So, you guys, in the past 36 hours, three of my squad, my spiritual tribunal — Liz Gilbert, Danielle LaPorte, and Marie Forleo, the ladies who I look to to give it to me straight — they ALL wrote or talked about looking fear in the eye, saying “fuck it” — and then moving forward.

Carry on through the fear you guys, (Like Lizzie into the fire, *wink).
xox

Take it away Liz!

Question of the day: DO YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT YOU NEED TO DO?

Dear Ones –
Here I was yesterday in the South Island of New Zealand, where I am visiting my beautiful cousin Melissa. You can’t really see Melissa in this photo (she is the tiny figure on the right) but trust me: She’s here.

Why is Melissa here?

Because four years ago, my cousin quit her good steady job (during a recession, no less!) and left behind her safe and familiar life in her small Midwestern hometown, and moved HERE, to begin a new life, starting from nothing, at the wild ends of the earth.

My cousin didn’t know anyone in this entire hemisphere. She had never before traveled. She feared she was “too old” to change her life. She had always been risk-averse, and the thought of moving across the world was terrifying. But she had been stuck for too long. She was suffocating in her day-to-day existence. She couldn’t take it anymore. She was tired of faking happiness.

Then she realized: “If I don’t face my fears, I will never grow.”

So she did it. She followed some deep, irrational, inner instinct that led her right to this place. She planned to stay in New Zealand for only four months…but she has now stayed for four years. And holy shit, has she grown. She sees this wild ocean every day. She has bungee’d off cliffs, and climbed glaciers, and repelled down mountains, and bought a house, and started a business, and — most amazingly of all — she has conquered her fear of public speaking!
(And oh yeah…she also met and married the love of her life here.)

As Melissa told me today: “I wish I had changed my life earlier, but I didn’t have the courage. I always knew what I needed to do, but for years it made me sick with fear to imagine actually doing it.”
This observation made me think of all the times in my life when I was stuck, and also knew exactly what I needed to do — but I might have put it off for years, because I, too, was sick with fear about actually doing it.

In fact, it made me wonder if maybe we all have some deep inner instinct about our true destiny — about what we need to do next, at every turn — but our fear and insecurity and self-doubt sometimes makes us put it off for years. Or forever.

I do believe that every single time in my life I have ever said in desperation, “I don’t know what I should do!” — in fact, I DID know what I needed to do. I was just too afraid to do it.

And then one day, you’ve had enough.
And then one day — you just freaking go do it.
And that’s the day when the best part of your life actually begins.
ONWARD,
LG

If you need more convincing, take a look at this!

Guys,
This is from the end of last summer, and unfortunately, it’s become even more relevant NOW, (after all of his Super Tuesday wins virtually guarantee him the nomination).

I’ve never been super political, but this is nuts. How did this thing get legs? Somebody explain this to me.

Every time I see the man speak (which is exclusively on CNN at the gym), my blood curdles. It’s a train wreck. I’m truly horrified. I try to face the other way but those are the harder machines and well, I guess I’m not THAT horrified.

The closest thing to an explanation that I got was something I heard on the radio while driving the other day. “People are pissed, they’re angry, and they’re not gonna take it anymore! So they resonate with the meanest, angriest, candidate. He says what they WANT to say”, the political pundit practically yelled at the interviewer.

Even Christie (who’s one donut away from being a nice guy), got all Jersey on Trump’s ass and then turned around and kissed it with his endorsement. What. The. Fuck?

I get it that people are pissed. Some things appear to be in shambles. But you guys, most things are not.

I slept in a bed last night. I have access to the internet. I prepared food from my refrigerator. My husband has Medical insurance for the first time in fifteen years. I’m not running for my life from a ruthless dictator. I’m not a refugee and I’m guessing that you’re not either.

I always say, ‘travel the world and then come back and tell me you hate it here’. Don’t get me wrong, we have some shit to fix, but America doesn’t need to be made great again. It already is.
There. I said it.

If you disagree and you think that Trump is the best man for the job, please explain it to me. Please!
xox

I’m writing a screenplay, and a musical, and what that means besides a whole lot of hair pulling and teeth gnashing is: I have to be able to tell a compelling story in a little over a hundred pages (depending who you talk to), and write dialogue. Lots and lots of snappy dialogue.

