guidance

What sound does your heart make when you enter a room?
Is it pinched tight like a bud, or ready to bloom?

Is it a singular sound, high pitched and shrill,
that transmits stress against your will?

Is it a layered tapestry of sound,
where an abundance of different notes abound?

Is it buried too deep and low to hear?
Beneath the surface of a hard veneer?

We enter a room to find a match,
A heart to which we may attach.

So pay close attention to your heart’s broadcast,
If the notes feel old, you’ll repeat the past.

The song of your heart will synchronize,
To the beat of another’s,
Don’t compromise.

Pay attention, be diligent, delightful and wise,
Listen to the hearts of others,
You will be surprised.

What the hell!? I’ve gone and committed another act of treason on my sane and reasonable life. Seems that’s just the way I roll these days!
We picked up our 8 week old Boxer puppy on Sunday, and I haven’t slept more than an hour at a time since. What was I thinking?!?!

This blog is about to get very raw and real for the next few days, because my self editing faculties left me somewhere around Tuesday at 3am, and I have helicopter hair, meaning it looks like it was styled by a helicopter at full throttle up.

Good thing you don’t have SmellPad.
I think I showered this week…all I remember is our senior dog literally walking into the running shower with me to escape the madness. 
Desperate times, require desperate measures!

Puppy madness is different than your garden variety madness. It comes in the form of a small furry demon, with tiny needle teeth and nails that can slice a tomatoe. It leave your hands bloody stumps, your neck look like Freddy Kruger gave you a massage, and all the while your heart is breaking from cuteness overload.
Yet, it’s hard to believe, that madness has left my life in a shambles.

It’s all I can do to write a blog post, but I treat this commitment like a job I actually love.
That being said, I have fallen asleep at this table, twice.
My feet are now torn to shreds, I’ve drunk more coffee than an Italian model consumes in a month, and I have written more about sex and chocolate than one woman has any right to.
I’m finding out that’s just where my mind goes when the going gets tough. 
Good to know…not really.
Delete….delete…delete.

It’s been a seasonal 80 degrees this January here in LA. 
That’s seasonal if you live south of the equator, which makes it all the more horrifying that I’ve taken to wearing Uggs, a thick scarf and gardening gloves for protection from the boxer-shark.
I can hear you haters on the East coast…wanna trade lives?

All this to pose a question: Why do we have babies, raise puppies, get bad break-up haircuts?? Why do we f**k up our lives like that? I’ll tell you why!
Because we forget the pain AND they grow and change faster than you can say “Shit, I’ll never do THAT again”!
The Universe, in all it’s wisdom, or as a cruel joke, I haven’t decided yet, gives us amnesia to perpetuate the species and keep us from sending the piranha-puppy packing. Say that fast three times!
Plus they’re just so damn cute!

So I guess after the whisk of sleepless nights stops scrambling my days and everything settles, I’ll actually miss these times. 
But if you see me on the street in a few years and I talk about wanting another puppy…run me over with your car!
You have my permission!
XoxJanet

Once upon a time, when I had my store, a lot of people referred to it as a gallery, and I suppose it was, in the looseiest, gooseiest sense of the word.

I thought it would be a cool idea to feature up and coming local artists, and display them alongside all of the vintage doodads.

In the beginning, every three or four months, I would send out postcards, and invite friends and clients to an art “opening” with decent wine, toothpick skewered cheese and super-groovy music (usually the artist’s playlist, so, yeah, way groovier than my snoozy Spotify mix.)

One particularly talented artist whose style was very similar to Jean Michel Basquiat came close to selling out his entire show one opening night, he had become that popular! I took a chance, because I saw something special in his work, and lo and behold, so did a shit-ton of other people!

Damn! What a thrill!

Still, when I had my meet and greet with the artists, prior to scheduling a show, each and every one had NO idea what to charge for their work. They had even less of a clue as to what their costs had been in time and materials. They stared at me like I was explaining Quantum String Theory when I inquired about their time expenditure.

