This is me coming out to you, Internet. Over the past year I’ve been cooking up my next move because even though I finally got a job with an awesome company (for now), I still cannot depend on corporate America to satisfy my emotional, spiritual and intellectual needs, even if it does take pretty good care of my financial ones. Also, my brand of Awesomeness cannot be safely contained within the confines of any public company. It’s kind of like trying to fit Pamela Anderson’s boobs in my little
training bra. It is extremely unsafe and ill-advised.
So, in addition to my corporate sales responsibilities, mothering three children and a dog, being my husband’s dream come true, and writing random blog posts wherever I’m allowed, I am now also a practicing life coach. I even have clients to prove it. They call me and we talk and hopefully when they get off the phone they feel better and they become insanely productive, joyful and successful. Usually because they had the Awesome to begin with, and then they somehow forgot it or lost it and then I reminded them and helped them pull that shit out! Well, and then they got off their ass and did something about it.
Unlike writing this blog, I get paid for this, people. Pretty sweet, right?
So if you regularly read (Love) Notes, you might be wondering how a person like me winds up as somebody’s life coach. Well, because none of them are aware of this blog. That is probably the first and most important reason that I have clients, so don’t tell them or I am ruined. They might actually read this or this and beg PayPal to get their money back. Secondly, people who are Awesome like other people who aren’t afraid to tell them something straight up. I’m good at that. Like the way I tell Oprah on this blog just what I think in a way her sycophant producers aren’t capable of because they are under O’s magical Harpo spell. I’m not like that at all. See, I was born with a condition where I can’t not tell somebody what I really think, and that happens to be extremely helpful in life coaching, and not as much in corporate America which I have learned the hard way, over and over and over. Finally, inspiration fuels my life. My clients inspire me. Sometimes even more than Oprah and Take 5 bars and those little blue papers you put on your face to get the oil off, which is kind of huge.
But I have chosen my clients wisely. I don’t have time to help the masses, so they have to be special. Here is the criteria: they know they have the Awesome in them. They know the life they are living is not honoring their Awesome. They need someone to help them tell their current life to fuck off and to start a new life of delirious joyfulness. And they would like me to be that helper
because sometimes being able to drop F-bombs about what is holding you back feels great. These people? Are going to make a big difference in this world and I get a front row seat, which is amazing.
So I know what you’re thinking: “What gives anybody the right to call themselves a life coach – especially you, Love?” Well, the answer is that anybody has the right at any given moment right now since the practice is not actually regulated in any of the 50 states, so if you feel like a life coach and you have the wherewithall to print up some business cards that say so – viola! – you’re a life coach. And a lot of people do that. But not me. I’m a little more legit than that because I also built a
very shitty website and I have a special email address with my own company name on the end of it, so I can command much higher prices. Okay, and yes, I did actually get trained by Oprah’s life coach (I KNOW, RIGHT?!) but the point is that you don’t have to. Which is why you should be very careful when you hire a life coach. It could be Lindsay Lohan working under a pseudonym. Or an anonymous blogger who has had very strange and wonderful things happen to her that she likes to swear about.
Speaking of LiLo, the other thing people usually go off on about life coaches is about how every life coach they’ve ever met is the most fucked up person they know, like they are some big joke. Like if Kim Kardashian all of a sudden announced that she was a life coach. Actually, that would make for some great television… but I don’t understand this mentality. We elect people to Congress all the time who are more fucked up than anybody we know. So why do people discriminate against life coaches? If you’re one of these people, go call up whoever is ‘representing you’ in Congress and once they get done uploading pictures of themselves naked to a porn site, they may give you a call back. What they are charged with is kind of a big deal, so get mad at them for not being perfect. Leave your judgement of your local neighborhood “life coach” at the door. Sure, some of them are really fucked up, but there is a market for that! Some people will feel better if they can feel superior to their life coach. They’ll finish every sessions saying, “Hell! If this crazy bitch who kisses her dogs full on the mouth with her delinquent kids and her drug addiction can be a coach, maybe I should too!” and that is inspiration right there. A win-win if you ask me.
So anyway, now you’re in on my Second Act. I’m still getting a corporate paycheck, but my practice is going to grow and soon Oprah will be calling me up to have my own show on OWN and dole out advice with Suze, Mehmet, Phil, Nate and the sex doctor lady. Actually, I don’t want my own show, so I’ll have to turn her down, but I hope that later she’ll describe it as one of her most profound a-ha moments. All I want is to be known as the coach behind some of the most incredible transformations the world has ever seen
and who also writes F-bomb laced self-important stories about herself on this website. Okay and I also want Oprah to validate me by offering me a show I need to turn down because like she always says, “What I know for sure is that all people want is VAL-EH-DAY-SHUN”. And also I would like Tina Fey to subscribe to this blog and not because she is making fun of it. So I mean, that’s all.
Dream big, I say! (That’s what I tell my clients.)
My day will come. I can feel it. (That’s what I tell myself.)
Happy Thanksgiving, bitches! (That’s what I tell my best friends. You’re welcome.)