Ira Glass said this at some point and since I’m writing about writing a lot lately, it’s too relevant not to be shared.

Random fact: Did you know that I met and worked with Ira Glass during year two of Wordstock? Yep, I’m just that good.

In other bits of trivia – Scott Berkun wrote a response to my blog post from last week, 500 Words or Less, which was actually inspired by him. (Is your head spinning yet?) And in this post, he explains the difference between an essay and a blog…sort of.

You should read it.

New development: Did you know that lamiki.com is on Facebook?  You should like me over there, because we all know that you can’t get enough lamiki in your life.

Come on, toss a girl a like.

Oh, and I have big news to share tomorrow. Really, really BIG news.

But you’ll have to wait. ☺

For now, rock the rest of your Thursday.

I am starting my own business.

That’s right, a business and I have no idea what it will be yet. I’ve mentioned this to a few people, how I want to start a business but I haven’t had that idea that strikes like a bolt of lightning and makes me say, “holy shit, this is it!”

Actually, that has happened, but I’m still ruminating on it.

There are two things I’m obsessed with: 1) building things, and 2) movements.

The first I know quite a bit about from positions I’ve had over the years. And the second is a relatively new passion that was born out of the love I have of being the voice that connects brands with their customers and from watching organizations like the Girl Effect and Movember harness their communities and ignite a wave of action.

It’s pretty incredible.

So while I research and learn what exactly those two things mean – What do I enjoy most about building things? And what exactly is it about movements that totally draw me in? – and how they’ll work with each other, today, I’m officially coming out as an entrepreneur in training.

I don’t know when I’ll land and settle with an idea that I will want to build, execute, ship, and implement, but it will happen. It’s going to happen. And it will probably happen way sooner than any of us think it will.

And I’m bringing this blog (and you!) with me along the way.

Photo credit: tubb

Two years ago in June, I walked into a CrossFit gym and started a workout with barely enough strength to lift the bar. This was embarrassing. I was not a newbie at all, but a nine-month veteran just home from three weeks away from the gym due to business travel. I was very familiar with the fact that I would not be as strong as when I left, but I wasn’t lifting any weight at all, I was just trying to lift the goddamn 35-pound bar.

Something was wrong. Something in my life beyond the gym was affecting my workout. And something needed to change.

That time I quit CrossFit

That summer my life was a mess – I was working for a manager who said I needed to do some “soul searching” to see if the job that I was doing was what I wanted to do, my husband and I were buying our first house, and I was discovering what it meant to be an “adult.”

They say that one of the main reasons why people work out is to relieve stress. But CrossFit is different; it requires concentration of your mind, body, and soul to push your body to do things that you never imagined it could. And as a friend put it, at CrossFit, you are very vulnerable. And those three things consumed all of my thoughts to the point that I could not put them aside so I could use my brain to focus on the work out at hand.

It was scary. And if you aren’t on solid ground mentally, emotionally, or physically, it makes it even worse.

And it can turn something you love into something that isn’t worth it anymore.

So I quit. I decided that I needed time away from this thing that I was growing to love. This activity that was the first and only form of working out that I ever “got.” This hobby that showed me I have damn good form and kick ass at lifting. This sport that was causing more stress that it was relieving.

The difference between quitting and failure

It’s okay to say enough is enough and put a stop to what’s not working. For me, quitting CrossFit allowed me to take one responsibility off the table so I could spend my energy on working through some really big milestones in my life. It allowed me to preserve the sanctity of CrossFit so that it would still be fresh when, or if, I decided to return.

The idea of quitting is romantic. It’s an action that many of us would like to do, but rarely act upon. And I’m not talking give-the-man-the-finger type of quitting; I’m talking about the “it’s not good for me anymore” type of quitting. The kind that slips out of your mouth over wine with a friend when you tell her about the job that you’re not into anymore or the man you’re seeing who doesn’t fulfill your life the way he used to; the kind that she’ll encourage you to get over and promise that that feeling will come back and that you’ll come out stronger than when you started.

Or, if she’s a good friend, she will tell you to listen to that feeling and just fucking do it.

I like how John Falchetto says it, quitting is a choice:

I chose to quit when there is no progress. When no matter the effort I am exerting, in whichever direction I am pushing no progress is made whatsoever. Sometimes it is easier to walk around the wall than try to push through it.

Quitting is not the same thing as failure. Failure is the act of something not working in the way that you intended it to work. Failure is an outcome, quitting is a choice. Failure is something that happens to you (or something you direct), quitting is you putting a screeching halt to something. And sometimes to prevent being run over by the train, you have to change the tracks and put up the stop sign.

And it’s okay.

