time should I pick you up from the airport?” Ted asked.

“Let me double-check.” I reached inside the pocket of my purse in the dark, feeling my way toward my phone.

“That’s weird,” I said, feeling perplexed.  “Where’s my phone?”

And then the panic hit me.  I took a short gasp, my eyes watered, and shock set in.

“I left my phone at home.” I said.  “It’s on the charging station, topping off. I can’t believe I did that. Damn it.  I’m so stupid.”

“We could turn around and get the phone,” said Ted patiently.  “But then you might miss your flight.”

“You could Fed-Ex my phone to me,” I bargained. “But I won’t be in any one place on this business trip for more than 24 hours.  What am I going to do without my phone?”

And then an image emerged from the ethers—the mystical place of inspiration where all my crazy-assed ideas materialize.  Take a one-year sabbatical.  Teach a midlife renewal class.  Hold a wisdom circle.

“I’ll go without my cell phone for six days!” I exclaimed more of a surprise to myself than to Ted.  A statement so bold, so daring, that it felt more like a challenge than an actual lifestyle adjustment.

“It will be good for me to unplug,” I said.  “I mean, how hard can it actually be?”

I was about to find out.

The First Cut Is The Deepest

Let me make one point perfectly clear.  I did have my laptop. I’ll use the term “unplugged,” loosely.

When I stepped into the Seattle Airport terminal, I had only one goal: connect with my colleague Stefania, whom I was to meet and share a cab to our event.

I sat near the baggage claim and popped open my laptop and quickly launched Outlook and sent an email to our team’s program manager.

“I left my cell phone at home,” I wrote with great haste.  “Please text Stefania and let her know I’m in baggage claim.”

While I waited for Stefania to arrive, I sent an email to my two adult children, and all my closest friends—the ones I text on a regular basis.  The subject line? “I left my cell phone at home.”

Much to my surprise, I found Stefania with great ease.  We quickly grabbed a cab, and soon we were on our way to downtown Seattle, under an ominous sky that was about to release a torrent of rain.

“You must feel like you’re missing an arm,” said Stefania, repeating a popular refrain I would hear for the next six days.  “If I left my cell phone at home, I don’t know what I would do.  I use my phone for everything.”

The words Stefania spoke echoed in my ear and resonated with a clear knowing—a deep understanding.  I did use my cell phone for everything.  It is both an instrument of practicality and a gadget of distraction in equal measure.  Morning, noon, and night with great frequency, I either check my phone for texts or email.  But mostly I use it for entertainment.  After all, how can the world continue to spin on its axis without me knowing about it?  Korea and the nuclear escalation, Donald Trump’s wearisome tweets, wildfires, hurricanes, earthquakes.  Hollywood’s outing of Harvey Weinstein.  Why did Chris Pratt and Anna Farris divorce?  Did Lady Gaga really wear those short shorts to the World Series?

The constant barrage of electronic information creates a form of anxiety.  A collective chorus of digital voices all screaming to be heard.  My only saving grace is that I am a social media consciousness objector—no Facebook or Instagram, anymore.  Still.  I spent so much time impulsively checking my phone, mainlining that hit of dopamine that I felt utterly, and completely lost without my phone.  And then I began to grieve.

“I know,” I said to Stefania.  “I do feel naked—stripped of my instant connection to the world.  It’s gonna be a long six days.”

A Simple Twist of Fate

The next night would be spent with my aging mom and brother.  When I arrived at their front door with my suitcase, backpack, and purse they were surprised.

“Why didn’t you text me?” my brother asked me.  “I would have picked you up.”

“I left my cell phone at home,” I said deflated, downtrodden, weary.

“Oh man, it’s like losing an arm or a leg,” said my brother.  “That’s too bad.”

And it did feel like “too bad” for a while.  Like giving up coffee in the morning, or not drinking a glass of wine at night.  A punishment.  The price to pay for a bad habit.