“How much time did this piece take?” I’d ask. “And what is your time worth?”
They had no freakin’ idea!
They kept no receipts for framing, or paint, or clay, or brushes, and for them, time just disappeared as they worked…so that was that.

Really? Well! I soon determined that was the sign of a good artist—but a lousy business person.

Seems you can’t have both in the same body, except for Damien Hirst.
He is an example of someone with both mad business and marketing skills along with talent, and that has driven his prices well into the six figures.

Everyone else has a more right-brain mentality. “Don’t bother me with the real world. I just want to create, I don’t want to keep a spreadsheet.”

If you become too practical, you’ll cut off your connection to the Muse.

Now, I totally get it!

It seems it is virtually impossible to balance your checkbook and paint a masterpiece.
Maybe it’s that right-brain, left-brain thing.

It’s a lot like studying theory and technique. If you get TOO polished, all your individuality goes flying out the window. You keep the tools that work, and discard the rest.

It’s often the creations made from breaking the rules that resonate the most with people.

What I must admit I have a knack for is looking at something and determining its value. The more unique the better!

Art can be tough. It’s poorly subjective. Appreciation lies in the eye of beholder. Nevertheless, every artist I featured had been in other small galleries around town, and I always got them double or triple their previous prices. It was always hardest in the beginning and then once things sold, their “value” was established.

That’s what gallery owners do, they help establish a value.

Now that I’m no longer involved in my previous “field of expertise” I’m noticing that I have the exact same problem my oh, so talented artists did.

Determining your own value? Fuck. It’s haaaaard.

So, you can imagine my chagrin as I add my name to that long list.
Now I’m a WE.
WE don’t know how to set our value,
or WE have a number in mind, but don’t have the balls to ask for it.
WE stare blankly into space when asked what WE think our time is worth.

Damn, I used to know!! Without hesitation! I didn’t have a masters in Art History, or a Harvard business degree. I just knew what I liked, and if I liked it, I knew other people would too.

That’s it! It’s always the same! Value is set by what someone will give as an exchange for the “service” provided, and it’s based on how it makes them feel.

I’m getting warmer…
Carry on,
Xox

When swimming in shark infested waters
the best strategy is: Mind your own business, and don’t show fear, 
You may ask yourself how you got into these dangerous waters in the first place.

Sharks are found in a few different places: 
At the periphery of places teaming with joy and life, such as the stunning coral reefs,
or in deep dark waters where they never sleep.

They are opportunists, they seek those who have lost their way, who have strayed from the safety of the reef, or are all alone, out of their depth, swimming in places they don’t belong.

Throughout a life, that can happen from time to time.
It is always better to make a course correction before the encounter,
but inevitably along the way of exploration, you will find yourself swimming with sharks.

You can become mesmerized when you look into the cold eyes,
since you get no feeling reflected back from them.
They are not a mirror, but a black hole that absorbs your light, and your fear.
It’s okay, just look away, and keep on swimming.

When you encounter them, they are a sign you are out of your league, 
you have a correction to make in the direction you are headed.
Mind your own business, don’t try to engage, or cajole.
They are impervious to any feelings other than fear.
Fear they smell, fear they recognize, and with fear they
will become a danger.

Stay out of the deep end, although it may have a pull, the allure of waters unexplored.
But if you must go, remember what we’ve said, about how to swim with the sharks.

Are you spiritually superstitious?
I’m pretty sure I am.
No, in the spirit of full disclosure, I KNOW I am.
I’ve taken to practicing all these little rituals to maintain a semblance of spiritual order.
It’s like I just keep catching myself repeating certain actions, or developing habits
that are starting to make me feel like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man.

Do you do that?

Sure you do.

You don’t?

Shit.

