awareness

Racing around today, attempting to get things set up for Thanksgiving, I had to stop and remind myself what this day is all about.

It is not about finding seven matching dining chairs – it is about gratitude.

Gratitude for the blessings we have already received – and the ones that are on their way.

So I just jotted down the first three that came to mind:

Turkey basters – For the obvious, once a year reason; and also for their myriad of other uses including: getting the leftover water out of the Christmas Tree stand before you drag it across the room and out the door to the curb. ( Which BTW is one of the saddest days of my entire year, it makes me tear up just thinking about it)

Candles with wooden wicks – LOVE. I’m so sick of burning my fingers, fishing a traditional wick out of hot wax. Many a perfectly good candle has been thrown (out) due to wick drowning. And along those lines, drip-less tapered candles. SO GRATEFUL. If you’ve ever had to use a hot iron to get the wax out of your tablecloth, then you know what I mean.

Tweezers – For my migrating chin hair. Hey, maybe you guys know – Does Makita make tweezers? The hair on my chin/jaw/nose now has the gauge and strength of copper wire.

Okay, so I went first, now YOU go!
Give me three things you’re grateful for.
Come on! You can think of three.

Leave them in the comments below.

PS. Don’t be shy, nobody looks at the comments but me.

Don’t let this kid “one up” you!
Xox

Late one night last week, our dog, a nine year old boxer, startled us all awake…

The puppy heard it before anyone. She brought it to our attention by running around the bed, her nails tapping out a sort of morse code S.O.S. on the wooden floor. She may be young, but she’s resourceful.

It was 3 am. My husband got up and went to look into the old girl’s cubby in the wall, her virtual cave of a bed, to see what was what.

Querida (Dita for short) was thrashing around, on her back, legs in the air, doing the cartoon run for her life. You know, the one that gets you nowhere.

I could hear her wild breathing – the snorts and hoarse panting. It sounded like she was in the fight of her life with an invisible foe. Come to find out she was battling her own demons.

It appeared (as reported by a somewhat reliable source, my husband) that Dita had somehow become wedged between the wall and her down filled, hotel bed quality, better than any dog deserves – cushion. A crevice had opened during the night, and while she lay unaware, peacefully dreaming her sweet doggie dreams, it had swallowed her whole.

He reported that she looked like a bug on it’s back, struggling to right itself, only problem was – she was uncomfortably wedged until he was able to free her.

When he pulled her out of what I’m sure seemed to her to be a deep, dark, Grand Canyon sized chasm, my girl tried to shake it off.
She paced; wandering around our dark house, going in and out of every room, as if searching for her lost car keys. Several minutes later I heard her take herself, in her adrenaline infused stupor, outside to pee, after first tussling with the doggie door. I think she just needed the cool, fresh air.

Her breathing was rapid, she was panting, her little heart running a marathon.

As I watched my dog use the ancient instinct she was born with to navigate the terror inside that dark and twisted place that was her mind – I had a realization.

Through some fluke of nature, some law of weird science, Dita really IS my daughter, because here it is 3 am and she is having a panic attack!

Panic attacks used to be my wheel house, I know them well. Boy, could I relate.

Curiously, our attacks were identical, the reactions the same – an instinctive, primal, repetitive dance of self preservation.

I too have woken up flailing like a bug on my back, my brain convincing me of my imminent demise after falling into an invisible abyss. I too have walked the halls, alone, searching for comfort, my hand feeling its way in the dark, touching old wood in the hopes of grounding; soaking up its familiarity. I have not gone outside to pee, (there but for the grace of God), but I have spent the hours just before dawn shaking in the bathroom; waiting for my heart to stop racing.

And it is ALWAYS, without FAIL, 3 am(ish). WTF?!

Have you ever had an anxiety or panic attack? If you have you know what I’m talking about. I would not wish them on my worst enemy. On those unfortunate souls I wish a bad perm and severely chapped lips. Anxiety attacks, in my opinion, are somewhere along the lines of emotional water boarding.

They are torture.

