For those of you who didn’t see Ellen’s show today or read the article on her monologue about Proposition 8, let’s get current, shall we? Gay (a.k.a. “same-sex”) marriage. Proposition 8 – against gay marriage. Unconstitutional, Prop. 8 was voted (Star Wars, anyone?). Did I mention Ellen is amazing? I’d go gay for her. Not really, but I love her. But seriously. For the love of Pete, let’s get this show on the road!

I read Ellen’s monologue about One Million Moms last night. I’ve never met Ellen in person and I may get to know her beyond her show, but that woman is simply amazing. How she can add such good humor to what many (apparently one million moms…which is really only 40,000 moms with a dream?) consider to be a very serious situation is nothing short of miraculous.

“I stand for honesty, equality, kindness, compassion, treating people the way you’d want to be treated and helping those in need. To me, those are traditional values. That’s what I stand for. I also believe in dance.” When Ellen said these words, I had goose bumps all over. I damn-near cried before I laughed out loud. There are so many things we can all learn from this woman – this traditional, lesbian, hilarious, compassionate, dancing machine.

What Ellen inspires in me (and what I hope that you all find in you) is that there is nothing more important in my life than being exactly who I am. And who I am may change in every moment, but what I’m learning is that not only is that Okay, it’s phenomenal. Today, I happen to be the 25-year-old blogger with a dream who is doing my best to get my life (among other things) headed in the direction I’d like it to go. Tomorrow, I may be the chick at the restaurant who is laughing too loud and smiles too big. Or perhaps I’ll be the girl who let the angry old man in line go ahead of me just because (or the bitch that slaps him in the face…don’t judge me). Next year, I might be that athletic-looking babe on the beach or the slightly over-weight girl at the coffee shop. I may still have tri-colored hair or maybe I’ll be au naturale. It doesn’t matter what I look like or what you see when you look at me. What matters is that I continue to be honest with myself in my journey.

These days I am constantly reminded and shown how important it is for us to be happy with us. It’s not our job or our right to “fix” everybody else. It’s also not our job to tell ourselves that we are not enough when we are being exactly who we are. I’m not the next Ellen, Oprah or Tony Robbins. But I am Celeste and that’s pretty awesome in my book. Through all the fuck-ups and all the failures and all the laughter and all the chaos…I’m a success.

That’s the whole point. Ellen isn’t perfect. My GOD – she’s even GAY! By the way, who decided what “perfect” meant? The word “perfect,” according to The New Oxford Dictionary, is “having all the required or desirable elements, qualities, or characteristics.” Funny – who decides what the “desirable elements, qualities, or characteristics” are? You? Me? Both. I decide what I think to be perfect (by the way, I’ve found that my idea of perfect in a human still ends up being flawed – I don’t know about you). You also get to choose, too. Maybe perfect is being gay and the rest of us have been getting it wrong. Or maybe that’s just an opinion. Freedom of choice. It’s a Universal law. You know what I choose? I choose me and, in that, I choose happiness. Starting to see a pattern?

It all started with a car…

It would have been my first major purchase as an adult (at this point I don’t know if that’s a good thing or just sad). I say “would have” because it had some mechanical problems and ended up being a deal breaker. That’s the way the cookie crumbles, though, right? Not for Celesté.

No, no! Apparently this was the last straw for me. On my way home I damn-near cried twice and was in a depression by the time I walked in the door. And while it all started with a car I had my heart set on it had taken a new turn: my life.

Nothing seemed to be going the way I wanted. My job wasn’t my dream job, I’m not getting paid what I’d like and to top it off I was constantly trying to do everything right (and failing, might I add). I also wasn’t having any fun – go figure.

The next morning I showed up to work and did just that. Due to my recent state of mind, however, it wasn’t long until I was about to jump out of my skin. By the time lunch rolled around, I needed to get as far away from that office as I possibly could with the time I allotted to me. I got in the car, cranked up Adele and hit the gas.

Before long I found myself driving by a run-down cattle ranch for sale (no, this is not that out of the ordinary where I’m from). I pulled over, got out of the car and hopped the fence. With absolutely no one else there to even look at me I finally found some peace. I noticed how beautiful the barren valley was where I stood.

For a moment I walked to the top of a slump of land and saw a house off in the distance. It was the shell of a house, really: Father Time had taken his toll on it. A fire had once consumed the home and the wind made it all the more battered. Yet, it was beautiful. The most lonely and beautiful house I had ever seen.

