Amber L. Carter's Blog, page 38

It's here, it's real, and it's SPECTACULAR.

Ladies and gentlemen.

I give you the official launch of my 2nd/3rd book, "all the things you never knew/certain things you ought to know", a 2-books-in-1, beautifully designed (thanks, Karah!) collection of my favorite and most meaningful writing. 

A full (and fully-adventurous!) year has gone into producing this book, but it's actually the culmination of almost a decade's worth of work.

And I am so, so excited to share it with you.

You can grab a (signed) copy of your very own right here.

Also: Congratulations to Megan Fordice, who won a brand-spankin'-new iPod Shuffle during the pre-sale! (Your iPod Shuffle will be arriving along with your book, lady!)

The 'Busy' Trap - NYTimes.com

The 'Busy' Trap - NYTimes.com

Every once in a while, someone will post this now viral NYT article on Facebook, praising its brilliance. And then more and more people will re-post it, and then quote it on Twitter, and then make sweet graphic design images from those quotes for Pinterest.

And each time, it will feel like someone is poking me in the arm. "See? See? You're glorifying the busy. You're choosing to be so busy. This is all stuff that you CHOSE for yourself." 

And I get it. I really do. We all know that person who just looooooves to talk about how busy they are. "Oh, I'm SOOO busy. I'm just CRAZY busy! I can't, I'm WAAAAY too busy!" And we'll hear them go on and on and we'll nod smugly to ourselves and then repost the above article on our Facebook wall as a passive-aggressive response to their Busy Brag.

Let's hashtag that for future reference: #busybrag

And I love this article - the writer is funny and relatable and spot-on - but today I re-read it and I thought, "But what if you HAVE to be busy*? What if you've started a bunch of projects and you know that you've locked yourself into the busy trap but if you drop one of those things, it means you don't make rent next month? What if...what if...being busy is a necessity? At least for now?"

Because for writers and entrepreneurs, sometimes we gotta be busy and stay busy. We gotta be productive, we gotta be swamped with stuff, because the reality of our lives is that the smartest thing to do is balance five plates at once so that if one falls, you've still got four other ones in the air...and if you work hard enough and are savvy enough, one of those plates will grow into a big ol' serving platter, and then you can stop juggling so much.

Also, who are the writers out there who get to write for four or five hours a day and then they're done? Because I would like to meet them, so that I can then steal their identities and have their lives.

To be both clear and fair: I'm not complaining about my life. I am totally and fully aware that I chose to do every single goddamn thing on my To-Do List (mostly. Sometimes it comes down to the fact that I chose to have clients who then put things on my To-Do List, whether I want them there or not). I also chose a lifestyle where I'm totally and completely dependent on myself when it comes to making a living.

Which means that sometimes? I am really fucking busy. 

Not "Hey guys, I'm sooo busy, I wish you could understand how high-paced and glamorous and in-demand I am!" busy. The "holy fucking shit, am I even going to get to sleep tonight?" busy.

No glory included.

But you know why? Because I know, deep down, that if I can keep up...if I can keep working hard...if I can keep my schedule filled with projects and clients who keep me busy...then sooner rather than later I'll get to a position in my life where I can smugly post about how we chose all the things on our plates and that we need to stop the glorification of busy.

And that will be awesome. And then I will also make sure to post a lot about how leisurely and glamorous and easy my life is now that I'm not busy anymore. 

*I know that some defend that there's a difference between busy and productive, but I doubt that the majority of people out there who say they're "busy" are just standing around, shuffling stacks of papers over and over. So. For the interest of this post, "busy" and "productive" mean the same thing. 

Old Pine

So into this song today. Perfect for spring (someday it will actually be here! Can't wait) and an afternoon of working on/writing something new.

You know it.

I will not be watching the season premiere of Game of Thrones tonight because much like how former addicts don't keep crack in the house, I don't subscribe to cable.

But to keep in the spirit of things, I made this.

This is fly.

On Tuesday I had about an hour-long phone conversation with a Director of Development at a production company in L.A. I won't name names because everything's still in....guess? development...but even in my small L.A./Hollywood education through an ex-boyfriend and my friends who live out there, even I had heard of this production company before. Think of your favorite epic, gritty, no-drama-constructed-for-your-entertainment cable reality shows, and chances are they're the ones who have developed and produced them.

