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*Below is a recent post from Seth Godin. Man, I can relate, can’t you? What’s your soft spot?

I’ve been in the process of realizing recently that I lived almost two decades avoiding that “uh oh” feeling, too scared to attempt my best work, to be my best self.
My triggers are security and stability, but those are myths, right? They can only be found on the INSIDE.
Anyhow…Have a beautiful Sunday, take it away Seth!
xox

Here comes ‘uh oh’

Working to avoid a feeling merely reminds us of the feeling. And undercuts our work as well.

NOT ANYMORE!

Hey guys,
So…Going out on a limb here.
This is going to be an interesting post. More Woo-woo than most.
If you’re like me, I think most of you will find it interesting at the least, and take it with a grain of salt (and some dark chocolate) if it doesn’t resonate with you.

Here’s the deal. I get emails and follow a few very esoteric “teachers” you might say. Their information comes in the form of channeling or meditations, or just being kick-ass energy interpreters.

Believe it or not, I’m actually pretty discerning; so I read what they have to say, and then I sit with it –– to see how it feels. I like to think I have a finely tuned BS meter.

For the last few months they’ve all been saying the same thing, more or less, and I LOVE when that happens, so for me that’s confirmation.

There are a handful that I have followed since the early 1980’s and pretty much everything they’ve written about has come to pass, so they’ve earned their credibility with me.
Their information is always positive. Without exception.
I can watch CNN if I want to hear otherwise, right?

I remember way back when, hearing them talk about things like yoga, meditation and esoteric teachings becoming mainstream. Things that at the time were very fringe, they felt would be everywhere, even on TV! They predicted it over and over again and each time I scoffed, knowing that it was bullshit, and would never come to pass…Hello, Eckart Tolle, Deepak Chopra, Byron Katie, Abraham Hicks, Hay House, Oprah and Super Soul Sunday!

They also used to talk about technology “downloads” where the influx of energy with regard to triggering certain advances in technology, say like personal computers, (one in every household, like a television –– even handheld computers) was happening at the time. This also sounded like so much bullshit to me back in 1988.
If they’d only been more specific and told me to buy Apple stock!

So now here they go again, and now I have a blog with which to share it.

I think it’s fascinating information and it’s been going around since the end of 2014, and looks to still be on track to come in around March.

So here’s the scuttlebutt on the spiritual streets these days:

There is an influx of energy that is expected to come in, starting in March, that will begin to help us out –– and here’s how:
The human brain only uses a percentage of it’s potential. That’s been agreed upon, right? Some say ten percent and other studies have determined that it’s more like 30-ish percent.

What if the rest of it was storage? Ideas, thoughts, languages, great works and skills we’ve mastered over lifetimes lived on this planet. We’ve all heard about the guy who suffers a traumatic brain injury who then wakes up speaking a foreign language he never knew – fluently. Or the hit on the head that unleashes a previously unknown mathematical genius, or a prolific writer. What if it caused a person to begin to paint – masterpieces. Its happened.

How about children who are born knowing how to read? Or others that play piano or the violin like a virtuoso by the age of three, solve complicated math theories, or remember who they were before they were born?
How could they know that stuff? Does that accumulated information and wisdom remain stored in our brains, waiting to be “remembered” at some opportune time? Are these children simply fast tracking, remembering skills in order to bypass the usual eighteen years it takes the rest of us to come online?

So, it’s about timing, right? The time was right for the tech downloads, a few people around the globe picked up on them and UNDERSTOOD them, and within twenty years (which is the blink of an eye in the scheme of things) we all got Smartphones.

Now the timing is right for a “remembering” energy influx or download, tapping into the brain storage, and even upping brain capacity in a few short years into the forty percentile.

So what would that look like you ask? Apparently, it will start off slow and only if you want it (remember, free will, not everyone invented iPhones) and put simply –– you’ll get really good at stuff. Things you already excel at will get so much easier and better, and supposedly, we could all start consciously bringing forward other things we want to excel at.

Remembering feels different from learning. It’s cleaner, faster and easier.

Want to have a facility with foreign language? Want to retain what you read and listen to with ease? Want to write a book when you’ve never written a grocery list? (I can relate to that one.) Want to ace mathematics, cooking and public speaking? It’s probably all in there, in that storage facility called your brain.

I’d love to think that this is true, to believe that all things are possible, that we can begin to tap into that warehouse of knowledge when we need it, that the energy will allow all of use to fast track, not just a special few.

