I’m The Least Spiritual Fuck On the Planet

Not that you didn't know that already.

Which is why if you come at me with chakras or crystals or dildos scented with patchouli oil, I will make a face that looks pretty much like I have just swallowed a baby rhinoceros hoof. Which might be possible, if you could see the kind of soup I ate last night. I'll tell you why I bring this up momentarily, but first…

I'm still here in my hometown! The one you'll read about in the book! We had a snowstorm like everyone else in the nation, the last few days, so I've been sitting here in a winter wonderland, SOAKING UP THE JOY THAT IS LAUNCHING YOUR FIRST BOOK TO THE WORLD. I've been trying to be really mindful about that, soaking up the joy. Ugh, I sound a little bit like a dish detergent commercial, but joy is the best word for whatever this feeling is when you see all of your childhood friends pre-ordering your book and sharing it with their friends and being super duper proud of you and saying really nice things about you online.

 

Seriously, publishing a book is a little bit like going to your own funeral: you get to hear all of the nice things about yourself that no one would say to you in daily conversation.

 

Like: “Hey Ash, what's up, about this weather, and oh yeah by the way did you know that I love you wholeheartedly and unconditionally and I could not be more proud of you and I just want you to know that your writing makes smile, it makes me cry, and it absolutely makes me laugh, and you are the most amazing person when it comes to building people up—you see the world in a way I wish I could.”

That's what my friend D said about me…in public. And my friend M wrote this beautiful tribute about how all those years ago I was sleeping on her couch in Santiago, Chile, writing from a shitty netbook, coughing up a lung—and now I'm months away from publishing my first book with Penguin Random House, and how proud she is, and to all entrepreneurs, badass boss ladies, or anyone who wants to laugh, cry and be thoroughly inspired by my one-of-a-kind, incredibly talented, strong, witty, survivor of a best friend, please buy her book!

I tell you, I am going to publish books more often. Here was the announcement I made to my private social media with my IRL friends:

 

#PROTIP: always insert *deep breath* in your Facebook posts. People think a confession is coming about your sexuality.

So anyway, THIS brings me back to the chakras. And crystal balls and the color pink. I don't know why I associate the color pink with…fluffy things I don't believe in, but maybe because the color pink has always been kind of fluffy in and of its own right. However, pink and I? We've agreed to wipe the slate clean and start fresh. We're getting back together. I'm giving pink a second chance. Because in the end, I realized that I was being a judgy little Sasquatch. And having the color pink come to define my book? My baby? Felt akin to practically re-naming myself Harmony or Karma or Meadow or Serenity—and we all know that's off brand.

But then I saw the reactions. The women who were like, “fuckkkk yessss, this looks exactly like a book I need!” And women who were like, “PRE-ORDERING IMMEDIATELY.” And I thought to myself: ya know, maybe pink isn't a symbol of weakness, but firepower. Maybe pink is actually the pluckiest color of all, because there are no apologies about that color one bit. There's no hedging, there's no compromise, there's no trying to appeal to everyone and everything—you know, like orange. Orange is in the safety zone. Orange is the new beige. Orange is like, hey, I could go either way, baby. Whoever you are, I can be your fantasy. I can make your DREAMS COME TRUE. But pink? Pink is not fucking around. Pink is like, hey, this is who I am, so if you're down to ride, let's ride.

Maybe I'm making too much of this.

 

But I wanted you to know that I've rekindled my relationship with the color pink, and so much so? That—you are going to die—I have turned our entire website into a gigantic magenta pink wonderland. To celebrate the book launch! And to stand up and yell things! And to be the kind of woman who says, “RIDE OR DIE.”

 

So go check that fun factory out and I hope you'll ride or die right along with me. But don't really die, just publish a book—like I said, YOU GET TO HEAR SO MANY NICE THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!

To everyone who has pre-ordered already, thank you. Pre-orders are so stupid important because this is how retailers take their cue on how many books to stock when it's released in February. It's like a domino effect! And let's face it: it'll be really fun to see us in the store when you're rolling by with a squeaky cart, looking for the graham crackers. I hope you'll tell everyone standing in that aisle that you're a part of this and this is your girl!

Also! I'm still signing personalized book plates, so once you pre-order head back to the TMF site where you can submit a screenshot and who you want it made out to, I will hook you right up. These will be delivered to your house no matter where you are in the world before the book is released, and then you can stick it inside your copy and have it be a collectible version. Which just makes me feel really cool to say.

In the meantime, I hope you're eating leftover turkey, not rhinoceros hoof, and I wish you a perpetually hot cup of coffee on this fantastic freaking Tuesday.

I love you! Thanks for being here! If you need a warm jacket get a Super Puff! That is all!

Looooove,

Ash

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Quit your job. Work remotely. Travel the world. Find your f*cking self.

Every weekday morning at 8am Eastern you’ll get 3 ideas to help you make big moves and big money. Written by Penguin Random House author, entrepreneur & digital nomad, Ash Ambirge, who likes to believe she still has standards.

The Middle Finger Project has helped over 500,000+ unconventional subscribers ditch the crock pot & go on an adventure. Established 2009 from Santiago, Chile.

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