You’re moping along the dusty road when you come across me on a yellow sunchair, beaming merrily at the sun.

I jump up and grin delightedly at you. “Hi there, sweetie! Why do you look so glum?”

You say, I’m so pathetic. I don’t know if I should be an inner penguin coach any more.

“Oh, why?”

Well, I thought I was pretty damn good at my work. I’ve helped lots and lots of people find and connect with their inner penguin. But…

“But what?”

But I realised that I haven’t been able to get in touch with my OWN inner penguin for weeks. Maybe months! How on earth can I claim to be the inner penguin coach when I’ve lost touch with my own inner penguin?

“Are your clients still telling you that they’re getting good results?”

Yes, actually I’ve gotten my framework a bit clearer and they’re getting lots of benefit from it. But why can’t I do it for myself? I must be stupid or something!

“No, you’re just human.”

Huh?

“Think about it this way for a second. Inside your mind there are all the well-honed skills you use to help your clients find and cuddle their inner penguin, right?”

Right.

“And to do your work you assess your client, you make some observations, and then start using those tools to help them.”

Well, more or less, although…

“Close enough?”

Sure.

“So how do you do that first assessment stage?”

Well, I take a step back and examine the places in their outer lives where their inner penguin is missing. And then I use that to trace back into their spirit…

“Okay, cool. So explain how you could step outside of yourself – while still bringing all of your skills and tools – in order to complete the first examination.”

I… oh. That would be almost impossible.

“Yes. And that’s why you can do this for almost anyone, but not yourself. It’s an important idea: you can’t read the label from inside the jar.”

Does this happen to everyone?

“Yeah, pretty much. I have this conversation a lot.”

Does it happen to you?

“Oh hells yes. For example, I have my Kickass Naming Service… I can frictionlessly and delightfully name any offering and I usually get it done in less than an hour. Unless I’m trying to name one of my offerings, in which case it can take days. In the past, it’s taken weeks. And that’s just one simple task!”

So what do you do about it?

“I hire people. I buy coaching and resources. I get the help of other people to read the label on my jar.”

Is this why people always say to never trust a coach who doesn’t have a coach?

“Nice! It’s a big one, yes.”

Am I always going to need someone else to help me with myself?

“You might not need them all the time, but yeah. At least, for the work that you can’t get done from the inside.”

So I’m not a doofus after all!

“Nope, you’re not. Wanna go get an icecream?”

And so we do.

Want some help from someone outside the jar? Goddamn Radiant and I are standing by.

photo credit: ShironekoEuro

Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.
TS Eliot, Ash Wednesday

In order to powerfully serve our chosen audience, we have to get intimate.

We have to know their desires, their values, the fears that keep them awake at 3am.

We love them deeply. We think about them constantly. We speak their words.

In many cases we ARE them, or used to be.

We live in their skins.

But…

In order to powerfully serve our chosen audience, we have to get distant.

We have to be able to see the things they don’t, to know what they can’t know, to see them better than they see themselves.

We stand back and watch. We stand back and assess.

We distance ourselves from them.

We watch them through the microscope.

How do we reconcile this dichotomy?

In the comments, please share how you manage the duality of intimacy and distance. How do you stay close and yet stay apart?

What’s most difficult? What made it feel more natural?

I’m looking forward to hearing your thoughts…

Need to talk out your answers? You should sign up for Mo’Cash, Mo’Joy, the wonderfabulous newsletter, and use your free 30-minute Marketing Check-Up to figure out what works for you.

photo credit: Valerie Everett

I don’t give a tin shit about quality.

I care about it lasting long enough to become an heirloom.

I care about not having to buy a new pair in three months.

I care about looking good in front of the other baby shower attendees.

I care about saving money.

I care about not looking shabby.

I care about how it feels on my bare skin.

I care about avoiding my sister’s disapproval.

I care about what people like me would buy.

I care about it not breaking down at the worst moment.

I care about the impression I make.

I care about feeling like I make good buying decisions.

I care about how it smells.

I care about standing out.

I care about NOT standing out.

I care about it matching my other pieces.

I care about how it looks in direct sunlight.

I don’t give a flying fuck about clarity, either.

I care about the time I’m wasting.

I care about looking like a doofus.

I care about how my sleep is getting destroyed.

I care about not dicking around on Facebook for three hours.

I care about missed opportunities.

I care about playing a much bigger game.

I care about breaking old patterns.

I care about impressing my friends.

I care about pushing that frakking envelope.

I care about doing great work.

I care about being proud of myself.

I care about feeling confident.

I care about building momentum.

I care about dumping the motherfucker, already.

I care about being frustrated with myself.

I care about being frustrated with others, and not knowing why.

I care about snapping at my friend.

I care about breaking the logjam in my head.

I care about looking impressive.

Stop selling me on quality and clarity.

Or hand-made, limited-edition, professional, ground-breaking or unique. (Or ten thousand other shorthand terms.)

Tell me why those things matter. To me. Right now.

Don’t say, “It’s a high-quality print.” Tell me, “This will look as good at your newborn’s 21st birthday as it does now. And his retirement party.”

Don’t say, “Together we’ll uncover clarity about your relationship.” Tell me, “Stop teetering on the edge of getting fired because you’re so distracted by your boyfriend’s cheating.”

Of course, that’s what you’re trying to say. You’re the expert, to you it’s obvious why quality is better, what clarity can enable, or why the professional version is superior.

But to me, they aren’t the value. They’re the tool to get the thing I really want.

Respect that, and my wallet is yours.

If you need help uncovering the value of your amazing thing that you can’t explain better than “… it’s quality!”, then Goddamn Radiant and I are here to help.

photo credit: Furryscaly