I haven’t been happy with how my work’s gone lately. I’ve been trying to blog it out–figure out what the Hell I’m doing wrong, what isn’t working for me to fix it–and mostly find I end up sounding (and feeling) like a big whiny-ass, if you wanna know the truth.

I’m working too much overall and not making enough for it. I am doing lot of production work, and very little working on my business–making it better, offering new products, improving service. This is all stuff I dig–planning, executing, and marketing.  I haven’t had time or energy to learn new skills or follow the trends–all stuff I enjoyed. I’m not so much digging on the pushing pixels, unless the reason why I’m pushing pixels buzzes me. And to be honest, if it’s pushing pixels for somebody else’s project, it usually doesn’t buzz me much anymore.

I get discouraged sometimes. I don’t feel my efforts are valued. People look for me to tell them how to (easily and with no special training) do what I’ve been charging to do for them. Many expect me to be able to explain it in a short email, for Godssakes.¹ They ask questions they (often rightly) assume I can answer much more easily than they can–which is fine–but kind of miss the reason why I can answer them easily is because I have spent many years learning my trade and, uh, well…kinda expect to be paid for my expertise. At least some of the time. Even an offer would be nice.

Now, I don’t expect everyone to get how hard my job is sometimes, or to understand exactly how much I invest  into doing it to the best of my ability. (Hint: It’s a lot.) Part of my job is to make my job look easy–seamless at the other end. Evidently, I’m good at that part. And a lot of it you can’t even see on the outside. But I know it’s there, and the people I work with benefit from my attention to detail, even if they don’t know it.

I”m into service, so I do my best. I hate to be nickel-and-dimed, so I don’t do that to my folks. I answer questions ’til the cows come home and go back out again. I help, share information, give freely of advice and ideas, both because I like to help and also because I believe this is good business. When the freebies become an expectation instead of acknowledged as a gift, however, it doesn’t feel the same.

It’s disheartening. Often the people that are paying the least expect the most from me. After a certain threshold, I just want to snap, “Good luck finding anybody else who will do half as much as I do for ten times the price!” If I find myself feeling resentful, I know I’m doing something wrong. I can get fussy at the person on the other end of the email, but truth is that only I have the ability to change it.

Maybe I need to do a better job of communicating what I really do. Maybe I need to charge more. Maybe I need to block a percentage of time for my business stuff vs. pay-the-bills-production work. Maybe I need to erect better boundaries. Maybe all of these things are erecting better boundaries.

Or maybe I just need to quit whining and get that design finished already. You know…the one with that deadline that I disregarded (as if it were a due date on one of my outgoing invoices)?

Click here to view the embedded video.

1. At least it’s been a while since anybody asked me what book they needed to buy to do my job. Now they ask what software to buy instead.

When my daughter moved, she put my husband in charge of watching me. Yeah–watching me. That’s how she said it, too.

“When I’m gone, you’re in charge of watching Mom, Dad. You have to keep her from hurting herself.”

I’m protesting, but I could as well be 4 years old for all the mind being paid. If it wasn’t so funny, I could be offended I’ve just been assigned a babysitter.

He’s listening closely, and solemnly agrees to take on the job. I’m not surprised. I’ve heard them talk about me as if I were a dangerous lunatic before, after all. It’s one of those 60/40 family jokes: 60% true, 40% joke.

What I didn’t expect was him to take it so seriously. Evidently, I need a lot of watching. I have also learned some of this goes on without my knowledge. But some, I definitely notice.

Like the other night…a hunk of dinner is stuck in the garbage disposal. I  get ready to stick my hand down in there to fix it, but  I’m kind of  waiting for hubby to move out line of sight. I know he’s paranoid as all heck, and won’t want to watch me stick my hand in there, even though the thing’s off.

Wait…wait…wait…He doesn’t move.

Hey! He’s standing there to keep me from doing it, damnit!

I pause a minute, feeling completely lost without use of my hands. I start to walk away to figure it out later (or, more likely, come back when he’s not watching)–until he offers an alternative: I can use some tongs to pull out the food. I stumble around for a minute, but it worked.

