gratitude

What in this moment is lacking?

You guys know how I love to collect quotes. I’m obsessed. Seriously. I’m a quote hoarder. Like I need to go to quote rehab. It’s all the stuff I wished I’d said. I guess it stems from quote envy…

Anyhow…Here are a few from that Rob Bell seminar last week that I thought could get you thinking.
They certainly did that for me. Some are so good you’re going to want to embroider them on a pillow or tattoo them on your face.

There are several from Rob, and the rest come from his invited speakers, who by the way were all brilliant.

So. “What in this moment is lacking?” Let’s start with that one by Rob Bell, shall we?

Nothing.
And that’s the problem. Our brains are constantly in search mode, looking, determined to find it. That thing that each moment lacks.
And you know what? Do that for long enough and you’ll have a list as long as your arm.

But in truth the answer is — nothing.
This moment lacks nothing.

It is the springboard, the jumping off place for the next and the next and the next. It is packed full of potential if you can change your perspective.
Try it.
You can always refer back to your long list.

Pete Rollins, I don’t know too much about him but he seemed like someone you’d want to share a pint or two with. Tons of hardscrabble wisdom in the body of a leather jacket wearing, truth talking Irishman.
Pete’s quotes have layers and layers of depth to them. Watch out!

“Fulfill your dreams so you can realize the abject horror of their impotence.” – Peter Rollins
(WTF?! This one could fuel the entire imaginary dinner table conversation that I have with world figures and people I admire.
What would Jon Stewart have to say about THAT?)

“Church should be like the Irish pub” – Rollins (No judgement, everyone’s welcome.)

“God is found in the midst of life, not the escape of it.” – Rollins (Talking about the argument that God can be found in hallucinatory drugs)

“We all have ghosts that become poltergeists. If you let them come out they become holy ghosts.” – Peter Rollins

If I could put my hand on your head and make you live forever but not experience the depth of life, I’m not a god. I’m a devil.  – Peter Rollins
(Here he was talking about the brevity of life and the role that the fear of death plays — See! I warned you. )

“Loneliness is the most lethal condition in existence.” – Rob Bell (talking about the lack of real connection even in this world of instant messaging, FaceTime, etc.)

“Before you can be free for life, you must be free from yourself.” – Rob Bell (you guessed it — free your demons)

“Ideas need flesh and blood.” – Bell (Regarding creativity and the reason our Muses choose us to execute their ideas.)

“Follow the joy” – Bell (the answer to someone’s question, “How do I find my path in life?”)

“It is such a letdown to rise from the dead and have your friends not recognize you.” – Rob Bell (Here he’s talking about when WE reinvent and rise from our own ashes and lose all our friends in the process because they just can’t relate to us anymore.)

“We turn graduations into divorces because we stayed too long.” – Rob Bell (Can’t we all just agree? Things just run their course?)

Speaking of creativity, this was from the Q & A with Carlton Cuse (the writer of LOST)

Q- “how much of the creative endeavor is luck and how much is hard work?”
Cuse – “almost none of it is luck.”
Ha! I love that! Almost none of it. I’m a firm believer in the saying “luck is when opportunity meets preparation.”
What about you?

These two are from Vicki Beeching who was enjoying her life as a devout Christian and writer and singer of inspirational music, but hiding a secret until it literally made her sick — the fact that she’s gay.

“When we worship certainty, we are attempting to tame the Lion.” – Vicki

“The only way to love and serve those around me is to be myself.” Vicki Beeching

I’ll leave you guys with these two to ponder, both by Rob Bell:

“Is this it?” is the existential thud of the American dream” – Bell (That thud was the sound we all heard as we grew into adulthood in the 20th century. I was wondering what that was.)

“A tribe to bless other tribes? That was a new idea. What does it look like for the U.S. to bless the world?” – paraphrased Rob Bell

What would that look like? I think it would look very much as it’s starting to look today.
One person at a time.
Being grateful.
Showering blessings.
Paying it forward.
Again and again and again.
Because this moment lacks NOTHING.

