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How many times have you said to yourself: I should have known when that happened it wasn’t going to work out! No matter what it is–a relationship that you were plugging away at, a deal you were trying to close or a conversation you were earnestly trying to have with a relative. You look back and probably say or think these types of things to yourself:  “How obvious!” “How could I have been so blind?” “I was so dumb not to turn and run right then!”  And so, you take a little bit more time to kick yourself around about it, saying things to yourself you’d never say to a friend. You feel the slow slide of misery  because you didn’t speak what you thought, what you knew, in the moment.

Here’s what I suggest you tell yourself if you’re in this place:

For whatever reason, I wasn’t equipped, skilled or in-strength at the time to recognize it, metabolize it and act in alignment with my integrity. Maybe I was listening too much to process or didn’t have enough information to make the best decision/stand up for myself/ question what I was given. Maybe I was off-kilter, who isn’t many times. I don’t know exactly how it happened. Though I recognize it now. Now I know what I knew–what I thought I knew, before. The gauzy known is now known again.

You recall the inklings of discovery or discomfort. though you either couldn’t do anything with it or you didn’t want to believe it. The mind wants to believe the best, even when it has only a bit to hang onto, when it wants to believe in a person, an idea, an ideal.

We look back and say ‘I knew that was going to happen.’ Or we think ‘I knew all along I shouldn’t trust this person.’ And truly, perhaps you did know. This is what we often call instinct, intuition or gut-feelings. But knowing isn’t substantial until it is put into place, in actuality. What we knew becomes what we know when it is experienced. This doesn’t mean our ideas and values are unreal. It means that they are revealed. What we knew is now known more deeply. You were moving into the known. And, knowing this, you can depend on trusting yourself, the knowing, the naw of questioning the next time it comes around. Remember, recall so the next time you can honor your instincts, your knowingness. You don’t have a crystal ball that shows the future. Your mind is keen when your recognize patterns. This is how we learn, how we know for the next time.

NOTE:  Dissolution, self-criticism, unwarranted disruption and uncertainty is intense. If you are experiencing this, step away from blaming yourself.  I wish you peace and self-empowerment.

In moments when we don’t know what to say, what to write, how to respond–it is as if we know nothing. The world becomes a blank page. We reach out and the page tears as we try to find words that are  simply too small for our naked eyes or perhaps written in lemon ink. We forget about our decades of life and experience, and, in that moment we know nothing but the blank. This blank, this nothingness-of-knowing scares us right down to the marrow of who we are (who we think we are, who we know we are). A thick, blank sheet–of paper or fabric–is thrown over our heads. And we gasp, we twitch, we even perhaps throw ourselves out, like a character we are writing about who needs attention. We throw ourselves out when we don’t know. Don’t know the answer. Don’t know the next plot point. Don’t know how we got ourselves into this mess of words and ideas. Why didn’t we stick to a job that was more solid, something that would never have us thinking about how we know nothing? Why didn’t we think more before we said ‘yes?’ The blank makes us wonder. Why did we trust the people we did when, somehow, we knew all along? We knew all along they’d leave us blank. We knew all along. Then we become that blank.

And there is the blank page before us. Holding our wonder and our grief. Holding our disenchantment and mix of confusion and sadness. We know nothing. We think we’ll scribble on the page and at least get something done. If we think about those scribbles too long they seem like scars.

This blank page. This space in front of us that makes us feel like we know nothing. This blank page, this blank space is not a mirror that erases the past ten years. It is not the effect of distraction or our longings that have leaked over time. It is nonsense and pure, plain sense all at once. We can recede into nothing, and still, the page is there for us when we remember–when our words, our voice is called out–scribbled or cursived.

We can know nothing for a while. We all know nothing for a while.

The idea of boutique-ing programs or projects can fly in the face of what seems like big success. We often think of success as being large, more people, more things–more. Boutique-ing isn’t so much about numbers as it is about creating something that is memorable to individuals–no matter how many (2 or 2000).

One key thing to remember when boutique-ing a program is get to know your participants as much as possible before your event, your week-long workshop, your program or happening. What are their needs, expectations and reasons for putting your event or program on their calendars? How can you find more about them without prying or being obnoxious? What questions can you ask–not simply to ask questions, but to help make a connection with the person and and the happening?

All this sounds simple, though it takes intention and willingness to get personal.

Be gentle, kind and real when asking questions of your potential participants. Encouraging interest  can make room for humor, creating a helpful bond between all participants and those behind or in front of the scenes.

Keep thinking this: How can we make this happening more memorable, easier, more boutique-ed?

Recently, I came across this post I wrote some time ago, musing on writing and and how it can can be intertwined with loneliness. As I re-read this piece, I thought about how in many ways there is a distinct type of loneliness that can surround our writing practices and often infuse our writing, particularly when we are working character struggles or lone characters. I made a few edits to the post, infused by a few new ideas.

Often we think of good story scenarios as being ones that have multiple characters and clear, obvious and perhaps predictable happenings. We long for happy endings even in the mire of worry and worrisome scenes.

Good stories can sometimes be lonely stories. What I mean by lonely is that the story can be focused mostly on a singular character. The cast of characters are not there, filling out a storyline or bringing more layers to the tale. Sometimes the story is a singular one. A story that is about one, single character–one single person’s reactions and responses to the world that they have stepped into or the world that feels is happening to them.

Often a singular story turns outs to be a poem. Or poem-like.

No one wants to be trapped inside one character’s mind for too long. It becomes too insular. And still there are singular stories. The stories of what happened when she crossed this milestone she set for herself but never told anyone about it. Or the story of when the world came crashing in when there was no one else around to hear or feel impact.

There will be lonely scenes when expressing these moments. Allow that loneliness. You may want to bring an outside character in to bring another insight or perspective for a moment, even if in memory. As in real life, we are so often left to figure it out for ourselves. This is lonely business.

There are still colors, light and rare shadows in loneliness, even when life is drab.

Any experience that is built to serve everyone and anyone really serves no one. I have been thinking, talking and acting on the idea of boutique-ing programs and services for a while now. It is about customizing to real people. It is about creating commitments between providers and consumers. It is about making what we do more real and deeper for all those involved. Stay tuned for more about Boutique Programs.