desire

When you’re touched by magic, nothing’s ever quite the same again. What really makes me sad is all those people who never have the chance to know that touch. They’re too busy, or they just don’t hold with make-believe, so they shut the door without really knowing it was there to be opened in the first place.

~CHARLES DE LINT, What the Mouse Found and Other 

I don’t think it’s a secret to anyone that I believe in magic. 

That I have a facility for “holding the make-believe”.

That I live most days steeped in my overly vivid imagination. Now, that being said, it doesn’t mean I don’t like to test magic which I do with nauseating frequency. It’s called discernment, and if you are a friend of mine or you live with me—you frequently have to fasten your seatbelt because, when you goad magic? 

MAGIC SHOWS UP!

Case in point:

I’ve recently become obsessed with manifesting, which, if you think about it is just magic we’ve all agreed is real. 

You know, first, there’s the desire—then there’s the waiting period—and then, as if out of thin air—it shows up—Magic! 

Anyway, I’m interested in the in-between part. The waiting. The span of time where the money isn’t quite in the bank yet. The days, weeks or months between wanting a new lover—and seeing him lying naked and unashamed—in your bed. 

In my quest, I’ve been taunting magic to show me more of the process. “Show me the energy dynamics behind getting an idea—and making to real!” I yell into the void…

Often, on the free-range, off-leash hike with Ruby, we meet up with a woman I will call writer lady (because we only know the names of the dogs) and her dog Betty. Betty is a scruffy faced mutt who thinks she’s a show dog, finicky, ill-tempered and not at all interested in being seen with the likes of Ruby. 

Yesterday, when we walked with Betty and writer lady, Betty yapped incessantly and nipped at Ruby’s Achilles while writer lady wove a tale of terror about her experiences as an actor and writer in Hollywood. 

Gee, I’ve never heard that one…

Just at the point where I thought my ears might bleed, writer lady suddenly became exuberant, pointing to a knee-high, scraggly looking plant to our left.  

“Look, a sunflower!” she managed to fit in-between complaints. 

“Really?” I asked. “Are you sure?” I didn’t mean to be a Doubting Debbie but I’d never seen a sunflower on the hike before and I think I would have remembered because I’m unusually observant and I have a thing for wildflowers.  

“Yeah, I usually see one or two, a result of the birds you know.” 

Still unconvinced, I played along. 

“Will it live?” I asked, looking at the dry soil. 

“Oh, yeah! Sure!” she replied with a sense of optimism I wished she could transfer to an IV drip and infuse straight into her career. “It will get a lot taller and then, in about a month, it should bloom.” 

She was a horticulturist at heart—obviously.

“Huh.” was my profound response. 

Today as we were walking, I blocked out her depressing stories and went to my magic place. Literally.

I started thinking about the manifesting experiments I’d been doing while my hubby and I played cards on the weekends. Cards are easy for me since I literally give no fucks about winning. The object of the game, in a nutshell, is to collect three of a kind or a straight—and on Sunday I had two magical experiences that blew my mind!

I’ve always been told the key to manifesting is ”Keep it light.”

No striving. No begging. No bargaining. No kidding. 

Just ask for something with words like ”Wouldn’t it be great if I picked an Ace,” or “A three of clubs would be delicious right about now.”  You know, easy, peasy, Parcheesi. 

“Oh! Ruby’s pooping!” writer lady exclaimed with the same enthusiasm I reserve for animals shitting on the toilet. That pulled me out of my day dream and it also meant I had to carry a bag of dog shit for the rest of the hike, about 2.5 miles. 

I hate that. I make a point of carrying NOTHING of my own so that I can walk, free and unencumbered and then she poops and I’m Queen Elizabeth with the ever present blue plastic “purse” on a hike.

Ruby, feeling instantly free, unencumbered, and ten pounds lighter took off running toward the silhouette of a woman walking toward us, apparently without a dog. 

Ruby finds that suspect. She always has. 

People on hikes without dogs is an abomination as far as she’s concerned. Assuming they must be lost, she’s only too happy to find them by frantically searching in the bushes and under large rocks.   

“God, wouldn’t it be great if someone came along and collected our poop bags?”  I said to writer lady, not kidding at all.

Walking toward the dog-less woman who was grinning from ear to ear because she didn’t have to carry a bag of shit for two miles, I apologized for Ruby who was fixated on her fanny pack like a bomb-sniffing dog at the Tel Aviv airport.

Ruby’s law—any human wearing a fanny pack, with or without a canine—has treats.

