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From the event. |
But this time was different. This time my Business Partner
and I were invited as young, creative entrepreneurs and Co-Founders of The
Wellness Project. We were invited to add to a wine-abetted conversation about
what it means to Protect Your Magic, a movement started by another young, creative
entrepreneur. I sat there, conversation swirling about the room, teeming
with passion and purpose, and ethereal intelligence, and I couldn’t help but
have a slightly less grandiose version of Oprah’s “full circle moment.”
How in the hell did I get here?
I don’t write much about The Wellness Project, but my life
right now is consumed with my building this business. And there’s something
that people don’t really tell you when they’re in the thick of building
something new. It usually comes out later, and they say it with some nostalgic
look on their face, as if it wasn’t really affecting, it was just something
that happened and was left in the past. But here goes – starting your own thing
is fairly terrifying.
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Rachel and Me. Boots on the ground in SoHo. |
And, I’m not a stranger to anxious energy. I’ve made a life
of feeling terrified as I stand, costumed, in the wings. The light spilling
from the stage to just before my waiting toes. It’s a discomfort that, over the
years, I grew to find comfort in. But recently, the discomfort comes in waves
unfamiliar to me. I’m trying to find my legs in a foreign sea of KPI’s, google
documents, and PowerPoint “decks.” And aside from the general challenges of
starting a business, I’m finding that I’m having to explain myself to certain people now
more than ever…
Him: “So, what do you do?”
Me: “I’m an Actor and Nutritionist. Currently starting a
business - a Corporate Wellness Program.”
Him: “Oh. Really? …That’s …so cute.”
…
Cute?
Or after giving an overview of TWP’s program, I've gotten, “look
at you sounding like you know what
you’re talking about…”
…
Sounding?
Ugh. I wish I were kidding.
With certain men (it’s just fact that no woman has ever
responded like this) it’s like clockwork. He crosses his arms and the air
around us becomes dense. His voice deepens, resonating in the space between us.
Macho bullshit taking precedence over substance and progress. Without even
knowing our business model, all sentences start, “you know what you should do…”
or “let me tell you what you need…” And the questions come in swiftly and in
numbers, the language getting more convoluted and ridiculous. I’m no longer
participating in a conversation, I’m in front of a firing squad.
I am tired of my curves and long hair informing obnoxious
assumptions. Sick of my face’s symmetry being confused for unintelligence. My
conversational, friendly demeanor being mistaken for naïve exuberance. And my
open and sentimental heart being seen as weak. It seems I have to lash my sharp
tongue in order to get people to pay attention for the right reasons, and even
then, I’m regarded as sassy or bossy – because it seems people have a hard time
saying “smart” and “assertive” when it comes to describing women.
What upsets me even more than the feral condescension and
immediate doubt is how it sometimes affects me. Frequently, I can very
effectively shut down any joker that meets me with haughty resistance. But
other times I seem to fall back, windless sails, and allow for such bullshit to
commence before my eyes. My knees buckle, Nancy Kerrigan style, beneath my
unsuspecting body.

And I’ve been “feeling it” a lot lately. (Not to mention
having made myself vulnerable in my personal life recently. More so than I have
in years. …it didn’t fare well, but that’s a story for another day…) Anyhow, on top of the stress responses like wanting to eat cake for breakfast, this can
be a bigger detriment if I allow it. But, I’m learning it can also be an incredible
asset.
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My authentic handwriting. ...like that of a 7 year old. |
Back in the cool, SoHo office, in passionate discussion about
"Protecting Your Magic," I fervently explained with conviction how I must protect
my Authenticity, my chosen Magic. And I do this by investing in myself, saying yes and saying no, and by knowing
when to fold.
The Devil’s Advocate came in the form of an Interior Designer
sitting to my right. He kept arguing, “Why Protect? Why walk away? Why not share
with everyone, spread your magic without boundaries?” The room joined in the
bandying of ideas and thus the conversation got oxygenated life. I had already
started writing this post, so my position in that room was timely. And my passionate disagreement with the Interior Designer (whom I hugged it out with immediately afterwards and we're now Facebook friends, btw) got
me thinking. Am I being too protective?…
But after some thought, it’s not about not
sharing. It’s about not giving it all away. It’s coming to the table with
openness and complete vulnerability, but knowing that I will get up from the
table with the same energy as when I sat down. That I will be as
authentically me and as willing to put myself out there moving forward. And
sometimes, that means being the one to push my chair back first.
Staying open is a daily practice, one in which sometimes I
fail horribly. On occasion, reactionary, I do curl up, knees to chest and make
myself as small as possible. And this goes for in my personal life, too.
But, I’m learning to use the porous nature of my skin to my
advantage. Inspired by a common theme at SHEsummit, a conference I attended recently - succeed not in spite of my gender, but because of it - turn all of this energy I’m collecting, and make the decision to use
it for fuel. Kindling that gathers at the base of my sternum. And when I do
find myself in vulnerability hangovers, I work to pry my legs away from my
chest and unfurl my ego from the fetal position. The key is to remain resilient – give credence not to the
curling up, but to what happens afterwards.
So, I do need to protect
certain parts of myself, like my Authenticity. That's contributed to how I got here. And it’s how I’ll get
to wherever it is I’m going, while maintaining that same sense of who I was
when standing on that street corner selling someone else’s dream.
On a run, lost somewhere in South
Brooklyn, my mind was gripping onto various conversations I’ve had with naysayers,
and I was missing relationships I’ve recently let go of. I turned an unfamiliar
corner, hoping my brain would take cues from my body’s pivot. And on the next
block, I was met with this –
I laughed. Out loud.
Then, about 10 or so blocks after that, I came upon a swingset and settled in. I faced the opposite direction of the little girls on the other end, opting for the view with more trees. On the backswing, between the links of a high fence, my eyes settled on the top of a distant building. And in bright pink letters, there it was again:
Then, about 10 or so blocks after that, I came upon a swingset and settled in. I faced the opposite direction of the little girls on the other end, opting for the view with more trees. On the backswing, between the links of a high fence, my eyes settled on the top of a distant building. And in bright pink letters, there it was again:
Ha! There are no accidents. Coincidence is merely listening
when the Universe decides to talk.
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