new year

If you’re at all like me (and I know you are!), as December comes to a close, and 2018 becomes just the dumpster-fire-of-a-year that it was, getting smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror—I turn introspective. 

Introspection is great. But it’s highly underrated. The thing is, it’s nearly impossible to do in a crowd—or while chewing—and I don’t know about you but that’s where I am and what I’m doing this time of year, most hours of the day. Truth be told, it’s more like a solitary act done with your mouth closed and that can make things complicated.

But I need it you guys. Desperately! It clears out the cobwebs and it gets me headed in the right direction, otherwise I might make a somewhat unintentional u-turn and drive right back into the fire. 

As 2019 approaches, there are certain things I want to carry forward—and there are other things I want to leave behind in the “dustbin of history” as they say.

Many things can trigger introspection. This year, mine was triggered by an interview I heard on NPR with Michael Pollen. His new book, How To Change Your Mind, talks about the clinical trials being done using psychedelics like LSD and psilocybin (the active ingredient in hallucinogenic mushrooms) to help the severely depressed, treat addiction, and lessen the anxiety of individuals who’ve been given a terminal diagnosis and are facing imminent death. 

One woman he heard about had overcome ovarian cancer but was so paralyzed by terror of its reoccurrence that she was unable to live her life. As she put it, “It’s all I think about.” 

Let’s stop right here. Who hasn’t had trouble ‘getting over’ a terrifying setback in their life? I think we can all agree that’s a pretty universal fear. 
A reoccurrence? 
The ‘other shoe’ dropping? 
More bad luck?

Anyway, they had my attention.

During the study, when they gave her the psilocybin, (Which by-the-way, is not like you and a bunch of your friends taking mushrooms in Debbie’s hot tub back in 1980. In this trial they were monitored and guided by professionals). Anyway, once on the drug, she took a tour of the interior of her body and during that tour she saw a large black mass in her chest. Cancer, right? Well, that was her first impression too. She was urged to confront it, not run from it and when she did it revealed itself to be…wait for it…her FEAR. So she stood toe-to-toe with it, and screamed “Get the fuck out of my body!” And in the process, she eradicated it from her life. Entirely! Gone! Bye Bye forevah!

What she told the interviewer was this, “I can’t control my cancer, but I CAN control my fear.” and that was a revelation to her. WE REALLY CAN CONTROL OUR FEARS YOU GUYS! And we don’t need magic mushrooms to make that happen. We only need to believe it! (Insert giant forehead slap here.)

Here’s the interview, it’s FACINATING!

‘Reluctant Psychonaut’ Michael Pollan Embraces ‘New Science’ Of Psychedelics 

‘Reluctant Psychonaut’ Michael Pollan Embraces ‘New Science’ Of Psychedelics 

So, this was just a super long way to say that during my introspection, I decided that in 2019 I would control the things I can, like maybe even my fear, and leave everything else behind! 

What do ya think? Sound like a plan?

Here are a few I’ve been thinking about just this week. Maybe you can add yours below. 

Aging—Can’t control it. I can only manage my feelings around it, use a moisturizer that costs as much as a time machine, and wait for acceptance to kick in. I’m thinking any day now.

Politics—Can’t control it. But I can control my exposure to cable news and manage the stress I feel when I hear his voice saying something stupid.

Boundaries—Can’t control how people react to them. I can only control the loving but completely necessary implementation of them on my part. 

Other People’s Crazy—Can’t control it and I used to think I would die trying. I can only control my perception of crazy and I swear to god that makes a huge difference!

Let’s change our minds you guys, and march into this new year as the brave, resilient, joyful souls we really are!

Carry on, 
xox

My friend Michele wrote this to all of her friends recently and I have to say, right on my sista from another mister!

Carry on,
xox

The energy since the first of the year has been intense. No, it is not your imagination. It has been howl at the moon, scare small children, eat an entire pizza by yourself level intense. But as fate, or luck, or all our answered prayers would have it, it is leveling the fuck out.

The good part has been that it cleaned out all the muck. Good way to start the new Year – muck free, don’t you agree?

One friend asked her massage therapist last week to virtually “get in
there with a Q-tip.” I like that. Getting into the corners and crevices and really digging that shit out.

This energy, bless it’s heart, cleaned out our collective closets. It shook all of our Etch-A-Sketchs. It threw all the plates in the air. It emptied the refrigerator, even way back on the bottom shelf.

You get the picture.

But that can make life VERY uncomfortable.
Some people get sick in response, ‘cause if you’re in bed, binging on Netflix, you don’t have to deal with the shitstorm…yet.
Others are just pissed off. Cantankerous bastards who keep yelling “get out of my way!” We can forgive them though, right? Hey, their Etch-A-Sketch is blank – and the glass is cracked.

