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Schizophrenic Intro

Here's a disturbing thought: What if I were to make the bold claim (me? bold claim?) that there's no such thing as independent thinking. You're over there already, shaking your finger back and forth at me and saying, ��Nuh uh, girlfriend. I don't know about you, but I have got a mind of my own!�� Snap right, snap left, SNAP RIGHT.

To which I place a hand on one hip and say, “Oh yeah, suga'? That's because you don't know about the Hopi.��

And then you look at me with a semi-puzzled, semi-skeptical look on your face that says, “What the hell are you talking about, Ash?��

To which I raise a mischievous eyebrow and tell you that you'll have to wait until the end of the post to find out. Because right now, we've got some business to talk about. And that business looks a little something like Sapir + Whorf + Hypothesis + Understanding Of What That Is & How It Affects You = YOU, Exponentially More Awesome. And by that, I mean sassy little know-it-all who's busting some moves in the world.

Shall we, my dear?

A Badass Hypothesis

So Sapir. And Whorf. They were two dudes. Really intelligent dudes who studied linguistics. Just take a look at this gem of a statement that Sapir threw out there one glorious day (pay attention, this is importaaaaantttttttt):

“No two languages are ever sufficiently similar to be considered as representing the same social reality. The worlds in which different societies live are distinct worlds, not merely the same world with different labels attached.��

Deep. I know.

Basically, the premise is this: The language we speak affects how we view the world. It also can affect how we think or act, and asserts that all human beings do not think the same way regardless of what language they speak.

And I am just oh-so-in-love with this theory. To expand, it's the idea that the linguistic structure that we have available to us (i.e. verb forms, the order of sentences) influences our perceptions and, hence, thoughts.

For example, as humans we tend to put things, situations, ideas, people–you name it–into mental categories. Yet, these categories don't exist because they stare every observer in the face; rather, our categories are organized by our minds, and that means by the linguistic systems of our minds. Therefore, all observers are not led by the same physical evidence to the same picture of the universe.

And that's just all sorts of wild.

So, back to the Hopi. That clever bunch has two different words for “water��: One for drinking water in a container versus a natural body of water. Brilliant! To add to the envy, they also are said not to experience time in the same way that we do; to them, it is not linear out of the past, through a present and future (e.g. “Our future is ahead of us.��), but rather is a circular flow that is tied to the ever changing and returning seasons. Tell me that wouldn't lower your stress levels on your daily commute! Oh, I'm 15 minutes late? No biggie; that'll just be recycled right on back to my boss next year.

Some of you might know that I've got a master's degree in TESOL, which, in sum, is basically a master's degree in second language acquisition theory. I've had some really rad times studying the differences between Chinese & English, as I used to work with non-native English speakers, many of which were from China, entering into a local Penn State branch to help them foster greater academic language proficiency.

Two interesting things to note about the Chinese language:

1) There is no gender. Distinctions between he versus she do not exist.

2) Counterfactual statements don't exist.

For example, �� were to shut down his blog, there would be a lot of angry people.�� This is counterfactual, because it isn't true. (The part about him shutting down his blog–not that the people would be angry, because they definitely would.) We're hypothesizing.

But the Chinese don't have this construction. They'd likely write this as ��didn't shut down his blog; if he did, people were mad.�� So what happens is that the Chinese have no way to express something that counters reality, and that is known to be false, simply for the purpose of drawing implications.

Because of this, researchers have posited that Indo-European speakers (us and everyone else with the ability to form counterfactuals) are more inclined to perform theoretical thinking, whereas the lack of it in Chinese induces a general disinclination for them doing so, which can be observed in their traditionally more practical, reality-centered approaches to scientific, social and moral questions. (Blame Alfred Bloom; he said it, not me!)

So, that's equally wild, eh?

So, I Discovered This Thing . . .

Now for my favorite part of this little discussion:

Do you know that we've now invented another language, similar to English, called “E-Prime?��

To my great disappointment, “e�� does not stand for “electronic,�� as one might be inclined to assume. Rather, E-Prime is short for “English Prime,�� and it's a modified version of the English language which basically just kicked out any and all forms of the verb, “to be,�� suggesting that the use of E-Prime leads to a less dogmatic style of language.

Essentially, the language doesn't make any absolute assertions. My homie Wikipedia states that E-Prime is also used as a mental discipline activity to filter speech and translate the speech of others.

For example, the sentence ��Miller Lite is good,�� translated into E-Prime, would read, ��I like Miller Lite,�� and communicates the subjective experience rather than judgment. This makes it a whole hell of a lot harder to confuse opinion with fact. (Are you stroking your chin with wonder and curiosity yet?)

Furthermore, passive voice is eliminated. Example: “The beer was spilt.�� For all of you non-English language obsessed cool cats, that's a passive statement that pretty much takes the blame off of any one person, as if it sort of just happened. (The verb “to be�� is hiding in the “was.��)

However, in E-Prime, the person who actually spilled the beer would have to suck it up and take the blame. So, in opposition, this is an active statement: �� spilled the beer.�� (I knew I shouldn't have entrusted him with it, him gallivanting all over the world and such.)

If this thought hasn't crossed your mind yet, imagine how useful to the American public E-Prime would be in politics.

There'd be no more, “A decision was made.�� No, no, no. Someone over in that big, giant, white, massive house would have to own up to that decision. Is it reasonable to assume that this is one reason why English has become the international language of business? Just sayin'.

Spine-Tingling Implications (And The Jet)

If you've made it to this point, I'm proud. I know that English talk can get daunting, but it raises an interesting point: Does independent thinking actually exist, and to what degree?

If you can only think through a language, then doesn't that language automatically moderate that thought process? And if that's the case, then many of our thoughts could be out of our control.

But time out: What about the learning of second, third, fourth languages? What happens then? That interdependence of thought and language gets shaken up a bit, and perhaps allows us the possibility of a whole new system of conceptualization. New conceptualization = new perspectives = new thought processes = new ideas = new, more enhanced you.

That's kind of magical, actually . . . dangling additional systems of conceptualization over peoples' heads.

Is the learning of a second language a plausible first step toward the eradication of narrow-minded, closed thinking? Do I need to call Obama and see if we can make this a law?

Because, frankly, I wouldn't mind seeing a little less dogmatism, and a little more tolerance, or better–dare I say–acceptance? And then maybe for offering up such an exquisite idea, supported with the oh-so-official examples I cited here, he would consider lending me his private jet sometime. And then you know it's going down, if I'm driving Obama's jet.

Because you know in a heartbeat I'd be all like, “Yeah, so…Barack. I dunno, really. A decision was made and, the plane? Well, it was crashed, buddy.��

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Ed-u-ca-tion.

Ah, the sound of the word alone evokes feelings of hope, prosperity, success and—what's that?—money, you say? Ah, yes. And money.

We grow up believing that education can defeat all circumstance, transcend social classes, and pave a 24 carat, solid gold nugget path to upward mobility blissdom. Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh! (No, that was not a scream, people, those were the angels harmonizing. Clearly.)

And, isn't that the case?

Don't we go to school and get an education to learn, think independently, develop our interests and become all-around badasses? Don't we praise, worship and promote education as the be-all, end-all solution to the world's worries? Don't we embark on philanthropic missions to spread the good word of education to those that don't have access? Doesn't education equal opportunity? Don't I ask a lot of rhetorical questions?

We're constantly talking about what education can do for us.

Sure, there's plenty that education can do for all of us. But in our flurry of excitement, we fail to recognize that tiny little detail called the law of reciprocity. What, exactly, are we doing for education in return?

The answer: A hell of a lot more than we realize.

