awareness

It’s Not Easy Being One of The “Strong Ones”

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Loves,
Maybe it’s the heat or the way the planets are aligned, or the damn solar flares are back, but I have several people around me, strong, capable, overachieving types——who are really struggling. And the very fact that things are feeling unmanageable for them has sent them into a playback loop of Why the fuck can’t I do this? — and I should be able to do this!
It’s like someone threw a Molotov cocktail laced with vulnerability and self-doubt into their lives and they don’t have the skill set to reach out to the bomb squad for help.
That’s where WE come in!
This is a post from back in 2014 where I attempted to explain a little bit about being one of the strong ones and what you can do to help us in a crisis. My hope is that it reaches the eyes it was intended for.

Carry on,
xox


When I walked up to my husband I had tears in my eyes. That is NOT a common occurrence in our home, in our relationship or pretty much ever so he looked at the picture I had in my hand, that I had walked over to show him. It was the photo above. He, on the contrary, is a “major weeper” so naturally, he became a puddle in seconds.

You know why?

We are both “strong people” and no one EVER asks us how we’re doing or if we’re okay.

Does that happen to you?

It’s really not that people don’t care to ask you, they just don’t think of it.

Since childhood, we’ve both known that about the world, so we ask each other with the promise that we aren’t allowed to answer with the obligatory I’m fine if that’s not the case. It’s a no-bullshit zone. Complete honesty is required. We have earned each other’s trust, so it releases us of any reservations about letting our guard down.

We understand that being strong is a blessing—and a curse.

I’ve had some really nasty shit happen to me in my life, and when it did everyone around me just assumed I was going to be “fine”. I always am, so they’re right.
But…

Filled with sadness and rage, (because we know those two always travel together) I have screamed at whoever was in the room, “What do I have to do, bleed? Does blood have to pour out my eyes in order for you to see how much emotional pain I’m in?”

The response was always the same. “I just figured you were okay.”

I love that I instill that level of confidence in people. It must be my stiff upper lip or that ability I have to stand upright in the midst of a crisis.

But please ask me how I’m feeling. Ask me how it’s going, or if I need help because I’m a big girl and I’ll let you know if you have overstepped my emotional boundary, although that’s pretty hard to do.
I’ve talked recently to many other strong people I know, to ask them what they need when the shit hits the fan.

I’m going to give you a few simple steps in my GUIDE TO HELPING THE STRONG:

  1. Sometimes us strong ones, we need a hug. If you’re too uncomfortable to talk to me, hug me. I promise, I won’t ever push you away.

2.  Just a simple “I’m here for you,” when you don’t know what to say to us, is beyond appreciated.

3. We’ve heard “You’ve got this” all our lives, and eventually we will, because we’re the strong ones, just please don’t say that.

4. If we ever get from you the opportunity, willingness to listen, and the space to vent, please let us. We won’t self indulge and stay there long, we’re the strong ones, it just helps us process.

5. We will NEVER call YOU in the middle of the night, that has not been OUR role. WE get the calls. So, if you know something has just gone down, like a death or a huge loss, firing, humiliation, fight, whatever…call us.

If we cry, let us. I promise it’s not the end of the world.
Don’t try to get us to stop, or if you want to help at all —please don’t tell us we’re overreacting. I can assure you we’re not. Not even a little bit. How do I know? Because it’s not our nature.

One lesson I’ve learned: People HATE to see strong people vulnerable. It scares the fuck out of them.

I know for a fact that several of my love affairs ended because I showed vulnerability and upset the dynamics of the relationship. I was supposed to be the “strong one”.

If you’re one of the strong ones I suggest you email this to all your friends and family because I can tell you from experience that they’re at a loss as to how to handle you. And please, if you know a strong one, please take this to heart.

You strong ones, do you have anything to add?
What helps you?

I’d love to hear what YOU think.
Carry on, 
Xox JB

Resting Bitch Face

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The other day my sweet, seventeen year old daughter/friend was relaying yet another episode of the teen-angst drama that is her life.

“Nobody likes me when they first meet me” she said over a ridiculously expensive order of avocado toast (when did that become a thing?) and eggs. Before I could inquire as to why that was the case, she laid it all out for me; and you know what? The more things change the more they stay the same, only these days—they just have better names.

“They say I have an epic resting bitch face. I’m notorious for it.” I could sense her pride.

I stole a piece of her avocado deliciousness and feigned ignorance in order to maintain my highly coveted, second-mom status. “What? What are you talking about? Your face is stuck in a constant state of adorableness.”

But I knew what they were talking about. I’d seen it in candid photos of her. Her resting bitch face could stop a train.

She is a shy girl; extremely smart with a highly defined bullshit detector (which I’d like the credit for teaching her), but when she’s unaware you’re looking; her face says: Keep moving, there’s nothing here for you. You’re boring. Life is boring. Why are you still here?

