awareness

Dear America,

Home of these United States.

Happy Birthday, Girl.

I am eternally grateful, even after traveling the world, make that especially after traveling the world, to have won the cosmic lottery, by having had the good fortune to be born in your golden state.

I have traveled this country, sea to shining sea, mostly on the back of a motorcycle, and I’m here to testify that it really does have purple mountain’s majesty and amber waves of grain.

It is gorgeous.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen the trash, graffiti and poverty through these rose-colored glasses, but by and large, this country is a heart swelling great source of pride for me.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

That last pursuit, the pursuit of happiness?
We are blessed that Thomas Jefferson had the wisdom and foresight to write that into The Declaration of Independence.
No other country in the world gives its citizens the RIGHT to happiness.
Who knows what that means, what happiness looks like?
To them it meant emancipation from British Rule.
Happiness means something different to everyone, but we are entitled to it thanks to that sacred declaration, and by God, we go for it.

The American people I’ve met all want the same things from life: Love and a good cup of coffee.

Americans are hard workers. Some of the hardest in the world – check the stats.

We love our pets
Damn, we love our kids.
We are an irrepressible bunch. We are gregarious, out going and LOUD.

We are innovative, curious, quick minded and clever.
We willingly give directions to people who look lost.
We don’t take NO for an answer.

We are MacGyvers, most of us are industrious enough to fix pretty much anything with gum, a paper clip and dental floss. It’s in the water.

The Americans I’ve met, will help a stranger in a heartbeat. They are generous and kind.

The United States is only as great as the sum of its parts; in reality it is only a landmass with man-made borders.

It is the people who make it great and make me grateful to have been born here. 

(Italy was my first choice, I’m sure, but you can’t get an apartment or pay a bill without greasing someone’s palm AND it has no infrastructure.)

Travel outside the states and you’ll share my appreciation for :

Clean water
Indoor plumbing
Hot running water,
A toilet with Real toilet paper
Things that work as expected
Ice cubes
Cold anything really
Decent French fries
King size beds (not two beds pushed together)
Street signs that actually give you correct information.

7 eleven (the ability to buy tampons or Motrin or band aids at 2AM)

Personal space (other countries don’t have the same personal boundaries we do.)
We were standing in some line in Europe, (where they are big on lining up for things to which Americans would say “No fucking way”) when my husband looked over at me with the saddest mix of incredulity and humiliation. The old man behind him was standing so close that if he even so much as puckered his lips, he would have kissed the back of my husband’s neck.
It freaked him out and he’s French…. So, personal boundaries.

A relatively dependable police force and fire department.
A somewhat workable bureaucracy. (Just try to get your VAT tax back)
Real cabs that don’t have hoodlums for drivers
Soap
Pillows that are thicker than 1 inch.
CUSTOMER SERVICE.

I’m serious, these are things we take for granted that some other countries just haven’t figured out yet.

Happy Birthday America. I do love you. You don’t look a day over two hundred.

My birthday wish for you this day is a big fat cake with tons of candles, heaps of vanilla ice cream, and the most badass fireworks display ever, complete with marching bands and a fly over by the Blue Angels.

Too much? Nah, we’re Americans.

*Addendum: there are some things that other countries do that kick our ass.
My husband was riding in the middle of the Namibian desert last year and he had cell phone service – like four bars – four bars is unheard of in LA.
The electricity was dicey, but he was able to FaceTime me every night.
So, yeah, they’re killing it with cell phone service.

Want to wish her a Happy Birthday? Put it in comments below and I’ll forward them to her.

Much love,
Xox

Today I met a couple of girlfriends for a leisurely late breakfast; I hesitate to use the word brunch because that word implies Mimosa’s and Bloody Mary’s, pots of hot coffee and the fact that it’s the weekend.

This was simply an egg, toast and tofu rice bowl breakfast, sans the alcohol.
In other words, a Monday.

