⚡️Kristen Kalp - Page 2 of 115 - Make more meaning w/my books, breathwork, and biz coaching.

Latest Blog Posts — Page 2

Pamela Bates on Making Art and Tooting Your Own Horn.

Pamela Bates work

Have you ever had art jump off the page, screen, or wall to talk with you?  That’s what Pamela Bates‘ work did when I first encountered it, and she was gracious enough to agree to my interview for the That’s What She Said podcast.  This graphic designer turned painter is making a career of her art after a long career working behind screens, and she’s so damn inspiring that you’ve just gotta listen in.

Pamela and I talk quite a bit about the important of consistency in creating, marketing and showing your work, and how to get over the lurking self doubt and fear that can mess with even the most talented of humans.  She also discusses her latest collections, including the 100 day project-based Head Over Heart.

“Get over the fear of tooting your own horn. Toot it as loud as you can!”

During our talk, we cover:

‘the ugly stage’ and life metaphors of painting
walking away from 23+ years of graphic design, branding, and advertising to become a painter
how a single painting changed *everything*
the painted rock business that started it all. At age 7.
how to treat art as a business — every day
the benefits of the #100dayproject
patience in marketing i.e. why it took 2 years to sell one of her favorite paintings
using grief as fuel for art & Inertial Guidance, her first solo art show
why ‘trusting the process’ is cliche and also exactly right
how she made up a retail pop-up for the holidays
simple advice for starting your own painting project
how to not be precious about paint and all the other art supplies

To see (and buy!) Pamela Bates’ work, check out her website or Instagram.

P.S. Want to meet another rad human who is wise and paints?  Meet Tara Leaver.

Sometimes ‘not this’ is clear enough.

voice workshop headshot

Today, we dive into the last of the four qualities that bring the best of your voice to light: wildness, kindness, bravery, and, today, clarity. (Listen to the other podcasts in the series: your work is not your worth and what does your work have to do with your voice?)

Clarity is tricky in real life, since we’re never given a 27-point plan to follow about anything, let alone the most important parts of our lives. It’s hard to know we’re doing the right thing at any point with regards to something as simple as eating carbs. (Science differs!) Or screens. (Is Netflix self care or self sabotage? Depends on the day.) Throw some big-picture scenarios into the mix and it often feels impossible to know if we’re on the right path with regards to anything at all.

Instead of promising I can give you simple clarity or deliver your life’s mission in 28.6 seconds or via a much-watched TED talk, let me give you a guideline. Guidelines are rarely sexy and often helpful.

Sometimes ‘not this’ is all we get.

As Liz Gilbert describes it, ‘not this’ is what your soul whispers when it’s appalled — i.e. when it can’t believe you keep doing X and it so clearly keeps asking you for ‘NOT X.’

When you’re in a relationship for far too long.

When you know your job is crushing your spirit.

When you’re being abused or minimized or treated like shit in any capacity.

You won’t get the 43-point plan or the ejector seat that makes leaving as easy as pressing a button.

You’ll get ‘not this.’

‘Not this’ is vague enough to be frustrating and simple enough for you to know exactly what needs to happen next. It’s a miracle of a phrase, should you find yourself, say, weeping in an outdoor shower while your life wakes up all around you and you find yourself in the midst of a marriage that feels like strangling, one breath at a time.

It’s early 2014, winter on the East Coast but lovely in California. I’ve just discovered the heaven that is Laguna Beach, and I’ve convinced my husband to move there for a month so I can bring a massive event to life without Seasonal Affective Disorder punching me in the face.

I’m standing outside and showering in the sun. And my body is screaming, ‘This! This place! This sun on my face! This beach! This, this, this!’

I’ve taken to doing yoga in the morning sun, then tossing my clothes off and letting every last bit of hot water pour over me while listening to every talk Rob Bell has ever uploaded to YouTube. It’s like washing the dust off of every portion of me, slathering myself up in the backyard whilst contemplating God and the mysteries of the universe and hoping the hot water heater doesn’t run out just yet.

The minute the water turns off, I wander back inside and wrestle with my marriage.

All the enthusiastic ‘THIS!!!!’ coursing through my body brings the wall of ‘not this’ into even sharper perspective. I cry every single time I manage to face my life by walking back into the kitchen.