It keeps away the riffraff.

It’s not just women, my husband has a resting bitch face that he has crafted and honed over many decades. It says: Don’t bother me you stupid person—unless you have a dog, then it can come sit next to me. He has a cleft between his eyebrows that could hold a quarter. He looks like an assassin—until he smiles—then his whole face lights up and gives him away.

Because I know those two as well as I do, I think the sensitive ones among us have the most murderous resting bitch faces.

It’s like the moat around the castle. It takes effort to get in. If you get scared away—so be it. You lose.

One night while sitting around gabbing, a couple of my friends were surprised when the conversation turned to their resting bitch faces. One was absolutely crest-fallen. She had no idea she even had one. But it explained why no one would come and talk to her at social gatherings which had bothered her for years. “I looked over and saw you driving once—honey, your resting bitch face is terrifying!” our other friend divulged with an appalling lack of tact, after too much Sangria.

“Fuck you, I’m a nice person, besides, nobody’s face looks happy all the time” she huffed, not wanting to hear it.

I attempted to smooth things over.

“It’s a form of social anxiety. I don’t think we’re aware of what our faces say when we’re not trying. Kinda like tone of voice. Some people just have a dismissive tone of voice (my husband’s second line of defense, the alligators in the moat). They don’t mean to. They can’t hear it. It’s the same for their face. They don’t mean to be a bitch face—they just can’t see what other people see. I’ve been told I have one that could freeze fire”

“Damn, I was scared of you until I got to know you”, people used to say to me when I was younger—only I was a bitch—and my face was like that all the time so…

Seriously though, I became aware of my own resting bitch face back in the nineties; the decade where I unwittingly scared ALL men and most animals and small children.
One day as I was rushing through the madness that is the DMV, (which is impossible, I just told myself that to maintain my sanity), as I was herded like the rest of the cattle to stand on the line to have my picture taken, the lovely, overworked and highly under appreciated woman snapped it while I was unaware; waiting for her to look up and say cheese or whatever. I heard a click and took that as my cue to smile my big red-lipstick smile.

A couple of weeks later when I received my license in the mail, there she was staring back at me, that holy terror—my resting bitch face—caught two seconds before the smile.

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Yikes! Who was that girl?
She didn’t look warm or approachable.
She looked like she’d jump onto your shoulders and snap your neck with her thighs just for the fun of it.
Maaaaaaybe I could see what people meant when they called me intimidating;
Perhaps that’s why I couldn’t get a date to save my life?

I took notice. Now I paid attention to the feedback I received about my castle/moat energy and I tried to soften the fuck up. It took years. Resting bitch face still creeps in occasionally if I’m tired or around people I don’t know.

Work in progress you guys.

Listen, do you have a resting bitch face or is it your tone of voice? What is your moat?

Carry on bitches!
xox

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Reprise — Not On My Watch, Asshole

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I saw it when I opened the drawer to get my gardening gloves yesterday.

I was cleaning up after the wind. He has made quite a mess in both my front and back yards the last few days. A fine layer of dirt covering every surface. Leaves, twigs, feathers and discarded cigarette butts lay strewn around and piled up in corners.

We don’t smoke.

My Muse does, so I suppose they’re hers. I’ll have to look for the telltale red lipstick.

The wind always does this the day AFTER the gardener comes. NEVER the day before. He has a twisted sense of humor, he thinks it’s ironic.

It always starts the same way. I pick up a stray piece of trash that has found its way onto the porch. I’m usually in my morning get-up of a combination of pajamas, sweats and flip-flops. Next thing I know, it’s four hours later and I’ve cleaned the gutters and power washed the place. I loose complete track of time and ruin my manicure. This time, about an hour and a half in, it occurred to me to get my gloves.

Sometimes I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed.

So…..I open the drawer of a little table outside.
It sits under the dining room windows and contains a trowel, clippers, gloves and other assorted yard taming junk.

And there it was……a perfect bird’s nest. Tucked inside this shallow drawer, next to a box of stick matches.(see photo).

My heart skipped a beat as I just about lost my mind with delight.

The thing is, I collect birds nests. I have a couple of hummingbird and five or six regular ones of various sizes.

I also believe they’re good luck. It’s a positive sign.
Protection…safety…being looked after.
Shit. Who doesn’t want that?

My husband just shakes his head.
Hey honey — Don’t be a buzz kill.

So many things crossed my mind as I gently removed it from its perfect hiding place.
The mama did a magnificent job.

It was big and warm and cozy. It’s a masterpiece, that nest-in-a-drawer. Truly one of Mother Nature’s miracles.

I remember seeing her, this tiny mama bird, outside the window, gathering bits of home building materials while singing her lovely melody. I’ve decided she’s my hero.