Mine felt like a cross between a heart attack, loosing my mind, and being chased through the streets by a Velociraptor. My heart would beat out of my chest, while an elephant or two pulled up a seat right there and got comfy.
I would obsess on my breathing and start sweating, gasping for air – fight or flight in all it’s glory.
The sky appeared to be hung too low, making me feel like Chicken Little.
My sanity seemed elusive, my thoughts raced.

I have actually looked at myself in the mirror and not recognized the person behind my eyes.

Sometimes it would be preceded by a stressful situation; but often times not. Hence waking up in a full panic for no apparent reason; which just added confusion to the already fear infused emotional cocktail that was messing with my head.

Why me? Why now? When will it end?

I watched my poor pork chop of a boxer (she’s not fat, just thick in the middle, from age – again like her mother) try to navigate her fear, struggling to maintain her sanity. She had believed the story her mind was telling her, and THAT’S when the terror took hold.

She believed she was trapped ( huge anxiety trigger) and it caused her to hyperventilate (classic step two of panic attacks) which then convinced her she was going to die.

So she did what you do in that situation. You flee, you run, you take a walk, you look for someplace that holds comfort for you – you do whatever it takes to gather your wits.

Once we figured out what was happening, which took us awhile because we were all so groggy (except for the puppy, who thought being up in the middle of the night warranted popcorn, bad TV and a pillow fight) we brought her up onto the bed with us; disoriented and frantic.
Because isn’t that the final solution you come to after you’ve worn out all the other options? That you must eventually find your way back to bed?

Elizabeth Gibert wrote about just that in Eat, Pray, Love.
After spending hours crying on the bathroom floor, begging for mercy from her emotional pain; a voice in her head answered her prayer for guidance, “Go back to bed Liz” was it’s simple directive.

Since Dita was too scared to go back to her own bed, ( do you blame her? It had tried to eat her alive.) I knew the next step – she had to come up with us. (I would have crawled in bed with my parents during my attacks – if I’d lived at home and wasn’t 25, 35, 40.)

With one hand on her head, I laid there deep in thought, realizing that her fear had been as baseless as mine all those years ago.
She was fine. It was self invented – self inflicted.
Easy for me to say from where I sit NOW, but it’s true.

Her mind presented false evidence that appeared real. FEAR.
With hindsight I could see that mine had been just as ridiculous.

After another fifteen minutes she took a deep, calming breath; settled down, and fell asleep. My husband and I then took a turn, each taking our own deep breath – filled with relief.
I continued to stroke her graying, velvet ears, listening to her softly snore.

I’m happy we could help her.
Because of my (our) familiarity with this kind of behavior, we had kept the lights off and stayed calm, talking to her softly, petting and kissing her face. We hadn’t shadowed her, following her from room to room, asking her what was wrong. That would have made her feel more anxious. Animals can sense energy, they can feel your fear.
No, we did all the things I’ve learned in order to calm myself when I’m in the midst of an anxiety attack; slow, deep breaths, remaining calm and finding a place to feel safe. Apparently that works for people and dogs.

If I can tell you one thing, it’s that she is fortunate to be a dog. With a minimum of baggage, and tons of good canine instinct, she was able to calm herself in a little less than an hour. That makes her my hero; I only wish I’d been that adept.

Yep, she’s my fearful, furry daughter and clearly I’m her mom.

Happy Sunday!
Before you go to yoga, before you have your coffee, let Jason Silva Streeeeeeeetch your mind first. It’ll feel good, I promise.

You’re welcome.
xox

DON’T BECOME A MUSEUM TO GRIEF

Isn’t that a powerful phrase? A museum to grief?

Below is a new post by Liz Gilbert. But first let me say: I’m a HUGE believer in getting rid of the past – I even lit mine on fire and did a tribal dance. Here’s a little story about clearing out my own Museum to Grief in a short excerpt from
“Want A Man? Make A List.”-

“I thought it would be a good idea at the time, to take all of my ex’s cards, notes, mementos, pictures, and poems – and burn them.
I would then scatter the ashes to the wind, giving the Universe a smoke signal, making it clear that there was now a boyfriend void to fill.

