Branding. It’s not just for cows, apparently.

May 11, 2012

It’s been a busy time lately, although that basic sentiment seems to come out of my mouth so often I wonder why I think it’s news to anyone, especially me.

Marge’s celebration was last weekend. It was a full week of prep, family, food, tears, joy and laughter . . . about 150 people gathered starting at 4 pm on Saturday; when we left the house at 11:30 there were still about 40 people hanging around. Good thing we’d planned on that happening!

Before I left Charlottesville on the train on Tuesday, May 1, I found out I had been selected for a “bootcamp” for Beachbody coaches. This 30 day program is run by one of the top coaches out there, Christine Dywer; over 250 people applied for the 50 spots she opened up. Not sure why I made the cut, but I did. I’ve been doing my daily homework, making my contacts and trying to get over my Twitter fear. Maybe if I tweet often enough, I’ll figure out exactly what the point is. For now, I’m just doing it. I prefer Facebook, with space for comments and likes and a “dialogue”.

I’m stuck, though, on one of our first assignments. We were asked to create our email signature, to have it reflect our brand. I have a signature, filled with more links and alphabet soup than you can imagine. Doesn’t that count?

Brand? I’m not Nike, or Kitchen Aid. I’m not Tasty Food, or Fit2Sail. I’m just me, with all my quirks and strange bisecting interests. (seriously, a fitness person who also cooks for people? Great business model. Fatten them up and then sell them the stuff to take it all off. Hah. And where does the writing come in, or the family, or the sailing, or or or . . .)

But maybe, just maybe – that’s the point. My name is Nica Waters. I stand for food, fitness, family, and fun. (anyone who can come up with a “f” for writing, let me know.) I’m  good at listening, and better at cheering you on.

That won’t fit on an iron brand. But I think it might just be me after all.

How the hell am I supposed to come up with THAT email signature?

Don’t fail before you start!

April 27, 2012

It’s a Saturday morning. Birds are chirping outside the sliding glass door; my eye is caught by the lone orange poppy-looking (can it be a poppy?) flower against the fresh-cut green green grass. Julian has just clumped downstairs and, still half-asleep, is starting to watch Mythbusters on Netflix. When I went to bed last night, it was to the sound of his laughter and Jeremy’s voice as they watched and discussed one or another of those shows.

My last post (so so long ago) was bout how COVERED my life felt. Not much has changed on that front, with one major exception. Just over a month ago, on St. Patrick’s Day, Marge passed away in her sleep. My beloved grandmother, age 92, whose grey-and-green-and blue-and-white Orvis fleecy top I am wrapped in right now, is no longer available at the dial of a phone or the end of a long drive north. I’d written a piece for her before she died, one in which I showed her how much she means to me. People asked me what I wanted to do with it, where I wanted to see it published. “I want her to read it,” I said. And lucky for me, she did. Now my dilemma is the next step – where do I want to see it published? Because that’s what she said to me after she had read it – “Where is this going?” My next tribute to her is to get it out there.

Therein lies my problem, and perhaps it is a larger one than just this. Getting it sent out is almost paralyzing. I’m not sure it needs more work – I’m actually fairly happy with where it is in terms of the writing. Picking where to send it is a little more daunting, since there are literally hundreds of places I could send it. I might have settled on a place (deadline is May 1, so I better get my rear in gear) – aiming HIGH, as a friend pointed out. Somehow, though, the act of printing it out and getting it into the envelope feels impossible.

I could get all philosophical about this. Am I afraid of rejection (duh)? Am I afraid that rejection of this piece might be a rejection of my relationship with Marge? (hmm) Am I afraid that rejection of this piece will be a rejection of Marge herself? (getting mad just thinking about it). And why, seriously, am I so sure that it will be rejected? Kind of self-defeating, isn’t it? 

If I had been so sure I would fail at any exercise program before I started, I wouldn’t be where I am now – down 25 lbs, in great shape, in need of a new wardrobe because even t-shirts that used to be snug are now loose. I just put one foot in front of the other, and every day I pressed play – and here I am.

