Artfully abandon!
5 enthusiastic invitations
Hi, and welcome to the first Ecstatic Review of 2024!
It only feels right that we return in the season of springing forward, a week or so after the only day of the year that’s also an exclamation (“March forth!”), and in a month which astrologers, the early Romans, and people on TikTok all have me convinced is the true start of the year.
After a few months of previews last fall, I’m ready to officially open this newsletter show—with fresh formats, a consistent rhythm, and a paid subscription option for those of you who want the full experience. Everything in March will be free so you can get a feel for it and choose your own adventure from there. If you’ve already pledged, you have my infinite thanks! Expect to see your name engraved on a plaque in the lobby.
Each month will center around a theme that we’ll explore from lots of different angles, beginning with invitations for you to play with, think about, and try out. Invitations are a core principle in the Ecstatic Voice process: an alternative approach to traditional outreach that a member of Tell Me About Yourself recently described as “radically natural.” Jazz music to my ears.
This month’s theme is enthusiasm. It’s important to note that I’m not talking about surface stuff, joy in a void, or rah rah no matter what. I’m talking about an illuminating engine, a shortcut to genuine connection, an inner reserve to draw from when everything else seems to have run dry.
Enthusiasm is a peak quality in my own voice that I used to downplay a lot before I understood what a total superpower it is. If you’ve ever downplayed your own peak qualities, been so excited about something that it completely overwhelmed you, wanted to start but weren’t sure where to begin, spiraled after sending an email with multiple exclamation points, if the light inside of you has ever needed a fresh match, if you’ve ever felt too much or too intense or too anything else: this one’s for you.
And while your enthusiasm may not look or sound anything like mine, I hope you’ll find lots of ideas this month for making the most of your enthusiastic powers that I have no doubt are totally super.
I mean, it’s not called The Ecstatic Review for nothing. More on what goes into a name, soon. But first: Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?
Here are five enthusiastic invitations for March:
In The Small Talk Survival Guide, I suggested trying out a mantra to center yourself before walking into a new room. I love using mantras for the whole room of my life, and this one is a recent favorite from The Art of Possibility, the only book I’ve ever been gifted twice in one week.
It comes from a whitewater rafting trip that one of the authors takes, where the guide makes her group say “Toes to nose!” over and over again so they don’t forget to do that if they happen to fall out of the boat. Sure enough, she does:
I vanished into a wall of water as into a black hole. Roiling about underwater, there was no up and down, neither water nor air nor land. There had never been a boat. There was no anywhere, there was nothing at all. Toes to nose... the words emerged from a void. I pulled together into a ball. Air. Sounds.
Whenever I’m roiling about in the surging rapids of my enthusiastic ideas, which happens at least 11 times a day before noon, I now like to say “Toes to nose, Cate! Toes to nose!” out loud as a way of bringing myself back to center.
Rosie looks at me strangely, my neighbors shut their windows, and I instantly think of the best next step for forging ahead to shore.
This invitation dates back to 13 BC, when the Roman poet Horace wrote it in his poem “Ars Poetica” as in media res, which translates to “into the middle of things.” As a writing technique, it means to start the story right in the heart of the action and then fill in the rest as you go—which we’ve all seen done countless times in movies, books, and TV shows.
I love it as way of starting anything, especially when that thing involves an overwhelming amount of things: ideas, feelings, years of work. Putting your portfolio together? Start with the project that you want to start with, even if it’s not the first or last. Writing a newsletter like this one? Don’t worry about slogging through the whole backstory; start with something you’ve already been drafting for kicks. Introducing yourself to a brand you really want to work with? Start right at the heart of your enthusiasm.
The truth is, we’re always in the middle: not quite where we’ve been, not yet where we’re headed. The middle is interesting, human, and oddly efficient. See what happens if you start there and fill in the rest as you go.
Early on in my career, I took a class on interviewing. About halfway through, the teacher put a chair in the middle of the room.
“You know how when you walk into an interview, there’s always a chair for you to sit on?” he asked us, emphatically gesturing to the chair. We nodded politely at Dr. Obvious. He continued:
“Most people sit down on the chair wherever it is, even if it’s not where they want it to be—which throws them off and stifles their instincts. So the next time you walk into a room and there’s a chair there, move the chair!”
He picked up the chair and slammed it down in a slightly different position. We jolted up in our seats.
“Move the chair! Even if you move it an inch, move it anyway! DUCK THE CHAIR! Make it your own!”
He said a different word than duck, but I’m aware that your kids or parents might be reading this.
Yes it was dramatic, but it’s stayed with me as a metaphor for anything that boxes us in: resume formats, portfolio layouts, interview responses, frameworks made up by people who didn’t follow dynamic creative paths like yours.
If you’re feeling limited by one of the above: How might you move it, even by an inch? How might you duck it and make it your own?
I was originally going to restart this newsletter last month with a piece on love. If you follow EV on Instagram you already know this, because I confidently announced that it was coming. Terrible idea! Love takes time, as Mariah Carey once sang, and I didn’t have any.
Still, I tried. I snuck in progress late at night, very early in the morning, and on weekends while other people had fun. February came and went. Flowers began to bloom. Babies were born. I wasn’t getting any closer, and now it was March and I wanted to move on like the rest of the world. I figured I had two choices:
Keep trudging through this piece on love until those babies start walking.
Artfully abandon it.
Abandon is often described as reckless, but I think it can actually be quite strategic. Artistic, even. For those of us who were brought up in rigorous academia where assignments had to be finished on time no matter how little sleep you got, it can be an essential act of creative rebellion.
I’m not talking about the things we shouldn’t abandon because they’re ready to be completed, or we made a commitment we need to keep, or people are paying us. I’m talking about a creative idea we had that we then assigned a somewhat-random-yet-rigidly-strict deadline for no reason other than it was February.
The thing that no one tells you about abandoning a creative idea is that NOTHING IS LOST OTHER THAN YOUR OWN MADE-UP TIMELINE OOPS I ACCIDENTALLY HIT CAPS LOCK. I’m going to keep it in for emphasis. All of the ideas you wrestled with when you were working hard to make it happen are still alive in you, and if they’re meant to be alive in the world, you’ll come back to them with fresh eyes when you’re ready.
In other words, if you love something let it go. And if you love an unfinished piece on love that’s filling you with resentment while those same babies are now graduating from college, toss it out with panache.
Want to know one of the quickest ways to make someone feel seen? Say their name. Want to know one of the quickest ways to be seen? Say your own.
When I teach introductions, one of the first things I start with is your name, because it’s one of the first things we tend to rush past. But the last thing we want to rush past is ourselves, and every time you say your name and let it rest so that others can take it in, it’s a small and mighty act of taking full shape.
Here’s a little audio demonstration:
Did you notice how when I let my name rest, it inspired me to change what came after? Giving your name the space it deserves tends to have a similar effect on the other things you share, which is one of many magical powers of names.
Try claiming your name—maybe even exclaiming your name—in the name of seeing yourself, and inviting others to do the same.
If you need some support in that beyond enjoying this newsletter show, I’ll be announcing the next cohort of Tell Me About Yourself and a spring special on one-on-one sessions soon. And you’re always invited to get in touch.
In the meantime: Toes to nose, my friend. Toes to nose.
P.S. A portion of this month’s paid subscriptions will support Las Fotos Project. Big thanks to Nicole Maturo (who wrote the fantastic Writing For Artists) for introducing me to their work!
This was great! "Moving the chair" is so simple, yet powerful at the same time.
"February came and went. Flowers began to bloom. Babies were born." Spit take. I loved this, Cate!!! V ENTHUSED that you're back!