life well lived

* This post is from about a year and a half ago. I loved his story and I still agree with the sentiment…curious to hear how you feel.

In an interview he did in 2007, Peter O’Toole, that beautiful, blue-eyed, scalawag actor, was asked the question, “What do you want written on your tombstone”?

He leaned back and told the story of his beloved tattered leather jacket.
He said it was soaked in sweat, covered in blood, Guinness and corn flakes?!
Which of course made it his favorite.
Eventually it went to the cleaners.
It came back with a note pinned to it, that all these years later still made him chuckle.
It read:

“It distresses us to return work which is not perfect”

That’s was his answer, and I couldn’t agree more!
Because otherwise, what’s the point!?

When I leave this mortal coil, I want to be “distressed.”
I want to show I’ve lived.
That perhaps it wasn’t a pure and “perfect” life, but dammit! It was a life well lived!

Just like his jacket, I want to be worn in, with the wrinkles and scars to prove it.
I want to be covered in sweat, and dog hair, with smeared lipstick and wine stains.
…Maybe even corn flakes!

I want unpaid parking tickets in the pockets.
Along with a motorcycle key, a condom and a wad of foreign currency.

I want my leather to smell like a combination of caramel, tobacco, Shalimar, and coffee,
I want it to be found on the back of a chair in George Clooney’s suite in a Paris Hotel.

I want to remain impossibly irresistible yet perfectly imperfect.

Then I want to be “returned to sender, postage due.”

How about you?
Xox

Think of your work life, not as separate from your spiritual life but as central to your spiritual life. Whatever your business, it is your ministry
~Marianne Williamson~ 

Can I get an Amen?
I don’t believe that the people around us, are there accidentally. Especially those we see every day at work.
This is not a random Universe. It is a Universe of order. Nothing is extemporaneous. Everything is on purpose. We are all brought together with the intention of the enlightenment of all concerned. Sounds heady right? Not so much.
It happens by showing those around you respect. By making them feel seen and heard and fostering their creativity.
So, that being said, what the fuck is with my boss? What karmic debt am I repaying at this job? I must have been a REAL ASSHAT in a past life.

I had lunch with my besties last week. We discussed and tried to solve allllll the problems of the world. We may know what happened to the Malaysian airliner, at least we have some pretty intriguing theories.
A lot of salad, some fries, a couple of eggs and lots of work talk.
A couple of us work for small businesses, mom and pops. Some of us are currently unemployed.
One of us has a corporate job for which she is EXTREMELY grateful. Let me just get that in there. She LOVES her job and the benifits, but the dynamics are not sitting well with her. Some recent life circumstances have caused my beautiful friend to grow and change, so the BS in her company seems just that much more manipulative and petty.
She yearns to enjoy her life. They would rather she not.

Even the swankiest workplace at the best address can have a gulag mentality. You get minimal breaks with lunch standing at your desk, if you eat anything at all. There is jockeying and score keeping for time off, unreasonable sales expectations, and a fostering of unhealthy competition, suspicion and greed where commissions are concerned.
I believe the heading on the moral compass is set at the top; so when these corporations become so large that human influence gives way to the bottom line…..they are lost. Thing is; they need human beings, not every sale is closed online
And therein lies the rub.

This year the topic of questioning. “The American Work Ethic” seems to have reached a tipping point. I’ve recently read Sheryl Sandberg’s “Lean In” and “Thrive” by Ariana Huffington. After I finished reading this article in The Washington Post:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/she-the-people/wp/2014/02/21/5-things-you-get-from-working-too-hard/?tid=pm_pop%20)
I Wanted to cheer and vomit, just not at the same time.

We all agree that everything is energy, right? What kind of energy do you suppose is at a company where the employees are overworked, underpaid and grossly unappreciated? Does that corporation really believe those people will represent them and their brand at the highest level? Will they brainstorm the best ideas for their company’s continued growth? Or, are they worried about getting that weekend off for a wedding, the sick kid at home or the constant insinuations about being easily replaced?
I think as an employer it is perfectly acceptable to expect the highest standards, and as an employee, to feel respected and appreciated.
When we are able to live our lives full of enthusiasm and creativity, we will bring our A game to the office. Doesn’t that make more sense?

There are four rules of miraculous work creation: Be positive. Send love. Have fun. Kick ass. Amen.
~Marianne Williamson~

Do you try to function at your highest level in an unconscious workplace? Are you willing to challenge the status quo, even if just by example? Let’s talk about this! I’d love to know.

Xox

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 “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

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

Who does that? Whose got the time? Yet, those are still the directions on the bottle of shampoo. If your hair won’t come clean after one shampoo, you’ve got bigger problems baby.

Tags on a mattress: It is forbidden, under penalty of law to remove the tags. 
Who leaves them on?
I rip tags off of everything…immediately.
I once worked my way around a friend’s apartment discreetly removing the tags that were still on her futon, chair cushions, couch and pillows. I couldn’t help myself.
Was she just lazy or following directions, hoping to avoid the tag police?

What about waiting a half hour after eating, before going back into the ocean or pool. “You’ll get a cramp and drown”. That rule never made any sense to me. Maybe it did happen to Margie’s cousins, kids, nephew. Never mind that they didn’t know how to tread water, it was the bologna sandwich that did them in. So, our moms enforced that rule to-the-minute. As a kid, I could inhale my lunch in 2.5 seconds, so a half an hour was an eternity. But to my mom, that rule was law.

