WANTcast 056: On Owning Your Awesome with Tricia Huffman of Your Joyologist

WANTcast 056: On Owning Your Awesome with Tricia Huffman of Your Joyologist

the WANTcast

I’m always inspired by women who’ve done their own thing and forged their own path. Especially when they’re functioning on pure passion. And especially when they’ve left something familiar and safe to do so.

Tricia Huffman‘s been there…twice. First, leaving her secure office job to follow her passion of working in live music production – and second, leaving her successful music production job to follow her passion of living your best life. Neither of which, by the way, were kick-started by anything but pure heart and an unwavering belief in herself that she could.

Tricia wasn’t just a leader in her industry, she was one of the only women in her industry. By asking lots of questions, following her heart, and having a hunger to learn, Tricia went from selling shirts at the House Of Blues to literally running the show on tour for pretty much every big-name artist you’ve heard of…you name it, she’s worked with them. As a woman working in a male-dominated field, Tricia always made sure to stay down-to-earth, empathetic, and thirsty for knowledge. Six years and countless worldwide tours later, Tricia was successful, well-loved, and had created both career and community. On the outside, she was living the dream. And on the inside, she was loving it.

And then, something happened that changed her perspective: her father passed away suddenly.

After taking time off from the road to sit and reevaluate life, pursuing what made her healthy and happy, she realized that she had an intense pull to help others do the same. She wanted to do something more with her life: to help people live passionately and purposefully. She saw that everyone, including the people we think “have it all,” don’t feel fulfilled. She first created her “Joyology” to keep artists healthy, ground and inspired in body and mind while on tour.

People like Tricia inspire me because they are actual living proof that following your passion and sense of purpose always works the way it needs to – even if the vision morphs along the way. Now off the road and coaching others both one-on-one and in groups, she’s got a whole line of products to go with her biz, called Your Joyologist, including a brand new beautiful app called – you guessed it – Own Your Awesome.

Tricia’s been in the business of real-deal feel-good since way before social media was a thing. And here’s what I love most about her: she’s all about the rogue affirmations. Most people in the feel-good biz will shower their people with “You Are Beautiful”s and “Abundance Is Yours”s and say see ya. But Tricia? She digs deeper.

It was me. I needed to have that breakthrough: I am enough. Click To Tweet

While this coversation starts with a little bit of a venting session on both our parts, I decided to keep it in because I think it’s a GREAT example of productive venting, which is quite different from aimless complaining. Bitching about social media is becoming a “thing” ON social media (lol, the irony), however a lot of what I read simply talks about how annoying and tiring it all is…and places blame on everyone else for the rules we’re supposed to follow.

But really…who tells us we are “supposed” to follow them? Nope, no one but ourselves. Which leads me to my absolute FAVORITE part of this interview with Tricia: where we dive in and dig deep about how to distance ourselves from our need for validation, and how to take accountability and responsibility even when we feel something is entirely someone else’s fault. Tricia knows how it feels to be resistant, and she knows what it means to OWN YOUR AWESOME. But she didn’t get there without getting real with herself and examining what was actually getting in her way.

Take a listen and let me know what you think!

WANT Tricia:

Listen on iTunes | Listen on Stitcher | Download | Support the pod by shopping on Amazon

Your mission matters. And who you are matters. YOU. We really have to fully own our own awesome. Click To Tweet

Show Notes:
Your Joyologist
@yourjoyologist
@beingtricia
Facebook
Own Your Awesome app
The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel



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The Pigeon + The Nox: On Awareness, Responsibility, and The Most Fragile Of Loves

The Pigeon + The Nox: On Awareness, Responsibility, and The Most Fragile Of Loves

Community Love Motivation + Inspiration Shift Of Power

It has been a long week. Finally it’s Thursday. Finally, it’s almost over.

The weight of my Nike bag made the walk up the stairs a teeter-totter, and I was planning on creating the kale salad to end all kale salads. And believe you me, I know a kale salad.

I gym-tote-hobbled to my car on the third floor and immediately saw a pigeon no more than 3 feet away from my little silver car. And as I walked closer, it wouldn’t budge. My first thought was that it was wounded, but as I inched closer it slowly centimeter’d away to reveal something even worse: a round white egg.

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There it was, sitting on the cold concrete saturated in car exhaust and caked sweat, surrounded by no more then 10 to 15 twigs: a last attempt at some sort of shelter, some sort of home, some sort of safe haven. I stopped in my tracks and gasped. Careful not to move, I watched the mother bird, this little creature probably both on guard and terrified. Slowly, literally by millimeters at a time, it eased back on top of the egg. It fluffed its feathers, just like in a Pixar movie*, and slowly, so slowly, settled back down on its baby.

I broke down.

