The middle finger project Trash your imposter syndrome and live the unf*ckwithable life you deserve

Following your parents' deaths, a series of bad decisions and abusive relationships led Ambirge to homelessness. After hitting rock bottom, she built a successful career as a blogger, writer, and copyeditor. Even those caught in situations less dire--like an unfulfilling job--need inspiration to take their lives to the next level. In her first book, named after her popular blog, Ambirge emphasizes that anyone can turn a passion project into a successful career. In "Please Follow Your Most Dangerous Ideas," she encourages the reader to list all of the businesses she could pursue and why; the descriptive language provides insight into what the reader should actually go after. In "Do Not Let Them Money-Shame You," she pleads with women not to undervalue their services. Her insistence that anyone can become a millionaire may grow tiresome, but Ambirge's ability to viscerally tap into human emotion is outstanding. Women are the target audience, but anyone looking for a career cheerleader will appreciate Ambirge's book (and her energy).

Internet entrepreneur Ambirge lays out a manifesto for unapologetic, no-holds-barred living in this entertaining debut memoir-cum-guide aimed at young women. Growing up in a trailer park in rural Pennsylvania, Ambirge dreamed of a stable, middle-class lifestyle. But after a series of misfortunes, including an abusive relationship and a death in the family, Ambirge found herself in a K-Mart parking lot, alone, homeless, and wondering what all her aspirations amounted to. The low moment forced Ambirge to find an inner strength that catapulted her over the year that follows, from sleeping in her car to getting a job in advertising to running her own successful online media company. Ambirge writes about her struggles and mistakes with candor and sharp humor, heightening the appeal of her call for "radical self-reliance," which amounts to confidence in pursuing one's passions for a living. And along with all the snarky irreverence, Ambirge gives a wealth of advice on entrepreneurship, including tips on battling perfectionism, negotiating, and selling ideas. Ambirge's blunt tone and helpful advice will appeal to any woman looking to shrug off a dreary, conventional career for a life of adventure, passion, and happiness. (Feb.)

