It appears that I have fallen in love with the mandolin. This was no overnight love affair, however. It kind of sneaked up on me.

As a longtime fan of the music of Antonio Vivaldi, I had heard my share of mandolins and associated the instrument with music from the past.

That all began to change when I attended a performance of Prairie Home Companion and heard the amazing Peter Ostroushko play. Nevertheless, I wasn’t ready  to commit.

Then it happened. A  few years later on the weekly broadcast of PHC, Ostroushko performed the most glorious piece, something he’d written to celebrate a friend’s wedding. I didn’t remember the name of it, but when I saw he had a new CD, I decided to take a chance.

Sure enough, The A and A Waltz was included. It’s been the soundtrack in my car ever since.

I’ve been thinking about this slow love affair quite a bit. I suspect that when many of us hear about passion, we have a vision of being gob-smacked by something that grabs us by the shoulders and won’t put us down. Love at first sight, perhaps.

I don’t think it works that way. In fact, other than the births of my daughter and my grandchildren, I can’t recall any other times when passion was present from the first moment.

More often, it creeps up, like the mandolin, but it doesn’t come at all unless we expose ourselves to new experiences and possibilities.

Passion isn’t passive; we have to get involved.

One way of doing that, of course, is to pay attention to the passions of others. People we love dearly and admire genuinely may very well have passions that leave us cold.

On the other hand, passionate people may get our attention simply because of their contagious enthusiasm.

Opening ourselves to things that delight others may deliver lovely surprises we hadn’t anticipated. At the very least, we’ll benefit from the power of enthusiasm that raises our own positive attitude simply by being present.

At the same time, we need to notice when a passion has passed its sell-by date. It’s extremely easy to spend time doing things out of habit because we failed to notice that passion has fled.

Sometimes when you partake in a longtime activity and find it no longer amuses or informs or entertains, you’ll begin to feel a bit of disappointment, as if you’d been jilted.

Remember that some passions simply have a longer run than others. Just as closets need to be weeded from time to time, so do the activities that are worth our time and attention.

Whether that passion is for music, art, cars, food, gardens, social justice or any one of a thousand other things, ultimately passion invites us to become more, to do more, to be more. Eventually those enthusiasms infiltrate other areas of our lives.

“You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestation of your own blessings,” Elizabeth Gilbert reminds us. Passion is a pointer to where those blessing can be found.

When the mandolin plays or the antique doll at the flea market catches your eye, pay closer attention and see where it leads. Give it time and see if it grows into something spectacular.

And if that doesn’t happen, keep looking. Just don’t insist on love at first sight.

It appears that I have fallen in love with the mandolin. This was no overnight love affair, however. It kind of sneaked up on me.

As a longtime fan of the music of Antonio Vivaldi, I had heard my share of mandolins and associated the instrument with music from the past.

That all began to change when I attended a performance of Prairie Home Companion and heard the amazing Peter Ostroushko play. Nevertheless, I wasn’t ready to commit.

Then it happened. Several weeks ago, while listening to the weekly broadcast of PHC, Ostroushko performed the most glorious piece, something he’d written to celebrate a friend’s wedding. I didn’t remember the name of it, but when I saw he had a new CD, I decided to take a chance.

Sure enough, The A and A Waltz was included. It’s been the soundtrack in my car ever since.

I’ve been thinking about this slow love affair quite a bit because I suspect when folks hear about passion, they have a vision of being gob-smacked by something that grabs them by the shoulders and won’t put them down. Love at first sight, perhaps.

I don’t think it works that way. In fact, other than the births of my daughter and my grandchildren, I can’t recall any other times when passion was present from the first moment.

More often, it creeps up, like the mandolin, but it doesn’t come at all unless we expose ourselves to new experiences and possibilities. Passion isn’t passive; we have to get involved.

One way of doing that, of course, is to pay attention to the passions of others. People we love dearly and admire genuinely may very well have passions that leave us cold.

On the other hand, passionate people may get our attention simply because of their contagious enthusiasm. I’m not particularly interested in cars, but listening to Car Talk is a frequent pleasure on my weekends at home.

Opening ourselves to things that delight others may deliver lovely surprises we hadn’t anticipated. At the very least, we’ll benefit from the power of enthusiasm that raises our own positive attitude.

