career

I’m convinced that one of the main differences between an optimist and someone who walks around with a black cloud over their head without an umbrella; and horribly mis-matched shoes is this:

They believe, as I do, that we get more than just one thing to love

Ask anyone with multiple marriages under their belt if there is only one soul mate per lifetime. (don’t ask mid divorce).

The answer is no.

Optimist. Faithful to the belief that if your true love ship has sailed, just stand at the dock, another will come along.

I’ve loved several men in my life, each relationship was equally powerful but drastically different, and at the time, in the moment, I was convinced they were my one-and-only soul mate — the connection was that intense.

I loved some with only my head; a few exclusively with the region below my waist; but only a couple with all my heart, and they were spaced decades apart.
Thank God I had optimistically stood on that dock waiting, albeit impatiently, for another ship to come in. If I hadn’t, the loss would have been profound.

We get more than just one thing to love.

I found comfort in that because I often got distracted by my phone or the lady with one pink roller in her hair, and I worried that I’d miss my golden opportunities as they passed me by.
Now I know better.

But only because I’m older and wiser (ha) and because I know that as we change and grow, preferences shift and we start to want something different, something…more.

Thank God those ships kept coming — When situations ended I stood waiting for a virtual fleet of ships to come into port — I think I saw you there, (I could tell it was you even with the hat and sunglasses.)

And they always come.

Guaranteed.

This applies to careers as well.
By the time you get to be my age, (our age) you’ve worn many hats so to speak.

I loved working at the Antique Mall, I adored acting and singing, I loved being a jeweler, I LOVED my store, and when that ended I loitered long enough on the dock that writing found me— and it may be the all time love of my life.

We get more than just one thing to love.

I used to LOVE playing jacks as a kid, probably because I was inexplicably good at it, (good eye/hand coordination, that’s all) then I LOVED Barbie’s and Monopoly.

One summer as a fifteen year old I LOVED riding my bike up and down the hills the ten miles to the beach and back everyday. (now just the thought make me want to puke).

I had a friend who LOVED to ice skate, you could find her at the rink every morning, six days a week at 5:30 a.m. She was obsessed. Soon she became so good she started to compete.

I’m not exactly sure what happened, an awkward growth spurt or becoming boy crazy, but one summer she lost interest and all that changed, and by the fall she LOVED horses and started training and competing in dressage.
Now she owns a successful interior design business. Go figure.

Obviously she spent a lot of time on that dock, catching one ship and then the next, and the next, LOVING each one that came along.

We get more than just one thing to love.

More than one great love,

More than one fantastic hobby,

More than one way to wear our hair that makes us look the way we envision ourselves,

More than one goal in life, or purpose, or destiny (yes, I said destiny)

More than one thing that we are better at than anybody else,

More than one chance…

We get more than just one thing to love.

Marinate in the thought of that all weekend,

Bon Voyage! and Carry on,
xox

Hi you guys,
This is a subject I struggle with A LOT.

I’m tenacious to a fault, and some of my greasy (I wrote greatest but auto correct changed it to greasy and who am I to challenge auto correct? Truth be told — they were greasy!) Mistakes happened when I didn’t know when to throw in the towel — cut my losses.

Other people fold the minute things get tough. Wait, what am I sayin’ I’ve wanted to do that too!

I love me some Marie Forleo. I want to be her when I grow up and I love this graphic by Deborah LeFrank, cause I’m visual, I love seeing Marie’s insights all written out.

The ten-year test is genius.

Asking for guidance…learning curve.
..listening when it’s offered…pricless.

Quitters DO win…game changer!

So, is this something you battle with as well?

Which one are you? Do you get dragged or do you let go too soon?

Or both – like me?

Do you have any stories, what did you learn?

Carry on,
Xox

I never thought of myself as a late bloomer until recently.
But I most certainly am.

And I don’t just mean someone who found a new life’s passion in their fifties, which by-the-way, has been a big surprise.

No, when I think about it, I was alway one. I didn’t get it right in the relationship department until I hit forty-two, and I didn’t start a real profession until after I turned thirty.

It didn’t even occur to me to channel my focus and dive into antiques and jewelry until after that pivotal birthday.

Turning thirty was the proverbial line in the sand that I had drawn for myself. I was the  deadline to get my shit together and measure how close I was to my desired goal, which back then was a paying acting gig.