And this is how it’s been. I think it’s quite silly as he’s overseeing me taking a cup of coffee out of the microwave, but begrudgingly admit he probably had a point about the sticking-a-fork-in-the-plugged-in-toaster thing.

Probably.

An awful lot comes down to perspective.

I’m chatting with my daughter on Facebook; we don’t get to talk every day since she moved cross-country. A reminder came up of the tussle it used to be getting her and her stepsister to go to school.

“I’m so sorry about that, Mom,” she tells me. I assure her I wasn’t traumatized. Then she apologizes for a whole list of other things.

I wasn’t prompting for an apology, and she understood that. Although every kid will present challenges, she was pretty darned easy to raise in the grand scheme of things. I know. I’ve seen less easy.

It’s just that being on her own a month, she’s seeing the world through different eyes. She’s been introduced to some of her own foibles in others, and she’s been in the position of being responsible for a lot more than she was at home. She’s had to take care of business in a way she never has before. It changes things. She respected me before, appreciated both her Dad and I, but it takes on a new depth when faced with the scope. Y’kno?

It moves me–and like everything else about this whole damn empty nest thing, it’s bittersweet. The goal all along has always been to raise an independent adult. But I’m kind of sad I can’t spare her from the stress of growing up, either…

Hyperbole annoys the living Hell out of me. Why do folks feel the need to drama-queen it up, anyway? When you yell “Fire” in absence of smoke, when you declare emergency without actual crisis, or in general overreact in ways that can be construed as nothing beyond performance, I get cranky. Seriously…’cause if you don’t think I’m going to notice, you’re dumber than you take me for.

Now, when I hit on one of these episodes, I may not call it out. There’s a very good chance I won’t. I’m busy. I work hard. I have better things to do.  And tapping Harry Hyperbole on the shoulder to say, “Hey–I see through your bullshit!” is going to be a poor use of my energy, 99.9% of the time. What’s the point? If  manipulation is how a person relates by default, why on Earth would me calling “Shenanigans” change that? Somehow, they’ll see the light? Fat chance. More likely you’ll get denials and more of the same. ¹

Even beyond my knee-jerk disgust for disingenuous of any flavor–and mind you, I have one!–the practice mystifies me. I don’t know if the manipulation is intended to spur me into faster action, elicit a specific emotional response, be politically advantageous, avoid the possibility of complaint or what. I usually avoid trying to figure it out too much because that’s so completely foreign to how I think, it makes my hair hurt to attempt understanding. I’m a huge fan of the “say what you mean, and mean what you say” philosophy. Makes life about a quadrillion times simpler. As a plus, I don’t have to try and remember what persona I adopted yesterday–I’m the same, yesterday, today and tomorrow.

I guess I could feel sorry for folks who compelled to resort to sleight of hand to reach their goals, but I don’t. Maybe it’s because being underestimated is a pet peeve of mine going way back. Spending years as a fat chick, nobody thought I could possibly have a meaningful thought in that round little head of mine.Yes, I could easily clear up the misconception, but it sure gets old fast.

Truth is, I am one of the brightest people you’re ever going to meet. You can say that’s an arrogant statement (and you’d be right), but it’s as true as the sky is blue.When people are dishonest with me, I notice. I’ve got a good nose for it. And maybe I keep my mouth shut at the time for want of a point, but you can be damn sure I file the information away. You get yourself an entry in my “not trustworthy” ledger, and it’s more than selling me short. It’s selling off the potential for a relationship.

You treat me with respect, don’t complicate my life with unnecessary grief, and generally show yourself to be a person of integrity, there is virtually no end to the lengths I will go to in order to help and support you. And I’ll be completely glad to do it! I give of my energy and expertise freely–nobody has to finagle cooperation out of me. Perhaps that’s why I find attempts to steal it offensive.