At the same time, we need to notice when a passion has passed its sell-by date. It’s extremely easy to spend time doing things out of habit because we failed to notice that passion has fled.

Sometimes when you partake in a long-time activity and find it no longer amuses or informs or entertains, you’ll begin to feel a bit of disappointment, as if you’d been jilted.

Some passions simply have a longer run than others. Just as closets need to be weeded from time to time, so do the activities that are worth our time and attention.

Thinking about collectors and collecting has had me contemplating the role of passion in a slightly different way. How do collectors decide what to gather? What’s the difference between those who build thoughtful and valuable collections and those who are simply packrats?

As I was musing about all this, I stumbled upon a delightful book called Merry Hall by Beverley Nichols, a British journalist and fanatic gardener.

The book  begins with a bit of a confession: “Some fall in love with women; some fall in love with art; some fall in love with death. I fall in love with gardens, which is much the same as falling in love with all three at once.”

Nichols goes on to tell his story of finding a wreck of a place in rural England that required years of diligent labor to transform it into the garden of his dreams. Thus began a perpetual hunt for interesting specimens to add to his collection.

It’s obvious that his passion for plants continued to increase even as the challenges involved expanded as well.

But, of course, passion is like that. It often has us doing things we never imagined we could do—or would do.

Whether that passion is for music, art, cars, food, gardens, social justice or any one of a thousand other things, ultimately passion invites us to become more, to do more, to be more. Eventually those enthusiasms infiltrate other areas of our lives.

“You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestation of your own blessings,” Elizabeth Gilbert reminds us.

Passion is a pointer to where those blessing can be found.

When the mandolin plays or the antique doll at the flea market catches your eye, pay closer attention and see where it leads. Give it time and see if it grows into something spectacular.

And if that doesn’t happen, keep looking. Just don’t insist on love at first sight.

It appears that I have fallen in love with the mandolin. This was no overnight love affair, however. It kind of sneaked up on me.

As a longtime fan of the music of Antonio Vivaldi, I had heard my share of mandolins and associated the instrument with music from the past.

That all began to change when I attended  a performance of Prairie Home Companion and heard the amazing Peter Ostroushko play. Nevertheless, I wasn’t ready to commit.

Then it happened. Last year, while listening to the weekly broadcast of PHC, Ostroushko performed the most glorious piece, something he’d written to celebrate a friend’s wedding. I promptly ordered his latest CD and The A and A Waltz has been a regular feature on the soundtrack in my car ever since.

I’ve been thinking about this slow love affair quite a bit because I suspect when folks hear about passion, they have a vision of being gob-smacked by something that grabs them by the shoulders and won’t put them down. Love at first sight, perhaps.

I don’t think it works that way. In fact, other than the births of my daughter and my grandchildren, I can’t recall any other times when passion was present from the first moment.

More often, it creeps up, like the mandolin, but it doesn’t come at all unless we expose ourselves to new experiences and possibilities. Passion isn’t passive, after all; we have to get involved.

One way of doing that, of course, is to pay attention to the passions of others. People we love dearly and admire genuinely may very well have passions that leave us cold. On the other hand, passionate people may get our attention simply because of their contagious enthusiasm.

I’m not particularly interested in cars, but listening to Car Talk is a frequent pleasure on my weekends at home. I’m also not much of a foodie, but John Curtas, a Las Vegas restaurant reviewer, is a delight to listen to on Nevada Public Radio and often has me making notes about places I really must visit.

Opening ourselves to things that delight others may deliver lovely surprises we hadn’t anticipated. At the very least, we’ll benefit from the power of enthusiasm  that raises our own positive attitude simply by being present.

At the same time, we need to notice when a passion has passed its sell-by date. It’s extremely easy to spend time doing things out of habit because we failed to notice that passion has fled.

Sometimes when you partake in a longtime activity and find it no longer amuses or informs or entertains, you’ll begin to feel a bit of disappointment, as if you’d been jilted.

Some passions simply have a longer run than others. Just as closets need to be weeded from time to time, so do the activities that are worth our time and attention.

Thinking about collectors and collecting has had me contemplating the role of passion in a slightly different way. How do collectors decide what to gather? What’s the difference between those who build thoughtful and valuable collections and those who are simply packrats?