So, Nica, PUSH PLAY. Take one deep breath, look over the piece one more time. Print it out, put it in an envelope and get it to the post office. You can’t succeed if you don’t even get it out there.

Time to rock and roll. Happy Saturday, everybody!

 

Covers

February 13, 2012

Happy happy birthday to my husband, he of the sly grin and sharp chuckle. There’s nothing in the world he can’t do, and he helps me see that I can do the same. I love you, Jeremy!

It’s 5:45 am on a (finally) cold Monday morning. My calendar says I am supposed to be writing right now, and I promised once that I’d write in here if I was procrastinating doing other writing. This sort of fits that bill. But not really.

At Meeting, when messages all seem linked and people generally appear to be on the same wavelength, we call it a “Covered Meeting.” Honestly, I’m not sure if one person’s “covered” is another person’s “discombobulated,” since I don’t run around asking everyone else if they felt that indescribable magic. And it is magic when it happens. When there are 3 messages (or 1, or 5) that, even though on the surface they have nothing to do with each other, are all tapping into something I’ve been wrestling with, or pondering – that’s shiver-down-your-spine magic, as far as I’m concerned. Makes me believe in something bigger than me, even though I can’t define what that is.

This past week was a great one. I hit a milestone in my business, one I’ve been striving for for a couple of weeks. I nailed another one a day later. I finished P90X, a program I never thought I could even attempt – and I finished it with a bang. On Thursday, my piece was workshopped in class (the piece on Greg Mortensen’s impact on my life, based on an earlier blog post.) Friday, when I delivered food to a client, she had a tale to share about how having the food made her life a bit easier. And Saturday, I went to a Beachbody conference with a  friend.

When you workshop a piece, it means you send it out to people who then read it, make comments on it. The “comments” part happens in class. The author, furiously scribbling notes, sits there like a buzzing fly while people talk about what worked and what didn’t. You do get the chance to ask questions or answer them eventually, but it seriously works best when you are not involved in the discussion from the outset.

A lot of people wanted to know more about the differences I mentioned, since the driving question in Mortensen’s talk, the one that made me change my life so drastically, was something along the lines of “what are you doing to make a difference?”

At first, my own internal response to that is, “I’m home when my kids get home from school.” That was what I wanted to do, after all. And yes, I am. But as I think about it all, I realize there’s a bit of “It’s a Wonderful Life” in how interconnected it all is. The things I now do, the writing, the cooking, the Beachbody coaching – these things are actually touching other people’s lives. They’re making a difference.

Between Thursday’s discussion, Friday’s grateful comment from a Tasty Food client, Saturday’s conference (where the underlying theme of it all was making a difference), and Sunday’s Meeting (where I spent my time thinking about it all), I realized the serendipity-ness of many of my days last week. It’s like the days all together were one big Meeting, and the individual encounters were messages.

My life feels very “covered” right now.

Stay warm!

Nica

Bubbles

February 2, 2012

It’s misting lightly outside, the kind of mist where the dog doesn’t feel the wet until she comes back in. It’s a great varnish-wiping mist, for those sailors out there. No idea what the day is supposed to be, weather-wise. Yesterday was gorgeous, sunny and about 70 degrees. The crocuses are poking up and the forsythia is going all pre-bud fuzzy. If we ever get real winter weather these poor, poor growing things will be so very confused.

I had a fabulous day yesterday. Just fabulous. And I’ll crow about it for a bit, before something else happens today to burst my bubble. Sometimes it’s good for the soul to revel in the good, ya know?

It started with my workout (Back and Biceps, and Ab Ripper X), where I realized I a) have one more workout that involves pullups and b) one more round of Ab Ripper X.  And it is just so satisfying to fill up one of those workout sheets, to look at what I was lifting 6 or 8 weeks ago versus now. I am almost salivating at what my post-P90X fit test will look like.