I have to get to that house, I instantly thought to myself. It would have been a 10 minute walk to get to there and I had run out of time. Turning back to the car, I promised myself to return another day.

That night while meditating, I knew I was missing something; missing a feeling – a knowing. Whether you call that knowing “Love” or “The Universe” or “Creator” or “God” or simply “Fulfillment” I was missing it. And I wanted it back. I couldn’t feel that Love anymore and I couldn’t see It in others – I had no sense of It any longer. Through many tears and sobs I asked for It back.

The only thing I could think of the next day at work was that house I had seen the day prior. There was something about it that had given me an urge to get to it – to touch it. It was more than that, though, it was a need. I clocked out for lunch and headed straight for my car which took me to my destination. Turning off the ignition, I once again hopped the metal fence and began my walk. It was a cloudy day making the decrepit building look all the more sullen.

Finally, I approached this wooden wreckage and the soft skin of my palm touched the dried, dead boards. Nothing happened. I didn’t have some awe-inspiring epiphany or some overwhelming feeling. I did, however, find a great place for a photo shoot. Time was up. I headed back.

On the walk back to the car, I looked at the wreckage surrounding the house. There were old wagons burned to the ground and busted, dried cow dung, massive lumps of barbed wire, a run-down tractor… My brain started running with the possibilities of things I could do with this secluded disaster.

As the house got further and the car closer, that awe-inspiring epiphany hit: the house represented my life as it was – everything in my past – and it was time for me to walk away from it. The house WAS me. I have lived a life that had no solid foundation, a lot of shit and was either run-down or on its way.

But it was magnificent all at the same time. I had amazing friends (and still do), I laughed and cried and experienced the good – but making it through the bad is what gave me character. And when I looked at that house standing on its own in the middle of nowhere, I saw the person I have embodied for so long. I saw the ugly state I always used to picture myself in (and occasionally still do from time to time) was never ugly at all.  It was always a beautiful disaster; a necessary moment in time in which I needed to experience something that would help me later.

…And now, I am able to use that past life in my “now” life…

Halfway back to the car I knew it was time to leave the past behind. Now that I recognized it for what it was – a learning tool – I no longer needed to carry it with me. It was time to take what I always called my “dream life” seriously; it was time to take me seriously. I knew there was much to be done and no easy way out. Fortunately, easy no longer works for me.

With that decision, I felt the Love shoot back into my body as I climbed the fence one more time, slid into my car and drove away.

What are you doing to get there? I’ve found this to be the most important question. I have met many people in my life who only enjoy dreaming and there is nothing wrong with that. Dreams without action, however, are merely fantasies – they very rarely come true.

What kind of excuses are you giving yourself? For me and most people I have known we are afraid of our biggest dreams. Try it out. Go ahead and name your dream – say it out loud (now would be a good time to do that; reading can wait). Right after you said it, what was the first thing your brain told you? Did it sound something like, “You’re crazy! That’s never going to happen?” Or, “You can’t do that?” I’d say it’s an age thing but I’ve met 60-somethings who still think they can’t.

What are you afraid of? I love the suggestion Tim Ferriss gives in The 4-Hour Work Week: define your worst case scenario. What is the worst that could happen to you? Write it down along with all those excuses you just gave yourself; play it out in your mind. Typically, you’ll find that once you look at what you would define as your “rock bottom” you can find a way to build yourself back up.

What’s your first – or next – step? You’ve looked at your excuses and your fears (you’ll know you’ve done it right, by the way, when you realize that they’re all bogus). Do you really want to give yourself a reason to not live your dreams? If your answer is “No,” then get your ass up and get going! Sit down with a notebook for 5 minutes and write out all of your different possibilities. Pick one and do it.

End of story. Or should I say, “Beginning.”

Over-mediafication: (n) the over-stimulated ramifications of excess social  media.

I get over-mediafied a lot, getting on the web and start surfing around looking for interesting blogs and new ideas which is exactly what I find…except it’s too much. Having a tendency to over think and over analyze, I add everything going on in social media which seems to paralyze me. I start comparing what others have done to myself taking it to a 24/7 point of obsession.

There are times like the other night where I find myself laying on my bed thinking about all the different things I could do. It’s exciting at first because I really want to do the things being contemplated. But then the excitement wears off and the fear and comparing barge in. Thoughts go from, How cool would it be to do this?, to, Other people have already done that and done it better than I could. I think about what direction I want to head in my life and where I want to see my writing go. Then I turn to other blogs or writers or entrepreneurs and compare what I am now to what they are. And the younger they are, the more comparing I do, the worse it becomes.

