guidance

The Dao of Debbie Harry

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I have a slogan for when things get messed up: Wait for the turnaround.
~Debbie Harry~lead singer of the punk rock band Blondie
( If you don’t know that – shame on you)

I’ve always been a “fix it” kinda gal.

If you present me with a problem or a mess, I’m gonna brainstorm it until I find a solution.

I’m going to fight it and wrestle it to the ground, I rarely take NO for an answer, and everything is figuraoutable.

I’d like to think I’m a lot like Debbie Harry…in more ways than one.
Truth is, I have waited for the turnaround…after I have exhausted every other option known to man – and then some.

Then I wised up.

I bet that wasn’t her slogan at 25 or even 35.
That’s the kind of wisdom you gain with maturity; the end result of many, many, many, mess hp’s.

Fifty – I’m going to guess that she came to that epiphany after fifty.
It’s around that age that you realize that there can even BE a turnaround.
That there will ALWAYS be a turnaround.

After fifty THIS you know for sure: You have to pick yourself up off the bathroom floor to be ready for the turnaround.

You have to make it until the sun comes up, because in the deep, suffocating blackness of 3am, you can’t even imagine a turnaround.

That you have to get sober to start the turnaround.

That tears make your eyes that much more capable of seeing the turnaround.

That sometimes you have to be alone, inside the silence, to listen for the turnaround.

That your wounded heart, with its bandages and skid marks, has to open enough to let the love in.
That love, is hidden in the turnaround.

Note to self:Look away.
The turnaround doesn’t reside anywhere near the mess, so if you stay digging around in that pile of shit, it will allude you.
You can’t stalk the turnaround, you can’t cajole it. You can’t bargain with it, or coerce it into place. AND……you certainly can’t rush it.

Believe me, I’ve tried.

When things are messed up. When they are epically trashed. There WILL be a turnaround. History has proven it.
It comes in its own time. It can take years or days or even just hours. Look at every disaster, natural and man made. Things appear bleak, all hope is lost, but eventually the dust settles and in rides…….the turnaround. Remember 9/11?
We were in shock, then despair, then pissed off, then….wait for it…we emerged stronger and more united than ever.
Humongous, miraculous, turnaround.

You gotta love Debbie Harry. Gorgeous, Sexy, smart, 70’s-80’s rock star icon and a guru after 50. Just like me. 😉
I bet she never thought she’d be quoted in a spiritual blog. There’s a first time for everything…even for you; Debbie Harry.

Tell me about a big turnaround in your life. I’d love to hear about it.

Xox

Do You Dare To Be An Original?

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“When the personality comes fully to serve the energy of the soul, that is authentic power,”
~Gary Zukav~ “Seat of The Soul”

Do you dare to be original? To show your TRUE self to the world? To fly your freak flag?
Good for you. Most people wouldn’t dare. They’re too afraid of being judged and ridiculed.
So, they don’t start with a joke at their presentation speech, propose the “out of the box” idea at the meeting, wear red socks with the tux or joke with a client during a sale.
They dim their light. They blend in.

Most amazing, authentically powerful people started off on the fringe. Far from the numbing embrace of the center.
They tried the center. It was a bad fit.
Think Martin Luther King Jr., Sir Richard Branson, Steve Jobs and Lady Gaga.
Their actions and ideas seem crazy, they don’t act like the rest of us.
They are authentically, unapologetically themselves.
To. The. Bone.
The energy of their soul has a purpose. And they make damn sure it is fully served by their personality.
They wield incredible power.
They’ve never heard of the phrase: dial it down.
It wouldn’t occur to them to “blend in.” Lucky for us.

Being authentically yourself kills competition. It renders the concept obsolete.
There is only one Gaga, Apple or Virgin Air. There is only ONE you. YOU cannot be duplicated. You can be copied, and although that is supposedly the highest form of flattery, it sets off the BS detectors. We can sniff out the inauthentic impostor over the real thing ANY day.