That night there would be no online reading of Quora—looking for answers to “What is your one-minute hack for travel? What advice would you give your younger self?  Is it really better to be rich than middle-class?”  Instead, I read from myriad magazines my mom accumulated: Reader’s Digest, Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone.  Kinda like being at the dentist without the drill.  I began to unplug.

In the morning I accepted that there would be no digital distraction to keep me from connecting to my mom.  We held many lengthy conversations without a buzz, beep, or ring from my cell phone.  No distraction.  This level of intensity is not for everyone.  I understood addiction in a new way.  After all, when a smoker takes a nicotine break, it’s an acceptable form of breaking concentration.  That’s how it is when I check my phone.  I want to take a break from the chore at hand. This multi-tasking gives me energy, or is it anxiety?  Either way, I was unplugged. And I was starting to like it. I felt a tremendous burden of having to respond lift from my shoulders.  There would be no check-in, “hey, how ‘ya doin’?” texts, or even email checking on my laptop.  My mom’s home was Internet free.  The liberation buoyed my spirit.  “I left my cell phone at home” was a good excuse to unplug.

Until I had to continually ask people for rides.

The Kindness of Strangers

The truth is, like most women, I’m super good at giving, and very bad at receiving.  This vulnerability makes me feel weak, especially when all I want to do is show the world that I am strong.  It’s the “me-do-it-me-self,” state of mind.  And the reality is that we all need to be less independent and a little more dependent on one another—it’s what makes us human. The ability to continue the life-affirming cycle of giving and receiving.

In the spirit of building this receiving muscle, I asked the neighbor across the street for a ride to the hotel I would stay for the balance of my trip.

“Wow,” he said.  “That’s kind of far.  It’s gonna take us more than an hour to get there.  I’ll do it if you fill my thirsty tank.”

“Sure,” I said shrinking, the pain in my solar plexus expanding with shame.  “Happy to do it.”

The next morning, I hopped into my neighbor’s white Ford pick-up truck.

“Too bad you don’t have your cell phone,” he said, checking Google maps for the best route to reach our destination.

“I would feel like I lost my arm,” he said wistfully.

“I know,” I said, marveling at how this arm-leg metaphor became the visual representation for loss of a cell phone.

“Thanks for the lift,” I said to my neighbor.  I pulled $30 from my wallet, placed it on the center console and waved goodbye.

Help! I Need Somebody. Help!

On Monday morning, I went to the hotel front desk and asked the receptionist which taxi cab best serviced their hotel.  I told her the business event I would attend was only three miles away.

“Don’t you have Uber or Lyft on your cell phone,” the receptionist asked me.

“I left my cell phone at home,” I said, embarrassed once again at my oversight.

“Oh my god, you poor thing,” she said, acting like a mother hen to her wayward chick, tucking me under her wing.  After all, how could someone possibly survive on this planet without their phone?  A person to be pitied and protected.

“I’ll call you a cab,” she said with a hushed voice, in hopes that no one would overhear my lack of cell phone dilemma. Then she quickly slipped into the back room to make the call.

As I waited, a sense of dread came over me. That ominous feeling when doom is inevitable.  And I was right.

“They’re not coming,” she said. “Three miles is not worth their while.”

“They’re not coming?” I asked.  “I have to get to the event.  What am I going to do?”

She smiled as a professional courtesy, instantly detaching herself from the outcome.  Apparently, this chick would fledge the nest sooner than later.

“I need a ride!” I said, “Is there anyone here who can take me? I need help!”

At this point I’d had enough of being cell phone free.  My six-day experiment took a downward turn that surprised even me.  This state of vulnerability, reduced to asking for help, having to rely on the kindness of strangers hit a raw nerve.  I was totally and completely at the mercy of the hotel staff.  I imagined a company policy banning hotel guests from riding in a personal automobile as an insurance liability.  Yet there was no taxi that serviced the hotel.  I was at a complete loss on what to do because I LEFT MY CELL PHONE AT HOME!!!

