dreams

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

OMG! You guys! I have to tell you what a fucking relief it was to make this tiny tweak in my belief about what was possible for me to have in my life!

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. Many take both. 

The choice is yours.

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 turned 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 enlisted the same part of my brain that talks me OUT of everything fun—to talk myself INTO making it happen.

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 page and keep living your life.

Guess what? It may still show up!

A 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 accept only the BEST party invitations with only the BEST men in attendance. Even though I admired her commitment, I admit I often scoffed 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 (a term I made up)= says MAYBE. It feels hopeful. Like a calculated risk.

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, plotted and planned. She 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 to own a house which is impossible when at the age of forty you‘ve only managed 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

This is a post from waaaaay the hell back in the summer of 2013. Do you even remember the summer of 2013? Yeah, me either!

Anyhow…it felt timely due to the fact that we all have this fresh, new year to work with so I thought I’d share it with y’all.

If you were one of the oh, I don’t know, fifteen readers I had back then and you can’t be bothered with a flashback—go make yourself a sandwich!
And Carry on, xox

“If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with success unexpected in common hours.”~ Henry David Thoreau

You frequently hear the saying: Make your dream a reality.

But let’s flip it around, shall we?

You often hear someone who has accomplished something monumental say
“This feels like a dream”
or
“This is more than I could have ever dreamed of”.

That happens when the Universe takes a desire and runs with it!

When you put something out there and then you only feed it with feelings of accomplishment,
you feel assured that it will come to pass.

Like the athlete who after practice envisions crossing the finish line first, over and over and over again.

How about the actor who feels so prepared, so perfect for a part that he is relaxed and confident at the audition?

They know what they want and they stay out of their own way! Their reality then reinforces this by giving them feedback that they’re on the right track.

The athlete starts winning all his competitions,
The actor gets his parts.

This is where it gets interesting.
Even when things “seem” to go awry, we are being guided to our dreams.

The Universe now has taken the reins and is running the show.

When you can take these detours in stride and maintain your resolve by not getting discouraged;
not listen to the negative voices—both internal and external,
THAT is when…

The athlete gets the last place on the team to the Olympics and WINS  A MEDAL!
The actor gets not the lead, but a supporting role and then wins an Academy Award!

Their achievements surpass even their wildest dreams!

And THAT ladies and gentlemen is how you make your reality a dream.

Once upon a time I took score too soon.
I was convinced that my life as I knew it was over. Which it was, but not in the sucky way I thought.

I told you guys back at the start of this year how a past love from thirty years ago had contacted me, wanting to reconnect. I also told you how squirmy it made me on account of—he quite literally broke. my. heart!

At the time of our breakup, it seemed as if he’d dumped me right out of the blue, with no rhyme or reason; and it took me five long and torturous (for those around me), years to get over him.

My days consisted of wanton displays of reminiscing, whining, moaning and crying, all of which demonstrated a complete absence of any self-respect or common sense. The cry-fests were of such unending duration that I was single-handedly responsible for the uptick in Kleenex stock at the time.
You’re welcome Proctor and Gamble.

When I was telling my friend Kim (you all remember Kim. She’s the no shit-taker Janet whisperer), the story back in January, I remembered, for the first time in like, forever—this little tidbit.

This nugget of wtf.

This slight of hand that destiny dealt me.

It should have always been the prequel to this tale of woe. The appetizer, the trailer of coming attractions, but it never was, because I forgot about it. Until this year.

Late one hot summer night in 1986, I got off the phone with my luvah boy-toy after what could be described as a three-hour nasty-chat that sizzled the telephone lines between Long Beach, where he was attending college, and LA, where I was busy robbing cradles.

After finishing my post virtual-sex cigarette, I fell asleep ten times less horny and fifty times happier than earlier that night.
He was the love of my life…or so I thought.
Deep into my sexy, sweaty, summer stupor, I had a dream. It was as vivid as real life; only way more interesting.

I was walking barefoot into a cave, running my hands along its cold, smooth, stone walls, feeling the powdery sand between my toes as I ventured further and further into its pitch-blackness. It was cool and dry and I can still smell the mustiness that filled my senses as I  inhaled deeply. Even though I’m not a fan of dark cave walks in real life; at the time I felt more curious than anything else.

Suddenly, there was a male presence ahead of me dressed in a black robe with a hood that obscured his face. Again, in real life that is the universal sign for ‘run for your life’, but inside of this dream instead of being afraid I started a conversation, you know like you do with black hooded figures in pitch dark caves.