Why do you suppose presidents go out of their way to make education a priority? And I quote, from President Obama's website:

“Preparing our children to compete in the global economy is one of the most urgent challenges we face.��

Sounds noble enough, doesn't it? (Note: This is not a political statement for or against President Obama. Just an example.) As much as we'd like to believe that those in power are petitioning for education because they're good people, or because they're looking out for our personal well-being, or because they want social equality, or maybe just so we don't look like big, fumbling, sloppy idiots next to the Chinese—it's a happy little love story, but it isn't the real reason. The real reason is tucked nicely right into that quote up there. See it there? Look closely. See it now?

Economy.

Economy is a fun little word, especially right now. Our economy happens to be based on capitalism. This means that goods, or capital, is traded for profit, and profit is the name of the game. The term capital can encompass many things, but there's one form of capital in particular that's the most important form of all, and guess what?

That capital is YOU.

You probably think of yourself as far more than a mere factor of production, but human beings in a capitalist society are exactly that–human capital. (Worse, what really stings is that economists refer to human capital as a ��fungible resource,�� which basically means that you're interchangeable. Ouch.) Basically, your knowledge contributes to your ability to perform labor, in order to produce economic value. Therefore, more knowledge = more labor = more economic value.

And how do you get more knowledge? Ed-u-ca-tion. (Cue angels.)

This is why education is promoted. And I'm sure it comes as no surprise, the link between education and economic value. We've always grasped that concept on on the surface, but the question is, do we understand what that means? For example, what if it's the case that the only education you're receiving is that which contributes to your economic value? might argue that it is.

We educate people to perform the functions that are needed, so that they can be productive members of society. You've heard that phrase before, right? In this sense, within the education system we are essentially a bunch of giant pawns that are manipulated, shaped and formed into what is needed in order to produce, AKA, what is needed in order to make a profit. We aren't gaining knowledge for the sake of knowledge; we are gaining specific knowledge–that which is dictated by the elite, with their goals in mind, since they run the education system in the first place–in order to perform certain functions later in life. We're being prepared for the work force. We're being primed to produce.

We're being used, in the deepest sense.

From this perspective, the economy doesn't exist to support its people; its people exist to support the economy. The term “wage slave�� has never held more truth.

Let's put ourselves in an imaginary secondary school setting for a moment, shall we? No gum allowed, or you're going straight to the principal's office.

Let's say a school curriculum emphasizes mathematics over history. (It isn't too often you hear of AP History, do you?) It's highly probable that the students that attend that school will rank mathematics as more important than history. In turn, those people are going to regard jobs that require specialized skills in mathematics as more important than those that require specialized skills in history.

Students are told that jobs in mathematics will mean greater economic opportunities, which may be partly true, but what society gets out of promoting mathematics through the education system is a greater supply of math geniuses. A greater supply of math genius human capital. And a greater supply of math genius human capital translates into a more competitive society. And a more competitive society translates into a more profitable society. And a more profitable society–you guessed it–translates into a better economy.

Was the connection clear there?

So let's skip past all the wordy explanations and get down to it–basically, you're busting your ass to learn math so someone at the top can get even richer. It's a hidden curriculum, if you will. It's a case of those in power manipulating schooling to serve their own agenda. The opinions of the majority are formed mainly through education, and the government decides what's taught in an educational setting.

Coincidence? I think not.

The education system is the perfect way to transmit fundamental values necessary for capitalism to be successful–competition, individualism, consumerism–because it has access to children right from the beginning, and for a really, really (really) long time. It's socialization by education. Education is a tool to wield power.

If you need more proof, think back to when schooling first became widespread, when Western nations tried to colonize indigenous peoples, providing them with moral guidance in an attempt to convert them to Western values and norms.

Why?

So Westerners could exploit them by extracting taxes and getting cheap labor, as well as encourage the spread of Western culture and language. Doesn't sound so much like an institution with your best interests in mind, does it? It was about power and money then, and it's about power and money now.

Here at The Middle Finger Project, we're all about rejecting the expected in favor of unexpectedly better results, in both business and life.

But, it's pretty hard to reject a piece of the status quo when you've spent your whole life unconsciously perpetuating it.

In school, too often we are taught what to think, not how to think, and there's a fundamental difference. It's crucial to acquire the latter if you want to do big things. Critical thinking skills are lacking, and that's why I blog–to encourage it.

Sometimes it makes people uncomfortable, but that's the point. By inspiring critical thought, the hope is to nudge the human race forward, if only just a little bit. Critical thinking leads to action. And if we ever want to shake up the status quo, we're going to have to act.

Am I rebelling against capitalism? No. But I am calling for a more conscious awareness of how the world works around us–and how it affects us, in turn? Yes.

Am I rebelling against education? No. But am I calling for a broader base of knowledge within the education system? Hell yes.

I get capitalism, but here's the thing:

I don't like being someone else's capital��I want to be my own.

��

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There were greasy hot dogs on the counter. Four of them. Naked and un-bunned, flopping around inside a glass Tupperware dish for all the world to see.

I had many questions, including “are these for sale�� and also “where are the onions,�� but perhaps the biggest question I had was:

WHO PUTS HOT DOGS IN THE FRAME WHEN TAKING A PHOTO FOR ZILLOW? Zillow, as in, the real estate website where other people look at photos and decide if they want to buy your house?!

I'm guessing Jim Bob here thought the hot dogs were a nice touch. And (maybe???) they could have been (???)—it's a stretch, I know—were they at least styled with a little Grey Poupon and a bowl of rose water on the side. But these little pig missles just looked like a line-up of cold, limp cadavers sitting there next to a neon blue plastic fork and 16 oz. thermos from Tiny Tim's U-Pull-It. (Or something.)

I won't even get into the sausages. I mean, should I get into the sausages?! They were there, too, and if I happened to guess, I'd say they were deer sausage—as is common in the region—and you should know that if I ever happened to be on Family Feud, and Steve Harvey happened to ask me, “name something you should never put in your Zillow photos,�� I would ALSO emphatically add “ground up deer bladder��

But hey, it's a free country, which explains why there was also a bookshelf in the shape of a canoe. Not just in this listing, but also in another listing right down the road, in which there was not only a bookshelf canoe, but a coffee table canoe, which tells me (a) clearly some people really have it together; (b) some wood carver is out there making bank; and (c) I am 100% not into trout enough. Or whatever people with canoes are into.

If you haven't gathered, I was in full-on creep mode on Zillow last night. I hang out on Zillow way more than is socially acceptable, because this is how I build my self-esteem research places. Most people look at Google maps and Trip Advisor and listicles of Top Ten Things to Do Downtown; me, I go straight inside people's houses! Why go anywhere else? You can really get a feel of a place that way.

Not like I didn't know what this place felt like. I did. I do. It's my hometown.

And the reason I was looking on Zillow at my hometown is because my friend Brian just bought a place out that way, and it's on a lake, and he ALSO bought a golf cart, and then I thought: WELL MAYBE I, TOO, CAN BE THE POSSESSOR OF SUCH FINE ITEMS. (The last time I was on a golf cart was in 1999 when I started dating a basketball player who thought I was outdoorsy.)

So I started to poke around��nice lake, nice land, nice Budweiser cooler—when suddenly a listing came outta nowhere and punched me in the mouth: a tiny little house at the end of a field. I recognized it immediately.

“Do you think we could afford it, mom?�� I had squeaked, then age sixteen.

“Oh, it is ���ܳٱ�.��

“Think of the garden you could have here!�� I persuaded.

“I don't know about living right next to the railroad tracks��.��

“Oh, but it's so much closer to the school!��

I would've said anything to get us out of the trailer we lived in. But as much as my mom and I liked to daydream when we took our rides, the truth was, we couldn't afford anything else. The little house cost something like $80,000 then: four times where we lived. And that was nothin' compared to the cul-de-sac houses I dreamed of at the end of town; the ones with two stories and slate blue vinyl siding. (I automatically categorized anyone who had vinyl siding as R-I-I-I-I-CH.)

