Mise en place!

5 celebratory invitations

Hi and happy April! I’m feeling celebratory: it’s my birthday month and EV’s. Monday’s total solar eclipse only adds to the festive feeling.

If you caught March’s invitations, you know that each month at The Ecstatic Review now centers around a theme that we’ll explore from lots of different angles. This month’s theme is (you guessed it) celebration—which is what the last letter of ECSTATIC stands for.

As a kid, I loved books about secret rooms and hidden treasures. As an adult who’s named many things from surface patterns to signature products, it was important to me to infuse the name of my own creative home with layers of meaning, including hiding the core principles right in the letters.

Over the next 8 months, I’ll be taking you through each one from the last to the first: a purposefully backwards choice that reflects my often reverse-engineering process of communicating creative brilliance.

The final C stands for celebration for a few reasons, not the least of which is my ongoing desire to end things on a high note (and whenever possible, a high kick). I’ll share the other reasons as we go—but for now, know that just like last month’s theme of enthusiasm, we’re looking at celebration through the broadly specific and specifically broad lens of expressing all that you are.

To quote myself: Every part of you is invited to the party of you. That’s the spirit of this celebratory month and every other month that follows.

If you’ve ever wondered if some parts of you belong at a totally different party altogether; if you’ve ever longed to let loose at your own bash but got stuck on someone else’s planning committee, or dreamed of popping the cork off of a creative idea but feared where that cork might land; if you’ve ever felt more scattered than confetti on a dance floor, more complicated than the seating chart at the Met Gala, or more overwhelmed than the entire team that has to put that thing together: this one’s for you.

Here are five celebratory invitations for April:

I throw multiple parties a day.

There’s the client project party, which usually leaves paper and pens and a mysterious stapler scattered across the floor. (I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’ve never been a desk person.)

The filming party, where my humble workspace that’s not at all built to act like a content studio gets dressed up like one (lights, phone camera, action!).

Even the email party gets wild: I’m just sitting at my laptop typing, right? Then tell me where all those half-finished beverages, messy stacks of notes, and piles of dishes came from.

Don’t get me started on the workshop party. Absolute mayhem.

A thing that’s helped me wrangle the chaos is mise en place, a French culinary term that means “to put in place.” It’s the idea that a chef gets their ingredients prepped before they start cooking (chef readers and/or fans of The Bear already know this), and it’s become an essential practice in transitioning between whatever I’m creatively cooking up.

It’s pretty straightforward: If I’ve just filmed something, I’ll take the time to break down my equipment before I jump back into emails. Before I switch from those emails to writing, I’ll close out the tabs, pick up the dishes, and hop outside for a little fresh air to put my head en place.

I don’t always do this, but when I do I’m much better off.

Long before confetti and sequins entered the conversation, the word “celebrate” meant to honor something. Mise en place sets my multiverse brain up for success, and it also helps me honor the work I’m doing by closing one project (for now, at least) and setting the stage for the next.

Try it and see if it helps you cook up some fresh creative magic.

My first apartment in LA was a tiny guest house in Beachwood Canyon, just up the street from the Gelson’s on Franklin. Just inside of that Gelson’s, they sell Swedish princess cake by the slice.

Years earlier, my mom surprised me with a princess cake for my birthday. “How cute is that cake?!” I swooned, instantly falling in love with its green marzipan exterior and the airy sponge, Bavarian cream, and delicate layer of raspberry jam inside. Everything about it just felt special.

Driving home after one of those days that makes you question everything about your whole life, I detoured into Gelson’s and bought myself a slice.

The nice woman in the bakery wrapped it in a little box. I brought it back to my tiny house and carefully set it on a plate. I got the idea to pour a glass of something sparkling because it felt like the cake deserved that, which then inspired me to turn on some jazzy tunes. I sat down and enjoyed every bite.

A slice of cake can’t solve problems, but it can really turn things around.

The Broken Heart Cake by Maira Kalman

In the years since, a Gelson’s princess cake slice has become a small celebratory thing I’ve returned to whenever I need to cut through the chaos. I’ve shared it with my friends, who’ve shared it with theirs. If you’re feeling inspired, see if you can locate a slice of princess cake near you, or something else that you find just as special.

A friend recently texted me that princess cake has become so popular at Quarter Sheets in Echo Park that it’s flying off the shelves. “You gotta get there early, because it seems your cake sells out quickly,” she wrote.

