decisions

Running Naked In Green Pastures, Sex and Men ~ The Promiscuous Monogamist

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Once upon a time, I was a hoe. Or least I had convinced myself that I was.

During my early twenties, I fell in and out of love—a lot! And by a lot I mean, weekly.
But there were two teeny tiny complications.

Number one: I mistook infatuation and lust, for love and…
Number two: I was married. So, there was that.

I’m sure the fact that I was completely and totally unhappily married lead me to look for greener pastures, but truth be told, lush green grass was EVERYWHERE I looked. As a matter of fact, I didn’t have to look for it—it found me. I seemed to unconsciously wander naked into field after green and luscious field of wild, verdant, grass.
Are you getting the thinly veiled sexy grass analogy? Yeah, I thought so.

Anyhow, I know that being a dissatisfied housewife summoned the greener pastures.
How do I know that?
Because less than two years after my divorce and a subsequent short-lived roll in the hay dalliance, I remained tragically single for eighteen years, half a dozen of which were grass-less and barren. The furthest, most opposite of lush green grass as you can get. Mohave Desert brown and dry.
Swollen tongue dry.
Severely chapped lips dry.
Camel toe dry.
Dry in every sense of the word—if you get my drift.

Nary a phone call nor a sideways glance came my way. Nothing. Zilch, zero, nada.
Crickets. The complete and utter lack of interest expressed in me by the opposite sex was if I do say so myself…appalling.

I found myself single…and invisible.

When the occasional fellow (and I mean occasional, three in ten years), did decide to traverse the desert and ask me out, I responded like any dried up, thirsty nomad looking for her green oasis—I drank at the well of desperation as I clung to him by my sand filled fingernails—while my toes dialed the wedding planner.

I’m serious.

I had convinced myself that I couldn’t be trusted to make good decisions where men were concerned, after all, I had listened to lust and let a good one go.
Or so I thought.
What can I say? I was hallucinating, not in my right mind.

So, if a guy showed interest, and (gulp) I slept with him, I had to MARRY him. Right? Or at the very least buy matching his and hers snuggies and put a down payment on a condo—because that’s not terrifying to a man!

I was confiding this whacked-out way of thinking to a young friend the other day as anecdotal evidence that I was once under thirty-five, made a ton of questionable decisions, and had sex with men who didn’t propose. Hell, they didn’t even spend the night. Often, they ran shirtless out of my apartment and down the street to their car. Or I jumped out of a window and ran shoeless after their car…

What a mess. What a hot, hot mess. A promiscuous monogamist.

Anyway…

Then the craziest thing happened. She admitted to feeling that way too sometimes. (And here I thought that went out with big shoulder pads and even bigger Bon Jovi hair).

“So what did you do?” she asked, “How did you get out of thinking that every time you dated a guy—it HAD to lead to the big white dress?”

“I became a hoe” I chortled, the memory of it causing a dribble of coffee to come out of my nose.
She balked.
“Seriously! My best friend, the one with the great husband, finally lost her patience with me and my dating drama and ordered me to JUST DATE!”

My young friend was intrigued, “Go on”, she said with a quizzical look on her face.

“Well, my friend advised me to just play the field—have fun—lighten up—quit overthinking it—leave your phone with the Bridal Registry on speed dial…at home—and have sex like a man!”

My young friend leaned forward “What does that MEAN?”

I leaned in too “It is pretty vague, but I got the gist of what she meant. Have sex with the damn waiter. If he’s nice and there’s chemistry, and you’re both careful…go for it. You will probably not marry him—chances are, after two or three dates you may never see him again, but that’s okay.
You’ll know the right one.”

Now, that’s the way a woman has sex like a man—but it was the virtual permission slip I needed from someone who really knew me well—and I ran with it!

Listen, I’m not saying you should do this or anything else I ever write about but I will tell you this, my young friend ran toward a pasture that she was afraid to venture into and walked in some very tall, green grass this weekend—if you know what I mean.