“God is the water, You are the faucet.”
~Marianne Williamson~

I Iike to say God or the Universe is the electricity, I am the toaster.
When I first started the blog, the writing was very serious. Dry toast.
Serious spiritual writing. How original.
But I was just the toaster, determined to get the word out, so I kept on writing/ toasting. At one point last year, the electricity decided to amp it up, to tap into more of my personality. That must have been interesting, searching in there for the language. I curse like a sailor, tell funny stories, and I love me some sick humor. I assume it knew what it was getting into, but I was scared to death when I wrote it.
Spiritual humor? What’s that?
All that being said, it has made for a better, much more relatable blog.
I’ve said it before; and I’ll say it again. When you are fully yourself, and come from the heart, people dig that shit.

I encourage you to let your soul use your personality. See what happens when you remove the constraints. When you disable the dimmer switch from your light. When you dial it UP instead of down.
To steal from Brene Brown, who was quoting Roosevelt, it is DARING GREATLY. After you’re done throwing up from fear, it will feel empowering. I promise.
Dare to be an original. Your power lies there.

What ways is your soul using YOUR personality? I’d love to hear about it.

Xox

The Divine Law of Constipation

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The Muse is clever. She’s a “broad” that has a way with words.
When I sat down to write about the recent energy, with all its starts and stops, she announced: “That’s the Law of Divine Constipation at work. You have the urge to go……..butcha can’t. Frustrating, huh?”
That’s an understatement.

And that’s a new one on me. But I kinda love it. And it describes things perfectly.

Some issues have resolved themselves easily and effortlessly. New projects sailing into fruition, “Like a knife thru buttah.”
Others…..well; others have had a high level of constraint or restriction; a pronounced lack of ease. You have the urge to move quickly on something, only to be thwarted at every turn.

Yep, constipated. Feels like cement. Like you ate a wheel of Brie or a box of matzoh.
Except; you’re compelled to go, go, go.
We’ve all felt held back before. The difference to me is the urgency. I’m raring to go, but there isn’t enough Milk of Magnesia on the planet to get things moving.
It’s going to take TIME.
Even with this overwhelming need to push…….we’ve gotta be patient.
The Muse did tell me a mantra to repeat when the Divine Law of Constipation pays a visit.

THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

I don’t know about you, but patience is NOT my thing. I don’t even reside in the same zip code as patience. It is my tormentor and my teacher.
But it’s been explained to me that when this constipation takes over, it’s got its reasons. It’s here to serve us. To slow us down. It’s for our benefit. It’s Divine after all.
This spiritually guided constipation comes into play so projects have more gestation time, more time to “cook.” It’s saving us a ton of time and trouble, trying to “get out” of something we have impetuously rushed our speedy little butts into. The object of our desire is clear, our course is set, we are just in a holding pattern waiting for all the pieces to fall into place. It could even become something better. Pushing soon could mess things up.
Well……..when you put it that way.
I thought it was just here to make me miserable, when it’s really here to SAVE me from misery. Nice.

I’m sitting things out, for now, waiting for The Universal Laxative of right timing to kick in.

How about you? You feeling the effects of This Divine Law?
You eager to start something, but getting nothing but red lights? I’d love to hear about it.

Xox

YOU Drive the Car

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How are you keeping your past alive?
We talked about this on Wednesday night at our group. It was a topic everyone was eager to discuss. It seems there were two reoccurring themes:
A past hurt, or perceived failure or mistake that pays repeated visits to the present; at our invitation. We continue to invite it to lunch or engage in pillow talk in the middle of the night. Its very existence hinges on our continued attention. So it tells us it’s here for our own good. To protect us from further humiliation and shame, it reminds us every day how incredibly flawed we are. It creeps into every decision we make in the present, coloring our perception. It keeps us in pain, feeling unsafe and untrustworthy. 
It is the back seat driver of our lives.

The other way the past stays alive in the present, is in the form of “The Glory Days.” The best times of our life are sadly, behind us. That’s what it tells us. Memories of a better, more carefree, inspired time wash us with nostalgic regret. A golden age where an endless horizon lay ahead. Where we had nothing but time. We felt immortal. Nothing hurt. No bad back or sore shoulder. We took chances, made tons of choices and friends and lived in the moment. Our vacations were epic, our friends were interesting, our bodies were hot and we didn’t even know it. It colors our present with an underlying feeling of melancholy and longing.

Longing for “what was” locks the door on “what is.”

