journey

Life’s All About The Journey, Silly

I’ve been traveling lately. A lot. Much more than usual.
Three countries in two weeks. Eight flights. More shitty airport food than I care to remember.

It’s one reason you haven’t heard from me lately. The other fifty have to do with varying degrees of slothiness, jet lag, and a profound lack of inspiration.

Anyway, one trip was a two-week motorcycle ride through southern Italy. Rome to Sicily.

The other, two days after my return from Italy, was a journey to Tofino, a town on the wild western coast of Vancouver Island, British Columbia. From LA it takes a plane, a ferry, lots of coffee, and four-plus hours (depending on the weather and road conditions) of driving to get there. To say it’s all worth it is an understatement, so I will not do it that disservice. Just suffice it to say—WOW.

All of this to say, for both it was the journey, not the ultimate destination that captivated me and made me practically pee my pants with delight. Don’t get me wrong, Sicily and all of the cites and towns we visited were amazing and I blow another zipper just remembering the food. But it was the ride each day through the countryside to get there and then exploring the island and making memories with the fabulous people in our group that was—bellisimo!

The same goes for Tofino.

So I was reminded, as I often am, not to rush through things.

Here’s a short excerpt from my self-talk with that part of me that knows more wise shit than I ever will:

Them: Remember, LIFE is the journey.
Me: What?!
Them: You heard us!
Me: I know, but that always gets me.
Them: We know. Maybe, eventually, you’ll remember it.

Here’s the thing: If I were only interested in getting to Sicily, I could have flown directly there, had dinner, taken a selfie, and flown home. Same with Tofino (although the scuttlebutt says that flight is so harrowing you need to carry a change of underwear in your purse). So never mind.

The point is, LIFE is the journey!
Slow down.
Take it all in.
Be grateful.
Have fun.

Amen.

Carry on,
xox

Buried Treasures Revealed

Hi everyone,
One more week to go!

I hope this finds you not too stressed out and enjoying at least some of the cheer the holidays have to offer. Me, you ask? I’m coping with regular meditation, lots of self-care and…oh who am I kidding? I’m polishing off chocolate chip cookies at an alarming rate!

Listen, this is the season of giving and I’m such a giver (ha) that I wanted to pass along this podcast to you guys. It’s longer than normal so I’m doing it on the weekend because it’s totally worth a listen!

The interviewer is my favorite bookmama Linda Siversten, founder of my favorite book tribe the Big Beautiful Writers Group, and she’s sitting down for an in-depth chat with one of my favorite gurus and her pal Guru Singh.

They talk about life, creativity, the “ambrosia” hours, his book Buried Treasures, (which I read this time last year and loved!)  Even the election results!

Listen to it while you wrap presents. While you’re sitting in the airport or stuck on the freeway. I listened while I ran errands yesterday and the time flew by!

Okay. Here you go. Gird your loins. You will make it through these last seven days, I promise.

Love you,
xox

https://www.amazon.com/Buried-Treasures-Journey-Where-You/dp/1497594324/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1482070677&sr=1-1&keywords=buried+treasures+guru+singh

bookmama.com

Who Hates Nude People Playing Volleyball? And Being Dumb?

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Then I am a genius because I’m am seriously dumb about the learning to be smart part.

“Learning something new is frustrating. It involves being dumb on the way to being smart.”
~ Seth Godin

This has always been a challenge for me. I LOVE knowledge, but I HATE feeling dumb. There is nothing I hate more—except maybe old fat guys playing volleyball on a nudie beach. GOD! I HATE THAT!

I remember getting hives the day our new jewelry program arrived at work. I knew the old inventory system so well I never even looked at the keys. It took eight key strokes to enter an item. Not four and not eleven. Eight. The tech guy who was drowning in too much cheap cologne and smug gave us all a crash course and a number to call in case we faltered. After he left I tried a couple of things he had just shown us and had to be restrained from throwing the entire fucking computer into traffic—before the nerd even made it to the parking lot.

MY frustration turns to rage. Who’s with me?

Frustration as a contact sport? Uh, yeah. Especially with technology. Don’t get me started.

I Google it. I email my smart friends, peppering them with questions. I watch endless tutorials on YouTube and I STILL can’t get Suri to work for me the way I want. The way I was promised. She is cold and distant and I don’t care for her attitude.