Carry on, I love you guys,
xox

GRUDGE

grudge
ɡrəj/
noun
1. a persistent feeling of ill will or resentment resulting from a past insult or injury.

synonyms: grievance, resentment, bitterness, rancor, pique, umbrage, dissatisfaction, disgruntlement, bad feelings, hard feelings, ill feelings, ill will, animosity, antipathy, antagonism, enmity, animus;
chip on one’s shoulder

verb
1.
To be resentfully unwilling to give, grant, or allow (something).

synonyms: begrudge, resent, feel aggrieved about, be resentful of, mind, object to, take exception to, take umbrage at

I used to work for someone who was the King of the Grudge Holders. He was brilliant at it.
If you had a grudge you needed held, you could count on him to do it for you.

His family used him over the years as their sanctioned grudge holder.
That left the rest of them free to live an unfettered, happy life.

He held a grudge toward his brother for being a dick to him as a teenager, you know, like older brothers are. It’s a right of passage — let it go.
Nope. Over twenty years later and they barely spoke.

It got to the point where he didn’t even know why he hated someone — he just did because his dad had told him the story of some slight back after the war. Not the Vietnam war, that would have been bad enough, No, we’re talking WWII — the 1940’s for god sakes.

I watched my boss act as cold as ice to a seemingly very nice older gentleman who came into our store, and after he left I questioned him about his behavior. “What the hell was that?” I said in a tone reserved for people who kick dogs.
“I don’t want that guy in here” he responded defensively, “Besides, he’s got a lot of nerve. He and my dad got into a bar fight once over a girl.”

“Uh, really? When? The Neolithic period? Your parents have been married for over fifty years, I think the statute of limitations on post war fights over girls who are now almost eighty has been reached.”

He wasn’t having it. He folded his arms tight, pursed his lips, and stomped away.

I used to joke with him, “Give me the list of who you’re not mad at, suing, or holding a grudge against — it’s shorter.”

Bygones can never be bygones.

And that’s the thing with some people. They have a dog in every fight. They’ll latch onto a story they hear about something gone awry and they’ll run with it, holding the grudge long after the situation has rectified itself.

“That guy owes Jerry money.” he sneered as he walked by me to put something in the safe.
I looked up to see some nondescript someone I didn’t know writing a check to another dealer in the building. “How do you know that?” I decided to bite, it was a welcome distraction from all the paperwork.
“He told me in Miami” he was standing at the counter starring the guy down. I could feel his blood pressure rising.
“That was over six months ago, maybe he’s paid him, besides I can see the line of people who owe Jerry money from here. You guys all owe each other money. Shit, Jerry owes YOU money!”

He just grunted and mumbled something under his breath, (I was still breathing so fortunately his wish hadn’t been granted) and sat back down behind his desk.
Dog in someone else’s fight.
Nose in somebody else business.
Mood ruined.
Grunge held.
For Jerry.

He really should have charged for his services. His obituary will read: He never met a grudge he couldn’t hold.

The problem with holding a grudge …is that your hands are then too full to hold onto anything else.
-Seth Godin

In my observation of chronic grudge holders (I did almost twenty years of research) what they are incapable of holding because their hands are full of …grudge… are joy and gratitude.

It turns toxic and eventually soul numbing.

It was physically impossible for him to feel appreciation and gratitude. That chip was missing.
We used to be able, with the help of copious amounts of alcohol, to coax an uncomfortable “thank you” out of him after trade shows.
He had a good life. A successful business, healthy family and money in the bank, and I watched him year after year take it all for granted. Like it was owed to him.

And for many, many years I witnessed a complete lack of joy. Actually all the higher emotions were missing. I never really saw love, empathy or compassion shown toward anyone.

But over time I learned to cut him a break. I understood. After all — his hands were full.

We are still friendly but when I thought of the word grudge he immediately came to mind. Who do you think of when you see that word?

Carry on,
xox

*This post is from almost exactly one year ago. There were a bunch of us struggling with gratitude then…and there are a whole crew ready to throw in the towel right. this. minute.
So here ya go.
Gratitude 2.0
xox

Several of you have been lamenting lately about the fact that you’re having trouble finding gratitude these days. You’ve looked over every rainbow and things still look like shit.

Does that happen to me? Um…..hell yah.

There are days when saying “I got up on the wrong side of the bed” is a colossal understatement. They can happen in succession, which then becomes known as “The Week From Hell” to myself and anyone who breaths my air.

I am to be avoided at all costs.