We hadn’t seen each other for a couple of weeks, so there were lots of hugs, laughter, stories, and sharing of pictures on our phones.

One of my friends showed us a picture of the cute rainbow-colored, teeny-tiny little bikini that she’d just had the courage to purchase over the weekend. She is a stunning forty-year-old, who, in my humble opinion should be wearing her bikini to the Post Office and Trader Joes, but this was a big step for her.

No more modest little one piece for HER this summer.
She’s gonna rock a bikini, loud and proud. I applaud her for that.
Here’s what Nora Ephron had to say about that:

Anyhow, my friend had been noticing scores of, for lack of a better word, average women, with their lusciously voluminous bellies and boobies, and their jiggly thighs, walking up and down the beach with heads held high, like they were freaking Heidi Klum, and she thought: Hey, why the hell not?

Why not indeed!

I love what she said next. I think I’m going to embroider it on a pillow.

“If people don’t like me in my bikini, they don’t have to buy my calendar.”

Bahahahaha!
After we all got done laughing our asses off, my other friend told us the story of her holiday a few years back, in Italy with her friend Luigi. They were in some steamy southern Italian city and decided to go to the local beach.

Because it was Italy and you can’t be held accountable for anything you say, eat or do there, she was also wearing a bikini. (Italy is where Vegas got their slogan, I think Marcus Aurelius said it first)

Somehow, she and Luigi found themselves together on a raft, (this part of the story gets murky. There must be one hell of a reason behind this because my friend is not a “share a raft” kinda gal). Anyhow, there they are, paddling around in the warm, deep blue, Mediterranean Sea.

Luigi suggests that they paddle (I’m still wondering about this), over to a small island nearby (what?), to visit a couple of his friends on the beach. As they approach, one of the women, as my friend tells it, literally unfolds herself, slowly moving from seated to standing on her towel.

“Luigi, Mio caro!” she exclaims, waving her hand in the air. She then slinks toward the shore to greet Luigi in a warm embrace. (Okay, now I get it.)

Luigi is 5’3″.

She is 6′ tall and shaped like a ripe pear, with large heaving breasts and curvaceous round hips—all the color of mahogany…oh, and she is topless.

My friend recounted how Luigi’s face was buried in this woman’s smoldering Italian cleavage for the duration of the embrace and no one even flinched. As a matter of fact, all the woman were older, voluptuous, tan and topless.
Mama Mia!

Not a body issue to be found.

In that moment my friend was thrilled she wasn’t all covered up in her chastity inducing, Grandma Moses one piece swimsuit.

OMG! That’s SO Italian! Actually that’s SO European. What’s OUR Yankee doodle problem?

If we’re over a certain age, or don’t have the bodies of super models, why can’t we have the courage to flaunt what God gave us and rock that bikini?

Didn’t the paparazzi capture this picture of Dame Helen Mirren looking fucking awesome in a red bikini a few years back? Isn’t she over sixty? Fuck! I worship her for that.

We don’t have to walk around, with boobs a flyin’ like those gutsy and gorgeous Italians, but some body confidence couldn’t hurt.
I say let’s all get over ourselves, and buy bikini’s, or a least something flattering that plays up our good assets.

Come on, Guys too.
Doesn’t have to be a speedo, but it can be trunks that hit above the calf.
Most guys I’ve met, even if they have a belly, have GREAT legs.
Flaunt um!

When we look back at pictures from twenty years ago, we were HOT and we thought otherwise at the time.

We’re never satisfied, so let’s love and embrace what we have.

I’m not certain I’ll be able to comply. I can’t be expected to hold in my stomach for more than half-hour increments, and if I eat more than one grape, it’s impossible altogether.

But….now I have my new motto:
“If people don’t like me in my bikini, they don’t have to buy my calendar.”

Too much?
Xox

I don’t appreciate being pigeonholed, and I try not to do it to others, but honestly, as we all live and breathe, and the sun sets in the west, I’m an extrovert – right?