Carry on,
xox

Stuck? Here’s Your Easy Answer

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Hey you guys,
This is new territory for me.

I’m a mover, I’m a doer. A striver. I strive to MAKE things happen.

I will ignore a closed-door, swim a moat, or hunt you down, to get to where I think I need to go.

At least that’s been my M/O in the past.
These days?… I get still.

Mostly when I’m stuck—ESPECIALLY when I’m stuck.

I wait to be inspired.
What?
You heard me.
Inspired action. I wait to take inspired action.

I check in with my gut. What is it saying? Is there excitement? Is there enthusiasm? Am I meeting the right people? Seeing the signs? Am I observing things moving into place?

Then there’s my answer. Hell YES!

Otherwise it’s a Hell No.
Too fucking easy, right? I’ve got to say, I’m tired of swimming moats, I’m really beginning to embrace easy.

Have a lovely, easy, Labor—free week,
Carry on,
xox

My Feelings Got Hurt, Lightning Stuck, a Miracle Occurred, and I Avoided a Fight.

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My feelings got hurt, lightning stuck, a miracle occurred, and I avoided a fight.

Otherwise known as Thursday at my house.

See what I did there? I copped to the fact that my feelings got hurt.
I said it.
Out loud to my husband in real-time, to my girlfriend when I relayed the story on Sunday and to you guys now in print.

I think that’s important so I’m gonna point it out. Then I’m gonna stop because…well, because I believe that the very act of saying, “That hurt my feelings” diffuses the hurt a bit; and also because that’s enough whining for one post.

Here’s the deal:
My husband and I are in the midst of planning a motorcycle trip for this September.
I have been waxing nostalgic for Italy, the smarmy southern part, the part south of Rome, closer to Sicily where my people are from DNA wise, (I have the mustache to prove it), and Pompeii in particular.

I also want to see the leaves turn color on the East coast of the U.S. I think that would blow my mind on a motorcycle.

My husband is like…meh, ambivalent. Undecided. Uninspired. Comme si Comme sa. You get the picture.

Winding mountain roads with the sumptuous scenery of Vermont, the first hint of a nip in the air and the spectacle of the vividly colored leaves surrounding us.
OR
Warm, Indian summer days, dusty, ancient, red clay roads, the smells, sights and sounds of the Italian countryside; their food, their vino—and a city full of instantly fossilized citizens struck down mid-sentence during a cataclysmic volcanic eruption.

I know!
What to do?
So hard to decide.

I let it go, and the trajectory was sloooowly, (like the Titanic turning to avoid the iceberg) headed toward New England and the leaves.
Fine with me. That trip is up there on my list.

But fate intervened.
I used to balk at any sudden change of plans. Fate—Shmate. I never saw it as fate. It was just somebody sticking their big nose into my business, messing things up. Now we just call that Sunday.

We had emailed the company that was leading those Changing of the Leaves Tours of Vermont. Crickets…
Meanwhile…Raphael received an email out-of-the-blue from one of his Wolf Pack (The guys that he takes amazing motorcycle trips with every year) asking if he was interested in joining them for a four to five day ride in Europe. It fell at the exact time in September that we were planning our vacation.

Uh…hell yah, he answered explaining the serendipity of the timing and the fact that we (he and I) would be there together.

I’ve ridden with these guys many times. Tons. In all types of terrain and weather. As far as riding is concerned, I’m a dude. I leave my uterus at home in a drawer. At fifty-seven it’s not like I’m using it anymore.

Cool! A few days riding the Alps with the Wolf Pack, starting and ending in Milan. Then he and I would continue down south.
Fossilized citizens of Pompeii, here I come!

Until last Thursday night.
“They want a definite answer about the trip so they can purchase the tickets. The only thing is…by the looks of the count, they aren’t including you. I distinctly told them it would be you and I.”

Fuck. Fuck them! Oh, what is it? AnAll boys trip? I sneered.
“Um, yeah, no wives are coming” he answered sheepishly, never looking up from the text on his phone.