Whether it’s a hobby, how you workout, your job, your lover, and even your best friend – quitting, when you know why you’re doing it, is okay.

Learning from the past

Technically this isn’t a story about quitting; it’s a story about hitting pause. Four months after I quit CrossFit, I found my way back. I resolved two of the three issues that got in my way during the summer and found a new gym. This new gym invited me to join their community and I fell back in love with CrossFit.

It wasn’t the same kind of love. This time, I know that I will have an “off” night and that things will happen at work and at home that will affect how I perform at the gym. There are nights when I will fight back tears because emotionally, I can’t find the strength to start or even finish a work out, but I will find the strength to show up. And that’s okay.

This time, the relationship is different because I am approaching it differently.

What have you quit? What did it teach you?

Photo credit: Jen Collins (hellojenuine)

This post is part of the #Trust30 Challenge, a 30-day writing initiate inspired by Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Self-Reliance” that encourages you to look within and trust yourself. To find out more about this challenge, read why I am participating or details about the pledge.

Prompt: Liz Danzico – Today

Your genuine action will explain itself, and will explain your other genuine actions. Your conformity explains nothing. The force of character is cumulative. – Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

If ‘the voyage of the best ship is a zigzag line of a hundred tracks,’ then it is more genuine to be present today than to recount yesterdays. How would you describe today using only one sentence? Tell today’s sentence to one other person. Repeat each day.

(Author: Liz Danzico)

I wrote two:

1. Some days you are the ass kicker and sometimes it’s your ass that needs to be kicked.
2. Actions speak louder than words.

Photo credit: Ismail Nathij Ahmed

It’s snowing right now in Seattle. And it’s kind of a big deal. You see, all we need are a few inches and it shuts down the city. Call us whatever you’d like, but we just don’t have the infrastructure to deal with clearing roads and keeping all those hills clear. Plus, in most cases it only snows for a few hours, accumulates just over an inch, then warms out and turns to rain. And all of our fears are gone, but at least we got some time off of school and work.

We’ve received bad press about this, which I understand. There are a lot of good things that we’re good at here in the Pacific Northwest, but we dealing with snow like you crazy kids in Boulder and Chicago can. It’s just not a weakness we want to improve on.

It’s such a big deal that we embrace the hashtag, #snOMG, because that’s pretty appropriate with how Seattleites are feeling right now (whether they care to admit it or not).

Myself included. Yes, I am an active member of #snOMG.

Staring #snOMG in the face

Tonight, after barely making it home from the gym, John decided it’d be the opportune time to teach me how to drive in the snow. Uh huh.

As we crawl up our street, I’m on pins and needles, with my heart racing, hyperventilating, the works. I’m already in a fragile place: at the gym, I had a long talk with my coach about how much my arm is hurting from when I injured it during a workout over the summer. The hurt has evolved and is affecting my life outside of the gym. I can’t eat with chopsticks throughout an entire meal, it’s that bad.

So picture fragile Laura in the passenger seat of her brother-in-law’s almost-collector-status, rear-wheel drive, 1983 Mazda RX-7 with her husband at the wheel explaining the benefit of learning how to drive in the snow—something she’s afraid of and is not in the mental state to face right now at all.

We crawled up the street and a few blocks over to an abandoned parking lot. I regulated my breathing. The lot was without cars, speed bumps, and very few streetlights. John drove first, demonstrating and talking me through how to use the gas to regulate the direction that you’re going and how if you slide, point the wheel in the direction you want to go. Things specific to a rear-wheel drive car.

John drove, sliding in circles, and giving me the play-by-play for everything that he was doing and how to recreate it. Then we switched.

Taking the driver’s seat

With me in the driver seat, John’s instructions were to just drive and have fun and if he gives me any instructions to do them. Immediately.

I drove. I spun. I made a hard left, then a hard right. The back kicked out, I counter steered. I went in circles when I wanted to and I went straight when I wanted to, too. It was just like racing in an autocross—except there was snow under my tires and everything moved slightly slower. And I giggled. A lot.

I’ve raced a lot of cars in my life as an autocrosser, but the majority of them have been lightweight, rear wheel beasts. I know what it feels like to drift a corner and how to correct oversteer. Driving a car is intuitive—especially an older one that has a cable-throttle, giving my foot a direct connection to the gas without a computer getting in the way. The only difference here is less traction due to snow.

Learning: I can handle this

When you have a fear, even if it’s one that leaves you kicking and screaming to avoid, find someone to help pull you out of that place, show you it’s not as scary as it seems, and teach you how to overcome it. They key with snow—and what I’ve been lacking all along—is confidence that I can drive in it. Tonight I got my first dose of it and I’ll start building it from here. Baby steps, my friend.

