When I relaunched by business in July I made a couple of  promises to myself:  no well-intentioned fakery (of the “sunshine up ass” variety) and to keep it real.  Which is why I’m letting it be known that today my chips are down, and I’m in the mood to muse aloud.

As an army of uno, sometimes I like to muse about what would be different if I had a doubt buddy within spitting distance to whom I could kvetch.

It almost makes me nostalgic for my cubicle days.  Although that’s just wishful thinking crossing wires, because in those days I had plenty of commensurately confused and doubtful people around me, but I most definitely DID NOT have a doubt buddy.

But oh it would have been lovely if I needed only to stand tippy-toe above a furry cube wall and say to my indefatigable doubt buddy, “hey, do you have a sec?”  Of course, perfect doubt buddy always has a sec.  They even offer to come around to my cube so my calf muscles don’t snap. They know not to fly immediately into problem solving or problem mitigating mode.  They know how to grouse with, not against. And listen patiently while I whine about the shoddy state of my luck.

It’s a delight to dream.  So, here’s what perfect doubt buddy would do when my chips were down and they just so totally got it.  Their m.o. would be one if not all of the following…

1)    Effortlessly rattle off five reasons I would triumph in the end.

2)    Similarly, rattle off five qualities that make me special special, doubts and current depressiveness aside.

3)    Remind me of my fan file, that gathering of blush-worthy testimonials and atta-girl notes I’ve received along the way.

4)    Rattle off a quote that floors me.  Or at least gives me a reason to hit the pause button and rethink my funk.

5)    Agree that life is not treating me fairly, I deserve a break, and shake a fist at the heavens while demanding justice on my behalf. And then suggest we further commiserate over cocktails after work.

6)    Agree with me that it’s our divine right to be upset when things don’t go our way.

7)    Refill the pity party teapot so that I don’t have to grouse about the unfairness of life while parched.

8)    Send me an intelligent, dark humored joke or clip or some such thingamajig that doesn’t involve meanness to squirrels* and has me laughing as I’m crying.

9)    Doodle something brilliant and pithy and wry smile-inducing on a post-it note they tuck under my keyboard while I’m in the bathroom gathering my druthers and sneaking in one last sniffle.

10) Not resent me for unloading the contents of my brain in their lap (again) even though I’m always a day late remembering their birthday.

That’s a tall order, but I tend to dream a hundred times my actual size as a matter of course.

I also understand that the doubt buddy of my dreams isn’t going to appear from the ether.  Which is  to say I’m resigned to this fact but not liking it.  And willing to consider how I can take matters into my own two capable hands.  To that end, here’s what I’ve noodled thus far:

1)    Make it a point to compile a list of five reasons I’m going to triumph in the end.  Do this today.  Revise the list tomorrow, if that makes me happier, but don’t go to bed today without writing this list of five reasons.

2)    Perhaps in tandem with this first list or save it for the next day, compile a list of five qualities that are my standouts.  Doesn’t have to be “businessy” qualities.  In fact, it’s better if they’re not.  There’s a whole person to consider.  Don’t go to bed tomorrow without this list.

3)    Find 5-10 quotes that rather effortlessly compel me to stop dithering or winge-ing and reconsider my position.  Don’t put on my pajamas the day after tomorrow without them.

4)    Update my “fan file”, a place for all of the nice comments and encouraging emails and blushy testimonials I’ve received.  External validation isn’t the whole enchilada, but neither is it bogus.

5)    Do something with my hands rather than my brain.  Draw squiggles on a napkin.  Wash dishes.   Water the plants. Don’t get sucked into Tweetdeck unless I’ve hand puttered first for 15-20 minutes first.

6)    Let my funk be. It has a point and a purpose, too. Sorry to repeat what’s becoming one of those irritating buzz phrases, but it’s validity holds:  we need to meet ourselves where we are.  If I’m mopey, I’m mopey.  Rather than circumvent it, try to understand it.  Although, setting some boundaries around the funk is also key.  (Hence list items 1-5.) Because mopes have been known to malinger….

At the end of the day, we have to be willing to be our own doubt buddy.  I’m not going to add first or foremost after that sentence, because that’s the sort of thing I’m expected to say but not what I really think.  Honestly, I’d really like for somebody else to fill that role, even if the real person kind enough to take it on could only meet my tall order by a quarter.