“None of their wives EVER come on the trips—they don’t ride!
Besides, It’s OUR vacation, I’m not trying to tag along, I’m there because it’s our vacation…and I’m not a wife! I’m a dude!”

“I know” he answered, looking more and more confused. I was getting pissed.

“That hurts my feelings!” I announced, surprising myself with the intensity of the declaration.
I think I even stomped my right foot and did a head thing—like a three-year old.

“It just does. You’ve got to work this out. Quit telling me they’re not including me. That just hurts my feelings! Let me know what you guys decide.” I turned and left the room with a dramatic flourish in a full-blown hissy-fit.

Into the den I stomped, flopping down on the couch, arms swinging wildly then resting across my chest, crossed; my bottom lip protruding beyond the rest of my face.
Just for affect.

A moment later lightning struck (because a tropical front was wafting through LA) and a miracle occurred.

I stopped being hurt and mad. Just like that. Big lip flop-down—to clarity—in 2.5 minutes.
A record. A personal best.

I didn’t want to go ride the Alps.
Been there done that, barfed on the T-shirt.
Too twisty of roads. Not my favorite ride. Soooo 2005.

I’ll pass and I’ll meet them in Milan! Genius! Fuck the Wolf Pack and the Alps, it’s southern Italy I want to see anyway.

He can go and I’ll meet him!

I ran back into the kitchen where he was furiously stirring something delicious. “Listen, here’s my plan. Call them back…”
As we started to flesh out our new-found solution—we found the nugget. It had been there all along, we were just too…lame? Stupid? Spoiled? Short-sighted, all-of-the-above, to see it.

It never occurred to us that they (their company) would be springing for plane tickets and renting the bikes. That would be four days expenses and Raphael’s flight taken care of—we just had to pick up another week or so, and my ticket.

NUGGET! (Happy dance)

When I told my friend this story her response made me laugh. Hard.
“You’re getting really good at this marriage thing” she remarked. “It’s great to see.”

Shit! I should hope so after almost fifteen years.

I have to admit, Even with the occasional big-lipped pout-fests —I’m getting clearer, faster.

Work in progress. Always a work in progress.

Carry on,
xox

Finding Clarity—My Sloppy Journey

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Gaining clarity.
Getting clearer on what I want and where my path is taking me.
Often, no make that always, knowing what I DON’T want brings what I DO want that much more into focus.
Trial and error. Success and failure. Happiness and despair. They all bring clarity.
After I thought about that for awhile I made a list:

I got disappointed into clarity
I got frustrated into clarity
I got angered into clarity
I fumbled my way into clarity

I ran toward clarity
I commando crawled toward clarity
I skipped joyfully into clarity
I’ve been dragged into clarity

I found my footing on my way into clarity
I danced my way into clarity
I stumbled my way into clarity
I lost my footing on my way into clarity
I fell headfirst into clarity

I prayed myself into clarity
I chanted my way into clarity
I meditated my way into clarity
I hiked my way into clarity
I exercised myself into clarity

I lost friends on my way into clarity
I made new friends on my way into clarity
I lost jobs on my way into clarity
I got hopelessly lost on my way into clarity

I cried my way into clarity
I shouted and screamed my way into clarity
I slept my way into clarity
I got scared into clarity
I lost money on my way into clarity

I resisted my way into clarity
I argued my way into clarity
I changed my mind to find clarity
I took advice to gain clarity
I shunned advice on my way into clarity

I read books to find clarity
I listened to talks, music and Oprah to find clarity.
I reinvented to find clarity
I talked my way into clarity
I found out who I really was to gain clarity

I had luck on my side on my way into clarity
I hustled, whined and begged in order to gain clarity
I had magic with me to show me clarity
I laughed my way into clarity

I made mistakes on my way into clarity
I fucked up big time on my way into clarity
I may have gotten fucked on my way into clarity
I got better glasses in order to find clarity

