inspiration

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

~CHARLES DE LINT, What the Mouse Found and Other 

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

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

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

MAGIC SHOWS UP!

Case in point:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gee, I’ve never heard that one…

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

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

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

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

Still unconvinced, I played along. 

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

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

She was a horticulturist at heart—obviously.

“Huh.” was my profound response. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ruby finds that suspect. She always has. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then I practically genuflected and kissed her ring with gratitude.

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

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

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

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

How could that be? 

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

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

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

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

Wait, what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay tuned & Carry on,
xox

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom Hanks posted a picture of this little reminder hanging in a grade school the other day. Leave it to Tom!

We could all use the remininder—some of us more than others!

Be kind to each other this weekend,

xox

We’ve all had that flash of insight. That lightbulb-over-your-head moment when something brilliant occurs to you.

I for one, LOVE when that happens!
It seems as if it comes from out-of-the-blue, without warning, startling the shit out of me.

It makes me feel connected to something greater, and if not greater‚ then smarter. The holder of the Universal Rolodex or keys to the Library at Alexandria.

For me, it can range wildly, from an inspired idea for a birthday present for the person who has everything to a great story idea, or spontaneously remembering the name of that cheese we all lost our minds over in that little, remote town in Spain. (But only the name of the cheese—not the town—too much to ask.)

For you, it may be a new and innovative brain surgery procedure or the mathematical equation that will once and for all solve the existence of dark matter.

Big deal. I’m happy for you. Really. I am.

Who doesn’t love that flash of inspiration? You never feel more present, alive and in-the-moment.

Now here’s where it gets…complicated and this is universal.

Thunder.

God-farts.

All the ways and reasons why your brilliant idea wasn’t so brilliant after all.

Old news.

Thunder—doubt—is based on old news. Old fears. Old ways of thinking. It is rooted in the past. The things we were taught as children. Boogie-man fears. Threats against feeling secure and safe. And normal.

Thunder is  SLOOOOOOOOW. It can’t keep up. That’s why it takes a while before you can hear it.

But like a fart, it’s LOUD.  It gets your attention.

You need to forget about it. Stick with the NEW. The great idea.

New ideas, paradigms, and concepts are FAST. Like lightning. They Flash in and dare you to catch them.

They can only appear when you’re living in the moment.

Thunder is old news from the past. It rumbles and roars and smells like a million containers of leftovers in the back of the fridge or—like Shrek with gas.

You get the picture.

Carry on,
xox

Sorry, I had to, it’s in French.

“It is easier to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission”

This quote is attributed to Grace Hopper, a crusty old broad who, if given the choice, I’d want to sit next to at most dinner parties. Except she’s dead.

It should be attributed to my husband since he swears by it, lives it and quotes it almost daily.

He’s also pretty crusty and he breaks the rules. Rules are just suggestions to him. Gentle recommendations that are made to be broken. I find that quality sexy in a person. In men in particular. Really sexy. (I’m going to see if he’s still at his desk and tell him so. I’ll be back in…thirty…)

So sorry about that. Please forgive me.
Anyhow…

When you see a No Trespassing sign do you turn around or do you keep going? I keep going. I can’t help it.

I trespassed the shit out of my hikes around the hills of Soquel this week and it unleashed my inspiration.

My pup and I explored all sorts of forbidden paths, trails and otherwise off-limits parts of this gorgeous backcountry. Several Ted Kaczynski’s unleashed their hounds on us (no biggie, my dog is a one-woman welcoming committee, like the head of the local PTA, and the hounds all loved her. They’ve organized a bake sale and are coming over for tea at three.)

We happened upon a babbling brook, found someone’s abandoned Airstream trailer, stopped, kept from making eye contact, and turned around when we came across a guy, in the middle of nowhere, sitting in his junk heap of a pick-up truck, staring at us while he listened to a banjo strum slowly on the radio.
I’m not kidding.

Undeterred, we kept on walking the road less traveled (in the other direction), and two things came to mind.

In LA I powerwalk. I try to notice my surroundings but most days I’m focused on completing my 10,000 steps and getting my day started. These hikes among the pines, oaks, and lush green hills are food for my soul. I walk slowly, inhaling the scent of the moist, dark earth, moss, wet grass and the occasional field of wildflowers.

One road we trespassed on became so steep in the middle that I had to practice my yoga breathing in order to keep my heart INSIDE of my chest where it belongs when I noticed all of the delicious smells I’d been enjoying were gone. That’s just one of the things I hate about cardio (there are at least 500 more. I have a list.), it robs you of your senses.