As for technology, I’ve been shamed by a pimply faced genius at the Genius Bar and Billy who works for my brother on his way to world domination.
THEY were never dumb. Ever. They were smart on the way to brilliant. I want that. I’ll have what they’re having.

I’ll admit it. I was/am the poster child for “I want to be an expert on my way to being an expert.”

Here is how that plays out in my brain: Don’t fucking talk to me about “a learning curve”. I cannot be bothered with that nonsense. “Learning curve”. Ha! That’s just a nice way of saying: ”You’re the little train that couldn’t on the downslope to stupid.”

Brutal. I know. Can you believe the shit my smack-talking brain says to me? Jeez. It’s a wonder I get up in the morning.

Back in the day, I longed to be fluent in a beginning French class. (What? Don’t turn on me now).
When it was evident that French was a hopeless cause for me due to the fact that I am seriously “language challenged”, (it’s genetic. My tongue is not made to do some of those things. You should feel sorry for me instead of judging), I hijacked the class with my crazy antics. I turned it into I Love Lucy Takes French. At least that way they were laughing with me, not at me—the densest person to ever attempt to learn a foreign language.

I finally discovered over time and many hours of navel lint contemplation, that it’s the feeling dumb part that I hate.

The part that I LOVE is acquiring knowledge. I love to grow and change and know new stuff. It was then that I decided to reframe it. You know, to offset the frustration rage.

What if I was…curious? Not stupid.
Wow.
That feels better already. Curious is a much better thing to be than dumb. At least is was for me.

What if I was trying to “figure something out” as a part of learning? Kind of like a math problem. Except nothing like math because I sucked at math on a count of  it made me feel dumb. Well, THAT was a full circle moment. Anyhow, “figuring out” sounds smart. I like that.

What if I could remember that everyone has an awkward first day at everything. No one comes in as an infant knowing how electricity works or exactly what the iPhone 6 can do—except Tesla and maybe my little brother.

What if I could simply lighten the fuck up and make learning fun? Huh?
Well, these days I’m learning to do that (see what I did there?).

How about you?
Are you okay with feeling dumb on the way to smart? Really? What’s in your coffee?
Help me out here. Share some of your insights, Please.

and then…Carry on,
xox

Elegant? A Reprise

Elegant

ELEGANT
el·e·gant
ˈeləgənt/
adjective: elegant
1.pleasingly graceful and stylish in appearance or manner.
“she will look elegant in black” (a reason why I always wear black, ha!)
synonyms: stylish, graceful, tasteful, sophisticated, classic, chic, smart.
antonyms: messy, unwieldy (hot mess)!

Oh yeah, I’ve talked about this. I cautioned you in the previous post.
We can aspire to it, aim for it, even pray for it, but enlightenment, spiritual awakening, whatever you want to name it, is rarely elegant.

And by rarely…I mean never.

There is a mine field of inelegance that surrounds becoming conscious.
You can side step the big stuff, like disaster and dis-ease, but you’ll still get your shoes dirty.
It’s kinda the name of the game.
If it was pretty; clean and easy, everyone would do it.

Take meditation for instance.
I can’t tell you how many friends have said this to me: When I started meditation, all hell broke loose.
It starts out all zen and blissful, with the breath and the inner peace. You will have that in your back pocket for life; but ask anyone who’s seriously meditated for a while.
Shit can hit the fan!
If you meditate every day, you literally change your brain…and your body.
You put the monkey mind in its place, and make your connection with source.

But source likes a clean link. It doesn’t like an old plugged up infrastructure, so it cleans and clears things out. When that happens, all your bad habits, your sabotaging self talk, your anger, hate, rage, lack of forgiveness, selfishness, greed, and jealousy, to name a few, are chased out of the shadows and into the light.

Get the fan.

This will set you free, but these guys won’t be graceful, chic or elegant.
They will give you the middle finger on their way out.
Meditation shook their cage, and they’re pissed.

Yoga is right up there too. A great practice, amazing for the mind and body, but it’s not just exercise, there is a spiritual aspect to Yoga that you can’t get around.
Yoga in Sanskrit means “the Divine Union”. Using the physical postures to bring the mind under control and join with the Higher Self or Source.

Uh oh.
Get the fan.

A regular Yoga practice will unleash all the usual suspects.
Anger will be released from your hip joints, sadness from your shoulders.
There will be heart openings, epic realizations, even tears.
It will free YOU as well…it just won’t be elegant.

