Opening is an act. - Kristen Kalp

Opening is an act.

When I talk with peeps about my history of getting all honest and vulnerable on the regular, whether I’m talking about depression or how it feels to fail miserably or how hard it is for me to take time off and chill the fuck out instead of working constantly, they end up asking one thing: how!?

How do you know it will work?
How do you know people won’t say horrible things?
How do you know people won’t judge you, or use your secrets against you, or make fun of you?

I don’t.

I don’t know that it will work, or that people will refrain from saying horrible things, or that I won’t be judged heavily and mightily.

Opening is an act.

It’s one I’ve come to rely on as the only way to step further into whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing in the world.

In 2009, I told you what to do on Tuesday and Thursdays. I told you how to do it. Rules, tutorials, lessons. No vulnerability or nuance.

Opening is an act.

I learned to tell the truth about things: patterns I was noticing. Why you don’t lead with priceThe truth about bizturbationWhy to-do lists are a terrible idea.

Slowly, slowly…I let my heart out more. Revealing my belief that business is a spiritual practice.

I held the Brand Camp and then gave the rundown of how it went, warts and all.

Opening is an act. A habit. A practice. A sacred rite.

It’s a deep breath and a small step into the deeper, greater unknown. (If you’re not scared, it doesn’t count.)

It’s a prayer to all that’s holy to catch you, even as you surrender more deeply.

Opening is an act.

It’s a defiant thing, your refusal to close.

It’s also a crazy thing: holding your heart open to the hurts, the struggles, the crazy-ass shit life brings, and refusing to do anything but open further.

I dare you to open and then tell some small, sacred portion of your story.

The time you listened, fully, and understood.
The time you knew you had to give up that job, that house, that lover, that person.
The time you knew why you were on this planet.
The time you took a giant risk and it worked out. (Or it didn’t.)
The time you moved forward without knowing, carrying only question after question.

Opening is the ultimate act of vulnerability: polarizing, endearing, brave, and stupid all at once.

Go on, I dare you.

Open.

P.S.  100 ways I’m broken.