She had initially approached us after running across my client on the internet. A podcast, a video trailer, some articles and blog posts, and we were talking on the phone about what, exactly, is this crazy world of catching musky on the fly, and how the Handsome Rugged Outdoorsman fits into all of it.

It was a really cool conversation: I told her the now-hilarious story of how, when the Handsome Rugged Outdoorsman and I first got to know each other, how I told him that he should have a show...because if a 33-year-old woman with no inherent interest in fishing would watch it, that's pretty much reality TV gold. And then that statement is pretty much what propelled me to start working for him this fall...because if I - the classic indoor kid - was excited about what he was doing in the fly fishing world, then it would be cake to get others excited about it, too. And that, while working with and for him is never boring and it definitely comes with its own set of challenges, few things are more fun than throwing something about him out into the internet and watching 50+ people grab onto it within the span of 5 minutes.

So we chatted for about an hour, and it sounds really, really promising. Again, I'm not even trying to #humblebrag about it or make like it's no big deal, because honesty? This is fucking amazing! I know a lot of people who have talked to production companies about doing a reality TV show of their lives...I know that it's a long and complicated process to go from idea to actual reality (TV)...and I know that 99% of those people ended up not having a show after all...but right now? I'm just excited about the process and the possibility.

And yes, I already have a plan in place to hire my little brother as my personal assistant if this turns out the way I think it will. Because dreams really can come true, and making him run out and get me my Starbucks every day? My dream. MY DREEEEEAAAAAM.

Dapper First Day

So as I talked about in this post, about two weeks ago we had our very first (super awesome) photo shoot for The Dapper Dozen: Sawyer County Edition.

Meg, one-half of the stellar photography team of this little project, put together a beautiful video of that day. Check it!

Dapper First Day from Meg Jung on Vimeo.

Miracle Week.

It has been quite the past week in the Amber Colored Universe.

(Yeah. I'm calling it that now.)

To recap:

Two weeks ago, I fractured my tailbone. Super painful. What I didn't tell you guys was that the day before I did it - Friday - I had just completed my first full workout at CrossCut CrossFit and had signed up for my first month. So breaking my tailbone the next day and essentially being out of commission for the next two weeks? Just the cherry on top of the Suck Sundae.

THEN, last Sunday and Monday, I was having some issues with my laptop. I kept getting a message that the space on my hard disc C was running low...so I removed some programs, deleted some files, etc. Still kept getting the message. I tried to defragment, but ironically, the space on my hard disc was too low to run the defragmentation (I don't know how that works, I just know that that's stupid). So, being incredibly bright, I decided to compress some files to make some more space. My laptop stopped responding, so I tried to restart it. When it turned back on, it went immediately to a blank screen with the message "BOOTMGR compressed. Ctrl + alt + delete to restart". Which I did, only to see the same message, because my laptop couldn't boot up again.

So on Tuesday I took it into Complete Computer Solutions. They said they would take a look at it for free and tell me if it was able to be fixed or not, so I brought it into them. And waited. And waited.

It was interesting to me, how I had put off writing the past couple weeks, and then my laptop goes on the fritz and suddenly all I can think about are all the things I want to write and how I wish I had my laptop so I could write again for hours.

Message received, universe.

But this was the part where I'm grateful for the perspective that a regular meditation practice has helped me build - I knew I had a choice between getting super stressed and frustrated about it, or looking at it as a sort of forced vacation and focus on finding ways to relax and enjoy it. So I caught up on movies, went out to my parent's house on the lake and hung out with my mom for a few days, did a little spring cleaning, amped up my meditation practice, etc.

On Wednesday I hit "send" on what has thus far been the biggest book order of my career. I was blown away by the response to the presale... and to finally be able to check the production of this book off my daily To-Do List - after a year of it consuming my life - felt really, really great.

