HELLO!
It’s my birthday. Libras unite.
Today the sky is whitish-grey and I’m fighting the urge to get back into bed, eat potato chips, and watch Dirty Dancing. I didn’t see it coming but I’m freaking out a little by how long I’ve been alive. I am grateful to be here. But nonetheless:
If you’re in a reflective mood on your birthday and you’re in what some might describe as uncharted professional territory, you might find yourself thinking about your past decisions and the places they’ve taken you and how it all adds up to this moment. UGH. I’m a reflective person but the older I get the more I realize that it’s really only useful when you identify and extract the lessons, then apply and move on.
I miss what fall was like when it was reliably crisp. You feel me?
I have metrics on the brain.
Every day at some point, I go through and check how many people have looked at something I wrote or recorded, subscribed, downloaded, followed, unfollowed :(. On the one hand, it’s important because I’m building an audience for my independent work. On the other hand, I have to ask what the numbers really tell me about my worth (not to mention my ability to focus on my actual work).
I’d rather look for different metrics to measure my professional value. Getting paid tops the list, let’s be real. But also: did I take a risk? Did someone thank me for whatever it was I put out there today? Did I feel that real-but-hard-to-describe feeling of flow? Did I help someone - did I show care? Did I work hard and save enough bandwidth to give my kids my full attention at the end of the day? These are questions.
If you feel moved to give me a gift on my birthday, you could do one of three things:
Write me back and tell me what metrics feel good to you.
Forward this newsletter to a friend, colleague, or family member you think might enjoy it.
Channel Baby for a minute.
I appreciate you,
Leigh
This poem, written in 2006, caught my attention this morning. Thanks for sharing your attention with me today.
The Birthday of the World
by Marge Piercy
On the birthday of the world
I begin to contemplate
what I have done and left
undone, but this year
not so much rebuilding
of my perennially damaged
psyche, shoring up eroding
friendships, digging out
stumps of old resentments
that refuse to rot on their own.
No, this year I want to call
myself to task for what
I have done and not done
for peace. How much have
I dared in opposition?
How much have I put
on the line for freedom?
For mine and others?
As these freedoms are pared,
sliced and diced, where
have I spoken out? Who
have I tried to move? In
this holy season, I stand
self-convicted of sloth
in a time when lies choke
the mind and rhetoric
bends reason to slithering
choking pythons. Here
I stand before the gates
opening, the fire dazzling
my eyes, and as I approach
what judges me, I judge
myself. Give me weapons
of minute destruction. Let
my words turn into sparks.