spiritual

I really love Kate Northrup. She is a fresh, new voice in the “Spiritual Self Improvement” genre.
I’ve been a devotee of her mom, Dr. Christiane Northrup for years. Her books about navigating menopause have talked me down off the ledge many, many times. More times than I’d like to admit.
I discovered my beloved naturopath, Dr Holly Lucille, through her website, back in the day.

I found this article of Kate’s particularly insightful and we’ve been discussing it in the Wednesday Woman’s Group for two weeks, and again today in my writing Mastermind session.

So here’s the question: What’s the payoff for staying stuck?

When days, months, years or even decades go by, and you haven’t accomplished what you say is your heart’s desire…could you have an even deeper, more subconscious desire that overrides all that?

For instance, you may be able to trace the fact that you never get the time or opportunity to travel, which you say you’re dying to do, back to an even deeper desire for routine and normalcy, the VERY THINGS travel shoots to hell. So those deeper, ingrained desires will cancel out the travel – every time. Get it?

Here, take a minute to read Kate’s article, and start to become aware and make the changes you need to get unstuck.

Happy Friday!

xox

http://www.katenorthrup.com/what-are-you-getting-out-of-staying-right-where-you-are/

http://drhollylucille.com

http://www.drnorthrup.com

“There’s one more thing.”
I was tugging gingerly at a piece of loose thread on my sweater, knowing that at any second the whole thing could unravel and I’d be literally as naked as I was feeling in that moment.

He turned to face me, looking at me intently, actively listening for what was coming next.

We were at that stage of dating where you start to lay the groundwork for the impending relationship. In your forties, this terrain can be peppered with land mines. I was hoping this mine would not blow my face off.

“I have a guy… he’s really an ex boyfriend” I saw something flash across his face, fear? confusion? I continued.
“He’s very special to me, and not like your thinking – well, anyway…we still talk and it would seem weird not to; he’s important in my life. We’re just friends now and…”

“You want me to meet him?”
It was like a brick to the forehead, I felt a little dizzy – I wasn’t expecting that response.
“Um, yeah, sure, that could be nice, sure…you can meet him.” The sweater was unraveling.

That actually sounded like it would be up there with the most awkward night of my life, but I didn’t want to sound deceptive or crazy: ‘Oh hey, there’s this guy who’s very important to me, but I want you to immediately forget I’ve mentioned him and NO, the two of  you will NEVER be in the same room together with me, because – well, just because. (Because I would spontaneously combust from the yuck of it all.)

“I also have a woman from my past that I still see occasionally – as a friend” he said, “like you and your friend.” Did I hear sarcasm?

Nope, he went on to explain that he truly did have a “special someone” from his past.
“I think it would be great if you two met, I think you’d like her.” I sensed some relief on his part, and as he got up to refill our wine glasses; I did, I saw relief wash over his face.

Our respective cats were now suddenly out of their bags.

Well, weren’t we something?
In a land somewhere beyond enlightened; trotting out our old flames like that, a couple of weeks into a new relationship.

The thing is, by the time you reach your late thirties, early forties, hopefully, you have a few ex’s that you can still stand the sight of. Where things have become…civil. Not horrible ex spouses who violate restraining orders – people you can actually stomach.
BECAUSE…
Sometimes break ups go well.
They are loving and mutual and…bullshit – sometimes after a couple of years, you can talk to the person without going to your dark place. Without circling the drain.
They’ve managed to make the huge leap from significant other, to sex buddy, to pal.

You did used to be in love, after all.

He explained her to me, this “special” woman who was now out in the open, virtually standing in my living room.
They’d known each other for years. It had been significant. They had been lovers, lived together, broken up, tried again, failed, not spoken, gone on to other relationships, and then recently reconnected – as friends.
“She’s a part of me; like family. You’ll love her.” And I did.
She is like family, and I learned volumes about him by meeting her.
She is smart and funny and I see why he still holds her in such high regard. I do too.
I may even have a bit of a girl crush – she’s THAT good.

