sign spinning, maggie mcreynolds

Hey, Baby, What’s Your Sign?

When I was a kid, the sidewalk marketing trend was hiring guys to walk around wearing sandwich boards.

sign spinning, maggie mcreynoldsThese days, it’s “sign spinning.” You’ve seen ’em. Someone—usually young—dancing and jumping and bopping, all while twirling, flipping, tossing a sign for a tax prep service, a mattress store, a car dealership. Some of them actually manage to look like they’re having a good time. Maybe some of them even are.

Today, as I sat at an intersection and watched a girl with a cobalt blue skunk stripe in her hair throw a sign for a cell phone company ten feet in the air and catch it, all while jiving to music on her iPod, I wondered what my sign—the invisible sign we all hold and toss around for other to see—might say. Because like it or not, I am, in a way, a walking advertisement of sorts for me. Not just in a business sense, but in the way I project myself to others just as a human being on the planet.

Would my sign say that I’m confident and centered? That I’m available to talk and a good listener?  That I think I’m pretty cool? That I am joyful, authentic, transparent, open?

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woman on fire

Why Fantasizing Is Even Hotter than You Think

antasies Fthat seem like they should have a “boom chicka wow wow” soundtrack can be fun, and the ones that are inspired by books about cute, rich, tortured bachelor doms can raise the pulse or bring a blush to our cheeks.

But what about the fantasies we’re really embarrassed about? You know the ones I mean. The ones we don’t even allow ourselves to think about anymore.

What did you want to be when you grew up? Yeah, it might have sounded untenable and ridiculous, like my son’s onetime fantasy of being a “teacher policeman paleontologist firefighter,” but somewhere in there were the kernels of the man I see him becoming: a mentor, a defender of what he feels is right, a fierce curiosity about social and cultural forensics, and a talent and willingness to sniff out and—mostly—help extinguish emotional flame-outs.

I wanted to be a waitress.

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dog diving

Diving In

So I just asked a whole bunch of you to follow my blog. Something that, believe it or not, I’ve never done before, not in the five years I’ve been coaching clients and writing here. I mean, I had the expectation that people would read my blog posts. I just wasn’t being very vocal about it. Kinda like when I used to meander around my front yard hoping the kids across the street would see me and ask me to play.

I took a chance, and I asked for what I wanted: readers! And my first thought was, “Yay me!”

Quickly followed by, “Crap! If I want people to follow my blog, I should give them, like, something to actually READ when they get there!”

Brain lock ensued, followed by longing looks at a bag of cashews on my kitchen counter.

Even if you’ve never written for publication, you may still recognize what I’m doing here: when writers don’t know what to write about, they write about how they don’t know how to write. Or their writer’s block. Or about their process. Or about their scrambling for a process.

How often do talk about what you’re going to do (learn a foreign language lose weight go to the gym clean out the Dreaded Junk Drawer take a painting class) instead of actually going and doing it? How many of you shy away from doing something because if you started it you might have to actually, like, KEEP DOING IT?

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