I sit every day writing, just on the other side of her temporary home. I could hear the babies. A couple of weeks ago, they were so vocal I went out and looked up in the trees for a nest. It never occurred to me to look in the drawer.

Note to self: I’ve GOT to develop an imagination. That bird has really raised the bar around here.

Two days ago I came across the body of a little tiny baby bird in another part of the yard. It was right under a tree and I could see the remnants of its nest high above my head. That baby had not fallen out. It was pushed. Probably by a crow.

The crows can be jerks. They dive bomb my dogs. I’ve seen them bully the smaller birds.

That made the nest-in-a-drawer even that much more ingeniously resourceful.
“Not on my watch, asshole” was the message it sent.

Don’t you love nature?
Don’t you love tenacious mothering?
Don’t you love gifts, beautiful little surprises?
I do.

This was a great reminder to appreciate the little things in life. If we are present and look closely, they are all around. These tiny wonders.

And….one more reason to love Saturdays.

Xox

Post Script: I’m reprising this post from last May because I opened the drawer this past Saturday to find she had built the second nest-in-a-drawer in as many years.(See below) I’m dying to meet her and take her for coffee. Honest to God, she’s my hero.
Carry on,
xox

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Another giant masterpiece found this week. I am rich in bird’s nests.
(yelp)

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Who Are You When No One Is Watching?

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*This is a Flashback Friday piece written a while ago, about some questionable behavior on my part.

I watched several people walk right by it. I did too. Twice.
Obviously some trash had found its way onto the path and into the planters in front of the door to the Y.

It looked like as if it had made a break for it on the way to the dumpster that lived around the side of the building. It consisted of a few pieces of shredded paper, a power bar wrapper and parts of a banana peel. As I walked around it on my way in, I thought: Gee, someone needs to pick that up.

I’m sure the guy in the way too tight and shiny bike shorts, holding the door for me, thought the same thing.

After my 45 mins of extremely rigorous and effective circuit training (15 mins on the elliptical, 15 mins on the arm machines and 15 mins gossiping with Tina at the front desk)
I sprinted (walked slowly), with Bruno Mars still blaring in my ears, to my car.
When I saw that the trash was still by the doorway, I was annoyed, Jeez, that’s still there? I’d better go tell Tina to send someone to pick it up. And I walked right by.

What.  an.  assbite.

The sheer audacity of my own entitled ass-bite-ish-ness stopped me in my tracks.I looked around. Someone WAS sent to pick up the trash. Me.

I bent down, made sure I got all the pieces, walked back inside and threw it in the can that was next to the door. With my own, two, manicured hands. It took me less than a minute. Probably less than 30 seconds.
Sometimes I just shake my head in amazement…at my own behavior.

Who are we, when no one is watching? Are we assbites that walk by trash, or people in need? Do we turn our heads or pretend we’re on the phone?
Or are we people with some character? I think we can be both.

Back in the day, right after I bought my house, I LIVED at the 24 hour Hollywood Home Depot. I would walk down EVERY aisle like it was a gourmet market. Even the lumber department.

It was dependable, free entertainment, by the fact that it was consistently crowded with a cross-section  of the most unique examples of humanity on the planet. It was the bar scene from Star Wars. AND, they played KROQ, an alternative rock radio station on the store PA after 6pm.

One night (It seemed I always needed a plunger or a dimmer switch at 11pm) in the aisle between electrical supplies and sprockets, was a sharp something or other that hadn’t been put back properly. As I absent mindedly strolled by, rocking out to The Clash, it jumped out and sliced my leg. Bad. Blood was suddenly EVERWHERE. It started to resemble a crime scene and as I looked around for help…crickets. There had easily been ten people on that aisle seconds before, and now it was deserted. Not a single soul.

People freak when they see blood. And a girl in denim overall shorts and Doc Martins hopping on one leg, howling OWWWWWWEEEEE loudly is certainly terrifying, I get it.

They don’t want to get involved.

I’ll never understand that. When you see someone fall, find a crying, lost child, or stumble upon a bleeding new homeowner –– see if you can help.
Be a person of some character. Even if no one else is watching.

Someone must have hunted down an employee, because a guy that looked like my brother, if my brother was COVERED in tattoos and wearing a Home Depot shirt, came to my rescue.
He quickly wrangled the guilty object that cut me back into its cubby, tied a tattered bandana around my ankle and told me to go get stitches and a tetanus shot.
In that order.
He also alerted me to the fact that I roamed those aisles “at my own risk.” Regardless, he was kind as he smiled and helped me back up on my feet.

It was then that my hero appeared. I heard angels singing.

He showed up with one of those flatbed wheelie things, and asked if I needed transport to my car. How chivalrous.

See…now this guy has some character.

Problem was, he resembled a biker/vampire, and I was sure the smell of my blood had beckoned him to my side. I declined his kind offer, and hobbled alone in the dark to my car, looking over my shoulder for a bat, or my scary pale, blood thirsty, knight in shining armor.

