If you don’t see the video, click here.

Megan Elizabeth Morris, or The Magnificent Megan M., [proper noun]: Superhuman font of knowledge, skill, determination & resourcefulness. Exudes enzymes that cause others to surpass their potential. Master thinker; writes, designs, manages, ideastorms, markets, inspires, connects, grows, teaches, makes things happen, changes the world, and throws a mean right hook. (Okay. Not the last one. Well! Not literally.)

Megan, also known as That Idea Blueprint Girl, writes at Personal Revelations of the Magnificent Megan M.

Today’s the last day for 52 Weeks to Awesome early bird registration!

Click here to see more about the course, including all the neat stuff early birds get.

52 Weeks to Awesome in the news

Several people have interviewed us via email about 52 Weeks to Awesome, and we also did a fun phone interview with Johnny B. Truant, wherein he asked us lots of science-y questions about how exactly we define awesome and how you can measure whether you succeed in becoming awesome. It’s neat, go listen! (:

Our Second Book

After the success of The Usual Error, we immediately started thinking about writing a second book.  We already knew exactly what we wanted to write about, and we even had a working title: How to Be Awesome.

But then, we noticed something important.  Even though the book form of The Usual Error helped a lot of people improve their communication and their relationships, our Usual Error workshops helped even more.  We got far more "this changed my life" feedback from workshop attendees than we did from book readers.

That got us thinking.  Even with all the learning modalities in The Usual Error book, the one that a book can’t cover very well is learning by doing.  It’s easy to consume a book passively, never getting up out of your chair.  With a workshop, especially a live, in-person workshop, it’s much easier to get people active and engaged.  However, you can only interact with a few people at a time at a workshop, and there are a lot of logistics involved in traveling around to various cities around the world.

How could we combine the best of both worlds?

That’s when we decided to morph How to Be Awesome (the book) into 52 Weeks to Awesome (the e-course).  We cover the same material we would have written in the book, but we focus more on engaging you so that you’re not just reading passively.  It’s an interestingly different style of writing, and we’re confident that it will be more effective in doing what it’s meant to do, which is helping you live a more awesome life.

Click here to see how it turned out!  (Remember, today’s the very last day for early bird registration.)

The How to Be Awesome teleclass is today!

Yay!  Our free 52-minute teleclass is today (Monday, December 14th) at 1pm Central time.

Join us for the fun by calling 785-686-3854 and entering this code: 690957#

Don’t forget the pound sign.  (Also known as an octothorpe, which is a simply fabulous word.)

Here’s a handy-dandy time zone converter so you can be sure to call in while the party’s actually happening. (:

There’s so much to say about how to be awesome, all we’ll have time for in this teleclass are the basics. It’s cool — even the basics will be enough to set you on a path of awesomeness. Of course, you have to want to be awesome first. Our job is showing you how you can make it happen, not kicking you in the pants.

We’ll even leave time for Q&A, in case anyone has questions about 52 Weeks to Awesome or personal growth in general.

What we’ll talk about: The basics of how to be awesome. This teleclass is sort of a summary of 52 Weeks to Awesome, so if you’re curious to know more about what we’ll cover, click here to find out more about the 52 Weeks to Awesome course, and imagine that the teleclass is a mini-version of the course inside a snow globe. And on the phone.

Hope to see (or hear) you there! (:

52 Weeks to Awesome goes on sale today!

This week only, we have a nice discount and some special offers for you if you pre-register for 52 Weeks to Awesome.

• A nice discount: The first three months of 52 Weeks to Awesome free.  The usual price is $52 (just $1 per week) but for early birds, it’s only $39.
• A special offer: We’re taking on a limited number of apprentices for 2010, and not taking on any more until 2011.
• Bonuses: 4 extra bonus missions for early birds only.

These go away after Thursday of this week, so take a look for more information.  And hoo boy, we’ve got a butt-ton of information for you, including exactly what the course will consist of, how it will work, all the extra goodies we’re throwing in, and the complete list of all 52 missions.