As I was musing about all this, I stumbled upon a delightful book called Merry Hall by Beverley Nichols, a British journalist and fanatic gardener.

The book begins with a bit of a confession: “Some fall in love with women; some fall in love with art; some fall in love with death. I fall in love with gardens, which is much the same as falling in love with all three at once.”

Nichols goes on to tell his story of finding a wreck of a place in rural England that required years of diligent labor to transform it into the garden of his dreams. Thus began a perpetual hunt for interesting specimens to add to his collection. It’s obvious that his passion for plants continued to increase even as the challenges involved expanded as well.

But, of course, passion is like that. It often has us doing things we never imagined we could do—or would do.

Whether that passion is for music, art, cars, food, gardens, social justice or any one of a thousand other things, ultimately passion invites us to become more, to do more, to be more. Eventually those enthusiasms infiltrate other areas of our lives.

“You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestation of your own blessings,” Elizabeth Gilbert reminds us. Passion is a pointer to where those blessing can be found.

When the mandolin plays or the antique doll at the flea market catches your eye, pay closer attention and see where it leads. Give it time and see if it grows into something spectacular.

And if that doesn’t happen, keep looking. Just don’t insist on love at first sight.

Fans of Prairie Home Companion know that they’ll be catching up with the wandering Dusty and Lefty on the weekly skit called Lives of the Cowboys. Since Dusty is a rough-and-tumble cowboy and Lefty is his sensitive sidekick, the somewhat unlikely pals are often at odds about how to handle tricky situations they encounter out on the trail.

Dusty and Lefty aren’t the only ones who need pals, of course. Even the most independent self-bossers discover that an entrepreneurial friend or two can be a valuable asset—in more ways than one.

When I started my first business, I made some attempts at connecting with other businessowners. I attended a workshop sponsored by SCORE, checked out my local Chamber of Commerce. Neither felt like a fit for me and I gave up my search for entrepreneurial buddies.

What a mistake that was. In my determination to be independent, I made things far more difficult for myself than necessary.

I can pinpoint the moment when my business went from frustrating to flourishing. That moment occurred when Chris Utterback and I became friends.

Chris and I  became sounding boards, idea-generators and co-conspirators as our friendship grew. Even though we both left Colorado shortly after we me, we were diligent about connecting frequently.

Quite simply, we need to have entrepreneurial friends if we’re putting ourselves in the Innovative Minority. Finding kindred spirits is an on-g0ing part of the Joyfully Jobless Journey.

When the homebased business movement began to grow, numerous attempts to create both local and national organizations began to pop up, but most of them disappeared rather quickly.

It appeared that folks who’d left corporate life were not interested in hooking up with another large organization. This new breed of entrepreneur was not about to conduct business as usual.

However, the need to connect with other self-employed people didn’t disappear, it did, however, seem to take a different form as entrepreneurs built friendships that were fewer, but richer.

Author Jess Lair once wrote, “All of us need four or five people who’s faces light up when we walk in the room.” That sounds like a description of the new Joyfully Jobless mini-tribes.

New entrepreneurs are often stumped about how to connect with other creative self-bossers since years spent in the job force has kept them away from those who are self-employed. Then there’s the uncertainty, the fear that a successful entrepreneur won’t want to be bothered hanging out with a newcomer.

When I hear such concerns, I point out that our entrepreneurial circle needs to include people at all stages of growth.

What matters most is that our relationships, include what Stewart Emery calls “a balance of contribution.” That’s a slightly more elegant description of what is commonly referred to as a win-win.

Building those relationships, reaching out, connecting, takes time, of course, but most importantly, it takes a willingness. Remind yourself that your life will be richer for these new friends.

Or remind yourself of this observation from C.S. Lewis: “Good things as well as bad are caught by a kind of infection. If you want to get warm you must stand by the fire; if you want to get wet you must get into the water.

“If you want joy, peace, eternal life, you must get close to, or even into, the thing that has them. They are a great fountain of energy and beauty. If you are close to it, the spray will wet you; if you are not, you will remain dry.”

If you need some suggestions for hunting down the self-employed, check out my article, A Field Guide to Genus Entrepreneurus. It’s a helpful list of the natural habitats of these elusive creatures.