1. Reminds me of all the Cheaters episodes, where the busted routinely cries, “You could have just asked me! ” As if  asking the right question, the right way in the right time would somehow magically elicit a different response that the daily onslaught of lies they’re swimming in…yes, I watch Cheaters. I don’t care.

You know, it pisses me off to no end when people who are losing a client, a hosting account, or whatever business in whatever form are not gracious. There are different ways to be ungracious, you know.

I’ve seen today:

• Refusing to provide information required, despite client’s authorization
• Speaking/acting like the replacement provider is some kind of clueless idiot by provide VERY basic information.
• Remaining polite and agreeing to provide required information–while NOT doing it and in general, absolutely obstructing the process.

Today, I had an email in response to an example of ungraciousness that sat in my drafts folder all day. See, I have a strict policy of never answering emails when I’m still pissed off. This policy has served me well, so I have no plans to abandon it.

I’m beginning to think I’ll have to work around it without the email (and hence assistance that would make my job easier), because, well…I don’t think I can meet that not-pissed criteria. I also don’t think I’m going to get the losing service provider’s support. Except in reality, it means the client isn’t getting their support.

I have NO respect for people who’s business plans include making it painful/difficult/virtually impossible for a client to transfer services. I mean, c’mon.

Grabbed some pics from the video my daughter sent me of her first place. It made me happy to see what she’s doing and all, and to see a full fridge. Even if a good half of the contents is pop.

Click on an image for a larger version.

I’m really looking forward to the next time we get to see her. I miss her.

With my daughter having moved far off, a couple people have asked me if she’s looking for work. I’m sure they think I’m mental when I tell them I have no idea whatsoever, have not asked–and am not planning on asking.

It’s not because it would upset her, or be a touchy subject somehow. She’s straightforward, and doesn’t have issues with the idea I care about how she’s doing. She’s honest and direct when I question her. It’s really a lot simpler than that.

One parenting lesson I’ve internalized is to let your kids run their own lives. It’s less stressful for everybody. You can lay down hard cash on the fact that they will NOT manage things the way you would. Even when they do, it certainly won’t be on your timetable. The more you’re wrapped up in it, the more it will drive you insane. (If I can avoid being driven insane by decisions I have zero control over, I find it a good plan.)

But even if their decisions wouldn’t give you pause, it’s still a good plan.  Letting go and trusting in their ability to manage their own stuff ultimately (whether or not it’s pretty) is validating. It’s appropriate. And most of the time, with most kids–that trust is warranted.

The water gets a little muddier when the kid is hovering on a self-destruct button, or slinging crazy all over a floor you’re going to end up mopping. But the basic principal holds. If I see one of my kids headed for a brick wall, I’m going to holler, “Watch Out!”  If I didn’t, I’d always wonder if it would have made a difference.  But beyond, I’m going to stay out of it. I won’t contribute to it, but I’m not going to try to dismantle the process, either. It’s my responsibility to determine what ways I can feel good about participating in my kids’ lives, and eliminate ways I’m not willing to.

But if my grown-up kid decides to hit the accelerator on the path to devastation anyway…well, much as I may hate it, it’s not my business anymore. I’ll be honest: it will make you sick to watch. So you try not too. But your kids or not, they are adult, free-willed, self-determined beings. It is not my right to enforce my will upon them, even if I’m “right” by most standards.

So instead you step back; you let go and hope that whatever lessons they’ve got in the wings they manage to navigate, without killing themselves or wrecking havoc in other lives. You distance as much as you need to in order to let go. And as unsettling as the thought may be, you come to terms with the fact your kid may end up jacked, one way or another. That’s a pretty disturbing thought first time it hits your brain. But it’s true as the sun coming up in the East, and to deny that is to deny reality.

This isn’t the situation with my daughter now, I’m glad to say. She knows if she has concerns, if she wants advice, if she wants support, then I’m available to her, period. She’s not going to take me up on that for every little issue, though; she wants to figure out her own problems, manage her own life without constant input from her parents. It’s both important for her self-esteem and age-appropriate. This is what you’ve spent those years teaching and coaching them for–the day they go out to do it on their own. It’s bittersweet, to say the least.