Ha! Not so fast.

I took a test back at one of those kookie workshops in the eighties, where the air was scented with sandalwood and body odor, and the leader was a fellow with grey dreadlocks and colored striped gaucho pants. Short Circus pants, really.

Since said test was administered toward the end of a loooooong day of chanting, drinking only carrot juice and nibbling on cacao covered coffee beans ( you can’t make this shit up, it was said to improve our “stamina”).
We were on a twenty-four hour, soul-searching quest to discover our true selves, using each other as mirrors, so I’m pretty sure all twenty people would have pegged me as an extrovert.

I can be a bossy pants, especially back then, when I was living my life as the Divine Masculine.

But the results of the test proved what I kinda suspected.

I’m a chatty, sensitive, loner, spotlight stealing, amalgamation of the two.

An Ambivert (which I thought he was making up, just like the validity of the cuisine he served; but it’s a real term).

Here are a few questions that can help you determine if you’re and introvert or extrovert:

Where do you gain or lose energy? (Crowds suck the life force right out of my husband. Me? Not so much.)

Introverts are drained by people and need alone time to recharge. (Only if I’m around the energy vampires)

Extroverts are drained by too much time alone. They need human interaction to recharge. (Ding, ding, ding, BINGO)

A smidgen of both? Welcome to the club.

See that beautifully enlightening graphic above?

It’s another one of those things that should be hanging in every schoolroom, outside every therapist’s office, in the bathrooms at Starbucks and taped to the front door of every party we attend.

Don’t you agree?

That’s just some common sense, good thinking…but I hadn’t thought of few of them.

Here are a couple corrected misconceptions:

Introverts aren’t just shy. They’re introverts. It’s about energy.

Extroverts aren’t necessarily the best sales people, as is often thought, they can be terrible listeners.

Give this some careful consideration. Maybe, in your haste to judgement, you mis categorized those close to you, and maybe even yourself. I know I did.

Let’s all take a moment of silence, and send some juicy gratitude to Gaucho Clown Pants Guy.

OMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I love when you comment! Let me know. Are you an introvert, extrovert or Ambivert? Did you learn something from that graphic? I did!

With love, whispered from the rooftops,

Xox

*Another unsuspecting victim. Sorry Hillary. Happy Sunday!

Dear Airplane,

I love this arraignment that we’ve all agreed upon.

YOU somehow achieve significant aerodynamic lift; enough to propel us through the sky, from point A to point B, and I sit in my chair in the sky, eating the peanuts, holding the belief that all of that scientific shit is true.

Come on.
Can we cut the crap?

Clearly, air travel is some crazy magic or a freaking miracle.

The sheer accumulated weight of all the passengers and our consistently overweight luggage (I can only speak for myself)
render all that science shit impossible.
Really.

Airplanes work because we all believe they do.

Amen.

*This is for all my friends that are on planes this weekend 😉
Happy Saturday.

Sending miracle Inducing Love,
Xox

“I walk these streets, a loaded six string on my back
I play for keeps, ‘cause I might not make it back
I been everywhere, and I’m standing tall
I’ve seen a million faces an I’ve rocked them all

I’m a cowboy on a steel horse I ride
I’m wanted dead or alive
I’m a cowboy, I got the night on my side
I’m wanted dead or alive

And I ride, dead or alive
I still drive, dead or alive

Dead or alive

Dead or alive”

(From the song Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi /Songwriters Jon Bon Jovi, Richard Sambora. Published by Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC)

Call me crazy, but it seldom, if ever, occurs to me that I could die on the back of our motorcycle.

Jon Bon Jovi wailed into my ears while the sexy, steel string guitar licks washed over me as I hunkered down into my husband’s back, attempting to escape the fire hose strength deluge that had just broken loose from the sky.

That song is always in heavy rotation on the endless loop of music that occupies my mind on these long rides. It’s our anthem. A clarion call from the open road.