It’s not like our lips moved, well, maybe his did but it was so dark I couldn’t see them and besides, it was a dream, so we communicated telepathically. I started by asking him who he was and he immediately broke the ice with an ultimatum.

“This is not the direction your life is meant to go. This relationship must end.”

“Whoa there big hooded fella” I replied, appalled by his rude opening line. “That will NOT be happening!”

“He is not the one for you, this is not where your life is headed, let him go and move on.”

“I don’t remember asking you for advice, this is none of your black capey business.”

“This must end. Now”,  He demanded.

“No!” I could feel myself getting emotional as I argued back.

The tone of his thought/voice was firm and unwavering. There would be no compromise. I started to cry.

“But.. I love him.”

“This is not the life you are meant to live. The relationship must end.”

As he said that, I began to sob, and before I knew it this large hooded figure reached out and pulled me in for a hug.

I kid you not.

The moment we made contact I felt an amazing rush of incredible love and I knew EVERYTHING.

I mean EVERYTHING.

Who killed J.R., why we are here, the reason for it all, the cure for cancer, the names of all the planets in our galaxy and every baby that will ever be born on Earth. EVERYTHING.

I remember thinking for one split second remember this and omg it is all so easy.

When he let go of me I knew in my kishkes that my life had been changed forever, but I didn’t remember anything else.

“Show me your face” I begged.
“Not now”
“Then when?”

It was everything I could do not to reach up and pull the hood down but I was suddenly distracted by a telephone ringing in the distance. I turned around and started to run to answer it. As I raced out of the cave and back toward the light and the sound of the ringing, I remember glancing over my shoulder to see if he was still there—but he was gone.

I opened my eyes to bright sunlight streaming through the blinds and my telephone ringing loudly on the floor just where I’d left it the night before.

“Hello?” I croaked, my mouth so void of saliva that my lips were sticking to my teeth.

Silence. Then, “Hey baby…we have to talk”. And right then and there he told me he didn’t want to see me anymore. I pleaded for a reason, something I did wrong, something I could do to change his mind, but he was adamant. Just like that, we were over.

“That hooded dude did a Jedi-mind trick on your boy!”, Kim exclaimed at the end of my story.
“Really? You don’t see it? It’s as plain as day!”,  she snort-laughed seeing the gobsmacked expression on my face.

Why hadn’t I ever thought of that?!

“OMG! He still can’t explain why he left you, hence all the regrets and looking back”,  she howled.

She’s right. The dream provided me some warning for the impending 180 my life was about to take, but the Universe took the wheel and forgot to share its plans with my friend.

In the middle of it all, I took score.
Note to self: Don’t take score in the middle.

I was convinced my life was over when it was only just beginning.

In response to my extreme dumb-shittery during our time together, his departure facilitated a life-long spiritual practice . I went on a journey of self-discovery, saw the world, and started eating meat again, just not in that order.

And beware of black-hooded telepaths who hang out in caves giving hugs—for they may speak the truth.

Carry on,
xox

Ray: I’m thirty-six years old, I love my family, I love baseball, and I’m about to become a farmer. And until I heard the Voice, I’d never done a crazy thing in my whole life.

Voice: If you build it, he will come.
~from the movie Field of Dreams

I’m baaaackkkkk! And I missed YOU!

I went away to devote a block of time to the screenplay I’ve been enlisted to write.
The one about death and life thereafter.

The comedy —the buddy picture—my own person Field of Dreams complete with a cryptic voice and characters who are invited to participate in this magical fairy tale I’ve been fortunate enough to be gifted with writing.

I haven’t always felt that way.

At first, it was so (insert baseball pun here), out of left field, that my inner skeptic was pooping her pants. I have a nose finely tuned for bullshit and this entire endeavor reeked of it.

But after a while, after a ton of questioning and “prove it to me’s” I plowed under my corn and built my field just as I’d been directed. I started writing a screenplay (which I had no interest in doing and absolutely NO experience at), that was dictated to me by my pal, the dead screenwriter.

And you know what happened? The more I got out of the way—the better it got. So much so that now, when I read it to people, ( even people I’ve just met  like the women at the retreat last week), THEY SEE THE PLAYERS ON THE FIELD. In other words, they believe in the magic and that never ceases to amaze me.

I remember loving Field of Dreams when it came out. Who doesn’t want to believe that there’s more to life than the mundane and ordinary? What Ray did seemed crazy but his courage (disguised as wavering conviction), wins everyone over in the end—even me.