With my right shoulder cradling the phone, I took Wes (my BFF) outside with me, along with my box of memories and a lighter.
It was about 8pm – cold, dark and lightly drizzling, which I thought was a good sign. I put everything on a large stone, in the middle of my wet patio and lit it up. In a couple of minutes, there was a good little fire going, and I watched our smiling faces and birthday cards filled with his once loving words, melt before my eyes. Trouble was, a significant breeze had picked up, and started swirling a small tornado of embers all around me. I was screaming, trying to get away, but the lost love delivery system, disguised as burning memories, was in my hair, my face, and my mouth and burning tiny holes in my flannel nightgown! All the while, Wes was laughing hysterically in my ear!”

Here is Liz’s story-

“Dear Ones –

ONWARD,”
Liz

PS. I just read that a woman threw her old, dark, memories in the compost pile – and used it to grow amazing tomatoes! Gotta Love that. Do whatever it takes. Be creative – then tell me about it.

xox

“We have perfected the attitude of worry. If we don’t have something to worry about, that worries us.”—Michele Longo O’Donnell

Stress is a thug and a thief.
It’s a thug because it has such little regard for our well being, and a thief because it absconds with BIG chunks of our time.
They add up.

Stress, that jerk, has looted years of accumulated hours from my life.

So I have no problem giving stress the finger, whenever I can.

I take great glee in pissing it off.

Here are the top ten things that piss-off stress.
Practice them wisely…..and often.

1) Rest.
Stress HATES when we’re well rested. We make better decisions, we’re on our game and less likely to muck things up.
Naps, long weekends and vacations are its Kryptonite.

2) A Sense of Humor/Laughing.
Have you ever tried to laugh while completely stressed out? A real, deep belly laugh? It’s almost impossible. It’s akin to keeping your eyes open when you sneeze. The two CANNOT co-exist.

3) Asking for help.
Stress can’t stand it when we realize our limitations, delegate and ask for help. It needs a frazzled, over extended, perfectionist, control freak as a host. Calling in the Calvary BEFORE you’ve reached your wit’s end, sends stress the silent Jedi signal: This is not the droid you’re looking for.

4) Believing you have enough.
If you believe you have enough time, money, resources, help and happiness, you will be invisible to stress. It will pass your house and go torment your neighbors.

5) Exercise.
Yes, it is possible to outrun stress. You can outrun it on the treadmill, or with the dogs at the park. Once that heart rate goes up and those endorphins kick in, stress will NOT be able to keep up. Stress carb loads; it always goes for seconds, eats peanut butter out of the jar with a serving spoon, and parks illegally in the handicapped space, so it never has to walk far. Stress hates a fit body and a clear head.

6) Organization.
When you’re well organized, meaning, you know where everything is, and can easily find it, stress has a shit fit.
How can it fuck with you and mess with your head, if you can immediately come up with your passport, keys, glasses, insurance papers, rent check, stamps, cat nail clipper and both of the same black sandals?

7) Behaving like a grown up.
Stress despises adult behavior. Stress is counting on us to NEVER grow up. It adores a good temper tantrum and will do everything in its power to keep us from getting our ducks in a row. As a matter of fact, it is heavily invested in the prospect of us not saving for retirement, avoiding responsibility, making uninformed decisions and never planning for the future.

8) Self care.
This pisses-off stress almost more than anything. Getting a massage, doing yoga and meditating. Those are three of its mortal enemies. It throws its hands up, shakes its head and walks away in defeat. It can’t take hold of a peaceful mind.

9) Not caring what other people think.
Once you drop that bad habit, stress will have to go find another victim. Don’t feel bad for a second. There are millions.

10) Awareness.
Stress has a fit when you call it out. It can’t stand that you know its name and what it looks like.
It would rather stay anonymous, in one of its many disguises. As a headache, an ulcer, colitis, hives, over eating, over spending, depression and anxiety.
I told you, it’s a thug.
It knows, that once you know why it’s there, it’s days are numbered.

Can you think of more ways to piss off stress? Tell me what you do, I’d LOVE to hear some comments!