The singular pain that comes of knowing a thing has ended and yet staying.

For inexplicable reasons and for far too long. Somehow it’s always far too long.

When you come to a point in your business that’s lovely — in other words, when you find a ‘THIS!’ — you’ll often find a ‘not this.’ Your job is to honor it.

I’ve ‘not this’ed prescriptive formulas and online programs, ebooks and partnerships, long-treasured ideas and very, very expensive advice. (All of which were a ‘this!’ at some point.)

Your job is to keep finding and then being honest about the ‘not this’ bits when you find them.

Maybe you’ll lose forty-three grand and lie on the couch for six months when the event you went to California to finish is a financial dud. (For example. Total hypothetical.)

Maybe you’ll meet the love of your life and learn more about partnership and intimacy, depth and bliss than you could have imagined. (Again: totally made up it’s not like I have a Bear.)

Maybe you’ll discover a spiritual practice that makes your other work seem shallow by comparison and then spend your days pursuing depth in all of your work. (One more time: certainly not my experience.)

Clarity, in its earliest stages, might just say ‘Not this.’

And you might not hear any words other than those two for the weeks or months or years it takes for you to listen.

If you want your voice to be clearer, it can be helpful to articulate the ‘not this’ness of your clientele as well. My clients are deeply feeling, sensitive souls who tend to be creative for a living. That’s great, but it’s a bit nebulous.

The ‘not this’ of my clientele is as follows: my peeps don’t support Trump. They often fall for purchasing prescriptive programs and 6-point plans because it’s easier than facing the solitary path that is following your own body of work wherever it leads. They are not timid, though they might seem quiet from the outside. They are not used to expressing their voice at its full capacity, and they are hesitant to turn people away because money is money — or so they’ve been taught.

‘Not this’ draws a clear boundary. If you love Trump, we won’t be able to work as closely as I’d like, so I’d rather not take your money.

‘Not this’ gives you clues about what’s going on in your soul. Your life and your work have their own opinions most of the time.

‘Not this’ might be all you get.

Let’s suss out your ‘not this’ in everyday life:

When you first heard ‘not this’ described, did any particular situation immediately come to mind?

Is there anywhere — job, business, partnership, family, friendship, everyday life — that you feel compelled to do something different, even though you don’t yet know what it is?

Are there any projects or ideas that keep floating around and begging to be made, even though you ‘don’t have time’ to make them or they don’t make sense with your current business model?

Is there something people keep asking for, but your time is being taken up by some other service, project, product, or program that was previously the crux of your career?

Do any aspects of your professional life whisper ‘not this?’

Do any clients reek of ‘not this’ or ‘not them?’

Do any of your habits speak of ‘not this,’ but you keep doing them?

Does any part of your everyday routine feel like, ‘not this?’

Does any part of your work sparkle more than it used to, and you know it’s time to give it more energy?

Do you keep daydreaming about some inexplicable, ‘impossible’ project or idea, even though you don’t know how to bring it to fruition? (That’s a ‘THIS,’ and your job is to honor it.)

You don’t have to know what will come of it.

Just stating it is probably enough.

Not this, not this, not this.

Make a NOT THIS list of 10 things, as fast as you can and without second-guessing yourself!

If you’d like to send me what you’ve discovered, awesome! I’m at k@kristenkalp.com and I’d love to hear, or you can tag me on Instagram at @kkalp.

If you’re like, WAIT I LOVE THIS PODCAST SERIES ABOUT VOICE AND IT’S OVER — come to the Voice workshop! These sneak previews are part of a larger curriculum that’s going down on May 20th and 21st in Philadelphia! The expression of your voice will be wilder, kinder, braver, and clearer by the time you leave, and you’ll have fun along the way.

Read all about Voice.

Buy your ticket now.

P.S. Three $0 ways to make more money this year.

Brave is just another word for ‘Vulnerable.’

This is part 5 in the Voice podcast series. Past episodes include: your work is not your worth. This is what your voice has to do with your work and worth. How to take time offNice and kind are not the same. You don’t have to go in order!