On Friday morning, I was feeling spry enough to try another workout at CrossFit. One of my trainers made a comment about me finally showing up again, and I laughingly told them the story about fracturing my tailbone the day after I had completed my first full workout there and how one of the worst things about the injury was having to miss out on two weeks of my first month there. To my delight and surprise, they later told me that since I had had to miss two weeks of my first month and they would be gone during April (a trainer would still be there, but most of April will be reviewing skills instead of learning new ones, which is what I would have been doing the past two weeks that I missed) my next month would be free.

THEN, a few hours later, I got a call that my laptop was ready. I rushed over to the place to pick it up. Melissa, the receptionist, handed it to me. "You're all set," she said.
"How much do I owe you guys?" I asked.
"Nothing," she replied.
"Wait...are you serious?" I asked.
"Yeah. Craig said not to charge you for it. Can't argue with that, can you?"
 Uh, no. No I can't. (But I can be super grateful and post a glowing recommendation on Facebook, which I did).

Then, as I was getting back into my car, I received an new email from my client: one of the more reputable and respected production companies in L.A. is interested in developing a show around him. Which I am not even going to pretend isn't a big freaking deal - it's the thing that we've been working toward since the moment I started working with him, and it happened in all the right ways. I'm actually jumping on the phone today to share more of an "outside" perspective on my client, and I can't wait. What a total adventure, right?

So yeah. It was a big week. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by how things work out in the end...especially in the past 9 months. I don't think anyone could say that this has been an easy stretch...but it's kind of been a miracle year, in the way that things have sorted themselves out. Just when I think I'm on the brink of disaster, something clicks into place and makes that moment a miraculous thing. About a month ago, after an initially stressful situation turned out to be a huge blessing, I told myself that I would never doubt again that the universe has my back. This week - or, more specifically, Friday - definitely illustrated that again.

And I haven't even gotten into this past weekend yet. 

From a to b.