I gained insights on my way into clarity
I was loud on my way to clarity
I was silent on my way to clarity
I realized I didn’t know shit on my way into clarity

I’ve had great, inspired ideas on my way into clarity
I’ve had sucky, horrible ideas on my way into clarity
I’ve been funny on my way into clarity
I’ve been completely humor-free on my way to clarity

I’ve been exhilarated on my way into clarity
I’ve done the “dead man walking” Zombie limp into clarity
I created my way into clarity
I destroyed my way into clarity

I got annoyed into clarity
I joined the crowd on my way into clarity
I bucked the status quo into clarity
I became still enough to find clarity

I loved my way into clarity
I followed the signs into clarity
I ignored the signs on my way into clarity

Then I lost it…
And every time, I started over.

Carry on,
xox

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Temporary Insanity

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“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

~Albert Einstein

When the past tries to repeat itself what do you do?

I hide in the closet behind all the clothes, facing the wall…

But seriously. When you see yourself; on your ass; sliding down that same old slippery slope—what’s your strategy?

I take out my contacts and pretend I can’t see the colossal shitstorm bearing down on me…
Like the ostrich and the toddler playing peek-a-boo, if I can’t see it—it didn’t happen.

Bad decisions. Lousy choices.

In men, jobs, tankini bathing suits, and those nachos drenched in the horrific orange plastic cheese at the movies.
Why do I always think “this time it’ll be different?”

Humanity at large; and women in general, possess the “benefit of the doubt” chip.

As a card carrying member of both of those groups you can rest assured that many, many, questionable, less than desirable people and situations have benefited from my doubts.

That is until a friend along the way reminded me of the quote above by Albert Einstein.

It was the polite way for her to deal me the insanity card.

For a few years my entire deck was filled with insanity and jokers. I gave everyone another chance
.
“That’s okay.” I’d reply out loud.
“Hurt me again” my heart echoed silently.

Until I had had enough.

He cheated and cried. Big alligator tears of remorse. Then he did it again.

Apparently he had a complete lack of impulse control. When his dick saw a pretty girl it chased her down and dragged him along with it. So sad really. Such a sacrifice.

“It’s just sex, it’s not love!” he pleaded.

Was that supposed to make me feel better?

I was all doubted out. I gave no more benefits.
Even though he had begged, once again, for my forgiveness, I packed all of his shit into my car; drove it an hour to his apartment; and because I could hear him just having loveless sex from the street— I left everything on the sidewalk under his window.

And that my friends was the road back to sanity.

Teeny tiny postscript…

I had a temporary lapse about six months later. Hey, it happens!

Our chemistry was still intact, hotter than hot; I needed to get laid, and there may have been some Margaritas involved.

He swore he had never stopped loving me.
“What about the others?” I inquired. He knew what I wanted to hear, so he obliged. “Baaaabeeee” he cooed, kissing my neck, “I haven’t been with anyone in months, I’m concentrating on work.”

The lie caused his pants to go up in flames, but I never even noticed.

He had broken that unwritten rule, you know the one—he had stopped playing fair. Everyone knows neck kissing is the Universal signal for: You are one minute away from insanity… And away I went…

“Oh My God! He did it to me AGAIN!”
My screams reverberated throughout the entire house. “I truely AM insane!”

After I finally composed myself it was time to come clean (pun intended).

“We have crabs” I shamefully informed my roommates as I burned the bath towels, stripped all the beds and threw away my favorite pair of jeans.

Several days, many hours of creepy itchiness, and three bottles of anti-lice medicine later I had learned my lesson for good.

The Universe will up its game if you don’t get the message the first thirty-five times.

“The guys a louse” it said, biting its tongue, trying its best not to say: I told you so.

Point taken.

You can close your mouths now and Carry on,
xox

Tomorrow Is A Different Day

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“As long as you are breathing, there is more right with you than wrong with you”
-Jon Kabat-Zinn

How did you feel when you read that?
Did you want to reach through the computer and strangle me…or give me a hug?