So when I spotted that little house on Zillow last night, I lurched forward. What was the inside like of this little home we had once dreamed of? Who lived there now? What was my (almost) alternate version of reality?

I clicked.

Nostalgia in the throat.

Registered the price: it was selling for $130,000 now.

Image by image I scrolled, eyeing past the mailbox in the shape of a bass, the wild-wild west pistol on the wall, the very same stained-glass rooster lamp my mother and I had once owned.

And then I saw the hot dogs. Oh, the hot dogs!

I really thought about those hot dogs, you know? I mean, it prompted me to think about everything. As I looked up at my brand-new, freshly painted white ceiling—the one with the recessed lighting I recently had put in over the fireplace of my historic, listed-on-the-register building here in the middle of one of the most renowned neighborhoods in America—and I said out loud, to no one in particular: “Oh my god, I live in a palace.�� I live in a fucking palace. It is by no means the size of a palace, but it might as well be BUCKINGHAM.

It hadn't fully registered, maybe ever, just how far I've come—because nothing ever does when it happens in a series of 100,000 tiny, microscopic moments.

It hadn't fully registered that the home I now own would have been my 16-year-old-self's greatest dream—her most exquisite fantasy. And then I looked over at the staircase—the one I complain about daily, because #groceries—and thought about how it was once my ONE big childhood dream to have a staircase. That was it, that was the dream. I didn't care where they led or what they were made of—all I knew was that the thing I coveted most was stairs. Stairs meant you had enough money for two floors, not just one. Stairs meant there was no way you lived in a trailer.

And oh, the floodgates! The floodgates opened, and there I was sitting there with my perspective in my hand. How hadn't I taken the time to really appreciate all of this? How had I become the person who was all, “ugh, this hardwood needs to be stained darker,�� and “the fireplace mantel isn't French enough.�� Oh, and don't place your vintage wine on the marble coffee table—or a fistful of lemons! (Gotta watch out for those assholes.)

Who am I? What is this reality? How did it all come to be? How did I get from Point A to Point [Insert Futuristic Alien Alphabet Letter].

And god, you know? I know the answer. I really, really do.

It was writing.

It was always writing.

The words I've put on the page since I first started writing in a diary in the first grade have acted like tiny little buoys, giving me something solid to grasp onto, always. Throughout any sense of uncertainty or volatility or wobbliness, there have always been words. They have been a grand tool—my greatest ally. They have allowed me to create from nothing. They are an infinite source of power and punch when I might not otherwise have had access to it.

That's why I'm so obsessed with the act of writing. It is not some fluffy little “nice-to-have�� skill, like being able to roll your tongue or take mind-blowing photographs of hot dogs, ahem, but a very real and tangible access road. Wherever you want to go, you can get there with great writing. Great writing is the North Jersey of New York City.

The only reason I made it out of poverty was because I had this advantage. Since the day I stepped foot into that school, I had this advantage: every spelling bee, every essay, every open-ended test question; later, I had the advantage when it came to scholarship applications, and college admissions; further on I had the advantage when it came to cover letters and resumes, master's degrees and marketing work. And today it's quite clear that the only reason I have anything at all—especially this incredible staircase—is because I kept writing. I wrote for myself, I wrote in public, I wrote for customers, I wrote for clients. I wrote blogs, and I wrote newsletters, and I wrote tweets, and I wrote books. I wrote scripts and I wrote copy; I wrote sales pages and I wrote descriptions. And now, for other people. Like, by the year 2025, if I have things my way, I'm pretty sure every book you read might secretly be written by me. #goals

And so it only makes sense that I've always had this sort of quiet determination to give this gift to other people—to somehow, some way, share the advantage. Give other people directions onto the road.

While I've always offered writing workshops throughout the years, the thing with a workshop is that it happens one day and then it's over. Would the creativity & inspiration & joy of writing really stick for people? Maybe…but not likely. Most people still dread having to “produce content.�� Besides, it was always hard to get through everything I wanted to teach in 2 or 3 hours. And then what? Where does the exposure come from afterward? We live in a world infested with humdrum, boring, cliché, entirely predictable, tired, painful writing. And you are what you read, right?

So, I decided to do something about it.

I'm SOOOOOOOOOoooOOOOoOoOOooOoOoOo delighted to be launching my brand-new creative writing newsletter, coming June 28th. (!!!) And accompanying the newsletter, I'll also be launching some really fun products, books, manuals, lessons, subscriptions and classes ALLLL about teaching you how to transform your writing, copy, content, descriptions, and writing style from dull and lackluster, to fresh and effervescent. You and I are going to have a ball!

But most of all, it's going to give you a really unfair advantage.

A secret handshake.
A VIP pass.
Access to wherever you want to go.
A supermodel's body for your sentences, and a scientist's mind for your ideas.

They won't be able to take their eyes off of you.

And you won't be able to take your eyes off the page—because you'll be having so much fun writing? You might not ever stop. You might write your way into an all-new life. You might write your way into an all-new career. You might write your way into a home with light-colored hardwood, a fireplace mantel that isn't French enough, and a marble table you can't squeeze lemons on top of.

And that's only the beginning.

Just wait until you see the hot dogs.

��

My brand-new creative writing newsletter is launching June 28th, 2021—mark your calendar! I'll reveal the name next week. You are gonna BARF—and it's gonna be grand.

��

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I fantasize about pugs.

Not the way other people fantasize about pugs, mind you—nuzzling them and squeezing them and squealing ��oooohhhhhhh!!!!�� before scooping them up in their arms for a welcoming, wet kiss (what is wrong with people).

Rather, I want to put their tiny little gargoyle heads straight into a vise. (I thought about writing “meat grinder,�� but that seems a bit much.)

So far in life, I have had not one, but two pug sworn enemies, and I imagine the situation will only get more dire from here.

My first opponent was a pug who belonged to a guy I dated in my twenties. Her name was Annabelle. And every time I'd drive to Cape Cod to see the guy, Annabelle would be PISSED. There she was, squirming up in between us, taking all the joy out of every romantic encounter, begging with her big, dumb face for more attention than me.

The worst part, however, was that the guy would give it to her! Squiggle biggle diggle baby boo bear!!! Nothing irks me more than being outshined by one of these porklets. The last straw was the day I drove eight hours to the Cape and, upon arrival—lookin' smokin' hot and dying for a night of bubble gum—the guy fell asleep on the sofa with the dog. I will never, ever forgive that dog.

(Then again, this is a guy who, bless his heart, also straight-up panicked when I came out of the ferry restroom wearing nothing but my trenchcoat. Maybe I was overzealous.)

ANYWAY, where was I?

Ah, my other opponent.

She's a more recent addition to my cynical little life. Her name is Juliette. Of course her name is Juliette! You'd think Boris Johnson was naming these dogs.

Juliette lives next door. Juliette regularly ruins my life, around three times a week. It starts at about 11:30 pm and goes until approximately 4 am when this ruffian decides to bark. Oh, but it isn't just any bark! It's this high-pitched, ear-piercingly shrill alien cackle that stops and starts precisely every five minutes. That's the real torture, right there: the excitement that mounds as you've nearly beaten the beast and fallen asleep, when it starts up again. Forget waterboarding and loud music: all the CIA needs is a pug.

(Can you tell this was my night last night?)

When it's not a pug taunting me, it seems to be other people. I hate other people.

All I'm ever thinking is “please just shut the fuck up.�� (Seriously, see how many times you think it in a day. I know you think it, too.)

For example, there are Argentines staying in the house next door. Not the one with the pug, the other one. They're visiting for three weeks.