My “special” guy was substantially younger than me. I had shoes that were older.

He was new to the horrors of dating in LA and had never been hurt in a relationship, so he had the MOST open heart of any human being I’d ever met. It used to scare the shit out of me. But I adapted.
He taught me how to love. Really.

Not open and free like him; my heart was a dried up raisin from dating more years than he’d been alive; but better than I had up until that point.
I now had a reconstituted raisin/heart with which to love my new man, and I gave the young one ALL the credit. I suppose that’s why I wanted to tell my new love about him; the fact that we would have never stood a chance, had he not come first.

When they met, they embraced. Then all three of us did. We had a lot in common.
I loved both of them, and they loved me. I burst into sentimental tears; not into flames as I had feared.

Our relationship went on to get serious. We’ve now been married thirteen years, and although we’ve spent time together with our “special” people, as life would have it, everyone moves on, and we see them less and less.

They were never a threat, as some of our friends had feared; they’d had their time and it had passed, but we gave them the credit they deserved.

In the court of popular opinion it is either incredibly brave or ridiculously stupid of us to include these people inside our new relationships. What do you think?

Hey Loves,
It must be Wisdom Wednesday or Humpday Happiness or something to that effect because…Here’s more of my man – Jason Silva.
Better than a shot of espresso.
You’re Welcome.
xox

Myths and archetypes. They have always fascinated me.

The Hero’s Journey.

Liz Gilbert and Oprah talked this week on Super Soul Sunday, about the calling that everyone (yes everyone) gets to embark on their own Hero’s journey, and how women have no female role models to emulate.

Through the ages, the Hero’s have all been men; leaving us women home, waiting, keeping the home fires burning, and having the babies; so you can imagine, that leaves us no female hero’s for us to follow..
Think Luke Skywalker, Odysseus, Harry Potter.

I feel that less and less. the older I get. I know brave, dynamic woman who are on their own Hero’s Journey. I know I’m in the midst of mine. You could say I’m a late bloomer.
I stayed in REFUSAL OF THE CALL for twenty years, lost in the game, so I have a lot of catching up to do.
I’d say I’m in the thick of it right now, TESTS, ALLIES AND ENEMIES (see list below.)
I’d better get cracking’

I think that we are starting to see heroic female role models on the bigger stage; I’m thinking Malala Yousafzai in real life, and Katniss Everdeen in literature and on the big screen.

Inside popular culture, we can document our paths for the girls and women who follow, so that we leave a legacy behind for them: The Heroine’s Journey.

The Hero’s Journey Outline
The Hero’s Journey is a pattern of narrative identified by the American scholar Joseph Campbell that appears in drama, storytelling, myth, religious ritual, and psychological development. It describes the typical adventure of the archetype known as The Hero, the person who goes out and achieves great deeds on behalf of the group, tribe, or civilization.

Its stages are:
1. THE ORDINARY WORLD. The hero, uneasy, uncomfortable or unaware, is introduced sympathetically so the audience can identify with the situation or dilemma. The hero is shown against a background of environment, heredity, and personal history. Some kind of polarity in the hero’s life is pulling in different directions and causing stress.

1. THE CALL TO ADVENTURE. Something shakes up the situation, either from external pressures or from something rising up from deep within, so the hero must face the beginnings of change.

2. REFUSAL OF THE CALL. The hero feels the fear of the unknown and tries to turn away from the adventure, however briefly. Alternately, another character may express the uncertainty and danger ahead.

3. MEETING WITH THE MENTOR. The hero comes across a seasoned traveler of the worlds who gives him or her training, equipment, or advice that will help on the journey. Or the hero reaches within to a source of courage and wisdom.

4. CROSSING THE THRESHOLD. At the end of Act One, the hero commits to leaving the Ordinary World and entering a new region or condition with unfamiliar rules and values.

