I’m a reader, and, I’d like to believe, a writer (I don’t think the desire to write makes me one, even though I get paid to do so). I’ve read countless books, most of them forgettable, but one stands out as the most important I’ve ever discovered. It’s The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo, and it’s about a bunny.

Yes, my favorite book is sold in the children’s section. It has illustrations. And my younger daughter gave it to me.

It changed my life when I first read it a year and a half ago and continues to do so every day. The book tells the story of Edward, a china rabbit that belongs to a little girl named Abilene. A gift from her grandmother, Abilene loves the little rabbit fiercely. Despite this, though, Edward is vain and closed-off to loving her or anyone else. It’s not until he falls overboard during a boat trip that he begins to open his heart and shift the way he sees the world.

Alone and helpless (because, you know, he’s just a china rabbit), Edward experiences life with other people and places, which changes everything within for him. He spends 297 days at the bottom of the ocean before he is rescued and begins his adventure of relating to others. He experiences fear, anger, sadness, joy, attachment and, ultimately, an epiphany. It’s through this miraculous journey that he ceases to be the selfish little rabbit he once was; it takes the experience of literally being broken (again, china rabbit) for him to truly understand the meaning of love and what it means to have a home.

God damn, I love this book.

“If you have no intention of loving or being loved, then the whole journey is pointless.”

So this post is a little less about social media and pop culture and and marketing nerdiness I usually write about and a little more about a topic that’s near and dear to me for a few reasons. you can break out the violins if you want-that’s ok with me. I’m gonna hit you with something a little heavy for your Monday. Ready? Let’s do it.

I’ve been in treatment for eating disorders since I was 15 (I’m 36 now; you do the math, ’cause I suck at it). My original diagnosis as a teenager was for bulimia. I went to therapy, grew up a little, went to school and things were cool for a long time. I got married. Had two awesome daughters and enjoyed both of my pregnancies. And then, for some still-mysterious reason, I hit 29 and things went bananas.

I started restricting my diet to the point that I ultimately checked into two programs for anorexia. One of them was The Renfrew Center, the country’s first residential eating disorder treatment facility. Those folks are great at what they do but unfortunately at the time, my insurance refused to cover the complete costs for me to receive inpatient help even though my healthcare providers strongly urged me to do so. Yep, another strike against our not-so-hot healthcare system; it didn’t matter that I could go to a chiropractor and get adjusted for just $30 or have my teeth cleaned twice a year at no additional charge if I wasn’t covered to receive the life-saving treatment I totally needed. So I attended their day program as if I was in high school, commuting to and from their Philadelphia campus for a few weeks before my insurance capped it altogether. Another tricky element of my time there was that I was a bit older than most of the women I was there with (since then, Renfrew and other ED professionals have made great strides to address the concerns of women of all ages). Needless to say, the time I spent there helped, but I was far from recovery at that point.

So it came as no surprise when I found myself struggling with body image issues a few years later.

In 2008 I spent six weeks at Life Healing Center in Santa Fe, NM. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but holy crap, did it do the job. My private insurance once again failed me, but this time my family was there to help with the enormous cost of treatment because I think we all felt that “three strikes and you’re out” was a sad but true possibility. At that point I was a 34 years old professional and married mother of two and I couldn’t afford to be passive in the confrontation of my issues anymore. The time for weekly 55-minute therapy sessions and pep talks from loved ones had done all they could do; flying my bony ass seemed like the best choice. (A quick time out to send my enormous gratitude to Bob and Paulette Estok, the most amazing, loving and compassionate people I’ve ever had the good fortune to know. I’ll find a way to pay you back every penny someday, I promise. And yes, them’s A LOT of pennies!)

While I was there I did lots of reading, and one of the books I came across was called “Life Without Ed: How One Woman Declared Independence from Her Eating Disorder and How You Can Too,” by Jenni Schaeffer with Thom Rutledge, LCSW. At first, it sounded like a sitcom (that’s just my strange sense of humor for you), but I quickly realized that this was a book that really spoke to me. I read it cover to cover within two days. It now sits on my desk, where I refer back to it at least once a week for inspiration, reference or gratitude for the journey I’ve been on.