Allow me to preface by saying I LOVE Argentines. I love Argentina. I love any place that hands you a tiny sausage and says, “enjoy.�� But I gotta tell ya, every afternoon when this bunch of ten tango-ing terminators comes outside and starts exercising EN MASSE AS A FAMILY, I get a little twitchy. Not because I'm a giant fatty who hasn't been exercising lately and seethes with resentment—although that's not entirely inaccurate—but because they have the nerve to lug this EXTREMELY LARGE AUDITORIUM SPEAKER that requires two people to move it onto our shared driveway, where they then proceed to blast, at eleventy-hundred volume, Daddy Yankee & some man named for two hours straight. Two full hours! Two full hours of club-level-volume burpees, running laps, and not caring even the tiniest bit that other people live there, that I am living here, that we're allllllll lllliiivvvinnggg hereeeeeeeeeeee, trying to eat dinner, SEEING THEM AND DISAPPROVING OF THEM AND FIRING HOT VOLCANIC RAGE LASERS INTO THEIR BUTTS.

Maybe it's all the sausage. Maybe that's why they're doing so much exercise.

Either way, please just shut the fuck up.

I know, I know, I've gotten old. But also: noise pollution is a thing! And when you come and interrupt the peace & quiet I have in my (writing, thinking, working, dining-with-gentle-jazz) brain, I get a little testy.

I said to C the other day: “Is this a cultural thing?�� And when I said it, I was genuinely curious. “Is it possible that the greater culture of Latin America, with its quintessential tight-knit family units and general ‘what's mine is yours-ness,' are so accustomed to sharing everything, that they think the silence is theirs to take, too?��

And what I really wanted to understand was: do they know they're being invasive? Or is this a cultural norm, and, therefore, invisible as air?

I think back to all of the times this has happened with Costa Rican visitors. One of the long-standing jokes we have is if an American family rents the vacation home next door, we'll sleep well. If a Costa Rican family does, however, we're going to sleep in a hotel. There is such a predictable difference when it comes to the cultural norms of noise levels, and what's appropriate in the air space of others.

The Americans eventually turn down the music and go inside to finish their evening.

The Costa Ricans will have that same jumbotron of a speaker bumping until 4 am—right alongside that ham flower, Juliette.

Though it's truly no surprise: Americans are notorious for valuing their personal space (and, by extension, that of others). It's one reason why suburbia thrives, why kids in suburbia fight for their own rooms, and why there are even on how loud your air conditioner can be. It's why we have parks and lawns and BIG, BIG everything, as we're known to have.

And it's also why, when C's Costa Rican aunt once suggested to me that “we all take a nap in the big bed,�� she might as well have suggested she was bagging the Oklahoma City Bomber. (I would have been more accepting of this idea.)

Who we are is, first and foremost, a function of where we are.

Which is slightly annoying, as the idea of culture as an invisible lever removes a critical layer of personal agency. Like, maybe you don't like yoga because you actually like yoga! Maybe your culture has brainwashed you to like yoga! Y'know what I mean?

It's the invisibility of it all that's piquing.

What are the things that you do, that you can't see?

The way you think about work.
The way you think about family.
The way you think about kids.
The way you think about��*snarl*��pugs.

It's almost impossible to be right about anything when everything is so colored by culture. Of course you think that. Of course you do that.

But that doesn't always mean it's your choice.

Ah, the crux of it all!

Are you choosing the life you want? Or are you an unsuspecting marionette, dancing to Bravo the Bag Chaser?

Who's really making the decisions here?

Is it you?

Can it be you?

If everything you think is guided by invisible, cultural norms, then to what degree is your life actually yours, and to what degree is it simply a caricature? Cartoonish, mimicked, satirized, spoofed—and, in some cases, heartbreakingly hollow?

The good news is: you can decide to be self-aware.

You don't have to be a puppet at the play.
You don't have to always go along with your culture's definition of success.
You don't have to be “on track�� with other people's expectations of your life.

But you do have to set some expectations for yourself, and a good place to start is asking:

Which cultural norms do I agree with? Which do I think are bullshit? And do I have the courage to trust in my own ideas?

So many beautiful people are trapped in the idea of being “good,�� that they never stop to scrutinize whether or not their life actually is.

Then again, so many beautiful people are also getting a grand night's sleep without a twenty-pound bag of squiggle biggle diggle baby boo bear, ten tango-ing Terminators, and a partridge named Juliette (barking up) a pear treeeeeee.

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Things I've learned to be wary of in life:

Oklahoma.��Normal people.People who say, “you like fish, you just haven't tried it cooked THIS WAY!�� (Oh yeah, Satan? Did you want to cut up my chicken for me, too?)Self-important narcissists who just like to hear themselves talk, and talk, and talk. (One time, in Dublin, I literally got up and took my drink into the bathroom—FOR AN HOUR.)People you can't get off the phone (see number 4).Nutella. I just can't get into it?Sociopaths (there are a lot of these???)Lazy, clichéd writing (this always seems to be the result of lazy thinking and/or a complete lack of respect for other people's time)People who are nice to me because they want something from me—then try to manipulate me into doing what they want, without making it SEEM like they want something. Who taught you things?!And perhaps one of the things I'm the wariest of? Traditional success.

I'm wary of success.

Most people go chasing after it their entire lives, but I've found that success inevitably comes with one, very large trade-off:

There's no escape hatch.

Exhibit A: you're a doctor. You've worked hard to be a doctor. Years in the making. Years of long days, long nights, and exactly zero steamy sex sessions inside the emergency room closet. But alas, finally, you've made it! You're a doctor, and you can afford 1960's style tables from Chairish! What do you think you're going to do the month, the year, the entire decade when you realize you're dreadfully unhappy? Will you give up the success you worked so hard for? Or, will success keep you trapped in its naked mole rat claws?

Exhibit B: you're an entrepreneur. You've spent years building your brand, building your clientele, building your reputation. You've become THE go-to person for X. (If only “X�� were”Zero Calorie Wine.��) You've invested money in websites, money in photos, money in ads. You've invested time, and love, and tears. And you've been successful, hooray! So now what do you do when you outgrow it? When you crave a new challenge? Do you give up the success you worked so hard for? Or do you stay because of the sunk costs?
Most. People. Stay. Because. Of. The. Sunk. Costs. Not because it's an investment they want to continue to make in their future.

And isn't that a terrifying thought? That the very thing you thought would bring you freedom, has actually brought you imprisonment. How can you leave this “successful�� life you've built?

That's my biggie beef sandwich with most success: the sunk costs corrode your perspective. They're constantly there, like anchors, pulling you back to status quo. They whisper in your ear that “giving it up now would be a waste,�� that “you worked hard to get where you're at,�� that “this is who you are.��

Sunk costs might be a prerequisite of success, but I can guarantee you this: with enough time, they also become the enemy of growth.

I've been thinking of this a lot lately with The Middle Finger Project—the brand I built, the book I wrote, the success I've had. It has been wonderful, but there's also a point at which even something called “The Middle Finger Project�� can be limiting.

This is the problem with successful brands: they are, by necessity, focused. They're a container that represent a set of ideas. And those ideas become who you are.

Until you grow.

Until you want to express yourself differently, speak to different ideas, explore new topics. That's when your old container starts to feel a bit claustrophobic. Confining. Small.

Not because you couldn't just write what you want at any time under any name—surely, you can—but because brands, like people, have baggage. Who you were as “The Middle Finger Project�� in your twenties is not who you are as “The Middle Finger Project�� in your thirties, and as I approach my forties soon—I mean, I'm fucking 37 this year!—I know that surely who I'll be as “The Middle Finger Project�� will be much different as well.
Because I'm expanding.

And that means that I must also necessarily expand beyond the confines of a brand as well.

