life lessons

This arrived as a blob.

A moss-covered blob tucked into a gift box with a card attached exclaiming: 

Merry Christmas! 
Love, Mom

Accompanying the mysterious, moss-covered blob were instructions:

Do Nothing. 
No water. 
No care. 
Just sunlight.
And in several weeks you will have two gorgeous, blooming Amaryllis flowers.

Mmmmmkay…I chortled, as I am known to do when sent weird shit with questionable instructions from the land of Abracadabria. 

I called my mother to interrogate, thank her for her thoughtful gift. 
“What did you send me?” I asked in the nicest way possible.
“Oh, do you like it?”
“I, I, I don’t know yet.”
“Just give it some time.”
“Okay. Question…”
“Yes?”
“Is it supposed to look dead?”
She laughed, “That’s crazy, isn’t it? But in a few weeks, it will be beautiful!”
“Yes, crazy.”
“Gotta go, The View is starting and Whoopi is ranting about—”

I let her go. Because after decades of experience—my life works out so much better when I do.

During the winter months, the sunniest spot in my house is the dining room table, so instead of the usual poinsettia extravaganza, I sat the blob on a plate in between two candles and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

“That’s…interesting.” One of my friends commented, pointing at the blob.
“It’s a Christmas blob… from my mother.”
“Pretty.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Festive.”
“Right? I mean, it’s got green moss.”

Along the way, it sprouted horns. Or, buds. I wasn’t sure having never raised a blob before.

Then, sometime around the end of December, like a goddamn Christmas miracle, the blob bloomed. Except it happened when we were in Sedona so I wasn’t there for it. 

But you can imagine my surprise when I returned from my holiday to a blob that had morphed into a real-life Amaryllis!

I mean, it’s gorgeous! And I did NOTHING! Less than nothing. I mocked it every chance I got and it still bloomed!

As usual, there’s a lesson or five in here for me.

1. Beautiful things can have very humble beginnings.
2. Even when it looks like nothing is happening—SO MUCH is happening behind scenes.
3. A watched flower never blooms. In other words, look away and let the magic happen.
4. Do NOTHING more often. Trust the process.
5. My mother is the Yoda of badass gift givers and if I ever forget that, I’ll need y’all to remind me.
6. Mother Nature’s naturey game is strong!

Carry on,
Xox

*This is a favorite from several years ago. I’m actually proud of this one. It has depth and each word has hidden meaning. I love it.
Understanding mastery. An Oxymoron I suppose.
This one’s for all the new people here at the blog.
xox

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.

*Hi Loves,
This is a post from Christmas 2013, but it’s a crowd favorite for the timeless reason that my man never ceases to amaze me with his decency.
Immensely grateful for all of you and your decency and continued loyalty and wishing you and yours the happiest of holidays and a fucking amazing New Year!
xoxJanet

AVATAR
av·a·tar
ˈavəˌtär/
noun
1.HINDUISM
a manifestation of a deity or released soul in bodily form on earth; an incarnate divine teacher.

I met my husband when he was 47 and I was 43.
To say I kissed a lot of frogs along the way is an understatement!
Since he’s French, there’s also a certain irony there.

On paper, I looked über normal.
I had a great job, a house, a relatively “normal” family, lots of good friends, two Siamese cats, and a Partridge in a pear tree.

But as you all know by now, I had my dark, hidden secret.
I was a closeted seeker.
I was devoutly spiritual.
I did yoga,
I meditated twice a day,
I could have been a monk.
Well, except for the red lipstick and nail polish…oh, and the sex.

Anyway…
I’m pretty sure I blurted it all out on one of our early dates,
after a glass of wine, half expecting him to excuse himself, saying he was “going to the restroom”, only to discover he had made a run for it!

But he didn’t.

It ends up he was a seeker as well, having worked with
a Peruvian shaman along the way, so I should have seen this coming.

For years, I had sought the counsel of a channel, a friend who had the ability to call in beings of higher wisdom. So I invited her/them over to “meet” my new husband. I’m not exactly sure what I expected, but what they did was to completely ignore me, and practically fall all over themselves, calling him “Great Avatar”.

Then they explained that I am the “consort” to this great being.

What!? Really?
Like the Cleopatra to his Marc Anthony?
Nope.
More like the Robin to his Batman.
The Kato to his Green Hornet.
The Heckle to his Jeckle.