Here’s the thing. 
It’s impossible to drive a car forward, only looking in the rear view mirror.
The past tells you to let IT drive. That’s dangerous.
Let’s let the past advise us. But from far away, maybe Skype, not the back seat. After all, it’s part of what made us who we are.
We don’t want to repeat things that didn’t work out well, but we can’t let that stop us from living. Same with waxing nostalgic for the 90’s. Trust me, it wasn’t better.
The best days of our lives are ahead of us. Time to live in the here and now.

Do you have a situation that keeps the past alive for you? I’d love to know. Does it keep you from enjoying your life, now? I love the comments, tell me about it.

Xox

Crazy, Sexy, Saturday

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Crazy Sexy Saturday
Kris Carr may own the Crazy Sexy franchise, but I don’t think she owns this one……yet. So I did it.

I love Saturday. It is without a doubt, my favorite day of the week.
It has a color: Yellow. Don’t all the days of YOUR week have a color?
And it just has that. special. vibe.
Rain or shine, it really is THE perfect day.

Here’s my reasoning:
It’s the crazy sexy sleep-in day.

It’s the crazy sexy lazy day.

It’s the crazy sexy Nutella French toast day.

It’s the crazy sexy “I have a hot date tonight” day.

You have permission to waste Saturday. You can stay in your pj’s, especially if the weather’s bad, and talk on the phone or watch “You’ve got Mail” for the nine hundredth time. You can sit with the magnifying mirror and pluck your eyebrows….for an hour. You can take a yoga class AND walk the dogs in the park. You can get lost in a good book, or listen to music, all day, guilt free.

Saturday is the day to indulge in all the seemingly mindless things that are vital to our metal health.

Having been in retail most of my life, I worked Saturdays. Even though I was convinced everyone was having the best day EVER while I was working, it still felt special to me. Even then, I always looked forward to Saturday. I know it was because vintage engagement rings were a large part of our inventory and Saturday was “engagement ring” day. I loved selling engagement rings. They actually sold themselves. You can’t talk anyone into an engagement ring. They have to feel it. Still, I loved being involved in the process.

I would even wear a dress and heels. By choice.
Saturday just had that kind of effect on me.

Saturday is perfectly positioned. It’s sandwiched between Friday and Sunday. Friday, (which is green by the way) has its own TGIF energy, but it’s still a workday.

Sunday, (Aqua) although awesome in its own right, has a little of that going back to work vibe.
My husband gets the “Sunday night blues” He has since childhood.
I don’t; but I can relate. I get the “last day of vacation” blues. They’re similar.
You ruin a day, by knowing its has to end. Sad but true. A ton of people do it.
Not the best way to live. Not living in the moment, I know.
Hey, give us a break, it’s our one shared neurosis.

Sundays we ride motorcycles, so we’re up early. If we’re not up for that, there’s the local farmer’s market or flea markets. It’s the day I tackle my list of “to do’s” around the yard and house. And some laundry, so that about shoots the shit out of Sunday.

Our house usually smells amazing on Saturdays. Partly because Maria comes and it smells of Pledge, Windex, wax and lemons. She has the magical ability to rid the house of dog farts for which I am forever amazed and indebted.

The other reason is: that is the night when we have people over for dinner. My husband is a magorific (His word) cook. He shops all morning, returning with overstuffed bags from several different culinary stores around town. (You only have the stamina for that on Saturday.) He chops, he slices, he dices. He buys things like endive and fennel. All his recipes start with onions and garlic sautéed in butter. Heaven.
The house smells like heaven, like crazy sexy heaven, on Saturday.

I’m trying to make an intangible……tangible.
It’s crazy sexy Saturday, because I’ve deemed it so.
Let’s all enjoy our Saturday!

Do you share my love of Saturdays?
What’s your favorite day? Does it have a color? I’d love to know.

Xox

Irritating Teachers

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If you think you’re too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito
~The Dalai Lama~

It seems mosquitos are very effective teachers.
To some they teach tolerance and non violence.
They test your patience as they make their presence known.
They draw you into the present and make you pay attention.
Me? With me they bring out my deepest, darkest killer instinct. My inner Dexter.
At three in the morning, when I hear that high pitched whining in my ear,
I Want. Them. Dead.
So much for non violence.
And I’m the girl that carries spiders outside.
I’m a card carrying pacifist until the mosquito shows me otherwise.