Hopefully, I can raise my game and it will be much smarter and funnier than anything I could ever hope to say.

Every day I re-read the pages and ask myself (or the character), How can we say that better?

When you do enough homework on your characters (one year and a half of character development for the play), you can put them in almost any situation and they’ll write the dialogue for themselves while you sit back and take dictation. If I get stuck I’m too much in my head, over thinking things, and I need a chocolate break.

How can we say that better?

Sarcasm is too easy. Irony is sarcasm’s older, smarter brother.

A well-articulated fight scene is better than a simple Fuck you!
Fuck you is too easy. It’s lazy. People want more.

When two characters are able to state their respective points of view in a witty and entertaining way, well, jackpot!
If they stoop to hurling witless insults it bores me, and the next day it won’t make the cut.
Again, it’s pedestrian writing. Much too uninspired.

I’ve started to translate this way of thinking to my personal life. I can’t tell you how many times a DAY I demand from myself:
How can you say that better?

Am I mad; or sad? What’s my motivation here? Do I have a compelling argument or do I just need to eat? Will I lob a Fuck You or will I say what I mean?—You hurt my feelings! Am I being clear or passive aggressive?

The reason I bring this up is that I’m extremely disappointed in the G.O.P. Even more so than usual.

What’s with the huge public support of Donald Trump and why are they backing him by having him at the debate tonight? He’ll bring to the debate what Mike Tyson brought to the Evander Holyfield fight. If he feels outmatched, he’ll get frustrated and make the easy choice—he’ll fight dirty. He’s the verbal equivalent of an ear biter. And he’s incredibly mean-spirited.

He has elevated public humiliation and mean-spiritedness to a spectator sport. People are going to tune in just to see who he will verbally eviscerate, and I for one am disgusted. Do we want a bully for President of the United States?

Does he have a platform? Can he form an argument that doesn’t insult my intelligence? Can he actually debate? My nineteen-year-old nephew could craft a better argument than what I’ve heard from him so far.

In our school debates we would be disqualified if we leveled verbal “low blows” disguised as insults.
We had to know our shit, We had to have done our homework. No ear biting. Mean was not allowed—too easy. You’d look foolish and lazy if you showed up unprepared.

As I’ve watched him spew his vitriol, insulting a war veteran and an entire race of people, just to name a few, I’ve wanted to scream at the television.

Donald! How can you say that better?

Do your homework! Stop being so lazy! Stop acting so banal!
You don’t think McCain’s a war hero? Tell me about your deferments!
Do you want tighter immigration restrictions? Lay out a better plan than having Mexicans build a wall.

Insults should get you disqualified.
Mean spiritedness shouldn’t get laughs. Really people? Humor is smart. Insults are not.

Tonight, Donald Trump will take the place of, and steal the spotlight from another candidate who is articulate and better qualified. Right? I mean, as disenchanted as I am, I’m certain that man exists.

The stakes are high you guys. This isn’t his reality show boardroom—it’s a run for the Oval Office. Arguably, the most powerful position in the world.

Will Trump become the Presidential nominee of the Republican Party? Stay tuned to this developing plot in his latest reality fiasco.

And as sick as that possibility makes me, as a Democrat, I hope so.

Carry on,
xox

This is just…pathetic.

I overheard a woman in Trader Joe’s today and I had to stop and pretend I was looking with great interest at the ingredients on the side of the microwave macaroni and cheese.

Trader Joe’s is an eavesdropper’s paradise. Especially after school gets out and always around the microwave comfort food.

She had a seven-year-old girl with her, Sophie, (presumably her daughter), and she was on her cellphone with someone who, after listening for several minutes to her conversation, is a saint.
Literally.
The Vatican has spoken. This person earned it!
I’m guessing a sister, best friend, or telemarketer.

Anyhow, I was riveted to her rant because the nature of it was well, so absurd — and I could totally relate.

She was going on and on about the dangers of camping. Like her kids were Tributes in the Hunger Games.

Hypothermia. “What if it gets below fifty? We don’t have the arctic down bags, only the light down summer bags. I mean, I could bundle the kids up with hoods, socks, and gloves in their bags…oh, yes, they’ll be in a tent…”

Sand fleas, (so, like the Mensa member that I am (not) I surmised a beach campout. “Sam had bites all over his privates last summer.” Ouch. And TMI.

