Ahem.  You may now refer to this college dropout as “Professor.”

(If you speak at TED University  that’s what they call you.)

(That photo was lifted from Flickr, shot by James Duncan Davidson for TED.)

Maybe sometime next week I’ll upload the script and my faaaaabulous slides, which were conceived and produced by the world’s foremost curator of interestingness, Maria Popova .

(This is the thing I thought would be fun but threatened to turn into “work” until Maria made it fun again.)

It was very challenging to put myself through this experience.  How’d it go? Not a disaster.  That is good enough for me.

I’ve just returned from a reception for the TEDGlobal2010 Fellows. These world-changing individuals are intimidating even to the Fellows who precede them. Every time we meet a new class of Fellows, at least one of the outgoing Fellows or Senior Fellows will say, “I’m glad I didn’t have to compete for a spot in THIS class! I never would have been chosen!”

After engaging in a wonderful conversation with one of them, she asked, “And what do you do?”  I answered, “Nothing.  I am doing nothing at this time.”  She looked incredulous.  “I am on sabbatical,” I explained, “And I’m not doing anything.”

After a lifetime of trying so hard to rack up achievement points, I have become completely comfortable telling ultra-high achievers that my job is “doing no work.”

I am beginning to integrate the notion that it’s OK just to be, without having to do.  I always thought that was a crock, a good excuse for lazy people not to pull their weight in the world.  But somewhere deep inside, I have begun to believe that we are enough, each of us,  just being who we are.

Yesterday I wrote that I am resisting the urge to write volumes about my TED experience.

Janet Ginsburg sent a thoughtful comment , which deserves a reply.

First, one of the TED Talks that I predict will be the next talk-heard-’round-the-world is a talk from an audience member at TEDActive in Palm Springs.  A young woman talks about having an expiry date from a brain tumor, and shares her philosophy of living and dying. You will receive this in your mailbox more times than you got Susan Boyle .

Anyway, I want to write in detail about that at some point, and many other TED Talks  which I hope you’ll watch and share with others.

To address Janet’s point: I’m not stifling my urge to create – I’m stifling my urge to make it a JOB.  The author Barbara Jenkins  once told me she has to write. She can’t not write.  I had no idea what she was talking about.  I spent decades writing on command, on demand, for grades or for money.  How many words do you want?  What do you need the piece to accomplish? What are the guidelines? When do you need it?  Who’s going to whack it or fact-check it or pass judgment on it?

See, that’s how I think of writing.  Not the free flow of creative expression, but the written-and-rewritten-and-edited-and-rewritten, within parameters.  Unlike Barbara, who has to write, I get to write, and if I need to write it’s because I’ve promised somebody something on deadline.  I’ve promised myself to post something on this site every day, whether or not I actually write it that day.  Therefore this is not work, but a personal commitment of discipline during sabbatical.

I don’t have to do it – I get to do it.

And I’m grateful for that.

After the TED Conference, my head is exploding.

I need to sleep for about two days now.

Yesterday I broke a pattern when I accidentally missed TED University – I never missed it before. 

And today I missed it on purpose. 

This is what happens when barriers are broken – they’re, you know, broken.

I’m not deliberately attempting to create disruption in my patterns, but when they happen, I’m willing to explore new ways of being and doing.

Hmmm.  Maybe I would enjoy deliberately disrupting a few patterns.

I lost track of the time, and I missed the first session of TED University  today.

Ordinarily, I would have been really upset.  After all, I’m here for the TED Conference .

But I was doing something else that was important to me, and I’m glad I did it, even though I’m sorry I accidentally missed those TED U talks. 

It reminded me of major facts of life I’ve had to embrace: wherever I am, I’m not every other place.  No matter which person I’m spending time with, at that moment I’m not with all the other people I care about.  No matter what I’m doing, at that moment I’m not doing every other thing.  Every choice has an opportunity cost. The Buddha says, “Take what you want and pay for it.”