Walking out of the house on the day she moved, she turned and paused in the doorway.

“I’m gonna go do that grown-up thing.”

“Good luck with that,” I say with a wry smile.

“Uh….thanks.”

We laughed. But you know what? I meant it.

“You don’t have to retweet everything I post,” my husband says to me about pimping out his blog on Twitter. “I don’t want you to hurt your business.”

I know he wouldn’t take it personally if I choose not to promote his political blog–a topic inherently controversial and sometimes contentious–in venues where I have interaction with clients. It’s not like it’s not something I’d considered beforehand.

I assure him it’s my choice. I am proud of what he’s doing and I want to support him however I can. Even on the days I wonder whether it makes a difference in my business, the answer is still the same for me.

For many years, I kept everything separate religiously. It was rare that a client would realize I had a personal blog (for years), or knew I am a low-carber,  or new-age hippie chick.  This was all just mystery, smoke and mirrors. They knew I was personable and could fix their websites. Some might know I was married or had a daughter or cats. But that was the extent of sharing time.

They didn’t know just how freakin’ weird I am. Not clue one. And that worked. I was always professional dealing with my clients. A totally differentiated personal life left me free to occasionally be a disgruntled web designer on my blog, cuss like a drunken sailor on shore leave and not be bothered about who it’s going to bother. I could talk astrology or tarot  and not be worry someone might think I was a flake who couldn’t be trusted with their FTP passwords.

It was easier.

Social media shook that up. I had real life friends mixing with online friends mixing with clients. I didn’t want to be a phony–yuck!–and I sure as Hell didn’t want to have to scrutinize every potential utterance through 37 mental filters for potential landmines. Those who know me well know I have a damned big mouth and know how to use it. (Mars/Mercury in living color.)

So what if someone doesn’t like my Libertarian politics? So what if they think New Age stuff (and therefore those who follow it) utterly nuts? I accepted the idea if some don’t want to work with me based on my personal-life, then okay. Potentially losing a little business was a reasonable tradeoff.

Little at a time, I relaxed. I’d let my mouth open with the crystal clear understanding that sometimes, whatever coming out might not make perfect sense, might rattle or annoy, may leave others thinking less of me, or just be less than perfect somehow. I am less than perfect, somehow. I didn’t want to work quite so hard to keep the lack of perfection to myself.

Anybody who wanted to bother with connecting the dots would start to see a bigger picture. Using my real name more often, linking to sites I frequent (where I frequently blather), in general simply letting these natural connections emerge, it started feeling like a matter of integrity to allow the two worlds collide. I was surprised at how it played. It was a relief to scrutinize less, which I expected. What I didn’t expect, however, was that I started getting some new clients who knew (and evidently liked) the real me already! Maybe this shouldn’t have shocked me, but it did. The “color” didn’t scare them all off.

I have always had  a hard time gauging how people perceive me. Seems like they usually they really like me or they really don’t–not so much in between. So at times, the “openness” policy is disconcerting.  Openness can feel a little naked. But in the big picture, what a gift it is!

Now, the people that work with me are working with me because they choose to, despite my “eccentricities” as I like to call them (or at least don’t care enough to try and figure it out). Ultimately, most probably work with me because I do my damnedest to take good care of their needs. But as a byproduct, my business more closely represents the real me than it ever has before, and I can’t help but think this level of authenticity in everything I do will make an impact–and lead me more smoothly to the next place I am going, wherever that is.

At the very least, it’s a lot more fun.

photo credit: Domiriel

Testing out video upload quality to see what sites display the nicest. Focused on sites easy to automatically upload my Flip Video to, since I totally dig my HD Flip camera. These are all the same video, so this post is more or less for reference – MySpace, YouTube and Flickr vid versons compared.

Myspace – Quality iffy; can directly add from Flipshare.

Click here to view the embedded video.

YouTube – No plugin required to embed into WP – added directly from Flipshare.