Click here and see for yourself! (:

Two weeks ago, I posted about another “The Body Sacred” epiphany on the lack of male energy in my life.

I’ve been steeping in this, sussing and thinking and feeling. Pace and I have had hours-long discussions about it, and something she said really got me going.

It’s not about men. It’s about a certain set of behaviors and attitudes.

It’s not men I fear, it’s the dominance and the brute strength, the righteousness, the violence and abuse, the tendency toward control and sex-craziness.

Those are separate from men.

They’re certainly behaviors more prevalent in men than women, both in general and in my life. But I started to realize that I can separate them from the general class of human, and put my fear/shields/walls where they belong.

The other piece to this complicated puzzle is self-trust.

I used to allow people with those behaviors in my life. I used to allow them to hurt me, control me, abuse me, and rape me. I had no self-confidence or self-worth, no understanding about how sacred I am and how sacred my body is, and no understanding on how to keep myself safe. I didn’t “get what was coming to me” or any such horrid thing, but I sure as hell didn’t protect myself and didn’t feel deserving of healthy friends and lovers who wouldn’t abuse me. I didn’t trust myself to take good care of myself because I never did.

I am not that girl anymore.

I am strong. I am smart. I have good, powerful intuition that I listen to and trust deeply. I no longer allow such people into my life, and if they sneak through, I am fully capable of protecting myself. I no longer live in fear from anything, men included.

So now, I can take those behaviors, those attitudes, and separate them from a gender. I can see them in specific people and take specific action on a personal basis. I can disentangle, see what needs to be seen, and act accordingly, instead of being afraid of every strange man I may encounter.

p.s.: still totally a lesbian. sorry, boys.

Save the date for the free, 52-minute How to Be Awesome teleclass on Monday, December 14th at 1pm Central. (time zone converter) We’ll distill everything we’ve learned about personal growth into the Basic Principles of Awesomeness, and we’ll do Q&A, too! Join our newsletter to sign up; you can unsubscribe at any time. (more)

I’m sitting in the church hall, looking around at my family. These are my dad’s relatives, the side of the family that I’ve always taken after – dark-haired, loud, boisterous Italian Lorinos.

And the thing that really strikes me this time is their size. By and large, we Lorinos are fat.

My eyes fill with tears.

I’ve been struggling with my weight for years. When I was seven years old, I went from “normal” to “heavy”, and never went back.

When I was twelve, I became “Fatso Lorino” at school. I started forcing myself to vomit before gym so I could go to the nurse. When that failed, I learned how to be really good at random bits of sports so I could at least be useful when I was picked last (and I always, always was). I wasn’t better, but I was more clever and more ruthless. I had less to lose.

I’ve wondered if I’d ever be pretty. I’ve wondered if anyone would ever love me. I’ve wondered if anyone would ever see past my fat.

My mom said, “You’d be so pretty if you lost weight.” I had an uncle who made sympathetic noises at me whenever I ate anything. My grandmother talked about how beautiful my thin, athletic, cheerleader cousin was, but never me.

I’ve tried diets, starvation, binge-and-purging (fun times), ignoring it, pretending to be fine, pretending to be thin, pretending to be pregnant. Once I sat in the kitchen with a knife, wondering how much it would hurt and/or damage my insides if I just made a few… alterations here and there.

That day, I sat in the hall and looked at my family.

I look like my dad. I’ve always thought my dad is the most gorgeous man in the world, but never thought I was beautiful.

Isn’t he gorgeous? I love his grin.

My cousins are all gorgeous, too; all shades of colors and sizes and shapes, but I never lumped myself in with them.

That day, I realized how much I belong there. I fit right in. I am so clearly one of them – my eyes and my smile mirroring back to me in a dozen similar ways.

And I’ve spent my life trying to be something else. Trying to be thin. Fighting an uphill battle that I’m destined to lose.

That day, a little rock dropped into my still, quiet, inner pond.

This week, I read Fat!So? by Marilyn Wann. It’s about accepting yourself at any size, but is also full of science and facts. Marilyn did years of research and poured it all into this book.