“Hey, no problem,” she said, petting Ruby’s ears like a bona fide dog person, “Why don’t you give me that?” she motioned toward the bright blue plastic poo-poo bag.

“You…mean…this?” I stammered, trying my best not to shit my own pants.

“Sure“ she chirped, “I collect all the dropped and discarded ones and throw ‘em in the dumpster.” She held up a large garbage bag I hadn’t noticed until that moment.

“Huh,” I responded, after realizing I’d blown one of my three magic wishes on a bag of shit. 

Then I practically genuflected and kissed her ring with gratitude.

Our enthusiasm restored, Ruby and I took off on the rest of the hike while the Poop Saint, Betty, and writer lady decided to walk back to the dumpster together.

The minute they were out of sight I yelled at magic in my outside voice, “Oh, my Gawd you’re such a show-off!” 

Then I remembered Sunday, the cards, and the time slippage. 

“A ten would be splendid,” I’d asked, after noticing a pair of tens. Remember, I needed three of a kind.
My husband picked a card and discarded a Queen. I looked back at my own hand, suddenly, out of the seven cards there were now three tens!

How could that be? 

I picked a card and looked again. Now, only a pair of tens stared back at me. What the fuck?  But the card I picked was a ten! NOW I had three tens!

My heart was running a marathon in my chest but I didn’t say anything. I’d been messing around for weeks, asking for a certain cards, very specific cards, and the results had been nothing short of remarkable (you can ask my husband) but I’d never seen the cards change in my hand! 

It was probably a fluke, so I asked magic to show me again.

The next game, I asked for an ace of spades to complete a straight. “An ace of spades would be delicious,” I said to myself as I picked a card. It was a Jack, which I discarded, but when I looked back at my hand I saw the ace of spades right there with the two and the three! 

Wait, what?

Now, I know what y’all are thinking, “Janet, you have got to stop that day drinkin’!” But I can swear to you that I was stone cold sober. 

I touched the ace with my thumb to prove to myself it was real, nevertheless, when I picked a card and looked again—it was gone, back to some other card.  My face got hot and I started to sweat but I kept it on the down-lo, watching and waiting for what would happen next and you guessed it— the next card my husband put down was the ace of spades! That’s when I almost threw up.

It was like the universe was giving me a “preview of coming attractions”.  Hey, I’m the one who wanted to see what happened in the void and you know what? MAGIC SHOWED UP!

Today, toward the end of the hike, I thought about the sunflower. Was it really a sunflower? Had we passed it? A few minutes later the bright yellow petals caught my eye. There was the sunflower standing waist high and in full bloom! How could that have happened in a day? I screamed inside my head as Ruby danced around me, happy as a clam with her chewed-up tennis ball. This was the part where I just about shit all over my Lulu Lemon.

Just to prove it to myself I took the picture above. I can’t wait to go back tomorrow and see if it’s still there. 

Below are some quotes about Magic that I love. I’m starting to believe that the more we marinate in it— the more it shows up for us.

Stay tuned & Carry on,
xox

I would not want to live in a world without dragons, as I would not want to live in a world without magic, for that is a world without mystery, and that is a world without faith. ~R. A. SALVATORE, Streams of Silver

Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it. ~ROALD DAHL, The Missing Golden Ticket and Other Splendiferous Secrets

Scientists have calculated that the chances of something so patently absurd actually existing are millions to one. But magicians have calculated that million-to-one chances crop up nine times out of ten. ~TERRY PRATCHETT, Mort

The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper. ~EDEN PHILLPOTTS, A Shadow Passes

A little magic can take you a long way. ~ROALD DAHL, James and the Giant Peach

Books are a uniquely portable magic. ~STEPHEN KING, On Writing

If you choose magic you will never be able to return to the life you once lived. Your world may be more … exciting … but it will also be more dangerous. Less reliable. And once you begin to walk the path of magic, you can never step off of it. ~NEIL GAIMAN, The Books of Magic: The Road to Nowhere

And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it. ~ROALD DAHL, The Minpins

I don’t want realism. I want magic! ~ TENNESSEE WILLIAMS, A Streetcar Named Desire

Okay. Now that I have your attention, what DOES sex have to do with manifestation?
Nothing and EVERYTHING.
Stay with me.
Here we go.
Think about something you want. Wait. Let’s use a sexier word. DESIRE. Something you desire.