Just when you’re certain of your enlightened state. At the moment you know who you are and what you stand for, you can leave it to one of God’s tiniest creatures to bitch slap you back to reality. Or leave crazy, itchy, welts on your ass.
She has a wicked sense of humor.
If THAT doesn’t get you off your high horse….

So……I’m a pacifist unless pushed. Good to know.
Can you be a conditional pacifist? What IS my breaking point?
Those are important questions that can lead to self discovery……..or not.

Here’s what I know for sure.
I know I can snap if my sleep is interrupted.
I have been known to scream obscenities at ignorant drivers.

Then there’s the little dog. The puppy. The boxer-shark puppy.
IT has been sent by God to torment; I mean test me.
I have swatted the puppy on the rump for numerous infractions. Not hard, don’t go all PETA on me. It’s a swat to get her to pay attention to my stern face. She has made a mockery of my stern face. My stern face is a joke to her. The older dog cowers, she points and laughs.
Forget about NO. NO has become useless. To her, it means HI and SURE. She thinks it’s her name. It is yelled so frequently it has lost all of its bite. 
Talking about bite; that one tests my patience with her incessant biting.
She bites when she’s playing. She bites when she’s tired. She bites to make a point. She bites AIR. 
She bites the older dog on her Achilles. Little bitch. I scold her. I forcefully push her away. I “time out” her. When all I really want to do is bite her back.
She wields an unbelievable amount of power in our house. She is small, but her presence is mighty. She is my teacher. She makes me question my parenting skills AND my pacifist membership.

OMMMMM…………Back to a loving place………..Between the Mosquitos and the boxer-shark puppy, I have some serious spiritual work to do.

Who or what is your trigger? I’d love to hear who tests your patience, tolerance and all around spiritual practice. Tell me about it in the comments.

Xox

Nope, I Don’t Have Time!

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Be careful of your thoughts, for your thoughts become your words.
Be careful of your words, for your words become your actions.
Be careful of your actions, for your actions become your habits.
Be careful of your habits, for your habits become your character.
Be careful of your character, for your character becomes your destiny.
—Chinese Proverb
Excerpt From: Dr. Habib Sadeghi. “Within.” 

Nope, I don’t have time.
How may times have we all said that? We’re stressed out, trying to eek out fifteen minutes here, an hour there, to get things done.
But, if you’re REALLY honest with yourself, it’s not the truth.
Even worse yet, it can be a self sabotaging belief. A bullshit tape that runs on an endless loop. 24/7.

When I say I don’t have the time for something, what I’m really saying is:
It’s not interesting enough.
It doesn’t sound fun.
It won’t be productive.
What’s in it for me?
I have something better to do.
And the Hall of Famer: It’s just not a priority right now.
Because truth be told, we WILL find the time for the things we want to do.

I seem to find time for Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. I can loose hours to those three punks. I spend maybe ten minutes promoting the blog, and then I get sucked into their devious vortex for an hour of mindless trolling. Kim Kardashian did what!?
You know you do too.
What did we do before social media? It didn’t even exist in its present, obsessive form five years ago. And I still felt a time crunch.

We are all very discerning about what takes us away from the things we love to do.
Like spending time with family.
I was in a cafe the other day and observed a family of four. Sitting around the table, looking down at their phones. ALL of them. No conversation. No interaction. No connection. Not a good use of their time together.

I can lie and convince myself that I don’t have time for a workout and then talk to my sister for an hour or get lost in emails. When I tell that lie, my pants should catch on fire. At least running from the flames would burn some calories.
Pun intended.

I know, it seems like our 24 hour days are really about 18 hours. Unless you’re waiting to leave for a vacation. That day is 100 hours long…….So it’s all perception.

If you feel like you don’t have enough time, that is “lack” mentality. Lack mentality can permeate other areas of your life if you feel it and say it enough.
Case in point.
My husband is a designer/contractor. He is also an amazing manifestor. There’s just one catch. 
The first quarter of this year started slow. He had little stuff going, but nothing big lined up. So he asked the Universe, the Big Boss, for more jobs. Lo and behold, people started calling and emailing like crazy. He had ten proposals to do in two weeks. He started to feel the time crunch. He started to worry about having enough hours to meet with the clients, bid the jobs and write the proposals. All of those things are very time consuming. What if he got them all, then what? How was he going to be able to effectively run all those jobs at the same time? A bit of panic set in. It was very interesting to watch.
He no longer felt the lack of work, but he did feel the lack of time to get things done.
And you know what happened? Nothing. Everything stalled.