On those days, I can ONLY tell the cold, hard truth, and if “you can’t handle the truth,” as Jack Nicholson so famously snelled (which is a sneer and a yell) to Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men, don’t call me or come over. Don’t ask me if your butt looks big in those jeans, if your bangs are too short or if I like your new boyfriend.

Really. I won’t be kind.

On those days the “truth” as I see it is tragically skewed.

All my eyes can register are the flaws and fuck ups in life.
Not the big heavy, real stuff. Those things are glaringly evident.
I’m talking about finding fault with the little shit, and the way those things can pile up and send you over the edge.

We’ve ALL had those days.

A beautiful table, but I can only see the tiny scratch.
My husband comes out in a new shirt he loves; I zero in on a loose thread and a possible stain.
My hair is too soft. (What?)
Why isn’t it hotter/colder?
Why are they always out of my favorite _________?
The garden looks okay, but why aren’t there more roses? There are usually more roses this time of year.
And on and on and on.

Yep, I do that.

Those are the days when I have to literally force myself to practice gratitude.

I do practice gratitude on a pretty regular basis. I write about it after all. I send a daily gratitude text to friends and I write a list, because I know I have a ton to be grateful for.

But…..some days. I have appreciation for nuthin‘.

So a month or so ago, I remembered an old exercise that I used to use, and I thought I’d start again, so that the next time I felt I was grappling with gratitude, I could stop and be reminded. Sometimes I just need a physical anchor to my practice, otherwise it gets too airy fairy and I won’t do it.

It’s simple and easy, and it works.

Here goes:
Get a stone or rock. Something you’ve collected or something from around your environment. It can even be a crystal or your Maya heart stone (wink).
The point is, it has to feel good in your hand.

Kept it next to your bed, and before you go to sleep, think back to the BEST thing that happened to you that day. Hold the stone while you replay how good that experience felt.
Wallow in it.

Then say Thank You to this thing for making your day.
Really say it all the way from your big toe.
Three times usually does it for me.

If things are going well in your life, you’ll know exactly which thing to dwell on. There may even be a few. (Lucky you).
But when you have to rack your brain……..Awww man, I feel ya, it sucks, but this is an important exercise to give you some impetus toward the turn around.

I know it’s hard when you’re not in a good place, so it can be stuff like:
The sweet relief of getting off work.
You got your period.
Realizing you had fifteen more minutes to sleep.
The cleaners was still open when you got there.
Your boss is on vacation.
There was an extra roll of toilet paper in the cabinet.
They got your lunch order right.
Your car started.
Your coffee was hot and how you like it. (Along with that, the barista actually wrote YOUR NAME not some bastardization of it on the cup.) I’ve been Hammit, Jammit, Jnae? , Jane T. , Jana, the list goes on. Some funny, some not so much.

You get the gist.

Feel the gratitude for the mundane things that DO go right.
Get your bearings.
Give up your quest for the flaws.
Search for the BEST thing.
Anchor how good that feels onto that stone.

The energy of gratitude feeds on itself. It will give you more and more things to be thankful for. It’s really crazy how magical it is.

But some days you’ll need the stone staring at you on the nightstand to remind you, and you’ll have a tinge of gratitude for me (wink, wink).

Then go to sleep knowing you’ll have a better tomorrow.

Sending love,
Xox

Thank you sidewalk snail races.

For reminding me to sloooooooow down; life’s not a race to a far away imaginary finish line.

For showing me the beauty in looking down — there’s some awesome shit happening below my feet.

For nature and all the wonderful things it can teach us IF we pay attention.

For demonstrating once again that it’s the journey that counts and in the case of snails and destinations — Determination…slow and steady. Slow and steady. Don’t show off.

For also reminding me not to worry — about anything — after all, you have all you need traveling right along with you inside that shell. (at least you do in MY imagination)

And thank you so much my slithery friends for taking your fearless Saturday stroll, amid the pedestrians and dogs and rascally kids, in MY neighborhood.

And remember: keep walking and stay out of my garden.

Have a wonderful Sunday you guys; filled with long walk, friends and gratitude.

Carry on,
xox

Bad habit #319 – I offer unsolicited advice.

I know! It sucks—big time.
I’m working on it, but sometimes I can’t seem to help myself.
I write a freakin’ advice blog for God sakes!