And a lot of what I grew up hearing and believing were lies. Lies. Propaganda thrown at me through a fear-steeped, thin-centric culture, bent on making everyone outside some arbitrary “norm” – be it on the fat side or the thin side – feel bad about their bodies. Diets are harder on our bodies than being fat. 90% of diets all fail, anyway. It’s entirely possible to be fat and be healthy. It’s not your weight that matters – it’s your lifestyle. Fat isn’t a death sentence. Fat isn’t a reason to put life on hold. It’s nothing to be afraid of; it’s like being short. Either you are, or you aren’t, and either way, it’s okay.

I had a sweater in my closet. I bought this sweater when I was 14 years old, and wore it twice before I got a little fatter and couldn’t wear it anymore. I’ve had it in my closet, waiting for me to get thin enough to wear it again, for 18 years.

18 years. I’ve spent 18 years wishing and hoping and trying to be something I am not.

This week, I looked in the mirror.

I gave myself a good long look.

I did a little dance and watched my jiggly bits jiggle.

I looked at my butt, my thighs, my hips, my breasts. I poked my belly.

I looked at my face, met my own gaze, and saw again my family, my father.

I’m fat.

Fat. Feels like a loaded word, doesn’t it? But it’s just a description, like “tall” or “goofy” or “white”. It’s better than “heavy” because things are heavy and people aren’t things. Better than “overweight”, because whose weight am I over, exactly? I like it. I’ve been saying it out loud the past few days and it gives me a little thrill.

That’s me. Fat.

Fat runs in my family. So does dark hair, loudness, and a propensity for trouble, an Irish temper and an Italian appetite. It’s part of who and what we are.

I’m fat. I’m also healthy, funny, short, sweet, loyal, and freaky. It’s one part of the whole that is me, and it’s a part I’m coming to accept.

I got rid of the sweater. It doesn’t fit and it won’t fit. I cleaned out my closets and tossed out all the “someday” clothes I’ve carried from year to year, hoping I’d eventually be thin enough to wear them. Enough is enough! I’m thin enough right now, fat enough, perfect enough as is.

Save the date for the free, 52-minute How to Be Awesome teleclass on Monday, December 14th at 1pm Central. (time zone converter) We’ll distill everything we’ve learned about personal growth into the Basic Principles of Awesomeness, and we’ll do Q&A, too! Join our newsletter to sign up; you can unsubscribe at any time. (more)

Until recently, I never thought about accepting myself as I am. How could I accept myself when I’m so obviously imperfect? I’m too fat, I’m not blonde, I’m too short, I don’t like sports… the list goes on and on. I’ve always been an outcast: I tried Girl Scouts, but got kicked out for “deviant behavior”, I hated Sunday School with a fiery burning passion, I stood out like a sore thumb in various other groups. Hell, I even got kicked out of the gay youth group I was in as a teenager.

I wanted to play with dolls years after my friends were all too “grown-up” for that. I never wanted to date boys – and never even thought about dating girls till I was much, much older. I wanted to read, but the books I had access to were vapid and left me feeling disconnected and not really nourished. I led a very sheltered life, spotted with frequent moves that took me away from any friends I did have. I’m a communal soul that flourishes in groups, but often found myself alone.

And even as a child, I saw the boxes I needed to fit into, and so squished myself into them as much and as often as possible – even at great personal cost. I was often lonely inside, even when I had friends. I was smiling and fun, I had money and a car, I was doggedly loyal and incredibly sweet. But I would cry myself to sleep at night, hating myself and my body and the lies I told myself.

It’s not like I considered acceptance and decided against it – I literally never even thought of it. We all hate ourselves for various reasons, right? You’re too tall, you’re too thin, your boobs (or penis) aren’t big enough, yours are too big. Every time we look in the mirror, we shudder. We’re trained to hate what we see, to constantly strive for a sort of physical perfection that we may not even clearly understand.

If we love ourselves as we are, we’re not manipulateable. The Big Industries (Diet, Cosmetic Surgery, etc) can’t get to us if we love what we see regardless of what we see. Diet pills and miracle cures wouldn’t sell. No one would ever go under the knife (or laser) if we were happy with ourselves.