My mouth was open so wide, gasping for air like a naked astronaut on the surface of Mars—that I couldn’t smell a thing.

So, number one: You must walk at a leisurely pace in order to smell the roses, so to speak. A full sensory experience cannot be had at 135 beats per minute.

Number two: Nothing interesting or noteworthy happens on the beaten path. It’s the safe route. Well traveled. Crowded actually. Every rock has been turned, every idea hatched.

I am convinced that in order to reach inspiration you must NEVER ask permission because more than likely—the answer will be NO.

Nope. You must trespass in life—then beg for forgiveness…then bring pie.

Carry on
xox

Who out there is experiencing a high level of stress these days? Show of hands? Yeah, I thought so.

Well, you’re not alone. I had three—count ‘um—three Level-Five (Level Five being, there aren’t enough mantras, pharmaceuticals or fucks-to-give that can remedy this shitstorm)—stressful situations to handle before noon today.

That was AFTER I talked my husband down off the ledge.

So I feel you. I know what you’re going through, and I have one piece of advice. (Which I had to remind myself of every ten minutes).

Me: Mother of god, my mind is racing and it’s driving me nuts!

Better Part of Me: Stop and listen to it. That dialogue, diatribe, or sorry-ass monologue that the devil wrote and is repeating on an endless loop in your head right now? Ask yourself this:
Is it helping you—or hurting you?

Me: Shit. Thanks. I almost forgot.

Better Part of Me: Is it calling you names and telling you how much you fucked up?

Is it kicking you while you’re down?

Is it making shit up? Terrible; awful; life-or-death shit?

Is it making this problem seem like it’s the worst thing that’s happened in the history of the world; or since Donald Trump decided to run for President?

Then it’s NOT helping you and you need to tell it to “SHUT THE HELL UP!”

That voice is the voice of your childish, fear-filled mind. And it has NO IDEA what it’s talking about!

Would you take advice from a scared child? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Take a walk.
Take a nap.
Take a drive.
Play some music.
Pet your cat.
Read a book.
Meditate.

Do anything you can to change the station. You will never find the solution inside the energy of the problem.

After a while the little brat will get tired; and then I’ll take out my earplugs and finally be able to get a word in edgewise.

That’s when the good ideas will come.

That’s when you find the missing piece to the puzzle.

That’s when you’ll be able to take a deep breath (I know this, and I still walked around blue, holding my breath for an hour).

That’s when you see the light.

That’s when you find forgiveness.

That is when you realize that you’re on a tiny blue planet, spinning in an insignificant part of the galaxy—and none of this shit really matters anyway.

Me: Whew! What a relief!

Carry on,
xox

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/janet-bertolus/i-was-a-twentysix-year-ol_b_8086040.html

So I finally did it. I reached a milestone, the bloggers Holy Grail. I got a piece published in the Huffington Post!

But it was the journey there that made an even, dare I say, larger impression on me!

After receiving the nicest email a year ago from Arianna herself (on a Sunday for chrissakes), hooking me up with a blog editor, I have spent the past year submitting posts like a fucking headless chicken, with no luck.

Finally, around June-ish, my poor harried Muse suggested I give it a rest—just for the summer.

But, but, how will I know when to start again? I whined in protest.

You’ll just know, she replied in an exhausted tone; drink in hand, the nub of a cigarette dangling from her lips.

goddamnit! I hate when she does that.

Anyhow, I did as I was told. I immediately stopped submitting.
But I kept a keen eye open, looking for a signal; a sign; a flare;  SOMETHING; ANYTHING; to let me know when it was time to start submitting again. And… I never stopped writing.

About two weeks ago I sat down and out poured an essay about my divorce (Yawn*. I have covered that topic from head to toe, turning over every rock, so much so that I’M even bored with it).

However, this time was different. It was written from the perspective of my twenty-six year old self and how it all felt to her.  Hmmmm… I still wasn’t sure what to make of it, so I filed it away with the ten gazillion other unfinished drafts.

A week later as I was browsing the Huffington Post Facebook page, an essay on divorce caught my eye. It said at the top that they were running a series This is Divorce at… Stories about what divorce meant at all different ages. If you had one, they were asking for submissions.

Whoa, What?
Shut Up!
Are you kidding me? I just wrote that piece.