There I found myself laying in my bed on Monday night…thinking. I’d love to write about business, except I’ve never owned a business ergo that’s out. I’d like to write about communication but I’m not hanging my hat on that one seeing as how communication is obsolete. Celeste! What the hell do you want? I say to myself on the verge of tears. I don’t KNOW! But I know that I can’t write about something that’s challenging without having to go through some challenge myself.

And there it was, Challenge, calling my name. The question is, what is a challenge that I want? What do I want to change in my life? Weight? Sometimes yes and sometimes no. Money? Yes. Men? Men don’t change. Myself? Yes, as a matter of fact, I’d like to change myself. Not necessarily physically as I’d like to mentally. Instead of thinking and analyzing all the damn time or staying at home because it’s more comfortable then going out to a rock climbing class because you’re nervous about what all the other people will think about you. I don’t want to be afraid of speaking to people in my age bracket who are “professionals” or experts in their fields – or even just because I’m intimidated by what I think they stand for. I don’t want to wait on anyone else to guide me through life; I could be waiting a long time. In essence, I don’t want to be sitting in my bed thinking my whole life; that will never get me where I want to go!

When we commit to challenging ourselves, we open ourselves up to failure and success all in one. We open up to change. Change is something I want, but at the same time I’m a bit afraid. I just read an inspiring blog by a woman named Tisa getting ready to start her own business. In this blog, Tisa speaks about fear being both good and bad. Must say that I agree with her and recommend reading what she has to say. I wish her the best of luck and know that she will not need it – success is on her side.

Over the last week, I have done some major reminiscing about my college days in Arizona. I both miss those times and don’t; there was a lot of partying and fun but also consequences for me along the way. Also in the last week, I have had the great fortune of meeting a wise new friend, Aife (pronounced “AY-fah”) via an anonymous 12-step group for sex addicts I’m now attending.

That’s right, I’m a sex addict or at least I’m pretty sure I am and I’m even more sure I need help. (At this point I would like to address that being a sex addict does not necessarily mean that you have multiple partners and are not monogamous and that you sleep with anything that walks – I have a feeling that many people reading this are going to make that assumption right off the bat. As I write more posts, I’m quite sure I’ll get into different ways one can be an addict.) The first question I typically get asked is, “What made you decide to try that, Celeste?” to which my answer is that a couple years back I realized that I might be a sex addict but then I chalked that issue up to my age.  After all don’t most people my age “have fun” and experiment with life & sex like I have? That’s what we’re here for, right? To experiment.  When someone unrelated to me finally said out loud that I might be addicted to sex, I invested some serious thought into the idea and decided it might be time to explore that avenue. After all, if I didn’t like the program nobody was going to make me go. Aife was the first person I emailed or spoke to regarding the program and how it worked. It was amazing the warmth and relevance she was able to give me upon her first email. By the time I actually met her I felt like I had known her for years. It was beautiful start.

I called Aife a day or so after re-living old memories and finding old friends. It turns out that she has experienced much in her life – I’ll even say much more – then I have in mine. We talked about many things and experiences. She asked me why I thought I was a sex addict and why I reached out. I told her what I knew my reasons to be at the time.

As Aife told me her story – though not in great detail – her insightful overview was all too relevant and just what I needed. She explained the “healing” process she went through and as she spoke my heart began racing like a rabbit running from a wolf: Aife was telling my story.   “The Seductress will do whatever is needed to get what she wants” she said.  She had just characterized the addict within me with startling precision and clarity.  Holy cow! This woman knows me! She’s lived my life.

Seducing was the only approach Aife knew (just as it is all I know) and the thought of letting  go of that aspect of herself  back when she had begun The Steps to Recovery scared the absolute hell out of her. Letting that part of me go feels like I’ll be left with nothing, just as Aife had felt. “Letting that go was the hardest thing I have ever done,” she slowed her speech, “and I’ve done a lot of hard things in my life.”

Thank goodness I was lying down (pardon the phrasing) because all that was going through my head as my teacher spoke was, Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! If I let The Seductress part of me go, no one will pay attention to me! People won’t be attracted to me. I won’t even know how to function because the only way I know how to act is by flirting and seducing. I seduce men and women in different, yet similar, ways. What about my Arizona friends? What will they think? Will I still be able to have fun with them? Will I never be able to see them again? I don’t know if I’m ready to give them up. I don’t eve know if I have to, but I know to get better I have to give up ‘The Addict’. Shit! Fuck! Oh, my God! No. I don’t know…”

Then this wonderful, strong woman continued, “But you know what, Celeste? Letting her go was the greatest thing I’ve ever done. Hands-down the best!  Life wasn’t just mildly better than before: I had entered a whole new realm that I never knew existed before. My world didn’t get smaller as I thought it would – it expanded and became something more glorious that I can put into words.”