Still, sometimes it’s only us and the blog post that refuses to write itself, or the RFP that makes our brain smoke,  or the cash flow situ that scares the bejeezus out of us, or the business plan that when attempted makes a mockery of business planning.  Sometimes it’s just us and whatever it is that stokes our doubts.  And it’s in times such as those, that we give our deflated selves a fighting chance for regaining  buoyancy by being the doubt buddy we’ve wished for,  looked for elsewhere.

What say you?

*  For a while there was this awful video of a squirrel being catapulted from a bird feeder.  Many found it funny.  That’s not the sort of funny that would cheer me up.  It would make me more upset on behalf of the squirrel.

Why yes, Rufus sailed with us on the car ferry to Corsica.  It was an overnighter out of Toulon to Bastia.  From Bastia we had a two hour drive (maybe a little more) to Calvi where we had rented an apartment for a week.

At around 10 PM the cars and motorcycles and trucks boarded.  By 11 PM the ship set sail.  And let me tell you, lots of people brought their dogs with them. You couldn’t have asked for a more dog-friendly ship.  There were dogs in the dining room and dogs in the cabins.  Dogs big and small. There was even a designated potty spot for them on the top deck.  The dogs ignored their designated area, of course.  Although the people tried to make it work, the dogs had other ideas.  Or, there noses did, anyway.

It was a great start to a great trip.  Corsica Ferries, if you’re interested in the ferry company.  We still have their sticker on Josephine’s back window.  That’s our car, by the way.

Calvi, by the way, was so beautiful my throat closes when I think about it.

My writing is hitting one snag after another this morning, and I’m 93% sure I’ll simply back away from the keyboard today and work on something else.  Except I don’t want to start the something else on a soured note.  So, I’ve been revisiting some of my favorite mood re-calibrators, including this video.   (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gcG9uba7h4)

It reminds me of my tendency to overthink and overstate, but also that I can underthink and understate.  Between those two is the happy medium that I like best of all.

By artist Michele Feder.

I’ve always had a thing for birds and drawings of birds.   I fell in love with this pen and ink drawing by Michele Feder the moment I set eyes on it in the Local Artist Profile section of The Piedmont Review (circa 1996?).  Oh how I coveted it.  And oh how there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I could have afforded it.

I had just limped away from a three-year MFA program in writing with hefty student loans and no job prospects.  Having lived independently for three years I was in school, I was so broke I had to move in with my parents.  (Can you hear the sad lutes plinking in the background?)

I don’t like thinking about that time of my life, I have to say.  The moment I do, I begin to feel panicky, as if all over again I have to juggle the work issues, the debt issues, the transportation so that I can work and get out of debt issues, and the I-wrote-for-three-years-and-still-not-published issues.  {sigh}

But hey, things have changed since then.  So no point in dwelling there.  Speaking of change, Michele Feder’s work has evolved dramatically over the years.  The Piedmont Review is a very different local magazine, too.  It used to be interesting.  Now it tries too hard to be hip….file that under I hope no one ever says that about me, surely.

One thing that hasn’t changed is my affinity for bird pictures.  Picked up this print of swallows perched on telephone wires in Granada this past May.  Feeling very lucky that I have the pocket change to do so.

For those whose eyes are playing tricks on you, we’re talking about Different Angles this week (not different angels).  I’ve given myself some trippy moments writing this piece by making that typo, let me tell you.

Anyhow, rolling right along from where we left off yesterday with Steps One (Clarifying the Problem) and Two (Identifying Different Angles), you’re now all primed and pumped for the rest, I’m talking Steps 3 through 7.  The process begins to move fast at the mid-point.

Step 3 – Assess the Angles that Call to You

There’s a small litmus test for the narrowed list of angles, and once again it relies on gut responses.   As a little reminder, yesterday I narrowed the list of different angles from five down to two and these are the two I’ll explore a little more before whittling down to just one:  Pizzeria in the Square and Jo Jo Who Go-go’s

Each of the angles on the short list is assessed by these two questions:

• Does this angle pique my curiosity?  Yes or No.
• Does it leave a trail of breadcrumbs I want to follow?  Yes or No.

That’s it.  Maybes aren’t included by design.