Partly from the freaking crazy energy lately, but mostly because:
You can’t ask the Universe for more, and then tell it you don’t have the time.
She hates mixed messages. They piss her off. So, she just stands in the corner, arms crossed, taping her foot impatiently and muttering under her breath: “Ya wanna be busy or ya wanna be a cry baby? Don’t over target, be realistic about what ya can accomplish in one day. I’m here, let me know when you’re ready.”

We have to be vigilant and clean up our energy, our perception and the things we say about time.
He’s working on that now. It’ll all work out. It always does.

To quote the brilliant Marie Forleo: It’s all figuraoutable.
So instead of saying we don’t have the time, let’s say instead: Let me take a look at my schedule, and see what I can figure out. The Universe likes to hear that. She may even take notice, unfold her arms and start to send great things your way.

I want to know, do you struggle with a “lack” mentality? If you’re honest, are there things that waste the precious little time you DO have? Do you agree that it’s all perception? I’d love to hear what YOU think.

Xox

Who Are You When No One Is Watching?

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I watched several people walk right by it. I did too. Twice.
Obviously some trash had found its way onto the path and into the planters in front of the door to the Y.

It looked like as if it had made a break for it on the way to the dumpster that lived around the side of the building. It was a few pieces of shredded paper, a power bar wrapper and parts of a banana peel. As I walked around it on my way in, I thought: Gee, someone needs to pick that up.
I’m sure the guy in the way too tight and shiny bike shorts, holding the door for me, thought the same thing.
After my 45 mins of extremely rigorous and effective circuit training (15 mins on the elliptical, 15 mins on the arm machines and 15 mins talking to Tina at the front desk)
I sprinted (walked slowly), with Bruno Mars still blaring in my ears, to my car.
When I saw that the trash was still by the doorway, I was annoyed, Jeez, that’s still there? I’d better go tell Tina to send someone to pick it up. And I walked right by.

What.  an.  assbite.

The sheer audacity of my own entitled ass-bite-ish-ness stopped me in my tracks.I looked around. Someone WAS sent to pick up the trash. Me.

I bent down, made sure I got all the pieces, walked back inside and threw it in the can that was next to the door. With my own, two, manicured hands. It took me less than a minute. Probably less than 30 seconds.
Sometimes I just shake my head in amazement…at my own behavior.

Who are we, when no one is watching? Are we assbites that walk by trash, or people in need? Do we turn our heads or pretend we’re on the phone?
Or are we people with some character? I think we can be both.

Back in the day, right after I bought my house, I LIVED at the 24 hour Hollywood Home Depot. I would walk down EVERY aisle like it was a gourmet market. Even the lumber department. It was dependable, free entertainment, in the fact that it was consistently crowded with a cross-section  of the most unique examples of humanity on the planet. It was the bar scene from Star Wars. AND, they played KROQ, an alternative rock radio station on the store PA after 6pm.
One night (It seemed I always needed a plunger or a dimmer switch at 11pm) in the aisle between electrical supplies and sprockets, was a sharp something or other that hadn’t been put back properly. As I absent mindedly strolled by, rocking out to The Clash, it jumped out and sliced my leg. Bad. Blood was suddenly EVERWHERE. It started to resemble a crime scene and as I looked around for help…crickets. There had easily been ten people on that aisle seconds before, and now it was deserted. Not a single soul.
People freak when they see blood. And a girl in denim overall shorts and Doc Martins hopping on one leg, yelling “OWWWWWWEEEEE” loudly.
They don’t want to get involved.
I’ll never understand that. When you see someone fall, find a crying, lost child, or stumble upon a bleeding new homeowner –– see if you can help.
Be a person of some character. Even if no one else is watching.

Someone must have hunted down an employee, because a guy that looked like my brother, if my brother was COVERED in tattoos and wearing a Home Depot shirt, came to my rescue.
He quickly wrangled the guilty object that cut me, back into its cubby, tied a bandana around my ankle and told me to go get stitches. In that order. He also alerted me to the fact that I roamed those aisles “at my own risk.”