With all the cameras everywhere and YouTube video postings, we will all eventually  get caught in the act. But we have a choice. Will it capture us in a random act of helping or hiding? 

Tell me, are you the person that springs to action when someone falls or drops trash? Or have you caught yourself not wanting to get involved? Also, has something happened to you, and no one helped out? I’d love to hear your escapades?

 

Carry on, 

Xox

Authenticity Deficite

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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

Tea With My Demons

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“I’ll know that I’m finally happy the day that I invite the demons knocking at my door to come in and sit down for tea while I take a seat nearby and smile at how old and tired they all look.”

~Marisa B. Crane

Enjoy your tea, loves!

xox

Mark Manson On Life Purpose

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* Happy Saturday Loves!
My sister sent this to me and…I LOVED IT, and I had to share it with you! And I soooo needed to hear it!
I think Mark may be my much cooler brother-from-another-mother.
Enjoy!
xoxJanet

“One day, when my brother was 18, he waltzed into the living room and proudly announced to my mother and me that one day he was going to be a senator. My mom probably gave him the “That’s nice, dear,” treatment while I’m sure I was distracted by a bowl of Cheerios or something.

But for fifteen years, this purpose informed all of my brother’s life decisions: what he studied in school, where he chose to live, who he connected with and even what he did with many of his vacations and weekends.

And now, after almost half a lifetime of work later, he’s the chairman of a major political party in his city and the youngest judge in the state. In the next few years, he hopes to run for office for the first time.

Don’t get me wrong. My brother is a freak. This basically never happens.

Most of us have no clue what we want to do with our lives. Even after we finish school. Even after we get a job. Even after we’re making money. Between ages 18 and 25, I changed career aspirations more often than I changed my underwear. And even after I had a business, it wasn’t until I was 28 that I clearly defined what I wanted for my life.

Chances are you’re more like me and have no clue what you want to do. It’s a struggle almost every adult goes through. “What do I want to do with my life?” “What am I passionate about?” “What do I not suck at?” I often receive emails from people in their 40s and 50s who still have no clue what they want to do with themselves.

Part of the problem is the concept of “life purpose” itself. The idea that we were each born for some higher purpose and it’s now our cosmic mission to find it. This is the same kind of shitty logic used to justify things like spirit crystals or that your lucky number is 34 (but only on Tuesdays or during full moons).

Here’s the truth. We exist on this earth for some undetermined period of time. During that time we do things. Some of these things are important. Some of them are unimportant. And those important things give our lives meaning and happiness. The unimportant ones basically just kill time.

So when people say, “What should I do with my life?” or “What is my life purpose?” what they’re actually asking is: “What can I do with my time that is important?”

This is an infinitely better question to ask. It’s far more manageable and it doesn’t have all of the ridiculous baggage that the “life purpose” question does. There’s no reason for you to be contemplating the cosmic significance of your life while sitting on your couch all day eating Doritos. Rather, you should be getting off your ass and discovering what feels important to you.

One of the most common email questions I get is people asking me what they should do with their lives, what their “life purpose” is. This is an impossible question for me to answer. After all, for all I know, this person is really into knitting sweaters for kittens or filming gay bondage porn in their basement. I have no clue. Who am I to say what’s right or what’s important to them?

But after some research, I have put together a series of questions to help you figure out for yourself what is important to you and what can add more meaning to your life.

These questions are by no means exhaustive or definitive. In fact, they’re a little bit ridiculous. But I made them that way because discovering purpose in our lives should be something that’s fun and interesting, not a chore.

  1. WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE FLAVOR OF SHIT SANDWICH AND DOES IT COME WITH AN OLIVE?

Ah, yes. The all-important question. What flavor of shit sandwich would you like to eat? Because here’s the sticky little truth about life that they don’t tell you at high school pep rallies:

Everything sucks, some of the time.

Now, that probably sounds incredibly pessimistic of me. And you may be thinking, “Hey Mr. Manson, turn that frown upside down.” But I actually think this is a liberating idea.

Everything involves sacrifice. Everything includes some sort of cost. Nothing is pleasurable or uplifting all of the time. So the question becomes: what struggle or sacrifice are you willing to tolerate? Ultimately, what determines our ability to stick with something we care about is our ability to handle the rough patches and ride out the inevitable rotten days.

If you want to be a brilliant tech entrepreneur, but you can’t handle failure, then you’re not going to make it far. If you want to be a professional artist, but you aren’t willing to see your work rejected hundreds, if not thousands of times, then you’re done before you start. If you want to be a hotshot court lawyer, but can’t stand the 80-hour workweeks, then I’ve got bad news for you.

turd-sandwichWhat unpleasant experiences are you able to handle? Are you able to stay up all night coding? Are you able to put off starting a family for 10 years? Are you able to have people laugh you off the stage over and over again until you get it right?