Because there are no maybes, you need to trust your gut’s immediate response. It’s too easy for Analysis Paralysis to swoop down in these early stages and create a muddle just as you’re starting to step a little closer to clarity. Your gut will surprise you with how clear it can be.

The goal of this step isn’t pointedly to make your short list of different angles even shorter, although that may happen.  Your goal is to sniff out any “shoulds” lurking behind your choices and to vet out the angles that don’t really spark a lot of interest.  Again, gut responses are especially helpful for sniffing and vetting.

Myself, I can answer Yes to both questions for both of my angles.  And so, both will accompany me to Step Four.

Step Four – Imagine Tackling the Problem from Each Angle

In this phase of the exercise you act as if you’ve followed the trail of breadcrumbs and as if the angle is operational. The objective is to find out if the breadcrumbs you followed still have an appeal and if a sense of possibility prevails.

This step entails a great deal of imagineering, suspended reality, and talking to yourself. You draw a scene on the sidewalk of your mind based on each angle and you interact with it.  It’s all happening in your head, at least for the moment.

You care about how each angle “feels” and not figuring out the rationality or the rationale behind it.  It can get a little trippy, of course, which makes it whole lot more interesting to do than straightforward, data-crunching analysis.  There’s a time and place for both.  Read on and you’ll see.

First angle, Pizzeria in the Square – From this angle there’s definitely a feeling of being settled and comfortable. We’ve gotten to know the head waiter at the pizzeria.  He actually remembers our names and shakes our hands before we sit down. We’ve had our weekly language lessons, and so we try to practice our Spanish as we chat with him, but he speaks English to us anyway.  We recognize some of the people sitting in and around the square – the elderly couples, for example whose grown children drive down from Valencia on a Sunday with their children. Three generations drinking coffees or syrupy drinks and talking over one another.  Everything that can go wrong during house renovations has gone wrong, and to get a break from the frustrations we knew would come but hoped they wouldn’t all the same, we treat ourselves to a pizza and a decent bottle of wine.  What bubbles up sometimes, though, is a feeling of regret, of having closed ourselves off from other travels because the renovations demand our full attention.  We wanted a roof of our own and we got it. But the roof came with leaks, so we got those, too.

In the end, I’m not so sure I like where the breadcrumbs of this angle are leading.  There’s a feeling of being too comfortable in the comfort zone, and being too wrapped up in creating the perfect house in which to live but not enough living actually going on.

Moving on to angle number two.

Jo Jo Who Go-go’s -  Straightaway Jo Jo elbows the remnants of the first angle off the stage.  She wants all the free space she can get, because she has a lot of gyrating to do and a girl who wants to gyrate needs her space. (shimmy shimmy)

Why can’t we, she wants to know, sprinkle a little of this and a little of that into our plan and more or less have it both ways?  (shimmy shimmy)

Because you can’t have it both ways.

Says who? (shimmy shimmy)

Life.

Life said that?  (shimmy shimmy)  That’s not cool.  (shimmy shimmy)

In the last memo.

Didn’t get a memo. (shimmy shimmy) Wait, I’ve kind of forgotten what a memo looks like.  (shimmy shimmy)

Don’t worry about it.

I’m not. (shimmy shimmy) Listen, why not go to Italy for a couple months and then come back to Spain, and find a house if you still want to?  (shimmy shimmy shimmy)

But what if the house we’re eye-balling has been nabbed by somebody else?

Then it’s nabbed. (shimmy shimmy)  And you’ll survive the loss.  (shimmy shimmy) And you’ll move on.  (shimmy shimmy).  And you find another that strikes your fancy.  (shimmy shimmy) Or you don’t, if that’s your fancy.  (shimmy shimmy) You gotta decide your fancy at some point, sure.  (shimmy shimmy) But does it have to be now?  (shimmy shimmy).  No, it doesn’t. (shimmy shimmy) So, to Italy first.  (shimmy shimmy) Have a little float and dabble there. (shimmy shimmy) And get fat on good pasta.  (shimmy shimmy)  Mmmm…good pasta. (shimmy shimmy shimmy shimmy)

In Jo Jo’s angle there’s no room for small, mean cages. The breadcrumbs stay away from cages but don’t shy from question marks and a lot of openness either.  Not to mention the sneaky tactic of appealing to my easily swayed stomach. But dang, I like the way problem is reshaped into a plan.  The openness feels a little scary but also smart.  And more importantly, right.