 

 

Should I ever wake up some morning and think, “I guess it’s time to get a job,” I know exactly how I’ll abort that thought. I’ll just get in my car and head for the nearest freeway. A few minutes spent in rush hour traffic would certainly bring me back to my senses. It’s not just the slowness of heavy traffic that annoys me: the behavior of my fellow drivers is one of the few things guaranteed to make me lose my cool. No thoughts of universal oneness and love of humanity surface when I’m spending time in traffic.

Shortly after being inspired by Marianne Williamson’s Everyday Grace, I decided to try a new approach. When a fellow driver would threaten my life, I’d send them a silent blessing and then say a short prayer that went something like, “Dear Lord, please send that person better driving skills.”

I figured there was a hidden opportunity here to start shaping up all the folks who didn’t bother using their turn signals or who were distracted by a fascinating phone conversation. It calmed me a little as I recalled the Biblical admonition to pray without ceasing and realized that bad drivers were propelling me to a constant state of prayer. I had no idea that another weapon awaited me.

A few years ago, an adult ed center where I taught on occasion, had an open house. I decided to sit in on the Laughter Workshop taught by Kim McIntyre Cannold. After all, I love to laugh and I thought it would be fun. I didn’t expect to learn something so amazing, something that has proved invaluable already—especially in traffic.

Cannold, who is certified by the Association for Applied and Therapeutic Humor, opened her workshop by talking about the different kinds of laughter and had us all try out various types from tittering to belly laughing. Then she boldly suggested that we could schedule a laugh fest every day and simply laugh our heads off for no reason other than it would improve our emotional and physical well-being.

That was news to me. Laughing for the sake of laughing? While laughing as a healing agent has long been known, I’d never heard it suggested that we could just laugh without any outside stimulus.

Then she went even farther and asked us to list things that bugged us. Bad drivers headed the group list. She proposed that when we found ourselves in those normally upsetting situations that we abandon our usual angry reaction and laugh instead. This seemed a bit over the top to me, but I decided to give it a whirl.

The next time a driver cut me off, I decided to laugh, although it seemed a bit hypocritical. To my astonishment, it felt great. It felt much better than fuming to myself, which didn’t change the situation. Laughing didn’t change the other driver’s behavior, either, (and I figured my prayers might take a little longer to be answered), but it sure changed me. It was obvious hat the one who laughs gets the reward.

If you’d like to expand the amount of laughter in your life, here are some ideas that can help.

° Memorize this quote. Ernest Hemingway said, “The seeds of what we will do are in all of us, but it always seemed to me that in those who can laugh in life the seeds are covered with better soil and a higher grade of manure.”

° Meet my friend Karyn Ruth. The most hilarious trip I ever took was the London adventure I shared with Karyn Ruth White. We both recall it as a week of nonstop laughter. If she’s not available to accompany you on a trip, order her Laughing in the Face of Stress or (my favorite) Kiss My Botox CDs or her book, Your Seventh Sense: How to Think Like a Comedian. She’s a seriously funny woman.

° Meet Annette Goodheart. The first laughter therapist I ever heard of was Dr. Goodheart whose adult ed classes in her hometown of Santa Barbara had long waiting lists. Dr. Goodheart calls laughter ‘Portable Therapy’ and points out that its benefits include: strengthens your immune system, helps you think more clearly, replenishes creativity, releases emotional pain, it’s free. She’s got a great Web site with several surprising features. 

° Read something funny. There aren’t a lot of authors that make me laugh out loud, but one who does is Bill Bryson. His travel books are especially hilarious. I’m  fond of Neither Here Nor There, although any of his books is bound to produce a giggle or guffaw. You don’t have to be a Minnesotan to find the Pretty Good Joke Book from Prairie Home Companion pretty darn funny.

Laughter is certainly important for the entrepreneurial life. Look for the funny side and you’ll discover there’s no shortage of goofiness to help you meet your daily quota of laughs. Be bold and test it for yourself. It’s medicine that doesn’t require a prescription.

********

As anyone knows who has attended one of my special events, there’s always a lot of laughter going on. I’m confident that Follow Through Camp will be no exception. While we are working to get ideas and dreams on track and moving ahead, we’ll find plenty to laugh about. There’s still time to join us, but you need to hurry or you’ll miss out. That would not be funny.

