The Swagger News

Thank you for reading.

Writing is my medicine. 2011 has taught me that. Life has thrown me a few curveballs this year and this blog has been my refuge week after week. I couldn't live without it. 

To those of you that have subscribed and read it every week, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. You are: 

Aafke Romeijn, Marleen Grooters, Tim Kemnitz, Susanne Muller, Marielle Bekman, Chris Webb, Danny Valize, Mark Gwinn, Frank and Yvon Koster, Tijn Schulting, Sander Zwanikken, Kelli Gomes, Robert Mangene, Christian Plaizier, Sanne van der Loon, Huib de Weerd, Patrick Scholtze, Thomas ten Bokum, Mike Howard, Ilonka Stevens, Marike van Pagee, Bas Bodzinga, Dick van Leenen, Buffi Duberman, Dylan Vrind, Nico Bijl, Robert Schriek, Ineke Watson, Carmen Garrido, Karen Katz, Kim Danens, Sjoerd Griffoen, Jerry Arens, Michiel van der Vaart, Liane Kusters, Natascha Vale, Melisa Asrianti, and Ramon Grob. 

Thank you to my friends on Facebook, Twitter, and Linkedin who take the time to read and comment as well. 

My writing process is pretty straightforward. Basically, I write my heart. But I try to package it in a way that adds something to your life. It goes a little something like this: 

On Friday mornings (Swagger Friday!), I wake up at 5:00, trudge downstairs, fire up the Nespresso machine and hit my Mac (pictured above). Several months ago, Natascha gave me a great tip: post at the same time every week. She's right. The consistency of routine has really helped. After writing the post, I make it into the email you guys get every Friday. It usually takes about 2 - 3 hours per post to get it all done. 

Here's a picture of the stuff I use to do the drawings:

Happy Holidays to you all and thanks again for reading. 

Swagger on into 2012...

How to fall in love with your job.

The comedian Chris Rock says: "Some people have jobs. Some people have careers." 

I couldn't agree more. 

Which one are you?

Which one do you want to be? 

I want you to have a 'career'. Why? Because 'career' simply means you are totally in love with your job. As Rock says, "there ain't enough time in the day." You are so passionately in love with your work that you can't even really call it 'work'. 

Here are a few tips to help you have a career. 

Tip 1: figure out why.

Why do you go to work in the morning?

Passion or paycheck?

It's that simple. Do you actually care about the work you do? Does it fulfill, inspire, and energize you? Does it make you feel like you're contributing? 

Or is it just another gig in order to pay the mortgage? 

Answer the question honestly.

Passion or paycheck?

Have you figured it out? 

If you answered 'passion', keep it up. Your passion is the cornerstone of a 'career' you can fall in love with. 

If you answered 'paycheck', hear this: I know you got bills to pay. Tough times etc. I'm living it too. But if you're living paycheck to paycheck, you have little chance of going beyond your current status. Even if the paycheck is fat, and you're living large right now, your lack of passion will catch up with you eventually. It always does. 

Look, I'm a romantic, but I'm not a fool. We have to get paid. But that 'stupid' little idea of yours, the one about your own business, or a new industry, could be a gold mine. You won't know until you try. 

Think about it. 

Tip 2: get real about money.

Last Friday, my friend Michiel told me of a TED talk he'd seen about the connection between money and happiness. As it turns out, money does not buy happiness. Lack of money, however, definitely creates unhappiness.

How much do we need to be happy? 

60,000 US $ a year. 

If you're not making 60 g's a year, you're probably unhappy about some stuff. It's not easy to live comfortably and feed a family of 4 on less than 60,000. 

But for every single dollar you're making above 60,000, you are NOT adding to your happiness. In fact, being a millionaire probably adds a whole new set of problems. 

So let's get real about money. You don't need as much as you think you need. Earn 60,000 and leave the rest. Focus on love instead. 

Tip 3: seriously consider quitting. 

If you hate your job, go get a pen and a calculator. Figure out exactly how much you need to live for a month. Don't fudge the numbers. Be brutally honest. Resist the temptation to think you need lots of shopping money, or ski trips, or an Audi TT. 

Got your number figured out?

It's lower than you thought, right? All you gotta do is earn that much while you're re-designing your life to incorporate your new 'career plan'. You could wait tables, work in a bar, borrow from Mom and Dad. Whatever works. Don't be too proud. Remember, it's just an 'in-between' thing that will give you the foundation you need to take the next HUGE step:

Monday morning, walk into your boss's office and politely quit. 

You will then experience a level of freedom that you once considered unthinkable. THAT is what life is all about. 

Congratulations. Now you're ready to fall in love with your career.  

Trapped in the birthday blues.

10 December 1969. My birthday. Tomorrow I'm 42. Wow. 

What will it bring?

Presents. Hugs. Kisses. Phone calls. Cards. Messages? 

Attention? 

Isn't that the true essence of our birthday? Attention. The chance to feel extra special, if just for a day? 

Sure, the gifts are nice. But it's our significance that really sticks. Getting to feel that we matter. That people are thinking about us. That we are loved. 