Well, not exactly.
He is my teacher.
I am grasshopper.

It just happened for the gazillionth time on Christmas Eve day.

He told me the story that night, on our way to dinner.

He is a typical man in the sense that he waits until 3 p.m. on the 24th to start his shopping.

So…he’s navigating an overcrowded parking lot, and he’s hungry.
You get the picture.

He finally sees a car ready to pull out of its space, so he positions himself, left blinker on, and waits…and waits…while the person sloooooowy backs out. Meanwhile, on the other side of them is a little pickup truck that has the same idea. My husband sees what’s up and aggressively blocks the spot with his black Porsche and then pulls in. (Don’t judge, just because it’s a Porsche and a pickup truck, just don’t)!

As the pickup truck drives off, he makes eye contact and flips my husband the middle finger.

Oh, don’t worry, that stuff rolls off his back…he’s French, remember?
But it’s Christmas Eve for cryin’ out loud!

He walks in to get a quick burger, and realizes while he’s eating,
that middle finger, pickup truck guy is eating with some friends a few tables over.

So, he gets out a pen and writes a note on a napkin.
He then attached $20 and hands it to the waitress to deliver to the guy…and leaves.

The notes says:
Even though you flipped me the bird,
It’s Christmas Eve.
your lunch is on me.
The black Porsche.

As he glanced back, while walking away, he sees the guy showing the note to his buddies and looking around the cafe.

He’s my hero.
He’s my teacher
He really is an Avatar.
It is an honor to be his consort.

Xox

Thank you ancient Chinese woman who is taking an eternity to cross the street.

There is no doubt in my mind that you will celebrate your 102nd birthday in the crosswalk—while we all watch and wait.

I’m tempted to buy a cake and balloons—but I’m pretty sure your resolve to get to the other side of the street is such that you wouldn’t even notice, and I don’t want an entire uneaten cake sitting around my house taunting me.

You see I’m in a big, hairy hurry today and you have forced me to slow down, no make that stop, and cool my jets.

You’ve probably saved my life. Maybe there was a car accident up ahead with my name on it—so thank you.

No, really.
I want to scream at you or nudge you with my car, after all, it’s been over seven minutes and you’re not even half-way across—but I too possess feet that barely walk anymore—a conscience—and I want to go to heaven when I die—where I will wait for you—because you’ll still be crossing this fucking street!

A man tried to help you and you waved him off, so I’ve turned off my engine—we all have. We’re treating this like a train crossing.

But really, thank you oh ancient one, for giving me hope that I will still be getting around and holding up traffic at rush hour (that term is a cruel joke) when I am your age. I can only aspire.

By the way, where are you headed? Where did you come from? What’s your story? Why are you walking? What—no Uber for you?

And seriously, you have the tiniest feet I’ve ever seen on someone over six months old.
How do they hold you up? And I’m not sure about the little black Mary Jane’s over white socks.
They look like doll shoes. As a matter of fact the more I look at them the more certain I am that there is a barefoot doll lurking somewhere in Chinatown.
I would have chosen something more…sensible. Perhaps a cross-trainer. Just sayin’.

Here’s the thing, with all this time on my hands I’ve had a chance to look you over, after all I’m the first car at the crosswalk and you’ve been crossing in front of me for the better part of, well, a damn long time!

奶奶 Nǎinai (That’s grandma in Chinese, I had time to google it).
I like your pointy hat. Although a straw Chinese hat borders on cliché and would not have been MY first choice, I like how it ties under your chin with a red string and shades your entire face. I can see that you go for substance over style. Classics only, no fads for you. Good job.

And Oh My God, can we talk about that face for a minute?
It is the color of latte (which reminds me, I haven’t had my coffee yet—fasting blood test) and is so wizened that it appears that your lines have lines, tributaries that traverse your entire face from the corners of your eyes to your chin. (I can’t see the rest—pointy hat is in the way).

Okay then, gauging from your progress so far, (sitting through four light changes), I’ll have plenty of time to finish this post AND check my emails.

I typically don’t check them while I’m driving, but I can see them flash across the screen when they come in—and of course two that I’ve been waiting days to see, have shown up at the moment I’m least able to reply.

Six hours at the computer—nothing.