Chapter 1 The Rules Were Made Up by Some Guy Named Ted Who Ate a Quarter Pounder for Lunch and Has a Dog Named Wedgie Or: Surprise! Nobody Actually Knows What They're Doing GOD. *puffs on cigar* Now there's a fun-­filled topic. If we were really ambitious, we'd just dive right into the most controversial subject imaginable, given that this book contains all sorts of controversial ideas and it doesn't get any more polite from here. (Now might be a good time to fetch the vodka . . . and maybe a defibrillator.) Don't worry, this isn't a book about God, nor is it a book about Ryan Reynolds--­second in command. But it is a book about authority and becoming your own. It's not always easy to "follow your dreams"--   --­and ride off on a magical flying carpet made of SweetTarts and sugarplum fairies. It's not easy to trust yourself radically, or make bold choices that other people will not agree with, or "live life on your own terms." It's not easy to roll up and be all, "Yayyyyyyy, I'm going to quit my job and be an artist!" or "Yayyyyyy, I'm going to open my own bookshop!" or "Yayyyyyy, I'm going to skip around the Swiss Alps and make cheese in a loincloth and yodel in the afternoons and tell my overbearing sister to shove it!" Even in an age when all of these options are more available to us than ever, most of us are basically just drifting along, trying not to get cancer. But even when we do dare break the mold and try something new, the world throws some serious side-­eye. Who does she think she is? It won't last. This is just another one of her "big ideas." In response to the world's censure, we shrink. We second-­guess ourselves. And we secretly wonder if maybe they are right. Maybe we should "play it safe" and "bide our time" and "be grateful for what we've got"--­which, by the way, happens to be some of the world's worst advice. Being grateful for what we've got is why so many of us end up staying in dead-­end jobs that have us licking envelopes inside a dimly lit, six-­person of­fice in suburban Philadelphia (been there); why so many women end up staying in relationships they don't want to be in (ugh); why so many of us end up living lives that feel stale and dull and dreary and uninspiring (mmm-­hmmm); and why so many people end up resenting their every minute from the hours of nine to five, being mean to call center agents and rolling their eyes at babies and fantasizing about being hit by a tractor trailer and rushed to the hospital so they don't have to keep doing this crap. (That was me, once upon a time.) We're all trying SO HARD to be these levelheaded, responsible, card-­carrying grown-­ups that we trade in our sense of adventure and curiosity and wonder and creativity in exchange for what we think is a secure and reliable future, assuming that the more constipated your face looks, the more seriously you'll be taken. Now that I'm wearing this sensible pair of pantyhose, everything is going to be JUST FINE. Back in the day when I was still a Very Good Girl(tm), I wore those same pantyhose and drank milk and never talked back to authority. In fact, I loved authority. What took me a lifetime to discover, though, is that authority only works as long as you trust that someone smarter than you is making the rules. Take my first boss, for example. I worshipped the guy. I was young and hungry and he was supportive and encouraging and kind. When he spoke, it felt like I was receiving advice from the Dalai Lama. When he handed me my paycheck, he made me feel as if I'd just earned a gold medal. When I called in sick, he'd call and ask if I wanted soup. (I mean, it was probably from a can, but same same.) Then, one day, I walked in and saw my coworker straddling his lap. I ran out of the room as if I'd just seen a ghost. I knew that he was married with a wife and kids who all went to church and ate their Wheaties. But even more shocking, when I confided in my other coworker about what I'd seen, she fell to pieces. Turns out, she had also been having an affair with our boss . . . for years. I KNOW: I'm hardly the first woman to discover that some guy who seemed so nice was actually The Duke of Douches in his personal life. Still, it was a defining moment for me, and soon I realized that maybe adults weren't these profound, all-­knowing wizards after all. Maybe they weren't these supremely wise, enlightened beings. And maybe their opinions about life, and what I should be doing with mine, were--­dare I say it--­fallible. Over time it became overwhelmingly clear: everyone really was just making it up as they went along. (A mentor who pronounced "Sci-­Fi" like "Sky-­Fi" quickly cemented this notion.) The realization that no one actually knew what they were doing was terrifying--­you take out a mortgage for thirty years; no, you!--­but it also emboldened me: if the rules were made up by some dude named Ted who had a Quarter Pounder for lunch and a dog named Wedgie, then they didn't really hold that much weight, did they? Who says my résumé needs to be kept to one page? Who says sitting at a desk for eight hours is the responsible thing to do? Who says happiness comes from settling down with a "nice young man" with a decent golf swing and a "good-­paying job"? Not that good-­paying jobs aren't delicious. They're extra delicious. But I couldn't help but feel like there had to be so much more to life than a 401(k) and a crockpot full of ham. The truth is, I had always imagined that there was this high-­and-­mighty Committee of True and Actual Greatness--­the universal "they," if you will--­bestowing us all with this series of carefully crafted guidelines according to what was best for humanity. Like the USDA, when they tell you to eat your greens, I had always just assumed that the collective wisdom was actually wise, and that more experience on this planet automatically equaled more knowledge. I assumed that "they" were hard at work advocating for the greater good. But as it would take me great pains to discover: there isn't anybody out there advocating for you. Your own happiness is sold separately. And there's no such thing as The Committee of True and Actual Greatness (or even a guy with a dog named Wedgie): it's up to you to become your own. As it turns out? Radical self-­reliance changed everything for me. I went from being a lost and confused stray--­the queen of late cell phone bills, uncertain about everything, flighty with my every move, trying real hard just to make a grilled cheese, perpetually consumed by a dumpster-­full of existential angst, and (eventually) even landing myself sleeping in a Kmart parking lot--­to learning how to trust in my own voice, say "screw it" to anything that didn't resonate, believe that my own ideas were actually valid--­even if they were drastically different from everyone else's--­have the courage to let my passions guide the way, start my own creative writing company, design my life the way I wanted to (which included choosing not to have kids or a goldfish or even an address in the United States), travel the world, and give the middle finger to so many of the normal ideals and expectations that society markets to us as good. As a result, I ended up inventing an all-­new kind of job for myself that previously didn't exist as the founder of a kick- ­ass unconventional company--­also lovingly called The Middle Finger Project--­that runs purely on my creativity, lets me be myself, allows me to have fun with my work, gives me the freedom to travel where I want, allows me control over the way I spend my time, and earns me a weirdly obscene amount of money (don't worry, I haven't been responsible with it). I don't have to beg for time off to go to the gyno, don't have to pretend to listen in on conference calls with China, and don't have to label my yogurts the way I labeled my childhood diaries: "Property of Ash, open and DIE." By learning to become radically self-­reliant, I custom-­made my own role instead of being forced to retrofit myself into someone else's idea of what "work" should look like. Because if all of us are just making it up as we go along anyway, we might as well have a good time with it, right? I am grateful to say that I finally feel as if I've stepped into the most unfuckwithable version of myself as a woman who actually enjoys her life, so long as Keeping Up with the Kardashians isn't on TV anywhere nearby, and lives a much different version of it than most people. And what's neat about that is in the decade and some odd years since, I haven't looked back. That's kind of a record for me, since I used to question every decision I ever made. The way I got here, however, was not by dutifully obeying the rules--­I got here by disobeying them instead. And THAT is what this book is about. Unlike the rah-­rah, powder-­puff brand of cheerleading you might think of when you hear the mildly mortifying term "self-­help" (don't worry, we can just call this: HELP), this book is intended to be a bad influence. But a bad influence in the best way. Because the argument here is simple: Radical self-­reliance comes from following your most dangerous ideas. It comes from making the dangerous choice, not because it is dangerous, but because it is big. Too many of the choices we make are small and safe, because that's what we've been taught to do. But by putting stock in your most dangerous ideas, you'll do far bigger things than you would ever do other­wise. And isn't that the point? To live a life that you aren't embar­rassed by? My promise to you is this: There will be no safe advice. There will be no cutesy adages. There will be no whitewashed Instagram images of me holding a golden retriever. There will be no "ten minutes a day to gratitude." There will be no instructions to drink more water. And there will certainly not be any mindfulness meditations. Excerpted from The Middle Finger Project: Trash Your Imposter Syndrome and Live the Unf*ckwithable Life You Deserve by Ash Ambirge All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.