You know that says a lot about you…but no judgement here, I’ve been there and I totally get it.

If you’re in the thick of it you want to kill me. If you’ve survived you’re more inclined to hug a fellow survivor.

Believe it or not I hate clichés and saccharin sayings that leave that bitter/sweet taste in your mouth.

But you’ve got to agree — if you’re still breathing, well, that’s half the battle… that is unless you have a migraine, then even breathing hurts.

Or unless you’re grieving, in which case you keep sighing not really breathing per say — long mournful sighs, at least that’s what I did.

Or you’re struggling with a broken heart, mind numbing stress, chronic pain, or Spanx that are one size too small. All of those things facilitate short, shallow breathing which doesn’t really count because little or no oxygen gets to your brain and you walk around in a kind of half conscious stupor.

A bit of advice because I’ve experienced all of these: You will regret any decisions you make at this time – so don’t.

Are there more things right with you than wrong in that moment?… that’s debatable.

I could argue this ad nauseam because I’ve had years days where I felt as if breathing wasn’t such a gift, and if you had asked me to compile my lists of things going wrong and the ones going right, — the former would be a mile long and the latter would have one word…breathing…I’m fucking breathing.

But you guys, if you are breathing, which I’m presuming you are, then there’s always tomorrow.

Not to sound too callous here, but if breathing is annoying you go make yourself a sandwich and take a nap — otherwise known as the Universal Reboot.

“Despair — The belief that tomorrow will be just like today.”
~Rob Bell

Ask anyone who’s having their best-day-ever if tomorrow will be exactly the same.

Hell no, I wish, will most likely be their answer.

It’s just the way the world works — so keep breathing, there’s more right with you than wrong.
I swear.

Hey, hands off the neck…

Deep breath…and Carry on,
xox

SHE LET GO – by Rev Safire Rose

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This is a sculpture I own which I call LETTING GO.
I had to show you the entire piece, but if you zoom in on her face –– it’s eerily peaceful…in her free-fall into the abyss. Hauntingly so.
I learn from her every day.

This poem by Safire Rose is the perfect reminder for this BIG energy of NEW BEGINNINGS that is currently pouring in. FIRST you have to Let Go. BTW –– it is in no way gender specific…men too!
Carry On,
xox

She let go.

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear.

She let go of the judgments.

She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.

She let go of the committee of indecision within her.

She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons.

Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask anyone for advice.

She didn’t read a book on how to let go.

She didn’t search the scriptures.

She just let go.

She let go of all of the memories that held her back.

She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.

She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn’t promise to let go.

She didn’t journal about it.

She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer.

She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.

She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.

She just let go.

She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.

She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.

She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.

She didn’t call the prayer line.

She didn’t utter one word.

She just let go.

No one was around when it happened.

There was no applause or congratulations.

No one thanked her or praised her.

No one noticed a thing.

Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort.

There was no struggle.

It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.

It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be.

A small smile came over her face.

A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore…

~ Rev. Safire Rose

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Rock, Paper, Scissors – A Personality Test

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* A Flashback Friday! I wrote this a long time ago but was reminded of it the other day when I played with a friend to determine who was paying for coffee. I won. With Paper.

Rock, Paper, Scissors. 

A game invented by the caveman for their amusement, in order to distract you long enough to forget what you were arguing about.
This handy, dandy trio is has been used since then to resolve conflict for the decision impaired among us.

But for me, this has become an insightful, personality revealing exercise.

I’ve discovered, through years of extensive research and observation, that we all know someone who always picks rock.
And doesn’t their behavior resemble that of a rock?
The good qualities: solid, immovable, and grounded.
The not so good qualities: solid, immovable and stubborn, with their hand in a fist.
They are rock.
They pick it every time.
Your scissors can’t cut it.
In theory, paper wins over rock.
Paper can wrap around it, but rock will argue that it can go through paper or sit on top of it, causing paper to rethink its strategy.
That is just so rock.

The people who pick paper are the writers, litigators and diplomats among us.