Get in the car—every email I’ve ever needed to read, all the answers to all of my questions bling into my awareness—while I’m fucking driving and my hands are tied! (Sorry, remember I haven’t had my coffee and I’m a pint low on blood.)

So thank you ancient Chinese Nǎinai, I’m all caught up now.

I have also finished my taxes, filed a broken nail, plucked my eyebrows in the rearview mirror, and cleaned out my wallet.

Well, look at that! It seems that you are suddenly finished, (you took that curb like a champ)… and I already miss you.

Thank you for all of your life lessons today. You have taught me so much!

You slowed me down. You showed me you can live a perfectly lovely life at another speed besides TURBO.

You attempted to teach me patience, empathy and compassion. (You were successful on two out of three.)

You showed me what wise, ripe, old age can look like. And power. You showed me you have the power to stop traffic.

You schooled me in the millinery arts.

And you made me fall just a little bit in love with you.

So now, the twenty or so of us that have gathered and waited (without honking by the way), for you to cross the street, we have to race away and try to make up the time we’ve lost.

But I’m going to think of you today, traveling at your glacial pace, and wonder how you are and if you ever made it to your destination.

Who am I kidding? I will be waiting for you in heaven!

Carry on,
xox

What in the hell was going on? I had unwittingly been given a front-row seat to a disaster that I’d known was going to happen for a year!

Why the hell was I in Hawaii again? What was my part in this tragedy?

I never wanted to be someone who predicts disasters. Seriously Universe? Give me another job. Anything.
Something else. Something not so fucking scary.

Be careful what you wish for. Now I talk to dead people. But not the scary ones. Funny ones. The bossy but kind ones.
Thank God (Scott) for small favors.

Anyway, the local anchor came back onscreen to inform us that one of the deep ocean buoys had registered a tsunami fifteen feet high and getting larger, with a velocity of over five hundred miles per hour, headed directly toward the Hawaiian Islands.

It would get to us in five hours.
3 a.m.
Of course it was coming in the middle of the night! Fucking three a.m!
The witching hour. The time when nothing good ever happens. Oh, and by-the-way, dark water is one of my biggest fears.
I was petrified.

Ginger was feeling sick and went bed. The guys opened another bottle of wine and started playing cards, remaining lighthearted, partying while waiting for the inevitable.

I went back to our room, shivering with anxiety under the blankets, glued to the TV while the disaster siren wailed in the background.

Right around midnight they got the second buoy reading. The wave was larger and picking up speed as it headed our way.

Suddenly the intercom came on inside the condo. Nobody even knew there was an intercom connected to the main resort which was run by Marriott.

A voice cleared it’s throat.

An extremely nervous young man’s voice, shaky, cracking and squeaking, blared loudly throughout the condo. Haltingly, he instructing everyone in units below the fifth floor to evacuate to the roof. “Bring blankets…pillows…water and, um, your shoes, it’s going to be a long night”. His anxiety was palpable.

Uh, okay Voice of Authority.
Didn’t they have anyone available with a more mature tone? Something deep and fatherly? A voice that could console us and instill calm.
This kid’s voice and delivery were comical to me. In my imagination he was the pimply faced nephew of the lady who fed the stray cats behind the parking garage. One minute he was doing his calculus homework, the next, he was behind a microphone, advising hundreds of tourists during an impending disaster. He was the only one that was expendable in an emergency. Everyone important had a task.
Holy crap, he was the best they had.

Thank God something was funny.

One of trembly, squeaky, scared guy’s announcements advised us all to fill our bathtubs in order to have plenty of drinking water in case the sanitation plant was wiped out.

Intermittently he’d come back on with further instructions,”Anyone with a vehicle in the lower garages, please move them to higher ground behind the main hotel.” he advised, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears.

Not long afterwards I heard voices, car keys, and the front door slam as the guys went to move our cars.

In the dark from our balcony, I watched the groundskeepers running around like headless chickens rushing to clear the sand and pool surround of hundreds chairs. Then they emptied the rental hut with its kayaks, snorkels and fins, inner tubes and dozens of surf and boogie boards.

If you watch the Thailand tsunami videos it is those seemingly innocuous beach toys that become deadly projectiles in fast-moving water. You may not immediately drown, but a surf board or a beach chair coming at you at hundreds of miles an hour will kill you for sure.