As I continued to hold the phone to my ear, I calmed a bit though the thought that I’d have to give up who I am still panicked me. I somehow desperately wanted what this woman just described: I wanted to get better. I wanted not only to stop hurting myself and others, but to thrive and help others in much of the way Aife was helping me at that very moment.

“Unfortunately, you’re bright so this is probably going to be a tough one for you. The smart ones think about the process too much rather than just trusting that it works. Luckily, the journey ahead of you is simple and you have an entire family of warriors here to help you at any given time. However, this is a challenging journey and you may not want to do it, Celeste. But I think you’re the kind of girl who likes a challenge – like me – and I think you can do this. You have a whole blog written about challenge for crying out loud!  Time to show yourself what you’ve got sister!”

And with that, I began my journey.

Relief is what I feel this week, relief and excitement for the new. In these past two-and-a-half weeks I experienced connections with others that I didn’t even know were possible. For those of you who aren’t up to date, in the last month I have come to the realization that I am a sex addict and as such attended my first sex addicts meeting a few weeks ago. As a novice to this whole addict thing, I expected there to be crying and shame during the meeting. I pictured a room full of questionable life-forms staring at me while I spoke of all the shameful acts I’ve done in my life – judging me at my most vulnerable point. I, of course, would be preceded or followed by some other poor soul in my same scenario. There will be no fun, I told myself.

The time of the meeting, I walked into a plain, off-white room where the tables and chairs were just as common and boring. As I sat down and took in the group of individuals sitting quietly around the table, I was careful not to stare or look too long in anyone’s direction. The meeting began and soon everyone was speaking. And then it happened…laughter. Can you believe that? The people – the sex addicts – were actually laughing; and not at me or anyone else, they were laughing at themselves! Others were joining in on the laughter because they had all gone through the same things. I even laughed with them. Dare I say it, but the damn meeting was enjoyable.

I thought that sex and all the “horrible” things we’d done in our lives was going to be the main topic of conversation; though, we didn’t spend the whole time talking about “it”.  By God, we talked about our lives like “normal” people in a “normal” conversation. Some of the people in the group vented about how frustrated they were because they had to trust the program’s process rather than think everything through. Interestingly enough, you could take everything that any individual in the group expressed and put it into any conversation. How many times in our lives have we become discouraged because things weren’t going the way we wanted them to? How terrifying is it to learn that all we need to do is let go of our plan? Scares the hell out me. I’ll tell you that much. That’s what we talked about in the meeting – not some crazy sex topic like I was expecting. It was…normal.

The addicts all looked so different on the surface but a soothing feeling of relief washed over me as I found myself relating to them. They were like me. They had the same self-defeating thoughts as I did; many of them used sex as a “filler” for the lack of self-love (though I did learn that night that a sex addict also includes someone who is afraid of sex – a “sexual anorexic” is the phrasing). As I was the youngest person attending, it was wonderful to find not only was I not the alone, but that people older than me had the same issue.

My second meeting was last week and I was surprised to see there were two new male visitors. It made me think perhaps I don’t give men enough credit. I think that most of them have absolutely no inclination to find who their true character is and compare it to who they’ve become. I haven’t experienced many “awakened” men in my life who are in touch with their feelings about themselves. That could be because I’m still young, but it’s also highly likely that I’ve been looking in all the wrong places. I wish I could describe to you what it’s like to be in the presence of someone at their first meeting then you’d understand why I’m so excited about my journey…Imagine standing in a meadow watching a wild mustang run free – his shiny coat of hair glistening in the sun and hooves pounding into the ground. He looks up and notices you watching him. Then he stops – looking around cautiously – and you honor his presence by sticking your ground, not daring to move for fear that the beautiful creature will run away. You feel your heart pumping and with each new beat, pure love for this animal emanates from you. You’re filled with emotions of anticipation, amazement and wonder. Will he decide I’m safe and walk towards me? Is he going to get scared and gallop off? This is what it is like in the company of a newcomer – it’s as though you have been filled with light and your body is simply the vessel holding it in.