My first thought was to call the Wildlife Waystation, even though it was 8 PM and they were probably closed and they are out in Temecula or something ridiculous. I called anyway – visions of my field trip in first grade and the baby bunny fiasco of 1995 (story for another time) came flooding back to me as I thought, it’s their job to be empathetic. It’s their job to know.

They were open – yay! – and a guy no older than me answered with no clue what was about to be spewed out on the other end of the line. I explained my scenario – parking lot – pigeon – nest – Equinox – and judging by his silence, he probably thought I was clinically insane. He directed me to animal care services, whose voicemail directed me to their emergency hospital, whose voicemail directed me to a recording about birds, which mentioned absolutely nothing about a nest, an egg, or a parking lot in the middle of Sepulveda Boulevard on the third floor of a luxury gym. I called my parents (who are used to my empathetic cries) and Jen (who I knew would empathetically cry with me). There was nothing I could do. I sat there, scared of how unaware everybody is around me that nobody would probably even notice; that the man hired to clean the gargantuan garage overnight would hose the nest and egg and bird away; that a car would run it over early the next morning; that someone who didn’t know any better or think to know any better would try to move the egg and the mother would never come back.

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Jen texted me her friend Lynne’s brilliant – BRILLIANT – idea that I should get cones. I went down to the first level by the maintenance closet and found three cones, then one upstairs by a pile of trash and broken plastic bins. I sanctioned it off, startling the mama in the process, yet she never went more than four feet away, watching me with untrusting beady eyes.

Then I saw him: the security guard. I walked up to him, tear-stained and tired, prefacing with the fact that I was probably clinically insane. When he told me the cleaning man was coming in an hour, my heart sank. I wanted to stay there all night.

But major kudos to Equinox, you’ve hired a top-notch security dude: I don’t know if it was his kind heart or the pressure of the tears running down my makeupless cheeks, but I’ll be damned if that man was not invested after twelve seconds of talking with me. “You should put up a sign!” and next thing I knew, he was handing me scotch tape and assuring me he would tell the maintenance crew not to mess with it. I waited for the scared shitless pigeon to return to her egg, and slowly, deep breath, one hour later, I drove away.

~

I don’t know why I had such an intense emotional reaction. Crying harder than I had in months, uncontrollably, just sitting, just waiting for I don’t even know what. I felt an obligation to this mama bird and its baby; who else would notice? Who else would think of their safety, of preserving their connection, of their tiny heartbeats? If I left, maybe no one. If I left, I would have this nagging feeling I had let another living being down. That I could have done something but didn’t.

That moment when I hovered so close to the haphazard twigs I feared the mom would be scared off for good, that little eternity when the security guard (Ray; I should be respectful and call him by his name) unrolled a strip of tape long enough to wrap around the metal-wire fence, he watched me with awe: “Most people wouldn’t even notice.”

 

Is it pretentious to reference my own writing?

Because here’s the thing:

We run things over and call them roadkill.  We say it’s just how life is, it’s just how this world is, it’s just what happens.  But guess what? It’s not. It is but it is SO not. Things get run over and we keep going and we forget.  I just can’t help it. I feel like I am walking – driving – through a ghost.

Just because we don’t understand doesn’t mean they don’t hurt. Just because they got in our way doesn’t mean there was no fear.  

Why have we not been able to fix this yet? We’ve displaced these little guys. It’s survival of the fittest – we’ve evolved in ways that allow us to build freeways, commission strip malls, lop off whole chunks of mountain to develop a community of condominiums. Most of these tiny creatures are born into it.They did not know the trees, the acorns, the Disney-esque thickets. They just know the concrete and the luxuries of our world. The light posts are their trees – the moldy Subway their acorns – Sepulveda Blvd their thicket. Our asphalt world is not where they are supposed to be yet we just expect them to be there. And they don’t know how to adapt. They don’t know that an airplane is not a bird and a car won’t just leap over them like a rabbit. They just don’t know.

No love is too small, no nest is too careless, no responsibility is too insignificant. Click To Tweet

It made me so sad, like with roadkill, like with the squirrels I see running up the light posts and the rat traps in the garage. This sweet little bird – and I don’t even like birds! I saw the way it hovered closeby even when it got scared. It would not fly. It would not dart. It took careful steps, it kept one eye on its egg and one eye on the impending danger; I saw how she fluffed and pillowed her feathers and how as she sat down ever so carefully she cocked her head down to the side to check that everything was just.right.

We all have something to love. Something we protect, something SO. FRAGILE. it is worth the risk of the careless drivers and the leaf blowers and the hoses that water everything down so it looks immaculately innocuous; it’s safer that way. We might not be able to understand it all, but we can still respect and revere.

No love is too small, no nest is too careless, no responsibility is too insignificant.

At the very least, we can be aware.

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*P.S. I named it Kevin.