An older woman, probably a manager, given her confident stature and commanding presence, emerged from the back office.  This woman was everything I knew I should be.  And at that exact moment, I felt like I was the polar opposite of her—a weak, humbled woman asking for help.

“Derick from maintenance can take you,” she said in a cool, calm voice.  She dialed her cell phone and made the call.

A few minutes later I found myself sitting in a low-rider styled Cadillac. The bass-heavy sound system laid down the bottom note harmonizing with the high frequency I was on.  An exhilaration to finally be on my way.

“That’s too bad about your cell phone,” said 25-year-old Derick from maintenance.

I didn’t have the heart to even agree with this kind stranger when he said, “If I left my cell phone behind, I think I’d be alright.  Seems like you’re doing pretty good.” I smiled, thanked him for the ride, and got out of the Cadillac.

Mother and Child Reunion

My flight landed at the San Jose Airport an hour late.  I didn’t worry too much about it, because my husband’s favorite apps is “Flights Stats” an airplane flight tracker. After all, I could not text “taking off” or “landing” to him in our traditional form of communication.  With this app, which he uses on his cell phone, he knew exactly what time my plane would arrive.

After six long days, I arrived home.  And there it was—my rosy gold iPhone 6s Plus.  An inanimate object looking so innocent and guilty at the same time, all protectively wrapped in a red leather case, waiting to be opened.  In that moment I came to realize what it meant to be in a personal relationship with a cell phone.  A trusty companion.  A source of comfort.  A navigational beacon guiding me through the streets of life.  My digital arms and legs within the matrix.

I picked up the well-worn case that held my cell phone and brought it next to my heart.  A sweet reunion. I might have gone even so far as to give it a quick kiss if Ted had not interrupted me.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” He said, holding up a half-sized bottle of 2014 Rambauer Cabernet, our traditional homecoming wine.

I looked up at Ted, and then at my cell phone.  I felt the luscious pull of checking emails, reading texts, answering phone calls.  An overwhelming sense of anticipation at not having responded for six full days to the siren call of my erstwhile companion—my iPhone.  The dopamine hit, the quickening pace of desire, filling the empty place of longing that the crevice of unplugging left behind.

I pulled the cell phone away from my heart, gave it another quick look of desire, placed it back on my office desk, walked over to my husband, and reached for the full glass of wine.

“Cheers,” I said.  We clinked wine glasses and took a long, deep drink of the elixir.

Engineering the “Fast Food” Experience

by Ingrid Hart 

I picked up Haley, my 26-year-old daughter from the San Francisco Airport, and we drove back to her Berkeley home.  Dinner time was near. We were famished.

“Let’s eat,” I said.

Haley agreed.

“How about Zachary’s Pizza,” I said.  “You know how much I love their deep dish spinach pie.”

“No mom,” said Haley.

“You should stick with your diet.  Let’s try a new place that just opened.  It’s some kind of a quinoa bowl thing with veggies and some protein.  It’s on Telegraph.”

“Next to Blondies Pizza?” I said, hoping for a change in venue.

“Yes,” said Haley. “Near Blondies.”

I agreed to check out this new-fangled place, because the ingredients Haley described actually sounded pretty tasty.  They were downright diet-worthy.

Off we went to fill up at Eatsa.

Part of their tagline is “Better, Faster, Tastier.” Here’s the kicker: No lines. No cashier. No nonsense. We’re engineered to get you in and out fast.

Two young women dressed in red polo shirts greeted us at the entrance.

“Welcome to Eatsa,” both of them said at the same time, smiling widely.

“Been here before?”

We nodded our heads no-style, side to side.

“I downloaded your app,” said my millennial daughter.

“Okay,” said one of the women, a sense of relief on her cheery face.

“Then you know what to do.”