What shit sandwich do you want to eat? Because we all get served one eventually.

Might as well pick one with an olive.

  1. WHAT IS TRUE ABOUT YOU TODAY THAT WOULD MAKE YOUR 8-YEAR-OLD SELF CRY?

When I was a child, I used to write stories. I used to sit in my room for hours by myself, writing away, about aliens, about superheroes, about great warriors, about my friends and family. Not because I wanted anyone to read it. Not because I wanted to impress my parents or teachers. But for the sheer joy of it.

And then, for some reason, I stopped. And I don’t remember why.

We all have a tendency to lose touch with what we loved as a child. Something about the social pressures of adolescence and professional pressures of young adulthood squeezes the passion out of us. We’re taught that the only reason to do something is if we’re somehow rewarded for it.

It wasn’t until I was in my mid-20s that I rediscovered how much I loved writing. And it wasn’t until I started my business that I remembered how much I enjoyed building websites — something I did in my early teens, just for fun.

The funny thing though, is that if my 8-year-old self had asked my 20-year-old self, “Why don’t you write anymore?” and I replied, “Because I’m not good at it,” or “Because nobody would read what I write,” or “Because you can’t make money doing that,” not only would I have been completely wrong, but that 8-year-old boy version of myself would have probably started crying.

  1. WHAT MAKES YOU FORGET TO EAT AND POOP?

We’ve all had that experience where we get so wrapped up in something that minutes turn into hours and hours turn into “Holy crap, I forgot to have dinner.”

Supposedly, in his prime, Isaac Newton’s mother had to regularly come in and remind him to eat because he would go entire days so absorbed in his work that he would forget.

I used to be like that with video games. This probably wasn’t a good thing. In fact, for many years it was kind of a problem. I would sit and play video games instead of doing more important things like studying for an exam, or showering regularly, or speaking to other humans face-to-face.

It wasn’t until I gave up the games that I realized my passion wasn’t for the games themselves (although I do love them). My passion is for improvement, being good at something and then trying to get better. The games themselves — the graphics, the stories — they were cool, but I can easily live without them. It’s the competition — with others, but especially with myself — that I thrive on.

And when I applied that obsessiveness for improvement and self-competition to an internet business and to my writing, well, things took off in a big way.

Maybe for you, it’s something else. Maybe it’s organizing things efficiently, or getting lost in a fantasy world, or teaching somebody something, or solving technical problems. Whatever it is, don’t just look at the activities that keep you up all night, but look at the cognitive principles behind those activities that enthrall you. Because they can easily be applied elsewhere.

  1. HOW CAN YOU BETTER EMBARRASS YOURSELF?

Before you are able to be good at something and do something important, you must first suck at something and have no clue what you’re doing. That’s pretty obvious. And in order to suck at something and have no clue what you’re doing, you must embarrass yourself in some shape or form, often repeatedly. And most people try to avoid embarrassing themselves, namely because it sucks.

Ergo, due to the transitive property of awesomeness, if you avoid anything that could potentially embarrass you, then you will never end up doing something that feels important.

Yes, it seems that once again, it all comes back to vulnerability.

Right now, there’s something you want to do, something you think about doing, something you fantasize about doing, yet you don’t do it. You have your reasons, no doubt. And you repeat these reasons to yourself ad infinitum.

But what are those reasons? Because I can tell you right now that if those reasons are based on what others would think, then you’re screwing yourself over big time.

If your reasons are something like, “I can’t start a business because spending time with my kids is more important to me,” or “Playing Starcraft all day would probably interfere with my music, and music is more important to me,” then OK. Sounds good.

But if your reasons are, “My parents would hate it,” or “My friends would make fun of me,” or “If I failed, I’d look like an idiot,” then chances are, you’re actually avoiding something you truly care about because caring about that thing is what scares the shit out of you, not what mom thinks or what Timmy next door says.

Living a life avoiding embarrassment is akin to living a life with your head in the sand.

Great things are, by their very nature, unique and unconventional. Therefore, to achieve them, we must go against the herd mentality. And to do that is scary.

Embrace embarrassment. Feeling foolish is part of the path to achieving something important, something meaningful. The more a major life decision scares you, chances are the more you need to be doing it.

  1. HOW ARE YOU GOING TO SAVE THE WORLD?

In case you haven’t seen the news lately, the world has a few problems. And by “a few problems,” what I really mean is, “everything is fucked and we’re all going to die.”

I’ve harped on this before, and the research also bears it out, but to live a happy and healthy life, we must hold on to values that are greater than our own pleasure or satisfaction.1

So pick a problem and start saving the world. There are plenty to choose from. Our screwed up education systems, economic development, domestic violence, mental health care, governmental corruption. Hell, I just saw an article this morning on sex trafficking in the US and it got me all riled up and wishing I could do something. It also ruined my breakfast.