5. TESTS, ALLIES AND ENEMIES. The hero is tested and sorts out allegiances in the Special World.

6. APPROACH. The hero and newfound allies prepare for the major challenge in the Special world.

7. THE ORDEAL. Near the middle of the story, the hero enters a central space in the Special World and confronts death or faces his or her greatest fear. Out of the moment of death comes a new life.

8. THE REWARD. The hero takes possession of the treasure won by facing death. There may be celebration, but there is also danger of losing the treasure again.

9. THE ROAD BACK. About three-fourths of the way through the story, the hero is driven to complete the adventure, leaving the Special World to be sure the treasure is brought home. Often a chase scene signals the urgency and danger of the mission.

10. THE RESURRECTION. At the climax, the hero is severely tested once more on the threshold of home. He or she is purified by a last sacrifice, another moment of death and rebirth, but on a higher and more complete level. By the hero’s action, the polarities that were in conflict at the beginning are finally resolved.

11. RETURN WITH THE ELIXIR. The hero returns home or continues the journey, bearing some element of the treasure that has the power to transform the world as the hero has been transformed.

What do you think? Does this resonate? Ladies, where are you in your journey, right now?

xox

When my inner Miranda comes out, asking the hard lawyer questions, being all judgy and playing the perpetual devil’s advocate – I want to kick her ass.

Seems she’s my inner cynical adult. She doesn’t believe in love or magic or happy endings.
I didn’t cast her in that role, yet, there she is – big shoulder padded business suits, short, choppy red hair and all. She snuck in there around the millennia…and stayed.
“Well, what does that mean? You’ve GOT to be kidding me. What are you going to do about that? When are you going to take care of that?” she asks, with no hint of inner sweetness, just lawyerly cross examination, tinged with disdain.

My inner Judge and confidence executioner is Miranda Hobbes from Sex And The City.

While single and in my late thirties, early forties, I never missed Sex And The City.
I could totally relate to the friendship between the four girls, and the similarities between their life and mine.
New York, LA, it didn’t matter. Dating was dating; and several episodes felt so familiar, I had a sneaking suspicion that my apartment was bugged, my phone conversations were taped, and there was a mole in my circle.

The parallels were uncanny.

For about five years I spent almost every weekend either at a wedding, IN a wedding or at a bridal or baby shower, just like the girls.

I was tragically single – no kids. Shoes, dating, shopping and eating at the latest, greatest restaurants were my hobbies. I spent every dime I made until my accountants had a literal intervention with me, and made me buy a house. Like Carrie.

I may have had my sexually promiscuous moments (okay, years) but it was all to avoid true intimacy, like Samantha.

I didn’t feel so bad when Miranda fell hard for Steve and then ended it because – well – he was just a big hearted, underachieving, bartender, and not so ironically at the time I had just endured a break up with a handsome, unemployed actor – with a heart of gold.

And I too had divorced a perfectly lovely man with mother issues, just like Charlotte.

I would say, at that time, I was a composite of all the girls.

For two years I even had a Mr. Big.
He lived in New York. Tall, dark, handsome and mysterious, with the big job, the driver and the arrogant attitude. He found me interesting and a challenge; I thought he was always pulling a fast one. He and his life didn’t seem for real.

Just like Carrie’s Big, he called me kiddo or kid, which I hated, because I wasn’t a kid, it felt condescending as hell, and I was convinced he’d just forgotten my name.
So many cites, so many women.

Sometimes we were pals, sometimes we were lovers.
It was all very confusing. We’d bicker incessantly and one of us would end it about once a month. Then, after about two weeks, a first class plane ticket, an Hermes scarf or something from Tiffany’s would arrive via FedEx, or he’d call me from the airplane (which was a huge deal back then) or wish me good night with Italian church bells ringing in the background.
These romantic gestures were enough to open the lines of communication, and the next thing I knew, he’d schedule me into his life for a weekend, or I’d fly to New York for great make-up sex.
We finally stopped trying to make it something it wasn’t – a relationship; and within six months, it all just faded away.
A friend of mine who lives in New York reports that he’s still single and quite the player.

