Jeff Goins's Blog, page 73

Life Lessons from St. Francis: An Interview with Ian Cron

What in the world do you and I have to learn from a 13th-century Italian saint? Quite a lot, actually.

Although he lived an austere life hundreds of years ago, Francis of Assisi still has a profound impact on the world today.

Photo Credit: Slices of Light via Compfight cc

In a recent interview, Ian Cron and I discuss these things, his recently rereleased novel Chasing Francis, and why stories are powerful tools in changing lives — especially our own.

We talk about faith, storytelling, and what it takes to make your life to really matter.

I hope you enjoy it.

Listen to the interview

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About Ian

Ian Morgan Cron is an author, speaker, Episcopal priest, psychotherapist, and retreat guide. He is one of my favorite contemporary writers and was kind enough to endorse two of my books (Wrecked and The In-Between).

Ian is a thoughtful, contemplative soul with an affinity for art and beauty. In addition to authoring Chasing Francis, he has written a spiritual memoir called, Jesus, My Father, the CIA, and Me, which was chosen as a featured title in the Barnes & Noble “Discover Great New Writers” program.

He’s also one of the smartest guys I know.

When he’s not speaking at events or leading retreats, Ian divides his time between living in Tennessee and Vermont with his wife and three children.

If you’re not following him, you really should be.

Interview highlights

In this interview, Ian and I discuss:

How we lose faith as we grow up and what we must do to reclaim it
The story of Ian discovering St. Francis (and how it changed his life)
Why fiction is often better for telling the truth than nonfiction
How storytelling liberates the storyteller (as well as the audience)
Why total resolution rarely comes in most stories — and in most lives
And much more

After you listen to the interview, check out Chasing Francis and Chesterton’s St. Francis of Assisi (which inspired Ian’s book) on Amazon (affiliate links). Also, be sure to visit Ian on his blog.

What do you know about St. Francis? How does his example inspire you today? Share in the comments.

You just finished reading Life Lessons from St. Francis: An Interview with Ian Cron! Consider leaving a comment!

Are you ready to embrace the "in-between" and experience all life has to offer? Check out my new book.

Why I Write

The other day, I was feeling off-kilter and didn’t know why. My emotions were all out of whack, and my thoughts had become dangerously irrational. To process, I went for a walk and turned to the only activity that makes sense when all seems lost:

Writing.

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The sun began to set, and the darkness of twilight crept in, but I continued to write, oblivious of my surroundings. Scribbling and scratching until I could no longer see the notebook in front of me, I journaled for over an hour.

Which reminded of why I write at all.

I write to express. I feel like myself when I’m writing. I write not for the purpose of being published or the intention of being read, but for the thrill of putting pen to paper. I write for love of the craft, for the sake of writing itself.

I write to understand. I do not write because all the answers are in my possession. I write for the same reason Flannery O’Connor did — because I don’t know what I think until it is written. Because by writing, I am able to see things more clearly.

I write to remember. Writing lets me grasp life in ways that would otherwise escape me. It helps me connect with God and the universe and reminds that I’m still breathing and there’s a reason why.

So today, I am grateful for this gift of expression that helps me better understand my thoughts and remember that I am alive.

I write because I can’t imagine not doing so. Because in writing, I become a little bit more of myself.

Why do you write?

I asked some folks on Twitter the reasons they wrote, and here were some of my favorites:

@JeffGoins I write because I can't paint my imagination with anything but words.

— Narrative Designer (@StephenDinehart) December 12, 2013

@derekhalpern @JeffGoins I write because I love to communicate with people.

— Kathleen Thompson (@KThompsonSings) December 12, 2013

@JeffGoins I write because a message has to escape

— Michael Lukaszewski (@mlukaszewski) December 12, 2013

@JeffGoins I've tried to give up writing, it didn't work. #onceawriteralwaysawriter

— Tracy Line (@thewritertracy) December 12, 2013

@JeffGoins I write as a creative outlet. Much nicer to share your thoughts with others than keep them locked up in your brain.

— Margaret Bourne (@GosiaBourne) December 12, 2013

I’d love to invite you into the discussion…

Why do you write? Share in the comments.

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Are you ready to embrace the "in-between" and experience all life has to offer? Check out my new book.