Fire. “Josh is gonna have his hands full. What if Lizzie runs into the fire.”
I’m no expert here, but I think both Josh AND Lizzie have a bigger problem on their hands if she’s running into fire. And yes, camping could turn poor Lizzie into a human s’more. So, I’m with the worried lady, no camping for Lizzie.

Wait. Maybe Lizzy is a dog. Oh, that’s even worse.

Ocean. “I heard there’s gonna be high surf. What happens if the waves are so big the kids can’t go in the water? Then what’ll we do?”

Oh, I don’t know, play cards or board games, build sand castles, run into fire, you know, the normal kid stuff.

OMG Lady, seriously? You are a piece of work! Oh, and can you talk louder? I don’t want to miss a minute!

But by this time, I’d lingered too long. I was skirting the edges of stalker-ville so I moved on. But grudgingly. I was worried about Asbestos Lizzie the fire-walker.

The woman did leave me with a parting worry as I scurried into the cookie aisle.
“Sophie, don’t run with the pretzels in your mouth. What if you fall and choke to death.”

And…scene.

I’m not a worrier by nature but if I do go there if I start with the “what if’s” then I’m on the train, miles down the track before I even realize it.

And it gets even more ridiculous as it goes along. You know what I’m talking about!

After the 1993 Northridge earthquake, I was terrified to be anywhere besides home (preferably under my bed), in the event of an aftershock.
I could “what if” myself into a full-blown panic attack.

What if I’m at the movies? Dark, crowded, scary as shit.
What if I’m in the shower? Naked, wet, embarrassing as shit.

The one that could send me over the edge was:
What if I’m sitting at this light, caught in bumper to bumper traffic, STUCK UNDER A FREEWAY OVERPASS!
Trapped, crushed, flat as shit.

I would go out of my way to avoid an overpass. If it looked like I was going to be stuck underneath I’d gun it and jump over cars like fucking Vin Diesel. I’d lay on my horn and make people move out-of-the-way. I came thisclose to causing accidents and hurting myself. I was Lizzie looking for fire.

Eventually, (like three years later), I realized that all those “what if’s” never happened and I started to lighten up. But even now, if I think about it when I’m sitting there, it makes my butt cheeks clench.

“What if” is imagination gone awry and once you board that train you may as well find the bar-car and liquor up because it’s nearly impossible to slow down a speeding train.

Well, maybe Vin Diesel can, or The Rock, or that little firecracker, Lizzie. Apparently NOTHING scares her!

Are you a “what if” worrier?  What are some of your best “what if”s”?

Carry on,
xox

Hi Guys,
So, if this isn’t evidence that when you’re hopped up on cold meds, you shouldn’t write your blog I don’t know what is. When I’m sick I should just lay in my sweaty bed and leak snot all over, not write.

Be cool, Achoo! Bless you & Carry on,
xox

My husband is a gem. He is a prince of a man. A tender-hearted soul who adores dogs, good food and anything with an internal combustion engine.
Okay, now that I’ve made that clear let’s get real.
He can also be an asshole.

But, hey, show me the short list of who isn’t.
Plus, I said ‘can be’ —not ‘IS an asshole’.
That’s a VERY big distinction and one that will probably save my marriage.
He has his moments, but then again, don’t we all.

He is also a procrastinator.
Big time. A professional. It is such a finely honed skill of his, refined and practiced all these many years, that he is a MASTER Procrastinator.
He could teach it at the college level.
At Harvard.
Sir Raphael of the Bertolus, Professor of Procrastination.

Now you may be worried that he’ll read this and get angry. He will, and he will — in about a month. That leaves me plenty of time to practice my apology and cook him a nice dinner.

So, am I writing just to bag on my adorable hubster? Yes. And NO.

You see, this is all relevant because he’s surprised me lately. He’s taken on a new “ator”.
He has become The Validator.
Validation is just this side of a compliment, so I think he’ll get to keep his *“I’m a Frenchman, The French don’t give compliments” card.

Just the same, he’s been showering me and everybody around him with the gift of validation and it sounds something like this:

HUB: “I told Matt that I was very happy with the fact that he’s treating himself to a nice, new motorcycle, you know he works really hard AND he takes care of his brother.”

ME: “Wow. That was nice of you.”