So before this totally turns into a Lifetime Movie of the Week (Too late? Maybe so.) I’ll explain that the genesis of this post comes from Jenni Schaeffer’s upcoming appearance at Bryn Mawr College this Saturday, February 27. Brought to you by Valley Green Counseling and Bryn Mawr College Body Image Council as a part of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week, the event is free and open to the public. Scoot over here to register and seriously, tell everyone you know about this. It’s important. For realz.

I realize that my involvement and passion for pop culture, media and fashion could be construed as feeding into the obsession we have with weight, image and unhealthy behaviors, but I’ve always been aware of the fact that there are so many factors that influence how we see ourselves and our bodies. I’m no psychologist (although goodness knows I’ve known enough to pick up a thing or two) and I’m certainly not someone who has everything all figured out; as far as I’m concerned, I’ll be in recovery for the rest of my life, fingers crossed. Every day is a challenge in some way or another, but I’m working on it. I’m getting things figured out bit by bit, and I love that each step I take makes me a better mom, a better friend and maybe most importantly, a better me. I love what I do and couldn’t imagine taking a job where I weren’t examining what’s going on on a cultural level. I may not be saving the world with my work (although I am committed to doing good in the world at all times and would love to find a bigger way to integrate that into my professional life) but I sure as hell know I’m making a difference by taking care of myself and making a commitment to living an authentic life that I can be proud of going forward. Don’t worry, though. I’m still the same wacky, tattooed goofball you’ve always known. I’m just a little softer around the edges these days.

And now, when you take me out to lunch or dinner, I’m actually going to eat instead of pushing my food around on my plate. If you’re not careful, I might just polish off your meal, too. In a good way.

dear jen, let me first say that while i made a joke at your expense on my homepage, i think you might be ready to hear what i have to say. you may be rich and skinny but no one’s “just fine” all the time, no matter how many magazines you try to convince otherwise (lindsay and britney, i’m looking in your direction). i bet i’d like you a little more if you dropped the fembot act and admitted that you spent last weekend binging on pizza and ring dings while indulging in a molly ringwald film fest and petting your cat. it would make you real, and i wouldn’t feel so weird for doing it, too (note to self: buy more hot fudge).

sure, you had your heart broken while the world watched, your career goes up and down more than a playground teeter totter at recess and we still have to witness the effects of that stupid “rachel” haircut. i’m betting that a well-meaning publicist told you to put on a happy face and focus on your triumphs rather than your slumps but sister, listen up. this mama suggests you drop the bs and come down to non-hollywood, regular gal level.

i have seen my friends freak out after a dude screws them over (and guess what; none of those dudes even come close to looking like brad pitt, john mayer or gerard butler). i have ridden shotgun while they stalked their ex’s facebook profile for any photographic evidence of the chick he’s now “involved” with. i have stood by their side as we trashed, mocked and hurled voodoo curses towards girlfriend 2.0. we were not kind. we did not smile graciously. we did not pretend to be happy about it. we wanted vengeance, but due to the fact that we are civilians with nothing more than a few social network followers and a bad attitude rather than being international stars of stage and screen, we didn’t experience any sense of accomplishment or closure. you, on the other hand, have the media on speed dial. you, my dear, could be the voice of bitter women everywhere.

we’re a gigantic population, you know. we buy overpriced organic foods in pretty packages, drink plenty of moderately-priced wine (also in pretty packages) and spontaneously purchase a lot of random, unnecessary stuff (look in my closet and you’ll see what i mean). if you shelved the “i’m a strong woman who doesn’t let anything get me down” act, everyone with a product aimed at women our age would be beating down your door with an endorsement deal. yeah, yeah…i know you did a vitamin water campaign a while back, but i’ve certainly never met anyone who drinks that stuff. slap your mug on something a little more exciting, though, and i’m gonna pay attention.

but please…less “love happens” and “he’s just not that into you” and more “friends with money” and “the good girl.” after all, quality really does attract quality…unless you’re not looking for mr. prince charming and you really are just fine – if that’s the case, then you should probably just put the kibosh on answering relationship questions. that whole pollyanna attitude is so not hot.

your pal,
carrie

My latest client is an organization called The CFO Alliance, which is a very nifty group of accounting and finance executives in eight markets across the country. Yes, those of you who know me are no doubt laughing out loud, as it’s no secret that I can’t add without using my fingers and I’ve never even attempted to balance my bank account, but hey, they didn’t hire me to do math, they hired me to develop a brand strategy, conceive a public relations and marketing plan and come up with some brilliant content for their upcoming online community. Get ready, CFOs!