Then it dawned on me, because it takes me a while and I have swiss cheese for a brain. (You’re all way ahead of me aren’t you?)

OMG! That was my sign to submit!

So I finished the essay, sent it in, (I had to shorten it), and the rest, as they say is history.
It was THAT easy.

What’s that word we’ve been throwing around all freaking summer?

Oh yeah, surrender.

This is my best surrender story EVER! (Well, except for the time I surrendered my poor struggling store to the Powers That Be, and it flooded and died that very night) —yeah, besides that one.

Today I’m filled with SO MUCH gratitude! That is some powerful Unicorn ju-ju!

Love you, Carry on,
xox

Hey you guys,
I would appreciate it SO MUCH if you would leave a comment on the HuffPo article and up at the top there is a tiny little heart that if you click on it makes you a fan. Would you do that for me?
Thank you so much!

xox

It’s short and it’s elegant and it’s so beautiful it made me cry you guys. Fucking Brene Brown did it again!
Have a great Weekend!
Rise Strong and Carry On,
xox

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
-Chinese Proverb

Darling peeps,

Your path lights up before you. It’s right under your feet, not out there somewhere.
I’m just getting this! Can you believe it?

You don’t have to go find it, so unpack those bags.

Just pay attention.
To the inspiration,
to the ideas,
to the song on the radio when you get into the car,
to the graffiti that inspired you,
the book that fell off the shelf as you walked by,
the rejection letter that sent you in a different direction entirely,
to your dreams,
to your intuition,
to your aspirations,
the call that never came,
and the one that did.

You guys, That’s your path calling you forward. It’s right under your feet. Would I lie to ya?

Carry on,
xox

I’ve just got to say a few words about this. A bit of a rant. You may disagree, you may even get mad. I’ll chance it. At least hear me out.

I have several friends in corporate America.
And while I have to admit that it pays well and the rewards for a job well done, like a bonus or an accommodation (very similar to a star by your name on the chart in grade school – I mean, who doesn’t want THAT?) keep them invested, it’s been my observation that as you tow the company line, it will suck your soul.

And you are REQUIRED to. That line MUST be towed.

What I’ve seen happen, and it may not be in the first five or even ten years, but eventually, after a while, these people lose site of their own voice, their authenticity, their inspiration, their truth, their juju – and then their soul.

They operate in fear of being found out for the joyful, fun-loving, sometimes inappropriate, crazy creative beings that they are.

THAT is often frowned upon and certainly NOT rewarded.

And the tape that plays in the background like cheap elevator music is this: There is nothing special about you. You are expendable. There are thirty people in line behind you that are more qualified for your job. Don’t flinch, don’t be sick, don’t say “no”, don’t look away, keep your eye on the prize – or you’re gone.

Well, that is so empowering, such a morale booster! You must feel so appreciated – treasured even.

Shit – I can hear one friend’s voice now (you know who you are) “Your job is not here to make you feel appreciated and treasured. You have kids for that.”

Just to be fair it’s not every big corporation, but sadly, it’s most.

One of my friends works for a company that was recently purchased by one of those large investment corporations, you know the ones. Every year they have to show a larger and larger profit to keep the hungry share holders at bay. You and your life are of no concern to them.
They don’t care if your kid is sick, your mother is dying, your car was stolen, or you found a lump on your breast. “Get your ass on that plane to Atlanta, you have a big deal to close.”

It’s all about the bottom line – baby.

“We all have to wear navy blue now” it was the latest edict handed down from Headquarters. “Do you know how hard it is to find pants, skirts and jackets that are all the same shade of navy?”
I’m sure the question was rhetorical given the fact that I haven’t matched anything since Geranimals, and MY uniform of late is LuLu Lemon, but I could sympathize.

“Reasonable navy suits are next to impossible! Black would have been so much easier – everybody’s got tons of black. Ugh, I’m getting the feeling this is just the start, I think a uniform is where they’re headed.”

The sad part to me, besides my friend having to go out and purchase a new wardrobe on her own dime, is the fact that as far as I can see, her clothes had become the last way for this young, stylish, corporate woman to assert her individuality – now that ship has sailed.

She was just telling me about a form the company wants them to fill out. They’re looking for suggestions on how to improve things and where she sees her future going.

It’s a trap!! Don’t answer it! Run!

I’m kidding, yet in my imagination, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if they used those answers as grounds for termination somewhere down the line. They ask for initiative and then quell it at every turn.
I’ve seen it happen over and over.