We headed straight to a series of kiosks to place our order into a sleek computer screen.  The place was scary clean—like it had just been scrubbed.  The overhead lighting created a sort of ambience you might find in a clothing store.  No aroma of yummy food in the air.  No hint of quinoa sizzling, Portobello mushrooms sautéing, or even crispy wontons frying.  No nurturing smell of food being prepared.  At all.

The pounding electronic sound of synthesizers was loud, but somehow felt appropriate in this venue.  I couldn’t hear myself think.  Not that I had to think. I could simply point to one of the quinoa bowls I wanted to order and then click.   The thing was complete.

I ordered a Bento Bowl.  Haley ordered a Burrito Bowl.  We waited by a series of what looked like storage lockers for our food to arrive.  Another young woman, bright and fresh in her red polo shirt was sporting the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen.  I could see her job was to make sure our order was right.

“Where are the cooks?”  I asked her.

“I’m not sure.”

“You mean you don’t know where the cooks are?”  I asked.

She giggled, batting her Ladybug eyelashes.

“They didn’t tell us that in the training.”

I thought for a moment, that maybe there weren’t any cooks back there at all.  That maybe Eatsa engineered this automated dining experience so precisely to “get you in and out fast,” that there might not be a single human being behind the curtain at all.  Or maybe it was one guy pushing a button to fill the Bento Bowl.  Quinoa? Check.  Portobello mushrooms? Check.  Edamame, crispy wonton strips, and teriyaki sauce?  Check.

Launch the missile.

Haley’s name popped up on the locker door.  She extracted two perfectly balanced bowls of piping hot food, one stacked on top of the other, with our receipt attached.

The price?  Less than $14.

We said goodbye to all three of our gracious hosts, the young women whose job it is to facilitate our Eatsa user experience.  A position, I might add, that they performed well.  Despite not knowing the general vicinity of where a cook might, or might not be.

At Haley’s apartment, we peeled back the plastic lid of our bowls and marveled at the perfect, harmonious balance of ingredients, all in a hearty portion.  One thing’s for sure, at Eatsa, we had more than enough to eat.

But here’s the problem, or in my dieting case, the solution.

Halfway through my bowl, I had enough to eat.

It wasn’t that the food wasn’t tasty—it was quite flavorful.  And of course, it was highly nutritious, what with all the health benefits of quinoa being a complete protein, and having all the amino acids necessary for human nutrition.  All of that.

For me, it boiled down to this one final conclusion.

At the Eatsa retail space, I didn’t smell the food cooking.   I didn’t see the cooks preparing the food.  It felt sterile.  For me, the food at Eatsa had no soul.

When I came to the realization that a meal at Eatsa serves a utilitarian function, there was no reason to eat more.  I was full, not satisfied.  My nutritional needs were met, but not my emotional needs for a nurturing, loving meal prepared by a human hand with a human heart.

Would I recommend Eatsa?

You bet.

It’s a perfectly engineered user experience.  Think Silicon Valley meets Taco Bell or McDonald’s.  The food is nutritionally balanced.  The price point of $6.95 per bowl is just right.

If you’re looking for a fast food alternative, a good place for a low-cal meal, or you just want to experience the world of high-tech dining, check out Eatsa.  Just lower your expectations for a human dining experience.  And if you find out where the cooks are, would you let me know?

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About Modcom Communications & Ingrid Hart

Modcom Communications is a team of content writers and project managers fluent in both traditional and new media business communications.  We’ve been in business for 23 years. We focus on delivering measurable results for our clients. From start-ups to growing businesses to Fortune 500 companies and to government agencies, our client base is diversified and solid.

Ingrid Hart is an accomplished business writer and project manager specializing in communications.  Throughout her career she’s written funded proposals in excess of $1 million dollars. Ingrid’s been a content writer and manager of over 15 websites, multiple social media channels and accounts, print collateral, press releases, blogs, emails, newsletters, white papers, FAQs, speeches, news stories, talking points, and public opinion pieces.  She’s the author of an award-winning book on California.  In the evening you can find her biking around Shoreline Lake in Mountain View.