I had some income trickling in from TV commercials, but I was always in debt, living a deficit life.

I worked two jobs to make ends meet and that was all right –– until it wasn’t.

Most of my friends were still in school, working at real jobs or having kids. It didn’t look like it but I was seeking fertile soil with my face to the sun, trying to bloom.

Not too much later, I had a real career, making real money. By the time I was forty I bought my own home.

Then in my fifties I started writing, or rather, the writing began to pour through me, and this little seedling has not only broken ground, it has started to blossom.

Some days I wish I’d started writing in my twenties, I can only imagine how much further along I’d be. Then I remind myself that everything happens at the exact right time –– Divine Timing –– and I stop my daydreaming and get back to work.

Late bloomers; blooming later in life;  it’s a subject I’m starting to embrace.

Read the New York Times article below if this subject interests you, and you will feel in such good company, I assure you.

They say the key is the ability and willingness to try new things.
I can sum it up in one word: CURIOSITY.

Remaining perpetually curious will facilitate a bloom later in life, and aren’t the flowers that show up after it snows the most beautiful?

Carry on my late blooming loves,
xox

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/21/your-money/finding-success-well-past-the-age-of-wunderkind.html?emc=eta1&_r=1

“You can’t ride two horses with one ass.”

While I was growing up I used to hear that phrase all the time from my dad.

What? What does that even mean?

This was his reaction to my teenage stress. After he’d watch me fumble and stumble, struggle and juggle; fitting in play rehearsal, singing practice, homework, and my part-time job, he’d admonish me, “Janet, you can’t ride two horses with one ass.”

My reaction was to roll my eyes, snap my gum, turn my head toward the heavens, and exhale the long, deep exhalation of the exasperated teenager. “Okaaaay, daAAAAaad, I get it, make a decision. Do one thing at a time. Gawd.”

I always knew the one thing he thought I should choose to focus on was my job at the supermarket. It could end up being my security, after all, my future, just like it had become his. But truth be told, that was NEVER gonna happen.

He had little patience for my “extracurricular” pursuits. He, as the father figure, the patriarch, the breadwinner, just couldn’t understand what he considered frivolous time wasting.

And I, cast as the dutiful daughter, continued to struggle with not enough asses.

Those extra things were far from superfluous to me, hardly! They were actually my life’s blood –– my passions.

He was unable to wrap his brain around multi-passionate people, and that never changed.
I can’t say that I blame him. Us multi-passionate sorts are hard to figure out.

He’s not alone, there are many out in this world that can’t stand those of us who won’t seem to commit to just one pursuit. “Jack of all trades, master of none” was another of his old school, paternal pontifications.

After a while (years), I understood. I didn’t like it and I was incapable of abiding by it –– but I understood his confusion.

He was from the school of one horse, one ass.

Pick one thing, focus on it, and do it — for the rest of your life.
Then, and only after you’ve collected your retirement, are you allowed to entertain frivolous pursuits. Hopefully, you still have your health, vitality, and a little sass to keep things interesting.

Many in our family died soon after they retired, without enjoying much of life’s extras.

Here’s what I’ve come to realize as I’ve gotten older and hopefully a little wiser.
The things that hold passion for us in life are hardly extras. To me, they are the makings of a life well lived.

Jobs can be had, money made, the focus narrowed, and direction figured out, but it’s the multiple horses that we have the audacity to ride with our one crazy, creative, freedom-seeking-ass, that make us who we are!

Singularly Focused Exemplary Employee is not what I’ve ever wanted written on my headstone.

Badass, multi-passionate, creative, who can’t stay in the saddle; sloppy rider of an entire herd of horses, who you may hear whooping and hollering and having one hell of a ride –– and the time of her life.  Now that’s more like it.

Ride all those horses with your one wild ass.

Own it.

Sorry dad.

Carry on,
Xox

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

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

Here comes ‘uh oh’

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

On the private Facebook page of that kick-ass online business school I took last year, a post caught my eye.

I try not to read them.  I barely understand them.  I’m neither “cool” enough nor smart enough to be a part of this group.  I slid in through the side door, the “blogger” who created her own website and then limped off to throw up. I just barely recovered, my brain hurting from the overexertion.

Anyhow..
It was written by a young man, an aspiring entrepreneur, whose boyfriend had booked a fancy, shmancy weekend away.
They were headed to a beautiful warm weather resort, with messages, fine dining – the whole shebang.