I do not wish to be permanently trapped in an identity, a label. (“That middle finger girl,�� as the internet is wont to address me—though soon it'll be “that middle finger hag.��) Sometimes, reinvention is necessary. Sometimes, new containers are necessary. This one isn't going anywhere—I'll keep encouraging you to find unconventional ways to live a better life—but a necessary part of that is continuing to practice what I preach. So I'm excited to lean into new ideas that I love, in new places, so I can continue to grow.

So I'm working on a series of paid newsletters. (I'm even calling them newsletters, something I would have NEVER done.) Each one explores a different topic in depth: writing, travel, and freelance. Yet each is tied together by the one common through-line: irreverence to the rules.

They will be branded under Ash Ambirge, not The Middle Finger Project.

They will be executed weekly, like a proper newspaper column.

I hope you know enough about me by now to know that this is because (a) it'll be so much fun, and (b) this is how modern creators turn their passions into bonafide businesses: by eliminating the middle man—in this case, the actual newspaper, or a magazine—and giving themselves the job. Newspapers and magazines survive because of advertisers, and then use writers to get eyeballs to their publication, not so they can read the writing, but so they can see the advertisements. I don't want to work this way. I'd prefer to work with the consumer directly and provide value in exchange for compensation—a 1:1 model that benefits both parties equally, rather than bait and switch humans like a monopoly chip.

More on this soon!

I'm also working on a new writing center for women and marginalized communities—Unintimidated HQ—where you'll be able to go and get help with everything from writing an application essay for program admission, to writing a proposal for a client, to writing a poem, to writing a letter to a judge for child support, to writing a query letter, to writing your family's story in book form—and so much more. The idea is to amplify voices through strong, effective, HEAR ME ROAR kind of words, and that includes not only women, but people of color, indigenous populations, immigrants whose first language is not English, the LGBTQ community, anyone with limited educational opportunities, and anyone who historically has been at a disadvantage in having their voice heard. I'm really, really excited about this. More on this soon, too.

And one final thing I'm working on with my own writing is using it to additionally support the travel and tourism industry as it recovers from the pandemic. As you know, I'm a permanent nomad, and travel is one of the things I'm most passionate about. Throughout my travels, I've developed an obsession with independent hotels and hospitality design, in particular, and enjoy nothing more than finding that authentic hidden gem tucked into the cutest neighborhood that makes an entire trip. And yet, in my discussions with hotel owners here in Costa Rica, where we have a home, I've been shocked to learn just how dependent they are upon big online travel agencies such as Expedia, Booking.com, Trip Advisor, etc., often relying on them for 90% of their business. 90%! Which means that the average small hotel has to pay out over $300,000+ a year in commissions to these companies, eating up the majority of their profit margin. Which is bad enough as it is, but right now, after a financially devastating year? It's going to make it almost impossible to recover.

So I started researching. And learning. And I've even enrolled myself in a course at Cornell's hospitality school so I can better understand the inner workings of the industry, and then apply my writing skills to it. One of the things I learned is that a hotel property needs a minimum 40/60 direct revenue ratio to even start to be profitable—that is, 40% of their business being booked directly through their website. (Not 10% direct, like is often the current reality.) And that's something I KNOW I can help with—I know I can absolutely move those numbers. Turns out, 97% of travelers actually visit a hotel's website BEFORE booking on Expedia, or Booking.com, or any other OTA—but then they leave, and book offsite. But I KNOW I can convert more of those travelers into direct bookers. And I know I can help small boutique properties revive their profits and keep the money they've earned. So, I'm a woman on a mission. Which is to say: if you own a hotel property, know someone who owns a hotel property, or know someone who could use my help in this industry, please definitely reach out to me at . I'm just going to throw myself into it with the goal of helping as much as I can. Looking forward to having a ball and being useful while I do it!

The truth is, as I sit here on my back deck, looking across the Costa Rican sea toward the silhouette of a mountain, all I want to do is race over there and climb up it. I want to swim in that sea, and sprint on its shores, and sweat my way to the very top—and probably swear my ass off half the time—not because I want to see some grand view, but rather, because I want to see myself a little bit more clearly in the process. That's what travel does for me, and that's what writing does for me, and that's what business does for me, too: all of these are lenses through which I can more clearly see myself, and test myself, and grow myself. Because you can't see yourself in a vacuum—not truly, anyway. You can't sit in your living room your entire life and know who you really are. It's only when you put yourself in a new context, under new conditions, that you have enough contrast to see your own silhouette: where you stand, what you think, what defines you. This is how you begin to shape a life: by throwing yourself to the wolves and seeing what you're actually made of. Too many people are scared to do this; scared that they'll be eaten alive. But if there's one thing I can promise you, it's that you can never be eaten alive if you make friends with the wolves. Don't fear the unknown—race toward it. Don't assume you'll be a disaster—assume you'll be a fucking star. Let the wolves take their lead from you, instead.

Sure, there will be sunk costs.

Let 'em sink!

That's better than living a life you can barely remember.

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There's something to be said about being DONE.

I mean, do you ever feel like anything is done? Probably not! We're living in a world where nothing is ever done. How could it be, when everything is an ongoing conversation?

This is why I find it nearly impossible to text people back. Because once I do, I think I've gotten it off my to-do list, but then balls on a stick! THEN THEY TEXT BACK! And then I've got yet another task to perform, on top of the initial task of responding, and then it's five years later and the only thing I've done is typed the words “HAHAHAHAH�� over and over and over again.

I realize I sound like a pretty shitty friend. Rest assured, I am. So shitty, in fact, that just last night I dreamed that an old friend from Chile was breaking up with me, next to a pool, because I never called her. And she wouldn't be wrong! I am not a caller! If there's going to be a conversation across oceans, it's going to be via audio message. I'm absolutely an audio message person, and for two reasons:

(a) It's not real-time, so it doesn't completely interrupt your OTHER to-dos in the middle of your day—you know, like actual work. (There's nothing worse than trying to focus on your writing when you've got that damn dinging in your ear. That damn dinging makes me twitchy.)

And (b) It's not as fast-moving as text messages, where you're expected to be responding nearly instantaneously…otherwise it's weird. With audio messages it's never weird! You can respond to one a few days later and it makes total sense! Basically this is my heaven. Even though I don't believe in heaven. IF I believed in heaven, humans would only communicate via audio message. Like, once a week. And then the rest of the time, we'd all be reading. Bliss!

Wow, I really do sound like a curmudgeon. Maybe I should list a few redeeming qualities about myself so you don't think I'm a total monster. I assure you, I have some. For example, I'm the BEST when people die. You got a dead person? I AM THERE. And not just via audio message: I will get on a plane for that shit. And I will show up and stay. And I will bring over armfuls of Door Dash gift cards (you don't want my casseroles), and I will say poetic, meaningful words of sympathy that aren't even a little bit cliché, let you talk and talk and talk for days, and then I'll probably even help pay for the funeral, because that is how committed I am. When death shows up at your doorstep, Ash Ambirge does, too. Got a nice ring to it!

Or how about a client crisis? You got a client who's being a bit of a D? Oh, do I got you there! Let's work together to write a professional, elegant response that sashays down a hallway with her tits in the air, her tiny little shark teeth polished. Hooray, day saved! (Also, did I just come up with new ad copy for myself? All in a day's work!)

Come to think of it, any crisis is my specialty. I am the crisis MASTER. Marriage imploding? Cancer looming? Husband cheating? Just found out you've got crabs? PUT ME IN, COACH. WE GOT THIS.