It is obvious that the two offenders saw the victim as some one that could be treated as a thing. This is not about sex, it is about power and control. I guess that is what I am getting at. Sex was probably not the hardest thing for the two to get, so that wasn’t the objective. When you hear the jokes being made during the crime, it is the purest contempt.So, how do you fix that? I’m just shooting rubber bands at the night sky but here are a few ideas: Put women’s studies in high school the curriculum from war heroes to politicians, writers, speakers, activists, revolutionaries and let young people understand that women have been kicking ass in high threat conditions for ages and they are worthy of respect.Total sex ed in school. Learn how it all works. Learn what the definition of statutory rape is and that it is rape, that date rape is rape, that rape is rape.In the spirit of equal time, sites like Huffington Post should have sections for male anatomy hanging out instead of just the idiotic celebrity “side boob” and “nip slip” camera ops. I have no idea what that would be like to have a camera in my face at every turn, looking for “the” shot. I know what some of you are saying. “Then why do they wear clothes like that unless they want those photos taken?” I don’t know what to tell ya. Perhaps just don’t take the fuckin picture? Evolve? I don’t know.Education, truth, respect, equality—these are the things that can get you from a to b very efficiently. - Henry Rollins Comments on Steubenville Rape VerdictThere is a lot I could say about Steubenville.A lot. But what I want to say right now, and what I think is most interesting about the above, is the remark made about Huffington Post. I couldn't help but remember when all those photos of Jon Hamm were circulating the internet - remember those? The ones where he's just walking around with his lady and yet you can see the full outline of his (rather sizable) penis inside his pants? - and then, just days later, there was a wide conversation about how we shouldn't invade Jon's privacy with photos like that and shame on us for objectifying him like that. Which is true. We shouldn't invade his privacy or objectify him like that. And while I don't believe in tit-for-tat (pun intended), Rollins is right - when do we stop making a leaked nude photo of a girl a normal Monday? And why is it less invasive, less revolting, when it happens to be a photo of a celebrity? Why is there no rash of counter articles or lectures on Salon.com about violating her privacy or objectify her when a starlet's nipples are all over TMZ? Our arguments that they ask for that attention by doing what they do is just as hollow as us saying a girl asks to be raped by what she's wearing. The bottom line is this: We treat women - whether they are 16-year-old girls or 26-year-old actresses - as objects, as things who have no right to privacy regarding own bodies simply because they have those bodies.I read the above by Rollins, thought about the Jon Hamm photos, and then, literally five minutes later, was staring at a photo that Perez Hilton posted to Facebook of a leaked nude photo of an actress. I won't link to it - just like I won't link to the picture of Jon Hamm - because tonight, all of that changed for me. I remember I showing friends that picture of Jon Hamm because I thought it was hilarious. I've looked at other photos that Perez has posted, out of that weird voyeuristic/body envy/omg-is-that-really-her basic human curiosity. But I'm not doing it anymore. I know that, at first, making the case for not looking at nip slip photos of celebrities seems like a small and trivial step for closing the gap on attitudes on rape. But tonight I looked at that photo that Perez posted and I couldn't help thinking about that sixteen year old girl. Of how many of her classmates and peers and total strangers looked at photos of her because they could...because they've learned that if a nude photo is posted to social media, it's okay to look at it. To stare at it. To forget that there's a person inside that body who has feelings and a heart and a life. And the thing is...we are all those kids from Steubenville. We could have all been those kids. We could have thought it was funny, or could have been excited by the shock of it, or could have decided that she was a drunken slut and deserved to have those photos taken of her...so we're not doing anything wrong when we stare at them and make jokes about them and then forward them to our friends. Every single person who looked at those photos of her and then shared them are complicit in what happened. They are liable for the violation of another human being. And so are we. Every time we act like a leaked nude pic of a "gotcha!" nip