Xox

FIXATE

2) technical, direct one’s eyes toward.
“subjects fixated on a central point”

When riding our motorcycle, it is very important that Raphael look up the road, just ahead of us. One reason seems obvious, so that he can gauge the road, it’s bumps, cracks and any debris; to see the banking of a curve, in order to slow down – in other words, he looks ahead to keep us safe.

What he absolutely cannot do is fixate on one particular object, you know why?

Because wherever you look – is where you will go.

Fixation can send you into the bushes on its best day, and off a cliff on its worst.

I’ve seen many a biker go down on the side of a road because he fixated on a blinking sign, a parked CHP car, or a dog running on the median.

It’s inevitable.
It’s law.

Ask yourself right now, Where or what am I fixated on? Are you headed for a fall?

An acquaintance of mine is in the middle of a remodel.
All she can focus on are the things that haven’t been done, or the tiny things that need to be fixed. She cannot, for the life of her, see all the beautiful tile and finishes of her amazing masterpiece.

Driving over in the car she was fixating on all the sucky things she’d find.
It was all she could talk about. She was in full obsession mode.

So what were her eyes only capable of seeing? The fuck ups.

She was so off in the bushes, it was impossible for her to get any enjoyment from the beautiful fireplace that had just been installed. The stone work was gorgeous, the mantle, incredible. Instead, she was stuck in the foyer, freaking out over a scratch in the drywall.

It’s all she could see.
Crying and yelling and blaming – oh my.
She’s likely to go off the cliff soon.

Several of my friends are already knotting up their stomachs in anticipation of the Holidays. They’re fixated on the shenanigans they’ve come to expect throughout the years. They’re preoccupied with the dysfunction of every jolly participant.

You know where they’re going to end up?
Off road, in the dirt, sadly stuck on the road of dysfunctional shenanigans.

Where you’re fixated is where you will go.
What you’re obsessed with is what you’ll see.
Every time.
Swear to God.
Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

Be careful. Mindfully fixate on good things for a change.

This is also the cousin of: Would you rather be right? Or happy?
Ouch.

This has been a Public Service Announcement – from me.

Xox

I heard an interview the other day on NPR while standing in line at Trader Joe’s. I couldn’t really listen in the car, I was too busy trying to secure a highly unattainable parking space, so I came to it late. I searched for and inserted my earphones in order to avoid the impulse to go postal on the slow bagger in front of me.
I know…OMMMMMM back to a loving place.

It was about Sin. How apropos.

Anywho, the guy being interviewed had studied at a prestigious Divinity school in the UK, and he reported, with great authority, that the Aramaic meaning for the word SIN was to miss the target.
WHAT?!
That implies that you tried to hit the bullseye, you took careful aim, it was your intention…but then you missed.
You didn’t intentionally do something wrong, as I always had been taught as a child. I liked the sound of that except…
As a “retired” Catholic, that stopped me in my tracks. That can’t be right; that sounds like it’s saying sin is a – mistake.
Wait.

All those years of shame and guilt. I feel so bamboozled Catholic Church.

Of course the minute I got home I looked it up because that meaning was news to me.

Below is a portion of just one of the MANY articles I found on the meanings of SIN. I love when I learn something new, so I wanted to pass it along-

The Original Hebrew word for “sin” has been wrongly translated… Its true meaning will pleasantly surprise you!

By OSHO

Now, this is no “get out of jail free” card by any means, but it does open the conversation and it jives so much better with the way I’ve always felt about religion, and words and their meanings.

“Bless me Father for I have sinned”
xox

What do you do when you get depressed?

I’ve learned through the years that the best way to talk myself down from the ledge is to remind myself This too shall pass by repeating the mantra This_________ is only temporary.
It seems my endurance of all things sucky is fueled by the fact that I’m certain that nothing lasts forever.
Even my acne finally decided to hit the road.

This weekend during Rob Bell’s inspiring talk, he reiterated that philosophy with this quote: Depression comes when you believe that tomorrow will look just like today.

