Tenacity is hard.
I hate that hackneyed phrase about what to do with life's never-ending supply of lemons.
I blame the poster which my fourth grade teacher placed right next to the clock.
Creeped the heck out of me.
Was it the acid or the mushrooms that said this would be a great marketing campaign for kids?
But despite my intense dislike of nasal-dispensed beverages, I grew up to be rather optimistic about life.
Until last month.
Because, forget the lemons, life handed me a bunch of frogs, boils, locusts, hail, meteorites of fire, and I'm pretty sure that at one point blood was flowing freely from my kitchen faucet.
Yes, it was that bad.
But I made the best of it; I screwed on the old head funnel and made some lemonade. I kicked off the new Free Digi Club and I launched the Patreon classes early. Heck, I even started working on a few Year #2 plans, waaaaaayyyyy ahead of schedule.
And that was just dealing with business setbacks. I handled some personal stuff with equal aplomb.
I've never had such a productive month. It didn't kill me either. I kind'a think it was worth it.
But I don't know for sure- will my hustle be rewarded? It's too early to see much action yet. I've got worms on my hooks, some new relationships, a bit of freelance work, and a few options for the fall. So I'm not exactly in a bad place...
But the wait for visible growth is killing me.
I keep telling myself that businesses are supposed to start slowly, that instant success would overwhelm me. I should want to be the tortoise and not the hare.
But being the rabbit would be so much more fun than constantly trudging.
And if I were the rabbit, I could look back and actually measure some progress. I'm this far from the start, I'm this much closer to the finish line...
So I keep plugging along and I to think about the payout for being patient, and to appreciate that things are progressing at a manageable rate. But boy is that ever hard.
I've never heard the story behind Georgia O'Keeffe's plate.
It must have been something special because she didn't just sweep it into the dustbin. When the plate broke, she treasured the broken pieces.
Was it a favorite plate? Did she cause the accident and then cry over her mistake?
Did someone else drop the plate? Did Georgia furiously lash out at the person who carried it carelessly?
Maybe it what was on the plate that had value. I once swan-dived with a bowl of pot roast and all the trimmings. A whole meal, rendered inedible in seconds. Yeah, I both cried AND did the lash o' fury.
I suppose the plate's back story doesn't matter much to the grander point. Georgia swears that there's a payout if you apply yourself to making the best of your broken china.
A six to one dividend.
That's pretty awesome. One plate sacrificed equaled six works of art that collectors still covet. Not bad for an unforeseen and unfortunate twist of fate.
May was my Mensis Horribilis, a horrible month.
And I took Georgia's advice: I painted the crack. The lemonade is flowing out of my nose.