The fact that these newbies were men gave further excitement (and I don’t mean in a sexual way so don’t you go there)! In my past experience, guys are not crazy about talking about sharing their feelings and most certainly aren’t keen sharing the fact that they need help and can’t conquer something alone. I cannot commend the men enough who are able to let go of their guard and allow others to help them – especially in such an intimate way.

I used to think people in any kind of a recovery program were weak. I really did. If someone was strong, they wouldn’t need recovery in the first place (Look who’s talkin’ now, Celeste).Over the weeks, I’ve come to know many of my new sobriety sisters (it still sounds weird to me when I say that) and every single time I have an opportunity to speak with them I am blown away. To say these people are weak would be to say love doesn’t exist. My viewpoint has since changed: I know now only the strong are able to seek help. The ability to humble one’s self, open up to new suggestions as well as let go of old habits is not just strong, it’s heroic. These men and women have been through hell and back with past and present lives filled with sex acts always left them feeling empty and bitter, yet they are kind and honest. They look at everything you are and all you’ve been and accept it. They welcome you with open arms. I’m learning about a whole new support system that I never knew existed.

How lucky am I?

P.S. Thank you to all of my readers, my family and friends who have been so supportive and giving. You are wonderful! Some of you have given me the opportunity to help you, while others have offered up your stories for comfort and to let me know I am not alone. You raise me up in more ways than you know.

A few weeks ago I received a gift: Aife read me some of her work from the book she is writing. The first time I listened to it was when I went to her writers’ group (which I am now happy to say I am a member of!). Sweet Jesus, this woman can write! After the group meeting, I went back with Aife to her home where she read more of her work to me.

Listening to Aife was wonderful – in a terrifying way. She went back and re-lived her life so as to pull readers in with her. More than that, the listener became Aife. As her innocence was stripped from her with each new experience so, too, was mine.  As her voice trailed off and she gathered her papers on the footstool in front of her, I found myself in a peculiar situation: comfortably horrified.  The things this warrior woman spoke of – what she read aloud – were daunting in a way that, up until that point, I had only perceived to be true in movies. How naïve of me! Yet I was comfortable because I trusted Aife; I felt I had known her for a long time. In a way, I felt like she was part of me. We were both safe and sound. We accepted each other for everything we were now and had ever been.

Aife leaned forward slightly and asked, “So, what about you? Have you ever been molested?” For the first time ever, I had no words. No advice. No “I’ve been there, too.” No apologies. Nothing. I paused, my mind racing to find an answer that would suffice. I caught on to something and as I spoke I kept thinking, It’s amazing that this woman is listening to me and not blowing me off because I never had it as bad as she did. I’ve had a fluffy fucking life compared to her and she’s giving me the respect of listening to me as though I were someone who had been in her shoes. We finished our conversation and when her phone rang I gave her a hug and went home.

Once I returned home, I began writing. I tried putting into words what I felt in that moment in Aife’s living room when she asked me that question. It kept ringing in my head. I went through it in my mind over and over and over again. “Have you ever been molested?” She asked it so matter-of-factly. That was normal for her, like asking if I went to the store today or if ate my lunch for the day.

I threw my notebook and pen on the floor, pulled the covers over me and turned out the light. I stretched back onto pillows royally arranged on my bed. With gingerly cupped hands behind my head, I sighed as the chatter in my brain began to subside. Then it hit me. Asshole. In the moment after her question, I felt like an asshole. I had never experienced much of what Aife described. All things considered, I had a “normal” life. Then why was I calling myself names?

I never once – in 24 years – truly appreciated my childhood until that moment with Aife. As I laid to rest I realized something. I feel safe, I thought to myself. I’ve always felt safe. Even when Mom and Dad fought; I didn’t like it, but I was protected from harm. I have never been afraid to turn out the lights because I was scared of my own family. The thought that my dad might come into the room and rob me of my purity never occurred to me. How wonderful were my parents. I saw how unknowingly innocent they were and how they did so well by me – as well as they knew how. They loved me.

It was 1:46 in the morning, and I couldn’t very well call and thank them both, so I texted instead. I thanked each of them and sent my love. Aife had shown me a whole new world unlike any I’ve known. I don’t imagine that I would ever wish that reality upon any human. If you ever get a chance to talk to an Aife as I did, take inventory of your life and find the good. I’m thankful I did.

Sixty days. Six zero. No dates. No kissing. No cuddling. No sex – of any kind. That’s right, people, meaning any sex you can think of…I’m not having it. Would you believe me if I told you I’m excited that I still have at least 4 months of no sex left?