Looking for a business writer?  Contact me:  ingrid@modcom.com

Millennials Love To Share On Social Media

I’ve been asked to pitch ideas for a brand new online magazine that will launch soon.  Their target audience: millennials, young adults between ages 18 and 34.

According to Entrepreneur Magazine writer Sujan Patel, these millennials are diverse.  “Nearly 43 percent are non-white and roughly 25 percent speak a language other than English at home,” writes Patel.  “A good deal of millennials have never known a world without the Internet and social media.”

But what they do know is how to buy, collectively they wield $1.3 trillion in annual buying power.  A stat that captured my interest is roughly 95 percent of millennials say friends are the most credible source of product information.  So if you want to sell something to a millennial, you might want to plant the seed in their friend’s ear, then allow them to spread the word.

The online magazine that asked me to pitch ideas created a target audience analysis of the millennial sector, and I believe their research hits the mark.  Genius.  My favorite description: While they may not be directly seeking an “Ah-Ha” moment, they appreciate those experiences when they occur and are quick to share what they learned, enjoyed, or found entertaining with their social network.

Yes.  Again with the social sharing.  I get it.  Of course, as a social media strategist, that’s what I thrive on too.  I want to share all the great stuff I discover online.

Next step: select from a list of 25 categories the online magazine has generated that resonates with millennials.  I’m leaning toward adventure junkies, or travelers—something that will support lots of stunning photographs, a shareable story.  YOLO anyone?

How May I Serve You?

I’ve been reading new-age guru Dr. Wayne Dyer’s book on “Living the Wisdom of the Tao.”  When it comes to prolific and profitable writers, Dyer is at the top of the heap.  In this book, properly titled “Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life,” Dyer writes one essay reflecting his own personal thoughts on each of the 81 verses of the Tao Te Ching authored by the Chinese sage Lao-tzu nearly 2,000 years ago.   The Tao or “The Way” is a book of wisdom that’s been translated more than any volume in the world, with the exception of the Bible.

My friend Hannah found Dyer’s book at a thrift shop and probably paid one dollar for this gem, written in 2009, and gave it to me as a gift.  I’m grateful. After thumbing through the preface one morning with a cup of coffee in my hand and the gentle morning sun peeking through the mini blinds of my Mountain View apartment, I wondered to myself how long it would take me to read the entire book.   I ran the numbers in my head: four chapters a week would allow for reflection and integration, divided by 81 chapters would equal roughly five months.  And so I began the self-study course on Living the Wisdom of the Tao.

“Living Contentment” is this morning’s reflection.  I’m enchanted with the Tao-centered question Lao-tzu says will lead us to a life of contentment.  “How May I Serve?”

This question shifted the possibility of engaging in the business world with greater intention for me.  Just this week I redesigned my website at www.ingridhart.com to reflect more of who I truly am: business writer and project manager. The user interface design on the website is stripped down to capture the essence of simplicity, catering to the visitor who sees themselves immediately in the images and text.  I followed the “Don’t Make Think” philosophy of web guru Steve Krug.

The website displays a You, Me, Our Journey content that is simple and direct.  It features a nautical theme: sailor, compass, boat, and lighthouse. You seek someone to write proposals, social media posts, press releases, newsletters, and reports; I’m a writer and project manager with over 20 years of experience in business communications; We collaborate on a winning strategy, create measureable results, and watch your business grow.

 

As a business owner for over 23 years, I’m always asking “How may I serve?” Because I want to support people, maybe you, or someone you know, on their projects.  The only way I know how to do this is by using my marketable skills as a business writer and project manager. Business, I believe, is about building and then maintaining relationships.  At the core of it, people want to be connected to one another and making the world a better place.  I believe that’s the true spirit behind Living the Wisdom of the Tao—working together for the greater good of humanity.