The Beginning of Compassion: How to Be a Better Person

Several winters ago, my friend Paul and I collected some blankets to give away to a community of homeless people in downtown Nashville. When I invited another friend to join us, he scoffed.

“You’re just doing that because it makes you feel better,” he said.

I didn’t know what to say. The comment bugged me; but for some reason, I couldn’t quite shake it. Was it true?  The following day, I went downtown again to find out.

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While distributing blankets and clothes, I took a mental inventory of how I felt.

At first, pretty good. It was November, and people were appreciative of the blankets. When we got ready to leave, though, I glanced back to see a group of men and women huddled around a small fire.

My heart sank.

The group was full of people ranging from ages 20 to 50, all scantily clad and shivering. I didn’t feel better about myself. I felt terrible, wishing we could have done more than provide a few scraps to keep these people warm. What we had done was nowhere near enough. And that’s when it hit me.

This is the beginning of compassion: not feeling better, but feeling worse.

Because you can always do more; you can always give something extra, always meet another need. If your heart doesn’t break each time you go to places full of pain and hardship, then you’re probably doing something wrong.

The reality anyone who has done work like this will tell you is that when you expose yourself to the deep needs of the world, it feels anything but good. Compassion is messy work. It hurts.

No one ever says this. You never read it on a billboard or one of those red Salvation Army buckets outside the grocery story during Christmastime. But it’s true. Doing good sometimes feels bad.

Click here to pin this. Or you can tweet it.

There’s no other way to say it. If you want to get involved in helping other people because you think it will make you feel better, then you had better change career paths. Because the last thing you will feel is good.

The real road to meaning is dirty and full of jagged rocks, sprinkled with pieces of broken glass and cigarette butts. It’s long and difficult and not what you would expect. But it’s the only way.

Jesus called it the “narrow road.” John Bunyan depicted it as a violent struggle to enter paradise. Emily Dickinson wrote about in a poem:

Success is counted sweetest / By those who ne’er succeed / To comprehend nectar / Requires sorest need.

Sorest need — ouch.

If we want to live lives of purpose that will make an impact on those around us, we must be willing to grow in our compassion — to let go of fear and discomfort and embrace the hard stuff.

We who are rich with respect to the rest of the world must come to grips with our own poverty, our own self-centeredness and egotism. We must allow our hearts to be broken and our safety disrupted, so that we can make things whole again.

We must fall apart before we can build up. This is the only way to redeem whatever’s been lost — we must be willing to hurt with those who are hurting so that true healing can come.

Anything else is not compassion. It may raise money for charity or impress the neighbors, but it won’t satisfy.

Note: This was an excerpt from my book, Wrecked, which is on sale this week for only $1.99. You can pick up a digital copy at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or iTunes.

What do you think? What does it take to be a person of true compassion? Share in the comments.

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Are you ready to embrace the "in-between" and experience all life has to offer? Check out my new book.

The Surprising Key to Self-discovery

Editor’s note: This is a guest post from Joel Boggess, is a life coach, radio talk show host, and the author of Finding Your Voice . You can follow his shows and updates on Facebook.

Have you ever watched a truly creative chef work in the kitchen? A dash of this, a dollop of that, a pinch of something else… and the next thing you know, you’re biting into a delicious concoction for which no recipe exists.

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Occasionally, the cook misses the mark: a cake flops or the sweet and sour sauce turns out a little too sour. In general, though, experimental cooking works out just fine — and sometimes, the combination of flavors blows your mind.

The same approach also works for writing. Unfortunately, rather than experimenting and “taste testing” along the way, many people approach every decision as if life and death hang in the balance. One wrong choice — and BAM! — it’s over.

The pressure to make the right decision becomes so intense that we sometimes choose to do nothing rather than make a wrong decision. But what if you approached life differently?

Experimentation equals liberation

What if you assumed, as a rule, that most things work out in the end — and the things that don’t aren’t the catastrophes you imagine them to be?

What if you chose to see each situation for what it really is: a chance to learn, grow, and develop your voice?

By giving yourself permission to experiment and try on new writing styles — from a perspective, you free yourself from the fear of failure and expectation of measuring up.

It’s okay if your experiment doesn’t work out the way you planned or if it doesn’t follow a nice, neat, sequential order. Original ideas never do. Testing an idea’s merit alongside your own values and principles, and outside of any box, is far more valuable.