Don’t you? Hey,why not? Because otherwise, really, what’s the point? Are we here to learn something over, and over and over again?

Let’s all wait and see, I’d LOVE for them to prove me wrong…again.

If this made you laugh or upset you in any way, just forget about it –– oppps, too late, you can’t unknow something…

Carry On,
xox

* A Flashback Friday! I wrote this a long time ago but was reminded of it the other day when I played with a friend to determine who was paying for coffee. I won. With Paper.

Rock, Paper, Scissors. 

A game invented by the caveman for their amusement, in order to distract you long enough to forget what you were arguing about.
This handy, dandy trio is has been used since then to resolve conflict for the decision impaired among us.

But for me, this has become an insightful, personality revealing exercise.

I’ve discovered, through years of extensive research and observation, that we all know someone who always picks rock.
And doesn’t their behavior resemble that of a rock?
The good qualities: solid, immovable, and grounded.
The not so good qualities: solid, immovable and stubborn, with their hand in a fist.
They are rock.
They pick it every time.
Your scissors can’t cut it.
In theory, paper wins over rock.
Paper can wrap around it, but rock will argue that it can go through paper or sit on top of it, causing paper to rethink its strategy.
That is just so rock.

The people who pick paper are the writers, litigators and diplomats among us.

You can rest assured their paper is covered with notes and talking points for their long-winded arguments.

They are also the embracers among us.

They think any conflict can be solved with a hug.
They are also crazy strong and amazingly fragile.
Just know that once they are cut or torn, no amount of scotch tape can fix them.
I fall into this category for every reason listed, but mostly because I’ve hugged my way out of some really contentious battles.

Ask my sister.

When she and I lived together with a roommate, (back in the day when we all had Flock of Seagulls hair, and wore our underwear on the outside of our clothes) said roommate had a total meltdown, complete with the ugly cry face and actual screaming. She lost her shit so completely, I could only think of one way to make it stop…I hugged her. I became a human straightjacket. The look on my sister’s face still makes me laugh, I’m LoL-ing right now!
Paper people are vulnerable to the scissor…and fire.
I have a friend who added standing, waving fingers as “fire” into the game many years ago. He’s a character for another day… and a cheater!

The folks that pick /scissor/ can be sharp.
By that I mean smart and funny, and they always have a fabulous haircut…hmmmm.
They are unique, super creative and crafty;  the Edward Scissorhands among us.

They can also cut you with one word or a look.
They don’t even need their /scissors/.
One stern, guilt inducing glance can crumple paper into tears, and even intimidate rock.
/Scissor/ people can be back stabbers, so beware.
I’m not kidding. My study is very precise and has been done through the years with tens of people.

I think every first date, job interview, and assembly at the UN, should start with a game of rock, paper, scissor, just so you get an idea of who you’re dealing with.

Next time you play, pay attention. What’s your “go to” symbol?
*And if someone pulls out waving fingers and yells fire melts rock, paper and scissors! that’s my friend,  he’s a rascal and a sore loser…good luck with that…and tell him I said Hey!

Xox

So I’ve been thinking…
Have I ever been brave enough to sidestep​ an emotional tsunami filled with mean-spirited accusations and diminishing love that was headed straight for my marriage?

The answer, after searching the archives of my menopausal mind, turning over every rock and remembering the times when the shit hit the fan was …once.

It was one night, inside one fight, but sometimes that’s all it takes to turn a situation on its head and start over. 

I remember it clear as day because my husband and I don’t really argue that much. We bicker and disagree, but rarely does it escalate into a full-blown fight.

This day was different, and the reason behind it was palpable – FEAR.

My store, the business that held all of our proverbial eggs in its basket, had flooded and closed. Insurance was in full jackassery mode, and the situation appeared bleak. Bleak is an understatement; it was a clusterfuck on steroids.

He had been letting me handle most of the fallout while keeping a watchful distance. I was grateful and full of resentment all at the same time.
This was th hardest time of my life. Weren’t we a team?

Our we project in good times had become a me situation now that it was damaged beyond repair.

But to be fair, I hadn’t included him in much of the business set-up. He didn’t know the in’s and out’s of my insurance​ policy, and besides, I had managed to establish an uneasy alliance with all the players so they only wanted to deal with ME. He felt it best to keep his distance and watch it play out.