I could always be in a state of sadness and loss, missing someone, or some place, or some activity. I’ve learned to appreciate wherever I am without pining for wherever I’m not. 

So I missed TED U.  I’m not glad about that, but I am grateful for the opportunity to remind myself that I cannot be everywhere at once, and wherever I am, that’s where I’m supposed to be.

If I hadn’t already signed up, I might have decided to skip the TED Conference. 

This might shock those who know I love the annual gathering, that it is the one thing that is on my calendar in indelible ink, that I am paid up until 2017.

I’ve been attending in my role as president of The Harnisch Foundation , and we have a number of philanthropic investments including grantees  and projects  that are TED-related.  So, while it’s extremely stimulating and pleasurable, TED is also “work.”

I’ve decided to deviate only slightly from sabbatical – I will continue to make and deepen personal connections with grantees. Seeing the return on our philanthropic investment firsthand is meaningful.  This is hands-on work and I am pleased to do it.

However, I’m going to attend the rest of the TED Conference as a person who is on sabbatical.  That person has never been to TED.  I wonder how different it will be if I’m not constantly on the lookout for ways to apply what I’m learning, and the connections I’m making, to my philanthropic work and my circle of associates?

What if I just go as a person with an open mind and no agenda? 

 (I’m thinking this is probably the way to show up every day, sabbatical or not.)

Kids had chores, and were expected to exercise some creativity, ingenuity, and enterprise to earn their own money.  I can’t remember when I wasn’t busy.  I usually had more than one job – even in high school, I was working at a radio station and a newspaper.  I have always worked, seldom taken vacation or days off, and there were many years when I worked seven days a week, as many as 20 hours a day.

I just quit.

I’m on sabbatical as of this day, and for the first time in my life, I have delegated almost all of my professional obligations to trusted colleagues.  There’s some business I wasn’t able to wrap up before 2009 ended, and I’ll make sure that’s done.  I’ll go to conferences and other special events – Sundance Film Festival and TED2010 are next, followed by a Women Moving Millions event that features a Dinner Party with Judy Chicago. (If you are a woman of a certain age, this news probably triggered a hot flash.)

Last year, our priest, the Reverend Bernadette Sullivan, took a sabbatical from her duties.  When I told her I had thought of taking a sabbatical, but something always came up to prevent it, she said, “And something always will unless you put it in the calendar and begin planning for it.”  So I did.  And now it’s here.

Which is my first coaching tip for you in the New Year:  Something will always get in the way of what you want, unless you make a commitment and take action. 

I made a commitment to myself to take some time – for the first time in my life – to consciously do nothing.  I am going to try not to try.  My first yoga teacher used to try to impress upon me the importance of not “efforting” in the poses.  “It’s very difficult for overachievers to simply let the yoga happen, to not work hard,” she said. “They want to do it really well, and so they try hard, and a person who is trying hard is not doing yoga well.”  Hey, I resemble that remark.

So, I’m consciously ceasing effort.  One way I prepared for this was to start cancelling subscriptions, RSS feeds, and other time-sucking materials.  My electronic inbox isn’t as full, Mount To-Be-Read looks conquerable, and I don’t miss the information overload. 

If you’re wishing you, too, could go on sabbatical, why not enjoy a mini-respite along with me?  Stop doing something, or several things.  Look around your life and see what you can just plain quit, or delegate, or postpone, or share.  Choose one and get started on your own journey of renewal.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and do nothing.

Yeah, Right, Everybody But You Got One

This is the shirt that launched a thousand lies.  OK, I’m exaggerating for the sake of literary allusion. It was maybe a dozen cases of mistaken idenTEDy.

www.mondonation.com allows you to complete the sentence “i believe”  and put it on the back of a t-shirt.  I got a long-sleeved pink one that says “i believe heaven is a ted conference that never ends.” I wanted it to say “I believe Heaven is a TED Conference that never ends,” but that’s not what mondonation.com wants to believe I believe.  They insist on all lowercase letters. Instead, they’re doing the capitalizing. The company seeks to make a profit “while being environmentally sensitive, ethical, and socially conscious.” 