Some people follow directions to the letter.
For me, directions, tags, rules for games, most rules in general, are always just….a suggestion.
The ones I can’t get around, like flossing and taxes, I adhere to begrudgingly.

Maybe it’s America. So much fear of liability. You can be sued by anyone, for anything. It’s not that way in other countries.
That’s why I love the Italians. In Italy there is a kind of “live in the moment” attitude that renders laws and rules…obsolete.
To the Italians they truly are only suggestions. Which makes them my people.
I was in Rome for a couple of weeks when every day it was well over 100 degrees. They call that August. There are many, many gorgeous fountains in Rome. Each had a sign that basically said: Stay out of the fountain. But by the number of men, women, little kids, grandmas, dogs, even nuns; standing and splashing around, you would have thought the sign said: Come on in, the water’s fine! Even the politzia turned a blind eye.
Several years later I went back and the signs were down. Why waste good wall space? Godere!

My husband, who is also European, so maybe it’s in the water; has a motto that I’ve grown to love, and have adopted as my own: It is easier to ask forgiveness, than to ask permission.
Meaning, if you know the answer most likely will be no, if you know a rule is about to be broken, and no one’s getting hurt, just do it. Gasp… I know, I know. But there are so many joyful, playful, beautiful things in life that somewhere along the line became “not okay.” Some killjoy decided it was a bad idea to swim too soon after eating or rip a tag off a mattress or shampoo only once or splash in a fountain on a hot summers day, and they ruined it for everyone.

I’m not advocating hurting anyone, defiling public property, or acts of debauchery.
I’m just saying, it’s okay to color outside the lines, to find joy whenever and wherever you can.
Rules are made to be broken. Tear some tags. Laugh in a library. If there are no cars, cross the street just before the light turns green. Oh you rebel! And if you’re caught in the fountain, don’t be embarrassed, just smile and say: I’m sorry, it’ll never happen again.
Until next time.

XoxJanet
.

There is a day, even just a moment one day, where “that” voice just says: enough.
And THIS time every fiber of your being stops and snaps to attention.

The pivot at that point is inevitable, the natural course of events.
Up until that moment you’ve been slogging through waist deep water, every step requiring maximum effort.
Suddenly, there is freedom, you are able to pirouette on the head of a pin.
Easy breezy.
Decision made.
Pivot…and….turn.

I’ve had a few pivot points. I disagree with Brian Tracy. I think everyone’s had a least one.
Mine was not at 15, I may have been slogging in the water, but I wasn’t self-aware enough to make it happen.

I did have one at 25. I didn’t want to be married anymore.
It wasn’t really him, I just didn’t want to be a married person ( I won’t say woman, because I was still a girl) anymore.
Clear, specific, unequivocal.
Get the tutu, I’m about to pirouette on the pin.

Then at 30 I gave the tutu another whirl and quit acting. 
Just like that.
Done.
I couldn’t live like that for one more day.
I was done being broke.
I was finished with constant rejection.
I wanted a “real” life.
I was ready to pivot toward success.
It actually felt more like a jig on the head of a pin, but you get the gist.

The more I think about this, the more I realize that the tutu doesn’t go into retirement for very long in my life.
I either have a low tolerance for mediocrity or I’ve come to the conclusion that once you pivot, once you do your pirouette on that pin, it becomes easier and easier.
Momentum is your friend.

Don’t get me wrong.
I have fallen off the pin, mid pirouette, legs akimbo, tutu up over my head; but that’s because I like to pivot FAST! I close my eyes so I don’t get dizzy, and I spin like a dervish.
I don’t suggest it.

As I say goodbye to my previous career and life, because once again, I’ve decided I can’t live like that for one more day.
I’m more deliberate in my pivot.
My pirouette has slowed a bit.
I’ve opened my eyes, and I’m looking around as I turn.

Such a grown up now. Ha!

Come join me up here on the pin, even if you fall… you won’t regret it.

XoxJanet

In an interview he did in 2007, Peter O’Toole, that beautiful, blue eyed, scalawag actor, was asked the question, “What do you want written on your tombstone”?

He leaned back and told the story of his beloved tattered leather jacket.
He said it was soaked in sweat, covered in blood, Guinness and cornflakes?!
Which of course made it his favorite.
Eventually it went to the cleaners.
It came back with a note pinned to it, that all these years later still made him chuckle.
It read:

“It distresses us to return work which is not perfect”

That’s was his answer, and I couldn’t agree more!
Because otherwise, what’s the point!?

When I leave this mortal coil, I want to be “distressed.”
I want to show I’ve lived.
That perhaps it wasn’t a pure and “perfect” life, but dammit! It was a life well lived!

Just like his jacket, I want to be worn in, with the wrinkles and scars to prove it.
I want to be covered in sweat, and dog hair, with smeared lipstick and wine stains.
…Maybe even cornflakes!

I want unpaid parking tickets in the pockets.
Along with a motorcycle key and a wad of foreign currency.

I want the leather to smell like a combination of caramel,tobacco, Shalimar, and coffee,
I want it left on the back of a chair in George Clooney’s suite in a Paris Hotel.

I want to remain perfectly imperfect.

Then I want to be “returned to sender, postage due.”

How about you?
Xox