One evening, after peppering me with questions, those inquiries quickly turned to accusations. I, of course, became defensive. “Oh nice of you to finally join the circus, welcome to MY world!”  I sneered sarcastically. As he realized the gravity of the situation, things escalated. Name-calling ensued; lots of fuck you’s were thrown around — it turned ugly.

“How could you let this happen?” he yelled at me ​as if I could have somehow prevented an act of God. “You said you could make this business work, you sold me a bill of goods, what the fuck happens now?”

How did I know? I was just as overwhelmed as he was except this had been my dream, a dream that was now covered with a stench I couldn’t escape — failure.

Here was my partner, my best friend; how had he become so insensitive? Couldn’t he see I was suffering, treading water just to keep from drowning in despair?

“I won’t cry, I won’t let myself cry” was my mantra, knowing that when I get that angry I can’t contain the tears.

I reverted back to a default setting from my childhood; Stoic Sadness – I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking down. I would not let him know how much this hurt.

The fight was gaining momentum, words were on the tips of our tongues that could never be taken back, hurts leveled that would cut too deep to heal — it needed to be stopped.

I took a good look at him with eyes so clouded with rage it made me nauseous. And that’s when it hit me – I was hit by a thunderbolt of…Compassion.
It forced me to look again, and this time I could really see him. He was scared, just as scared as I was, maybe even more so. Hundreds of thousands of dollars were lost, lawsuits were pending, and his wife was a hot mess.

Something made me get up and walk over to him sitting in his chair. I had no idea what the next moment would bring. I didn’t have a plan. I was “winging it”.

My posture was such that it made him recoil. I remember thinking: that’s funny, he thinks I’m gonna punch him in the face, and let me tell you, his fears were not unfounded. There was a fist and a knock-out punch with his name on it—if I were the face punching type.

Instead, I put out my hand. It was a gesture that only confused matters.

He looked down at it and then up into my eyes.
Did I see…contempt?
I stood fast, my hand extended—this was a matter of life and death — our marriage was on the ropes.

“What?” he looked at my hand and shrugged like a punk.

“Come on, let’s go”, I wasn’t taking no for an answer.
I probably stood there for a good two and a half minutes, hand extended, while he considered the offer.

“What are you doing? Where are we going?” he asked.

“Just come with me.” I exhaled impatiently. Maybe this had been a mistake.

Slowly he rose out of his chair, shoulders sagging, eyes to the floor. His six-foot-three​ frame folded in on itself.

I took his hand, guiding him through the living room and down the hall. “What are you doing?” he sounded like a confused little boy. He wasn’t mad anymore, just worn down, vulnerable.

We kept moving forward.

I didn’t say anything, I wasn’t even sure what I was doing. All I knew is that I was headed for our bed.

I laid down crossways on top of the bedspread, never letting go of his hand. His face read: If you think I’m going to have sex with you, you’re nuts, but that wasn’t my intention, we needed something more than sex could provide.

The bed became a life raft on which to ride out the tsunami.

Begrudgingly, he lay down beside me as I positioned our bodies face to face. When I moved in closer, he moved away. So much for being best friends, we had turned into adversaries​, total strangers whose faces were now inches apart.

Looking at him in that moment, he was not the grown man who had been raging at me just minutes before – I saw a very scared nine-year-old​ boy – and that started to soften my heart.

“We need to remember what we love about each other”, I whispered softly, as I stared into his eyes, digging deep to think of something to say.

I feared he would get up at any moment and bolt for the door, but he just lay there, emotionally exhausted.

Tentatively, haltingly, I began.

“I love your eyes.” he closed them briefly, a long blink.
“I love the way you smell.” I started with the easy stuff.
“I love what a good doggie daddy you are.”

Did he crack a smile? If he had it was gone in a flash.

He wasn’t making it easy, but I continued undaunted for another few minutes until momentum began to build.

“I love your funny French accent.” I was on a roll. “I love how you mix your metaphors ​and invent names for things…like Ricky Ricardo does…”

He interrupted, “I love how that makes you laugh — every time.”

Now we were both laughing. Then he pulled me close, burying my face in his chest — and our laughter turned to sobs.

“I love what a big crybaby you are”, I mumbled into my best friend’s chest after a couple of minutes.

That made us both giggle uncontrollably, like teenagers, and suddenly I felt safe again. I exhaled a huge sigh of relief knowing that in that moment, we were a team again, we had found our momentarily misplaced love, and by the Grace of God – compassion had saved my marriage.