So.. I write this blog…everyday.
Unless I don’t, which is seldom, but I’ll still post an inspirational saying or photo.
The pressure is immense! (not really, I actually love it)!
But somewhere between my devotion to this blog, and my amazement that something actually comes to me to write every day, I’ve become spiritually superstitious, I guess to keep things flowing in an orderly manner.

Until recently, I didn’t get out of bed until my little ritual was complete,
And it went like this:
1) Wake up, say “thank you” (in my head). 
If I say it out loud, my husband will think something amazing happened last night, another thing he can’t remember, and it’ll just piss him off. 
So the “thank you” is always silent. And must not be skipped!

See, there it starts!
Because…step two is:
2) Sit up and meditate.
But if I’ve forgotten the “thank you” part that comes before, then it kinda turns into my mantra, so the Universe can be clear how much I appreciate another shot at this life.
Then my mind isn’t empty enough for it to count as a REAL meditation,
so I have to sit longer until it does. 
I can feel you judging!

3) Then I write. 
Really what I do is I just get out of the way, and let the Universe/Muse write.

Then I get out of bed and pee.
Always in that order. 
If I change it up, it just doesn’t flow. I’m just not on my game.
Like the major league pitcher who wears the same socks and underwear to
every game he pitches, to ensure his good luck, I’ve developed these crazy superstitions.
( Hmmmm…same socks and underwear, food for thought).

I’m sure I do it also to maintain my good standing with the Universe.
It’s never too late to start, right?
Because…
Do you curse?
I do.
I have a mouth like a sailor, and I fear that may be the end of enlightenment for me.
Do monks cuss? I don’t think they do.
Nuns do, this I know for sure!
I remember a nun in third grade called us “damn kids”.
She may then have spontaneously combusted…I can’t remember.

I can just see it, I’ll be on the top step of the ladder to Heaven/Nirvana,
and I’ll realize I left the secret password to the Pearly Gates on the kitchen table,
or in my other purse! 
“Are you f* ing kidding me, Shit!”

“You can’t say that! 
God doesn’t like a potty mouth! 
No wings for you”!

So, I feel like if I say thank you, and meditate and then write, in the proper order every day, and I mean EVERY day, it offsets the cursing, and all the other stuff.
Like I have earned the “Grace” every author requires to create.
See what I’m talking about?
Are you with me?

But… last time I checked we were all human.
We curse and we cut in line at the cleaners, (well, I guess I should just speak for myself) and we sleep in and forget to meditate (gasp).

We can shake things up and still enlighten, right?
Perfectly imperfect?
If my desire and intention are pure, no need for ritual or luck.
None of that “same socks and underwear” stuff needed to ensure my success, because I’m learning it really isn’t a matter of luck at all!
It’s all about trust.

I can pee first and then write! No harm, no foul!
I try to write three hours a day now, (the operative word being “try”), so it doesn’t have to be first thing anymore, and as far as I can tell, the earth is still spinning on its axis.

So now it’s:
1) “Thank you”
2) Meditate,
3) Then get up… To maintain world order for now, and to keep the “Grace” coming.
But, if you start to notice things have gone a bit awry,…
I may have slept in.

On any given day I can come up with 3 or 4 topics to write about.
That doesn’t mean that they will ever amount to anything, and they may never see the light of day, but they are light-bulbs over my head, just the same.

Once in a while a piece will start to display iambic pentameter, and the words will fall into rhyme…so obviously THAT one will be a poem.

It never ceases to amaze me that a poem can fall out of little old 21st century me!
Poets in my mind are wild eyed, chain smoking, anti-social, angst ridden, recluses, that live in 17th century Paris or 1950’s Greenwich Village.
I am none of those things.
I’m white bread, Wonder bread really, what prose can Wonder bread write?

When poetry was given as an assignment in school, I would lobby for my parents to pick up our family and move to somewhere where the teachers were kinder, and realized their student’s limitations.
I’m sure I just over intellectualized everything I wrote, because that was my nature.