It was too much. The destruction in Japan was too much for me to handle.
I watched multi-story buildings get washed away like they were kids toys. We were so close to the water. Could our building withstand the rush of the initial wave? How high up would the water come?
The third floor, the fourth—or higher? What was going to happen?

I turned off the TV, the room was dark and quiet and instantly I felt a drop in my anxiety level. You can get sucked into the endless loop of death and destruction—its like a drug.

I unhooked the CNN IV, grabbed my phone, inserted my ear buds, pulled up a meditation, and started to calm my nervous system down. Slow…deep…breathing. In…and out… after a few minutes I could feel my shoulders drop and my face relax. I’d been unconsciously clenching my jaw for hours.

My mind started to unwind. The siren went way, fading into the distance, the boy’s terrified voice becoming a muffled form of white noise.
I actually relaxed into a half sleep state. Aware of my surroundings, but extremely relaxed.

The meditations came to an end. Silence. I was still okay.
No longer spinning in fear. No longer afraid.
“What’s going to happen, how bad will this be?” I asked no one in particular.
Just a question I needed answered.

Here’s where the magic happened.

A very loving, clear and calm voice answered back:
What do you want to happen? How bad do you want it to be?

What? I get a vote? This answer left me flabbergasted. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this felt extraordinary.

Somehow, instinctively I knew that I couldn’t say make the tsunami go away—there are some things we are powerless to change.
What I could change was MY experience of it. What did I want to happen to me, to us?

Script it the voice said, and that has changed my life.

Okay…I said in my head, remembering the videos from Thailand, you can come up to the palm trees that line our pool area and define the boundary between the beach and our resort. That’s it. To the palm trees only, not into the pool and not into our resort.

No further conversation was needed. No idle chit-chat, no more Q & A.

I fell asleep. A deep sleep rich with meaningful dreams that I can’t remember
Inside one, a muffled voice that felt like it was underwater warned: Stay away from the ocean, Do NOT get near the water, We are on lockdown, stay inside your rooms.

It must be happening crossed my mind, but I was too deep to care.

Only as far as the palm trees…up to the palm trees…

When I finally opened my eyes I could see daylight. Raphael was asleep next to me and I could smell coffee.
Obviously the tsunami had come and gone—and everything seemed…normal.

These are pictures of the waterline the tsunami left behind. It is still waaaaay up the beach at this point, about three hours after it came ashore. It surged forty feet UP the beach, over dry sand, and stopped right at the palm trees that line the pool, and our resort.

Script it. Imagine it. Feel it. Ask for it. Relax.

That proved to me, without a doubt, that we can script our circumstances. There are things we can’t control, but there are so many that we can.

Get calm, and set boundaries. How bad/good do you want it to be? What do you want to happen?

We have control over our immediate circumstances.
Script it.

This changed my life–I hope it changes yours.

Carry on,
xox

IMG_0914 (check it out)

“At times the world may seem an unfriendly and sinister place, but believe that there is much more good in it than bad. All you have to do is look hard enough. And what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events may, in fact, be the first steps of a journey.”
― Lemony Snicket

I have a guilty pleasure. Well, I have many, but this is one I feel okay mentioning in public.

I love HG (Home and Garden) TV. There I said it.

Watching these shows borders on an obsession. What I love is the fact that they depict complete remodels in under and hour. You know, the ones with the unrealistic timelines and the implausible budgets to match.

“Hi, Um, I’m Tiffany and I’m a barista and my boyfriend Todd sells seashells by the seashore. We have a budget of 1.3 million…”

This makes my contractor husband’s head spin around like the Exorcist. Most likely because it continues to feed my instant gratification fixation, and now I too have come to believe that you can get a complete kitchen gut and renovation in under four weeks. And a gorgeous home in a good part of town for no money.

“That’s bullshit!” he yells indignantly at the TV to the good looking brother team who are right out of central casting. “Not if you want it done right!”

Calm down, big guy. It’s TV.

Regardless, I get lost in the marathons they string together on Sundays. I DVR them and sit like a drooling fool for hours.
The other night I watched seven. In a row. Without peeing. I’m not proud of it. I may need help.

Hey, here’s an observation: there’s definitely a good cop and a bad cop in every relationship.

Most often the men in these remodeling scenarios are pretty accommodating and easy going unless the budget blows up. Then their voices raise an octave, their eyes bulge and their heads explode. Still, even then they’re pretty quiet about it, suffering silently, with some stiff upper lip flop sweat, looking into the camera for a little viewer pity—or spare couch cushion change.