Choosing the path less traveled.
Operating outside your comfort zone.
Mindful living.
Being of Service.
All call for making the tough choices, lots of “no’s” = Fast track to a more enlightened life.
Elegance…not so much.

The path may not seem the most elegantat first, but don’t loose faith you guys, elegance comes later. Trust me.
Choose wisely.

XoxJanet

Pssst…You Wanna Know How To Find Your Path?

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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

Miracles Are Like Meatballs [With Audio]

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“Miracles are like meatballs because nobody can exactly agree on what they are made of, where they come from, or how often they should appear.”
― Lemony Snicket

Hi my loves,
Here’s another WTF Friday miracle story. And it’s a GOOD one.
It’s been in my head, writing itself for days. I haven’t thought about it for over twenty years so it’s persistence proves to me that it’s a tale that wants to be told.

It shows how the Universe will take care of us NO MATTER WHAT when we are on our path. 

That being said, I will endeavor to tell it as I remember it, without embellishment, exactly as my mini Yoda, pocket-shaman relayed it to me.

He told me the story one rainy afternoon as he was brewing a pot of something that smelled like a combination of the bottom of a cat box and the inside of my high-school gym locker. He would roll his eyes and stare at me with complete exasperation, as I literally gagged that shit, I mean tea, down every day, with the promise that it would help me feel better. Remember, I wasn’t doing so well energetically at that time, and he was the humor-free shaman that the Universe had assigned to my case.

So…here goes.
Once upon a loooooong time ago, T,  (my Yoda) traveled the world for years with the intention of soaking up knowledge from different teachers and learning ancient healing techniques that in remote parts of the world are only passed down verbally.

As weeks turned to months and months to years, he had started to run out of money and was exhausted both mentally and physically.

He couldn’t remember exactly which country he was in, Nepal, he thought, when he found himself walking many hours on a rocky dirt road, looking for a place to eat and potentially stay the night.

“On that kind of journey, you often stay in local people’s homes” he explained, “Trading something you’ve gathered along the way for a bite to eat and a place to rest your weary bones.” He had collected a couple of beautiful scarves, precious beads, dried fruit, and chocolate, things that were easy to carry and could be used in lieu of currency.
He also offered a healing when appropriate.

As he tells it, he was hiking along, in a kind of walking meditation, on a steep mountain road, when he suddenly looked up and saw a tall tree next to a wall with a huge wooden door. He swears it appeared out of nowhere.

A Monastery perhaps? he thought.

He stood in front of the wooden door for a long time after knocking.

Nothing. No answer.

He knocked again, louder, three more times with no reply before he walked away.

Five or six steps up the path he thought he heard the creaking of heavy wood and straining metal. He turned around to see a very tall man in long robes standing at the entrance.

He tried all the local dialects in an attempt to communicate with the man, but to no avail.  It was then that he noticed the intricate embroidery on his robes—which meant he wasn’t a monk, so this wasn’t a monastery.

He acted more like a doorman, silently nodding and gesturing for T to go inside.

He was intrigued and decided to comply. As he walked past the giant, dandily dressed man, he was surprised to feel how much cooler it was inside the dark shadows thrown by thick stone walls.  It appeared to him to be an ancient and enormous labyrinth of rooms.  He could hear birds singing and the trickle of fountains and everywhere he looked were elaborately colored tile walls. The floors were covered with Persian rugs made of ceramic tiles as the silent gentleman-doorman led him down a long hallway to a large bed chamber that was set up like a spa.

One side of the room was dominated by a thick, cushy mattress sitting on the floor that was overtaken by tons of large pillows and surrounded by voluminous drapes of fabric.  On a round table covered in mosaic tiles was a pitcher of water with fresh limes, and bowls of figs and dates. The other side had a large step-down tub/pool with a private bathroom, which was highly unusual.  In that part of the world, the baths and toilets, which were generally holes in the ground, were most commonly shared.

The man motioned for T to put down his heavy pack and rest.

T tried to explain that he had almost no money and that even if he did he could never afford to stay in such a grand establishment, for this could never be someone’s home, it must surely be the most beautiful hotel he’d ever seen.
But before he could finish… without a sound…the man was gone.