Can you focus your attention on that thing for ten seconds straight? You’d be surprised how long that is AND I said straight, without interruption. That’s the thing with focus. It’s, it’s…elusive.
It gets away from you.

Unless it comes to sex.

MY sex to manifesting comparisons go something like this:

First you have to find something engaging. Something that gets your juices flowing—if you know what I mean.
Have you ever tried to have sex with someone you were not that into? Yeah, me neither.
Anyway…
Have you ever found yourself eyes wide open while they’re kissing you, searching their face or body for something appealing? You know, something to get you going?
When that didn’t work, did you find yourself racking your brain as to how it is that you have come to find yourself naked with this person?
Yeah, me too.

Here’s the thing. You’ll never manifest real happiness (or a happy ending), from something you have no passion for. You won’t have the stamina or the staying power.
You may as well play some gin rummy, or watch Game of Thrones. The end.

Then there’s the focus thing.

Focus is concentration on steroids and it is absolutely, positively necessary for the happy ending to occur.

Think I’m wrong?

Start messing around and then turn on cartoons.

Get right there, I mean right there, yes, yes! righhhhhttttt theeeerrrrreeeee!! and sneeze.

Get involved in some heavy foreplay and have your dog jump on the bed and lick your testicles.
Yeah, you know what I mean. When you lose your focus—things go…limp.
Game over.

The same thing happens when you’re thinking about that new job or project you’re excited about.
You can feel your pulse quicken when suddenly, out of left field comes your father’s voice telling you that it’s too risky, or you start to imagine all the reasons why your dream can’t possibly work.
Your focus is broken and your desire becomes…limp.

Stop. Drop. Go eat a sandwich instead.

So there you have it.
Passion, or at least excitement is required to be able to maintain an erection, focus.

Distraction kills focus and it’s easy to become distracted —except when it comes to sex.

The bottom line: It all boils down to sex. Sex and bacon.

Carry on, (That has suddenly taken on a whole new meaning)
xox

I just spent the day writing an article about getting divorced at twenty-six for a series on divorce at all ages.

I called it I Was A Twenty-Six Year Old Divorced Unicorn because that was how…um,…unusual I felt at the time.

You see, my ex wasn’t a troll. He wasn’t a bad guy in any way. We just weren’t a good match. But you need more than that as grounds for divorce. How did I know we weren’t a match that could pass the test of time at the tender age of twenty-six?

Because I was desperately unhappy. Like can’t eat, can’t sleep unhappy.

That was my first clue. My second clue was the fact that the stress I was under (pretending I was in love) kept my appetite nonexistent and my weight at barely one hundred pounds. I know. You’re thinking Oh, boo fucking hoo, you can’t gain weight. But at five foot five, it was a real problem.

True story: At the time of my divorce my weight dropped to 97-98 lbs. I wore a size zero and looked like a skeleton. Apparently my eyesight went too because I thought I looked amazing. My mom, never one to mince words, looked at me wearing my teeny-tiny Barbie clothes and lost her cool. “You think you look good, don’t you?” she hissed. “Well, you don’t! You look like shit! Eat something! NOW!”

Sadly, in recent years my metabolism has begun to listen to my mother— and it has turned on me. Now when I’m under intense stress I crave raw cookie dough, and frosting out of the can; and if I eat an olive, I gain five pounds. Hand to God.

Today I searched for the one word to describe how I felt at the time. At the time I was not able to articulate exactly what I wanted and what I felt was missing—all I knew was that in my heart of hearts—I wanted more. That’s when it suddenly came to me—greedy. I felt greedy. Not a positive word because my emotion at the time was so misunderstood.

“More than what?” my dad had asked me upon hearing that I wanted a divorce. “What more could you possibly want? It doesn’t seem like anyone can make you happy!”

Wow! He was right about that. That was my job, only I didn’t know it at the time.

I only knew that something profoundly wonderful was missing, and I wasn’t able or willing to settle.

So that made me feel greedy. And greedy felt wrong.

Other people settle. Why can’t I?
Believe me when I say, It would be so much easier to just stay married!

“I’m a freakin’ unicorn! An anomaly; and NO ONE understands or knows what to make of me!”

Once I was single, I found out guys didn’t want to date a twenty-six year old divorcee.

Typical First Date Conversation:

“So, you ever been married?”

“Yeah.”

“Really? He die?”

“Uh, no, we’re divorced.”

“He cheat on you?”

“Nope.”

“He left you?”

“Nope. I left him.”

(Beat) “Waiter, check please!”

Obviously I needed to set my bar higher.