slip is entertainment, we're sending the message that women's bodies are to be regarded as entertainment. That we have the right to look and joke and intrude on a woman's privacy - and her dignity - because we can. Because we're in a position to. Because she asked for it by wearing that, or by being a celebrity, or by getting too drunk on vodka shots. And we don't have that right. Just like those boys and their friends didn't have that right.So starting now, effective immediately, I'm not looking anymore. I'm not looking, I'm not sharing, and if I come across a publication that invites me to, I'm going to be the loud voice in the crowd that tells them that that's not cool. Let's do the thing that we wish someone would have done that awful night in Steubenville...tell them to stop, to knock it off - to stop violating others, particularly women. That when websites and magazines buy private and revealing photos of a woman's body that were taken or sold without her consent and then publish them, that's when we stop reading those websites and magazines. I know it seems like a small step. But it's a small step in personal change...and we gotta change this, you guys. We have to change the way we think about rape, and more pointedly, women. We. Not "society", not "culture"...the change is not going to come from us finally reaching that far-off abstract crowd of enemies who all share the same exact wrong idea. This is us. This is we. We are a part of this, and so we're responsible for changing it. We gotta change the way our culture looks at women, but more than that, we gotta change the way we look at women. We. Us. You. Me.

(all the things you never knew) excerpt from "As We Lay Dying"

Want a great pre-sale price (and a chance to win an iPod Shuffle, to boot)? Pre-order your copy here.
Later that night, a huddle of friends and I gather around an old piano in the lodge where we are staying. We suck down beers as we sing and laugh and dance our way into the early hours of the morning, and I can't imagine this being better, with him here, I tell myself. Because you might not like this and I might feel like I have to entertain you and keep you company instead of really joining in. Halve my experience to make yours fuller. Drag you along, like a parent with a crabby kid after a long day at the fair. See, look! This is so fun! Isn't this FUN?!   I am still thinking about this when a song by the Avett Brothers is taken up. “No, nothing in this world could ever hold me back from you...” It hits me wrong, and I tuck myself into the deep corner of the couch and listen quietly as the mixed voices and lilting harmonies float up to the high ceiling beams of the lodge. This song just makes me miss him, I tell myself, attempting to wave away any threatening sadness with a dismissive swipe of my mental hand. But then it occurs to me that it isn't the right kind of missing: not the kind that comes with wistful sighs and sweet longings and the slight swooning over what will happen when we are together again. This kind felt permanent, final. A dying. This is the song you sing when you're just starting to grow your love for one another, I found myself thinking. Committing to living your lives with each other. And this song used to be for us, but maybe it isn't anymore. And maybe we could get that back, but how? Because you don't actually miss me, and if I am brave enough to face the truth about why this song could make me cry, it's because I know without even having to think about it that there are plenty of things that could hold me back from you.   And suddenly I remember another late summer night with friends, another Avett Brothers song. Of driving a friend home after her boyfriend had taken off without a word from the bar we had all been at, leaving Erica and I to take care of her, even though neither Erica or I knew quite how to do that. So we got her into Erica's car, and I sat in the backseat and Erica drove while our friend sat doubled over in the passenger seat, her pain-filled sobs layered over the song coming out of Erica's car stereo: 'Black, Blue.' And as Erica and I listened to her cry, to her asking why he didn't love her, how he could just leave her, why would he do this to her, tears began streaming down both our faces...because we knew there was nothing we could say, nothing we could do to make it better. Especially since both of us knew – but knew better than to say out loud – that this same thing had happened to all of us before, and it could happen again without any of us wanting it to. No matter how much love you give to someone, they could still abandon you. Could still want to. Leave you weeping along to the soundtrack of a sad song, wondering why they don't miss you. Won't.
 