So years later, Mr. Big on SATC would make me squirm – too similar – hey, maybe my Big’s phone was bugged.

But I digress. Back to Miranda.
I caught a SATC marathon the other day, as a guilty pleasure, while I was under the weather, and Miranda was really annoying me. I always found her to be a perfectionist, a hard ass and difficult to please and… Shit – Miranda, my least favorite character, I now realize, SHE is the shitty voice inside my head.
Doesn’t that just figure? She’s a perfect fit for the embodiment of the critical me.
Makes sense since that was the role she played so well in the series.

I’m going to contact Critical Casting and see if I can change things, switch it up a bit. Miranda is someone from a life so long ago; I think I can give my inner bitch a more current persona; like lets say…Chelsea Handler?

Who personifies your inner critic? Whose the voice of your inner bitch? Is it time for an update? I’d love to hear about it in the comments below!

xox

One is interesting – Both are true.
Have a great Sunday everyone!

Xox

This is a reprise of one of the more popular posts from earlier this year.
Have a wickedly great Saturday!
xoxJ

I have a slogan for when things get messed up: Wait for the turnaround.
~Debbie Harry~lead singer of the punk rock band Blondie
(If you don’t know that – shame on you)

I’ve always been a “fix it” kinda gal.

If you present me with a problem or a mess, I’m gonna brainstorm it until I find a solution.

I’m going to fight it and wrestle it to the ground, I rarely take NO for an answer, and everything is figuraoutable.

I’d like to think I’m a lot like Debbie Harry…in more ways than one.
Truth is, I have waited for the turnaround…after I have exhausted every other option known to man – and then some.

Then I wised up.

I bet that wasn’t her slogan at 25 or even 35.
That’s the kind of wisdom you gain with maturity; the end result of many, many, many, mess ups.

Fifty – I’m going to guess that she came to that epiphany after fifty.
It’s around that age that you realize that there can even BE a turnaround.
That there will ALWAYS be a turnaround.

After fifty THIS you know for sure: You have to pick yourself up off the bathroom floor to be ready for the turnaround.

You have to make it until the sun comes up, because in the deep, suffocating blackness of 3am, you can’t even imagine a turnaround.

That you have to get sober to start the turnaround.

That tears make your eyes that much more capable of seeing the turnaround.

That sometimes you have to be alone, inside the silence, to listen for the turnaround.

That your wounded heart, with its bandages and skid marks, has to open enough to let the love in.
That love – is hidden in the turnaround.

Note to self:Look away.
The turnaround doesn’t reside anywhere near the mess, so if you stay digging around in that pile of shit, it will allude you.

You can’t stalk the turnaround, you can’t cajole it. You can’t bargain with it, or coerce it into place. AND……you certainly can’t rush it.

Believe me, I’ve tried.

When things are messed up. When they are epically trashed. There WILL be a turnaround. History has proven it.
It comes in its own time. It can take years or days or even just hours. Look at every disaster, natural and man made. Things appear bleak, all hope is lost, but eventually the dust settles and in rides…….the turnaround. Remember 9/11?
We were in shock, then despair, then pissed off, then….wait for it…we emerged stronger and more united than ever.
Humongous, miraculous, turnaround.

You gotta love Debbie Harry. Gorgeous, Sexy, smart, 70’s-80’s rock star icon and a guru after 50. Just like me. 😉
I bet she never thought she’d be quoted in a spiritual blog. There’s a first time for everything…even for you; Debbie Harry.

Tell me about a big turnaround in your life. I’d love to hear about it.

Xox

“Well, what will you do for money?” The fork stopped halfway to her mouth. Her eyes were huge, and the fear inside them was palpable.

“Nooooo, honey, you’re a jeweler, that’s what you do.” It was not a statement, it was a directive.

“What? Why? Now? You’re in your fifties.” Said by someone whose recent anthem had been: Fifty is the new Thirty.

Turncoat.