I usually murder it, loudly sharing the harmonies with Richie Sambora. “Waaaahhhh teddddd” …but not that day.

The rain came at us in sheets, slicing gray from every direction.
Somehow, it was finding its way UNDER my helmet, making it nearly impossible for me to see a thing. Racing down the two-lane highway in northern Montana at 60 miles an hour wasn’t helping.

The storm had left us no choice.
We were half way through another three hundred mile day of a 4500-mile loop.

LA to Glacier Park and back.

That day we were trying to make it through the Blackfeet Indian Reservation to St Mary’s at the base of Glacier Park. About as far north you can go and still remain inside the US.

The rain had stayed away… so far, which is why we take our longer rides in September; the weather tends to be reliable. Little did we know that this was an early start to one of the wettest, snowiest, coldest winters on record. The “Polar Vortex” winter of 2013.

I heard the weather warnings on my way back to the bathroom at the rickety little joint where we had stopped for lunch. They crackled from the ancient portable radio that wore a coat hanger as a hat and was sitting on a chair in the bar. That sinister weather alert tone followed by the robotic voice that droned on and on, full of dire predictions.

Our guys got out the maps and basically informed us that we had no choice but we still took a vote—we’re democratic that way.

The vote said GO but go NOW!

The storm had used the morning to turn into a motherfucker.
Barreling across the plains, the ominous, dark, ground level clouds and distant thunder felt like a herd of stampeding black horses rolling in behind us, giving chase.

“It’s all the same, only the names have changed…”

In my imagination, as we rode the eight to twelve hours each day, WE were part of that wild herd.

A couple straddling the back of a wild stallion.

Cherokee, Apache, Navaho, Sioux, it didn’t matter. We were feral; mad with love and wanderlust, wildly riding the Great Plains bareback, looking for the next great adventure. Our deep brown skin glistening in the sun, our long black hair whipping in the hot Montana wind. That was the spirit of who we were then….and who we are now.

“I’m a cowboy on a steel horse I ride.”

The four of us were determined to outrun it. We were convinced we could.

I’m tellin’ ya, we’re badass.

Have I mentioned yet that I’m riding on the back of my husbands BMW 1200GS Adventurer, and we are accompanied by our trusty fellow riding couple, JT and Ginger? After meeting them in Spain in 2005, we have ridden the world with them.

I’ve been writing this blog since November 2012. Almost two years.
Up until this past September, it was NOT in my own voice.
I was too timid to come out of the shadows. A spiritual coward (my own label).
It was your run of the mill, generic, spiritual wisdom.
No humor. No personal stories and definitely NO F-bombs.

I know VERY few of you were readers back then. I know that because I had 23 followers, all friends, and family who were kind enough to hit follow after I sent them the I have a blog email.

Back to Montana and that freaking storm.

I wrote what happened next in Total Loss of Control (it’s in the archives).
We narrowly escaped being killed by a passing truck.

“Dead or alive”

But this post isn’t about that, it’s about what happened afterward.

Something did die that day. The part of me that wanted to remain in hiding.

When I checked in with the Muse that night to write the blog, I suggested like an idiot, that she might want to write about the harrowing experience of earlier that day.
You know, find the message in the mess. Here’s how the conversation went:

Me: Hey, you should really write about me almost dying today, that was pretty intense.

Muse: You write about it.

Me: Well, I don’t really write this stuff in my own voice. I just kind of download the wisdom and give it my best shot…but I think there could be some really good shit in that story.

Muse: It didn’t happen to me. I happened to YOU. YOU write about it.
How you felt, your thought process...

Me: Uh…yeah, here’s the thing..I don’t write.

Muse: Don’t interrupt me.

Me: Sorry.

And that’s when I started writing in my own voice, with my own personal stories and my “take” on things.
I even apologized in the first few posts.
“Oh hi, sorry, it’s just me here again”

Lame.
Timid.
Living small.
As far from courageous as you can get.
Shirking all responsibility.
Impersonal.
Total lack of vulnerability.