The women, I’m afraid to say, and I’m generalizing here, are bitches.
Barbazillas. Plain and simple. Bad cops on steroids. Changing things and then yelling about the timeline, popping in unannounced and then second guessing the process.

They hate how the marble looks.
“Why is the white paint so white?” they wonder loudly, hands on hips.
“Who the hell picked out THAT floor tile?” they huff.
“I said FRENCH DOORS!” they scream.
They are belligerent, pouty, whiny and just plain awful.

Then, as a frontal assault on my sense of truth and decency, they cry big, sloppy, Tammy Faye, fake television tears of joy at the reveal.

Bitches, please.

But I must say – It’s some God-damn GREAT TV.

Anywho…

One kitchen I watched being demo’d last night was indicative of what’s been happening to most of us lately.
I even wrote a post about how to handle it…yesterday.
So it’s kind of out of order, but that’s the way life works sometimes, I hope you’ll forgive me.

WARNING: Put the sandwich down. Don’t eat anything while you read this.

Okay, so, as the contractor, with his perfect, white teeth, helped the homeowners demo the shit out of dated, drab green, 1970’s kitchen, (they are always enlisted, supposedly to keep the costs down, but again, it’s good TV to watch an accountant swing a forty pound sledgehammer while his wife looks on, a teeny bit turned on), the upper cabinets collapsed and the ceiling caved in.

What ensued next was a shit storm – literally.

Feces rained down from inside the ceiling, obscuring their vision, getting in their hair and covering their clothes. Apparently sometime in the not too distant past, the house had a cockroach AND mouse infestation. Even the macho contractor screamed like a little girl. The wife ran into a wall trying to escape the shit as it rained down on all three of them. I think she may have broken a nail…like I said GREAT TV.

But honest to God, there it was, right in front of me, three people’s reaction to a shit storm, on TV, and I have to say – it looked pretty familiar, and it made me laugh my ass off.

The screaming and the running and the general disgust. They acted surprised even though mice had been alluded to in the inspection.

We all do the same thing.

We get plenty of warning that the ceiling of our lives is about to collapse and that the feces of poor decisions, bad relationships, and lousy judgment, may rain down; then we run around screaming, crying and acting surprised when it does – WTF?

Hey, I’ve done it.

Was I surprised that I got fired last year? Hell to the no!
I could smell it coming. I was just shocked he had the balls to do it on Christmas Eve. (Best thing that ever happened to me BTW, BECAUSE…another observation of mine is this: there is always a silver lining inside a shit storm.)

Was I surprised my store was flooded? Well, yes, yes I was. But only because the method was so…so biblical.
Listen, deep down I knew the end was near one way or another—so not really. I had called it in. I had prayed for it. Yet when it happened, I screamed and ran into walls; the shame of it getting into my hair and covering my clothes.

We’ve got to cut that shit out, that wide-eyed-acting-surprised-shit. It’s starting to feel as staged and fakity-fake as it looks on TV.

Let’s get real here. There is always warning prior to a shitstorm – always. It’s an argument or an email, a bad job review – a stain on the ceiling or an inspection report.

If we pay attention and read all the signs they’ll be no shock and awe. We’ll know what’s coming. We’ll have choices. We can go clean up the attic before the demo, put a tarp down, or wear a hat and step aside.

All that collapsed ceiling, screaming and running into walls – that’s all for TV.

This is real life.

Sending Big Love,
xox

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hang in there loves,
xox

*Below is a post by Dr.Lissa Rankin,(I follow her on Facebook).
She is an MD who over the past few years has fully realized the body/mind connection. Last year she became “one of us” in the fact that she had a mystical spiritual experience, and is now in hot pursuit of the how’s and why’s by traveling the world talking and studying with shamans, healers, and the like. She is thoughtful, and wise and full of curiosity, and i really admire her.
When I read this I could think of about fifty gazillion of us that needed to hear it.
xoxJ

Take it away Lissa!

“Think of someone that’s making you crazy.
Now close your eyes and really feel how it feels to experience your emotions around this person. Let yourself really go there. Feel it in your body. Then open your eyes again and shake it off.

Lissa Rankin

God I’m late to the party!

