Life

Come Out And Play

Come Out And Play

There is a tightrope that lives at the edge of the cliff,
that spans to the other side.
If you fancy going any further, my friend,
the need for balance is implied.

To take a first step may terrify,
those among you that fail to comply.
For lack of fortitude, courage and balance, has caused,
Many a hopeful to die.

Their death isn’t really an ending as such,
it is merely another chance to try.
For energy doesn’t just disappear to dust,
It regroups for another ride!

Each time you arrive at the edge of this cliff,
with the tightrope firmly in your sights,
just take a deep breath, and don’t look down,
for that will trigger your fear of heights!

But if you let yourself glimpse down below, my love,
for more than a minute, you’ll spoil the plot,
you’ll see that there’s a net of gold, just beyond the edge,
and an angel has tied every knot.

So don’t fear what you see, and don’t understand,
or what is hidden in plain sight.
You’ll discover there’s help every step of the way,
that you can’t see when you put up a fight.

So run across the tightrope, please give it a try!
save your fear for another day.
Now that your know that you never really die,
you can more than live…you can play!


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Devour Life

Devour Life

I will devour this thing called life
In giant sloppy bites!
Because to nibble around the edges would be a crime.

I will take in every taste, feel and smell,
As it is offered to me, with mouth and hands and senses wide open,
Leaving no morsel of living left behind.

If you say you want to live a measured life,
Don’t come sit by me,
For the laughing will be as loud as the tears where I sit.
Things will appear messy and uncensored, and way too big at times.

But if you want to run through tall grass with bare feet,
If you want to stand on the beach with your face in the wind,
If you think you can handle both joy and despair,
Then take my hand.
For this is one wild and crazy ride,
Take all the chances, make every mistake,
Because you only get to be “you” once,
And you will not come out of it alive!


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Follow The Big Dog

Follow The Big Dog

The last few days I’ve witnessed something really interesting with the Boxer-shark puppy, that feels like a metaphor for life. 
I have to preface that by saying that my powers of observation have become incredibly keen. I’m not kidding…maybe just exaggerating….Bear with me here.

The human body is a miracle in regards to perpetuating our survival. It replaces the senses that have shut down due to lack of respect, with others that are freakishly heightened. 

I have no business out driving the streets, running errands, aka living my life, with the puppy screaming in her crate in the back, but somehow I am. My guardian angel will be getting her hearing checked and going into seclusion after this, leaving no forwarding address.

I have no sense of humor, can’t remember where anything is and could cry at the drop of a hat, but damnit if I can’t smell puppy poop that’s two days old, under the couch, in a room that’s had the door shut the whole time. WTH?

I can hear the tiniest whimper in a dead sleep at 3am. 
My husband, he can sleep through her wailing as if her foot is caught in a bear trap! How does he DO that?
Sleep deprivation has left me bleary minded and craving carbs…for survival, people!
Really?…I can hear you!

Anyway… We have a 6 inch step from the bedroom up into the bathroom.
If the Boxer-shark stands in front of it, she is the same height.
She struggles with the step.
Especially going down.
It’s from stone to a hard wood floor and she’s been launched, catapulted, flung and just plain rolled off of it this past week, many, many times, so I get the trepidation.
But she’s only cautious when she’s just sniffing and exploring and silently looking for havoc to wreak.

When the other dog is home and they’re running and growling and fighting/playing (I’m using the word playing when I really mean taunting.) She FLYS off that step with the grace and ease of one of the gymnasts from Cirque du Soleil. She doesn’t even look down, she’s a freakin’ professional, (she’s clearly gifted) Not a second’s hesitation!

If she STEPS off after much careful deliberation, when she’s alone, one paw timidly feeling for the floor, she inevitably falls, and then rolls…so it looks like she meant to do that.

Don’t we all do that? I do!
If I over think an obstacle, I can make it so scary that I inevitably falter.
Better to do a quick evaluation and sail right over it! Run then jump!
…Or follow the big dog.
I’m still deciding which metaphor I like better.

“She took a leap, and built her wings on the way down.” 
– Anon

Another week and the step will be a non-issue, she will have outgrown her fear.

What’s your bathroom step fear, and are YOU ready to follow the big dog and outgrow it?

XoxJanet


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Scrambled Days

Scrambled Days

What the hell!? I’ve gone and committed another act of treason on my sane and reasonable life. Seems that’s just the way I roll these days!
We picked up our 8 week old Boxer puppy on Sunday, and I haven’t slept more than an hour at a time since. What was I thinking?!?!