Why do women need to look like 14-year-old girls with giant breasts?

Why do men need to look like athletes?

Why can’t we look like ourselves?

Save the date for the free, 52-minute How to Be Awesome teleclass on Monday, December 14th at 1pm Central. (time zone converter) We’ll distill everything we’ve learned about personal growth into the Basic Principles of Awesomeness, and we’ll do Q&A, too! Join our newsletter if you’d like an email reminder; you can unsubscribe at any time.

Another epiphany brought to me by Dianne Sylvan and her incredible book, “The Body Sacred”.

There is a distinct lack of male energy in my life.

I’m not sure how much I need it. I’m still trying to figure that out. But I am sure that a big reason I don’t have much is because I’m afraid.

And I can’t be having with that.

I’ve a long history of abuse in my life, almost entirely from men. I grew up in a patriarchal religion where God was supposed to be like a father, but was jealous and prone to acts of random violence and unfairness. I didn’t feel comforted by that. In fact, it sort of set the precedent for the rest of my relationships with men. The only men I’ve dated were abusive to me. All the sex I’ve had with men was abusive or hurtful.

It bled over into my spirituality, too. I have tried in the past to connect with male deities, but never felt safe. So many of them come across to me as sex-crazed, out to possess me or own me or dominate me or control me – and I most certainly do not want that. There are so many stories of gods possessing mortal women, stories of rape and violence, domination, objectification.

In general, I see men as sex-crazed, out to possess or own or dominate or control me. Men want women to do as they’re told, stay silent and docile, and produce fine, strong sons. Right? This ties into my self-esteem issues, wanting to stay fat to be protected from further sexual abuse (though all the abuse I’ve lived through happened regardless), self-sabotage with my appearance to avoid being seen… It’s deep stuff.

Oy.

The men in my life now are gentle, funny, sweet, open, kind souls. I feel nurtured by our friendships, comforted by their affection, safe in their presences. They are a rare breed, and I feel lucky for having so many of them so close to me. (I love you guys!)

But outside my circle, I perceive men as dangerous.

This isn’t finished for me. I’m still processing, still feeling out what’s going on deep under my surface. I think I want to find and connect with a male deity that feels like my friends. That feels like a healing thing to do, a good furthering step.

Save the date for the free, 52-minute How to Be Awesome teleclass on Monday, December 14th at 1pm Central. (time zone converter) We’ll distill everything we’ve learned about personal growth into the Basic Principles of Awesomeness, and we’ll do Q&A, too! Join our newsletter if you’d like an email reminder; you can unsubscribe at any time.

This morning, I showed Pace my new morning ritual. It involves me taking my liquid vitamins, which would otherwise be tedious and repetitive. But each bottle needs a good shake before I administer my dose, so I grab a bottle in each hand and do a little dance and sing “Shake it, shake it, shake it!”

This makes every single morning a little brighter, and starts me off on a silly foot and in a good mood.

It’s even turned a bad morning around for me before. Just a few minutes of shaking and dancing and singing to my vitamin bottles, and I’m cheered up and giggling. Making it a part of my morning routine is important, because when I’m feeling down, I’ll probably do it anyway – and then I cheer myself up without even trying!

We tend to underestimate silly. We grow up and get serious – and a lot of us lose our joy. But being grown up doesn’t mean you can’t sing to your vitamins. It doesn’t mean you have to be serious or stoic. It means you’re taller, potty trained (I hope), and you have more responsibilities – but that means you can reach more things, go places without your parents, and that you can find your own joy.

Being a public figure can make us shy away from joy, too. We think about all the people reading (or watching) all the things we do or say, and we clam up or put ourselves in boxes or spend too much time being serious.

If you follow me on Twitter, you have a sense of my every day life – and it’s a life full of silliness and joy. Twitter is my public place of choosing to really be myself, uncensored – and you’ll note that I am a giant goofball.