Those are just a few of the reactions I’ve gotten when I’ve been asked ‘So, what are you up to?’ And I reply “I’m a writer.”

I’ve said it before and it’s worth repeating. A lot, no, make that most – most people who ask you how you are and what you’re up to – they don’t really want to know.

It’s the amuse bouche of conversation – obligatory and unnecessary.

Which leads me to two important revelations ( bigger than insights, more important to remember than observations) that I’ve had about who I told about the writing in the very beginning; and I think they can apply to anything precious that you’re considering doing in your life.

NUMBER ONE:
Don’t tell just anyone everything. THAT can be considered an act of self sabotage.
That was a hard one for me because I’m about as opaque as Saran Wrap, but you’ve really got to be careful here.
How well do you know the person in front of you?
Are they safe? Meaning, do they have your best interests at heart – or an agenda?
I’ve had more amazing responses and feedback from strangers – on airplanes – than I have from the people close to me.
Probably because they aren’t invested in my old identity.
One guy recently responded “oh wow, that’s great; you look like a writer.” Whatever that meant. It felt like a compliment, but I’m thinking he got a look at my writer’s flat ass.

Advise in a nutshell – take a minute, and size up the asker.

Don’t divulge your new passion/ plans/ career choice/ to anyone who wouldn’t understand, may laugh, or potentially invalidate you – and you may get burned by a friend.
Just don’t get burned twice by the same flame. 

NUMBER TWO:
We’ve talked about this in our Wednesday night group because I’ve found this to be true WITHOUT FAIL.
Whatever insecurities and doubts I’ve had about any new venture I’ve undertaken (and this includes relationships) I’ve always been able to count on them to be mirrored back to me by some assbite naysayer.

So those responses at the top of the page?
Of courses those were my trifecta – of – terror.
Fear of the loss of income, abandoning my long-standing career, and starting something new at my age; lobbed back across the lunch table for me to justify…to myself really.

Because here’s what happens: when you have the mirror held up and it pisses you off, and your hackles go up; all your College Debate Team skills kick in, and you’re able to come up with graphs and evidence and flow charts, to prove to them – AND YOURSELF – why this is the best idea ever!

So how can you be mad? They did you a favor. I’m aware that I’ve played the naysayer role in other peoples’s dramas many times.

Now, I hardly get any blowback, because I worked out all the confidence kinks early on and I’m better at owning it.

I’m kinda a writer like someone in their eighth month is kinda pregnant.

Just be advised; if it keeps happening, your doubts are bigger than you think – or you may need new friends.

Remember: Don’t get burned by the same flame twice.
(I swear, we should all embroider that on a pillow)

As always, I so appreciate you reading and your comments below.
When have you had your insecurities mirrored back at you? Have you gotten burned by revealing too much to the wrong person? Was it a friend? Or family?

Thanks loves,
Xox

Sally: He just met her… She’s supposed to be his transitional person, she’s not supposed to be the ONE. All this time, I thought he didn’t want to get married. But, the truth is, he didn’t want to marry me. He didn’t love me.
Harry: If you could take him back now, would you?
Sally: No. But why didn’t he want to marry me? What’s the matter with me?
~From “When Harry Met Sally”

We ALL have him/her. That “one that got away.”
Even if we were the ones that broke it off, when that someone moves on – we suffer.
“That could’ve been me” we whine into our wine.

Saying they wanted to marry you or that they weren’t the marrying kind and then GETTING MARRIED. For some, this person is extremely high-profile – I can’t even imagine how that must feel. Seeing that person captured by the paparazzi, on the cover of every magazine, having the audacity to go off and be happy…with someone else. Ugh.

It’s bad enough when you just hear it from a friend or spot the happy couple at the Farmer’s Market; as you duck behind the organic apples, in order to avoid eye contact, because you still have bed head and you’re wearing your baggy sweats, and they look like they’ve just jumped off the pages of the J Crew catalogue.

A mutual friend posted something a couple of weeks ago about one of my former boyfriends.
He was no George Clooney, but he was a large liver. Large liver’s are those guys/gals that are highly successful in high-profile professions, have money to burn and style to spare.