When he sat on the bed to figure out what to do next, he realized just how bone-tired he really was. The next thing he remembered was waking up surrounded by the long shadows of dusk.
After enjoying the facilities, soaking in the deep pool of cool, clean water and putting on fresh clothes, he left the room in search of the tall quiet guy or anyone else who may be in charge so he could apologize for falling asleep and give them what little money he had left.

The place was huge, covered floor to ceiling with ornate tile which left him visually disoriented while attempting to navigate a very complicated floor plan that kept leading him back to what appeared to be a large dining room.

The long table was surrounded by many chairs and lit by the glow of numerous candelabras. It was also completely covered, end to end—with food! Steaming hot plates of saffron rice with raisins, sauteed eggplant, and different meat dishes with flat bread and fruits of every variety.

He noticed only one place setting, it was at the head of the table. This must be a feast for the owner of the establishment he thought. Good, now I can talk to someone, and maybe get a bite to eat.
The smell of all the delicious food was making his stomach churn with hunger.

Just then the silent gentleman appeared.  T took out his money and started asking if it would be possible to talk to the owner and get something to eat; but the man again motioned for him to be seated at the head of the table. Bewildered, T sat down and the man with no words started to serve him. Guessing by now that maybe the lovely man had taken a vow of silence or was profoundly deaf, he ceased talking and started eating, figuring the owner or some other guests would come along soon, (even though he hadn’t seen another soul), allowing him to clear things up.

Certainly all this incredible food wasn’t just for him.
But it was.

The way he told it, that night was some of the best food and wine he’s EVER tasted.
And it was the best bed he’s EVER slept in, and the deepest sleep he’s EVER slept.

I can’t remember exactly how he discovered it, I think he saw the date on his watch, but at some point, he realized that when he woke up at dusk that first day, he had actually slept over 24 hours and it was dusk of the next day!
“No wonder I was so hungry.” He said, laughing.

Back at the Villa, he wandered around, getting lost in its beauty, never seeing another soul. He spent his hours admiring the opulence, swimming in the pool of clear cool water, eating whatever and whenever he felt like, and resting—deeply— something he hadn’t allowed himself to do for many months.

Occasionally, he would see the quiet man whom he had stopped trying to communicate with.
They seemed to do just fine without words.

He could have stayed in this Nirvana forever, but after three days he decided to leave, lest he take advantage of his benefactor’s generosity.
As he was leaving, he wrapped all his money and some valuable red amber beads in the best scarf he had, and put it on a table by the door. It wasn’t nearly enough for all the luxury afforded him, but it was all he had.

The days of rest he’d gotten gave him a new sense of purpose and he was able to do some healings to earn money, so he continued on his journey.

He figured it was about a year later when he was passing through that part of the world again that he wanted to go back and stay at the beautiful retreat. This time he had plenty of money to pay!

He climbed the steep  and dusty road, remembering all the twists and turns until he found himself suddenly at the top.
He must have passed the place while lost deep in anticipation of the food and wine, although that seemed impossible.
He walked back down the road slowly and deliberately now, finally seeing the tree to his left….but no wall, no large wooden door, and absolutely no villa.

He stood there for a long time, doubting himself, knowing he was standing in the exact right place.

He would NEVER forget this road and that tree with the giant door and the man who never spoke.

After awhile another traveler, an old man with a skinny goat, walked into view.
As the man passed, T asked him what had happened to the grand villa that had stood right in that spot just a year ago.

“I am a very old man, and I’ve lived at the bottom of the hill all my life, and I can assure you, there has never been any building, let alone something grand on this road”.

T thanked the old man, handing him several bags of almonds, and stood there mystified for some time. Eventually, he made his way back down the hill and stayed in town with the old man and the goat.

“The Universe provides just what we need when we need it” he assured me with the conviction miracles instill in people who have been beneficiaries of just such an event.

That is just one of many, many meatball miracles that happened to him on that journey to seek wisdom. The Universe provides.

I love that story. How about you?
Xox

 

The Physics of the Quest

The Physics of the Quest

“I’ve come to believe that there exists in the universe something I call “The Physics of The Quest” — a force of nature governed by laws as real as the laws of gravity or momentum. And the rule of Quest Physics maybe goes like this: “If you are brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting (which can be anything from your house to your bitter old resentments) and set out on a truth-seeking journey (either externally or internally), and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue, and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher, and if you are prepared – most of all – to face (and forgive) some very difficult realities about yourself… then truth will not be withheld from you.” Or so I’ve come to believe.”

― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

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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