This blog is about to get very raw and real for the next few days, because my self editing faculties left me somewhere around Tuesday at 3am, and I have helicopter hair, meaning it looks like it was styled by a helicopter at full throttle up.

Good thing you don’t have SmellPad.
I think I showered this week…all I remember is our senior dog literally walking into the running shower with me to escape the madness. 
Desperate times, require desperate measures!

Puppy madness is different than your garden variety madness. It comes in the form of a small furry demon, with tiny needle teeth and nails that can slice a tomatoe. It leave your hands bloody stumps, your neck look like Freddy Kruger gave you a massage, and all the while your heart is breaking from cuteness overload.
Yet, it’s hard to believe, that madness has left my life in a shambles.

It’s all I can do to write a blog post, but I treat this commitment like a job I actually love.
That being said, I have fallen asleep at this table, twice.
My feet are now torn to shreds, I’ve drunk more coffee than an Italian model consumes in a month, and I have written more about sex and chocolate than one woman has any right to.
I’m finding out that’s just where my mind goes when the going gets tough. 
Good to know…not really.
Delete….delete…delete.

It’s been a seasonal 80 degrees this January here in LA. 
That’s seasonal if you live south of the equator, which makes it all the more horrifying that I’ve taken to wearing Uggs, a thick scarf and gardening gloves for protection from the boxer-shark.
I can hear you haters on the East coast…wanna trade lives?

All this to pose a question: Why do we have babies, raise puppies, get bad break-up haircuts?? Why do we f**k up our lives like that? I’ll tell you why!
Because we forget the pain AND they grow and change faster than you can say “Shit, I’ll never do THAT again”!
The Universe, in all it’s wisdom, or as a cruel joke, I haven’t decided yet, gives us amnesia to perpetuate the species and keep us from sending the piranha-puppy packing. Say that fast three times!
Plus they’re just so damn cute!

So I guess after the whisk of sleepless nights stops scrambling my days and everything settles, I’ll actually miss these times. 
But if you see me on the street in a few years and I talk about wanting another puppy…run me over with your car!
You have my permission!
XoxJanet


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I’m Confidently Doubtful

I'm Confidently Doubtful

Once upon a time, when I had my store, a lot of people referred to it as a gallery, and I suppose it was, in the looseiest, gooseiest sense of the word.

I thought it would be a cool idea to feature up and coming local artists, and display them alongside all of the vintage doodads.

In the beginning, every three or four months, I would send out postcards, and invite friends and clients to an art “opening” with decent wine, toothpick skewered cheese and super-groovy music (usually the artist’s playlist, so, yeah, way groovier than my snoozy Spotify mix.)

One particularly talented artist whose style was very similar to Jean Michel Basquiat came close to selling out his entire show one opening night, he had become that popular! I took a chance, because I saw something special in his work, and lo and behold, so did a shit-ton of other people!

Damn! What a thrill!

Still, when I had my meet and greet with the artists, prior to scheduling a show, each and every one had NO idea what to charge for their work. They had even less of a clue as to what their costs had been in time and materials. They stared at me like I was explaining Quantum String Theory when I inquired about their time expenditure.

“How much time did this piece take?” I’d ask. “And what is your time worth?”
They had no freakin’ idea!
They kept no receipts for framing, or paint, or clay, or brushes, and for them, time just disappeared as they worked…so that was that.

Really? Well! I soon determined that was the sign of a good artist—but a lousy business person.

Seems you can’t have both in the same body, except for Damien Hirst.
He is an example of someone with both mad business and marketing skills along with talent, and that has driven his prices well into the six figures.

Everyone else has a more right-brain mentality. “Don’t bother me with the real world. I just want to create, I don’t want to keep a spreadsheet.”

If you become too practical, you’ll cut off your connection to the Muse.

Now, I totally get it!

It seems it is virtually impossible to balance your checkbook and paint a masterpiece.
Maybe it’s that right-brain, left-brain thing.

It’s a lot like studying theory and technique. If you get TOO polished, all your individuality goes flying out the window. You keep the tools that work, and discard the rest.

It’s often the creations made from breaking the rules that resonate the most with people.

What I must admit I have a knack for is looking at something and determining its value. The more unique the better!

Art can be tough. It’s poorly subjective. Appreciation lies in the eye of beholder. Nevertheless, every artist I featured had been in other small galleries around town, and I always got them double or triple their previous prices. It was always hardest in the beginning and then once things sold, their “value” was established.

That’s what gallery owners do, they help establish a value.