I also ordered the short-sleeved green one you see in the picture. That’s my back, distorted because I leaned forward and hunched my shoulders so my TED pal Kokoe could get a good shot. Kokoe once did a TED U talk on the subject of living on a commune, based on his experiences living on a commune in Tennessee.

It wasn’t The Farm, though. Many people have heard of The Farm, in Summertown, Tennessee, led by the legendary Stephen Gaskin (www.stephengaskin.com).  The Farm was often called a commune, but the people who lived there described it as a spiritual community.  In the 1970s,  The Farm modeled many “far out” concepts that are now mainstream: home births attended by trained midwives, vegetarian cuisine, soy dairy products, solar energy, charter schools, self-sufficiency, publishing their own books,  and more. Stephen got busted once because someone was growing, er, sacramental plants in addition to the other crops.

In one of his many books, Stephen wrote something to the effect of “This is the chapter where everybody said I should mention the names of all the cops who [shared the sacrament] with me, but I won’t,” and that’s the whole chapter. Ditto another chapter for journalists. When I read that “chapter,” I was hurt.  I was a journalist who did many, many stories about The Farm, and I never saw, smelled, or suspected a thing. I thought I was a better reporter than I apparently was, and Stephen apparently felt more, uh, spiritually connected to other journalists.

Anyway, in the spirit of Stephen Gaskin, this is the blog post where I won’t name the names of the TEDsters who told me they saw the “i believe planet earth should be rechristened ‘ted’ and curated by chris anderson” shirt everywhere and wondered why they didn’t get one. 

Somebody told me he was the only person who didn’t get one like that – everybody but him got one, he saw them everywhere he went in Long Beach. He got a black one and everybody else got a green one. I said, “Gee, that doesn’t seem right. I’m sorry.”

I overheard two people talking about how that shirt was only for TED Hosts. (TED Hosts didn’t get special shirts. We got little blue “Host” tags to hang on our name badges, and a lovely dinner at L’Opera on the night before TED, and the joy of having a reason to talk with anyone and everyone as we tried to make them feel welcome and included.)  One woman complained to me that she was the only Donor who didn’t get one in her Donor gift bag. (There was a Donor gift bag?)

Anyway, perhaps there were TEDsters who thought they saw that t-shirt everywhere, even though I am pretty sure I own an original, and I wore it on a single day.  If you were one of the people who complained that you were the only one who didn’t get yours, well, you are so not busTED.

Seth Godin’s books can help you avert a lifetime of unfulfilling wheel-spinning.  Don’t have time to read his latest, Tribes? Watch the interview at www.tedfellows.posterous.com and get the gist.  Don’t have the time or $ to attend a TED conference? Watch the TED Talks free online at www.ted.com.

When I spoke via Skype at SoCon2009 and talked about how TED Curator Chris Anderson had made the previously hush-hush super-exclusive TED more accessible, I got pushback from someone who says a $6000 conference pricetag is still  elitist.  The Palm Springs satellite conference is cheaper. As for the Long Beach event, if you are chosen as a TED Fellow, you don’t pay. If you are invited as a guest of TED, you don’t pay. There are ways to go to the in-person events without paying.  But my larger point was that before Chris bought TED from the founder, Richard Saul Wurman, it was deliberately small and secretive. Back then, your high-priced ticket bought exclusive info and access.  Now, the fee helps underwrite the worldwide dissemination of TED’s “ideas worth spreading.” Big difference.

I admire Chris for his willingness to trade comfortably smug exclusivity for risky, less personal outreach. If it’s an idea worth sharing at TED, it’s an idea worth spreading. It’s Chris’s great gift to the world, putting his own comfort, his own resources of time, cash, energy, skill, and talent, in the service of this work. And to his further credit, he acknowledges that the TED community has agreed with this shift and is willing to help him by giving up their precious little club of insiders in order to offer the ideas and sense of community to all. To YOU.  You are inviTED. Are you interesTED?