Regardless, he was kind as he smiled and helped me back up on my feet.
Just then, my hero appeared. I heard angels singing.
He showed up with one of those flatbed wheelie things, and asked if I needed transport to my car. How chivalrous.
See…now this guy had some character.
Problem was, he resembled a biker/vampire, and I was sure the smell of my blood had beckoned him to my side. I declined his kind offer, and hobbled alone in the dark to my car, looking over my shoulder for a bat or my very pale, thirsty, knight in shining armor.

With all the cameras everywhere and YouTube video postings, we will all eventually  get caught in the act. But we have a choice. Will it capture us in a random act of helping or hiding? 

Tell me, are you the person that springs to action when someone falls or drops trash? Or have you caught yourself not wanting to get involved? Also, has something happened to you, and no one helped out? I’d love to hear about it?

 

Carry on, 

Xox

Saving Our Lives For Later?

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Saving Our Lives For Later?

One of the tragedies I would encounter on a regular basis as an Estate Jeweler was looking at gorgeous, incredibly made jewelry………that was seldom or NEVER worn.
The nervous relative would be standing in front of me, anxious for an appraisal and dollar value of their Great Aunt Barbara’s treasures. I would carefully open old, leather, fitted boxes, revealing that hint of her Shalimar.
Inside, I would find a stunning Art Deco diamond bracelet, carefully wrapped in Kleenex. Or strands of vintage pearls, still in their original black cloth pearl folders. Splendid Victorian era, carved hard stone rings, Georgian mine cut diamond earrings, all meticulously cared for, wrapped up and stored away. 
It’s easy to tell if a piece has been worn a lot. It has all the tell tale scratches, the worn clasp, the abraded stones that go along with being “well loved” as we so delicately put it. Unfortunately, much of the jewelry that relatives walked in with, had been locked up in safes or safe deposit boxes. Aunt Barbara had tucked it away for a special occasion. From the looks of most of them, that occasion had never come.

Unfortunately, I do that too. Don’t you?
Why do we do that? It’s really so sad. Why are we saving our lives for later?
Did we get it from our parents?
Some of them lived with all the furniture covered in plastic. The sofa frame would wear out before the fabric. That’s crazy.
We had a living room that may as well have had red ropes around it. Or caution tape. We were not allowed past the perimeter. A whole room in the home of a family of five, that was off limits.
What a luxury. What a waste. What the hell.

I recently found a beautiful dress in the dark recesses of my closet. I have worn it maybe twice. There it was, hiding in its garment bag, waiting to be shown off again. Trouble is, I’ve waited too long. It’s slightly out of style, meaning it’s too young for me now, and it’s become too small. Shit. I hate it when clothes mysteriously shrink. I love that dress. Why didn’t I just wear it more.
What was I waiting for? An invitation to high tea? Dinner with George Clooney?

We save all our good books for summer, for the flight and vacation we never take.
That fate has also befallen many a bikini. I’ve given away several with the tags still on.
We save the “good coffee” for the weekend. 
The “good dishes” for……never.
We save being happy until we have more zeros in our bank accounts, and less on our bathroom scales.
We save the good bottle of wine for a special occasion, the champagne for a celebration.
We save good towels for company, tax refunds to pay bills and compliments for birthday cards.
We gotta stop doing this!

I’ll never forget this story. My friend’s Uncle Saul finally retired. After 47 years at the same job, he was anxious to start his life. He was an avid golfer and an aspiring photographer. After he booked a trip to Scotland, he splurged on expensive new clubs and a brand new fancy camera, complete with all the lenses he would never let himself afford. Yep, you know where this is headed. Uncle Saul died in his bowl of Wheaties, three weeks before his trip. When my friend went to clean out the apartment, she was overwhelmed with sadness. Among the piles of unread books and un-opened film, were his spiffy new golf clubs and his never been used camera in its fitted shoulder bag. On the desk were the plane tickets. He died with 1.5 million dollars in the bank. Why? He was 78. He waited too long to start his life.
That marked me. I had to make some changes.