Step Five – Brainstorm Next Steps from the Chosen Angle

One of the reasons it pays to go deep with your imagination in Step Four is that it can make Step Five that much easier.

Keeping in mind that you haven’t said Yes to anything just yet, Step Five is about cogitating some actions you could take if you say Yes to what exploring the preferred angle has revealed.

For example, thanks to Jo Jo, I’m pretty clear that I’m called to travel in Italy for at least a little while, a kind of last hurrah before I say “I do” to one place.  Given that, a couple of obvious next steps would be to look up some apartment rentals in Italy and check the ferry schedule from Barcelona to Civitivecchia, Livorno or Genoa.  We could spend a few days in Barcelona before catching the ferry as well, so that would entail finding a dog-friendly hotel.

Other next steps popping off the top of my head:

• Contact an English-speaking architect and arrange for him to meet us at the fixer-upper we’re considering.  That way we can get discuss the feasibility and potential costs of our plans with someone who knows the planning permission rules and has done this sort of thing a few times.
• Find a storage facility for our stuff.  We bring to Italy what we can carry in the Peugeot, and it’s not all that much.
• Talk to the café owner who mentioned she knew of a winter rental that might suit us if we decide to come back to Moraira post-Italy.
• Check out the cost of a roof rack for the Peugeot. Must remember who we’re dealing with – two foodie adults who don’t like to part with their kitchen gear.

Once you’ve engaged with an angle very different from where you started the stuckness dissolves, and the problem you might then face is not having enough options but in having a few too many.

Step Six – Putting the Brainstormed Next Steps on the Calendar.

I find that if I don’t put something on the calendar it never gets done because it’s been forgotten.  Which is not to say that calendaring is foolproof. Just saying that the likelihood I’ll do the step gets a significant boost.

Other than that my rule of thumb for to-do lists is pretty simple – take the time frame into consideration, and be reasonable. There needs to be really good reason to have a beefy to do list, like the fact that in five weeks our lease is up.  So, in the next week or so I’ll have to stay on top of these new items and still put in a good effort with my work to-do’s and rest-of-life to-do’s. The new to-do’s will probably increase as I go along, get more information, and find snags in the planning.  Nonetheless, I can still pencil in a schedule for the items in question in anticipation of Step 7.

• Today – Call architect and set up an appointment for next week
• Saturday – check ferry schedules; send 5-6 queries about apartments in Italy.
• Monday – stop by the café  and ask owner about the winter let
• Tuesday – do additional rental inquiries for Italy if needed.
• Wednesday – contact storage facilities
• Saturday – research roof racks

Step 7 – Step Over the (Imaginary) Commitment Line Towards ___________?

What exactly are you committing to in this step?  An angle?  A plan, even if it’s rough and rudimentary?  At least one action step?  Something, anything so that the 2800+ words written on this topic so far don’t appear a complete waste of time?

Your commitment can be towards all of the above, some of the above, or none of the above. The environment we’ve been operating is made of Play-doh and not cement.  The cementing happens only when you choose to pour it.

Because, let’s face it, you can commit to nothing further than further exploration.  That may entail revisiting an angle previously rejected, brainstorming some more angles, or even time testing the angle you have.  Or, you don’t have to commit to anything at all, if you don’t want to.

Unlike other commitments you might have to make in your life, this is one where you do it because you want to, not because there’s pressure filtering in from elsewhere.  When you step over the (imaginary) line that binds you to your intentions, you say “I will…” not “I can….”  And if you don’t say “I will” honestly, you won’t be satisfied with what that asks of you.

Even in my situation I don’t have to commit to doing anything but moving out the day our lease ends.  I still have the option of taking in-the-moment to its extremes, throwing all caution to the wind, figuring out our next steps only one day to the next.

Except that that’s not how I’m wired and that strategy isn’t friendly towards running a business.

So, for me a commitment to addressing our relocation issue is both essential and wanted.  I happen to like the angles I unfolded in Step 3.  I happen to like the possibilities Jo Jo who Go-go’s brought to my attention in Step 4.  I happen to be on board with the next steps that I came up with in Step 5. I happen to feel confident about my ability to follow-through on the scheduling penciled in Step 6.  As a result, saying I will commit to them in Step 7 isn’t a bother.

It is, in fact, sweet relief.