awakening

My Peeps,
That was a doozy of a Mercury Retrograde. But it’s OVER!
It’s safe. You can come out now!

It felt to me like everything old and unwanted circled around, bitch-slapped me and then left. But not without giving me the finger first!

Whew!

Let’s all shake it off and get back to the business of being Happy.

Carry On,
xox

I’m not one to quote the bible, but HELLO? The truth is the truth. Isn’t this where all the confusion in life stems from?

We, myself included, meditate, take walks, listen to music, do yoga, chant, and kiss our dogs, in order to line up with that Essence, that Being, that voice inside of us that is wise and kind and has our back. Our true Master.

The Captain O Captain of our ships.

Then we, and I’m definitely included here, get knocked out into left field by attempting to serve another.
Our demanding boss, our overreaching mother, our unreasonable, dissatisfied spouse, our spoiled, over indulged, checked-out children, even the guy at Target who wants us to move to another line.

The entire world is loud and full of jackassery, and I must admit it gets my attention MOST of the time.

All the petty, insignificant things have a way of making it to the top of my list and hey, listen, I’d be happy at times to ONLY SERVE TWO masters.

So, I call Bullshit!
I just have to say BACK OFF!…ENOUGH!…PEOPLE!
Get in line.
Take a number.
Single file.
I’ll listen to you one at a time, and I reserve the right to send you back to the end, until you learn to behave yourselves.

I can no longer serve two (hundred) masters. I now realize my limitations and I’m no longer ashamed. I’m actually relieved.

You see, in trying to make everyone around me happy, I wasn’t living my best life, which turned me into one crazy ass bitch, and then I was no good to anyone. Least of all myself. I began to lose my ZaZaZu which makes life no fun at all, and Janet a very, very dull girl.

Wanna hear a truth? YOU are NONE OF MY BUSINESS.

So I’m gonna disappoint a few of you. I’m takin’ to YOU Target guy.

I will NO LONGER toe the line.

I will NO LONGER sacrifice feeling good to make you happy.

I will NO LONGER take you to the park twice a day and throw the ball incessantly like one of those pitching machines, so you can just stop your whining. Once is enough. It’s not ALL about you! My existence is not about being your beck and call girl, you little bitches.
(Sorry, a little dog rage.)

But…
I WILL laugh more,
Sleep longer,
Wear comfortable shoes,
Write sassier,
Live louder,
Wear impossibly cruel, high heels,
Be a walking contradiction,
Stop apologizing,
Be mystical and believe in magic,
Drink carbonated, sugary beverages occasionally,
Be bolder,
Take chances,
Watch silly singing shows,
Say fuck whenever it strikes me,
Eat after ten,
And walk BY MYSELF once a day, without the dogs, for my own sanity and peace of mind.

I’m committed to only one Master now, and she knows what’s best for me.

How about you? You in?

Carry on,
Xox

Saturday I went against my better judgment, because I was gobsmacked, and I spoke up.

It’s not as if the Universe hadn’t given me a bazillion, (okay, four) chances to do it in the past. It just never felt right before and it’s not my nature.

Now, as you know, there’s not a lot that I would consider “against my nature”, but going up to a celebrity or public figure just isn’t my thing. Maybe because I dealt with celebrities when I was a jeweler and I’ve witnessed how even the most benign interaction can go off the rails.

Leave them alone, they know they’re awesome, keep walking, that’s it, look away.

Now, when I get famous and Meryl Steep is playing me in the movie of my life, PLEASE don’t hesitate to come up and tell me you love me. I’m someone who cannot hear that enough, let’s just get that straight right here and now.
Anyway…

There is a woman who works at the right hand of a major public figure.
As I watched a documentary series a few years back, about that public person and this woman, her Executive Everything, caught my eye. She really lit up for me. I watched how she conducted herself in meetings, her humor, creativity, smarts and general awesomeness really marked me. She was professional, yet approachable. She clearly adores said public figure, so she moves heaven and earth to make sure everything they want comes to pass.

She is a force to be reckoned with and I find her extraordinary.

Over the last few years it just so happens she has crossed my path, and into the orbit of my ordinary life.
Kind of feels like a Universal tease, right?

I see her in the airport, or in a restaurant, or get a seat a couple of rows behind her on a plane. Numerous times.