The following week,
HUB: “When I had lunch with Peter the other day I mentioned how impressed I am with him. He always seems to make the best, most measured and uncompromising business decisions. He’s a pleasure to observe.”

ME: “Wait, What? You said that to his face? Did he choke on his steak sandwich?”

So, Today…
ME: “Thank GAWD we didn’t run into anybody at lunch. It’s a miracle. I look like a fart smells. I have this cold so my entire face is a chapped disaster, my hair is filthy and I smell like sour feet.

HUB: “I really like that you can go out in public and not care if you’re all dolled up. You’re like Janet—Unplugged. That’s really great because when you DO get fixed up, it’s such a startling contrast that everybody realizes how good you clean up.” (OUCH. And Yeah! Okay, it’s not perfect but I got the gist.) *SEE HE GETS TO KEEP HIS CARD.

ME: You are…that is just so…Was that a compliment? I think it was. No, wait, it was that validation thing you’ve been doing lately.
It needs some polish but I like it!

Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to — The Validator!
Which makes so much sense to me because he is such a silent observer of the human condition, only I guess now he’s decided to offer us all some validation on the wanky-wonky way we’re just trying to live our lives.

I think more people could use validating. Don’t you my beautiful, smart and loyal tribe?

Carry on,
xox

Good morning,
This was a recent blog post by Seth Godin. I thought the ten questions were thought-provoking so I sat down, under the influence of too much cold medicine, I provoked a thought or two and answered them myself.
Plus I added a funny cat cartoon. You’re welcome.

Feel free to send me some of your answers, I’m sure they’ll be better than mine.

PS My fingers are so loopy-sloppy that spellcheck made this page look like it was bleeding to death. Just sayin’
xox

Ten questions for work that matters

What are you doing that’s difficult? (Writing three projects every day, avoiding carbs, wrangling cats)

What are you doing that people believe only you can do? (This blog, the screenplay, the musical, fall asleep on the back of our motorcycle.)

Who are you connecting? (Not who, what. The dots, I’m connecting the dots)

What do people say when they talk about you? (She’s nuts, I wish she was taller and she’s prettier in her pictures)

What are you afraid of? (Drowning and bad grammar)

What’s the scarce resource? (Um, I don’t understand the question, but I’d have to say — cheese.)

Who are you trying to change? (Only myself. Well, and my dog. Oh yeah and men who wear their hair in buns. Please stop.)

What does the change look like? (It looks like a hot mess, then silence, then something a whole lot better than before)

Would we miss your work if you stopped making it? (I have no way of knowing that, but I’d like to think…hell yeah!)

What do you stand for? (I stand for the National Anthem, the right to choose, and never apologizing for being who you are at all times)

What contribution are you making? (Baby steps toward the rise of the late blooming female over fifty!)

Hints: Any question that’s difficult to answer deserves more thought.

Any answers that are meandering, nuanced or complex are probably a symptom of something important.
(Uh oh, Is there a cream for that?)

Carry on,
xox

Let’s be serious here. I think this is a really important question to ponder since I know we all have one. You’ll get what I mean in a minute.

Who is that person that derails you? Your harshest critic personified. Not necessarily just that voice in your head, but an insecurity that has taken on real flesh and blood to become your saboteur.

Danielle La Porte admitted on a recent podcast with Brene Brown, that in the past hers was the Silicon Valley dude who’s sitting in the front row of a talk she’s giving, wearing a $700 hoodie, not giving a rat’s ass about who she is or what she’s saying. “He thinks I’m too woo-woo, too flakey. I can see him and I can tell he can’t wait for me to shut up so he can get the hell outta there.”
Off. The. Rails.
Saboteur 1
Danielle  0

Brene’s saboteur was any academic colleague.
With twenty-something years in academia, she can spot her nemesis in a hot second: Arms crossed with the prerequisite scowl. Academics want hard facts. They want words, no pictures. They don’t trust anything heartfelt as ‘fact’ and vulnerability, Brene’s wheelhouse, is well, it’s better left to Super Soul Sunday — don’t call it hard research.
Big shame happens in that space (another Brene Brown specialty).
Off. The. Rails.
Saboteur 1
Brene      0

Stand-up comedians can tell you exactly where the ONE person who wasn’t laughing was sitting.