Circumstances bring opportunities

For my friend, Deby, she had no choice but to try new things.

Two years ago, Deby’s voice began to tremble. As doctors searched for the cause and a cure, her voice weakened until it one day it was completely gone.

She had been a singer and songwriter her whole life and was just beginning a speaking and coaching career. She needed her voice to survive, financially.

Through her pain and frustration, Deby heard a voice within that told her to paint. So she did.

This is play. This is a discovery.

Her art teacher Dorsey’s instruction to the class was to remain unattached from the work, to be ready to rip it up and use it in another way. This removed all the stress from the learning process — something Deby desperately needed.

At a time when she couldn’t speak, her art served as both a way to express herself and as a source of healing.

Over the next few months, Deby’s voice slowly returned, but hat she’s learned about artistic expression will add value to the lives of those who read, listen to, and experience her work.

Ditch the grading system

Are you willing to give yourself permission to “rip up” your work? Can you experiment without demanding perfection from yourself?

If no one were around to tell you not to, what other topics, events, and ideas would you write about? What would you sing, create, or build? What is your voice trying to tell you that you haven’t tuned into and started writing about?

Your best ideas will most likely come only after you learn to push your own creative envelope and embrace what life throws at you.

Remember:

Experimentation without expectation opens doors of creativity.
Blessings are often dressed up as challenges.
There is no report card attached to artistic expression.

How has experimentation helped you discover your own voice? Share in the comments.

Did this post resonate with you? Check out Joel’s new book, Finding your Voice (affiliate link), which will help you sort through the clutter and discover clarity, confidence and direction.

You just finished reading The Surprising Key to Self-discovery! Consider leaving a comment!

Are you ready to embrace the "in-between" and experience all life has to offer? Check out my new book.

The True Meaning of Home (and How I Learned It)

Home, for me, is not where I was born.

It’s not my grandparents’ house in Batavia or that duplex we lived in for the year I was home-schooled, and it’s certainly not the Chicago suburbs where my aunts and uncles raised their families.

It’s a little town called Waterman. And it’s where my memories of childhood, good and bad, still live.

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When winter comes every year in a much milder form here in Tennessee than in my native Illinois, I’m reminded of that place where I grew up, that place I most often think of when I think of home.

And I remember what it still has to teach me today.

The heist

One year, when the snow had just fallen — I was 11, maybe 12, and my family had just moved to a farming community of 1100 people — I learned a valuable lesson about what home really means.

That day, my parents had gotten into a fight, and to get back at my dad, my mom hid his Mickey Mantle baseball card. When I discovered this, I was outraged. Because the card wasn’t my just dad’s; it was mine. Ours. He just held onto it for me for safe keeping. But it belonged to the both of us.

Marching up to my mother, who was cooking in the kitchen, I demanded: “Give me back my card.”

“Stay out of this, Jeffery,” she scolded, using my full first name (which is never a good sign).

“No. That’s my card. I want it back.”

She rolled her eyes, continuing to stir something in the pot on the stove.

“Mom!” I said. “I want my card back. Give it to me!”

“Jeff, this is between your father and me. Stay out of it.”

Then she left the stove and began to walk out of the kitchen. I stood in her way, trying to block her, but she brushed past my preteen body, uninterested in negotiations.

This made me even angrier.

Seething, I did the only thing I could to regain control of the situation: I decided to steal my mom’s favorite pair of earrings.

She didn’t have much jewelry and often lost necklaces and other pieces, but for some reason she had hung on to these earrings. They weren’t expensive or fancy, but they were her favorite nonetheless.

Disappearing into her bedroom while she folded clothes in the living room, I rummaged through her jewelry box while watching the door, paranoid of being caught. Eyes on the entryway, I fished out a few unwanted sets until… there. I’d found them.

With the earrings in hand, I quietly closed the jewelry drawer and then the bedroom door behind me, then stepped out the back door into the cold, without a coat.

The crime

“Oh, Moooom!” I called in my best Macaulay Culkin voice, daring her to come see me do something horrible.

At first she didn’t hear, so I raised my voice and shouted again.

This time, she came to the back door and saw me standing in the snow. “What do you want?” She sounded annoyed.

Good, I thought. Let her be mad.

“Give me back my card,” I said.