You’re out of line, too much free thinking. Bye bye.

I wish corporations rewarded individuality.
I wish they made people feel appreciated along with compensated.
I wish they invested in their people more.
I wish it wasn’t all about the money.
Money over feelings.
Money over effort.
Money over time served.
Money over people.

But I wish I was six feet tall, dark and exotic looking.
Next life I guess.

Okay…let me have it! If you disagree, tell me in the comments.

Xox

PROCRASTINATE

synonyms: delay, put off doing something, postpone action, defer action, be dilatory, use delaying tactics, stall, temporize, drag one’s feet/heels, take one’s time, play for time, play a waiting game
“fear of failure often causes people to procrastinate”

For the last several years, on the date of the Winter Solstice, Darling Diana holds a meditation. It is my favorite one.

Held on the evening of the longest night of the year, it manages to be dark, moody, sacred, and festive all at the same time.
If you can imagine that.

There is always a huge turnout, hugging of old friends, crystals glistening in the candlelight, and this year a Christmas tree.

One of the traditions (and I love a good tradition) is to intuit a word during the meditation and then write it down.
This will be your defining word for the year.
No pressure.

She cautioned us not to overthink it. “Just empty your mind and let the word come to you“, she advised. “It may not even make any sense, just stay with it.”
And off we went; into that dark mid winter’s night meditation deep.

Never one to be able to just follow a simple assignment, I got TWO words that kept repeating. No matter how many times I shouted “NO!” at them.
“Hey, follow the rules you guys, besides, those words suck.” Wow, even my meditation voice is snarky.

I would write them on imaginary paper in my head and then wad it up and throw it away. Still there.
I would scratch them out with a big red circle/slash. No use, they kept coming.
Not only were there two words, one of them scared the shit out of me. It literally made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. It gave me a headache.

My words: Aligned Conception. WTF?!

Conception is a loaded word for me, since I’m someone that is of the childless persuasion; and at my age, and in my circumstances, it would be a colossal fuck-up – and a medical miracle.
The act of conceiving a child is something that I have actively avoided my whole life, sooooo I’d have a lot of fast talking and explaining to do – to my body – to my husband – to our doctors – and our future.

For about three minutes, in the grips of a deep panic, I fought that word tooth and nail. I did, I bit it and clawed at it.
It was an epic battle between ME and me.

Then I just gave in. Fine. Fuck you, Conception. (pun intended). You win.

But what I’d been overlooking in my immediate and strenuous, jumping to conclusions, was the word aligned that had preceded it every time.
Aligned conception – idiot.

Aligned Conception. What a concept. Now I love my word(s)!

Aligned, meaning to line things up. BEFORE you make a move.
I tend to be impetuous, so daily, no, make that hourly, I’m attempting to think before I leap.

Well played Universe.

Waiting to be inspired, which I’m doing more and more.

Creating or conceiving ideas or concepts, as they line up, make sense, feel right.

Noticing that if you’re aligned, all the right people, places, ideas, and inspiration will beat a path to your door. Impetuous not so much. It can’t find your door because it couldn’t take a minute to write down your address.

Taking the time to align, sounds a lot like procrastination – well, yeah, it is, except it’s Divine Procrastination. With it you’ll take Inspired Action, you’ll experience Aligned Conception.

This is foreign to me. Fish out of water foreign. I’ve never been a procrastinator. Ever. Ask my husband, oh wait, he’ll tell you later. He’s a pro, and it works for him. I had to break it down to understand it. Here’s how I think it works.

I always thought procrastination was a dirty word, with a negative connotation. It was a habit of the fearful and the lazy. It can be, but it’s also a tool of the wise.

Let me explain.

How many times have you made THAT call or answered THAT email, when you weren’t lined up (aligned)?
You hadn’t taken the time to breathe, get centered, take a walk, or kick the dog. How did that go?

Light-yourself-on-fire shitty, right?

How many projects have you started when the funding was dicey, the players weren’t lined up, your ducks weren’t in a row, your i’s were not dotted, your t’s were not crossed – and your gut told you to wait?
KA BOOM! Crash and burn, right?

I may know a thing or two about this, being as impetuous as I am/was.

What if I had only procrastinated? Waited for the “gut green light”?

If it doesn’t feel right. I won’t do it. I’ll Wait. I’ll Align. Then I’ll Conceive.

Got it!

I don’t know about you, but I think Aligned Conception just kicked Impetuous’ ass.

Xox