Business Tattoos vs. Deb-utante Ball aka My Coming-Out Party

Last night I worked out some business card designs, because I realise I need them. I've come to that point in the conversation a few times recently, and I had no business card to hand over. So.

My waking thought this morning was that business cards are actually a huge deal. HUGE. They signify that I'm willing to BE IDENTIFIED, not just in the moment, but also later. That I am willing to let select individuals be able to locate me and ask me to do things for them, that I will consider their proposals. I am not only admitting but committing to the Universe and to myself that I will do things. Envoys take what is offered, Takashi. 

I have to brand myself, like a tattoo. Unlike a tattoo, I can change my brand later (well, sort of like a tattoo - even there, we have options.)  And that's always been one of my pet neuroses:  avoiding a label. 

I can't stand it when someone asks me, "Are you a ________________?" Writer, artist, poet, chef, dancer was once floated and I laughed...the list of things I might currently be doing is too long, and if you consider all the things I have done or might do the list gets even longer.

Is my problem humility? My ex-husband thinks so. Maybe I don't really understand the word. I am most 'Umble, Sir. Or maybe it's what the world has told us is the problem, but then they want to use our awesomeness for their gain. Society has given us a list: 

Do your best
Do your best for Us
Don't tell us it's  your best
Do Better
Be Grateful
Have remorse for your pride...wait, is that Catholic? 

It's nice how this list has taken the shape of a mushroom cloud. Recipe for obliteration.

I've come to the point in Project Get Over Yourself where I have to get over this self-labeling neurosis, too. Use the labels; don't let them define you. It is terrifying, but the truth is in my face: I keep doing things. Moe's right; someone should give me money. 

So I settled on a label from high school, the one Dee Fitzimmons branded me in art class: 

"Deb, you're a catalyst. I don't catch you doing anything, but everyone else gets in trouble the days you actually show up for class." 

Yeah, that's me. I add the ingredient that pushes the concept into actuality, like the time I sent a message: "Would your office permit someone to decorate *'s desk, and if so what can I do to help make this happen?

This is what I do, Darlin'. Go write your book.

Further Reading:

Uriah Heep: My favourite Charles Dickens character

British journalist Mark Monahan appreciates one of my favorite creeps.
Allycakes, if you are going to read the book, I'll get it for you. Don't tease me, though. 

Comments

  1. Deb Ewing
    Catalyst
    xxx-xxx-xxxx
    or contact me at me email address
    xxxxx@xxxxx.com
    Specialty (No boundaries)
    Suggestions, only.

    :-P

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I like the Specialty: No Boundaries idea, but I am working on learning to put up fences appropriately, because sometimes they are useful both for keeping out as well as keeping in. I have to know how to use them.

      Delete
  2. Like, if I want to staple something, you always have the stapler -- AND it is loaded.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Another good one! I could relate to all of it... you perfectly captured the self-conciousness of putting oneself out there as a service provider... the genie's out of the bottle and your "label" has escaped your control. Scary but heady. I really do think you will succeed handsomely.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Don't get excited - I still have my hand on the cork. And I am terrified.

      Delete
  4. UPDATE: I have decided to leave room on the tattoo-side to write personal messages. I'm so glad I thought of this now, rather than after I had bought them.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Please comment. Just Don't be a dick. Please subscribe to this blog. Email confirmation will be sent - please verify your decision to receive my validations.

Popular posts from this blog

Clarity vs. The Ewing Way

UPdate on Things: Coyote the Trickster, aka Remember That Time I said I wasn't gonna blog today?

The Girl in the Polaroid vs. White Privilege