Share the Heartbeat of Your Work.

How do I write about my work so that it is itself an experience of my work?

I posed this question to myself. This is the answer I got—at the laundromat.

Write along the vein of this work. Share the heartbeat of the work. Where does it come from? Where do I come from? What makes me who I am? What makes the work what it is?

I wrote that. Without any attempt to be impressive or credentialed. (I am impressively credentialed, and that’s part of what makes these bios so wooden.)

I wrote what was true, in the simplest, most innate form: how this work came to be; what it is; what it is not.

And, I wrote it at the laundromat. Right there, next to the rows of industrial washers, I opened up a vein to the heart of my work. (More later on the indirectness—the side-eye if you will—of my creative flow and the value of not outsourcing every mundane household task in your life. These are clearly related.)

What if you opened yours? What would it tell you?

Here’s what mine told me . . .

I am a personal essayist. I am an artist. I am a wisdom teacher and a mystic. I am also a lawyer. (You read that correctly.)

All I teach is forged from my experience as Yogi Being Lawyer Running Business. The (seeming) dichotomy. The push-pull. The striving, the releasing, the crafting of a new, deeply personal definition of success and divinely connected approach to work and business. It’s all landed me here; it’s all created my life, my work and my Wisdom.

 

To say that I teach is a necessary inaccuracy. (If I can come up with a better word, I will.)

I cannot teach Wisdom. Wisdom is embodied; it is forged by experience and honed by mastery. Your Wisdom is yours alone. I am simply a conduit. I teach practices to access and trust your own Wisdom, and I create a container to activate that Wisdom. I share my own Wisdom and reflect yours back to you.

Most of all, I embody what I teach. I am it. I live it first. Everything I teach, I practice. This is how I was taught and how I teach. The day I stop is the day I will stop, because . . .

 

I am my own first and last piece of work. And you are yours. That is the choice-less choice of why we’re all here. We are the work of our lives. We are the art of our souls.