I always squeal when it happens and tug at my husband’s shirt.
There she is again, can you believe it!?
But I never approach her. I want to respect her privacy I suppose. Truthfully, I’m afraid I’ll get all tongue-tied and fan-girl stupid like I did with Liz Gilbert. AWKWARD…

So I relish the moment and then go on with my life without even a hello.

Saturday I went with a friend to see Abraham. I try to go whenever he/she/they’re in town. I have for over twenty years. Www.abrahamhicks.com

By the time we arrived all the prime real estate in the front by the stage was spoken for, so we literally walked the room until we decided two seats to the right of center would be just fine. As I arranged all my “stuff”, I looked to my left to see who I’d be sharing the next four hours with and…there she was, the extraordinary one!

“Oh my God, it’s you!” I blurted out loud.
Apparently my editing reflex shut down due to the close proximity of greatness. The look on her startled face said: Do I know you?
There she was, next to me at Abe, I couldn’t be stopped.

“You don’t understand – I see you everywhere, and I never say anything, because I don’t want to bother you, but look at this, here you are, right next to me – at Abraham of all places, ha, go figure!”

It was an avalanche of emotions too powerful to be held back any longer. I stuck out my hand, “I’m Janet, so great to finally get a chance to meet you.” Or at least I’m pretty sure that’s what I said. I could feel my mouth moving and I know words were coming out, but I was hovering out-of-body, somewhere up near the ceiling.

Her friend came back from his errand and interrupted our little meet and greet, THANKFULLY.
Otherwise, I think I’d still be there gushing away.
She was as gracious as can be,(of course she was) and I composed myself enough to come down off the ceiling and take my seat.

Let me just say this: I LOVE when famous people, or famous adjacent people (friend, spouse, etc.) are down to earth, and normal. Don’t you? She couldn’t have been kinder.

I LOVE that the Universe conspired to surprise me with a visit from “her” in the MOST unlikely of situations.

I LOVE that my authentic joy overrode my “cool”. FINALLY!

And most of all I love that I got to tell her at the end of the day, when I had recovered my wits enough to pull down my freak flag – that I felt she was extraordinary.

She took it in and we hugged.

Because honestly, what was I ever afraid of? Who doesn’t want to hear that? Even from some crazy lady at Abraham?

Carry on,
Xox

Xox

Morning Loves,
This is a photograph of beach sand at high magnification.

Carry on with your Sunday,
Xox

Morning!
Never one to ignore my own advise,(insert laughter here) I was diligently following my “path” as it appeared beneath my feet while walking the boxer-shark puppy yesterday.

One foot in front of the other, that’s it.
Look at the beautiful day, smell the fog in the air, be present,open your eyes, pay attention…oh what’s that?

We had vaulted past a Post It with bright orange writing that was laying in the wet grass.
Let’s be honest here, we zoomed past it because the puppy was walking me – ugh, work in progress, Work. In. Progress.(Said with a tightly clenched jaw.)

Something in my head said Go back, it has something to say to you.

Yeah, sure it does. Eggs, milk, cheese, coffee.

But I’m nothing if not obedient to these little “hits” I get, so I swung the puppy around like ball of legs and teeth on a string, and went to retrieve the soaking wet note, eager to garner its wisdom.

That’s the picture I took before picking it up.

Kites are overrated, if you fly them too high a bird might think it is a (colored) seagull, and try to kiss it.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but a cryptic teenage haiku was pretty far down on the list.

I shoved the note into my pocket and laughed all the way home.
I love when something surprises me and makes me laugh. Especially in the morning. It’s hard to find anything funny before 9 a.m.

So…
Musings of a tweenage girl…
I’m not sure I agree because as you can see below, I enjoy a good kite flight.

But the idea of a seagull kiss, well, what overrated kite doesn’t want one of those!
Keep your eyes and minds open my peeps, our paths can be very entertaining.

Happy day y’all!
Carry on,
Xox

That’s me flying a kite last spring. Just because.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
-Chinese Proverb

Darling peeps,

Your path lights up before you. It’s right under your feet, not out there somewhere.
I’m just getting this! Can you believe it?

You don’t have to go find it, so unpack those bags.

Just pay attention.
To the inspiration,
to the ideas,
to the song on the radio when you get into the car,
to the graffiti that inspired you,
the book that fell off the shelf as you walked by,
the rejection letter that sent you in a different direction entirely,
to your dreams,
to your intuition,
to your aspirations,
the call that never came,
and the one that did.