What I eventually discovered, after a whole lot of sleepless nights, and years of pain, was that there were benefits to divorce; to asking more from life; to refusing to settle; to being greedy.

I also forgot that a Unicorn is a mystical, rare and beautiful creature.

So I’m curious…

This being what it is, more of a stream of consciousness, I want to turn the tables and ask you guys:

Q- What does it mean to you to settle? When have you done it and when could you not?

Q- Do you agree with the word greedy? What word would you choose when things look good but you want more?

Q- Are you a Unicorn? Why?

I love you all madly, carry on,
xox

This is a re-tooling of a post I wrote several years ago.

OMG! You guys! I have to tell you that when I made this tiny tweak in my belief about what was possible for me to have in life, well, what a fucking relief!

Here it is in a nutshell: No dream is impossible. There is ALWAYS a way. Some ways are risky, fast and impractical, others take time and careful planning.

The choice is our own.

Everyone will weigh in. Ignore them! Do what feels comfortable, scratch that, I recommend reaching just a little bit out of your comfort zone for your dreams. It makes life so much more interesting!

Take a few risks.
Pick the road less traveled.
Occasionally drink wine before noon.

As my friend, Steph Jagger would tell you “Lift your restraining device and accept the call to adventure.”

And Carry on,
xox

We’ve all been bitten by the ugly green ENVY monster, especially when other people’s fabulous lives are vomited all over social media.
“Where’s my great kitchen?  “Why aren’t I wintering in the Maldives? ” They bought another car?” “Shit, I know that jacket, that jacket costs eight grand!”

Waaaah, Waaaah, Woe is me…where’s MY stuff?

I turned this around for myself years ago and then shared my devious little plan (insert diabolical laugh here) with my husband – who has made it into an art form.

Seriously. He should hold seminars.

When I saw someone with something I really wanted, like a ten thousand dollar handbag, or a Tuscan Villa, instead of thinking that’s impossible for me and turning into a sad sack — I’d sit down and make a plan.

I Could Have That If I Really Wanted It —I’d tell myself — and it’s true.

If I wanted a wildly extravagant vacation, I could sell some jewelry, cash in my 401K, borrow money, even take out a loan. I could do all those things.

IF I really, really wanted it, I could make it happen.

The same is true for almost anything you desire. You CAN have it — but it’ll cost ya.
If it’s a price you’re willing to pay, great! If not, put a picture of it on your Pinterest dream board and keep living your life.

It may still show up!

My friend Alex wanted a husband. A rich husband. So she made sure she was impeccably manicured, coiffed, waxed and outfitted, ready at a moment’s notice to attend on the BEST party invitations with only the BEST  men in attendance. Een though I admired her commitment, I scoffed often at her strategy. It seemed shallow and wildly expensive. She would just smile at me, undeterred. Three years later Alex married a billionaire businessman she met at a diplomatic dinner party in NY.

The bottom line is this — it is a choice. YOU make the choice. It’s not impossible, it just may be impractical, there’s a difference.

Impossible = says NEVER. That deflates me. Like a pair of saggy boobs, it leaves me feeling limp and disempowered.

Impractical Practicality = says MAYBE. It feels hopeful. Like I’m making the better of two decisions.

Sell everything and travel around the world skiing like Steph did sounds crazy, right? Only here’s what she did to make that happen. She did careful research in order to pick the destinations, got a loan on her house (gulp), saved her ass off and drained her savings. When others, like her dad, questioned her sanity, she just smiled the same undeterred smile as Alex. She wanted it THAT bad

Now THAT feels empowering.

I wanted a house which is impossible when you‘ve only managed at the age of thirty-nine to save $1.57.
But I was ready, and it was time. How am I going to make this happen?  I wondered.
I had refused to believe it was impossible, so I made a plan. It actually played out as a mix of practical and impractical. I’d have to bank every cent of my income, adhering to an austerity program that would make the rationing in communist Russia look extravagant.

I’d have to practice wildly impractical practicality for one year — to gain the impossible — and I did.

At forty years old I put all my things in storage, moved into a room at my sister’s with my two cats and saved every nickel I made. I sold watches and jewelry, silver, and anything else valuable that I had collected over the years as an antique jeweler. I also put a large chunk of what I’d saved in the stock market, for the short-term. Very risky, I know, but I made out like a bandit. Impractical you say? Yep. But I was trying to make the impossible happen.