Take a Walk.

Back when I lived in Minneapolis and Erica lived in Minneapolis, we used to take walks around Lake of the Isles as often as we could. The tradition started when we first met and I was living in what was and still a gorgeous old house in the Kenwood neighborhood, literally just down the street from the lake. Having lived in South and then North Minneapolis for most of my Minneapolis existence thus far, I reveled in my new proximity to the lakes - walks (or runs) became an almost daily thing, and soon I was organizing most of my friend hangouts around coffee and leisurely strolls around the lake. Nobody else loved it as much as I did like Erica, though.
I look at that circular sidewalk now as a sort of scrapbook...each step around it accounts for what we thought were tiny footnotes at the time, but later would recognize as huge chapters in our lives. I talked about this at Erica's wedding: how I could remember each walk that would plot out the growth of her relationship to Chris - from just a boy named C that she had started talking to over email, to the hilarious after-the-fact confession that they had met up on her most recent trip to South America, to the honest anxiety of the walk we had just before she met his parents for the first time, to the "So I think I'm might be moving to L.A." walk that simultaneously broke my heart for me and filled it with bright joy for her.
It was like exhaling, those walks. Whether stuff got stupidly weird or elatedly exciting or when it was one of those "I don't even KNOW how to feel right now" states, grabbing a coffee and going for a walk around the lake with Erica was the perfect way to just...feel better. Even when I went to L.A. right after I broke up with (my ex-boyfriend, not her husband) Chris, we took walks around the Silver Lake reservoir, near her house, and with each step, all of the things I had been keeping tucked so tightly inside that broken heart of mine could finally spill out into words and thoughts and feelings.
So we miss them, those walks.
And this week, I really needed them back.
It's been a perfect storm of stuff. Sometimes I feel like I'm making new friends here and this life can be really fun, and then the next day I'll feel like maybe no one here really knows or likes me - you know that thing where you go to summer camp and no one laughs at your jokes the way your friends do and they don't invite you to go to the canteen with them during free time and you just want to yell, "Everyone at HOME thinks I'm cool so it must be that YOU GUYS just aren't cool so I'll just go to the canteen BY MYSELF!" Yeah. It feels kind of like that.
Spending the first part of the week immobile and unproductive did more to overwhelm than relax me. I have so much going on right now - and I know the whole "stop glorifying the busy" thing and that it's all my choice to have so much stuff on my plate and in a few weeks things will get easier and I'll be so glad I had to much on my plate but right now I am overloaded with work and tasks and even though I know it's all stuff I said yes to right now I want to say no to all of itand just go hide under the covers, okay?! - and not being able to do everything I want to when I want to do it is sofrustrating. And I'm at that point where I want more than anything to be able to move and work out and do things because I am sotired of this body. I feel trapped in it. And I'll talk more about that later, but I just don't feel like...me. I feel ugly and fat and weird and sad and like it's always going to feel this way.
On Thursday I got home from my photoshoot and got a text from Erica about The Bachelor. We started texting back and forth about how our weeks had been: we were both having kind of a mopey, moody week, and she made a joke about astral planes being out of whack, and before I knew it, we were in a text convo until 10 p.m. The next morning, I woke up feeling better - I always do, in the mornings (I'm kind of that classic "Throw back the covers and SEIZE THE DAY!" morning type, which I'm glad for). I had a really great morning working on Girl from the Northwoods with Meg, which flowed into a suuuuper productive work day. And then, right around 6, I was scrolling through Facebook and saw a photo that a male acquaintance from up here had posted of his girlfriend...complete with a new engagement ring on her finger. I thought about how, two years ago when we first met, we both saw each other's profiles on OkCupid and it was kind of weird and awkward (because I don't think either of us necessarily saw each other in *that* way) but also like, "Oh hey, we both realize we have to do this sort of thing while living up here, so good luck to you, my friend!" And now he's engaged, I thought to myself, as I stared at the picture.
And then, before I knew it, I was sobbing. Like, sobbing - harder than I have in months. What is wrong with you, weirdo?! I asked myself, as I walked down the long hallway to the bathroom to grab some tissues. It was so stupid and so seemingly small, but there it was. And it felt like resetting a bone that wasn't healing right.
Here are the things that are hardest for me to admit: I really wanted to marry Chris. I really wanted for us to get married and have kids together. And in the beginning, and when we became serious, he told me that he wanted those things, too. And then when things started to get hard, he changed his mind and told me that he didn't think he ever wanted to get married again or have more kids. Which, when I'm feeling strong and good, I can believe and simply chalk it up to a really crappy bait-and-switch. When I'm feeling dark and moody, though, I always think of that scene from When Harry Met Sally and that inalienable truth that every woman knows - that when most men say that they don't want to get married, they just mean that they don't want to get married to you.
So I sat back down and just let myself admit that it's hard to see someone else reach that point in their life, because I feel like I got soclose to it and I really thought I was done and now I feel like I'm just so far from it again. And, again, when I'm feeling good and strong and on the right track, I can be the kind of girl who can say - and believe - that it's good that none of the men I've loved have wanted to marry me because it leaves me free for the one who does. But when I'm feeling sad and lonely and like I have so far to go before I can get to where I want to be, I feel like I'm running out of time, and I get scared that those things are really never going to happen for me. And I hate talking about this stuff, because it's not that I've ever just wanted to get married and have kids for the sake of getting married and having kids. I want to get married to the right person and have kidswith the right person. But for the first time in my life, I find myself watching commercials that have babies in them and I feel that small little niggling worry about time and ovaries and clocks ticking. And then I struggle with my body and I wonder if I'm ever going to get mine - the one I'm used to, the one I like - back - and if I don't, will I just stay trapped in this one forever which will probably mean that I'll be alone forever because if I don't find myself attractive right now, who the hell else is going to, you know?
So I cried some more and then I calmed down a bit and then I picked up my phone and texted Erica. "I think I'm finally at that stage where other people's engagements make me sad...which is THE WORST, because I want to be happy and all "yay LOVE" but instead I'm just weepy and stupid about it."
She texted back immediately about how she was just thinking about envy and how she can totally relate on how it's the worst when you're in the kind of place where that's your automatic reaction instead of genuine joy for your friends, and boom - for the second day in the row, I was having one of the longest, most cathartic, comforting, amazing text conversations I've ever had. It was like taking a walk around the lake with her all over again...only over text, and from more than half a continent away.Which was comforting all on it's own, that we could have that with those things, instead of not being able to because of them.
It feels like the older I get, the more inverted I become with some things while simultaneously becoming extroverted with others. It occurred to me, while writing this post, that I've become much more private about this kind of stuff than I used to be. Erica and I had a conversation a few months ago where she gently pointed out that she noticed it's really hard for me to admit when things aren't going well or aren't exactly how I would like them to be, and she's right. I do have this thing where I want everyone to think that I've got it together, everything's covered, things are great! Because I don't want to be that girl who looks like a trainwreck, or has to have people worry over her, or talks about her problems. But I've also noticed that the more private I become about the stuff I'm struggling with, the more trapped I feel by it. Locked in. Suffocated, in a way. Dishonest, even. And when I do finally give myself permission to share the hard stuff with others, that's when things - I - start to feel powerful again. Brave. Better.
Like exhaling.