Two months ago, my life was different. Two months ago, I laughed when it was suggested I choose temporary celibacy. I believe my exact wording was, “Hah! Are you serious? You’re asking a 24-year-old sex addict to be completely celibate for 6 months? You’re out of your [enter bad word here] mind! I won’t even last a week!”

After a little thought, I found I had nothing more to lose when it came to this topic. Thus, began my “detox,” if you will. Everything was going along fine. I had a lot more time for things because I wasn’t distracting myself with…well, the big “O.” Then the first withdrawal hit about 3 or 4 weeks in. So far, I’ve had about three major withdrawals – each one just as memorable as the first.

It was 10:30 at night and I had just turned out the lights. I desperately wanted to call or text a guy and have them come over…or eat (which I’ve been turning to instead of sex again), but I did neither. Something in me told me not to for once. All I could think as I lay in my bed was, I’m alone. There’s no one here to hold me – no one to love me. In The Program, everyone tells you to call when you need someone to talk to – even when you don’t want to bother them with your problems. I thought about calling one of the girls, but talking to a woman is just not the same as talking to a man. And I wanted to do more than just talk. There was a certain guy in particular I had in mind at that moment, but even if I had called he was too far away to come see me.

I curled up into a ball, pressing my back against my body pillow – it gave the illusion that someone was there with me. Seconds later, I broke down. My body couldn’t handle it. I’m alone, the thought kept repeating, leaving me no choice but to believe it. Nobody cares that I’m going through this. No one understands this. Nobody knows that I’m suffering or how. Everybody thinks I’m just normal and don’t have any problems.

For half an hour I sat with myself. For half an hour, I kept my arms wrapped around my body and rocked in an effort to subdue the pain. My chest heaved with aching sobs and tears streamed down my raw face. I felt pathetic.

What happened next blew my mind. After those 30 long minutes, the crying stopped. The loneliness was suddenly, yet gently, replaced by something – a sense of power. The kind of power you feel when you’ve just hit a homerun and the crowd goes wild with cheers, you’re team greeting you as you touch home.

And then – BOOM! Something started to flood my senses. I was starting to feel my high. My body started to tingle ever so slightly with pleasure. I closed my eyes to open my senses as I have done hundreds of times before. I wanted to feel the explosion of this new kind of orgasm. But I wasn’t climaxing in the way that I have so many times before. What was happening to me?

That night, I truly felt for the first time what it was like to choose myself over my addiction to all things – all my temptations. I was feeling something beyond sex, beyond food – beyond the quick fix. I was experiencing self-love.

I wasn’t alone anymore…I had myself.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been attending the online Social Media Success Summit 2011 (#SMSS11 for all you Twitter geeks). Each new session has been a great learning opportunity for me. One thing in particular I’ve noticed is how excited I get after each session has finished; I’m ready to conquer the world…TONIGHT!

My first thought after my newfound knowledge in each session has been, Sweet! All I have to do is spiff up my blog (maybe learn a little coding so I don’t have to find the money to pay someone), build relationships with as many people as possible, know exactly what I want my audience to do, have the right content, use LinkedIn as effectively as possible, Tweet the hell out of myself, bling-out my Facebook fan page, clean my room and take out the trash. If I could get it all done today, that would be perfect as I have to do it all, do it right and do it right now – otherwise I shouldn’t do it at all. Let’s be real, here – I don’t have the physical capabilities to do everything at once. I’m going to go out on a limb and say none of us can do everything at once – even Tim Ferriss (no matter how many records he’s broken or impressive he may be. Pretty sure, he does one thing at a time; he’s just gotten good at doing one thing really well and really fast).

After talking to myself for a while (I do that probably more often than what is considered “normal”) about the subject I came to a new conclusion: I don’t actually need to do everything at once. No, in fact, in order to get where I want to go I must do one thing at a time (What a frickin’ concept! Who’s the man?!). And since I’m now going to be doing one thing at a time, it is important that I do the things that create the greatest return on investment possible. I’m not just talking about money – though money is more often than not a motivating factor. I’m referring to anything. Your job, the laundry, making the team, losing weight…you name it. Find the one thing (this is key to narrow it down as much as possible) that will give you the highest ROI and do that.

Once you’re finished, find the next “one thing” and finish that. Conquering the world doesn’t happen overnight and it doesn’t happen because you’ve started 50 projects at once. You conquer when you follow through