“I play for keeps, ‘cause I might not make it back
I been everywhere, and I’m standing tall
I’ve seen a million faces an I’ve rocked them all”

I can’t see your faces….but I know you’re there. I can feel you.
There’s so many of you now, and if I look at the analytics, you all started to read from September to today. When I started to write.

Changed my life.

Thank you. You keep me pure and true and courageous.

Much love and appreciation,
Xox

What do you think is the easiest ways to gather metal shavings?
Broom and dustpan? Windex and a paper towel? Magic wand?
How about a magnet?

Now apply that to gathering the right people for your new project.
Attracting the right partner.
Magnetizing money.

That’s right. Become the magnet.
Magnets have the ability to either attract or repel.
You know that guy at the office that you just can’t stand to be around? You are energetically repelled; so be prepared to say no when he asks you out…because he will.

Opposites may attract; but only for a short time, you just can’t override physics.

So, how do you become Magneto?

Here’s a trick I use.
I’ve done it since the 70’s, using it to help humanity by drawing in better fashion and hairstyles.

I imagine in my mind’s eye all the projects and people who I admire.
These days it would be:
Brene Brown, Liz Gilbert, Anne Lamott, Maire Forleo, Richard Branson, Daniele LaPorte.
The TedTalks, Hay House Conferences, OWN Network. Various Writing and Philanthropic groups.
All the big publishing houses, filled with their über creatives.
The smaller publishers hungrily looking for talent.

Then I bless them all. I send them love and light.
I imagine myself in their company. I belong there. I am their peer.

As I do that, I imagine the rearrangement of my molecules.
They become charged to the same frequency as the things I am imagining, and the metal shavings start their slow dance in my direction, so to speak.

Shipping containers, cars and refrigerators start flying my way…..Kidding.
(How cool would THAT be?)

But it’s fun to imagine being magnetized so that you can attract to you the people and circumstances you desire.

It’s my own personal super power.
I used it to attract my husband. Shhhhhhhh, he doesn’t know. Let’s just keep that between us.

I KNOW energy can do that.

It delivers control of the seemingly random aspects of life back to us.

You gotta love that.

I do this while I fall asleep, in the car, (no,no, not at the same time), walking the dogs and at the gym. Basically any time I don’t want my mind to wander into the minefield of my negative thoughts and doubts.

Give it a try for fifteen days.
Then report your results back to me.
Much love,
Xox

Several of you have been lamenting lately about the fact that you’re having trouble finding gratitude these days. You’ve looked over every rainbow and things still look like shit.

Does that happen to me? Um…..hell yah.

There are days when saying “I got up on the wrong side of the bed” is a colossal understatement. They can happen in succession, which then becomes known as “The Week From Hell” to myself and anyone who breaths my air.

I am to be avoided at all costs.

On those days, I can ONLY tell the cold, hard truth, and if “you can’t handle the truth,” as Jack Nicholson so famously snelled (which is a sneer and a yell) to Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men, don’t call me or come over. Don’t ask me if your butt looks big in those jeans, if your bangs are too short or if I like your new boyfriend.

Really. I won’t be kind.

On those days the “truth” as I see it is tragically skewed.

All my eyes can register are the flaws and fuck ups in life.
Not the big heavy, real stuff. Those things are glaringly evident.
I’m talking about finding fault with the little shit, and the way those things can pile up and send you over the edge.

We’ve ALL had those days.

A beautiful table, but I can only see the tiny scratch.
My husband comes out in a new shirt he loves; I zero in on a loose thread and a possible stain.
My hair is too soft. (What?)
Why isn’t it hotter/colder?
Why are they always out of my favorite _________?
The garden looks okay, but why aren’t there more roses? There are usually more roses this time of year.
And on and on and on.

Yep, I do that.

Those are the days when I have to literally force myself to practice gratitude.