I know. It’s a movie. But crazy as it sounds it’s also become a template for my life.

All ideas start as crazy fantasies. They do. Every. Single. One. of  Them.

They come out of nowhere, bite you on the ass, and invite you to come along for the ride.
What do YOU do when that happens? Do you up the volume on the radio (get caught up in life), to drown out the voices (ideas), or do you plow under the corn (take some risks), and build the field for the players to come and play (give your ideas life)?

I used to ignore the Voice. For years, I turned my back to the players on the field. But what kind of life is that?

When magic presents itself—I say, make the leap.
Not everyone will see the players on the field but that’s okay, those that do far outweigh the ones who cannot.

Plus, Magic can’t be contained. It bleeds into all other aspects of your life and that does NOT suck. I promise.

I’ve gotta go now, it’s the second inning and I’m up at bat.

Play ball!
xox

John Kinsella: Is this heaven?

~Dialogue from the movie FIELD OF DREAMS

I’m just going to say it. The end of 2015 was a clusterfuck of mixed-up energies of epic proportions. Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but you get what I mean. Besides, many of YOU were the ones that were calling it to my attention.

When I wrote about how conflicted I felt about how sad I felt in paradise, the genie was out of the bottle! SO many of you were sad too–for no apparent reason–which just makes it all the more confusing. At least if someone fell and broke a hip or your cat got run over–you know why you want to crawl under the bed.

We all like reasons for our emotions. I know I do.

Even my teenage niece just wasn’t feelin’ it in December and she was raised by elves in Santa’s Village, North Pole, USA. We count on her to buoy the rest of us with her unlimited teenage-girl holiday enthusiasm, decorating her room with white twinkle lights and making sure every square inch of my sister’s house looks like a reindeer barfed Christmas (and presents), everywhere.

Not this year. She was…melancholy. We’re just chalking it up to the weird energy and he fact that a certain amount of melancholy is synonymous with being sixteen.

Okay so everybody felt sad. I get that. But here’s where it got interesting.
Suddenly, the week after Christmas, I was overtaken by an overwhelming sense of…optimism.

Like 2016 was going to be the best year ever!

Again, I had nothing, whatsoever, besides my usual delusional thinking on which to base that upbeat prognosis.

When I spoke up at the New Years Eve party, expecting to get pummeled with dinner rolls, instead, everyone, get that? EVERYONE agreed!

2016 is going to be awesome. And we have no idea why.

A couple of people, Danielle La Porte being one of them, wrote about the numerology behind the year 2016.

2016 2+0+1+6 = 9 the year of answered prayers.
What? Are you kidding? Prayers? Answered? Well, no wonder we’re all collectively peeing our pants. Who doesn’t love answered prayers?! Don’t you fucking LOVE knowing that?

The Year of Answered Prayers.

That unclenches my jaw AND my butt. A real double-whammy.

I can hear you. You’re all asking yourselves right now: Hey, (our tribe starts everything with “hey”), hey, does Janet pray? Hell yeah! And meditate and chant and write shit down and ask nicely in my most polite voice. I cover all of my request-line bases.

So, the other night, In answer to prayer 4,567,389, is this really going to be such a great year? I had a dream where I watched as the night sky was carpeted with falling stars. There were thousands a minute. It was the meteor shower of all meteor showers and because it was so extraordinary I knew it was a dream. Still, I squealed and clapped with delight like I do when I watch fireworks. When I woke up I felt elated. (which was the polar opposite of sad and that made me worry for a sec that maybe I was losing my shit).

Of course I looked it up:
“To see a meteor in your dream suggests that you will experience success in a project. You are on your way toward realizing your goals and desires. Alternatively, the meteor refers to wishful thinking and idealistic thoughts.
To see a meteor shower in your dream signifies romantic thoughts and idealistic notions.”

…and answered prayers you guys. The year of answered prayers.

Breath in…breathe out…and carry on

xox

Did you like the game hide-n-seek as a kid? What about the 2.0 birthday party version, warmer/colder where someone guided you to your destination, to your prize, by yelling warmer! (closing in) or colder! (moving away)?

“Warmer…warmer…you are hot—you are on fire!” I’d hear those words over the pounding of my heart as my skinny little arms flailed around excitedly, knowing I was literally on top of the candy bar, box of crayons or whatever incredibly desirable prize lay just out of my reach.

Goddammit! I loved that game! I still play it regarding the things I want now in my adult life.

If I talk about a certain thing that I want or fixate on it like a dog with a bone, I’ll start to notice things just like it materializing all around me.