“Stay out of this, Jeff. It’s between me and Dad.” She went to close the door.

“No! That’s my card; give it back. Or I’ll throw these.”

I pulled my arm back like a catapult threatening to launch. Standing in the snow with unlaced snow boots, I felt the cold creep up my legs while sweat dripped down my forehead.

“What?” She asked, squinting to see what was in my hands. And then she saw. Her eyes widened and seemed to darken a hue. “If you even dare…”

I accepted the challenge and released the catapult.

She didn’t react as expected: she just walked away. Standing in the snow, a smug look on my face, I had won.

A moment later, my mom reappeared at the back door, holding what looked like a baseball card in her hands. Without a word, she threw the plastic-coated portrait of Mickey Mantle in my direction and slammed the door, locking it behind her.

Running through the snow and almost losing my boots, I retrieved the card. As I picked it up, I sighed in relief, seeing it was undamaged by the snow. Finally, I had gotten what I wanted; my plan had worked.

So why did I feel so rotten?

The consequences

As the weight of what I’d done hit me, I ran back into the yard, trudging through six inches of snow, to find the earrings. After searching for nearly an hour, I never found them.

Resigned, I returned to the back porch, wondering how to get back inside. Surprised to see the door now unlocked, I entered and withdrew my boots, quietly brushing the ice off my pant legs.

Then I crept downstairs to my bedroom, hoping I could go to bed without having to face anyone, especially my mom. My plan was to slip out in the morning to search again for earrings.

A few hours later, my mom called for dinner.

Great, I thought. This is going to be bad.

To my shock, she didn’t say anything about the card or the earrings. Unsmiling, she served me my dinner — probably something like meatloaf — and didn’t say a word.

I could tell she was mad. Why wasn’t she saying anything?

We shared a warm meal together, the whole family, and few words were exchanged. I don’t recall my mom bringing up the matter to my dad or shaming me with what I’d done. We just ate, each person quietly keeping to himself. I even had seconds.

Later, I would apologize to Mom. I would do this many times, in fact, even pleading for forgiveness. And of course, she forgave me, saying it was okay. But I knew it wasn’t. How could it be? Those were her favorite earrings. And although I tried to make up for my crime with other gifts and forms of retribution, I couldn’t.

The damage was done. Forever.

For days after, I would return to the back yard to scan the area for the earrings, hoping the old pair would turn up, but they never did. Even after the snow melted and winter passed, I never found them.

The lesson

Those earrings taught me an obvious lesson about consequences and why we sometimes can’t undo the hurt we cause others. But years later, they taught me another lesson, a valuable lesson about home.

Home is where we sometimes hurt the ones we love, but the back door is always open and there’s always a seat at the table. It’s not a necessarily a location but certainly more than a feeling.

Home is the place that we are loved, even when that love is complicated and messy but still takes time to set a plate for you.

It’s where we take things for granted and sometimes do things we’re not proud of, where we cry and scream and shout — but always have a hot meal waiting for us.

Home. It’s the one place that never really goes away; it’s always there, wherever there may be. And it’s the perfect place to return to.

Note: This was an adapted excerpt from my latest book, The In-Between, which is on sale this week for $1.99. Get it at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, and elsewhere. Also, the full version of this story appeared in Under the Gum Tree, a creative literary magazine. To read the whole story (and others), get a free download of the magazine here.

What does home mean for you? Share in the comments.

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Are you ready to embrace the "in-between" and experience all life has to offer? Check out my new book.

The Problem with Plans: What I Learned from Getting Laid Off

Editor’s note: This is a guest post from Pat Flynn of Smart Passive Income. Pat is a popular podcaster, blogger, and author of the book Let Go . Today, Pat and I are doing a guest post swap and live event to share the messages of our books.

There’s a lot of different ways to say it:

out of a job
laid off
terminated
discharged
pink slipped

But my favorite is: Let go. 

Photo Credit: [auro] via Compfight cc

How I lost my dream job

In June 2008, I was let go from an architectural position I absolutely loved.

To make matters worse, this was two months after getting engaged. My fiancee and I had already started planning the wedding, and now this.

I had no idea what was coming, which only made the pain in my stomach even sharper.

The first few moments after receiving the bad news are still crystal clear: I stormed back to my desk, immediately started calling every single architecture firm in the area, and began begging for any jobs available.