My own way of living before I die, started right away.
Being in the estate business for so long, I have collected a couple of mismatched sets of silver flatware. Okay; I have enough to set a dinner party at Downton Abbey. Then my husband came along with some of his mother’s.
One day after using it all for a holiday dinner, I was carefully washing and drying it by hand, as you must do, before I could return it to its special felt lined chest.
As I admired the intricacy of the design and the substantial weight of the knife in my hand, I said: “Fuck it.” Probably out loud. “I’m going to use these every day.”
I ordered the special felt that keeps them from tarnishing and lined the silverware drawer. Now for almost fifteen years, we have used that beautiful silver for every meal. Even pizza. When I use it, I feel special and that’s the point.
It does demand to be treated like Royalty. It can’t go in the dishwasher and truth be told, it does tarnish. It’s a commitment. The tips of the forks tines are always black. It will never be shiny bright like stainless. I like that. I’m sure it horrifies some people. 
I do cringe every time I tighten screws with it, loosen lids, open packages and pry stuff apart. 
It’s living a 21st century life. My life.
I refuse to save it for later.

Tell me, are you saving your life for later? Or have you started to use the good towels? I’d love to hear your story.

Xox

Seeing Things With REAL EYES

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REALIZE
re·al·ize
ˈrē(ə)ˌlīz/
verb
1. become fully aware of (something) as a fact; understand clearly.
“he realized his mistake at once”
synonyms: register, perceive, discern, be/become aware of (the fact that), be/become conscious of (the fact that)

I have recently, like in the last few days, fallen madly in LOVE with the word realize. Because I just gained a deeper understanding of its meaning.
When you have a realization, you suddenly see that thing with REAL EYES.
Hence the phrase: Oh, I see.
Holy mother of God, I think the top of my head just blew off.
How has this escaped me until this very week?

This experience is similar to my optician working his magic and professionally cleaning my glasses AND discovering I had an astigmatism in BOTH eyes thus changing the prescription on my contact lenses. In both instances, although I perceived my vision as clear, it was as if a dense fog had lifted and my eye sight had gone High Definition. I saw everything differently.
I’m no longer allowed to look up close, at any part of my husband. I can see things too well. I see them so clearly that I get the same intense look on my face as that chick on CSI, when she’s examining gory body parts under the microscope.
Holy shit……Oh, I seeeeee.

For all of us from the Oprah Show generation, a realization is an Ah Ha moment.
“My health problems all stem from my inability to make a change” said a friend, over salad. Ah Ha moment. And a life changer. It disrupted a pattern and started a new trajectory.

My sister swears it’s physical. When something really registers, she insists a door creaks open in her forehead, and let’s the light in.
Palm held to forehead slowly opens. Creeeeeeeeak.
I’ve been there. I think I’ve actually heard it.
We’ll be deep in conversation on one of life’s great mysteries like; what’s the deal with chin hair? When all of the sudden her eyes get real big, and her mouth drops open. We don’t even say anything. We both just put our palms to our foreheads and make the creaking noise.
Then we laugh so hard, no sound comes out.

This happens to me ALL the time with spiritual books and CD’s. I re-read the books that call me before bed. Through the winding canyons of Los Angeles, I play CD’s over and over in the zen monastery that is my car.
Because; for the almost 40 years I’ve been doing it, I’ve witnessed something curious. Realization tends to sneak up on me. It doesn’t come when called, or stop and turn around when chased. Realization comes to me when I least expect it, through repetition and a relaxing of the mind.
In a car ripe with dog farts.

I will know the material so well I can practically recite it verbatim. Then one day, my perception will shift. A word or a concept will click. I’ll hear or see it differently.
And I get it. I mean I REALLY get it. I now understand it in a totally new way.
I have a realization. I see it with REAL EYES.
After certain events in my life, after a perceived failure for instance, I re-read a chapter on the subject and wailed my head off, accompanied by big sloppy sobs. The previous ten times I had read it……nothing……crickets……it didn’t even register.
Now, I see it with REAL EYES.
As I keep aging, growing and changing, so does my understanding of pretty much everything, as evidenced by this post.

The drawing above is a perfect visual aid for this concept.
How convenient.
At first glance, it’s a young woman. But if you shift your perception, take your time and look deeply, an old crone appears. 
Then, she’s all you see. She’s real. The easy, first glance girl disappears.
The crone’s been there all along, but if you didn’t take the time for a second look, you’d have missed her……..Oh, I see.
Did I just hear the sound of a hundred doors creaking open?

I’d love to hear about any Ah Ha’s you’ve had recently. Something you suddenly saw with REAl EYES. Tell me about them in in the comments below.

Xox

Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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