You guys, That’s your path calling you forward. It’s right under your feet. Would I lie to ya?

Carry on,
xox

My husband left yesterday for France, for a refined yet testosterone filled few days of car auctions, car parties, followed by a car show.
Can you say Gear Head?

Last night, after delivering the dead weight of both sleeping dogs to their beds, I looked up and was reminded of a mystical motorcycle message that was delivered to me on another night when he was far, far away.

It was a different kind of trip, raw and rugged.
He was pretty much incommunicado, racing in a desert over ten thousand miles away, but things had taken a turn and I sensed he was in danger.

So I asked for a sign, and the Universe, with her wicked sense of humor, delivered a doozy.

It was the second year he had decided to ride with his buddies at Rawhyde, down in South America to follow this crazy-ass off-road, Mad Max style race called the Dakar.

The year before they had the time of their lives, riding in that environment, among all the other idiots, I mean racers, and being worshipped by the locals, who line the route and gather in great numbers at every gas stop, handing them food, babies and cameras to capture the moment.
They are revered, like rock stars.

The riding is treacherously fabulous.
The dirt roads through the Atacama Desert are rocky and rutted and they’re racing next to Rally cars, other motorcycles, and behemoth Russian supply trucks that decided a few years back that they too wanted a piece of the action.
It’s consistently well over one hundred degrees, and they have to cross the Andes via Paseo De San Francisco, which at over 10,000 feet requires them to do what the locals do to offset the altitude – chew raw coca leaves.
While they ride a motorcycle. Yes, you read that right.

It’s an insane cluster fuck, an accident waiting to happen. People die.

But as he’s told me, it’s the most fun he’s ever had with his clothes on.

Here’s a taste in case you’re interested:
http://youtu.be/UYFt7hrMWOg

This trip Murphy’s Law prevailed.
Everything that could go wrong did – and then some. I heard about it in my one text per day. It was often terse and exhausted sounding, sent at the end of another grueling episode of Chasing Dakar.
Let’s just say, things were not flowing, and he was not a happy camper. I felt terrible for him.

The day came to cross over the Andes and because of circumstances too complicated to get into, he and an instructor were leading the group up and over.

The idea is to do it as quickly as you can, spending as little time as possible up at that elevation. Get your paperwork stamped at the checkpoint and GO!
The previous year he’d told me stories of helping other riders back down the mountain, who were literally found laying in the road next to their bikes, sick and seriously delusional from the altitude.
Apparently they’d never received the coca leaf memo.

Knowing all that only made things worse for me when I didn’t hear from him at all that day. Nothing.
The window of time in which I’d usually receive my text had come – and gone. Man, how I would have welcomed one of his cantankerous texts.
I started to worry.

With the phone tucked under my pillow, I laid there – waiting. Once I realized it was asinine to try to sleep, I decided to text him.
Hope you made it safely. I Love you.
I knew he wouldn’t answer, But it made me feel better…for about a minute.

It’s amazing where your mind can go when you’re sick with worry about someone you love.
Mine writes horror movies that could never be shown because of the graphic nature of the gore. They involve motorcycles and danger, blood, guts, and death.
That night I had him lost in the Andes, with no food or water, crazy from the altitude, eyeing a fellow victim like a pork chop. Or dead, his body carried away by the Andes version of a Yeti, never to be found.

I felt completely powerless, and I was making myself sick.

By 3 a.m. I decided to pray. I prayed the tight-fisted prayer of the terrified wife.

Please let him be okay. I even forgive the fact he hasn’t checked in. Please let him be alive. Please give me a sign.

I took a Xanax and finally drifted into a fitful sleep filled with nightmares. In one, the bedroom was filled with an eerie, greenish light. I could see it through my closed eyelids.
No, really.
My eyes snapped open and the room was filled with an eerie green light I’d never seen before. I blinked, then blinked again.

WTF? Slowly I got up to see where the light was coming from, half expecting a ghostly visitation from my dearly departed in the arms of a Yeti. What I found was almost as weird.

We have a 1953 Peugeot motorcycle up on the short wall that separates our bathroom from our bedroom. Yes, you can say it. All his friends do. I’m the coolest wife EVER!
Anyway…
You’re required by law, to have a fluorescent light in a bathroom. I’ve always hated the greenish glare those bulbs give off, so we installed it behind the motorcycle to assuage the inspector – and then had it promptly disconnected.
If you flip the switch, nothing happens.