Actors on stage have literally stopped the show to confront the guy who’s on his cell phone.

When I’m in the middle of telling or reading a story I’ve written and the listener yawns or sees something shiny and changes the subject, that sabotages me — every time.
Clearly I’m a bore’ I lament to myself. I take it personally. It can be a stranger or my best friend. It is often my husband — It was ALWAYS my Dad.

We all feel like we’re being judged and not only that — their reaction confirms that somehow — we’re not enough.

Brene Brown had a great suggestion. She says to her critic, “Hey, you can look at me however you want. You can judge me all day long. I know you and I know your story. Everybody has a story that would break your heart,” she goes on, “Even the Silicon Valley dude. And then they armor it up. What I’ve learned is to never take on a job or a project JUST to win over this critic, this saboteur.”

Amen sister.

That, my tribe, is the takeaway. Well, one of them anyway.
Don’t waste one moment of your precious life trying to win over the saboteur.

You ARE good enough. Better than good enough, you’re the best YOU on the planet!

Don’t read your reviews, even on Yelp, especially on Yelp, and DO NOT listen to the haters.
Haters gonna hate.

I want to hear from YOU but I don’t want any comments unless they’re nice and by-the-way, I saw you yawning.
Carry on,
xox

If you like writers, and who doesn’t, Check out the Beautiful Writers Podcasts on iTunes, they’re awesome.

Listening and talking to the people around me recently and also, living my own damn life, it is evident we are ALL experiencing this to one degree or another. I love and agree with everything Tosha wrote and of course, I added a few words of my own in (parenthesis).
Carry on,
xox

THE PRE-ECLIPSE SENSE of UTTER SUSPENSION ~ by Tosha Silver

I wonder how many of you are feeling this?
It can be common as we go into the March month of eclipses (the first one on March 8 and the second one March 23). In the 30 days before big turning-point eclipses (i.e. NOW) an eerie ‘anticipatory stillness’ can arrive.

You sense something is around the bend, but it’s not Time yet.
The month before has much to do with shedding, releasing, saying No to those things you know in your heart are neither needed nor right. Letting go of what’s been outgrown, sometimes without ANY idea what will ‘replace’ it. (Deciding what from your past will come along with you into your future — Booyah!)

Decluttering your spaces and your psyche.
(Otherwise known in my house as ‘Hazeling’).
You’re literally making room for the next Divine plan to arrive. You may even feel like NOTHING (Zero, zilch, nada), is happening in your life at all and you’ve come to a total dead end. But it’s like that quote, don’t put a period where god only has a comma or maybe a semi-colon:)

If you’re feeling any of these things, don’t worry! It can very much be the clearing of the ‘container’ before the re-filling which often comes either with the eclipses themselves or in the month or two after. (Not to get too scatological on you but “clearing’ can also look like allergies, a bad cold or a stubborn cough, diarrhea, puking and in other breaking news: dumping the chump).

Even the I Ching has a similar line about the cauldron that must be turned over to be cleaned of ‘the old’ before used again for the new meal.(But leave a little bacon grease, just sayin’).

I am feeling all this so STRONGLY myself. (Ditto kiddo)
All I can say is I just feel so damn grateful to know to sit tight, clear out, get needed rest, keep releasing and allowing, and open to the what’s still unseen but arriving. Actually, often in the month before eclipses, you spend a lot more time saying No than Yes! (You’re actually saying YES to saying No! What?)

The Yes comes later :))

Anyone else relate?

‪#‎ToshaSilver‬ ‪#‎LivingOO‬
http://toshasilver.com

What do you think waits for us in the afterlife?

Being that I was jeweler for over eighteen years, I imagined the afterlife, or heaven, to be the stunningly gorgeous and meticulously curated Jewelry Salon on the ground floor of Bergdorf Goodman in NYC, where all by my lonesome I could wander the aisles, open the cases, and wear whatever the hell I wanted — while wearing sweatpants.

I’ve raised the bar since then.
Now I envision my ass on a motorcycle, riding through some green, hilly countryside on my way to lunch where I will consume copious amounts of warm, freshly baked bread, and cheese stuffed deep-fried zucchini flowers. Oh, and wine. Lots and lots of room temperature Montepulciano D’Abruzzo.