Find a problem you care about and start solving it. Obviously, you’re not going to fix the world’s problems by yourself. But you can contribute and make a difference. And that feeling of making a difference is ultimately what’s most important for your own happiness and fulfillment.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Gee Mark, I read all of this horrible stuff and I get all pissed off too, but that doesn’t translate to action, much less a new career path.”

Glad you asked…

  1. GUN TO YOUR HEAD, IF YOU HAD TO LEAVE THE HOUSE ALL DAY, EVERY DAY, WHERE WOULD YOU GO AND WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

For many of us, the enemy is just old-fashioned complacency. We get into our routines. We distract ourselves. The couch is comfortable. The Doritos are cheesy. And nothing new happens.

This is a problem.

What most people don’t understand is that passion is the result of action, not the cause of it.

Discovering what you’re passionate about in life and what matters to you is a full-contact sport, a trial-and-error process. None of us know exactly how we feel about an activity until we actually do the activity.

So ask yourself, if someone put a gun to your head and forced you to leave your house every day for everything except for sleep, how would you choose to occupy yourself? And no, you can’t just go sit in a coffee shop and browse Facebook. You probably already do that. Let’s pretend there are no useless websites, no video games, no TV. You have to be outside of the house all day every day until it’s time to go to bed — where would you go and what would you do?

Sign up for a dance class? Join a book club? Go get another degree? Invent a new form of irrigation system that can save the thousands of children’s lives in rural Africa? Learn to hang glide?

What would you do with all of that time?

If it strikes your fancy, write down a few answers and then, you know, go out and actually do them. Bonus points if it involves embarrassing yourself.

  1. IF YOU KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO DIE ONE YEAR FROM TODAY, WHAT WOULD YOU DO AND HOW WOULD YOU WANT TO BE REMEMBERED?

Most of us don’t like thinking about death. It freaks us out. But thinking about our own death surprisingly has a lot of practical advantages. One of those advantages is that it forces us to zero in on what’s actually important in our lives and what’s just frivolous and distracting.

When I was in college, I used to walk around and ask people, “If you had a year to live, what would you do?” As you can imagine, I was a huge hit at parties. A lot of people gave vague and boring answers. A few drinks were nearly spit on me. But it did cause people to really think about their lives in a different way and re-evaluate what their priorities were.

What is your legacy going to be? What are the stories people are going to tell when you’re gone? What is your obituary going to say? Is there anything to say at all? If not, what would you like it to say? How can you start working towards that today?

And again, if you fantasize about your obituary saying a bunch of badass shit that impresses a bunch of random other people, then again, you’re failing here.

When people feel like they have no sense of direction, no purpose in their life, it’s because they don’t know what’s important to them, they don’t know what their values are.

And when you don’t know what your values are, then you’re essentially taking on other people’s values and living other people’s priorities instead of your own. This is a one-way ticket to unhealthy relationships and eventual misery.

Discovering one’s “purpose” in life essentially boils down to finding those one or two things that are bigger than yourself, and bigger than those around you. And to find them you must get off your couch and act, and take the time to think beyond yourself, to think greater than yourself, and paradoxically, to imagine a world without yourself.”

Footnotes:
Sagiv, L., & Schwartz, S. H. (2000). Value priorities and subjective well-being: direct relations and congruity effects. European Journal of Social Psychology, 30(2), 177–198.
Wrzesniewski, A., McCauley, C., Rozin, P., & Schwartz, B. (1997). Jobs, careers, and callings: People’s relations to their work. Journal of Research in Personality, 31(1), 21–33.
Newport, C. (2012). So Good They Can’t Ignore You: Why Skills Trump Passion in the Quest for Work You Love. Business Plus.

http://markmanson.net

At The Precipice Of Compassion

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*Below is a post by Dr.Lissa Rankin,(I follow her on Facebook).
She is an MD who over the past few years has fully realized the body/mind connection. Last year she became “one of us” in the fact that she had a mystical spiritual experience, and is now in hot pursuit of the how’s and why’s by traveling the world talking and studying with shamans, healers, and the like. She is thoughtful, and wise and full of curiosity, and i really admire her.
When I read this I could think of about fifty gazillion of us that needed to hear it.
xoxJ

Take it away Lissa!

“Think of someone that’s making you crazy.
Now close your eyes and really feel how it feels to experience your emotions around this person. Let yourself really go there. Feel it in your body. Then open your eyes again and shake it off.

Now try something different if you dare.
Think of that same person, but don’t give yourself even an ounce of permission to think of yourself as a victim of this person’s actions or behavior. What if everything that’s happening in your dynamic with this person is perfectly orchestrated by the souls of both of you to help you grow? What if you have, at least on some soul level, invited this person into your life as a teacher? What are you learning from this person- patience, resilience, forgiveness, acceptance, the ability to love without conditions or attachment?