But not on this night. I came out of my worry coma to find that the motorcycle above my head was impossibly illuminated. By a light that should NOT be working.

I stood there frozen, a shiver ran around the room, looking for a spine to run up, then it found mine.

It was my sign. It had to be. Light…Motorcycle…

Now just to be clear, he’s okay, right? This means he’s alive, not dead.

The exasperated Universe told me to cut the chit-chat and go back to bed. I flipped the switch which was already in the off position, not knowing what to expect, and the light went out.

Later that day, I received a text. It was short, crabby and filled with expletives.  It was the best text of my life
They had become stuck at the top for hours, and things had gone downhill from there (pun intended). But at last they were back at sea level; sleepless, starving, but safe and sound and back in the race.
It ended with Love you, and that’s all that I could see. I burst into large, crocodile tears of relief.

PS. That light has never worked since.

Keep Calm & Carry on,
Xox

I’ve just got to say a few words about this. A bit of a rant. You may disagree, you may even get mad. I’ll chance it. At least hear me out.

I have several friends in corporate America.
And while I have to admit that it pays well and the rewards for a job well done, like a bonus or an accommodation (very similar to a star by your name on the chart in grade school – I mean, who doesn’t want THAT?) keep them invested, it’s been my observation that as you tow the company line, it will suck your soul.

And you are REQUIRED to. That line MUST be towed.

What I’ve seen happen, and it may not be in the first five or even ten years, but eventually, after a while, these people lose site of their own voice, their authenticity, their inspiration, their truth, their juju – and then their soul.

They operate in fear of being found out for the joyful, fun-loving, sometimes inappropriate, crazy creative beings that they are.

THAT is often frowned upon and certainly NOT rewarded.

And the tape that plays in the background like cheap elevator music is this: There is nothing special about you. You are expendable. There are thirty people in line behind you that are more qualified for your job. Don’t flinch, don’t be sick, don’t say “no”, don’t look away, keep your eye on the prize – or you’re gone.

Well, that is so empowering, such a morale booster! You must feel so appreciated – treasured even.

Shit – I can hear one friend’s voice now (you know who you are) “Your job is not here to make you feel appreciated and treasured. You have kids for that.”

Just to be fair it’s not every big corporation, but sadly, it’s most.

One of my friends works for a company that was recently purchased by one of those large investment corporations, you know the ones. Every year they have to show a larger and larger profit to keep the hungry share holders at bay. You and your life are of no concern to them.
They don’t care if your kid is sick, your mother is dying, your car was stolen, or you found a lump on your breast. “Get your ass on that plane to Atlanta, you have a big deal to close.”

It’s all about the bottom line – baby.

“We all have to wear navy blue now” it was the latest edict handed down from Headquarters. “Do you know how hard it is to find pants, skirts and jackets that are all the same shade of navy?”
I’m sure the question was rhetorical given the fact that I haven’t matched anything since Geranimals, and MY uniform of late is LuLu Lemon, but I could sympathize.

“Reasonable navy suits are next to impossible! Black would have been so much easier – everybody’s got tons of black. Ugh, I’m getting the feeling this is just the start, I think a uniform is where they’re headed.”

The sad part to me, besides my friend having to go out and purchase a new wardrobe on her own dime, is the fact that as far as I can see, her clothes had become the last way for this young, stylish, corporate woman to assert her individuality – now that ship has sailed.

She was just telling me about a form the company wants them to fill out. They’re looking for suggestions on how to improve things and where she sees her future going.

It’s a trap!! Don’t answer it! Run!

I’m kidding, yet in my imagination, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if they used those answers as grounds for termination somewhere down the line. They ask for initiative and then quell it at every turn.
I’ve seen it happen over and over.

You’re out of line, too much free thinking. Bye bye.

I wish corporations rewarded individuality.
I wish they made people feel appreciated along with compensated.
I wish they invested in their people more.
I wish it wasn’t all about the money.
Money over feelings.
Money over effort.
Money over time served.
Money over people.

But I wish I was six feet tall, dark and exotic looking.
Next life I guess.

Okay…let me have it! If you disagree, tell me in the comments.

Xox