Then onto Facebook (really). I started a Challenge yesterday, called “Love Yourself in February” challenge (I know, lame name). There are about 12 people in it, all committed to exercising and eating better. People posted what they did, encouraged and applauded each other. One woman even posted a motivational image for all of us. A couple of people talked about how much they would NOT have worked out except for this group, the nagging reminder that they were supposed to post about their workout today. And that was just AWESOME.

Maddie came home and I was finishing up something. I said, “I’m working.” She said, “On Facebook?” “Yes.” Bizarre but true. I fed her and a buddy cake and milk for a snack and sent them outside to play, since it was like spring.

I sent out a “gauntlet challenge” to 3 buddies. Sent out more challenge invites. Answered 3 emails where people asked me more about the whole workout thing. Had someone respond positively to a request about hosting a fit club. Had an incredible meeting with a woman who is doing P90X and wondering about my results.

And I got some writing done, a draft of a new short fiction piece. Looked over a couple of non-fiction things I’m working on. Got a cover letter written. Critiqued 3 pieces for class today. Cooked dinner, made fresh rolls, had a phone conversation with Marge. Talked to a new client about a last-minute SuperBowl party menu.

I was in bed by 10:30.

Basically I felt on fire with productivity. Not sure if it was the good stuff that fueled the energy to do more good stuff, or if this first day of February was just in the cards to be a great day.

That’s it. No wise words or world-changing insights. Just a happy, feel-good sort of day.

Today . . . not starting out so well. I sent out a contract to a client before realizing it’s an OLD contract version (grr). I didn’t get that sent out in time to get in my workout before the morning crazy starts. It’s raining and the dog showered me with her shakes.

Blow bubbles and don’t let anyone pop them!

Nica

Venn Diagrams

January 29, 2012

I hardly know where to start this, so I suppose I’ll just jump in. Sorry if I forget to tie it all together at the end.

I went to Meeting this morning, looking for a space in my head I have yet to define. My life sometimes feels ruled by “do” lists (or “action plans”), regardless of how many times I lose all those pieces of paper they’re written on. Meeting is a place to leave those behind.

The Charlottesville Friends Meeting house is a quiet, cozy little house (literally, it used to be a house) nestled on a small hill next to the alternative high school in Charlottesville. The paint is peeling on the outside, the steps are a little warped. Inside, though, the soaring ceiling in the carpeted room allows for expansive breathing. Handmade pews, some with cushions and some without, form a three-rowed circle; skylights and glass doors and lots of windows let in shafts of sunlight. People pause at the door, figuring out where they’ll sit this week, then enter in silence. There’s a sense of worship even before they’ve sat down.

Sometimes Meeting is silent for the whole time. Today, though, was more “popcorn” than silent. The very first message tapped into my own thoughts, and the rest did the same.

The first message had to do with community, and belonging. Funny, I had been thinking about my overlapping communities, my many many responsibilities. I forgot that this very topic had woken me up in the middle of the night – until someone who is in my writing world walked into Meeting.

The message made me think about what it means to belong to a community. And I realize that, for me, my version of responsibility includes action. Hence my overwhelming need to DO things. I started picturing a Venn diagram of my life, wondering what and where the circles would overlap. Is the space where a lot of circles overlap a good thing, or a bad one? Is there a need, somehow, for a circle that stands on its own?

I’ve prized work that serves two purposes since I was in college (if not earlier), where I loved it when a class I took worked for both of my majors. Two for one. Ahh. I still find great satisfaction when I score a freebie, when something I am doing for my Tasty Food work overlaps with home, or when my Beachbody business can overlap with writing. (heck, that might well be the reason I started this blog in the first place)

I’m not sure I ever considered that Meeting would overlap with my Beachbody business.