Seems one of his country homes was published in a prominent shelter magazine, so I stupidly went to take a look.
Do you ever google yourself or people from your past?
I never have, but I did, and I can tell you – BIG mistake.

This guy is living the dream. Beautiful wife, kids, homes all over the world, tons of money.
Part of me thought, ‘Hey, that could’ve been me’ then, as I read further, the rest of me slapped some sense into me, ‘Hey, that would NEVER be you. You still have nothing in common.’
Shit. That part has an epic memory and is always right.

We met on a blind date. Fixed up by a mutual friend.
By the third date, he was professing his love. Every time he told me he loved me I’d smile and say: “well, thanks, but you don’t really know me yet.”
I was at least that self-aware; something he didn’t appreciate.

He was nouveau riche, meaning, he had gone from making fifty grand a year to well over a million – overnight.
It became his idea of fun to spend the entire day on Sunday, trying to spend all of his money. He already had a house, a boat and a couple of cars, so, hey, why not.

We did have tons of fun and laughed our heads off. Did I mention he was funny?

Oh yeah, he was handsome, smart and funny.
He had an amazing job and was the hottest new wunderkind in his profession.

And you could tell – he was wife shopping.

It felt to me like he was taking a walk on the wild side by dating me. He liked the waspy prom queen types; I was way too bohemian at the time; all blonde hair dyed red, vintage clothes, new age, alternative music – me.

The truth was – we were completely incompatible.

He had a boat – I got seasick. I was Yoshi Yamamoto, he was Chanel.
He made fun of my bleeding heart liberalism, my altruistic nature, the spiritual books I devoured and all my flea market finds; not in a mean way, but enough to keep me off-balance.

We didn’t have a thing in common besides the great sex and our senses of humor, and I was seriously considering overlooking that…for the lifestyle.

By the end of the first month together he launched the relationship into anxiety overdrive by asking me to go on a uber luxurious trip to Paris and the South of France with him for three weeks. I only had a week’s paid vacation time left, so he offered to pay my rent.
He’d also paid for my move to the city, to be closer to him. It was all making me extremely uncomfortable. He thought my squirming was cute.

One Sunday he took me shopping in Beverly Hills in that Pretty Womanish way: walking in, sizing up the joint, acting like a big shot, asking for champagne and pointing to the most expensive things in the store; while calling all the shop girls “sweetheart.”

It wasn’t sexy, or charming, like the movie. It was mortifying, and I had my first of many anxiety attacks in the dressing room, gasping for breath, watching through the curtain as the shop girls rolled their eyes at him.

Since he had Saturday and Sunday off, he immediately started to voice his disapproval of me working on Saturdays.
I was a jeweler, Saturday was non-negotiable. Hey, I was a shop girl…sweetheart.

He let me know he didn’t care for my roommate. He also disliked my friends and family, virtually isolating me from my old life. We only spent time with his friends, at his work events, on his boat or at his house.

His large life kicked my sweet little life’s ass .

Then the whispering started.
“He’s going to ask you to marry him in Paris” his friends whispered, giving me a head’s up…and a stomach ache.

Shouldn’t I have been elated? He looked amazing on paper, the anomaly every girl I knew was looking for; a wealthy, smart, thirty-something guy – who wanted to get married!

I sat in the bathroom staring at the bidet (wondering how it worked) that first night in Monaco, shaking like a leaf, experiencing another anxiety attack. I was thousands of miles from home, on his dime. All I had on me was the three hundred dollars in my wallet and a credit card with a fifteen-hundred-dollar limit. He was the only person I knew there, and not even THAT well.
ALSO
He had Henry Higgins’d me until I barely recognized myself.
I was acting like the biggest fakity-fak- fake, with the fancy clothes and the $500 bikini’s he’d purchased for me, smiling my big, white, toothy smile on the arm of this guy I barely knew, who I wasn’t sure I loved and was supposed to become engaged to.
For me, the fairy tale was unraveling.