I took the coward’s way out. Kidding, but only a little.
I meditated, went to the movies, wrote and slept, as I waited for the shitstorm to pass. Oh, and I played this little ditty on an endless loop. You remember this from earlier this summer. Deva Premal, her voice and this chant in particular, lull me into a sort of coping coma.
If this is playing in the background, I can read the snarky email, deliver the bad news, eat the last of the disgusting holiday leftovers, listen to someone’s squed logic, and watch three minutes of CNN (with the sound off, it’s easier to stomach that way and hey, the ticker says it all).

All that to say, here it is again. Let it help the dust to settle. Let the sound and the calming effect arrange the dust in a more pleasing pattern, so that when we all emerge in the next week, from our caves of confusion, things will make sense…or at least look better.

Happy Sunday
xox

Thankfully for me personally, this year didn’t suck.
There have been some years in the recent past that could not end fast enough for my taste, (you know who you are 2009 – 2010).

I’m not sure I can say the same for the world at large, but I’ll let the journalists who are fond of charting those kinds of negative things, write about that, and you can choose which to read – humor or horror.

This is my blog, so naturally it’s funny and it’s all about me ;-).

This year was pivotal in a couple of ways.

First, it was the year that I finally came out of the closet – as a writer.
I owned it. Full time.
I went on a Mack Daddy writing retreat with other Mack Daddy writers and they didn’t vote me off the island. I’m writing a book based on this blog, co-writing a musical and helping a friend edit her book. Seems I bought the T- shirt and drank the kool-aid – and I couldn’t be happier. Who knew?!

Second, I gave up any and all hope I still held, that George Clooney would settle down and get married…to me. That was a hard one – we had something.

I used to sell him jewelry back in the day, and bake chocolate bundt cakes for him when he was just ER George Clooney, not GEORGE CLOONEY the movie star.

We used to tease each other.
I’d bring up “Facts of Life” storylines, tell him his credit card was declined – while threatening it with scissors, and make supermodel jokes because he was too thin (which he was, despite the cake) – and he’d put his arm around me or call me “his girl” and watch my face turn poinsettia red while I geeked out.

I helped him refine his taste in jewelry.

You’re welcome Amal.

I’m telling you, we had it.

Oh timing…you are a cruel opponent.

This was also the year we got our boxer-shark puppy which has been a blessing and curse.
I’ve written about maybe two percent of the shenanigans she’s pulled.

She’s a bitch, a trouble maker and a giver of NO fucks.
If she were human, she’d smoke cigarettes, have earphones permanently implanted, a bright blue mohawk and a pierced tongue. She would be the Girl with The Dragon Tattoo.

Currently she has mange. Or man-gee as my French husband calls it.
Yep, MY dog, who is bathed twice a month, and lives the life a Kardashian would envy – has mange. A friend I told recently, sympathized, “Oh yeah” she said, sipping a cocktail, “It’s like when your kid gets sent home from the expensive private school with head lice”

I can only imagine, but I felt a special bond, a kinship with her – she’s shared my mortification.

All kidding aside, it’s been a pretty great year.
I found my calling, expanded my furry family, and witnessed a Clooney miracle.

Gratitude. I’m filled with gratitude for the blessings that came my way, and hopeful that the ones that seemed to skip over my house will re-visit me in the coming year.

So y’all, how was your 2014? Are you happy to see it end?
What are some of the highs and lows you can share with the group? I’d love to hear about it!

Whoo Hoo! Come on 2015!
Xox

It seems that the energy these last few days is powerfully fast,
and like an avalanche, it is taking us, and everything in its path,
and is carrying it along with it,
as it races toward the end of the year.

But it seems my race to that imaginary finish line of 2014
is strewn with all the different ways my body is choosing to keep up.

Some days it feels like I’m wearing ice skates,
everything feels very slippery,
people, situations,
and it’s hard to keep my balance.
I’m careening toward the New Year on 1/4 inch blades,
arms flailing, weak ankles turned in, with no triple Lutz in sight.

Other days I’m back as a ten year old, 
Only I’m not, I’m 55, and it’s the Fourth of July,
and we’re having those races across the lawn, 
with our shoelaces tied together…
Or balancing an egg on a teaspoon.
It is as impossible now as it was then,
only then, we laughed our heads off as we fell on our faces,
because we were racing toward ice cream.
Oh, to be 10 again.

The other night I wrote about racing like a demon in an ATV.
Now that’s more like it!

How about a catapult?
or sliding into home plate after running all the bases?

It feels like by the 31st it’s going to be a sprint,
but because I have blisters from wearing heels this week,
(They are beautiful,yet cruel)
I might have to limp across the line…does that count?

Can I be like the courageous athlete who runs the good race only to 
have some calamity befall them, and then literally commando crawl over the finish line?

That’s heart right?

I’ve got heart.

I’m just tired.

How is it feeling out there to you?
Xox Janet