But after hearing 3 messages (or more – I’ve lost track) about belonging, about safety, about community – I realized the “back of my head” simmer about overlap had generated an “afterthought” – a message which didn’t quite get all the way formed. And it was this:

One of the things I love about Beachbody and the coaching I am doing is the constant reminder to “Push Play”. To “do your best and forget the rest”. To just plain show up. And even when I can’t settle in Meeting, or when my workout is full of distractions and vaguely unsatisfying, or when I forget my vow to not yell at my kids and yell anyway – I have to give myself a break. I am showing up. I am doing my best – and am doing my best to “forget the rest”. (That’s really hard to do, by the way. Just in case you were wondering.)

So though I still think a Venn diagram of my life would be an interesting exercise, I don’t really question whether or not I need a separate circle. I need a space, apparently, where I can realize everything I do is connected.

Maybe a separate circle would just encompass all the rest of them anyway.

May your day be filled with your best. And don’t beat yourself up if that BEST isn’t the same from day to day.

Show up, press play. Amazing results happen.

Nica

Clearing fog – or is it just FOG?

January 24, 2012

Bright sunny Tuesday here in Charlottesville. This kind of weather would have been much appreciated on my 10-hour drive home yesterday, but at least the predicted wintry mix never materialized on my route. The worst of it was the fog cloud on Afton Mountain, so thick it swallowed all but about a foot of light beam from my headlights.  But I made it through, into the clear air of the other side.

What a metaphor.

Life goes along smoothly, with perhaps a warning that fog is coming. You can’t really believe it when the fog hits. You slow down, crawl on your knees and push forward – and then you get through.

Julian (my 12-year-old) and I spent the weekend in Vermont with my grandmother. Marge is 92 and failing, and I wanted to see her again. Maybe we’ll get to “say goodbye” again in February, and again in April, and again in the summer . . . maybe not. Take advantage of what you can NOW. Say I love you, hug away. Will you really ever regret that?

While I was there, I was doing my workouts faithfully, getting in Kenpo X in Marge’s living room while Julian was chatting with her in her bedroom, working her oxygen like a pro. I’m at the point with my exercising that I can’t really fathom NOT doing it, so taking the discs and the bands, my shoes and sweaty t-shirt – that’s a given. A no-brainer. It doesn’t hurt my motivation at all to know that I’m 3 weeks from being DONE with P90X, or that I have a couple of groups of friends cheering me on. So I modify the high-impact stuff and keep going.

It was a little tough, I have to admit. Laura, one of Marge’s caregivers, was watching and asking questions. My aunt was almost tempted to join me. Jaz (a wiggly yellow lab) kept thinking I was about to play with her. I was aware, always, of Marge in the other room, not out of bed, tethered (temporarily) to an oxygen tank. I am not sure my best on that day rivaled my best on other days.

But when I was done and showered, Laura asked me more questions. “If I can get results like that,” she said, pointing to my back muscles, “I’m in.” My mother was inspired to do the bike/treadmill/rowing machine at home, 2 days in a row. My aunt, a lifelong smoker, asked a few questions about getting fit.

Marge squeezed my biceps.

And my advice to each of them? Start TODAY. Not tomorrow. What can you do TODAY? I can promise you that in April of 2011, I didn’t have this toned body. And if you do something today, you’re a step closer to what you want. No good whining about what you didn’t do.

The something I did this weekend? Said I love you a lot of times to an amazing woman who is my grandmother. Watched my son be present and caring. Listened to my husband and my daughter make homemade guacamole (they called 4 times in 5 minutes as they were making it – it counts.) Continued my fitness journey, which really is about being FIT to do . . . anything.

Might be the fog, might be the clearing.

 

What do YOU want to be doing?

 

Cheers,

Nica

 

The invisible movie camera zooms in . . .

January 15, 2012

It’s too early to be up, at least for what ought to be a lazy Sunday. The person who invents a way for dogs to be able to tell it’s the weekend will make millions, maybe all from me. Oh well. The coffee is hot, the yogurt creamy and tart, and the house is quiet. Maybe it’s not all bad.

There are certain moments in your life that you can see, in hindsight, with perfect clarity. You have no idea at the time how important they will become. If someone were making a movie, though, the camera would zoom in and the audience would know that this earthshatteringly critical, for reasons to be revealed.