I’ll see the same scarf I love on three people in a week. Warmer!

When I was deciding whether or not to continue dying my hair, everywhere I looked were these chic women absolutely rockin’ their gray hair! Warmer!

If your neighbor suddenly shows up with your dream car in their driveway? Warmer!

All of your friends married to great guys? Warmer!

Once upon a time I fell madly in love with a very specific pair of brown boots but they were way more than I could justify so I convinced myself that I would just have to admire them from afar (which by-the-way felt completely unacceptable).

Several days later, in an act of Universal cruelty, a customer came in wearing the objects of my affection—those super-hipster brown boots. I wanted to jump over the desk and murder her for her shoes. Instead, I locked myself in the bathroom.

The next night I went to dinner with a friend in Malibu and as we walked from the parking lot to the cafe, there was a high-end shoe store along the way. In the window: those fuckingly awesome brown boots!

You’ve got to be kidding me! I anguished, then I remembered the warmer/colder game.
Warmer! I yelled, clawing at the glass like the ginger-haired, shoe-hoarding madwoman I was, listening to it echo into the cool night air. Warmer…warmer…warmer.
My friend kept on walking.
I drank too much at dinner and I remember leaving a big, red lipstick kiss mark on the store window as I whimpered over and over again, warmer…warmer…warmer…
My friend promptly drove me to boot rehab.

About a day, two weeks, maybe month later, one of my other friends witnessed my obsession with said boots as I screamed, Warmer! through the entire Century City mall after seeing them on a shopper.

“What’s the big deal?” she asked, a little afraid to get too close to me.

“It’s those wildly expensive brown boots! I would die for them!” I was panting, out-of-breath.

“They’re half-off at…”
I didn’t even wait for her to finish. I ran so fast through that maze of shops to get those boots, I set a land-speed record.
When she caught up with me I was holding the box close to my chest, “You are hot—you are on fire.” was all I could manage to say.

More recently, like a little over a month ago, I noticed a friend got published on The Huffington Post a few days after I submitted a story. Then another.
I was thrilled for them. Instead of feeling envy I knew my prize was literally burning under my feet, ( as a matter of fact, my own Huffington Post notification was sitting in my junk mail waiting to be discovered later that afternoon!).

And that’s the point you guys. You can see other people around you achieving the things you’re striving for and you can feel competitive, consumed with anger and jealousy (which feels cold. Colder!) —or you can yell Warmer! and realize that the reason it is all around you is that it is about to burst into your own reality!

Warmer! & carry on,
xox

“Whether or not it is clear to you, the Universe is unfolding as it should.”

This poem, the Desiderata, was popular when I was a teenager in the 1970’s. I remember hanging the poster on my closet door—between Bobby Sherman and Davey Jones of the Monkees.  At the time it made very little impact on me. I thought it was pretty, but I was busy chasing boys and singing in Glee club!

The other day I was reminded of it, so I looked it up. Shit! I had to share this with you guys! This thing feels more relevant than ever!

The Universe quote above—holy cow! I’m JUST getting that! Now—after forty plus years!

“Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.”

Silence? Peace? Oh man! I needed that yesterday!

“Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.”

Right?! So true! That 3am awefulizing that we all indulge in occasionally. FEAR.

The take away? Old posters from the walls of your teenage bedroom possess a wisdom you were completely unaware of! (Maybe I absorbed some of it through osmosis!) AND…

“Even with it’s broken dreams; it is still a beautiful world.”

“Strive to be happy.”

Love you guys!

xox

BEFALL:
verb: (used without object), befell, befallen,befalling.
to happen or occur.
to come, as by right.
3.verb: to happen to, especially by chance or fate.

I have become aware of late, that I am a pain in the Universal ass.

I suppose I always knew it, I suspected as much, but today I feel that it has become an undisputed fact.

You see, when I take off on my morning walks, one of the first things I ask the Universe, besides helping me to sidestep the dog poo; is to give me a message — hey guys… you know what I want — show me something I need to know!

That means the Universe has to put down its coffee, get dressed, and pay attention to…me.
The pain in the ass.

If you follow me regularly you are well aware that most days I get jack-nuthin’, (the Universe gets caught up in an article on the Huffington Post) while other times I actually receive some answers in the form of a cryptic haiku on a Post It, a tiny gnome village or a bird-strike omen — you know, the usual.

Anytime I spy something out of the ordinary I pick it up, truly convinced that it holds a message just for me, and today was no different.