You can rest assured their paper is covered with notes and talking points for their long-winded arguments.

They are also the embracers among us.

They think any conflict can be solved with a hug.
They are also crazy strong and amazingly fragile.
Just know that once they are cut or torn, no amount of scotch tape can fix them.
I fall into this category for every reason listed, but mostly because I’ve hugged my way out of some really contentious battles.

Ask my sister.

When she and I lived together with a roommate, (back in the day when we all had Flock of Seagulls hair, and wore our underwear on the outside of our clothes) said roommate had a total meltdown, complete with the ugly cry face and actual screaming. She lost her shit so completely, I could only think of one way to make it stop…I hugged her. I became a human straightjacket. The look on my sister’s face still makes me laugh, I’m LoL-ing right now!
Paper people are vulnerable to the scissor…and fire.
I have a friend who added standing, waving fingers as “fire” into the game many years ago. He’s a character for another day… and a cheater!

The folks that pick /scissor/ can be sharp.
By that I mean smart and funny, and they always have a fabulous haircut…hmmmm.
They are unique, super creative and crafty;  the Edward Scissorhands among us.

They can also cut you with one word or a look.
They don’t even need their /scissors/.
One stern, guilt inducing glance can crumple paper into tears, and even intimidate rock.
/Scissor/ people can be back stabbers, so beware.
I’m not kidding. My study is very precise and has been done through the years with tens of people.

I think every first date, job interview, and assembly at the UN, should start with a game of rock, paper, scissor, just so you get an idea of who you’re dealing with.

Next time you play, pay attention. What’s your “go to” symbol?
*And if someone pulls out waving fingers and yells fire melts rock, paper and scissors! that’s my friend,  he’s a rascal and a sore loser…good luck with that…and tell him I said Hey!

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

You’re Not the Boss Of ME! – REPRISE

Morning!
Someone asked me to re-post this – as a little reminder to leave some things up to chance…you never know, it could be fun.
Have a great weekend.
xoxJ

Ultimatums are rarely a good idea.

In life, in relationships and when dealing with the Universe.

When we are driven to taking this tactic, hands on our hips, lips pursed, loaded with attitude, wearing our bossy pants…we will lose.
Every time. And we’ve ALL done it.

Think about it, you have set your terms, made your demands and you are promising some kind of retaliation or an end to communication all together, if you don’t get the answer you desire.
First of all, that’s called emotional extortion, that’s a topic for another day.
Still, it seems like you have all the power… butcha don’t….Not really.

The final outcome lies in the hands of the receiver of the ultimatum.
It’s his call, he could end it all. Because YOU said so.
So NOW who’s got the power?

You know what the Universe says to an ultimatum?
“You’re not the boss of me”.

You know how I know that? Because it told me so.

Recently; like yesterday, I was giving the Universe my latest, in the long line of ultimatums I’ve been issuing and that “voice” chimed in:

Me: So, here’s the deal, you’ve gotta do “this thing” or I can’t make all this other stuff happen.

Uni: Don’t give me an ultimatum, you’re not the boss of me, give me choices.

Me: What do you mean, choices?

Uni: Give me your three most preferable choices,in descending order, from best to worst. I’ll take it from there.

Me: Why would I do that?

Uni: To maintain your flexibility. It also allows us to throw you a curve ball. Something amazing, that’s completely unexpected.

Me: But I really, strongly, feel that it has to go down a certain way.

Uni: You are acting stubborn and misguided.

Me: Don’t sugarcoat it, tell me how you really feel…Shit…okay.

After that, I did come up with three alternative scenarios that would work in that situation. Funny, earlier I was convinced there was only one.

So, I shot off a mental memo to the Universe, and sat back feeling relieved. I wasn’t nervously waiting for the shoe to drop, I knew it could go any number of ways and that would be fine.

I AM feeling more flexibility around my expectations.

I’m Gumby dammit!

Now I’ve got to go borrow a baseball mitt, gotta be ready for my curveball.

How about you?

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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