Bad-Ass Naked Cake Series: The Story

Posted June 14th, 2012

This is the final post in my series of three this week, and it’s probably the most intriguingly obtuse of them all (even I don’t yet fully understand what it means, and this is ME I’m writing about…) So if you have any insights, I’d love to hear them!

For those of you just joining this series, it was inspired by me taking a serious dose of my own medicine. I am participating in a pilot group for my women’s writing experience, designed to take the questions for a spin and see if they hold water (they do). The result is I have been completely backed into a corner by my own writing, and have found the words that flow out of my pen are both comical and electrically charged. I am gaining clarity and a renewed sense of purpose with each word I write.

Here’s how the process works: each week of In Her Words has a theme, and participants are asked  to select one of three questions and write their thoughts on it from three different perspectives: a journal entry, a letter, and a story. The theme I was writing about this week was “Daring.”

If you’d like to read the series in the order it was written to get the full impact, you can check out my journal entry and my letter before reading the story below. It’ll also offer some context for the whole bad-ass, naked, and cake references in the series…

Without further ado, here is my story:

The woman was clearly comfortable in her own skin. Why else would she be naked on the deck of the boat among all the other tourists? She might as well have been alone, for all the attention she paid to the crowd that summer day. She was obvious to them, and that oblivion served as a guide – instructions if you will – to the others to just ignore her nakedness.

No one told the captain or reported her to the harbor master. They just accepted her, neither averting their eyes, nor opening staring at her. She had created a new normal without ever uttering a word. And now she was simply part of the crowd, accepted in the face of all odds.

As the boat pulled out of the harbor, the woman kept her eyes trained on the horizon, in her own world. She seemed to be looking for something, but not in a frantic or desperate way. Just a steady one. She must have blinked, given the brightness of the sun, but it was almost imperceptible, that movement.

As the day wore on, the woman reached for a fishing pole. Without shifting her gaze, she cast her line out and affixed the pole into the bracket on the deck. Then she got another one, cast, and did the same. And again, until there were many poles at work, their translucent lines disappearing into the water behind them.

She continued to stare out at the horizon, this time a small smile playing on her lips.

And then it began. The marlins started jumping, making big arcs in the blue sky and falling back down to the water amidst explosions of sea spray. It was exciting and scary to watch. The fish were massive and the lines were pulled taut. But still they held. It was almost like a choreographed act from one of those sea parks in Florida, except there were no trainers in the water with whistles. And the marlins looked frantic, not tame.

Like wild things fighting for their life.

Well, there you have it. The end of the series. I can feel it in my own body, having written these…there is clearly something shifting, making space for something new to enter. It’s one of the rare moments in life when you literally feel yourself changing, as you are changing.

I’m still churning through my thoughts on all this. But I’m certain of one thing:

There is a bad-ass cake in my future…and I most likely will be eating it naked. Without a fork.

The Bad-Ass Naked Cake Series: The Journal

Posted June 12th, 2012

When I made the leap to start my own business after eleven years working in the corporate world, I drew this picture. This was the woman I wanted to be. This was me, the bad-ass woman, full of juice and ready to change the world.

She’s my inspiration, my muse. This sticky note is now seven years old and yet it still lives in my notebook, snug up against my business plan.

I am this woman on my best days. But many, many days I am not.

So recently I decided to do something about that.  I happen to be taking the In Her Words 2 questions for a spin recently with a pilot group for my women’s writing experience, and I stumbled upon my muse again. I pulled this sticky out and let her speak to me.

Here’s the deal in this writing experience: each week has a theme (this particular week it was “Daring”). Participants select their favorite of three questions that week, and write about it from three different perspectives – journaling, a letter, and a story.

It’s quite powerful what happens in this process. The pen has a way of ratting you out, spilling your truth on to the pages whether you like it or not. To illustrate what that looks like, I’ll be sharing the three different pieces of writing I did for this week’s topic of “Daring” over the course of the next three days – my journal, my letter, and my story.

If you stay with me over the next three days, you’ll see how all three of these pieces begin to overlay and ultimately work together to shine a light on what I’m “Daring” myself to do…it’s rather obvious.

So let’s begin with my journal entry from that week’s assignment:

I’m talking myself into a circle – round and round I go. I’m onto something big here, a root cause, and I feel like I’m resisting it. I feel like something big is trying to catch my tail and stand on it, but I keep twisting and turning. It’s like a strong fishing line has me hooked and I’m a marlin flailing about on the line.

So what do I need to disrupt? I need to disrupt my expectations that I get it right, my perfectionistic ways. I need to disrupt my desire for comfort, safety and accolades. I need to move forward with ideas before they are fully baked.

It’s time to strip down and get naked.

This big thing has to do with consulting more with women leaders in corporate. It has to do with me supporting women who want to stay in as much as I support women who want to transition out. As I look at my coaching practice, I feel like I have become the go-to person for women when they want to jump ship. But I also want to be that go-to person for women who want to stay and steer the ship. And that scares the shit out of me because I’m a jumper, so who do I think I am to support women in staying!?

I’m tired of dancing around creating the change I really want to create – women leading the way. I want to stand up taller, holding a sign that reads, “Follow me. I’ve got a plan.” I want to light more fires for women leaders, blow on their embers until they are red and hot and then I want to stoke it until the flames leap high into the night sky.

It’s time to stop hiding behind myself and start making some noise among women leaders. No more being quiet, no more being demur or modest or self-effacing. It’s time to kick some ass, cast off the bow lines and see what this puppy can do.

It’s time to stand behind my worth with two feet solidly planted and head held high. It’s time to stir things up, poke some holes, ruffle some feathers, and grab the microphone.

It’s time to stop playing small and pretending that cupcakes are satisfying. They’re not, they’re just cute. They’re just an appetizer to whet my whistle. It’s time to roll up my sleeves and eat cake naked without a fork. It’s time to dig into the main course.

Yikes. I guess that woman on the sticky note is still kicking.