Proposal Writing: Lessons Learned

I just completed a proposal writing engagement for a global gaming company in the Silicon Valley.  This wild and wooly six-week gig facilitating a team of 11 professionals including engineers, marketing and sales, and the C-suite, inspired me to reflect on the art of persuasive writing and the magic of collaboration.  Here are some lessons learned from my experience.

Assign one proposal manager and then empower that person

A full-length proposal in response to an RFP holds myriad moving parts including production schedule, pricing, formatting, tables and graphs, table of contents, and an executive summary.  As the coordinator, I was tasked with keeping all parts of the proposal moving toward completion.  By assigning one point of contact the team members were clear on whom to funnel all their content.  If the proposal manager is not empowered, ambiguous roles may create confusion in version control which could lead to lost work and inefficient timeline management.

Understand the link between the proposal and sales manager

A solid business relationship between the proposal and sales manager cannot be mitigated.  When both these roles are in step, a stronger proposal is a sure thing.  I learned that if both operating styles are compatible, there’s a greater chance of success.

Identify the client’s pain points

The most effective proposals are those that the sales lead has developed a relationship with the client.  Sales should understand the client’s pain points, and the proposal manager must articulate a customized solution to address these issues.  To ensure a smooth communication download from sales to the written word, I developed a series of interview questions posed to the sales lead of our proposal based on a problem/solution/results format.

• What part of the client’s company is affected by this problem?
• What is the single most important part of this proposal that will make the client choose us?
• What does success look like for our client?

Ensure a clear review process is in place

Identify all the team members who will review the proposal and how much influence they have on the final product.  I recommend three levels:

1. Editorial review: technical aspects such as grammar, formatting, spelling, consistency, punctuation
2. Client POV: Is the proposal approach solving the pain point? Is the language clear? Is there enough technical detail?
3. C-Suite Review: Allow plenty of time for this final review by the CEO, CFO, or COO. Chances are once the C-Suite reviews the proposal there will be changes that must be addressed, so also build time in the schedule to integrate changes for one final pass-through after this review.

Conduct a post-mortem on the entire proposal process

After all the hard work, hundreds of hours, and countless versions of the proposal, it’s finally complete.  I believe the most useful part of the process is to identify what did and didn’t work for this proposal.  Less than 25 percent of proposals actually get the project, sometimes less, and for us, it may take months before we find out if we’re the winners.  Why not gather the team together for a 30-minute forensic evaluation of the proposal writing process?  It benefits everyone, making the next go-around even better.  This internal process builds the team and, even though it might be painful, and certainly enough finger-pointing to go around, it does make everyone stronger.  In the end, it’s about learning and improving communication skills, and making your business competitive.

About Ingrid Hart                                                                                                   

I’m an award-winning business writer, project manager, and social media strategist specializing in communications.  Throughout my career I’ve written funded proposals in excess of $1 million dollars. I’ve been a content writer and manager of over 15 websites, multiple social media channels and accounts, print collateral, press releases, blogs, emails, newsletters, white papers, FAQs, speeches, news stories, talking points, and public opinion pieces.  I’m the author of an award-winning book on California.  In the evening you can find me biking around Shoreline Lake in Mountain View.

4 Steps Toward Balance After Disappointment

  You botched the interview. You didn’t get into the MBA program at a top-tier university. The promotion you were seeking went to someone else. Things are not going according to the plan and now your life is upside down and you’re walking through molasses. How do you regain balance after disappointment?

What about if you reframed the disappointment as a catalyst to your growth? You could then consider these trying times as an opportunity to become stronger and wiser. I’d like you to consider these four steps toward balance after disappointment:

1. Remain present for the experience

The desire to escape the pain of disappointment is the path of least resistance. Try to remain present. It is more painful in the short run, but in the long run, greater emotional health and vitality will be your reward. I’ve found that the disappointment comes through in waves. The intensity waxes and wanes. By remaining present, you can acknowledge the situation with clarity. Say to yourself, “I am here now. I will not be here forever. This too will pass.”