It seems our entire neighborhood is under construction these days, developers tearing down the smaller, quaint, 1930’s homes to throw up another two-story, Leave It To Beaver style behemoth.

At eight in the morning the streets are lined with construction trucks, roach coaches…and men. Lots and lots of virile young men.

Now, as a woman, I have a kind of built-in shame meter that makes me automatically cross the street when I see men in tool belts and hard hats. All those years of wolf whistles and cat calls have trained me well.
The thing is, I am no longer the age where I elicit that sort of display of machismo. I am just south of sixty, and even though I am still technically a woman, I’m sure I am older than most of their mothers.

These days they are polite, they smile at me and say “good morning” like I’m their fucking grandma in yoga pants. I haven’t heard anything resembling a catcall in over ten years; (she says with immense resentment) yet, still I run. Middle aged wishful thinking I suppose.
Anyhow…
This cruddy, yellow flash card caught my attention as I jumped up on the curb after sprinting across the street to avoid a construction crew and their catcalls.

I actually ran past it in my zealousness to escape the nonexistent wolf whistles, but once I had seen it I knew I had to take my chances and double back around to find out what it was. When I bent over to retrieve the card I made sure my ass was pointed in the opposite direction of the men, you know, so as not to tease them.

It was the flash card pictured above. It has the word “befall” in middle-school-aged boy scrawl, with a couple of the definitions on the back.

It was trash day yesterday so I’m pretty sure the card had just escaped its fate by falling on the ground. I have to tell myself that to override any guilt I have about sabotaging some kid’s English final by hijacking card #2 with the word befall on it.

Technically I was picking up litter, so calm down.

Befall. What an old-fashioned, Elizabethan kind of word.

“What fate will befall you Janet Bertolus?”
Can’t you guys just hear those words spoken by a handsome King, who wants me to be his Queen (naturally) as I ride off into the sunset on a white horse with a young construction worker who has found me irresistible? Yeah, me neither.

My immediate reaction? Foreboding. Like it was a warning.
But when you throw down a word like BEFALL Universe, you get me thinking. And then I remembered the bird strike, and omens, and the fact that sometimes things that SEEM awful…aren’t.

What if it’s foretelling something magical that’s going transpire by chance or fate? What if befall means: to come as if by right — like I’m entitled to everything wonderful?
Much better, right?

“Great success was to befall Janet Bertolus in the very near future.” Oh, I like that one.

So you guys, what if you were as big of a pain in the ass as I am, and you asked for a sign from the Universe? What word do you think you’d get? Remember, these guys are tricky — nothing is ever obvious.

What fate will BEFALL you this fine weekend? A trip? A graduation? A great meal? The time to curl up with a good book?
More importantly, what are you entitled to?

Aren’t you liking the word BEFALL more and more? I am.

Carry on,
xox

*Hey peeps,
Same day, different year!
I wrote this essay last year and well, it’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it!
Love ya!

It’s my birthday today.
Yep, another year older, I’m game for that; it is better than the alternative.

Once upon a long time ago, a wise man told me that it’s very important to meditate on the day of your birth and to set an intention for the year to follow.

He also told me a story that I swallowed hook, line and sinker, and it went something like: Either the night before, or the night of your birth, you go before a council, in your dreams. You then state your case as to the reasons why you should be allowed to remain on the planet for another year.

What will you add?

What mark will you leave?

Will you move further toward your purpose, or stay asleep?

When he explained that to me over coffee and a huge dose of conviction –– I took it very seriously…and I still do.

I used to look around at the people who appeared to just be marking time, figuring their council session probably didn’t go so well. Until I realized, someone could be wondering that about me. Everyone’s entitled to have an off-year, right?

The older I get, the more I understand that this is not a dry run. This is the real deal.

You’ve gotta try your damnedest to find out why you’re here, and then get on with it.

What do you think you last told the council?

That you’re going to spend another year at that dead-end job, or in that abusive, loveless marriage?

That you’re not going to take that trip you’ve always dreamed about…again?

That you’re not going to take any chances…you’ll be sitting on the sidelines, playing it safe again this year?

How would that go over with them? I’m thinkin’ not so good.

We may be given some slack in our twenties, ’cause we’re newbies, but by now, we had better make a hell of a case for walking the planet for another 365 days.

I only get the privilege of being me this one time around. I’m not looking at blowing it.

Maybe I stood before the council last night, or maybe it will be tonight. Doesn’t matter. I’m prepared, notes in hand, maybe even a PowerPoint presentation, my intention set.

I plan on kicking some serious butt this year.
Wish me luck.

Xox