I didn’t care that people in the cubicles around me could hear what I was saying. I wasn’t going to see them for much longer, anyway.

I remember being so desperate that I was willing to cut my salary in half and take any entry-level position I could. But there was nothing. The recession had taken its toll on the entire industry, and there was no way I was getting back in anytime soon.

Architecture was my life, and at that point, my life didn’t feel like it was going anywhere anymore. I felt like a failure. For days, all I did was sit around, completely depressed.

And therein lies the danger with having a plan.

Learning to let go

It’s good to have a plan.

Plans guide us. Plans give us something to shoot for. But the moment you feel like you’re a failure because things don’t go according to plan, that’s when you’ve really failed.

As Jason Fried says in Rework,

Writing a plan makes you feel in control of things you can’t actually control.

Plans are important to have, but they are dangerous to stick to. [Tweet]

There are certain things you cannot control that will affect your plans. And although those unplanned events are often scary, sometimes they are the most beautiful, interesting, and exciting things to happen.

If you’re worried about sticking to the plan, you’ll never give amazing things a chance to happen.

My failed attempt at a public speaking career

For example, if you ever plan on public speaking, don’t do what I did.

Before delivering a speech, I would script and memorize the whole thing. I did this partly because I was scared of forgetting something and partly because this is what I thought it meant to “be prepared.”

That’s 30-45 minutes of a presentation, completely written out on 25 pages, that I would memorize word for word. When I shared this with a speaking coach, he said,

Pat, not only is this a complete waste of your time, but when you script your entire speech, you don’t allow for those amazing, off-the-cuff conversational type stories to happen, which are more engaging with your audience. If you know the material, trust yourself to be able to support yourself and make your point. You shouldn’t have to script the whole thing.

Ever since following his advice, my presentations have gotten much better (and I’ve had way more time to work on my slides).

And the same holds true for any opportunity in life. Sticking too closely to the “plan” robs you of the chance to see those amazing, unexpected stories unfold.

Exchanging the old path for a new one

Back in 2008, after some much needed support from my fiancee and family, I decided to let go of the path I was on.

Even though I had invested a lot of time and energy into becoming an architect, it was time to move on. Time to step into a new opportunity, something even more amazing than what had been my dream job.

Realizing that losing my job was not within my control, I had to trust — and work harder than ever to succeed on this new path, the path I was now going to have to create.

It was an exhilarating feeling to make that decision, but it was also hard and scary. At the time, it felt like I was risking everything, giving up what I’d worked so hard for. But I’m glad I did it.

It turns out that losing my job was a blessing in disguise.

Another way to look at it

The traditional metaphor for careers is a ladder.

In order to get higher up, you have to climb the “corporate ladder.”  When you switch jobs, it’s like stepping onto a different ladder, often on the same rung, or maybe one or two rungs higher (if you’re lucky).

But when you’re going through a major job change, how you look at the situation can help determine what happens next.

If you compare losing your job, as I did, to getting thrown off the ladder, then there’s only one way to go — down.

Gravity will pull you downward until you either hit the ground and go splat or desperately grab hold of something to save you. This was me after getting laid off — falling down, arms flailing, grasping for salvation.

But what if, instead of being thrown off, we looked at unexpected change differently? What if was more like letting go?

Here’s the truth…

You are in control of how you react to the curve balls life throws at you.

You can choose where to place your foot before letting go or whether you grab onto something else at all. As you fall, you decide how to land and what to do next.

Sure, we don’t always get to choose when change happens, but we never lose complete control. Because we always have a choice: We get to choose who we are during those difficult times.

Sometimes, you just need to have a little bit of trust. The plan is there to guide you, but you are there to take whatever happens along the way and make the most of it.

The best and worst things that happen in life are usually what goes unplanned. There are miracles and misfortunes, big breaks and huge let downs.

We remember these moments in life like surprise scenes in a movie — we didn’t expect them, but we sure wouldn’t take them back.

How we react and live life after those moments, all of what happens in between, is what shapes who we become.

Note: Join Pat and me for a free Google+ Hangout  today at 3:00 pm Central. We’ll talk about our journeys towards self-employment, what we learned, and how to share your story with the world. We’ll also take questions from the audience. Click here to sign up for the hangout later today!

How has an unexpected change in your life turned out for the better? Share in the comments.