In other words, I'm a great friend when someone needs a great friend. But a rather mediocre friend when you just want to gossip about Jessica from the 5th grade. That is, with one exception: unless we're in-person. Not that I want to gossip about Jessica then either, but it's when you'll find me in my “A+ friend zone.�� When you've got me in-person, I show up f-u-l-l-y. (And maybe even more than normal, if I'm getting my period.) I don't text other people while you're talking. (Then again, not like I do anyway.) Don't scroll through Instagram. Don't coo at dogs while you're mid-story. (Major pet peeve of mine.) You've got my undivided attention when we're together in person. I am the BEST friend of all the friends.

Which honestly made me think to myself, one day: SHEESH! Except it wasn't really “sheesh,�� and probably more like, “CHRIST.�� And then I thought: I'm really better when focused on ONE THING AT A TIME. I wonder how I might apply this to my work? (Everything gets applied to my work eventually.)

Sure enough, I started experimenting. Together with my dear friend and designer, , I shit you not we started doing “Design Tuesdays�� where we'd batch all of our design work together for Tuesdays. That's ALL Tuesday was for: design. That was our day, and we'd save allllllllllllll the designey stuff for that day—at which point we got to basically binge design for 8 hours.

AND OH MY GOD I LOVED IT.

I loved it so much!

Life-changing!!!!!!

It felt so organized. Clean. Structured. Orderly. I was able to give my full attention to product design for that entire day, which meant that it wasn't taking up headspace during other days. I also didn't have to worry about bothering Jamie at random times, feeling scattered and chaotic, or constantly be giving feedback throughout the week. As for her, she didn't have to worry about ME during other times of the week, and could allow herself to fully focus when she WAS on.

So then I thought: what if I did this across the board? What if I assigned every day of the week its own job? What if I give my undivided attention to just one project per day? No other distractions, no other “guilt�� for not also doing X, Y, Z, A, B, C. ONLY that thing, ONLY on that day. Would it work? Or would it end up being unsustainable for its lack of flexibility?

I don't know if you can tell from the way I'm writing this, but…THE SYSTEM WORKED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! In fact, not only did it work: it's the only way I'll work now. It allows me 100% focus on one thing at a time, lets me get excited to “dive fully in�� to a project, allows me to make major visible progress instead of piecemeal progress you can't really feel, prevents me from being scatterbrained from all the task switching (and losing all the time involved with task switching), and, most importantly????

Are you ready for THE MOST IMPORTANT BENEFIT?

The most important benefit from this system is��.drum roll��

You finally feel DONE.

By batching all of THIS TYPE OF WORK in one day, you *finally* feel like you have ACCOMPLISHED something! You bang out your to-do list for that day, and then…it's done! Done until next week! And it's gorgeous! Beautiful! Freeing! And so, so satisfying.

So if you're examining your current workflow, I can't recommend assigning each day its own job—or at least each A.M./P.M. of each day, if you've got lots of different things you're working on. Or if you work with clients, perhaps you assign each one their own day. The benefit to them is that they get to “binge you�� once a week, and in the meantime? They'll know to hold their requests, their notes, and their feedback until it's “their turn�� again (which can make client management a lot easier if you're used to lots of back-and-forth emails that eat up a lot of time and make it hard to focus on the actual deliverable).

It has been bliss.

And you know what else it means?

I actually have more time to do things like ~text people back~ (miracle!!!) because now that my work actually feels done? I can resume my personal life without feeling like I'm falling behind thanks to Jessica from 5th fucking grade.

Guilt-free.
Chaos-free.
Stress-free.

That is, until the moment someone dies, at which point all of your best-laid plans need to be laid to rest, right alongside Uncle Ron. THANKS A LOT, RON. But it's fine: gives people like me a chance to prove we aren't bad friends, just bad at chatting.

Just bad at staying still.

Just bad at the rules.

Just bad at ordinary.

Just bad at being the kind of person we wish we were, even though the kind of life we want to lead means we can't.

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I hate phone calls.

In fact, there are fewer things I hate than when my phone rings. The first thought: WHO DARES…HAVE THE NERVE…TO CALL…UNINVITED?!? It's basically the modern equivalent of dropping in on someone unannounced—especially if it's a video call.

Quick, hide the mannequin!
Hide the hamburgers!
Hide MY ENTIRE FACE!

(Oh, you don't have mannequins and hamburgers lying around? I'M SORRY.)

I know I'm not alone—at least with the phone call bit. This is hilariously one of the hallmark characteristics of “old millennials�� like myself, and now Gen Z, (sorry telemarketers!), but I do have to admit that when it comes to business?

Millennials and Gen Z have a clear advantage over their phone-loving counterparts, and it's called:

A record.

That's right.

We have records of our conversations: which can come in super duper handy when it comes to our work. Because, you know, sometimes, clients will forget that they didn't ask you to do that thing (and you'll have to refer back). Or sometimes you'll need to look back to a past conversation for your own reference sanity. Or sometimes a dispute will arise and you'll be so, so glad you had it in writing.

This is why I want you to make like a millennial as often as you can…especially when a client is asking for a refund on work performed.

Flashback to earlier this week!

Remember —and then insisted on a full refund on her deposit after the wedding planner had already performed a substantial portion of work?

And remember when I wrote you that you could use in that kind of situation? (Definitely bookmark.)

Well, the wedding planner sent that email, and then the client then did a classic “refund bully�� move��

…and started calling.

Haha, the horror!

And this is where you may find yourself in a pizza-pocket-sized conundrum: you'll want to do the courteous and professional thing and answer the phone. (Okay, you might not *want* to answer the phone but you probably will at least consider it.) But then you won't have a written record of the conversation—and hence, the problem. You need a written record of ANY conversation where the terms of money being exchanged or refunded is the topic. Bar none. This is the rule. This is non-negotiable.

So my advice to you in this particular situation is this:

IF YOU ANSWER THE PHONE…always, always, always follow up afterward to document the conversation in writing. You should always send a follow-up email right afterward outlining the contents and the outcome of the call in writing, and it should say something to the effect of: “Following up to confirm the details of our conversation dated X during which we agreed on the following: X, Y, Z. Kindly respond to confirm that this also reflects your understanding.�� That way, you'll have a record of a conversation that's pretty important if, say, the client is unreasonably unsatisfied and decides to escalate the situation and issue a chargeback on a credit card. Eeeekkk.
IF YOU DO NOT ANSWER THE PHONE…say, if you're busy in the moment, or the client's a bit of a bully and you're feeling intimidated, or your boundaries are being violated, or you're worried you'll cave under pressure—then don't answer the phone but DO respond right away via email and say the following: “I know you tried giving me a call to discuss, but I'd prefer to communicate in writing so we both have a clear record of the conversation.�� Then proceed.

That last bit is the 16 words you should memorize: “I'd prefer to communicate in writing so we both have a clear record of the conversation.��

This way, you have a true and accurate record of your conversation—and you'll still end up looking like a total pro who knows it's a good idea to always have anything related to money in writing, so help you gin and rubber duckies. Or maybe rubber duckies filled with gin. Has anybody done that business yet?

(I mean, use non-alcoholic if you want to, but maybe we can talk them into a new name for their brand. I always think of Donkey Lips from Salute Your Shorts, and I'm not so sure I want to put him in my mouth???)
^^^This paragraph sponsored by 90's TV shows that only millennials would remember, because that seems fitting, does it not?!

In addition to all of this goodness, by doing this you also get the benefit of not having to hide any hamburgers, mannequins, stray photos of Richard Simmons, or the fact that you only look semi-presentable on the 3rd Tuesday of every other month, after the clock strikes twelve and the sun is at its highest peak in the sky, and you've actually washed your body—even around the ankles—and you happen to be getting on a Zoom call during which you will use that voice that you only reserve for when you're trying to make someone on the other side of the screen actually think you're a sweeter person than you are. Which, by the way, is absolutely the case on every Zoom call I've ever been on. Do you know how hard it is to overcome the reputation of a girl who wrote a book called THE MIDDLE FINGER PROJECT?!