Now, assuming that the rain doesn’t come and melt it all away overnight, I will not go cruising around like a teenager green from the DMV. I plan to fully embrace my #snOMG-ness and freak out by staying at home. I overcame my fear of driving in the snow, but that doesn’t mean I’m “cured” of all nervousness about it.

I’ll keep working on that one. I can handle driving in the snow; it’s everyone else on the road that I don’t know about.

Thank you, John, for being patient with me.

What’s one fear you’ve overcome lately and did someone help you through it?

Photo Credit: thisisbossi

I have a thought that’s been on the tip of my tongue and in the back of my mind for years. It’s been there, this passion, this desire. But as years move on, priorities shift, and concentrations change, things upon things have been piled on top of it and this idea gets buried deeper and deeper. Now it’s crawling to the surface, cascading through my thoughts like a snowstorm, gaining speed like a typhoon, and consuming me like an avalanche. It wants out.

The evolution of an idea

This idea has an identity all of her own. She’s defining herself based on her actions and celebrating her silent victories. Her voice is gaining momentum and she wants the spotlight that she deserves.

She smells so fresh in the secret little box I keep her in, and I’m nervous to let her out. I’m afraid to let her voice ring from the rooftops, roar louder than thunder, and serenade mightier than my favorite rock band ever could, because that’s exactly what she’ll do. I am anxious about the person she’ll turn me in to.

Truth

I am so close to breathing about her and so uneasy about the force voicing her into existence will mean. It’s one thing to think it and another to speak it. I mentioned it to my sister today, just barely. She said she’s never understood why I haven’t embraced it. I have yet to voice it to John, though I know it won’t surprise him either.

This is something I’ve always wanted, always identified with. It’s so obvious and yet something I’ve kept so far away. It’s holding me back. The only person I’m fooling is me.

Photo Credit: Beatriz AG

Back in the day, a friend tried to change the phrase “let’s hang out” to “let’s play.” We were teenagers and pushing our way into adulthood, yet we latched on to selective sentiments of simplicity and innocence.

The term “let’s play” didn’t stick. We moved on. We grew up.

As an adult, we get pulled in so many directions. But when was the last time you just played? And I’m talking played in the sense of silliness. Playing in the way that it’s not for professional development or a hobby, but for fun. Because you want to, because you need to? Played to the point where you laughed at your own laughter?

A few weeks ago I met a friend and her daughters at a playground for coffee, vitamin D, and some much needed friend time. As, we, the adults sat and chitchatted, I watched the small one climb a large rope-ladder and finish with the largest smile I’ve ever seen. I listened to her powerful giggles as she slid down the slide.

Energy in kids is electric. If you could convert one child’s laugh into electricity, how much power would it emit?

I believe adults can produce a similar amount of energy but most are too scared to open up and enjoy themselves. Too scared to feel, to receive, to turn that energy into something larger than themselves.

I’m one of those adults. I get self conscious about my feelings way too often. I may be at a movie or event that’s supposed to entertain and help me escape reality. I may feel happy. Really happy, but then look around and no one is as openly happy as I am. So instead of embracing those feelings and enjoying them, I’ll “dumb” them down based on how I’m gauging everyone else is feeling. And that’s stupid. Going with the flow is really stupid.

Even as I write this, I’m torn. The mature side of me knows that people need to monitor their feelings so that they don’t self-destruct and offend others. While the other part of me wants us to find the balance between embracing our feelings and turning them into actionable passion.

I’m an emotional person and I let my emotions rule me way more than they should. My “feelings” encourage me to bite off more than I can chew and perform better than I ever have in my life. It invites heartache, stress, and give me an excuse to do something that only the momentum of feeling amazing could.

The ability to feel is a strength. And learning how to turn those feelings–of glee, of excitement, of curiosity, of anxiety, of stress, of anger–into energy that drives the flow of my work forward is important.

Kids feel what they feel, when they feel it, because they feel that way. I want to follow the lead of my friend’s girls on the playground: embrace feeling as a good thing and put an end to feeling socially awkward and apologetic about it. And dedicate more time to play.

Photo Credit: Balakov

Last night I climbed a rope. And today it’s still a big deal.

In January Josh Hanagarne, of the World’s Strongest Librarian, met his 2010 goal on the second day of the year. After watching that, I decided I wanted a goal too. So I marched into the gym and declared to my coach that I wanted to learn how to climb a rope. I’ve never climbed a rope in my life. Never.

The fact that I wanted to climb a rope and even go to CrossFit is a big deal.