You just finished reading The Problem with Plans: What I Learned from Getting Laid Off! Consider leaving a comment!

Are you ready to embrace the "in-between" and experience all life has to offer? Check out my new book.

The Secret Path to Cool: What It Takes to Become the Most Popular Kid in School

It took me 20 years to learn this.

It’s the secret to “cool” — something I never quite grasped — to getting girls to like you and becoming the most popular kid in school. It’s also the key to a breakout career that turns fledgling writers into best-selling authors and mediocre musicians into world-famous artists.

What is it?

Photo Credit: anneh632 via Compfight cc

Stop trying so hard.

To be liked.
To be accepted.
To be known.

What Bono knows (that you don’t)

There’s something important that rock stars understand that the rest of us don’t. In order to get people to like you, you have to stop caring.

At least, a little.

Granted, not everyone who’s popular does this. Some obsess over status: how many Facebook friends they have, how many books they’ve sold, how many numbers they’ve got stored in their smartphone.

But the true leaders and world’s greatest artists set a new standard. They do their work effortlessly. They don’t even have to try — or so we think.

They’re just so, well, cool.

And this endears us to them even more. We love them for not caring, for not competing for our attention or trying to keep up with the status quo.

Of course, we all know that it probably takes lots of effort to make it look so easy, but it’s their attitude that makes us love them. Such ambivalence inspires the rest of us to be more daring.

It’s not really about not caring

Why do we find this attitude of indifference so inspiring? Because it’s uncommon to be fearless. It’s rare to risk rejection and be true to who you really are.

The secret to becoming cool, then, isn’t to care too little. It’s to care too much… about the right things. [Tweet that]

Instead of worrying what people will think, focus on making stuff the world needs. Write what needs to be written. Say what needs to be said. And make what needs to be made.

But please don’t apologize.

If you’re trying to be accepted, to be known, to do the kind of work that makes a difference, and nothing seems to work, try this: Stop caring so much.

Here’s what happens when you do this:

You become more comfortable in your own skin.
You do better work.
You get people, some people, to like you.

And most importantly, you realize this isn’t about people liking you at all. It’s about leaving a legacy, about taking risks and being brave and no longer questioning who you are and the work you were born to do.

So what do you say? What’s one thing you can stop caring so much about? Share in the comments.

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Are you ready to embrace the "in-between" and experience all life has to offer? Check out my new book.

A Life Worth Writing About

I didn’t write yesterday. In fact, I haven’t written anything for the last several days.

I’m not supposed to tell you that, but it’s the truth.

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I’m supposed to tell you I got up at five a.m., that I hustled to “do the work” before sunrise, and then perfectly managed my responsibilities as husband, father, and writer without difficulty for the rest of the day.

I’m supposed to tell you I don’t struggle with discipline; that hard work comes easy and perseverance is the key to success. And that’s all you’ll ever need.

But if I said that, I’d be lying.

What discipline can (and can’t) do

Can discipline be helpful? You bet. Without it, it’s difficult to succeed. But is discipline enough? Hardly.

A month ago, I received my dream book contract.

Last week, I had one of the best weeks of my year, financially.

But today, I’m back to square one, back to anxiety and desperation and second-guessing myself.

How did I get here? With discipline. Putting my nose to the grindstone, I worked harder than most, seeking opportunities where I could find them and stepping into them whenever they came. And because of this, I succeeded.

Without discipline, you’re not likely to break through the noise. You will have to hustle to get the attention you deserve.

But there’s one thing discipline can’t do: it can’t give you a reason why.

Losing your why

A friend of mine made over a million dollars this year. He got to this point in less than two years, racing past the competition and causing most of his peers’ jaws to drop. Everyone, myself included, was amazed.

But do you know what he told me recently?

“I still haven’t found my why.”

Few people have been as successful and even fewer in such a short amount of time, but my friend still doesn’t know why he does what he does.

Apparently, the work is never enough.

Your art can consume you, if you let it, but it can’t fulfill you. It can’t give you a reason for why you create in the first place.

So what, pray tell, sustains us as artists, if it’s not work, if it’s not the accolades and accomplishments?

Maybe it’s the life behind the work.

What writers write about

Some writers tell stories about other people; they base their characters on friends or live vicariously through the experiences of strangers.

Others write about their own lives.