Flickr- No plugin required to embed. Required uploading; limits on number and size of vids uploaded.

I recently contributed to an article discussing setting rates for web design work. I’ve written about this a few times, and have several years experience doing  it. This is challenging for those just starting out, so I felt really good about being a part of it. Unlike many articles on the topic, actual numbers were discussed along with practices, making it a lot more useful to people trying to set their own rates. So when I discovered from my site tracking that I’d gotten over a thousand visitors from the article, I was psyched.

That is, until I went there and read the comments…uh…it was a bloodbath.

I mean, my God. How many times you see a group of strangers talk about what you’ve been doing for over a decade, and use your job title in quotes? Call you unethical for charging the rates you do? Say your clients must be stupid? Holy shit, y’kno? Ouch. It felt like getting slapped in the face. I wasn’t expecting praise from these strangers, although some appreciation for people sharing their information might have been nice. But instead, there was about 80% venom.

Ironically enough, I don’t even have a design portfolio online anymore. Haven’t been looking for design work, so I don’t have it available. So these people evidently just hate my Good Karma Host website design.

I took it hard for a minute. I shouldn’t have, but you know. I started obsessively clicking the links provided by any commenter to see what their own sites looked like. Many didn’t have links, or linked to placeholder “coming soon” pages. (Yeah–pretty easy to be better than anyone else in your HEAD, huh?) Saw several ripoffs of the “design’d'jour” trends,  i.e. WooThemes knockoffs. And a few sites that were nicely designed, in my (not-too-heralded) opinion. But nothing that should give these folks credibility beyond real-life results: I have run a business for over a decade with ZERO marketing, surviving full time on word of mouth advertising.

A couple of the folks I work with (heard me complaining via Twitter) popped on with rebuttal, which I thought was very kind. And I debated with myself hard about linking that article from my business site. In the end, I decided to, although I could change my mind again. It just seemed kind of dirty to try and bury it, I guess, when I’d normally promote stuff I’m involved in. But the whole thing got me thinking…

See, I’m not a professionally trained graphic artist. I have no college credit in design, or coding, or anything else related to what I do for a living.¹ I am not the world’s premier designer, or coder, or anything for that matter. I could feel bad about that. But I am not going to; my clients are happy and that is my goal. Hence, I’m meeting my own definition of success.

I thought about this…Why have I been successful in a field where so many, some of whom have stronger skills than me, struggle and fail? I know I do a lot of things right. I’m honest about both my skills and limitations. I treat my customers well, and always do my best for them.  I “get” customer service when many don’t.

But if I had to distill it down to a single principle, it’s fairly simple why I’ve made it when others (who may have more talent) don’t: I build people up. I use all my skills to support the people I work with–or even just come in contact with–however I can. I’m generous with whatever time, skills, and expertise I possess. I always give whatever I’ve got totally and with the best intent, however flawed it may at times be, and I give with a sincere hope to help.

You won’t find me commenting on an article about web design by lambasting the contributors as talentless hacks. That’s not my style. For many years, I had articles up about getting started in the biz, and would regularly get emails from folks just starting out looking for advice. I’d take a few minutes and try to give them helpful feedback. Some were not too far along, but everybody has to start somewhere. I’d be as supportive and as encouraging as possible, while pointing out some areas they may turn attention to in order to improve and grow. I didn’t have to tear anybody down to remain both honest and helpful. I just had to set aside my own ego enough to see that having more experience or skill in certain areas didn’t make me somehow ” better” than these new folks who are trying to learn the ropes.

And maybe there is a lesson here. I don’t bill myself as a rock star designer (or rock star anything). But I don’t need to. Not every client is looking for a rock star designer–or accompanying rock star ego. My clients want to work with someone who cares, listens, and honestly and consistently does their very best to support their goals. You have to be able to set your ego aside to do this effectively.

I’d say a little humility is a pretty damn valuable business asset. Thank God I have some.

photo credit: orangebrompton

1. You could argue the psych background is universally applicable, but I’m not.