Promptly, at the crack of eleven, on January second, I re-emerged back into popular culture. So did my husband. We both got iPhone 6’s (he got the big one).
AND we changed our carrier.

We hadn’t updated our phones in years.
We both had the 4.
Not the 4S.
The 4.
Our phones were glitchy as hell, we were both out of storage space, and Siri was just an Urban Myth.

Why would this be of any interest to you?
Here’s why:
We were both suffering – unnecessarily – and we didn’t even realize how much…until it was over.

Sound familiar? Yeah, I thought it might.

I was positively giddy, showing my friend my new FUNCTIONING phone on Sunday, explaining that I now had service inside my house. We have complained endlessly, shaken our fists to the AT&T Gods and generally become accustomed to the fact that our home is in a “dead zone”.

“We had perfect reception, with FaceTime and everything when I was in the deserts of Namibia!” My husband would yell over our landline at the representative on the other end. They assured us they were working on new towers and that things would get better – but they never did.

I know we all have hugely unrealistic expectations of our cell phones these days. We want them to read our minds, drive our cars and find us the perfect mate.

I just wanted to make or receive a call AND I wanted a text to come through at the appropriate time. We have both missed texts to each other, because one of us was at the house. Big stuff. Important stuff. The stuff that fights are made of.

“I’m stuck in traffic, I can’t pick you up, so I’ll meet you there” has chimed through at 8:30 the NEXT MORNING; after a night of hard feelings.

Why, do you ask, did we wait so long?
We were accustomed to the pain and it seemed like a hassle to change.
Right? Simple as that.

It did take over an hour because of the carrier switch (and the fact that my husband doesn’t know ANY of his passwords), but the change in the quality of our life has been exponential.

I’m not kidding.

We had “put up” with such inferior devices, and service, that we didn’t comprehend how much lost time and stress that was costing us.

We had settled for so much less than what was available, just on the other side of the minimum hassle. We felt like idiots.
Struggling, out of touch, Siri-free, idiots.

As I waxed poetic about the upgrade in my quality of life to a friend on Sunday, telling her that I was convinced that this was the precursor to a 2015 free of “settling” and “putting up with”, she just nodded, looking past me, her eyes filled with understanding.
“I have a relationship that sounds a lot like your old phone. I get it, I do. I need to make some changes. I think 2015 can be that kind of year for me too.”

I’m feeling so invigorated, I have all this extra time on my hands from the lack of “can you hear me now?” in my life, that I want to examine other areas where the fear of making a change has left me in a less than desirable situation.

I’m going to get rid of all things Atik (my old corporation). This year.

What are the areas in your life that you’re “putting up with?” Where are you settling because changing things seems like a hassle?
Tell me. I can hear you now!
Xox

That’s me setting up my new phone!

*It’s always so interesting (as in weird) to go back into the archives and pull up an old post. You can really see the evolution of my writing. No F-bombs, no conversational tone, just…(yawn) advise.

Anyhow, this is from a year and a half ago, and it seems relevant to right this minute, since I’m hearing that a lot of you are being bitch-slapped around by your kids, your customers, your spouse, or the guy at the post office.
ENOUGH!
Take this advise 😉

By setting boundaries, being appreciative, and showing by example, you teach the people in your life how to treat you.

Will you accept not being treated with love and respect?
or will you stand tall and say “hey, that’s not okay”!
It can even be telling a friend you will not tolerate their chronic
lateness.

Do you show others that same love and respect that you seek?<
Boundaries are difficult for some people to enforce, for they fear they will lose something if they do.
If a love or a job or a friend evaporates because you 
ask to be treated a certain way, then it was not grounded in
any way that could have been sustained over time.
In other words, they was not REALLY a friend, or a lover 
and the cost was too high.

When you treat others with respect and fairness,
kindness, empathy, and love, it is returned to you ten fold.
It boils down to your self worth, and whether you will let 
any person or situation chip away at that.
It also shows you if you are recognizing the worth of 
those around you, and if you value it equally, 
or more than your own.

If you are nurturing, you will be nurtured.
Generosity brings you generous acts,
Thoughtfulness will be rewarded,

Always show your appreciation when someone treats you
wonderfully, for they may be teaching YOU ways you 
should be treated that you hadn’t even imagined.

And then return the favor!

love you you little boundary-setters! Now get back behind the glass!
xox