I do practice gratitude on a pretty regular basis. I teach it after all. I send a daily gratitude text to friends and I write a list, because I know I have a ton to be grateful for.

But…..some days. I have appreciation for nuthin‘.

So a month or so ago, I remembered an old exercise that I used to use, and I thought I’d start again, so that the next time I felt I was grappling with gratitude, I could stop and be reminded. Sometimes I just need a physical anchor to my practice, otherwise it gets too airy fairy and I won’t do it.

It’s simple and easy, and it works.

Here goes:
Get a stone or rock. Something you’ve collected or something from around your environment. It can even be a crystal or your Maya heart stone (wink).
The point is, it has to feel good in your hand.

Kept it next to your bed, and before you go to sleep, think back to the BEST thing that happened to you that day. Hold the stone while you replay how good that experience felt.
Wallow in it.

Then say Thank You to this thing for making your day.
Really say it all the way from your big toe.
Three times usually does it for me.

If things are going well in your life, you’ll know exactly which thing to dwell on. There may even be a few. (Lucky you).
But when you have to rack your brain……..Awww man, I feel ya, it sucks, but this is an important exercise to give you some impetus toward the turn around.

I know it’s hard when you’re not in a good place, so it can be stuff like:
The sweet relief of getting off work.
You got your period.
Realizing you had fifteen more minutes to sleep.
The cleaners was still open when you got there.
Your boss is on vacation.
There was an extra roll of toilet paper in the cabinet.
They got your lunch order right.
Your car started.
Your coffee was hot and how you like it. (Along with that, the barista actually wrote YOUR NAME not some bastardization of it on the cup.) I’ve been Hammit, Jammit, Jnae? , Jane T. , Jana, the list goes on. Some funny, some not so much.

You get the gist.

Feel the gratitude for the mundane things that DO go right.
Get your bearings.
Give up your quest for the flaws.
Search for the BEST thing.
Anchor how good that feels onto that stone.

The energy of gratitude feeds on itself. It will give you more and more things to be thankful for. It’s really crazy how magical it is.

But some days you’ll need the stone staring at you on the nightstand to remind you, and you’ll have a tinge of gratitude for me ( wink, wink).

Then go to sleep knowing you’ll have a better tomorrow.

Sending love,
Xox

“I want to live my life in such a way that when I get out of bed in the morning, the devil says, “aw shit, he’s (she’s) up!” 
― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

I can feel it. The dry wind and rolling tumble weeds of change signal it’s departure.
Like a ghost town in an old John Wayne western, the town of Smallville is fast becoming deserted.
It wasn’t a bad place, there was simply no room to grow.

One by one, its inhabitants are leaving their old, timid and fearful ways behind and hitching a ride out of town.
They are breaking old habits, daring greatly, and living LARGE.

The part that has floored me is that it’s happening so fast….to so many.

Here are the tales of just three:

One of the residents of Smallville took a consulting job recently at an hourly rate in the three figures. She was approached because of her level of expertise and honesty. It doesn’t interfere with her day job since it was arranged to be done on her free time.
She has previously been approached but never agreed to do this. The townsfolk of Smallville had convinced her she wasn’t an expert, and that she didn’t deserve that kind of money.
But she’s grown so much and is now very aware of her worth.

She’s gonna have to look for new digs, the fit is wayyyyyyy too tight for Smallville.

Another resident also did something she’d never done before.
I’m telling you, THAT is when you can call the moving van to whisk you the hell out of Smallville.

She flew to another city for the weekend for classes that will take her to the next level of certification in her field.
Not bad for an already successful forty something woman.

She’s kicking ass (and tumble weed) and taking names on her way out of town.

“Live your truth. Express your love. Share your enthusiasm. Take action towards your dreams. Walk your talk. Dance and sing to your music. Embrace your blessings. Make today worth remembering.” 
― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

Then there is the story of one of Smallville’s life long inhabitants.
I don’t think she’d mind me saying that.
She’s played it safe, making sure she wasn’t too loud or too bright along the way. She tried not to rock too many boats, because when she had in the past, other people had problems with the choppy seas.