What do you think about this?
In the screenplay I’m writing, one of the heroines of the story (the dead one), paints a picture of a place not too dissimilar to where we are now.

One of the really cool attributes of her heaven, or afterlife, is the fact that you carry around in your pockets some of your favorite snacks. For example, she has a never-ending supply of Fritos corn chips in her jacket pocket, her friend carries with him at all times — a bottle of Sriracha sauce.

I can’t decide what my pockets would hold. One day I’m sure it would be dark chocolate covered… anything, the next day, lemon cake from this little cafe in Italy.

I’m hoping that the afterlife is a place where changing your mind is not only accepted but revered.

THAT would be HEAVEN to me!

So I’m asking YOU, my tribe, because I want more insight into you and what YOU believe,
What does the afterlife look like to you? Or what do you imagine it to be like?
AND, OR, because I know you are not a group that likes to comment,

What snacks would be in YOUR pockets in Heaven?

Thanks, and Love you guys,
xox

“Activate in your mind only the things in your past that you want to see in your future.”
~Somebody Wise

I can’t remember who said this, Joseph Campbell? Rumi? Oprah?
Doesn’t matter. I think this is the BEST advice I consistently forget to remember. THE BEST.

Have you ever thought of someone from your past, a friend, an old co-worker or that crazy-ass woman who used to sell seashells down by the seashore? And then, out of the blue, or so it seems—they call you?

“Hello, Janet, this is Lunatica, I’m down here at the shore and I have some really great overpriced seashells to sell—and I thought of YOU.”

Ah, fuck.

I had an old luvah contact me around Christmastime. But first he had his special-needs little sister feel me out on social media.
Can you say, Schmoe?

He is someone who inhabited that very special place in my heart — the place where people go after they take my heart and break it into a thousand tiny pieces, then grind it down with the heel of their shoe into sand and blow it into my face, blinding me into thinking that I lost something special and precious. And this blind-eyed, bullshit belief caused me great suffering. For years and years. Five to be exact.

You know what I’m talking about.

I had a hard time being objective.

I wanted answers.
I wanted closure.
I wanted an apology.
I wanted a time machine to carry me back thirty years so I could ask all of the right questions I didn’t have the sense to ask at the time — and then I wanted to punch him in his squishy man-parts.

He wanted to reminisce, to catch up. After we talked I was like, “OMG, dodged a bullet!” He was like, “This was great! Let’s talk again, soon!”

Ah fuckity, fuck, fuck me running.

How in the name of God has this happened and what am I going to do about it?

Once I stopped running around with my hair on fire, I figured out that since I’d been in the process of jettisoning a ton of excess jetsam from my past that he had somehow received the unspoken, psychic memo on his way to the trash heap and just like Lunatica, he wanted to say, Hey!

I spent days writing about it. Hours of activating all of those old emotions of loss and heartbreak, bringing them out through my arm, onto the page and right back into the present.

Hello, 1986, I’d like you to meet 2016.

All it made me was more confused. Re-opening a thirty-year-old cold case and grieving the loss of a twenty-three-year-old boyfriend does not jive with gray hair. It just doesn’t.

Don’t I get to choose who comes back into my life to torture me?

Then the older, wiser, part of me, the sagging boobs and soft belly part, reminded me that YES! dammit! Yes, I do!

It reminded me of that phrase I always forget (and the fact that I need to get to the gym more often).
“Activate in your mind only the things in your past that you want to see in your future.”

Ah, fuck.

My wise friend Kim saw me spinning, on fire, and had the decency to put it into perspective for me. “Don’t waste one more minute of your time on this guy. Your life is great. Remember what that situation gave you and move on. Pronto. Like right NOW!” then she shoved a piece of chocolate into my face and gave me a slap on the ass.

That night I made the choice of exactly what I wanted to bring into my future.
I had started my spiritual practice in earnest after our break-up due to the complete bankruptcy of my self-esteem. It set me on my life’s path and brought me to where I am today.

Hey, not too shabby. Resilience, self-worth, ability to love, forgiveness, bravery, self-discipline, resolve. That’s the part of my past I’ll carry forward—the rest of it can go to hell!

When I freed up some emotional bandwidth and stopped the angst over what to do — he stopped texting.

Now I just have to set Lunatica straight.

What part of your past, if any, do you want to bring with you into your future?

Carry on,
xox