But what if I throw a party and nobody comes? 

That's my fear. Maybe it's yours too. 

Basically, our birthday is a test. If we get lots of gifts and messages and phone calls, we pass the test. We feel special. But if the numbers don't add up, where does that leave us? 

Loserville. Not a fun place to be. 

I've learned something about myself this year: I don't celebrate my birthday because I am afraid. I make clever excuses, "too busy, no babysitter, it's a weeknight (!)" But it's a cop out. I'm just scared that nobody will come to my party. It's one of the reasons I call myself a loner: If I enjoy being alone, then I don't need anybody. 

But I need you. I want you to come. I admit it.

It may seem obvious, but I couldn't see it. I thought I had it figured out. Safe and sound in my little cocoon of 'happy loner'. 

But the sinking feeling I've had all week, in anticipation of my birthday, proves me wrong. Of course it was Natascha who helped me to see it clearly. She pushed the right buttons, sensing my despair. Her gentle prodding helped me to see that it's OK to need people. It's OK to want to be with friends. It's OK to admit being afraid of rejection. It's OK. 

As always, I won't be having a birthday party tomorrow. I won't see my mother or father tomorrow. I won't see my brother and his family. I won't see my old friends from New Hampshire. My old friends from Colorado. I won't see the many wonderful people I have in my life here in Holland. It's too late for that. By choosing to share my true feelings just one day before my birthday, I've protected myself from your 'rejection'. 

But next year, I'm changing my ways. Next year I'm gonna be generous enough to let you wish me a Happy Birthday. I'm gonna have a big party with music and dancing and friends, new and old. Next year. I promise. 

As for tomorrow, feel no pity for me. I will spend a lovely day with Natascha, Timo, and Mickey. I will get presents. Hugs. Love. I will get the attention I crave from those closest to me. And they will give it to me wholeheartedly. For that I am grateful and very, very lucky. 

If you're one of those people that, "doesn't celebrate birthdays", please reconsider. It's probably just a smokescreen. It sure was for me. Go ahead, have your party. Ask them to come. I bet you they will. 

Swagger on Lovers. And Happy Birthday to me!

I don't know, you know?

True story. 

She is a friend. She climbs onto the roof of a building, stands on the ledge, and peers down. She's in terrible pain and wants to jump. One small step to infinity.

Many seconds pass.

She is ready. 

But she does not jump. 

"Why not?" I ask. 

"Because of God" she answers.

She climbs down. Safe. And lives on. 

I tell her I'm glad she didn't die. 

"What is so bad about death?" she asks, her voice steady. 

Floored by her question, I offer no answer. I am speechless. The very thought of taking my own life is so appalling as to not even enter my vocabulary. I just don't | won't understand. Somehow, mercifully, the conversation moves to lighter ground.

But later, alone in my car, her question haunts me:

"What is so bad about death?"

 "EVERYTHING!" I scream to nobody but myself. I'm engulfed with rage at the audacity, the stunning flippancy of her question. I want to shout my answer at her, my face bulging and red:

"WE ARE LUCKY TO BE HERE. IT'S OUR GIFT. WHEN I COME HOME TO FIND MY SONS HAPPY TO SEE ME, "PAPA, PAPA" THEY SHOUT WITH GLEE, IT'S MY GIFT. WHEN NATASCHA THROWS HER HEAD BACK AND LAUGHS HER NAUGHTY BELLY LAUGH, IT'S MY GIFT. WHEN I BEGIN A NEW DAY, EVERYDAY, DRIVING DOWN A ROAD, ANY ROAD, MUSIC CRANKED AND FREEDOM IN DROVES, IT'S MY GIFT. WHEN I SIT HERE WITH YOU, AT THIS TABLE, EATING THIS FOOD, LIVING THIS MOMENT, TOGETHER, IT'S MY GIFT. OUR GIFT. THE PRECIOUS GIFT OF LIFE!"

She agrees.

But she still thinks we're doomed. She thinks it's too late for us.  

Despite my admiration and respect for her, I couldn't disagree more. 

Yes, our human challenge is substantial. Perhaps more than ever before. We certainly won't find solutions by sitting back and doing nothing. By waiting for it to blow over. That really would doom us. 

So we have a choice. Take action or do nothing and risk our demise. 

I think choosing Swagger is a way of taking action. And Swagger always starts with a choice for love. Love for life. Love for ourselves. Love for our work. Love for our fellow humans. Love for our planet. Love.

Today, as we wade through the constant bombardment of modern life, let's do something revolutionary:

Let's Create Love.

It could be small, like helping our neighbor move her sofa. Or big, like volunteering to serve our country. Just make sure it's genuine and driven by love. 

As for her question, the one that will linger in my mind forever more:

"What is so bad about death?" 

Well, my dear friend, I've given it a lot of thought and here it is: 

I don't know, you know? 

If it's okay for you, who am I to judge?

I can't choose for you. But I will choose for me. 

I choose to live. 

Swagger on beautiful, imperfect ones. I love you.