Now that I’m no longer involved in my previous “field of expertise” I’m noticing that I have the exact same problem my oh, so talented artists did.

Determining your own value? Fuck. It’s haaaaard.

So, you can imagine my chagrin as I add my name to that long list.
Now I’m a WE.
WE don’t know how to set our value,
or WE have a number in mind, but don’t have the balls to ask for it.
WE stare blankly into space when asked what WE think our time is worth.

Damn, I used to know!! Without hesitation! I didn’t have a masters in Art History, or a Harvard business degree. I just knew what I liked, and if I liked it, I knew other people would too.

That’s it! It’s always the same! Value is set by what someone will give as an exchange for the “service” provided, and it’s based on how it makes them feel.

I’m getting warmer…
Carry on,
Xox


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Whose Life Are You Living?

Who's Life Are You Living?

People suffer when they pursue a life or chase a dream that doesn’t belong to them.
~Caroline Myss~

I can’t remember which book of Caroline’s this quote is from, but the truth of it just hit me like a Mac truck!
That’s why our train’s jump the track!
I’m sure now that’s why mine did!
Doh!!! (V8 forehead slap!)

Whose dream are we living anyway, when things crash and burn?
Our mother’s dream of a singing career?
Our father’s of an Ivy League education?
Maybe we just wanted to go to Paris and become a mime!

I suppose when I opened my store I thought that was my dream.
I would tell you it was, I’ve said it in this blog!
I had run a store forever.
I bought, I sold, I merchandised it, I did the books,
I should own my own… Right?

So when my soul stirred and I wanted to leave,
I told myself that my having a store of my own was my dream.
Only today did I realize that it was my boss’s dream,
Not mine.

He ate, drank and slept the antique and jewelry business, he still does, and that’s how you know it’s your dream.
I did not.
Don’t get me wrong, I worked like a dog, but I never thought of the store when I wasn’t there…ever!

He does…His dream.
It was my job, Not my life.
Shit! It’s so clear to me now!

Why do we borrow other people’s lives/dreams?
Because we do something for so long, we call a habit, a life?

A friend lobbied me to put my store behind hers.
She was killin’ it!, making money hand over fist, and had been for 8 years at that point, and she assured me that the same would happen for me.
It did at first, but it was a hard location, and ultimately a terrible decision.
Ironically, the location actually lead to its demise.

I suffered because…I was living HER life, trying to capture HER dream, in HER perfect location.
Of course it would feel terrible!

The business was my boss’s dream, a dream I stole to raise as my own,
and my friend’s success was because SHE was living HER perfect life!

I had never even taken 5 minutes when I left jewelry, to consider that my next step might not be retail.
I left the business to follow my heart, only I was looking in the wrong direction, so I never got the memo.

My ego took charge then, it usurped my better judgement and convinced me to pursue a life and chase a dream that didn’t belong to me.
Then when that didn’t work out, it convinced me I should go back to jewelry, which was STILL not the correct path.

Note to self: the ego gives really shitty advise!

If things aren’t working, if your life is like pushing an elephant up the stairs.
If everything you try turns to shit….and you’re suffering.
I don’t care how many years you have invested, or how many diplomas you have on the wall.
Sit down a minute and ask yourself this:
“Whose life am I living”?
“Whose dream am I chasing”?

XoxJanet


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Now that you have forgiven those that have hurt you 😉
It is critical that you forgive yourself.

That is a much harder task
It is usually easier to forgive others than it is to allow yourself to feel that same forgiveness

It has to do with trust
You have to forgive yourself for betraying your trust.
When you feel you cannot trust your own guidance
for it has led you down dark and twisty paths
Forgiveness will shine a new light on those areas of shame and regret.

Forgive yourself for poor choices,
they were made out of ignorance,
If you knew better, and did it anyway, forgiveness does not come easily
For your mind overrode the whisper of your soul,
and you betrayed your best intentions,
and feel you cannot be trusted
with your own well-being.

Open your heart and dare to feel that hurt
that betrayal
and then set it free!

You would never withhold forgiveness from a child,
even if that child had endangered itself after being warned.
You would not continue to say “I told you so”
You would not punish incessantly
You would never remind it daily of its transgressions
You would not lock it up, denying it the joy and freedom of life
Most importantly, you would not withhold your love!

Love yourself enough to forgive yourself,
Love yourself like you would that child
knowing that you know better now.
It is okay to move with caution,
little baby steps, to earn back your trust
but give yourself that gift
It will change your life.


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Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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