Working with start-ups means that you often find yourself doing things you don’t necessarily love or know how to do. For example, I’ve spent most of my week designing ads for upcoming CFOA events. Luckily, I’m married to an art director, because I’ve never designed an ad before in my life. And today I helped out by making follow-up calls in preparation for an event in Connecticut next week. 57 calls, to be exact. Good times.

As a consultant, I’m hired to do a specific job. All of the details get ironed out in a written agreement before I start a project, but there’s always the expectation that things are going to shift and change a bit during those weeks or months. There was nothing at all in my contract about designing ads, making phone calls or preparing Powerpoint presentations, but these are all things that needed to get done. Sometimes the right thing to do for your client (and the future of your business relationship) is to say yes. As for those other times, a conversation is definitely in order to avoid feeling taken advantage of or disrespected. It’s happened to us all at some point in our careers, which is why I can sit here and sound like I know what I’m talking about (don’t even get me started about the time I was expected to clean up and take care of a girl who got drunk and pukey at an event I was helping out with).

Maybe you’re the President of your company. Maybe you’re a staff director or manager, or you could just be getting your start as an assistant or intern. Call yourself whatever you like (I’m fond of Your Royal Highness, but that’s just me) but don’t take your title too seriously; everyone’s job requires cleaning up messes and dealing with other people’s trash at some point, which essentially makes us all janitors, anyway.

Meditate on it.

It’s no secret that I’m more than a little obsessed with pop culture. I’m ok with the fact that I can spout off the names of all the Jolie/Pitt babies but I don’t know my kid’s social security number. I don’t mind that I can sing most any pop song recorded from 1974-2000 but I can’t remember what I wore yesterday. However, there are a few things I’d like to purge from my brain, including but not limited to every tune from the “Cocktail” soundtrack, a few tipsy evenings over the years and the entire existence of Jon and Kate Gosselin.

Hey! Have you heard that Jon and Kate have onetwothreefourfivesixsevenEIGHT kids? Didja know that Kate is super bitchy and has a reverse mullet? Maybe you’ve read that Jon is a cheater, cheater birthday cake eater…how does this enhance our lives at all? I’m putting my money on the fact that it doesn’t. Not even a teeny tiny bit. In fact, I can feel my brain cells committing suicide as I write this.

So nobody was surprised when the Gosselins announced that they would be divorcing. The mister had already been photographed a few dozen times with his young lady friend, and had even jetted away to Utah for a weekend of skiing and who knows what else, where he was-you guessed it-snapped sitting in the VIP area of a media-covered event with “the other woman.” On his wife’s birthday. Not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.

I read over the weekend that Ed Hardy designer Christian Audigier was now Jon’s BFF and they had met up on Audigier’s yacht in St. Tropez in the French Riviera to discuss a possible children’s clothing line (the new girlfriend was along for the ride; she’s the daughter of the doc that did dear ol’ Kate’s tummy tuck). According to People Magazine: “Audigier tells PEOPLE that he approached Gosselin with the idea after noticing that the reality show dad often wore his tattoo-inspired T-shirts on Jon and Kate Plus Eight. “He’s huge,” says the French designer, who may also collaborate with Gosselin on a specialty motorcycle collection. “Everyone knows this family. And everyone will know our clothes. They’ll be fun, easy clothes for kids.”

I would like to go on record saying that this is a really, really dumb idea.

The dude has no apparel experience other than wearing clothes. He’s not plugged into the world of childrenswear (last time I checked the children were ALWAYS dressed alike, mostly courtesy of Gymboree, which is about as far from Ed Hardy as you can get). He’s dopey and mumbly. And he has very questionable taste, to say the least.

The latest report from Audigier’s rep says the line isn’t really happening, despite the fact that they seemed pretty cozy just a few days ago. Maybe someone was smart enough to stand up at the Monday morning staff meeting and threaten to go on a hunger strike if they hired a guy who’s biggest claim to fame is that he spawned a bunch of kids and then exploited them on television. Maybe someone realized that having the marble-mouthed public adulterer as a brand ambassador is a no-no. Or maybe Gosselin’s asking price was too high. Who knows. For the love of tattooed-inspired tee shirts, phone accessories, trucker caps and bottled water, keep that man away from the cameras. And your college-age daughters.