Growing up, I hated working out. I was never the girl who played sports (only non-cut sports, thank you very much). Never loved gym class. I swear I was the only girl in school who sweated during class and whose face was beat red after running “the mile.” You’re already self-conscious enough when surviving middle school, so why the heck to they add physical education on top of it? (for the love of the education system, do not answer that). I also hate gyms. My friend Lindsey recently wrote about the culture of gyms in Paris. And while most adults in the U.S. don’t dress up to go to the gym and workout, I still felt unwelcome in the 24HourFitness-es of the world.

So the fact that I enjoy this crazy thing called CrossFit is an extreme accomplishment on it’s own.

Like most great things in life, I was introduced to CrossFit by a friend. He kept talking about how much he loved the people at his gym and the workouts that they did. Alright, I thought, I’ll try it.

My first trainer was Fran, who just opened her own affiliate gym. She showed me how to squat, what a kettlebell was, and how to clean, jerk, and thrust the damn thing. She made my body hurt in ways I didn’t know it could and that was only the beginning. Fran was enthusiastic about CrossFit. Passion was flowing out of her and it was contagious. I caught it and I kept going back for more.

I feel in love with lifting. I fell in love with the people at my gym.

We all sweat. We all turn beat red in the face. We all push our bodies so hard that collapse when we’re done. We strive for personal records. We encourage each other to “push” and to “pull” and, goddamn-it, you can do this, just one more. We are a community of people who are psychotic about fitness. I was hooked.

I never thought I would love lifting or that this would be me.

And then, on a quiet Thursday night, we decide to do something crazy like learn how to climb a rope. And then we actually do it and have the burns to prove it.

As I left the gym last night, my coach slapped me on the back and said that I made huge leaps with my personal fitness. And he had a huge grin on his face.

Thanks, Jesse.

Five years ago I helped launch the most ambitious book festival in the Pacific Northwest and I was scared shitless.

At the launch party, a fancy dinner hosted at a private home overlooking the Columbia Gorge, I meekly held a glass of wine and admired the A-list authors in attendance. The authors I invited. The authors whose agents and publicists I spent months talking to and negotiating as to why it would be an awesome idea to send their talent to this brand spanking new festival. This festival that was filled with promise and about to be revealed.

I was eavesdropping on stories of these great literary minds and I was afraid to put my hand out and say, “Hi, we’ve spoken before.”

When you’re afraid, usually someone will step in. That someone was the founder of the festival, a man saw how hard I worked. He pulled me into a conversation he was having with some of his fellow authors, sang my praises, made me blush, and ended by saying, “Can you believe she’s only 18?”

That’s when when all of the strength inside of me shriveled up and died.

I was 18 and I helped launch an incredible event and I was scared. Scared that I would lose credibility with one of these authors who I had an email and phone relationship with. Scared that someone would say that I was too young and that I shouldn’t be involved at this level. Scared that someone would think less of me because of my age. And, let’s be honest here, scared that someone would take that glass of wine out of my hand.

I have spent most of my adult life fearful that someone would close the door on an opportunity because of my age. A big part of that is because my life has been on fast forward since I was 16.

When I was a junior I left my high school and started taking classes at the community college through a program called Running Start. For anyone who’s attended a community college, you know that the demographics range from 16 to 60+, and so do the professor’s attitudes towards Running Start students. Some professors embrace the early-achievers and some think they should stay at the high school. It’s all about confidence, performance, and blending in.

So I blended in.

I graduated with my bachelor’s at 20 and began my Masters the next term. At 21, I finished with the requirements for the program, moved to Seattle, and was the first of my friends to get married. I defended my thesis at 22 and can now slap an “M.A.” at the end of my name. I move through life on fast forward.

Over the past two years as a full-blown “adult” working a full-time job, finding new hobbies, and building new friendships I have not been proud of myself and I have not embraced who I am—a dreamer, an achiever, an ambitious young woman. And that’s probably the worst thing to admit to myself.

And I am tired of it. I am tired of being ashamed of everything I have worked hard to achieve and everything that has made me who I am. I am done with pretending. I am finished with trying to blend in. I do not want to be embarrassed about anything that I’ve achieved “so young” in my life. I do not want to be afraid that someone will “slam the door” on my face when they learn about my age.

Because no one has before and no one ever will.

I am ready to own it: my achievements, my failures, and my dreams. I need to believe in myself and know deep down in my core that this is who I am and this is who I am supposed to be. I have accomplished a lot over the past six years since standing at that dinner party and I want to do more. Much more.

After recovering from the dinner party and the festival in itself I opened up to the Director, my manager, about how much I loathed when the Founder would tell people my age. In response, he said something along the lines of this:

Remember that he’s a writer and all of these people are writers, too. They love stories and you are a great story. Someday, maybe one of them will write about you.

I am a great story, dammit. And I’m going to be the one to write it. Welcome to my blog.

Photo Credit: maria.see photography