“It sounds like it’s not just my cake anymore,” I replied. “And I’m happy for it.”

As someone who proudly champions enthusiasm, I thought I had a hot take on chill until I read The Art of Gathering, in which Priya Parker absolutely annihilates it.

In a chapter titled Don’t Be a Chill Host, she describes chill as “selfishness disguised as kindness,” and cites Alana Massey’s Medium essay “Against Chill,” in which Massey calls it “a garbage virtue that will destroy the species.”

Those takes on chill are piping hot.

Parker argues that when you’re a chill host, you’re not actually taking care of your people. She makes a case for leading a gathering with generous authority, where you’re intentionally being strong on behalf of your guests so that you can protect them, connect them with each other, and make them feel welcome.

I really like that as a concept for gatherings of all kinds, and for the one-of-a-kind party of you.

So much of my approach to voice is about giving you the awareness and tools to stand up on behalf of your many parts and identify why they’re not only welcome at your party, but belong right at the center of the dance floor:

Oh, that tendency I have to get lost in a rabbit hole? It’s directly connected to my ability to identify fresh ideas.

You think I’m overthinking? That’s interesting, because I see it as considering every option from every angle.

Yes, I really am this enthusiastic. It’s a sign of how much I care.

Being a generous authority to our uniqueness is a generous invitation to others to do the same, and makes parties of all kinds way more fun.

What’s a small thing you could brag about, if you were the braggy type? I know you’re not, which is why I’m asking.

Here’s one of mine:

I don’t think the New York Times game Connections (which I first wrote about in “Connecting the dots”) is hard. People complain about it all the time on TikTok, but not me. I usually complete it in seconds. I regularly guess the toughest level first. While I’m bragging, I’ll go ahead and say that I honestly wish it were harder.

An example of Connections from April 1st.

Going deeper, this brag actually isn’t so small. Making connections is at the heart of what I do in helping creative people communicate their multifaceted brilliance. The success of my work relies on my ability to uncover through lines in dynamic skill sets and windy paths.

The part of my brain that quickly sees how four words or emojis are all Food Slang for Money or Letter Homophones is the same part that sees how an accidental generalist is actually a strategic Swiss Army knife.

In both cases, I haven’t been stumped yet. And if you’re working with me, you definitely don’t want me to be.

Contrary to popular opinion, talking about your work doesn’t mean bragging all the time. More often, it’s starting with something seemingly minor and connecting it to the major value you bring.

So, what’s a small brag of yours? What greater ability might it reveal?

I’ll bet you some bread, bacon, lettuce, or cheese that there’s nothing small about it.

Do you struggle to finish things? If so, you’re not alone. In fact, I think it’s a very common challenge for us creative types.

It’s easy to beat yourself up about moving through a project and then wanting to stop right before the finish line, but in reality there are lots of good reasons why you might, and none of them have to do with you being a flake.

Heartbreak prevention is one of mine. I’m sad when creative experiences end. When I was a theater kid, I’d go despondent for about a week once a show closed. Now the same thing happens when I wrap a workshop or hand over a brand voice guide. I had to slay a few extra dragons while preparing for the final session of Tell Me About Yourself, which was 100% because I didn’t want it to be over.

I know that’s a good thing—it means we did something really meaningful and had a great time while doing it—but it still doesn’t stop the parts of me that want to protect my sentimental heart from trying to swoop in and pry the doors open when it’s time for them to close.

Wrapping well helps. And by that I mean to treat the process of closing a project like a love letter to all that was created and all that’s sure to come because of it. Checking the boxes, organizing the files, and sending one last email are all ways of celebrating the work and everyone who was a part of making it happen.

If the desire to keep going is a sign of how much you care, then the decision to wrap well is a gesture of trusting how much you’ve put in.

So, what do you need to wrap a project well? How might your endings be a celebration of the beginnings and the middles? I’d love to know as I wrap up this newsletter for the week—not because I want to, but because it’s time.

Thanks so much for joining me. Your presence is always something to celebrate.

P.S. We’re officially in box office mode! Paid subscriptions will keep this newsletter show open, and a portion of each will continue to support Las Fotos Project. If you read about 11 Betties in last month’s talkback, you’ll know that their mission is right up my alley. I’m so inspired by all they’re creating.