But the best writers, I believe, write about something more, something larger — the experience of life itself.

Here’s how Joseph Campbell put it:

I don’t believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive.

Yes. This is why we read books and watch movies and search out transcendent experiences; it’s why we get lost in stories. We want to feel alive.

And this is the job of a writer: to set the stage for us to lose — and then find — ourselves.

So what does this mean for us as artists and entrepreneurs, those dreaming of creating things that will change the world?

How do we apply Campbell’s words to our novel, our startup, our new course?

We put ourselves right in the middle of life, so that we remember what it means to be alive.

The marching orders

We must do our best to capture the essence of life — and then share it.

We must strive to live, truly live, and when the busyness of life subsides, to steal away even for a few minutes and re-member those memories. To piece them all back together again so that others may benefit.

We tell our stories, as my friend Jon Acuff says, so that others can find see stories in our own.

Yes, we need you to live. But we also need you to write, to tell your story. 

This is where most artists fail: they lose themselves in the art or let life squelch out any opportunity to create. And because of this, we miss their contribution.

Here’s what we don’t need: more platitudes about discipline. We don’t need you to write another blog post about loving the hustle. And we don’t need you to be a jerk, pitting your family against your work.

We need you to lead by example, to live first and create second.

That’s why I canceled my appointments yesterday, loaded up the minivan, and took my family to the zoo.

And it’s why after spending all afternoon watching my son chase kangaroos and goats while screaming “Baaaaa!!!”, I raced back to the keyboard, the words almost spilling out on the page.

Living and writing — we need them both; one to inspire us to write, and the other to remind us why.

What does “a life worth writing about” look like to you? Share in the comments.

You just finished reading A Life Worth Writing About! Consider leaving a comment!

Are you ready to embrace the "in-between" and experience all life has to offer? Check out my new book.

An Unconventional Approach to Jumpstarting Your Productivity

Editor’s note: This is a guest post by Vincent Nguyen, a full-time college student and passionate blogger. When he’s not distracted, he’s writing practical life advice at Self Stairway. Follow him on Twitter, Facebook, and Google+.

Productivity is a lost art. Day after day, it’s a conversation with yourself that begins with, “I should get started on X, but…”

And then come the excuses.

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It’s too easy to get distracted. Why be productive when I could be surfing or shopping, doing anything but working?

Maybe what we need is a way to disrupt our distractions.

The temptations

I was on vacation in California for a month and a half when something terrible happened: I stopped writing.

Naturally, I’d become too comfortable and distracted. Everywhere I looked, there were a million reasons to not write. How could I resist the beautiful sun and relaxing beaches? The delicious food?

I began to go days without touching the keyboard.

Of course, I loved writing; it’s been part of my daily routine for years. I just didn’t want it to feel like a chore. I had to find a new way to kick myself into high gear.

So I decided to try something unconventional.

The alternative

I took an idea from Maneesh Sethi, an entrepreneur, author of four books, and world traveler.

He increased his productivity by hiring someone on Craigslist to slap him every time he went off-task. This experiment was covered by The Huffington Post, Mashable, MSN, and several more well-known websites.

It wasn’t just a publicity stunt.

Maneesh claims his productivity level was at 98% during the slap experiment (he tracked all of this,) a lot higher than his usual 35-40% on most days. He even said his quality of work improved.

The idea behind this was that the fear of being slapped would keep him on task and make his work environment more fun. Of course, it always helps to have a second pair of eyes going over your work, too.

I had to get in on this, so I enlisted the help of a friend.

The job

We headed to local coffee shop and sat down for two hours of work.

I paid him eight dollars per hour, so not only was it fear of being physically harmed that motivated me but I had to get my money’s worth. It also helped that I could bounce ideas off him when needed — he even gave great direction for an article I was working on.

The only rule was I wasn’t allowed to go on Facebook, Reddit, Feedly, or anything else not related to writing. I managed to stay slap-free with the bonus of completing several articles.

The fear of the slap worked.

The cost of this experiment came out at around $20, because I had bought myself a drink plus the $16 I paid my friend. That’s not bad, considering the work I got done was worth around $105, work I wouldn’t have finished had I not spent the $20.

The aftereffects

The best part is that even after the experiment ended, my productivity continued.