“The seeds of what we will do are in all of us,” observed Ernest Hemingway, “but it always seemed to me that in those who can laugh in life the seeds are covered with better soil and a higher grade of manure.” Since I believe that you can’t have too much laughter, I was delighted to learn that it’s time for Prairie Home Companion’s annual joke show.

In most parts of the country, PHC runs on Saturday evening and, sometimes, again on late Sunday morning. One of my favorite audiobooks on a solitary road trip is PHC’s Pretty Good Jokes, a compilation of past shows. Some of them are corny, some clever, a few are risqué. It’s all good fun. 

Although I’ve never been to the Q Kindness Cafe in St. Paul, MN, I have followed the story of how Lisa Cotter Metwaly and her husband turned this struggling enterprise around by making kindness their operating policy. When Lisa sent out  this story to her fans, I knew I wanted to pass it along. It’s a brilliant example of making the ordinary into something extraordinary.

After I helped my archaeologist sister plan her sabbatical, I became wildly envious. Why do only academics get time away? Why had we abandoned the ancient notion of taking regular sabbaticals throughout our lifetimes? I couldn’t find any books for people like me: nonacademic, self-employed, in need of time away. Then I began meeting people who had taken sabbaticals. Every last one of them said, “It was the best thing I ever did.” I was sold, but not sure how to handle the logistics. 

You can read the rest of my thoughts on Time Away With a  Purpose by visiting Inspiration Station.

To paraphrase a quote from Lady Holland, “Ideas, like babies, grow larger with nursing.” Alice Barry and I are launching a movement to rescue and nurture neglected ideas. We figure such an undertaking begins by sharing what we know about nurturing ideas. We’ve set aside two days in May and we’re heading to Dodge City, KS to the ultimate ideafest. We’re calling it Follow Through Camp and it’s designed to stimulate and encourage creative thinking and problem solving. Love to have you along. It is going to be serious fun.

I’ve never met JoEllen Berryman, but after getting this message from her, I’d love to meet her. Her story is a study in flexibility and taking responsibility for staying inspired.

I am a freelance photo stylist.  I do the setups they shoot for ads and catalog, beds, drapes, curtains.  You have seen my work with Martha Stewart and Bed Bath and Beyond.  This last year has been my hardest.  Budget cuts and rate cuts and lost gigs. I am now looking for other means of income.  This has led me to look into all kinds of things.  Dog walking….which is really fun and babysitting which I love as well.  Not afraid to do things that are new so now 

I am  studying Internet marketing….that has been scary and challenging.  I actually was looking for a way to get traffic to my web site that shows my work to people in the industry.  Now I see that the ideas are endless.

I really dig what you are doing.  I joined a Gospel choir at Middle Collegiate Church here in NYC.  I hadn’t sung in over 30 years.  I moved here as a song and dance actress and got sidetracked.  Singing with this choir has saved me from going into despair and fear.  It is impossible to stay down when you are singing.  The choir is open….everyone is welcome.  You are right on the money when you encourage people to try things they normally wouldn’t do.  It feeds every aspect of my life.  When I see the joy in the faces of the crowds we sing for, it is so rewarding.  It is the ultimate high.  It has also given me oppor tunities I never would have dreamed possible.  We sang back up for Debby Harry of  Blondie.  When I was dancing to her music in the clubs I never dreamed I would be on stage with her at the ripe old age of 58.  Life truly is an amazing adventure if you leave yourself open.

I also do volunteer work.  Nothing gets you off the pity pot faster than helping someone else. Went to New Orleans to help gut homes and went back the following year to help paint etc.  Those experiences were priceless.  Better than any luxury vacation I have been on.

I just wanted to cheer you on.  What you are sharing with the world are such important lessons.  Everyone is so caught up in doom and gloom and your stuff made me smile.  Let us remember that 96% of the USA still have jobs and 98% are paying their mortgages on time.  We are looking at the wrong end of the statistics.  Hope needs to be projected as people frozen in fear is a bigger problem than the lost jobs.  Fear stops you from moving forward.  We all need to keep moving and take ACTION.  Baby steps will do just fine.

If you are ever in New York look me up.  It would be a joy to meet such a positive spirit. The Collegiate Churches could sure use a seminar by you.  

Joyous, happy and free,

JoEllen Berryman