I brainstormed and researched areas I’d like to live in, forgoing my daily Starbucks, nixing the mani-pedi’s, and living on salads made at home. I tried to borrow money at different points during the year, to expedite things and was met with a tight fist every time. That should have discouraged me but I was in so deep at that point it only strengthened my resolve.

Eventually, the perfect house, in the perfect price range, in the perfect neighborhood showed up — exactly one year later, and not a moment too soon according to my cats.

I’ve often found that if you believe the impossible is possible — the Universe provides.

Years ago, my husband was going on and on about a certain car. The car of his dreams.
“Buy it!” I said. “It’s too expensive.” he shot back, without hesitation.

“You could afford it if you sold some things, you have thousands of dollars of motorcycle crap…” he flinched as if he’d taken a punch, “It’s all just lying around, gathering dust. Sell it!”

“First of all, that stuff is NOT crap, and second of all, it wouldn’t make a dent in the price of that car.” He sounded…deflated.

“Yeah, but it’ll get the ball rolling. Put the word out that you want that car, it’s not impossible if you really want it — you’ll find the money.”

He looked at me sideways, but the next day I noticed that his screen saver was a gorgeous vanity shot of that car.
Within a year, he drove it into our driveway.
I nicknamed it The Vomit Comet. Too much car for me. I couldn’t ride in it without getting carsick. Eventually, the bloom fell off the rose and he sold it — and put that money toward the next vehicle of his dreams. He got that car and then realized — it goes too fast, you can never use all that power off a racetrack.

NEXT!  He’s got this down to a science.

NOTHING is impossible. It’s all a choice.

Carry on,

xox

* I love, love, love this essay on attachment by the very wise Danielle La Porte – I couldn’t have said it better myself! Take it away Danielle-

The difference between being “detached” and “non-attachment.” And why it matters for getting what you want. http://bit.ly/1IXUa8V

Give it all you got, and then… let it go. Let it go up to the Milky Way to be worked on. Let it come back with an answer, a gold nugget, a breakthrough, an alternative, a home.

Thanks Danielle!
Xox

DISAPPOINTMENT
dis·ap·point·ment
ˌdisəˈpointmənt/
noun
the feeling of sadness or displeasure caused by the nonfulfillment of one’s hopes or expectations.

(I was looking for an appropriate graphic for a post about disappointment and this one made me laugh – out loud – that’s good enough for me!)

Disappointment. Ugh. That feeling in the pit of your stomach that confirms your most deeply buried fear, that that thing, person, or situation you want SO badly isn’t going to materialize.

Well shit. I know most of the world believes this:

“Don’t expect too much from life, then you won’t be disappointed.”

I’ve been guilty of lowering my expectations, afraid that they couldn’t possibly be met; so you can imagine my surprise when on occasion – they’ve been surpassed.
Not all the time, I’m still a member of the human race, but years ago I heard this quote and it gave me…hope.

“Disappointment means you are taking score too soon.”
Abraham-Hicks

You see, I am a HUGE score-taker. I invented taking score and clock watching and all that frustrating behavior that kept me tied in knots for YEARS!

The above quote changed everything for me.

I realized that when I didn’t see what I wanted, I hadn’t given the person or situation enough time to enter my life.
Sometimes it took years! But looking back – damn the journey was a blast!

And that’s the point.

I wanted things fast. Like yesterday fast.
But the Universe knew the best route to my desire. One that I couldn’t always see.

You’ve heard of Divine Timing? Well, it takes time to line things up. 

I needed to lighten the fuck up.

I could make the journey from want to fruition the scenic route, or the road to perdition.

I decided (and so should you) to wait with enthusiastic anticipation for the events I wanted to take place.
I cannot tell you how much that shifted the energy from fear of failure, to hope.

And isn’t that what we all want to feel about the things we desire? Hopeful? I do!

So the next time you feel yourself all twisted into a pretzel of impatience (been there, done that) remember:
“Disappointment means you are taking score too soon.”

It’s coming. Everything you want. It’s the scenic route, enjoy the ride.
Believe in Divine Timing.
Lighten the fuck up.

Love you,
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

This savage heart is wild and un bridled,
wanting things that can’t be named.

This savage heart behaves like a child,
running barefoot and untamed.

This savage heart won’t choose the road,
that the other hearts have tread.

This savage heart won’t make it easy,
it won’t let itself be lead.

This savage heart is filled with passion,
that drives it forward hard and fast.

This savage heart will daily command me,
inside this life which I’ve been cast.

This savage heart will go on beating,
until all desire is a thing of the past.