On vacation, I had a taste of what it felt like to be truly productive, and it hasn’t slowed down since. Even today, months after the experience, my productivity level has been consistent.

I’m back to writing every day.

The beauty of this kind of experiment is it can be very laid back if you’re casual about it. It sure beats working alone or being distracted by a friend who sits there without contributing anything.

If you feel like you’re losing the consistency of a daily habit, try using unconventional methods. You may end up being the most productive you’ve been in months and having a great time in the process.

What weird ways have you gotten back on track with your habits? Share in the comments.

You just finished reading An Unconventional Approach to Jumpstarting Your Productivity! Consider leaving a comment!

Are you ready to embrace the "in-between" and experience all life has to offer? Check out my new book.

One Way to Be Sure Your Dream Is Too Small

Dreams are personal. They come to us suddenly, as if from nowhere, and because of this, we keep them close — too close.

After a while, we begin to feel like the dream is ours.

And this is our first mistake.

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We forget where the dream came from, or that it came to us at all, and it begins to feel more like a good idea than a dream, a really good idea we came up with all on our own.

When your spouse asks you to come to bed or a colleague asks you how that book is coming and all you hear is “I hate your dream,” you’re in trouble.

How I started having an affair… with my dream

This happened to me while I was chasing my dream of becoming a writer while holding down a full-time job and trying to manage the rest of life’s responsibilities.

I got up early, stayed up late, and spent a lot of quality time with my dream.

I began to get attached.

After we had seem some successes and failures together, my dream and I got close. Too close. We were constant companions; nothing could separate us. And whenever anyone came between us, I would get defensive, even angry:

“What do you mean, ‘How’s my book going?’ I told you before: I’m not spending work time on it.”

“Why do you keep pestering me to come to bed? Can’t you see I’m working? Don’t you want me to succeed?”

It got ugly.

Or rather, I got ugly.

It wasn’t until I stumbled upon an important epiphany, quite by accident, that I realized a dream isn’t really about you.

You are a caretaker of a dream, but it belongs to us all. It’s a gift you give the world; your job is to simply bring it into existence.

When you know your dream is too small

Here’s the deal: If your dream doesn’t have room for other people, it’s too small. If it ends up being all about you, it’s not a dream at all; it’s a distraction. And we don’t need any more of those, thank you very much.

If there isn't room in your dream for other people, then it's not nearly big enough.

— Jeff Goins (@JeffGoins) November 14, 2013

What we need is more generous people doing work that matters, that makes the world a better place. And taking action with our dreams is how we begin that process, as long as we realize those dreams aren’t complete until they make room for other people.

When I started an online course to teach writers and bloggers, I thought the purpose was to help people and make a little money so my wife could stay home to raise our son.

But when one class of students helped raise enough money to build an entrepreneur center in Africa and provide electricity for an entire village for a year, I knew it was bigger than me, bigger than all of us.

I’m still learning this

When I meet people who tell me my eBook or talk I gave at a conference helped them own their identity as a writer, entrepreneur, or artist, I realize my words aren’t just for my own benefit.

Our dreams are gifts we need to share.

When someone tells me about a single line in a book or blog post I wrote that changed their life and what they’ve done about it, I’m amazed. This thing that I started, this dream that felt so close to me, hasn’t really been about me at all.

Sure, I needed to step up and share my message. But even those words, “my message,” feel a little disingenuous. If a dream is about other people, then the dreamer’s job isn’t to dream, but to lead. It’s to call people together and say, “Hey, let’s talk about this,” or, “Hey this is broken — let’s fix it.”

Give your dream away

I’ve learned that if you have a dream, the best thing you can do is learn to give it away.

To not make your biggest supporters your worst enemies, invite people to join you, and build a team that’s committed to the vision.

Maybe that’s easier said than done, but it’s still important to try. Otherwise — and I’m convinced of this — our dream will never have the impact it was meant to have.

Not if we keep it to ourselves and never share, not if we don’t realize it was never about us in the first place.

Speaking of dreams and community, we just celebrated our one-year anniversary at Tribe Writers. I asked some students to share lessons they learned from the experience here.

Is your dream too small? How do you know? Share in the comments.

You just finished reading One Way to Be Sure Your Dream Is Too Small! Consider leaving a comment!

Are you ready to embrace the "in-between" and experience all life has to offer? Check out my new book.