It’s a very masculine trait, problem solving, one of the last remaining vestiges of working in a male dominated career and making it a priority to develop only the male side of my personality.
But enough of that, that’s a huge generalization and an exercise in stereotyping. If I try to reverse engineer how I became this way…well…
…I’m the eldest of three, and the younger kids would often need my help with…stop it Janet!
Enough!

You see, if presented with a dilemma I will chew on that bone, sucking out the very marrow of it until I’ve come up with a plan.
Make that three plans.
Usually a Plan A which is the best, (of course), to Plan C which I recommend only as a last resort.

From directions in the car—to what to order at my favorite bistro—to how to dump the chump, if you seem…uncertain—I’m your girl.

But you see, that’s the thing. I haven’t paid enough attention, or taken the time (a minute and a half), to distinguish what’s going on with you.

Is that look on your face the I’m working this out, I’ve got this look? Or, are you lost in a fog of uncertainty only wishing I would open my mouth and help you out? (No one has ever gotten that far so we’ll just have to imagine that one.)

Or this, right out of left field—maybe you’re just making conversation!

It’s a subtle difference (not really), and once I started to observe THE MASTER—I understood, and I decided to take a page out his play book.

My husband has developed a sort of super power.

It was acquired and has been honed after years of having his head bitten off.
Like an exasperated praying mantis after yet another beheading, he started to pay closer attention. He learned how to read me and slowly but surely he has become the Master of Silent Advice.

Now you may be wondering what the hell I’m talking about.

He has mastered the skill of silence. Not indifference, make no mistake—the two can be easily confused and he’s lost his head a few times over that one too.

No, he’s observed me closely when certain situations have presented themselves in the fifteen years we’ve been together and he listens; waiting for just the right moment, because honestly, whether I’ve got things covered or I’m lost in the fog—I look the same.

It’s a nuance thing.

And here’s key, the Golden Ticket so to speak:
He only extends me a hand or offers me advice—when I ask him.

What?
If you wait, someone will ask you?
What a concept, that is genius!

So if you’re around me these days you may notice a strange look on my face as you tell me about your day. Oh God, don’t mistake it for disinterest—I’m literally biting my tongue…listening.

Waiting for you to ask me what I think.

You’re gonna ask soon—right?

Because I’ve got this.

Plan A is genius (if I do say so myself, humility is my next hurdle).

So ask me already!

Being aware you have a problem is the first step…right?

Carry on,
With big, big love and buckets of gratitude for putting up with me,

Xox

You know that phenomenon that occurs when you spill red wine? How it is attracted to anything residing in the white color palette?

And even though it was only half a glass (okay maybe 3/4 of a glass – it was shitty day) the spillage appears to be more like an entire bottle and requires four rolls of paper towels to clean up.

You familiar with that scenario?

One glass of wine that has now ruined:
1) Your new silk and linen blend light beige pants that you’re wearing for the first time.

2) The white flokati rug that has the nerve to sit under your friend’s coffee table. (Who has white rugs?)

3) Your reputation as someone who can balance a glass of wine, a cocktail napkin, eat some kind of tartlet stuffed with cheesy goodness — and tell a funny story, without spilling a single drop.

What about a drop of black dye in a cup of water?
It swirls and undulates, acting as if it’s alive as it permeates every molecule.

Until in a matter of seconds it appears as if by magic that the entire contents of the cup had turned the color of midnight.

A single drop.
An entire glass.
Saturation.

When I wake up in the mornings, even before I get out of bed, I practice gratitude.

I’m thankful that I had the good fortune to wake up, that I can smell coffee in the other room, and that I don’t have to be woken up by the shrill ringing of an alarm.

I do that to get myself into a good feeling place. To keep my imaginary glass of water clear. It makes for a smoother, better day all around.

Most days I can stay there on pretty solid footing.

Other days I can’t make it to the bathroom without the spilled wine worries invading my thoughts; staining everything I think.

Recently, it seems as if black ink has been saturating me right as I come to consciousness. I think one nice thought and I get hijacked. BLAMO!

Black ink in the form of a troubling thought is swirling in my head as I try to find my balance; it’s reminding me of something awful, making gratitude the boulder I’m now struggling to push up the mountain of my mind.

If it takes hold I’m screwed. Covers over the head, might as well go back to sleep and reset, kind of screwed.

You all know how that goes. Once the wine or the ink stains your brain, once it permeates the entire glass of water, it is such an effort to escape –– it can ruin a whole day.