The trip went…okay— long story.
Suffice it to say we did not get engaged. I told you, we weren’t compatible.
Yet, when things cooled off and he stopped calling and coming around – I was shocked and hurt. He was able to dismiss me as quickly as he fell for me. I kept asking myself, what had I done wrong? Why didn’t he love me anymore? It’s hard when the spotlight of someone’s affection shifts away from you when you have to return to your sweet little life, garment bags of gowns hanging sadly in the closet. I’m sure George’s former paramours can relate.

I hope they had fun and I hope they learned the lessons I learned:
1) When someone professes their undying love for you just days into a relationship – It isn’t real. I knew it, my anxiety was my indicator.
(My current husband used the appropriate vocabulary; he said he didn’t want to take me home after a date because he was infatuated with me, and that made me swoon.)

2) If your person isolates you, never wanting to spend time with your friends and family – run. He’s leading you away from all the people who take you by the arm and talk sense into you when you’re acting like an ass and a fake and making horrible decisions.
That would end up being a litmus test for future men. I would marinate them in my friends and my life and if they balked…I’d end it.

3) Really get to know someone before you leave the continent on their dime.
It’s all so romantic, but it’s a huge imbalance of power and you’ll feel it in your gut.
Don’t let the champagne override that, your gut is always right.

4) If it’s the lifestyle you miss – provide it for yourself. I realized I LOVED Europe and made it a priority to travel abroad as often as I could. On my own dime.

So, when you’re feeling that little pit in your stomach, thinking: ‘that could’ve been me’, you have to ask yourself: ‘Really? Could you have gone the distance with that person? Did you feel like the best version of yourself when you were with them?’

I believe not. Because I believe we’re always where we’re supposed to be, in every moment.

Deep down, Stacy Keibler knew things would never last. She obviously wanted to get married, which she did less than a year after the breakup with George, and now she has a child.
But when he got engaged I’m sure she thought for a second ‘that could’ve been me.’ We all did.
But, I know, just like me, she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.

xox

When they ask you to holster your cell phone for the night; do you get a little panicky?

Or belligerent? I saw it all!

As we walked into the party on Saturday night, we were asked politely, NOT to post pictures or video of the venue or the festivities on social media.
You could almost hear the OR ELSE that was implied.
It pushed people’s buttons, you could tell. They weren’t asking you not to take the call from the babysitter, they just wanted to keep things special, without the whole shebang showing up on Instagram.

The main idea behind it was that they wanted everyone to be in the present moment; a skill we ALL seemed to have left back in the early 2000’s, you know, when we looked around and people watched.
We can’t seem to experience ANY event without documenting it. Guilty as charged.

I kinda liked being asked not to. It gave me permission and a certain freedom to just be IN. THE. MOMENT.

In the frenzy of all the going’s on, I was a present observer, taking it all in through…gasp…my eyes.
Plus, I could see where I was walking and make eye contact with all the other party participants. Imagine that.

We are like junkies, I am, I know that, and I pale by comparison to the twenty and thirty somethings. So I pocketed my phone.

Even through the entertainment. Fleetwood Mac. I lost my shit, because, well because it was Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham, right there in all their…Nicks and Buckingham badassery. May I just say right here: Stevie Nicks is a rockstar beast. Sexy. Transcendent. She held everyone in the palm of her hand – at 66 years old. That makes me so happy on so many levels.
I digress.
My husband took some pictures, hell, everyone had their phone’s out, but I haven’t see one shot on the internet and I’ll keep my promise as well.
And I have to say, not having my phone held up to my face, trying to get the best shot, left me free to enjoy every moment of the evening.

So, thank you event planners and hosts of this weekend’s extravaganza. Thank you for saving me from being behind a fisheye, and allowing me to see the whole picture.

Hey – When was the last time you just watched something awesome without taking your phone out to document it? I’d love to hear about it. It is weird huh?

Big Love,
xox