Now close your eyes again and think of this person, but this time release all your judgment and righteousness and call upon every lick of your empathy and compassion.
Can you see how maybe if you were in this person’s shoes, you might behave the same way? Can you try to understand why he or she is how he or she is? Can you feel the opening in your heart as you soften? Touch your heart with your hand. Can you feel it, the love inside, the Divinity within you that is not separate from the Divinity within this other person? Can you open your heart even more and find gratitude for this person, for all you’re learning from him or her, for the blessing it is to have this person in your life?

From that heart space of love, compassion, peace, acceptance, and gratitude, do you notice a difference in how you feel in your body? Do you notice any call for inspired action arising?”

Lissa Rankin

Divine Visitation or Batshit Crazy? What-The-Hell-Wednesday Is Back!

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ME!

I was in the middle of writing today’s blog post, when I received an email from my friend Steph in Florida.

The subject line of her email read: Divinity or Batshit?

When that flashed across the screen of my laptop, I stopped typing (my 17 words a minute) – color me – intrigued.
As I read on, I realized that it would be perfect for another, DA,DA, DA, DA, Daaaaaaa! (Fanfare)

What-The-Hell-Wednesday

Divine Visitation or Batshit Crazy Person? Can they be the same thing?

It seems she’s been visited at work by several “interesting beings” as she put it. If you’ve spent any time in retail this comes as no surprise. The general public is…interesting at best.

Just the other day, during a jewelry repair, a woman spent the entire time talking about meditation and her spiritual journey.

You know, like you do while they’re sizing your ring.

There have been several more out of the ordinary exchanges, but the weirdest one happened just this past Saturday.
According to Steph, a modestly dressed, quiet woman, looked around her store for awhile, until she found a necklace she liked. Steph engaged her in conversation, asking her if she was buying it for a special occasion. The woman was quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time, looking down, deep in thought, then she looked up and locked eyes with her.
Have you ever heard of the Pearl of Great Price?” She asked.
Steph started to make a joke about having much more expensive pearls in stock, (one of the many reasons I love her, quick on her feet…and funny), when the woman caught her even more off guard, “From the Bible” she said, getting intense.
Um…no.”
Here is the rest of Steph’s email:

“Now I’m confused, but I’m listening.
She says that she IS a prophet, an angel on earth who walks with the light of the Lord. She tells the parable of the pearl and in her interpretation the pearl was faith in God and that he “sold all his earthly possessions to buy it” meaning that the man in the parable gave up all material possessions to walk with God.

Okaaayyy? Now I am really confused. Why was this person who talks of giving up material things shopping in a jewelry store? Am I being visited by a divine entity? What am I missing here? As a stand there, mouth agape, trying to process what she is saying…
She goes on to say that she has a letter for Moses who was supposed to be with her here. He was supposed to meet her here. He was supposed to “walk” with her.
(There is no emoticon that can convey my confusion at this point. I am dumbfounded.)
She hands me a folded piece of paper and asks me to give it to Moses.
I refrain from asking “does he still walk the earth?” as a smartass, because I can’t tell if I am in the presence of divinity or batshit crazy.

We exchanged a pleasant “good-bye, be well and God bless” and she left the store.

Since Moses was not available, we read her letter. Immediately, one of my colleagues starts making “crazy” comments, but I just felt sympathy for her. She obliviously believes in what she is saying. It did not seem like a charade or joke. She seemed to be sincere.

Needless to say, the jury is still debating over the possibility of divine contact. My best guess as of right now is a combination of true belief and a little bit of batshit.”

Crazy right?
Yes, I really do live a life where people send me these stories, asking for clarity. Because batshit is my specialty. Well, that and Estate Jewelry, chocolate bundt cake, and divine visitations. Needless to say, they know I’m not going to laugh, I’m obsessively curious, I take nothing at face value, and I’ve probably had something similar happen to me.
It has also been my experience that the Universe uses the disenfranchised of the world as messengers (less filters, no set schedules/obligations).

Case in point. Here is my response:

“All I can say is Wow! And Holy Cow!
I’d love to see what the letter to Moses said.

I don’t believe anything is random or a coincidence, that being said, if your co-workers hadn’t been around you and you could have had a solitary experience with this woman, what would YOU have thought of her?
Divine? Or batshit crazy?

I’m asking because I’ve come to believe that some homeless or seemingly fringe/crazy people are really Bodhisattva’s in disguise.

I once had a kind of, what appeared to be shady/fringe character, come to the Excalibur booth when we were on the dark, second aisle and I had worked there for a very short time. He seemed directionless, asking what I thought at the time were stupid questions: “Are you a happy person?’, “what makes you smile?” annoying stuff like that, all the while intermittently staring at me intensely and looking at watches. Batshit – right? I was alone and he was making me nervous.