But she’s over sixty now, and as the world is fast finding out, you can’t keep a wise woman (with the winds of maturity and bravery at her back) down.

She is using her beautifully strong voice, fueled by integrity, to rally her community for a noble cause. She is taking a stand, as others around her are too scared to speak up.
This is very unlike her, so it is the first time for such a courageous act.

Last week she was on the front page of the paper in a large metropolitan city. (I know!)

The picture shows her, like an Amazonian Guardian of the Gate, standing firm but feminine in her conviction of the cause.
Not only has she outgrown Smallville, I’m not certain if her huge city can contain her now.

Too-da-looooooo Smallville!

“The Bhagavad Gita—that ancient Indian Yogic text—says that it is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else’s life with perfection. So now I have started living my own life. Imperfect and clumsy as it may look, it is resembling me now, thoroughly.” 
― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

How are you living small? Are you ready to leave Smallville? I know you have ideas. Tell me how.
I’d be so happy to hear about it below!

*Welcome to the tribe Mauritius, you crazy little island nation, you. I had to look you up. Aren’t you a beautiful place?! Thanks for following.

Much love,
Xox

“Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us.  Between the two stands Resistance”
~Steven Pressfield “The War of Art.” 

“The War of Art” is one of my all time favorite books on creation, life, love and well… what else is there?

In my humble opinion, it should be a textbook in every school, on every hotel nightstand, next to the Bible, and reduced to liquid form and added to the water supply.

Beyond what the title implies, this book is not strictly written for artists and writers.

As you’ll glean from the list below, Resistance isn’t particular about which endeavors it sabotages. The only thing they have in common is our desire to become fully realized. Whether that be through artistic pursuits, the Paleo diet, Fab Ab Bootcamp, that non-profit you want to start or marrying Scooter.

Up until Steven set us straight, we thought we were all just dumbass, procrastinating losers.

Nope, that’s just Resistance talking smack and taking the wheel, leaving us eating its dust and only dreaming about our unlived lives.
It will always stand in the way of our growth.
It’s a law; like gravity. That explains sooooooooooo much.

Assbite.

But…what I know for SURE….Resistance only has the power WE give it. 

“The following is a list, in no particular order, of those activities that most commonly elicit Resistance:

1) The pursuit of any calling in writing, painting, music, film, dance, or any creative art, however marginal or unconventional.

2) The launching of any entrepreneurial venture or enterprise, for profit or otherwise.

3) Any diet or health regimen.

4) Any program of spiritual advancement.

5) Any activity whose aim is tighter abdominals.

6) Any course or program designed to overcome an unwholesome habit or addiction.

7) Education of every kind.

8) Any act of political, moral, or ethical courage, including the decision to change for the better some unworthy pattern of thought or conduct in ourselves.

9) The undertaking of any enterprise or endeavor whose aim is to help others.

10) Any act that entails commitment of the heart. The decision to get married, to have a child, to weather a rocky patch in a relationship.

11) The taking of any principled stand in the face of adversity. (Pam, wink)

In other words, any act that rejects immediate gratification in favor of long-term growth, health, or integrity. Or, expressed another way, any act that derives from our higher nature instead of our lower. 

Any of these will elicit Resistance.

Excerpt From: Steven Pressfield & Shawn Coyne. “The War of Art.” Visionary Press, 2012. iBooks. 
This material may be protected by copyright.

I’d LOVE it if you’d tell me: 
What beautiful thing has Resistance been talking you out of doing?
Do you agree that we have two lives, the one we live and the unlived life?
Much O love O
Xox

This small but mighty book is one of my most treasured, dog eared, highlighted, tear stained “nightstand nuggets.”

I can ALWAYS use a reminder.

Many blessings on this beautiful summer Sunday.

Much love,
xox