When I talk with my coaching peeps 1-on-1 about being a little more vulnerable in business, they usually freak out. They imagine a world in which every secret they’ve ever had is laid bare and then featured on a reality show that’s beamed into every home on the planet — AND it’s shot in HD so that every pore on their face has its own character name and story line. That’s not the case, and I want to address this as an introduction to the sort of brave that affects your voice (or lack thereof) the most: vulnerability.

Let’s dive into what keeps you from being vulnerable, where you’re most likely to waste your vulnerability juice, and what it looks like to turn one of the scariest acts most females can imagine — asking for help — into a fun game. (Yes, REALLY. A fucking fun game.)

First, a word to calm the parts of you that are freaking out when I even mention the word ‘vulnerability,’ let alone begin to talk about it.

Vulnerability doesn’t have to happen all at once.

You don’t have to go from being a master of mystique to spilling your sexiest secrets in one fell swoop. Often, the first steps into vulnerability as a business owner will be fairly mundane. They’ll look like having your face on your website. Your face in a headshot without your partner, your kids, your dog, your tools of the trade, and/or your cat(s). Just you.

Add your full name, your location on the planet, and your phone number and e-mail address so potential clients can actually contact you, et voila! You’re 30% more visible than you were mere moments ago.

When you’re even a shade more visible, you’ll be tempted to retreat and stop making the cutting edge work that’s calling to your spirit at this moment.

Please don’t give in to that temptation to stop making, doing, or calling rad stuff into being. PLEASE don’t download a freebie from the interwebs and build the ‘instant’ product that’s already done for you if you just fill in ‘content.’

Likewise, don’t fall for the trap that you’re already visible enough, and if you were any good everyone would know about you by now. Your asshole brain will try to convince you of the ol’ ‘If you build it, they will come’ mentality and try to tell you that if you were REALLY gifted, you’d have moved one billion dollars’ worth of product in the past four minutes by activating your new Squarespace website. Don’t listen. That’s not true. Overnight successes take, on average, 7 to 10 years to happen.

You’ll naturally want to come up with a 6-step program or a light and airy product that’s ‘easy’ to sell, when what your spirit wants is to combine words and meetings and breathwork and books in ways no one has ever seen before, or hold a workshop that won’t sell nearly as well as one about sales. (At least, that’s how it is for me at the moment.)

Let’s explore a few ways you can be vulnerable without throwing yourself over a metaphorical cliff and getting deeply hurt, thus undoing all your progress and giving another victory to the ‘just sit down and shut up, you’ve got nothing to say’ voices in your brain.

Make the work, even if you don’t show it to anyone.

I write poems that no one sees all the time. (Here are the ones you can see.)

The willingness to be vulnerable with your SELF — with your own feelings, desires, insecurities, fears, and demons — is the only way to be comfortable sharing any of your vulnerable bits with anyone, ever.

Also, let’s talk about Hilma. Hilma af Klint was a Swedish painter and mystic born in 1862, who died in 1944. She was classically trained in art, displaying her landscapes and botanicals widely throughout her lifetime. But her secret work. In secret, she created painting after painting that wasn’t to be viewed until a full TWENTY years after her death. It wasn’t that she was scared, it was that she knew the world wasn’t ready — she was ahead of her time, and her peers wouldn’t have gotten it. She was completely right, and her work is now on display across five floors of the Guggenheim Museum in New York City.  In a display called ‘Paintings for the Future.’  The ongoing discovery and study of her work has caused art history books to be rewritten, as the dudes credited for first using x or y technique or modality are no longer accurate. It was Hilma first.


In other words: don’t self censor.

Even if you only make stuff that lives in a closet or drawer or under a bed or is kept wrapped in brown paper until twenty years after your death, you’re much further along than those who let their best and most vital work languish in their minds, never to see the light of day. (Or worse, the ones who make mediocre ‘safe’ work while trying to appeal to everyone, ever. Introverts at Work will help you beat your vanilla, appeal-to-everyone impulses.)

This step is impossible to view from the outside and no one can possibly hold you accountable for doing it, so I can only say it here and hope you hear me: don’t self censor.

Don’t self censor, don’t self censor, don’t self censor.

The parts of yourself that you’re most afraid to show to others will often be the parts that are embraced with the most love.  (Or a retrospective at the Guggenheim.)