I’m absolutely in love with the show “Eastbound and Down.” HBO sums it up as: “Relief Pitcher Kenny Powers was poised to rule the Big Leagues, but two things got in the way: his fading fastball and his insufferable personality. After a spectacular career flame-out, Kenny came home to Shelby County, NC and picked up a job as a substitute gym teacher (mostly so his brother Dustin would stop threatening to kick him out). He’s spent every moment since then cashing in the last of his dying fame while plotting his inevitable comeback… one beer at a time. ” Naturally, hilarity ensues.

Kenny Powers is crass. Kenny Powers is dirty, unlikeable and unruly. But more than anything, Kenny Powers is a champion. He got himself to the majors (only to crash and burn, but hey! we all make mistakes, right?) and after wallowing in self-pity and anger, he decides it’s time to kick some ass again. I think in some way or another we can all relate to that. Luckily, my mistakes never included prostitutes, crack or racial slurs. Hurrah for me!

Yeah, I know I’m talking about a TV character and not a real person. That’s not the point. What’s important is to remember that just because we stumble doesn’t mean we have to fall. The economy sucks, lots and lots of us are out of work and gas isn’t getting any cheaper. Take it from Kenny Powers, the dude who named his audiobook “You’re Fuckin’ Out, I’m Fuckin’ In“:

“Wow. I mean you just nailed it. You just hit it on the head. You’re sayin I can get back on top again. Ya man, I gotta remember that I’m a winner man. I need to remember that I am better than everybody else. F#&% man, I’m an old bulletproof tiger, dude. And if everyone in this town has forgotten who I am, maybe it’s time I remind ‘em. Maybe it’s time I remind everybody just who the %#&% Kenny Powers is.”

Hell, yeah, man. Hell, yeah…

Michael Jackson was one of the most important men in my life from the time I was 8 until I was about 13. The “Thriller” video came out on December 2, 1983, almost a month before I turned 10, and I would sit in front of the TV for hours, waiting for MTV to play it again so I could memorize the zombie dance. We played the entire album at my birthday party; imagine 20 4th graders invading a pizza parlor and belting out the hits at the top of their lungs. I even saved up to buy a pair of red parachute pants because my mom thought they were tacky. His later behavior was absolutely strange and questionable, and even though my taste in tunes (and fashion) evolved, I always found joy in his music…

Whether you liked his music or not, or despite the fact that he was a tragic, possibly criminal, figure, Michael Jackson transcended being a person and became a brand. When people heard his name, they immediately drew a connection, recalled a memory (like I do of my birthday pizza party) or had a reaction. Sure, many people have a strong negative reaction, but that’s not necessarily the point. The brand recognition that Michael Jackson attained is rare; most companies or personalities would be thrilled to achieve a smidge of his profile level. On a personal level, I feel such sadness for the turmoil he must have felt from a young age. From a marketing perspective, I’m impressed at his reach, consumer base and accomplishments. And the publicist in me is just relieved I never had to do that kind of damage control.

I know millions of people around the world are thinking about Michael Jackson today. I choose to remember his amazing contributions to pop culture rather than judge his later personal life, of which I have no firsthand knowledge. Say what you will, but less than 24 hours after his last breath I’d like to do my part to help him finally rest in peace. After all, I’m a brand loyalist.

PS. DJ DeeJay, my dear friend and occasional personal advisor, is probably the biggest Michael Jackson fan I know. His legendary MMP (Michael Madonna Prince) parties consistently draw a sold out crowd, and he always knows just the right song to play at just the right time. Tonight he’s spinning MJ at The Barbary, and it’s going to be epic. If I weren’t 12 hours away I would be the first in line. Get on the list to receive reduced admission; doors open at 9 and drinks and PBRs are just $1 until 11 pm.