Then I remembered what my husband told me he was doing. Instead of letting an awful thought take hold and then attempting to play catch-up all day; he just kept his gratitude driven thinking going 24/7.

It took work but he was up to the challenge. The alternative was unacceptable –– it felt like hell.

“You can’t process thoughts from opposite parts of the brain at the same time.” He reminded me. “It’s impossible! Try being sad and grateful at the same time. Or happy and anxious. Love or hate. You just can’t do it. So I just drive around these days, ALL day –– feeling appreciation and gratitude. It keeps my thoughts from going dark”

He was right! (Damn, I hate when he’s right – insert forehead slap here) but what he’s doing is SO much easier than trying to turn your emotional ship around after its run aground.

You have the choice to pick a better thought. You do. I challenge you to try it.

Don’t get me wrong, some days are going to be a fight.
A fucking fist fight street brawl.

It will feel like using a tweezers and a magnifying glass to look for a needle of happiness inside of a haystack of sad.

But don’t give up. I know you; you won’t. You’re scrappy like me.

Feeling grateful, or something above despair, even in the shit times, is like those drops they give you to take to the Amazon to clear the water of all those swimming amoebas that’ll kill ya.

You swirl it around for a couple of minutes and viola! Your cup is full of crystal clear drinking water.

Let gratitude clear your glass of water. If gratitude is too far of a reach try a happy place moment.

I go to a beach on Maui on a seventy-two degree day, with zero wind, perfect rolling waves, warm water and my twenty-five year old body…sadness, at a least for a few minutes – out of sight, out of mind.

It’s a start, and SO much better than an entire day of feeling bad.

That’s all.

Carry on,
xox

Thank you little person who goes through my recycling bin on trash day.

I say person because I can’t tell if you’re a man or a woman…and it really doesn’t matter.

It’s that smile of yours that stops me in my tracks every time, reminding me just how good life really is.

Even though you are barely taller than the large blue bin, you manage to get to the bottom of things, underneath the highly top-secret, shredded documents that leave my husband’s office every week, without making a mess. You can even navigate styrofoam popcorn at the holidays without one escaping into the gutter.
That’s a talent.

I’m intrigued with you.
It can be one hundred degrees or fifty, doesn’t matter –– there you are, rain or shine, dressed like a beekeeper, covered from head to toe, with only your tanned face exposed.

Yet, you have eyes that dance with mischief and dare I say…joy?
And inside that smile of yours I’ve noticed, at the most, maybe five teeth.

You are unabashedly happy as you gather our neighborhood’s valuable plastic, cans and glass bottles, and unapologetic, I can tell.
You take great pride in your work as you sift and sort, making sense out of chaos. You find the treasure amid the trash. I admire you for that.

I can be in the worst mood, convinced that my life sucks ass, walk up, see your big toothless smile and it can change my day. You have changed my day — many times.
Because how bad can my life be? You’re happy and I’m not?
That’s a reality check.
That’s a game changer.
That’s a Universal kick in the pants.

There’s big money to be made here, I know that.
I’ve joked a couple of times that judging from the number of wire baskets you fill with the valuable stuff that we can’t be bothered with, you probably have a Mercedes parked a few blocks away, and are wearing couture under your beekeepers outfit, like the Saudi woman do under their burka.

Good for you.

You provide a service and you do it with a smile filled with joy.

Or you’re medicated out of your mind. I have a cynical friend that swears you’re blissed out on some really great shit. “I’ll have what he/she’s having.”

Doesn’t matter.
Thank you for making me happy every damn Tuesday.

Carry on,
xox

*You could also add: We can make ourselves happy too. Same amount of work.
Here’s a short essay that states that in a different way – take a look.
xox

Why I’m rewriting Murphy’s Law
by psgrout

Pam Grout is the author of 17 books including E-Squared: 9 Do-it-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality and the just-released sequel, E-Cubed, 9 More Experiments that Prove Mirth, Magic and Merriment is your Full-time Gig.

I participated in an interesting exercise last spring.
It was suggested as a kind of fact-gathering, first step.
Part of an online, open hearted, business school that I took.

marieforleo.com/BSchool

What I did was to ask about thirty five people I respected, in the humblest way I could think of, to list my best qualities.
You know – for school.