The intention behind the trip, his boyfriend told him, was to celebrate his best year EVER.

In his endearing, aw shucks way, he admitted to us, his tribe of up and coming internet movers and shakers, that this had been less than a stellar year for him.

“I didn’t hob knob with the rich and famous this year” he said. “No high level meetings, no mastermind groups, no Ted talk or speaking engagements at all. Instead of multiple six figures, I lived off savings.”

He went on to explain that 2014 had been a year of reinvention for him.

He took what appeared to be a thriving business and changed it up, downsizing some things, while reinvesting in others. He went on to explain that he’d spent the whole year at his desk with his hands in the clay. “If anyone wanted to find me I wasn’t on the road as usual, running from event to event, I was at my desk, from dawn to dusk, and I have never grown and changed, and worked harder in all my fucking life.”

Would he have labeled it his best year EVER? Probably not. Because the yardstick we all use for that doesn’t take into account anything besides the money and fame.
The outside trappings of success.

But his boyfriend could see it. He understood. And he knew it needed to be celebrated. Don’t you just love that?

I could SOOOO relate! I too have had the best/worst year of my life. By the standards set by society at large – it sucked.
But in laying the foundation, the hard work, the networking, perseverance, personal growth and general all around richness – it was my best year EVER!

My husband has witnessed the changes and repeatedly suggested that we celebrate them.

How lucky am I?

Wouldn’t it be great to pay homage to those years that don’t look so great from the outside but change us forever on the inside?
Because isn’t that what makes a person a true success?

Thoughts please?

Carry on,
xox

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

I rue the day I decided to become a business owner. The location was flawed, the timing was wrong, and ultimately it crashed and burned.

Well, not really, it drowned in a flood; but it died just the same, and it took a piece of me with it.

Being that it had been such a huge desire of mine to open that store; giving into that desire and making it happen just seemed like the natural course of events. But as I surveyed the aftermath and the giant face plant that my ego had barely survived; I started to have desire’s remorse. And not just about the store – I had it about a LOT of things.

Why had I married David at such a young age? We fucked up a perfectly good friendship taking it to that level. Divorce was inevitable.

Why had I pursued acting until thirty?
I’d be SO much farther along in life if I’d only just been quicker to read the writing on the wall.
Shit, I’d probably be Secretary of State right now.

Why had I died my hair red for the best ten years of my life?
Best years physically speaking being my thirties.
My body was bangin’, my boob were perky, the pimples were waning and the wrinkles hadn’t shown up yet.
We all know that all the smart, rich guys marry thirty something blondes in LA. The artsy, fartsy, unemployed, musicians and bohemians are the ones that go for the red heads.
I rest my case. 
Shit, I’d probably be Mark Cuban’s first ex wife by now. 

These were a few of the many desires that had lead me astray – or so I thought.

Now, looking back, I have the benefit of time. I’ve matured (somewhat) which helps me to come from a different perspective.
I agree with Steve. (married to a blonde)
I feel I can call him Steve; given that I know someone that works at Apple, I’ve spent a small fortune on his products, and the only book he had on his iPad, “The Autobiography of A Yogi,” currently lives on my nightstand.

This has been my enlightened conclusion:
I cannot recommend Desire’s regret. It no longer makes any sense. All of those desires have carried me to exactly where I stand today, and YOU too.

I tried marriage; I was able to commit, for a whole seven years and that says something about me, AND it didn’t suck enough to discourage me from trying again, this time with the right guy, for the right reasons.

I quit acting when I was good and ready. No one could have persuaded me to throw in the towel until I was good and God damn ready, and when I was, I worked just as hard on my new career, as a jeweler, and it actually made for a nice life.

I look back on the ten years of red hair as a blessing. I met some incredibly interesting men, not settling on the usual suspects; and when I was ready to finally settle down, I went back to blonde and naturally attracted the man of my dreams.

So there you have it. As I look back and connect my numerous desire filled dots, my remorse ebbs, and I can actually thank each and every one of them.

How about you?
Xox

Damn, this always makes me feel better.
This goes for those of us that had it figured out early, took a right turn and are re-inventing ourselves in our fifties.

Success takes many paths and it is never a straight line.

You’re welcome.

Sending Monday love,
Xox