And as everyone knows, poetry doesn’t originate in your intellect!
As a matter of fact, your brain has no business, poking its nose into it!
Intellect does not compose good poetry. Intellect composes the essay you write to get into MIT, not poetry.
For that, you need to get to the heart, or better yet, the soul.

Age has helped me there. When you turn 50 you get your AARP card AND, if you’ve worked hard, and asked God really nice, a more direct route to your soul.
You won’t have to walk anymore dark alleys, or navigate a river of tears to get there.
You already have my friends, so…you’re welcome! 

The only thing God, or Source, or the Muse requires is that we share any and all
soul derived art or writing or whatever, with the world.
If you get stingy with your soul gift, it can get revoked. I don’t mean immediately, but the Universe runs a tight ship.
If you don’t suck up your courage and show at least one other person the freakin’
Haiku that you woke up and wrote, well…all bets are off!

That’s why I post a poem when I write it, on this blog.
I just close my eyes and push “post”.
It’s not my USUAL style of writing, (as if I have a “style”, ha!)
But what I’m finding out is I can be quite schizophrenic in my writing styles.
There are a bunch of voices,inmates,trying to break out of the asylum to be heard.
So I’ve decided: Who am I to deny them their long overdue freedom?

Have at it, you wild eyed poet part of me!!
Write your crazy, sometimes really poignant poems!
You know I’ll post them, because you, my creative new friend, I would miss you if you left.

“…there are four rules for miraculous work creation: Be positive. Send love. Have fun. Kick ass. 
Amen.” 
― Marianne Williamson, The Law of Divine Compensation: On Work, Money, and Miracles

A Master is the one who walks through the chaos and knows the answer.
A Master is the only one awake in the dream.
He is the silent sentinel.
He is solid as stone,
and flexible as willow.
He carries the key to every door.

A Master holds the secret, like the ace in a winning hand of cards,
but shows no expression.
A Master yells his message into the raging winds.
A Master stays cool in the heat of battle,
and warm under the iciest gaze.

A Master is the one who shall forevermore be called friend by his enemies.
A Master cries like a child at the death of innocence.
A Master is the one who walks thru fire to show the way.
A Master only sighs at night when the earth is still and it feels like rain.

I have a member of my family that is also a good friend.
I know that is about as rare as a Yeti sighting, but it does happen!

P. (not her real name, but a tantalizing clue) had an extended stay over the holidays and that allowed us to have a long, uninterrupted lunch.
Lots of girl talk, lots of gossip, lots of coffee, all the usual suspects.
Toward the end of lunch, P. (Have you figured it out yet)? did seek my counsel on some issues in her life, and after 2+ cups of coffee and an ice tea! I was circling the earth, so I was that much closer to heaven…and happy to oblige.

You see, I’ve known P. for 100 years…since we were girls.
As adult women, (eh) we’ve had many a late night bitch session over the phone, about crappy boyfriends, and difficult coworkers.

Once, when we were talking at about 12:30am about some schmuck that had stood me up that night, we were interrupted by my call waiting. Remember call waiting?

Anyway, of course it was him, and he was explaining how something had “come up”, but that now he was on the Freeway, and my exit was coming up, and could he “drop by”?
I was full of Cabernet courage, so I let loose with all of the things P. and I had been rehearsing for 2 hours.

How I wanted to be his “destination”, not just a “drop by, bootie call” at 12:30 in the morning. I also said that: “Not only were he and I not on the same page, we weren’t even in the same book”! 
He laughed…I hung up.

Then I switched back over to P. who had waited on the other line.
We howled with laughter at his audacity and the fact that I had actually said: “I want to be your destination”!! Baaahhhaaaa!
Hey…Wait a minute…That’s a great line! 

You can steal it.

Needless to say, THAT’S how close we are.

P. rocks at manifesting great jobs in her chosen profession, which is….( I can’t tell you, I’ll have to kill you).
Relationships…not so much.
This is all going to become relevant at the end, so take notes.

