I love this. I've had it for years.
During the Right Brain Business Plan teleconference last week we were goofing around in chat. Someone mentioned something about hats and for some reason I mentioned that I owned a mug rug. Someone asked me what that was. So, here it is: my beloved tea stained mug rug.
I got it at a craft fair somewhere years ago and it has been my companion ever since.
I have Googled “mug rug” and have found a few. I don’t think any of them are as cute and clever as mine. It actually looks like a little rug and says its name so no one will mistake it for anything else.
I’ll have more important stuff to talk about in future blogs, but for now, I just wanted to give you a cool craft idea and give the unknown artist some kudos.
Now, I’m going to get another cup of tea.
Just Do It
Just do it. Nothing is going to eat you.
For the last two weeks I partook in another wonderful online summit by Jennifer Lee. She has written a brilliant book called The Right Brain Business Plan.
In one the sessions there were people who questioned every nuance of their next movement. Some of us kept saying, “Just do it. Just start.” But the micro questions kept coming, as if the participants were afraid to make a move without the advice and approval of “the experts.”
I had a thought while watching the chat. A baby doesn’t ask how to walk. She doesn’t question the mechanics of the action or wonder what the best floor material would be. She doesn’t look through books or comparison shop on the internet. She doesn’t watch other babies and take notes on their behavior. She just does it. She crawls along at first until she gets to an object. She grabs that object and pulls herself up.
I have seen babies pull on objects that are not substantial enough to support them. No matter. They grab something else until they find that thing that works for them. Once on their feet they pull themselves along for awhile; falling a couple of times, and pulling themselves up again.
After a while you will see them stand at the end of the object, holding on. Then they let go. They are still wobbly, and will most often fall again, but after a few tries they take a few steps away from that secure object and before you know it they have grown-ups running after them to exhaustion.
Why is it that the older we get the more we have to ask how, what, where? Do you think I really should? Can I please? Why do we insist on knowing every infinitesimal aspect of the end result before we even start the process? Just do it for heaven’s sake.