Carry On,
xox

*Holy Crap you guys,
This was a hard one to write and re-live. SUCH a painful time for us. My hope is that maybe you’ll think of this during the next big fight, and take a second look at the person and the situation. Compassion is an equal-opportunity-saver of anything for those who are willing to be happy—instead of right.

I know you guys have turned some horrible situations around by the Grace of God –– Care to share?

Hello my peeps,
I gotta tell ya, I love this recent blog post from Daniele LaPort.
I’m sure you all know how much this resonates with me, being that after five years we’re still paying off the Atik debt,(my business that failed/flooded) and I just can’t hear this enough, and I know I’m not alone.

Take it away Daniele!

“When my first company tanked, I was on the hook for about $150,000. Before I got slammed with that fact, my CEO, who I hired to run the company, thought it best to fire my Founder’s ass. Shortly after they canned me, the whole business fell apart — because you can’t have a personality-driven business without um, the founding personality there. And because, bad karma.

Anywaaaay, I got to sit back and watch them tank without me. Which was only slightly satisfying. Mostly it was sad and crushing. When the castle crumbled, the bank called me for its money. And because I’d co-signed the loan as a “person” and not as a co-founder of the business — I had to pay up, even though I’d been fired months before.

3) I knew that if I actively resented and bitched about those monthly payments, that it would distract me from my own creations. Also, the anger about the whole situation was heavy-duty. And I was done carrying it. So I re-framed paying the debt into a reason to be grateful. Every time that money came out of my bank account I said, “I’m grateful that I have the money to pay this.” And I was. And I let THAT be the lead story.
And then… magically (but not instantly,) on the VERY same day that I FINALLY made my very LAST monthly payment on that bad debt, my company tipped its first million dollar mark — and I did the happy karma moonwalk. Oh ya, oh ya…”

This is a re-tooling of a post I wrote several years ago.

OMG! You guys! I have to tell you that when I made this tiny tweak in my belief about what was possible for me to have in life, well, what a fucking relief!

Here it is in a nutshell: No dream is impossible. There is ALWAYS a way. Some ways are risky, fast and impractical, others take time and careful planning.

The choice is our own.

Everyone will weigh in. Ignore them! Do what feels comfortable, scratch that, I recommend reaching just a little bit out of your comfort zone for your dreams. It makes life so much more interesting!

Take a few risks.
Pick the road less traveled.
Occasionally drink wine before noon.

As my friend, Steph Jagger would tell you “Lift your restraining device and accept the call to adventure.”

And Carry on,
xox

We’ve all been bitten by the ugly green ENVY monster, especially when other people’s fabulous lives are vomited all over social media.
“Where’s my great kitchen?  “Why aren’t I wintering in the Maldives? ” They bought another car?” “Shit, I know that jacket, that jacket costs eight grand!”

Waaaah, Waaaah, Woe is me…where’s MY stuff?

I turned this around for myself years ago and then shared my devious little plan (insert diabolical laugh here) with my husband – who has made it into an art form.

Seriously. He should hold seminars.

When I saw someone with something I really wanted, like a ten thousand dollar handbag, or a Tuscan Villa, instead of thinking that’s impossible for me and turning into a sad sack — I’d sit down and make a plan.

I Could Have That If I Really Wanted It —I’d tell myself — and it’s true.

If I wanted a wildly extravagant vacation, I could sell some jewelry, cash in my 401K, borrow money, even take out a loan. I could do all those things.

IF I really, really wanted it, I could make it happen.

The same is true for almost anything you desire. You CAN have it — but it’ll cost ya.
If it’s a price you’re willing to pay, great! If not, put a picture of it on your Pinterest dream board and keep living your life.

It may still show up!

My friend Alex wanted a husband. A rich husband. So she made sure she was impeccably manicured, coiffed, waxed and outfitted, ready at a moment’s notice to attend on the BEST party invitations with only the BEST  men in attendance. Een though I admired her commitment, I scoffed often at her strategy. It seemed shallow and wildly expensive. She would just smile at me, undeterred. Three years later Alex married a billionaire businessman she met at a diplomatic dinner party in NY.

The bottom line is this — it is a choice. YOU make the choice. It’s not impossible, it just may be impractical, there’s a difference.

Impossible = says NEVER. That deflates me. Like a pair of saggy boobs, it leaves me feeling limp and disempowered.

Impractical Practicality = says MAYBE. It feels hopeful. Like I’m making the better of two decisions.