I assured them it would be over quick, it was for my education – and we would never need to speak of it again!

At first you feel like a real assbite crafting such an email.
It could resemble an ego driven fishing expedition; but really, it wasn’t, and if you could get past the initial “yuck factor” and just write it from a place of heart-filled curiosity, it made it much easier to hit SEND…and I know people could sense that.

The idea behind this, in business speak, is that you can track the responses, and the ones that repeat enough to become your top three are your “greatest hits” so to speak – and those are the ones you could conceivably charge money for.

But what I garnered from this exercise went waaaaay beyond monetizing my personality.

1) If you have the balls to ask people you respect (and that’s an important distinction, don’t just ask every troll you find under a bridge) the emotional payoff is extraordinary.

My people, were honest, to the point, and didn’t pander or sugar coat their response. Come to think of it, that’s probably why they’re my friends.

2). You get HUGE insight into YOU. In a really good way. Stuff you didn’t ever think about yourself.
For me, good listener was in my top three. Who knew? I would NEVER have guessed that.
Big talker, interrupter, chatty, conversation hog – yes.
Good listener? Not so much. That was a truly unexpected surprise.

3) It felt so damn good to be seen. And complimented.
I want to send that letter every year, just to bask in the feedback kind of good.
I felt everyone’s two minutes of attention all the way down to my big toe.

Why on earth don’t we tell people how we feel about them?

The aspects we admire. The things they do better than anyone else.

Without them having to write a dumb-ass email?

Why don’t we compliment those around us, letting them know what they’re doing right in the world?

So much rage comes from feeling unseen and unheard. It kills some people from the inside out.

We’ve become a society that is quick with the snarky review. Some of the stuff I see on Yelp or on blog feeds makes me cringe.

I like to write letters, emails or comments when someone does something right. Positive reinforcement I guess.
I just know how good it feels.

I’ll leave you with two things before I get off my soapbox.

Last Friday my husband made a bank deposit and it never showed up online. So therefore it never happened. You can imagine his anxiety level last weekend. First thing Monday morning he went into the bank with his hair on fire. Not really, he’s bald. But three days of wondering had left him “Where the fuck is my money?” curious.

Seems he had attached a deposit slip from another bank account at a completely different bank to the check…so the manager WALKED it two blocks over and deposited it into that bank.

He did WHAT?! Are you kidding me?

Above and beyond the call of duty – so hubby is writing a letter full of admiration to this guy’s superiors.

You gotta tell people when they’re awesome.

Number two is this: Take a minute and think of someone who would be the most surprised, who feels the most invisible, unseen and unheard – and send them a text or an email with a compliment. Doesn’t have to be elaborate. Just a short “I really appreciate what a good listener you are. Thank you.”

Trust me, it’s going to make their day. Maybe even their month.

Love you guys, I really do! You are loyal and insightful and obviously have very good taste in blogs.

Have a great weekend!
Xox

Photo by Roberto Melotti
http://www.robertomelotti.net

* I haven’t written a poem in a while. I never know who’s gonna show up to write, the storyteller, the f-bomb dropper, or the poet.
This one wrote itself in the last few days, ’cause Lord knows I can’t write poetry…but I can take dictation 😉
My wish is that it gives you peace.

There side by side they stand,
Faith and Hope, on the other side of Fear.
Beckoning me to come toward THEM.
Back MY way they won’t come, that’s clear.

I scream prayers but they don’t listen,
I yell and don’t make sense.
This new way has not been christened,
I weigh my options, I straddle the fence.

Insisting I take a step forward,
reassuring me, guiding me home.
They never waver, they won’t judge me,
no matter how off course I roam.

“Don’t you dare suggest forgiveness,
when my heart is broke in two!
Never talk of “new tomorrows”.
Look through MY eyes and see THAT view!”

But come with me they wouldn’t,
down my dark and twisted trail.
They explained they really couldn’t,
if I wanted healing to prevail.

“You can only catch a glimpse of us,
there inside your angst.
To really see us, drop defenses, mend those fences,
practice gratitude – then give thanks.”

“For inside every dilemma,
every horror known to man,
lies a nugget of redemption,
You’ll find it, we know you can!”

Faith and Hope stood side by side,
at the end of that dark trail.
They had walked a ways ahead of me,
THEY had done it first – so I couldn’t fail.

Hang in there loves,
xox