Doesn’t that make sense? And lighten your load?
My shoulders come down off my ears when I say that out loud.

Depression comes when you believe that tomorrow will look just like today. I can change that, I can turn my ship around.

To me, if I want to hitch myself to any emotion, it would be hope; because inside hope is change, and if I don’t like how things are panning out right now I can have the certainty that they will change.

The best thing about this belief is that WE don’t have to figure out how it’s going to change, we just have to KNOW that it will.

Haven’t you ever been low on cash and then someone who owed you money paid you back unexpectedly?

When that relationship with your soul mate, love of your life crashed and burned ten years ago someone else came along, right? And they were even better for you.

When you were so sick last fall, you recovered. You may have had that hacking cough for a month, but even that eventually went away. You probably didn’t even notice when it left.

See, that’s the thing, change is sneaky – and it’s humble. It doesn’t call attention to itself. It. just. happens.

I had a job at a grocery store after my divorce when I was in my twenties. I’d actually had it since I was fifteen in one capacity or another. At the time of my divorce I was a checker. Then I worked the night crew, stocking the shelves while you all slept, for extra money and to allow me to pursue acting, running to auditions during the day. I could work as much or as little as I wanted depending on my level of greed at any given moment.

At a certain point, around my thirtieth birthday to be exact; I decided, probably over alcohol, that I’d had enough of acting – AND the grocery business. I had NO idea what would come next for me, all I knew was that if tomorrow looked the same for much longer, I was going to be forced to join the circus to shake things up.

One afternoon while I was lying around moping, eating an entire pumpkin pie; my mom (who was well acquainted with my dissatisfaction with life) called to say she’d read about an antique mall that was opening on Melrose and was looking for part-time help. I loved antiques, so I immediately called, got an interview, and was hired on the spot.

I worked at the Melrose Antique Mall (which closed in the early nineties) by day, and at the market at night for about a year, until one day as a fluke, one of the girls that worked with me at the mall happened to mention a job she’d turned down working with real jewelry, at Antiquarius. It wasn’t the direction she wanted to take her life, but it sounded amazing to me, so I called, interviewed, and the rest is history.

I managed that store for just under twenty years and it was one of the unexpected joys of my life.

If you had asked me any day along that two-year transition what was next for me, I couldn’t have told you. All I knew was that even though I’d been working at the market for fifteen years, tomorrow could look different for me, it HAD to, and it kept me from falling into a deep pit of despair.

Not that deep pits of despair are unfamiliar to me; I just know by this stage of the game that there is a bottom, a ladder, and sunshine that can shine on your face – if you’ll just look up.

Believe a change is on the way – because it is – THAT I can guarantee.

Love you,
xox

* If you feel you are, or have been diagnosed as clinically depressed, please seek psychological treatment.

Hi Loves,

I was lucky enough to be in San Jose this weekend for the last stop of the Life You Want Tour and I gotta say; it was a privilege to breathe the same air as Oprah and all the great teachers that spoke, told stories and brought us to tears…every time.
I’m still processing. I’m sure I’ll write some take-aways soon.

Below is what Elizabeth Gilbert (my new BFF) wrote about her incredible journey. I’m sure if you’d have told this author a few years ago that she would be giving 45 minute inspirational talks to auditoriums of over 10,000 people in 8 different cites across the US she would have thought you were crazy!
Yet, that’s become her latest accomplishment – touring with Oprah.

Dream big, then surrender, because the Universe has even bigger dreams for you than you could ever imagine.
xoxJ

*Thank you to my beloved sister Susan for making this weekend happen and keeping me laughing the ENTIRE time…even through tears. I love you.

Take it away Liz-

DON’T WASTE THE TEACHINGS…

ONWARD!
LG

Another God wink
My sister took this picture of Liz and me in the lobby of our hotel on Friday afternoon while everyone was milling around waiting for the event to start. I, as usual, was foraging for food…and then there she was. We hugged – a lot (she’s a hugger) and talked, and I must say, she is as incredibly kind and down to earth a person as you will EVER meet.

xox

Have a wonderful Sunday!

xox