I started writing about my struggles with depression in 2013. I was certain that somehow the world would shatter, people would stop hiring me, and I’d be fending off flaming bags of dog turds for writing that article. All roads led to homeless and penniless in my mind.

Instead, people wrote kind notes. Six years later, that original article is the #1 most popular thing I’ve ever written. (Sad. True. Both/and.) Peeps have sent me e-mails and letters and they’ve hugged me upon meeting to let me know that I helped. Years later, I still get thank you notes for that first article.

Oh and, that first article didn’t ‘do’ anything. It didn’t end with 84 Steps to End Your Depression Forever! It didn’t recommend miracle supplements you could buy to solve your life or even conclude with a happy ending, meaning I’d suddenly been cured or fixed and could help you out of the dire, horrible places in your own brain. It simply acknowledged my ongoing struggles with mental illness and let my peeps know that I was still alive. And working. And that continues to give people hope.

Please remember this when you’re tempted to believe you’re not being ‘useful’ enough. Acknowledging what you’re going through without rushing to make it a happy ending is useful.

Further: you can unfold by degrees.

From that first article with depression, it took years for me to go deeper: keeping the wolf at bay, hard-won depression tactics you can actually use, and the depression chronicles. More recently, I’ve talked about suicidal ideations and how I’ve handled them — in the ‘tell on yourself‘ episode of the podcast. Unfolding by degrees means…

You don’t have to share your experiences in the present.

It took a full year for me to talk about my divorce anywhere, in any capacity. It took two years for me to admit the full cost of having hosted Brand Camp publicly.

I had depression for more than a decade before I talked about it with anyone other than my doctor and my best friend.

I still haven’t talked about medical marijuana anywhere. My inner Nancy Reagan is rather strong.

Vulnerability means, in the words of either Brene Brown or Glennon Doyle or both in some class they taught that’s no longer online — writing from our scars, not our wounds.

You don’t have to share your gaping wounds, but you can write/sew/dance/make/leap/film/photograph your way through them. You can take notes to use as fodder. You can keep an open list of ‘This Will Be Funny Someday’ vignettes on your computer. You can move through a tragedy of any kind — from a ruined favorite shirt to the death of a loved one — knowing that someday, somehow, this, too will be a scar.

You don’t have to accept feedback.

When you’re putting work in the world, you’re not required to ask for or to accept feedback of any kind.

This flies in the face of all those who want you to run beta programs and then get feedback before you launch a thing, or put your soul’s work up in simplistic polls on social media — thus letting strangers talk you out of what every fiber of your being wants to make next. This is harmful, uninteresting, and dangerous.

If I followed the advice of even my dearest clients, I would only talk about marketing and sales — NOT about honing your voice, not about vulnerability or depression or the hardest bits of being in business, and certainly not tiny, annoying progress.

You are in no way, not once not ever, required to hear the feedback of critics or total strangers. This especially applies to completely subjective works of all kinds.

The minute you let someone else’s opinions matter more than your own internal barometer, your work gets diluted.

Are you pushing your own limits?

Do you stand beside what you’ve made?

Would your past self be proud of what you’ve created?

The answers to those questions are far more important than whether someone, somewhere, on the internet approves. Personally, I’ve got three people I trust to look stuff over and tell me where/if it’s falling down. I run harsh critique through those same three people to see if it’s valid or if it’s just trolling. I ask my clients for feedback once they’ve worked with me and address their concerns one-on-one. This isn’t to say that I don’t accept feedback, only that you, dear human, are not required to ask for it at any point. Sometimes work is better when it’s yours and only yours.

Too often, we give others’ opinions far more sway than our own at some delicate point when the aliveness of the whole project hangs in the balance.

You can also minimize vulnerability wherever possible.

We all know the nerve-wracking sensation of launching a thing into the world, whether it’s a workshop or a workbook, and whether it took two weeks or two years to bring to fruition. You can absolutely minimize that vulnerability so that it can be used in other places!

When it comes to bringing your work to the public, start with a sure thing.

I sell every single book, program, product, class, whozeewhatzit or thingamabob I make to a sure thing before I release it to the general public. Meaning, I make a thing and then ask one of my favorite peeps to buy it, knowing that the person will say ‘yes.’