2. Seek and accept support

If you recognize that you are not alone in the struggle against the pain of disappointment, your challenge becomes less self-centered and more about what it means to be a human being in the year 2015. These are hyper-competitive times. Once you remember that we are all connected to the great mystery of life, you’ll feel less alone and more inclined to accept support from others who also continue the struggle. There are times in your life when you’ve held the lantern in the dark for others, helping to show them the way. Now it’s your turn to be led. No one can take the journey for you, but they can hold your hand and guide you through the darkness into the light.

3. Recognize experience becomes wisdom

When you are in the midst of your challenge, it’s hard to imagine a time when the transformation will be complete and the experience will become wisdom. As long as you feel you’re in transformation, you are not any wiser for it. It is when you are complete with the struggle that you can gain perspective and can then transform the experience into wisdom. You no longer identify with the disappointment. You have distance from your challenge and can now examine it with clarity and perspective. You’ll look back and reflect on your behavior and the results of your actions. Don’t judge them as good or bad. They simply are. Then take that information and catalog it. Now it is in your mental and emotional files. Soon you will be called upon to participate in another struggle. It may not be any easier, but now you have a greater awareness of how to get through it. You will be wiser than before, but not as wise as you will become.

4. Life is a gift beyond measure

Sometimes life will be raw. But if you allow it, your life can become a creative expression of who we are. The choice to be awake and present for the experience can crystallize in greater clarity on your purpose for being on this Earth at this time. It is up to you to decide. This opportunity to choose is given to you every time you face challenge and struggle. When you are in the metamorphosis from a cocoon to a butterfly remember that the reward of your great effort is wings to take flight.

5 Lessons From A One-Year Journey

At midlife, my two college-bound children left home at the same time.  Restless and living in an empty nest, I questioned: Am I living my life’s purpose?  I heard prophetic words that altered the course of my life:  If you want something to change, make a new choice.  This advice set my heart on fire.  How far would I be willing to go outside my comfort zone to discover who I really am?  As I shouted “yes” to my newfound desire, I wondered after the course of a year where I might end up.  I surrendered the need to know, figuring that this was all part of the journey which basically began before I even left Sacramento.  I sold my home and possessions.  The remaining belongings were packed into a Lexus coupe.  Then I launched on a pilgrimage across California where I lived in one city per month for a year.

I started my journey in the mountains and ended at the ocean.  After an entire year of being on the road, I made some insightful discoveries, now lessons, which I’ll share with you below.  I’ll be the first to admit, changing the course of your life takes some true grit, not for the faint of heart.  If you’re ready to trust that a larger story of your life is unfolding, then I have three words of advice for you—beast mode, engaged!

1. If you want something to change, make a new choice

If you want to experience another way of living your life, make a new choice and follow that path on your journey.   The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting a new result.  Make a new choice.

2. Passion requires risk

When was the last time you had butterflies in your stomach and felt your heart pound wildly?  Resting safe and secure in your comfortable life will not inspire passion.  Put your head in the lion’s mouth and feel what it means to be alive. Make a new choice and change the trajectory of your life.

3. Say yes to every opportunity

Your life contracts or expands.  When you say no, it contracts.  When you say yes, it expands.  “Yes” sends the message that you’re in expansion mode.  Yes is a muscle you strengthen every time you use it.  Your reward is confidence.

4. Release attachment to outcome

The direct cause of suffering is desire.  What you want for your own life may not be what the world wishes or needs.  There may be something much bigger and bolder waiting for you.  Surrender your will.  Trust that a larger story of your life is unfolding.

5. Every step of the journey is the journey

Your journey has no start or end.  Your existence is infinite.  Life mirrors the universe, it continues to expand and evolve.  You create meaning of your life with each choice you make.  Wake up to yourself.  There is only one time and it is now.

Three Tips On Releasing Attachment To Outcome

The direct cause of suffering is desire.  What you want for your own life may not be what the world wishes or needs.  There may be something much bigger and bolder waiting for you.  Surrender your will.  Trust that a larger story of your life is unfolding.