My advice to her, was to wake up and have Gratitude.
Start saying “Thank you” to the Universe, the minute you get up, even if you have to search for something to be grateful for.
Like your pillow,
Naturally curly hair,
Breathing,
A toaster to toast your toast.
Your yoga mat
A hot shower.
You get the picture.

Focus on what’s right with your life, not what’s wrong.

See, what happens is, when you go through your day offering Gratitude,
either things start to change….or you start to not care! Ha!
Plus as an added bonus, the Universe gives you more things to be grateful for.
Gotta love that!

I suggested she try it for a month.

Yesterday she called me beyond excited, she was having the most financially ridiculous couple of weeks she’d ever had at work. Clients were just throwing money at her! Large sums too!
They were easy, uncomplicated sales, which was not the norm.
They weren’t even disputing the shipping charges! WHAT?!
She was feeling both gobsmacked and flabbergasted! (Don’t you just LOVE those words)!
Me too!

Then it occurred to her that the only thing that had changed in her life was the Gratitude exercise, and she had to call me.

One last thing to mention.
When you do this alchemy with the energy of Gratitude, the magic finds the path of least resistance… The carpool lane.
It finds the quickest, easiest path to you.

With P., it’s her work. That’s the place that will always shift for HER first, because it doesn’t feel all pointy to her, like relationships do.

I’m holding out hope that the next call from P. will be from the wedding chapel in 
Vegas!

Can you figure out YOUR path of least resistance?
XoxJanet

People suffer when they pursue a life or chase a dream that doesn’t belong to them.
~Caroline Myss~

I can’t remember which book of Caroline’s this quote is from, but the truth of it just hit me like a Mac truck!
That’s why our train’s jump the track!
I’m sure now that’s why mine did!
Doh!!! (V8 forehead slap!)

Whose dream are we living anyway, when things crash and burn?
Our mother’s dream of a singing career?
Our father’s of an Ivy League education?
Maybe we just wanted to go to Paris and become a mime!

I suppose when I opened my store I thought that was my dream.
I would tell you it was, I’ve said it in this blog!
I had run a store forever.
I bought, I sold, I merchandised it, I did the books,
I should own my own… Right?

So when my soul stirred and I wanted to leave,
I told myself that my having a store of my own was my dream.
Only today did I realize that it was my boss’s dream,
Not mine.

He ate, drank and slept the antique and jewelry business, he still does, and that’s how you know it’s your dream.
I did not.
Don’t get me wrong, I worked like a dog, but I never thought of the store when I wasn’t there…ever!

He does…His dream.
It was my job, Not my life.
Shit! It’s so clear to me now!

Why do we borrow other people’s lives/dreams?
Because we do something for so long, we call a habit, a life?

A friend lobbied me to put my store behind hers.
She was killin’ it!, making money hand over fist, and had been for 8 years at that point, and she assured me that the same would happen for me.
It did at first, but it was a hard location, and ultimately a terrible decision.
Ironically, the location actually lead to its demise.

I suffered because…I was living HER life, trying to capture HER dream, in HER perfect location.
Of course it would feel terrible!

The business was my boss’s dream, a dream I stole to raise as my own,
and my friend’s success was because SHE was living HER perfect life!

I had never even taken 5 minutes when I left jewelry, to consider that my next step might not be retail.
I left the business to follow my heart, only I was looking in the wrong direction, so I never got the memo.

My ego took charge then, it usurped my better judgement and convinced me to pursue a life and chase a dream that didn’t belong to me.
Then when that didn’t work out, it convinced me I should go back to jewelry, which was STILL not the correct path.

Note to self: the ego gives really shitty advise!

If things aren’t working, if your life is like pushing an elephant up the stairs.
If everything you try turns to shit….and you’re suffering.
I don’t care how many years you have invested, or how many diplomas you have on the wall.
Sit down a minute and ask yourself this:
“Whose life am I living”?
“Whose dream am I chasing”?

XoxJanet