Sell everything and travel around the world skiing like Steph did sounds crazy, right? Only here’s what she did to make that happen. She did careful research in order to pick the destinations, got a loan on her house (gulp), saved her ass off and drained her savings. When others, like her dad, questioned her sanity, she just smiled the same undeterred smile as Alex. She wanted it THAT bad

Now THAT feels empowering.

I wanted a house which is impossible when you‘ve only managed at the age of thirty-nine to save $1.57.
But I was ready, and it was time. How am I going to make this happen?  I wondered.
I had refused to believe it was impossible, so I made a plan. It actually played out as a mix of practical and impractical. I’d have to bank every cent of my income, adhering to an austerity program that would make the rationing in communist Russia look extravagant.

I’d have to practice wildly impractical practicality for one year — to gain the impossible — and I did.

At forty years old I put all my things in storage, moved into a room at my sister’s with my two cats and saved every nickel I made. I sold watches and jewelry, silver, and anything else valuable that I had collected over the years as an antique jeweler. I also put a large chunk of what I’d saved in the stock market, for the short-term. Very risky, I know, but I made out like a bandit. Impractical you say? Yep. But I was trying to make the impossible happen.

I brainstormed and researched areas I’d like to live in, forgoing my daily Starbucks, nixing the mani-pedi’s, and living on salads made at home. I tried to borrow money at different points during the year, to expedite things and was met with a tight fist every time. That should have discouraged me but I was in so deep at that point it only strengthened my resolve.

Eventually, the perfect house, in the perfect price range, in the perfect neighborhood showed up — exactly one year later, and not a moment too soon according to my cats.

I’ve often found that if you believe the impossible is possible — the Universe provides.

Years ago, my husband was going on and on about a certain car. The car of his dreams.
“Buy it!” I said. “It’s too expensive.” he shot back, without hesitation.

“You could afford it if you sold some things, you have thousands of dollars of motorcycle crap…” he flinched as if he’d taken a punch, “It’s all just lying around, gathering dust. Sell it!”

“First of all, that stuff is NOT crap, and second of all, it wouldn’t make a dent in the price of that car.” He sounded…deflated.

“Yeah, but it’ll get the ball rolling. Put the word out that you want that car, it’s not impossible if you really want it — you’ll find the money.”

He looked at me sideways, but the next day I noticed that his screen saver was a gorgeous vanity shot of that car.
Within a year, he drove it into our driveway.
I nicknamed it The Vomit Comet. Too much car for me. I couldn’t ride in it without getting carsick. Eventually, the bloom fell off the rose and he sold it — and put that money toward the next vehicle of his dreams. He got that car and then realized — it goes too fast, you can never use all that power off a racetrack.

NEXT!  He’s got this down to a science.

NOTHING is impossible. It’s all a choice.

Carry on,

xox

“My drug of choice is love. Sure, I’ve tried other drugs, but no other drug gets both the dealer and the user high from every transaction.”
-Jarod Kintz

You’ll never get an argument from me on this. I main-lined love in my youth. Now I’m content with a slow, steady drip.

Chemistry. Alchemy. “That moment, those goosebumps, that tenderness…”

Sometimes it feels to me like romantic love has fallen out of fashion.

So, I love the words he uses in this piece, and I’m especially smitten by that fact that he admits to craving romantic love.

Marinate in love this weekend my peeps,
xox

I always need to be reminded of this — some weekends more than others.
As a matter of fact, I should just stick this Post It to my forehead where I could be sure to see it all day long…except I avoid mirrors, especially on the weekend…and it would be backwards, so I’d have to struggle to read it, even with my glasses. Bad idea, bad idea…

Carry On,
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 could 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:
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 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 kind of a writer like someone in their eighth month is kind of 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 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, Carry on,
Xox

This essay was embedded into an interview that my beloved Book Mama,www.bookmama.com Linda Sivertsen, did with the author Laura Munson, deep inside a template for writers to use to craft their book proposals.
http://yourbigbeautifulbookplan.com

I’ve been buried up to my neck in this thing for weeks, writing away, but when I took a minute to check this out – I cried. It was first published in the New York Times Modern Love column where it went viral – and got Laura a book deal!
It isTHAT beautiful. And touching, and moving and courageous…and, What the Hell, just take a look, I promise you won’t regret it.
xox

MODERN LOVE
Those Aren’t Fighting Words, Dear

By LAURA A. MUNSON
Published: July 31, 2009

But I ducked. And I waited. And it worked.
Laura A. Munson is a writer who lives in Whitefish, Mont.