For me, making one small innocent post on a sailing website was one of those moments. I thought nothing of it then, but now I look at my life and realize just how pivotal that actually was.

We were deep in the late stages of planning and prepping for an 8-month sailing trip to the Bahamas with our kids. The sailboat was one we’ve owned (or it’s owned us, in cruiser parlance) since 1992, so the projects were mostly spiff-and-spruce-and-reorganize. Dig up old equipment and reinstall it. That kind of thing. Sailing magazines were piling up, dog-eared, including many columns by Wendy Mitman Clarke, who sails on Osprey with her family and writes the back page column for Cruising World. I was searching for whatever information I could find on kids and sailing, so when I came across a forum filled with questions like, “Our family is going sailing to Antartica for the next 4 years – will anyone else be doing the same thing?” I had to add my piece. I jotted something quick about our plans, our boat, our kids, and hit “post.” Then I eagerly checked my inbox for the replies that never came.

Fast forward about 4 months. We’re putting our way down the Intracoastal Waterway, somewhere around Vero Beach. So far, the only “kid boat” we’ve seen was in Beaufort, North Carolina, a boat we’d met initially in our own home waters of Deltaville, Virginia. Our kids were down below, doing school, and this sleek 45-foot sailboat comes alongside us. I see kids in their cockpit and yell down to our 2, “Kid boat! Kid boat!” Like Jack-in-the-box toys they appear, swarm to the side deck, and proceed to trade yells of delight across the water. Meanwhile, I’m trying to have a less shouted conversation with the mom on board (it’s Wendy on Osprey, can’t you guess?), and we get enough information shared to realize that they’re headed much further along that night and they’re going a completely different place in the Bahamas than we are for Christmas. So much for a kid boat to play with.

Over the next 2 months, we hear them occasionally on the single-sideband radio. Our daughter repeatedly asks me to call them, to see where they are, but I am pretty sure there’s no way they remember us. They’re celebrities in the cruising world, probably swamped with people wanting to talk and hang out. And I can hear from the radio that they’re miles away.

Late January, 2010. We’re in the Exumas at last, the group of islands in the Bahamas where many cruisers tend to congregate. The water is an unreal shade of blue, there’s exploration to be had, and there are a few population hot-spots where provisions are easily found. We’ve weaseled our way into a seldom-used anchorage (we left a bit of bottom paint on a rock on the way in – it’s a tough entrance) and found to our delight that the day-tripper “resort” on the next island over had wifi blasting. Time to check email.

“I don’t know if you remember us,” the mail began, “but we passed you in the ICW near Vero Beach right before Thanksgiving. I found your email address on a post on Noonsite, and wonder if you are the same Calypso. We’re in the Exumas and wonder where you are. We monitor the radio after the weather in the mornings.” Signed, Wendy on Osprey.

Wait. What? Do we remember THEM?

Two weeks later, we both change our plans slightly and meet up at Cambridge Cay, where we find to our delight that all of us, parents to kids, are as compatible as chocolate syrup and milk – we complete each other. We sail in company with them for the next 2 months, then they head south to sail across the Caribbean as we turn north to home.

Wendy and I talk or email almost every day. Our daughters are best of friends, our sons close behind. Johnny, her husband, and Jeremy (mine) are peas in a pod, happy tinkering on boats and talking engines. Jeremy sent Johnny a mail telling him he’d bought a new engine for Calypso before he told me about it.

It’s a little like the Greg Mortensen story in how everything fits together. Post on forum (with email address), chance encounter on the ICW, incredible luck at finding wifi in a remote spot, and enough flexibility to move a little faster than we would have otherwise. But never in a million years did I imagine that posting that innocent query on Noonsite would lead me to a great friendship, for me and for the rest of my family.

If you’re the editor of a movie of your life, what moments do you have that slow down and zoom in?

Still a quiet morning here. Wonder what it’s like on Osprey, in the Bahamas?

Cheers,

Nica