You may have noticed…

…a curious silence from me over the past few weeks.  It’s because, as usual, I’ve managed to over-extend and over obligate myself, forgetting my limits and somehow being oh-so-sure that I’d magically be able to juggle responsibilities like a madwoman. (A madwoman who can juggle, I mean. Which I can’t do, no matter how mad of a woman I may be!)

So here’s a rundown on what you’ve missed lately (because I forgot to tell you)

The Right-Brain Business Plan: A Creative, Visual Map for Success by Jennifer Lee is now shipping from Amazon!And guess who is featured in it, along with a whole slew of other awesome right-brained entrepreneurs?

For the rest of this week?

You get to eavesdrop on my process as I try to kick-start my brain and my projects back into gear.  The new year is off to a rough start, and I need a bit of help finding that centered serene stuff that I ramble on about from time to time.

So yesterday, I made a few decisions about projects and priorities, and you, lucky readers, get to witness the results.  So here goes:

A few days ago…

I isolated myself from the world by not-quite-publicly declaring that I wouldn’t have a New Years Resolution, Theme, Word or Intent for 2011.  Now,  I’d like to rejoin the rest of you,  please, by retracting that non-declaration.  Because suddenly, I  have a theme.

That theme comes to you courtesy of Hugh MacLeod – yes, the remarkable business card cartoonist artist author dude at GapingVoid. Please go visit him and buy something, because for my theme of 2011, I’m co-opting the title of his book, “Ignore Everybody”.

But I’m changing the punctuation, so that I can pretend it’s original.

Watch:

Ignore. Everybody.

See? The punctuation and italics make it totally different from Hugh’s book, right?  Right?

(Did I mention Hugh is here in Texas? It’s amazing how many cool people are here in Texas, since we’re the brunt of so many insults.  I think it’s just jealousy of our backwards ways. And the guns. Hopefully Hugh won’t use those guns to track me down and exact his revenge, which is why I think you should go buy something and tell him I sent you. So he won’t shoot me or something.)

Anyway.

This afternoon, I found I’d been recruited for a bit of dictation…

Dear Santa,

Sorry we’re writing so late in December, but The Ring-Mistress has kept us very busy. She isn’t paying overtime, but we mostly like working for her, so it is mostly ok.

We have been Very Good this year, having grown from noting into something. We even earned a little money, though not as much as The Ring-Mistress spent. If you want to put her on the naughty list, we will understand.

But we have been good!!! The elephants and ponies send their love to Rudolf and the other reindeer, and would love it if they could all join us for an act in the off-season. The elves, of course, have already signed up as side-show attractions this summer.  It will be a big hit.

I’ve thought a lot about limits over the years.

Just lately, I’ve been focused on how limits apply to creative self-employment:  financial, psychological, physical, time and energy and focus limits. Limits to  push and test, limits best kept surrounded by a “no-fly zone”, limits that keep me from being overwhelmed, limits that, themselves, overwhelm me.

I’ve thought about it so much that there’s a map etched into my skull, revealing estimated locations of limits along with potential bypasses, all clearly marked out with a radioactive green sharpie

It’s pretty cool. Looks  a bit like one of those old-fashioned pirate maps, complete with X marks the spot and dire warnings about being eaten by giant squid.

And while I have yet to encounter any actual giant squid in my life, I have spent a lot of time with what folks these days call “Monsters” – personifications of personal defenses and coping mechanisms that I can talk to, bargain with, and sometimes bribe.

Limits and Monsters have a lot to do with each other.

Seriously. It’s like an awesomely cool little mini top hat with vintage veil and flowers. And now? I can personally, definitively say that hats from Chapeaux By Simone are exceptionally well put together. Sweet.

It’s tough to photograph because it’s all black, sits at creative angles and… well.. it’s on MY head, which complicates matters immensely. Most of the photos made me look like a drunk walrus – which, while I’m sure pleasing to a male walrus? Was not really a good look for me.

Yesterday?

Yeah.  I planned to edit and illustrate that centering exercise that I promised you. But first thing in the morning, I started playing on Twitter.

Yay, Twitter! Among other amusements, I had a quick and quipy exchange with the mahvelous @CharlieGilkey of Productive Flourishing.

(You know Charlie, right? Ok, good. Because he’s seriously helpful with productivity. And with flourishing.) First, Charlie sent a Tweet about his oldie-but-goodie 10/15 blog post (It’s good. Go read it. I’ll wait for you. Ok, back? Good).

Next, I whined about my lack of accountability habits, and it ended with him mentioning a habit-building aid he’s apparently been secretly creating.

I was still trying to figure out a witty reply to impress him with (yes, I’m a suckup like that) when the term “Habit Habitat” popped into my head.

Looking back at yesterday’s post, I realized it was more about me, than you.  It was a sort of important “about me” thing, but still – not where I’d intended to go.

So today? Yeah. It’s a redux, and all about you.

Ahem.

You have permission.

Permission to be weird, and permission  NOT to be weird.

The Pachyderm said so.

So. Here’s The Thing.

A few weeks ago, while noodling around in Havi’s comment section (sorry, I couldn’t find the exact post) I realized something crucial:

I don’t want permission to be weird;
I want permission to NEED to be weird.

It’s an important distinction.

I remember once…
when I was little?

My twin brother and I were given that dreaded task of Cleaning Our Room.  (I’m sure we were asked to do that more than once, but it’s this one particular time that I remember.)

I hated that task, Cleaning Our Room.  I wasn’t very good at it.

I’ve never liked doing things I wasn’t good at.

What I was good at? Playing. Following rules of a game.  Pretending.  Imagining.