Give yourself some space to be silly. Dance around the house in your socks, sing at the top of your lungs when your favorite song comes on, laugh full and loud and long. In this ever-increasingly troubled world, our hearts need all the silly they can get. Find something silly and simple and incorporate it into your daily routine, so it can cheer you up every day!

This time of the year brings challenges for me.

It’s the fallow time, that dark quiet between Samhain and Yule, where the previous year has ended and the new year has yet to begin. My internal clock slows way down, which is natural but has interesting side effects. The early darkness often brings me a sense of restlessness and a kind of loneliness. And here, where it’s 85° but dark by 6pm, all these feelings are enhanced by feelings of dissonance – what the hell season is it, anyway? Gah.

So I wind up feeling down and motionless and stagnant.

Last Friday, my dear friend Timary taught me the first two steps in crochet so I can make my own insanely cute tiny little stuffed animals (aka amigurumi). I spent over an hour chaining and then another hour doing some other simple crochet thingie – and I loved it.

When I got home, I started crying. I realized that I’ve been overwhelmed with stagnation. I feel like I’m not learning or growing right now. I’m just kind of… living. Day to day, things are great. I love my life. But I feel a general lack of growth, all too common for me in this weird season.

This year, I think I’ll move through it by finding new things I can do, like amigurumi. I’m going to exercise, so I don’t feel so sluggish. I’ll read all those books in that huge pile on my nightstand. I’ll make sure to get more quality time with my friends, and to enjoy all the special things that only show up this time of year.

Celebrate, instead of dread. That’ll do it.

What about you; do you feel similarly? What do you do to move through it – and can I help?

I need a break from all the death-talk, so let’s talk about some of the other things on my mind for a while. Surprisingly, it’s not weddingweddingwedding or even IrelandIrelandIreland in here – yet. I’m sure I’ll get there. Probably soon.

So, I’ve been reading “The Body Sacred” by Dianne Sylvan. By page 4, I was nodding enthusiastically. Page 8 had me crying, and by page 12, I was wondering how I can meet this extraordinary woman and be her friend.

It’s a good book. I highly recommend it. I’m still only on page 50, because it’s the kind of book I have to read in chunks because I get too full of epiphanies and need to take breaks.

The biggest epiphany I’ve had so far (all 50 pages of so far) is: I’m not limited by my body size.

I have (had?) this attitude of limitation brought on by being fat. I feel like there are things I shouldn’t wear, things I shouldn’t do, things I shouldn’t think or want, because they’re for thin people. I’m not a thin person, therefore I can’t have or do or want those things.

My stripy socks are a great example. There was a time, not very many weeks ago, when I felt ashamed or embarrassed to wear my socks in public. I was afraid that people would look at me and think (or even say) look at that stupid fat girl in those striped (mean people wouldn’t say “stripy”, they’d say “striped”) socks. Doesn’t she know stripes are for thin people?!

Stripes are for thin people. Stripy socks are for thin people – they’re supposed to go over my knees, but none of them do because my legs are too big. The one pair that does actually go above my knees won’t stay up because of my large thighs; they just roll down. My stripy arm-warmers are the same – they only go up to my elbows instead of mid-upper-arm because my arms are bigger around. I really shouldn’t even wear them, right?

Crazy-colored hair is for thin people. When fat people color their hair blue (just to pull a color out of nowhere), it’s just for attention. Look at the fat girl with blue hair, how sad.

High boots are for thin people. I had such an incredibly hard time finding boots that would fit my calves, and I spent many evenings in my bed, crying and feeling horribly fat when they wouldn’t zip up. I nearly gave up, but my bright yellow ones are vinyl enough to stretch over my huge calves. But when I wear them, I feel like people are judging me – knee-high boots are for thin people, and I’m not one.

Flirting is for thin people.

Being attractive is for thin people. Look at media. Everyone is either attractive and thin or fat and evil or stupid. If you’re not thin, well, there you go. Evil or stupid.

Traveling is for thin people. Plane seats are really uncomfortable if you’re heavy – and some airlines charge fat flyers more, up to and including making some of us buy second seats. And the trouble I had finding boots? Tripled for finding a coat, so I guess I’d best not go anywhere too cold. I guess they assume fat people don’t get cold; we’re so well-insulated, we’ll be fine.

