There are some weeks when you cruise the Internet and find nothing of value. Nothing that tells you to think about something you never thought you’d think about, nothing that tells you how to turn your perspective and gaze into the eyes of the same thought for a new time.

This wasn’t one of those weeks. This past week, three gems floated across my radar that flipped three usual thoughts on their heads: we should never have admired Disney Princesses; the customer is always right; and why you will quit your day job to live your passions.

Plus, two bonus articles that will make you a grammar and email snob. Enjoy!

How to Defend Princesses, Give the Finger to Your Community, and Why You Won’t Quit Your Day Job

Day 125: In defense of Disney – At our house, princesses love yoga and disco. by Harmony Hasbrook on 100 Days or More

Read this because: You loved Disney princesses when you were little and have spent every day of your life since you were eight years old learning how these fairy tales that Walt Disney Studios capitalized on were bad for you. They set you up to believe that you would grow up like a dainty little flower and were nothing until Prince Charming came to rescue you.

They were wrong. To most little girls, we did not see them the way that we’re told to see them as an adult. They represent something more than that; they are something that only the world of child’s imagination can create.

Bonus reading material: I shared a link to Harmony’s post on Facebook this week, here were the responses:

Listen to Your Community, But Don’t Let Them Tell You What to Do by Jeff Atwood on Coding Horror

Read this because: As a community manager, one of the most awkward things you can do is ask my community what they think about a product or what features they can see. But what makes it awkward is asking that question if you know that there’s no way in hell that your development team will implement any feature request that comes from that community. So don’t ask the damn question.

This is a great blog post that shows a different side of community management. It’s a great read, for community managers and non-community managers alike.

Why You Won’t Quit Your Job by Daniel Gulati on Harvard Business Review Blog

Read this because: You hate your day job, or perhaps “hate” is too strong of a word. You’re not happy with this life, whatever this life is. And you know exactly what you want to be doing instead. You don’t want to work for them anymore. You want to work for yourself and do what you’ve always dreamed of doing. You want to set your passion free and chase it to wherever it’s going to take you.

Well, I’m sorry to say that if you were going to do that, you would have by now.

In this article, Gulati has revealed why most people described above will not make the leap that they really, really want to do. Since I heard the first person say to me – Quit your day job! Follow your passion! Live the life you want! – I’ve been skeptical as to why the majority of those people who cry and tell others to do it, haven’t even done it for themselves.

How to Become a Grammar and Email Snob

And we’ll cap of this week’s edition of Sunday Serial by linking to two articles with healthy tips on how to be a better you, through writing:

1. 20 Common Grammar Mistakes That (Almost) Everyone Makes by Jon Gingerich on LitReactor
2. Want People to Return Your Emails? Avoid These Words by Sarah Kessler on Mashable

What did you read this week?

Photo Credit: Al-khairi

Tonight I had dinner with my friend Harmony who is taking a 100-day break from working and blogging about it. Yesterday she shared an old photo of herself that gave her insight to one of the happiest moments of her life and insight into her true self.

But it’s more than just a photo; it’s about finding who you are based on who you were from your past. As Harmony puts it in her blog post:

Right now I have two books on my nightstand (from the library). Redirect by Timothy D. Wilson and Public Parts by Jeff Jarvis. I am finished with the former and just a chapter into the latter. Tim may not be as good at writing as Jeff is, but he is a pretty damn good scientist. He proposes that so many of our societies ills and traumas could be cured with story editing. He describes a method for re-writing how you see yourself. By changing our own self image, we can be happier, more successful and healthier – and this is all proved with scientifica studies.

If we could merge this “surprising new science of psychological change” with the message in Jeff’s book, “how sharing in the digital age improves the way we work and live,” you would end up with more or less what I am doing here with this blog.

Tonight when I got home, I went through my boxes of photos to find one that represented the image of how I see myself. The one that stuck out the most is the one at the top of this post. This one was taken in Madrid, Spain during the summer of 2000. I was 14 and on a student ambassador trip to Italy, France, and Spain. It was a summer of self-discovery and figuring out who I was, which is something that is bound to happen as a teenager studying abroad or traveling internationally with other teenagers.

This photo was taken before our final dinner of the three-week long trip. And the girl pictured here turned into the one below – a freshman in high school, with confidence of steel, true friends, and blue hair.

When I think of my own self image, this is who I think of.

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)

I have been in a funk. Yes, that’s right, I said it. I don’t know if it’s Seattle’s endless winter or the fact that some things in my life have not been rolling on the shiniest side of the coin and I don’t really know what’s going on.

