The Art of Going After What You Want (Swiftly and Without Apology)

I’ve spent the last six weeks waiting for someone to leap out of the bushes while I walk around the lake by my house, waving their hands and throwing confetti whilst yelling, “PSYCH! YOU DIDN’T ACTUALLY GET YOUR DREAM JOB, ASSHOLE. YOU’RE NOT EVEN ON A CAMERA SHOW BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT PHOTOGENIC ENOUGH! WE JUST WANTED TO HURT YOUR FEELINGS AND RUIN YOUR LIFE.”

So, I know that I’ve alluded to it and mentioned it in passing, but now I’m officially ready to shout it from the rooftops (both proverbial and literal, because people just don’t yell off of roofs like they used to).

Redefining Success, Careers & Theoretical Physics (…sorrrrt of)

So, as I’ve mentioned in passing a few times before, (especially if you keep up with me on Facebook or Twitter), I’ve recently left the “security” of my desk job to jump into the wide, wild world of Doing What I Fucking Want.*

By recently I mean this is the third day at my new (and absolutely DREAMY) job. And by Doing What I Fucking Want* I mean writing. Creating. Pouring in the hours and heart and enthusiasm to leave my corner of the world just a little bit better/more hilarious/shoutier than I’ve found it, (because in my opinion, THAT’S WHAT EVERYTHING IS ALL ABOUT).

*Official term.

But the most daunting part of making huge overhauls like this, packing up your nameplate in the stupid clichéd effing box and saying the rounds of goodbyes at the office, isn’t learning how to work from home, or figuring out how to file Independent Contractor taxes, or nailing down the perfect spot in your apartment to Skype from so you look the absolute best but also the sun from the back window doesn’t blind EVERYONE EVER.

The hardest part about going after what you love? Is redefining what success looks like.

makin’ moves, changes, & outstanding relationships (Bloggers in Sin City)

Saturday night. 2:30 a.m. The Vegas strip. I’d wound my way out of a red-tinged dance club in the Venetian, exhausted and lost, my white lace dress annoyingly hiking up my sunburned legs. My hair was sweaty. My lipstick wasn’t really a thing anymore, and my shoes that were chosen for both their glitter content & comfort level were rubbing that place on the back of my heel that made me want to cry.

White party. White dresses. White people…?!

And as I strode past the throngs of Vegas drunks, decked to the nines and putting money in machines, I couldn’t help but think how unbelievably and mind-blowing happy I was. Because despite being alone, lost, and tired, I wasn’t scared.

{interview series} Laura Jane Williams

Today marks the second installment of the INTERVIEW SERIES! (Cue fanfare and also confetti, and maybe some sort of gorgeous person bursting out of a delicious, chocolate cake. Or on second thought, maybe just CUE ALL THE CAKES.)

Today I’m serving up Laura Jane Williams on a silver platter, polished to a high sheen, (the platter, not Laura), with obscene amounts of excitement thrown in. Because LJ? Is probably my long-lost sister from another mister vagina, which doesn’t rhyme, but is so much more truthful. And here at The Brazen Bible, we’re all about delivering HARD FACTS, YOU GUYS.

Ready? Of course you are.

A quick dose of kickassery (& some speedy tough love)

Oh, HAI!

Jessica here. And I just deleted fifteen paragraphs full of comforting metaphors, hand-holding, and floofy words of gentle, nourishing encouragement.

Because we both know that sometimes, failure is inevitable. That perseverance is the key to success. And as Kelly Clarkson belts out, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. [Insert all that other shit that looks great on a poster to hang in your cubicle for days when life just seems a little rougher than normal.]

Sure, failure might happen. And trying again is the only way to ensure that eventually, you won’t fail. But you are too hilarious. Too charming. Too driven. Too passionate. Too you to accept failing with grace, or stoicism, or quiet acceptance.

Don’t daintily sidestep obstacles. Stop nodding attractively when people tell you no. And for the love of Pete, keep relentlessly fighting for whatever it is that keeps you up at night.

Because, Sunshine?

What doesn’t kill you had better start fucking running.

reaching your goals, learning to relax, and why Nutella should be marketed as an anti-depressant

So, this week I’ve moved my house (across town), my blog (to a whole new site; ta-da!) and my bowels. Also, I’m sorry I just talked about my bowels on the interwebz.

Every week after I post, there’s this glorious three-day window where I feel 1) excited to share all the info with you guys, 2) relieved that I made another post on time, and 3) inspired about next week’s content. After that, the impending dread settles in, and I feel stupid amounts of pressure to put out something that’s both useful and accessible. This week has been extra terrible in a way that shouldn’t even be real.

Basically, I’m striving to develop The Brazen Bible into an unparalleled toolkit designed to inspire action, attack dissatisfaction, and kick life in the nards so you’ll never have to cry into your beer again. (Or post complain-y Facebook statuses). I have SO MANY ideas, (like workbooks, newsletters, online courses, etc), and WANT TO DO ALL OF THEM RIGHT NOW.

I want to have downloadable templates to help you single out what matters most, coaching sessions to teach you how to schedule your day to fit in the most kickassery, and simple ways to self-hack your brain to get past that annoying Gandolf gatekeeper who tells you (and your goals), that YOU SHALL NOT PASS. Awesome beard or not, that nay-sayer sucks.