It’s a terribly long, dull drive down I-95 from Philadelphia to Murrells Inlet, SC. A “let’s leave at 5:30 am and drive all day by myself with my two kids,” kind of drive. The landscape is dotted by countless Cracker Barrels, truck stops, surly State Troopers and the occasional outlet mall. Oh, and a couple of billboards for this low-key joint called “South of the Border” that’s totally trying to fly under the radar…

Those guys at South of the Border must have really taken the whole Rule of Repetition Marketing to heart. Never heard of South of the Border, which lies right on the North Carolina/South Carolina line? Then clearly you’ve never made the trip down to what has been occasionally referred to as “The Redneck Riviera.” (See, my parents live down here so I can joke about that. It’s like someone insulting your spouse; you can say whatever you want but a pox upon anyone who dares to utter an unkind word about your lovie. But I digress…)

Starting about 175 miles away, strange and slightly surreal neon-colored billboards dominate the sides of 95 advertising a mini universe of tacky tee-shirt shacks, an ice cream parlor, restaurants, gas stations and my favorite, “The Dirty Old Man Shop.” The fictitious host of this mish-moshed place is a character called Pedro, who, up until 1997, was such a racist stereotype that I’m amazed that they were allowed to remain as long as they did. In 1993, the Mexican Embassy complained about the billboards in a letter to South of the Border owner Alan Schafer. His response was to suggest the embassy consider the $1.5 million in merchandise he imports from Mexico each year. In a statement to The Raleigh News and Observer, Schafer stated “We have to communicate with the present generation — these baby boomers do not have a sense of humor.” You stay classy, Mr. Schafer!

Our pal Pedro is still the affable guide to all the tourist poo you’ll ever need, but he’s a kinder, more sensitive Pedro than he was before. With taglines such as “Pedro’s Weather Forecast: Chili today, hot tamale!” and “You Never Sausage a Place! (You’re Always a Wiener at Pedro’s!),” these ads aren’t exactly going to win you over based on their original copy or groundbreaking delivery methods. However, you sure as hell aren’t going to drive by Exit 1 without noticing the 165-ft. tall Sombrero Tower, and I’d bet my allowance on the fact that they don’t get everyone in the car assessing their need for fireworks and tequila. Are the South of the Border billboards annoying? Oh yeah. Did they achieve what they set out to do, which, I’m assuming, is build brand recognition?

Pedro and I both agree: without a doubt, the answer is sí.

Repetition works for them, but does it work for your brand? Are your customers tuning your message out unless you slap them in the head with it at least 100 times, or will they slap you if you even think of trying? Unless you’re paying close attention to exactly what people are saying about the way you speak to them, you have no serious way of knowing if all those ad dollars are being well spent. Statistics and impressions are one thing, but nothing will ever take the place of getting the scoop straight from the source. And what’s a solid way to find out what the word on the street is? Social media monitoring.

But we’ll get to that later. These Roman Candles and sparklers aren’t going to light themselves.

I took this photo on my most recent trip to LA a few weeks ago. My obsession with taking pictures is at an all-time high, and now my trusty camera goes wherever I go. This isn’t so good for my back (it feels like I’m smuggling a newborn in my bag) but it’s great for my imagination and my spirit. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the things I want in my life, which then leads me to making decisions about what I need to get rid of. Here are a few things I’ve come up with…

I want…
…to spend more time with my family and be more present instead of thinking about my to-do list.
…my work to be challenging and inspiring, and I want to work with people who are passionate and honest.
…to devote more time to nurturing my creativity, like taking photos and working on my screenplay.
…to exist with integrity and passion and leave my fingerprint on something amazing.

I don’t want…
…to take on work just for the paycheck (because I always regret it and it’s about time I learned that).
…to smile and nod when I really want to scream and shout.
…to try to be everyone’s best friend (wish I had realized that back in high school).
…to surround myself with people I don’t respect and situations that don’t make sense for me.

This is my personal inventory. My “taking out of the trash,” if you will. It keeps me honest. Keeps me on my toes, and, in the words of the great Casey Kasem, reaching for the stars. Whether you’re a bartender, artist, stay at home mom, entrepreneur or President of the United States, taking inventory of yourself and your goals is a pretty nifty thing to do. You don’t have to share it with the world (only nerds like me do stuff like that); you just have to be willing to tell the truth to yourself. Scary, yes, but most of the things that are worthwhile are, right?

Maybe you’ll find that you’re right on track and you should stay the course. If that’s the case, mazel tov! You’re ahead of most of us. But maybe you’ll discover that somewhere along the way, your priorities got a little out of whack. No biggie. Just figure out what you need to do to get back in the game. Your customers will thank you. Your family and friends will thank you. And most of all, you’ll have spent a little quality time trying to reduce all that bad mojo out in the world. And for that, I thank you.