In the case of the Voice workshop, I invited my KK on Tap and Steer Your Ship peeps to attend first, knowing the cost is included in their coaching and they were, therefore, more likely to hop on board. That’s how I got the first seven attendees, and how I got past the ‘what if no one signs up ever’ hurdle.

The Sure Thing Method takes away the vulnerability of ‘OH GOD WHAT IF I DON’T SELL *ANY* OF THAT THING’ and frees me up to release my work into the world with less stress about how it will perform financially.

If you want to sell a new thing, start by hitting up the people who told you to make that thing in the first place. If they’ve bothered you to teach yoga for years and now you’ve got classes on the calendar, ask ’em to come. They’ve been hounding you to paint, and you’ve just finished a bunch of pieces? Ask ’em to buy. (Speaking of which: come to Voice. You’ll love it.)

Ask, ask, ask. And, um.

Asking is always vulnerable. And therefore brave.

This is me telling you that you’re not broken or weird if you find asking for help and/or a sale to be practically impossible. The good news is that it gets easier with time and practice. Where once I felt like I was going to puke every single time a person e-mailed to ask about hiring me, I can now report that I feel only a brief wibbliness in my belly before answering the message and signing ’em up for the right offering. (Related: you could probably use this breathwork class.)

Here’s the game part!

Start a ‘no’ collection when you begin to ask for help.

The next time you make a thing, aim to ask for something so outrageous or out of your league that you collect 10 no’s. You’ll get far more yes’s along the way, and you’re mentally prepared to spin every ‘no’ as a good thing. It’s fucking revolutionary.

Can I be on your podcast?

Will you talk about this new thing with your people?

Will you come to my workshop?

Will you hire me?

Can I use your space to meet with people?

Want to talk on the phone?

Want to feature me in an article?

Can you help me plan for X?

Can we get coffee and talk about Y?

Would you be willing to look over _____ and review it before I share it?

Do you have any insights about __________?

The bigger the ask — and bravery involved — the more exciting it is when you get a yes. This also keeps you from giving up on potential clients who have ghosted you, because if you follow up enough to get a ‘no,’ you can add it to your collection.

Finally: there are laws, there are rules, and there are opinions. Distinguish between the three carefully.

People will take it upon themselves to give you advice and to ‘look out for you’ in many ways.

Someone once told me that calling myself an orphan hugger was the most offensive thing she’d ever seen and made me look “hopelessly naive.” I’d just spent months in countries literally hugging orphans and was merely being accurate.

People have told me how inappropriate it was for me to mention the shaving of legs (SUPPORTING THE PATRIARCHY!), how completely wrong it was for me to take products off the market (HOW DARE YOU NOT TAKE MY MONEY), and the ways my use of strong language is offensive (yawn). Related: what to do when strangers are mean to you on the internet.

They’ve sent me long, long lists of reasons they’re unsubscribing.

…and I’m still here.

Still alive, still vulnerable, still doing my best to avoid self censoring.

Still taking a stand for the introverts, those called to the depths, and those who are sensitive AF and learning to live with it.

Still helping creatives do their big important magnificent brutal difficult lovely work in the world.

Still advocating for the use of your voice to brighten the world, starting right now.

If you’re like, ‘YAH KRISTEN BUT HOW DO I ACTUALLY START,’ here we go!

To be more brave, show us your:


Full name

Physical location on planet earth

Phone number

Email address

Baby steps into a less vanilla business

Scars, not your wounds

Untouched, raw work

Work you don’t censor

Work you’re called to make

Biggest asks (and build that no collection).

You can feel those getting harder as you go down the list, so begin with the first five and go from there. You’re more than capable of being more brave in business, starting right row.

If you’d like to actively step into the bravest parts of yourself with my support, check out the Voice workshop! The 2-day workshop goes down in Philly on May 20th & 21st!

Your voice will become more wild, kind, brave, and clear during our time together. You’ll unlearn a bunch of asshole brain bits, explore your own edges and the places you’ve suppressed your voice over the years, and meet a bunch of like-minded folks who kick infinite amounts of ass. KK peeps are unfailingly witty, kind, and awesome.

Get a ticket.

P.S.  Let out your meows.