I rest my case.

And also my phone. In its cradle. From 1998. Which was basically the last time anyone dared call another person's house, anyway.

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“Btw, I need your advice on something!��

I knew instantly what she was going to ask me. It's the same thing that all my friends come to me for advice for. Not talking shit to boys, which was obviously my favorite past-time in college , but rather, a different kind of talk:

How to word hard emails.

So we ordered a round of mango mimosas—as one does on the beach of Costa Rica at Sunday brunch—and my wedding planner friend began to tell me a story about a new client who had engaged her services, submitted a deposit, and then, after several weeks of meetings and planning and phone calls and work having been performed, decided to cancel her wedding in Costa Rica—not because of COVID, but because of a personal change in plans—and wanted a refund in full.

And here's where it always gets sticky.

In the creative world, we have what's called a “kill fee”—a fee that you should have in your client agreement that states how much money your business keeps if the client decides to cancel the project in phase one, phase two, phase three, and so forth. This is because you've already performed a portion of the work, and you need to get compensated for that time. But it's also because, when you take on a client, you effectively block out that time for that client, and therefore need to turn other business away—and that's an opportunity cost. (Especially in a wedding planning scenario, where she would have blocked out a specific weekend for that wedding, and had to turn down other weddings.)

This is why we have a kill fee. (In any other context this sounds like the money paid to a hit man, LOL.)

Typically they're either a percentage of the value of the overall project, or a flat fee that's charged, depending on how you work and the length of the engagement.

And my friend's agreement did have some language in there for what happens in the event of cancellation, but unfortunately it wasn't specific. It was something vague and broad to the tune of, “In the event of cancellation, refunds will be given at the planner's discretion.��

So of course, this is subjective. And of course, this creates room for argument.

So OF COURSE, when my friend replied to the client, letting her know she understood and would calculate the value of the work performed and issue her a refund of the remainder, the client wasn't satisfied with that reply. She wanted a refund in full. The logic: nothing had officially been “booked yet,�� and therefore, my friend hadn't done any work.

Mistake number two: not documenting—and communicating—the effort you're exerting on behalf of a client.

Whenever I deliver a page of copy I've written for a client, I do so in Google Docs so I can meticulously offer the rationale behind every decision. I'll leave detailed comments in the margins drilling down to the individual sentence and even individual word level, and then provide commentary that explains why I selected a certain message, why I positioned the product this way, why I've written the sentence like this, and even why I've chosen a particular word. I do that because otherwise, what's the deliverable look like?

A piece of paper with a couple of rinky-dink paragraphs!

They don't know that I spent *days* doing research and determining the brand proposition. They don't know that I spent 4 hours on that 7-word headline. They don't know that I spend 2 hours on that paragraph, or the next. They don't know that I engineered every sentence with the kind of precision you might reserve for a surgeon. (And a surgeon doing celebrity tits, at that!)

So I always show my work as a part of the process, and I always keep a thorough record of my work—not because difficult clients are aplenty (most are good!), but because I think it's an important part of professionalism and craftsmanship. And also, turns out, proving your value and nurturing the client/provider relationship.

My friend's next move, then, should be an email that says the following:

I'm terribly sorry to disappoint: due to a portion of the work having already been performed, a refund in full isn't possible at this stage. (See details below.) However, what I can do is get you as much of your financial investment back as possible, while also providing fair compensation for my labor investment thus far. #teamwork

Hours worked to date: X. [And/or Emails exchanged to date / Whatsapp messages exchanged to date / Phone calls exchanged to date. You'd be surprised how quickly they add up and can help show your time investment, even if you weren't tracking hourly.]

Work performed included: X, Y, Z, A, B, C.

Billed at standard hourly rate: X

Your deposit of X, less the work performed of Y, results in a total refund of Z.

[Alternatively, if you'd prefer not to attach your time to an hourly rate, you can omit that section and simply state that “this was your deposit amount, and I'll return X of it as an act of good faith.”]

I hope that feels like a fair and reasonable compromise. Kindly reply to this email to confirm payment details and I'll be happy to go ahead and process a refund in the amount of X right away so you can start applying those funds to your new wedding plans!

We'll miss you here in Costa Rica, and do wish you the very best.

This way, you're not busting out them fightin' words right way—”LOOK AT THE CONTRACT YOU SIGNED, DOTTY!!!!—and you're also allowing for an opportunity for an open and kind discussion. Of course, the keywords here are “fair�� and “reasonable.�� Appealing to a client's sense of justice can go far in a matter when a client truly doesn't *understand* the work you're doing—they only see the deliverable at the end—so in most cases, it's truly a matter of gently educating them on what work has been performed on their behalf, and then, of course, being paid for that labor. This is the second piece that's powerful: mentioning the investment of labor. That word has weight and it really drives home the point: by not paying me for my labor, you're contributing to a much greater problem. Too many women perform invisible labor, day in and day out, and never get paid a fucking dime. So it's important to stand up for the value of your work whenever you can—particularly in a professional setting where the expectation was compensation. (Sidenote: sometimes I wonder how many clients would be demanding refunds in full, despite evidence of work performed, if they were dealing with a man. JUST SAYIN'.)

Additionally, appealing to the #teamwork angle can be useful because it takes it from “me against you�� to “let's work together to find a fair and honest solution�� and can help exchanges like this go more smoothly than if you were to, say, send back an angry, bitter email that says, “I'm sorry you feel that way. Please see the agreement you signed. I won't be issuing you a refund.�� You sound like a bitter child. (Plus, that's just going to get you a big, fat chargeback request and hurt your standing with your payment processor, and you don't want that, either.)

So three rules here: (a) Don't kill your client—but do include a detailed kill fee ; (b) Always document your work AND show your work, not just the end deliverable; (c) In the event of a dispute, be as kind and generous as you're able to be, but also don't take shit and do advocate for the value of your own labor.

Just because they can't see it, doesn't mean it wasn't worth something.

And just because I can't see my mango mimosa, doesn't mean I didn't drink it.

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My first thought was: OHHHH, SHIIIITTTTTT.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

I should've been thrilled, but instead, I was worried about—ready for this?��the wallpaper.

“They aren't even going to see the wall,�� C tried to assure me. “Just your beautiful, beaming face.��

“Yeah, my beautiful, beaming face…inside what looks like a prison cell! What kind of successful person has bare walls?!�� I said it with a level of disgust I usually only reserve for condensed milk and people who drive in the left lane.

I had just gotten the email confirming my appearance on The Today Show—including the tidbit that they also wanted to send a crew to Philly beforehand to film a set-up piece in my house —and all I could think about was how the ENTIRE NATION would be judging the interiors of the unfurnished place I had just bought in Philadelphia.

Cue: me sending rapid-fire emails to every single wallpaper hanger in Philadelphia, the Philadelphia CB2 store, the Philadelphia West Elm store, and anyone else I could try to convince to rush me furniture. “It'll be on The Today Show!�� I yelped, not above name dropping to get the job done.
Here's what the place looked like in January of last year, LOL:

And here's what it looked like five minutes later, after hauling MAJOR ASS to get some curtains and not look like I live in an empty warehouse. (Then again, looking back at that first photo, the minimalist look was kind of nice!)

Of course, I should have started that whole process sooner: earlier that month, I had already done an hour-long pre-interview with the producers at The Today Show, where we talked about the segment and they assessed whether I'd be good on camera, right alongside AL ROKER. I was slated to be on during the third hour with Sheinelle Jones, Dylan Dreyer, Craig Melvin, and my man, Al. And that pre-interview taught me one of the most valuable lessons I've ever learned when it comes to getting featured by the media:

They. Want. Tips.