He had on a man-purse (before anyone carried one) and when he could sense I was loosing my patience, he opened it, saying he had something for me… and pulled out a white feather and handed it to me. I declined, but he said he was sent to give it to me, so I took it. I still have it.

I think right about that time the owner walked up and said “Hey David” and introduced me to a “dealer” that I later found out was a loaner/free spirit who spent most of his time in Sri Lanka, India, and Burma, trading gemstones.

Five years later when I was going through all that weird energy shit and Terrence, my pocket shaman was working with me, he mentioned The Order of Isis. I was intrigued. (Isis the Egyptian Goddess, not the radical Islamic group – It was 1988) Anyhow, He went on to explain that it was part of ancient Egyptian mystery schools to induct young woman into The Order of Isis before an initiation. 

“Did anyone ever walk up to you and give you a white feather?” he asked, like that happens all the time.
I was flabbergasted as I recalled being handed that feather by David that day. “The white feather is her invitation, her calling card into The Order, now you’re just in the middle of the initiation.”

David and I never spoke about the feather, and I often wondered “why me?” he didn’t go to anyone else’s booth that day, handing out white feathers – just made a beeline to me. (I don’t wonder anymore- I get it)”

When she sent me the letter to Moses, it was kinda out there.
The woman had signed it so I looked her up. She is definitely fringe.
She causes trouble, minor stuff, nothing too major. No Grand theft or anything for Steph to be concerned about. She is around forty, has kind eyes and a nice looking mugshot from two years ago, and get this; they described her as a white MALE.

Aren’t we all going to feel foolish when Moses comes in to get his mail?

So there you have it. Another What-The-Hell-Wednesday. 
Divine or Batshit? Are they the same?
I choose to suspend judgment – I’ve learned my lesson.
Your call.

Do you have any stories for me? I’d love to hear them, you can’t shock me! You can email me at atikhome@me.com 
I’m starting to figure out that ya’ll like to email rather than comment.

Stay crazy!
Xox

The Intersection of Settling And Change

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God I’m late to the party!

Promptly, at the crack of eleven, on January second, I re-emerged back into popular culture. So did my husband. We both got iPhone 6’s (he got the big one).
AND we changed our carrier.

We hadn’t updated our phones in years.
We both had the 4.
Not the 4S.
The 4.
Our phones were glitchy as hell, we were both out of storage space, and Siri was just an Urban Myth.

Why would this be of any interest to you?
Here’s why:
We were both suffering – unnecessarily – and we didn’t even realize how much…until it was over.

Sound familiar? Yeah, I thought it might.

I was positively giddy, showing my friend my new FUNCTIONING phone on Sunday, explaining that I now had service inside my house. We have complained endlessly, shaken our fists to the AT&T Gods and generally become accustomed to the fact that our home is in a “dead zone”.

We had perfect reception, with FaceTime and everything when I was in the deserts of Namibia!” My husband would yell over our landline at the representative on the other end. They assured us they were working on new towers and that things would get better – but they never did.

I know we all have hugely unrealistic expectations of our cell phones these days. We want them to read our minds, drive our cars and find us the perfect mate.

I just wanted to make or receive a call AND I wanted a text to come through at the appropriate time. We have both missed texts to each other, because one of us was at the house. Big stuff. Important stuff. The stuff that fights are made of.

“I’m stuck in traffic, I can’t pick you up, so I’ll meet you there” has chimed through at 8:30 the NEXT MORNING; after a night of hard feelings.

Why, do you ask, did we wait so long?
We were accustomed to the pain and it seemed like a hassle to change.
Right? Simple as that.

It did take over an hour because of the carrier switch (and the fact that my husband doesn’t know ANY of his passwords), but the change in the quality of our life has been exponential.

I’m not kidding.

We had “put up” with such inferior devices, and service, that we didn’t comprehend how much lost time and stress that was costing us.

We had settled for so much less than what was available, just on the other side of the minimum hassle. We felt like idiots.
Struggling, out of touch, Siri-free, idiots.

As I waxed poetic about the upgrade in my quality of life to a friend on Sunday, telling her that I was convinced that this was the precursor to a 2015 free of “settling” and “putting up with”, she just nodded, looking past me, her eyes filled with understanding.
I have a relationship that sounds a lot like your old phone. I get it, I do. I need to make some changes. I think 2015 can be that kind of year for me too.”

I’m feeling so invigorated, I have all this extra time on my hands from the lack of “can you hear me now?” in my life, that I want to examine other areas where the fear of making a change has left me in a less than desirable situation.

I’m going to get rid of all things Atik (my old corporation). This year.

What are the areas in your life that you’re “putting up with?” Where are you settling because changing things seems like a hassle?
Tell me. I can hear you now!
Xox

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That’s me setting up my new phone!

Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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