Why I Keep Getting The Worst Advice
I recently signed up to receive business advice from a local group of volunteers, many of whom are retired from their own small companies or freelance work.
Aside from some possibly out-dated advice about marketing, I left with this feeling of unease in my belly.
My mentor suggested I eliminate anything from my website, my marketing, and my work that is not directly related to selling my copywriting services. Because that's what makes money; that's what prospective clients want to see.
And he is right. That's how a business makes money inside our current systems. Pick one thing, preferably the most lucrative, and “optimize” that thing until you can’t anymore.
And yet.
My work for other people, while I enjoy it immensely, is not the only thing I’d like to highlight - on my website or otherwise.
I recently signed up to receive business advice from a local group of volunteers, many of whom are retired from their own small companies or freelance work.
Aside from some possibly out-dated advice about marketing, I left with this feeling of unease in my belly.
My mentor suggested I eliminate anything from my website, my marketing, and my work that is not directly related to selling my copywriting services. Because that's what makes money; that's what prospective clients want to see.
And he is right. That's how a business makes money inside our current systems. Pick one thing, preferably the most lucrative, and “optimize” that thing until you can’t anymore.
And yet.
My work for other people, while I enjoy it immensely, is not the only thing I’d like to highlight - on my website or otherwise.
I also write essays to reframe conventional thinking.
I also practice and teach yoga and meditation.
I also talk endlessly about (good) books.
And I spend most of my days “deschooling” my kids (and myself).
I wouldn’t say I’m particularly complicated; but like everyone else I know, my work is complex and multi-faceted.
The thing is, though, I don't have anything to prove the real possibility that my multi-passionate method of advertising will work.
I have not experienced much in the way of financial success via my website, particularly since the start of the pandemic.
It’s just…
I don't want to squeeze my work into one money-making avenue. Even if that’s the one that will make the most money.
I don't want to eliminate everything else about me to advertise what I can do for other people - even though I love what I do for other people!
But underneath all these layers is the bigger (and better question):
Why do I keep seeking outside advice when I seem to know internally what I want and need?
There’s guilt: for not earning enough.
There’s fear: of missing my babies; of missing my Soul’s work.
There’s anger: about the guilt and the fear.
It reminds of this beautiful prayer within Paulo Coelho’s Brida. A witch named Wicca says,
“We feel guilty when we go out to work because we’re leaving our children in order to earn money to feed them. We feel guilty when we stay at home because it seems we’re not making the most of our freedom. We feel guilty about everything, because we have always been kept far from decision making and from power.”
Ah… there it is.
Within this system I have always been kept from my power. And that’s what I’m so desperate to change (that’s why I can’t seem to follow the rules without gut-wrenching dread that I’m sacrificing my Soul).
The catch here, though, is that now I know my power resides within my own body.
Yes, the system continues to work to my detriment. But I’m no longer kept from my power in the same way. It’s like I’ve been holding the key to the cage this whole time - but I’m also blindfolded, sometimes belittled (and I think someone keeps moving the locks).
deep inhale. deep exhale.
I can’t see the solution with complete clarity (yet); all I know is that I need to stop asking for outside advice.
Or maybe, I need to start asking myself for advice first.
xx, alycia buenger
Reframing the Demands of Motherhood
Instead of embracing LIFE, I make sure I don’t enjoy things “too much,” just in case I have to quickly prepare for losing everything and enveloping myself inside grief.
And god, it’s exhausting.
I understand (intellectually) that it’s not about “losing” so much as “cycling through” what naturally comes from LIFE: change, transition, then death. I understand (intellectually) that we cannot have life without these things.
I just didn’t realize how desperately afraid of death (and life) I’ve become.
And who would have thought that I’d travel 200 miles to realize all this? To realize, too, that I have everything I want and need within the life I’m already living.
In November, I traveled from Northwest Ohio to Grand Rapids, Michigan, to explore a potential next step for our family: a move out-of-state. Since the miscarriage (and really, even before that) I’ve felt deeply unsettled and desperate to move towns.
And this is what used to help: alone time away from “the usual.”
I especially wanted to get away from what-felt-like suffocating demands of working and care-taking. I hoped a weekend trip would literally change my life for the better!
But it didn’t “help” so much as enlighten the real problem: I’m desperately afraid of losing everything and everyone I love. I’m afraid of DEATH.
So instead of embracing LIFE, I make sure I don’t enjoy things “too much,” just in case I have to quickly prepare for losing everything and enveloping myself inside grief.
And god, it’s exhausting.
I understand (intellectually) that it’s not about “losing” so much as “cycling through” what naturally comes from LIFE: change, transition, then death. I understand (intellectually) that we cannot have life without these things.
I just didn’t realize how desperately afraid of death (and life) I’ve become.
And who would have thought that I’d travel 200 miles to realize all this? To realize, too, that I have everything I want and need within the life I’m already living.
Even if it ends someday, as eventually it will, I want to show up for all of it: good parts and hard parts (and particularly with the people I adore v. alone).
Here’s an writing excerpt from my trip -
“As I wake up alone this morning, I realize that this is maybe all I’ve been missing lately: a slow, sacred start to my day, sitting in bed to write (without being woken or waking anyone!), music playing in the background, time to think and meditate and practice yoga before the demands of the day roll in…
But otherwise, I’m truly grateful for those demands, and the people who make them.
I’m grateful for our closeness especially. Not only our physical closeless, the result of two years in quarantine. But also how deeply we know each other: our daily patterns of movement, changes in facial expression and tone of voice. Sometimes I know my people better than I know myself.
And dammit if it’s taken a trip (and 30 years) to realize that I’ve been running from the good parts of this life because I’m afraid of the bad parts.
I’m afraid of getting too close, of loving too deeply and being loved… because what kind of hell does that invite if I lose all that?
I thought I was “protecting” myself from being deeply hurt, later. Which sounds completely illogical! (It is.)
But fear is not privy to logic.
I love so deeply, so intensely that it’s hard to imagine how life can, and will, change. It’s hard to imagine loss - but also growth and forward movement. I’m holding on so tightly because I can’t bear the thought of losing the people I love and care for, the dreams I nurture, the community I treasure.
And somehow that translates into the feeling that I might explode if I don’t get time away, time alone - even though actually getting that turns out to be lonely and the complete opposite of what I desire.
I’m grateful for a getaway trip. But next time, I don’t want to go alone. That was deeply helpful during an earlier part of my life - but now all I want is as much time as possible WITHIN my family, my community.
Because, if it won’t last forever, I want to show up inside all of it (good parts and hard parts) as much as possible while I can.
And I need my people for that.”
with so much love, alycia buenger