Practice these three tips:

1. Recognize the difference between capitulation and surrender

Capitulation feels like you’re resisting “what is” without any horsepower behind it.  A great business example is when your boss makes a bad decision and you have little choice but to follow along even though you don’t agree with the direction.  Surrender removes the resistance as you simply take a step back and watch what unfolds from a neutral position.  You don’t judge it as good or bad, it simply “is.”

2. Accept your life as it is, not how you think it should be

How many times have you said to yourself, “I should be making more money,” or “I should be driving a brand-new Tesla by now just like my college roommate.”  Instead, why not experience your life as it is?  Living becomes way more interesting when you take a step back and observe how your life actually operates.  With some practice, you’ll amuse yourself instead of being the jury and the judge of your existence.

3. Trust that your life is unfolding for your highest good

The bottom line is this: you are here on Earth to experience life in all its manifestations, good, bad, indifferent, that’s the beauty of the human condition. Be awake and aware for all the choices you make, then surrender your will and watch what happens.  When you release attachment to outcome, liberation becomes your trusted companion and you are free to create the life you actually want to live in.

What role does wisdom play in technology?

I’m now part of the Wisdom 2.0 Street Team.  What does that mean?  I’ll distribute postcards advertising the San Francisco Wisdom 2.0 Conference on Feb. 27 – March 1, 2015 to over 50 South Bay locations including coffee shops, yoga studios, and health food markets.  I’ll get to visit the campuses of Stanford, Google, and Facebook.  The result of this volunteer effort will be a free three-day pass to the conference.  In the words of rock band the Who, “I call that a bargain, the best I ever had.”

The concept of wisdom and technology bewitches me heart and mind.  I get freaked out by the singularity concept, the moment when humans and machines merge and nonbiological intelligence, err…robots take over the world.  I want to engage in conversation that sculpts humanity’s role to live with greater wisdom, purpose, and meaning while using technology in ways that create a more open and healthy culture.  Score one for humans, stupid robots! Plus, I have a cool idea for the postcard distribution project.

My goal is to discover the answer to this question: What role does wisdom play in technology?  The kaleidoscope responses to this query will be myriad, there is no one answer, but rather, many facets to view the question.  I simply want to create awareness that wisdom and technology are intimately connected.  How will I do that?

One things for sure, it will be a pen-and-paper, low-tech project, duh!   On a 11 x 17 legal-sized sheet of paper will be a handwritten question:  “What role does wisdom play in technology?”  At each postcard distribution site I’ll ask a real person to write their response using a black sharpie.  Then I’ll snap their picture and post it on social media, contributing to the larger conversation that’s taking place right now, sculpting our future.  This is my own way of integrating community at the grass-roots level.  Wish me luck!

Wisdom Circle ~ Inspire & Be Inspired

Finally. The elixir. Geez. I’m starting a wisdom circle. So excited. I thank my cousin Angela Andrews for asking me, “Don’t you have a masters degree in spirituality?” (humblebrag) “Why don’t you use it?” Well, me scared. I’m only three-years-old. Whatever. Thank you Kevin Aschenbrenner for helping me hatch my plan. And then to my brand new friend Jane Sanguinetti for renting me her gorgeous Moss Beach yoga studio for the six-week pilot program. The wisdom circle is almost filled for the first night. Yippee!!   I’m just feelin’ so gosh-darn grateful for having the courage to step into my own power.  But here’s the best part of the wisdom circle, I’m not the leader, simply the facilitator. The purpose is to inspire and be inspired. One by one we’ll contribute to the group’s collective wisdom and discover a deeper, more authentic way of communicating. As we learn from one another, we’ll recognize the power of a larger community to discuss big ideas in a safe space set up for listening and speaking. This wisdom circle feels like it’s so California. And I have to laugh and say, well, I wrote the book on California. Thanks everyone, for all your love and support along the way. Me happy.