Okay, that’s a lie. I know what’s wrong and what’s not right and I’m nervous to admit it. Mainly I’m upset because I’m guilty of not moving forward. You know that I’m a fan of getting things done, making things happen, and a ton of other clichés. I am not wearing my strong suit right now and I’d rather shy away from the public eye instead of staring what’s wrong in the face, owning it, and changing it.

And then I write.

I received some really honest feedback about a month and a half ago that was so spot-on that it made me nervous. I internalized it and because of that I’ve let that feedback turn from constructive criticism, a chance to inspire and motivate myself, into something that has been halting me.

This has happened before and I know that “feedback” is hanging over my head when it really shouldn’t. It was meant to empower and give myself a gut check, and I totally took it the wrong way.

The problem with criticism (constructive or not)

I’ve been guilty of violating Tara Sophia Mohr’s eighth rule for Brilliant Women as I have been open to the feedback and guidance others are graciously offering to me, but I have not been viewing their feedback through my own eyes and my own perspective about myself. It is good to be open to the advice and feedback of others as it’s a good gut-check to how I’m coming off in public, but never, ever, when it’s at the expense of myself.

For example, I have been struggling with an injury since last summer and in January I started taking control of my own body and going to see specialists, physical therapists, massage therapists, and an acupuncturist to try and diagnose what happened so I can recover. It’s working, slowly. But around the first few weeks of February I came to a stand still when my physical therapist declared that I am a “hyper flexible” person or have “hyperextension” in my joints. It’s not bad, it’s just how I am and probably attributed to the injury. But then my doc gave me a barrage of information about how I should be aware as a “hyper flexible” person when lifting weights that I don’t over extend myself since I have weak joints, etc.

I became the poster child for “hyper flexible” people. I actually met someone at a party and we bonded over our hyper-flexibility. Seriously, if I found a bumper sticker that said, “Hyper Flexible People Unite!” it would have gone on my car.

Flexibility isn’t always a good thing

Everything I did was through the lens of a “hyper flexible” person. I was an advocate with a new identity (and a ridiculous one at that). And then one day at the gym my coach sat me down and read the following quote from Epictetus, the Greek Stoic philosopher, to me:

Disease is an impediment to the body, but not to the will, unless the will itself chooses. Lameness is an impediment to the leg, but not the will. And add this reflection on the occasion of everything that happens; for you will find it an impediment to something else, but not to yourself.

Whether it’s a physical ailment or part of what drives you, you can let something define you or it can just be a part of who you are. You can let it rule your life or you can rule it.

The choice is yours.

Has something someone said ever rocked you to the core and changed how you thought about yourself? How did you crawl out of that and find “you” again?

Photo by: 416style

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

The Mighty Mazda after literally taking a "bite" out of an Oldsmobile (for the record, the insurance company ruled in favor of the Mazda)

The best car in the world is a 1989 Mazda 323 SE, 5-speed manual, with a 1.6 liter engine and it’s share of 100,000 miles. It was discovered in the suburbs, parked in a ditch, with a “for sale” sign awkwardly taped to the window. It had a sun-faded hood and plastic chrome hub caps that sparkled in the July sun. It had four doors and a trunk that was deep enough to sneak multiple teenagers into a drive-in movie. It was the perfect first car, purchased with hard-earned cash, split 50/50 with my sister.

Our first upgrade was the radio, or lack-of. We opted for a period-correct Mazda radio that was rescued from the dash of a dead 323 in a junk yard (may it rest in peace). The radio featured a tape deck, a rarity in the era of CDs and the birth of the iPod. The tape deck perpetuated the illusion of coolness that every high schooler strives for. That is, unless one surpasses that status by racing.

The Mighty Mazda, as it was christened, was fast. And by fast that is to say it sounded fast but was not. The stock exhaust did nothing but give the facade of speed. There was no tachometer. You had to shift according to the roar of the engine, which came in handy when focused on the finish and not the gauge.

In the car overflowing with teenage ego, I’d pull up to a red light, sneak a peak at the driver in the car next to me, wait for the green and floor-it. Believe it or not, the 105 horsepower would usually launch the 323 across the intersection and secure a victory. A victory, of course, that was made possible by the fact that the other car didn’t know he was a competitor.

I was 16 and ripe with ambition. The Mighty Mazda helped me escape heartache and discover strength. It fueled innocent shenanigans and the most random road trips. It kept me out of trouble and was the hub of my existence. The 323 had a personality of its own, one that only a new driver and her first car will ever know.

What was your first car?

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