Tips are where it's at. No tips, no feature for you!!!! However, if you do have three specific, tangible tips that the general population can implement immediately, you have got yourself an interview, baby. I SWEAR.

They don't want to interview someone who's going to get on and ramble about themselves, their journey, their work, etc. Nor do they want vague explanations and summary, or some lady named Rhonda who says things like, “I help women to step into their power.��

THEY WANT SPECIFIC, TANGIBLE, USEFUL, FRESH TIPS.

THREE OF THEM.

And they want them to be instantly applicable for the general population.
This was the case across the board when I was interviewed by The Times, The BBC, The Jenny McCarthy Show, Mixergy, magazines, one trillion podcasts, and all the other publicity we did around the book launch. They alllll want specific tips.

So one of the first steps to getting yourself featured? Is actually having a handful of great, useful, unexpected, fresh, fascinating, instantly applicable tips to offer!

Which isn't always easy to do, of course, if your business doesn't lend itself nicely to “instantly applicable tips.�� If you're a grief counselor, for example, there's not a whole lot that's “instantly applicable.�� But—that's not to say that you can't engineer some if you're thoughtful about it.

And the first step to doing that?

Figure out your two main topics.

You need one niche topic, and one mainstream topic—and then you can develop a set of tips for each. This way, you can have the right tips for the right outlet, because someone from The Today Show, for example, wants something a mainstream audience can relate to, whereas someone from a podcast in your industry wants tips that are more focused. However, you also want to make sure that the two topics you pick are actually going to help you get clients and customers. That part's crucial.

So how do you figure out YOUR two topics?

to learn how from my publicist friend, Selena, where she dives in more about finding your two topics—and then she'll also teach you how you can use the media to get the one thing that everybody on the planet wants:
MORE FREAKIN' SUBSCRIBERS.

Because, yes, that is the end goal! You don't want to get featured somewhere and then not get subscribers from it. Fortunately, there's a trick to doing that when you're being featured on someone else's platform—even when it doesn't feel right to self-promote.

We got tricks, baby! We got tricks!



Stay tuned, because I'm gonna keep bringin' the heat with even more: next up, we'll talk about your bio, and how to write one that rocks.

Until tomorrow, darling! Make sure you're subscribed to get the next installment.

XOXOXOX,Ash

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Remember when I was like, hey, let's talk about getting exposure for your little biz?

And remember yesterday when my hair looked like a wet wooly mammoth? (Oh, wait, you didn't see that part. Well, for the record, my hair yesterday was seriously HAVING A MOMENT.)

And remember yesterday when I was like, you can totally get your business, product, or services featured in the newspaper and in magazines and even on TV…for free…if you know what to say to a journalist?

And remember yesterday when I was like—this is the key to ⭐�� Selling out of everything you make. ⭐���� Having a waitlist of clients begging YOU to work with THEM. �� Creating a premium group program that sells like hotcakes. ⭐�� Becoming a bestselling author with hundreds of thousands of people having your book on their nightstand. ⭐�� Getting invited to speak at the industry conference of the year.�� ⭐�� Growing the hell out of your business—without paying for advertising.

And remember when I said that publicity is the secret to getting you there—because when you have media outlets, famous podcasters, experts, and influencers with huge audiences putting you in front of thousands (or even millions) of people AND endorsing your work…the world takes notice and big doors start to open.

And remember yesterday when I was like, you can do this yourself even if you're just starting and you have zero connections—as I did back in 2009, as a baby Ash, just starting The Middle Finger Project?!

And then I proceeded to show you the world's most hilarious article—a full-on story written about me and The Middle Finger Project, in which the newspaper even had a photographer come out to take my photo and the whole shebang.

And THEN I promised that today I would show you the pitch I sent to the paper, so we could unpack what the secret is to getting yourself featured—without publicists or spending money on advertising. So that's where we're at!

(If you're just joining us, obviously go back and read yesterday's article first.)

Without further ado, lemme show you the pitch I sent to this journalist—including what her response was. (Sorry, the spacing is weird. My Gmail from 2010 did that. Disclaimer: I don't use that email anymore, so don't jot it down, LOL. )

In case you're having trouble reading it, here's what it says:

PHILADELPHIA, PA, February 23rd, 2010—On Wednesday, February 23nd, The Middle Finger Project, a Philadelphia-based website dedicated shunning mediocrity and helping others live excitement-filled, inspiring lives, announced the launch of its Hula Hoop Video Contest 2010.��

The contest asks participants to videotape themselves hula hooping in public, in order to send a widespread message of nonconformity, independent thought and social change.�� On March 22nd, the contest deadline, The Middle Finger Project will publish all submitted video entries on the site, and have readers vote for the most creative and unique public space where contestants can be seen hula hooping. Winners will be announced no later than March 31st, 2010.�� In addition to being featured on the website, the first place winner will receive $100 cash, the second place winner $50 and the third place winner $25.��

“The theme of the website is challenging the status�� quo, and a hula hoop video contest seemed like an ideal way to get readers�� involved in shedding their inhibitions and to serve as a reminder that we don't�� always have to take ourselves so seriously,�� states Ashley Ambirge,�� founder of The Middle Finger Project.�� “There’s a mini-social revolution going on in which people are realizing that they don’t have to live their lives in the way they’ve been told to.�� The contest is an exercise in pushing past your comfort zone and living alive—not just living a life.��

All video entries can be submitted to:�� [email protected], and must include your name, location, and email address within the body of the email.��

Official contest rules can be found by visiting . ��

ISN'T.
THAT.
JUST.
ADORABLE.

A hula hoop contest—ha! But you know what? It did the trick.

Because turns out? The #1 key to getting yourself featured for free in the newspaper or in a magazine��is in engineering a story that's newsworthy enough to tell. (Even if you don't feel like you have any “news�� to share—there's a way to position your stuff as “newsworthy.��)

That is not to say you have to run a hula hoop contest! Or a hot-dog eating contest! Or a deodorant-eating contest! (Please don't run a deodorant-eating contest.) But you have to learn how to think like a reporter and then feed them a story that they can basically copy and paste and run if they wanted to. That's, like, the key to LIFE.

Once you learn how to do that?

You can get free exposure for your small biz at the drop of a hat. It might seem like this far-off thing that only people who are already “famous�� can do, but that is SUCH a misunderstanding of how it all works! Whether it's TV or magazines or podcasts or papers��

People don't get featured because they're famous.
They make themselves famous because they get featured.

So how can you get yourself and your business featured in places like Cosmo? And Oprah Magazine? And Travel + Leisure? And Prisoner's ‘R Us?

You gotta know just three rules.

Once you know these three rules, you can send a message to any journalist or editor and—bang—they're gonna love you SO HARD for giving them news to write about.

So what are the three rules? My publicist friend, Selena, is gonna tell you what they are . (You'll have to opt into the series.) (Also, I love the fact that she looks gorgeous there in Puerto Rico, while in the meantime, my hair and I look like a wet wooly mammoth here in Costa Rica. 🙄 😂 But, hey, international babes unite!!!!!!!)

ALSO ALSO ALSO. Underneath the video, you can also download our free “hot list�� of 200+ media outlets that are open to your pitch, right here and right now, and accessible to anyone. Meaning, they're happy to receive an email from you right now about your product, service or business, and you don't have to be anyone special—you just gotta show up in their inbox and know what to say!

So take a minute and to discover the three rules you gotta know, download the hot list of 200+ media outlets (save this), and then tomorrow, we're going to continue the conversation and get you a full-on action plan for making this happen for YOU. (I'll also tell you about my experience with The Today Show last year for my book!!!!)



^Haha, that's the link to the video and the download. Getttt itttt!

XOXOXOXOXO,
Ash

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