Theatres are for thin people. When we saw “Wicked!”, we had to smoosh ourselves into our seats, and my hips ached through the second half of the play. Pace encountered the same thing at a ride at Sea World, so I guess roller coasters are for thin people, too.

Tattoos are for thin people. Piercings are for thin people.

Basically, life is for thin people.

And really, how could I learn any different? Media bombards us with images of supermodels and stars, all of whom are thin – and if they deign to gain a few pounds, they’re the brunt of dozens of tabloid scandals. Most stores don’t carry clothing or even jewelry (like rings) for above average sizes. Target and Walmart used to have nice plus-sized sections, but they’ve both whittled it down to a rack or two at the back of the clothing department – and you have to walk through all the clothes you can’t fit into just to get to the meager pickings of the ones you can. And Old Navy only sells bigger sizes online – giving me the impression that fat people aren’t welcome in their brick-and-mortar stores.

The very terminology used in stores is telling: woman can shop in either “Juniors” (thin and trendy, nothing over a size 10), “Womans” (thin and less trendy, usually for the older crowd, nothing over a size 16 – if they’re generous), and, if the store is particularly generous, there might be a few, hard-to-find, larger sizes somewhere. Occasionally – and this is rare – there’s an actual section of the store for larger sizes. This often falls under “Plus”, and is usually secreted away at the back of stores, and always has about a quarter of the selection of the other departments, if that. And often, “plus-sized” clothes cost more than regular clothes. The fat tax, I guess.

Being a fat teenager is heartbreaking. Finding clothes that are cute, trendy, and fit well is either going to cost a fortune or be fairly impossible – and if you have non-mainstream taste (like me), you’re screwed.

Ugh.

I digress. Ah, my mind is a weird and wandering place these days.

“The Body Sacred” introduces a novel and paradigm-shattering concept: I’m okay the way I am, regardless of how that is.

Wait. Hold the phone. Stop the presses. What? It’s okay to be fat? It’s okay to take a break from the countless hours of calorie-counting? It’s okay to eat that cupcake and not exercise myself senseless to make up for it? It’s okay to be fat – and being fat doesn’t make me a loser? It doesn’t make me automatically ugly? I don’t have to feel shame when my thin friends talk about being on diets and losing weight?

It’s okay to be what I am, regardless of how that is.

I’ve exercised til I wept. I’ve counted calories til I made myself neurotic. I’ve starved myself. I’ve snapped and binged and felt ill and been full of self-hate. I’ve judged myself harsher than anyone around me – and I’ve been around some pretty damn harsh judges. I’ve had people tell me, “You’d be so pretty if you lost weight.” I grew up hearing apologetic tsk-tsks because I took after my father’s overweight family instead of my mother’s tiny skinny family. I’ve avoided my reflection in the mirror for over a month. I’ve worn the same pair of pants til they could walk on their own because they were all I had that didn’t make me want to stab myself. I’ve sat in the kitchen, wondering if I could cut off my fat stomach without killing myself.

Seriously.

I’ve spent my life wishing I could be thin. And I’ve spent a damn lot of time and energy trying to be thin.

But you know what? It’s true. It is okay – in fact, it’s wonderful and great and glorious – to be what I am, whatever I am.

I am fat. I weigh in at 235lbs. I don’t hate myself when I look in the mirror anymore, nor do I struggle to get thin. I exercise for fun and because I like being healthy, and I unapologetically eat ice cream whenever I want. I travel. I go to the theatre. I wear stripy socks, I have tattoos, I have piercings, I occasionally have blue hair. I have a pair of obnoxiously yellow knee-high boots that are just a little too snug, but still utterly awesome.

I’m not over it. I’m not at a place where I can dance without feeling self-conscious. I still get teary when I struggle to zip my boots up over my calves.

But the seed has been planted and has started to grow. It’s okay to be what I am, regardless of how that is.

Yeah.