Life

I am so screwed.

On Sunday morning, during meditation, the voice in my head, THAT voice in my head, suggested in a strong tone that I needed to start a minimum three-day green drink fast.

Shit. You’ve gotta be joking.

I knew the voice who was doing the talking and it’s not a prankster.
Part of being intuitive is recognizing the different voices in your head. It was not my Muse, the bossy pants who writes, nor was it the tender-hearted poet. I’m still getting them all straight.

Some would call it my imagination—or even mental illness I suppose. But I love them all as they come to the forefront of my mind and until one of them commands me to rob a Seven-Eleven—I trust them.

This was the wiser, more tuned in presence that resides somewhere close by—always guiding me. An expert at the spiritual heavy lifting that is required in order to keep me on my path. It was that same voice that suggested I could be happier, that maybe I needed to leave my husband back in ’84—it was also the voice that told me I’d live after the devastating loss of my store.

It also guided me toward writing.

It is the steady voice that takes the bull out of bullshit and turns things around. It has steered me right so many times. Too many to mention. So I listen.

But they know who they’re dealing with when they make their suggestions so naturally I struck up a negotiation. It’s what I do. It’s my superpower I suppose. I never take anything at face value, and I most certainly never take NO for an answer. I really should work for the U.N. or the State Department.

The voice said a green drink fast meaning NO food, but first things first—No coffee?
No way.
Not gonna happen.
A compromise? I MUST have my coffee! I yelled in my head. I didn’t hear any argument so I took that as a yes.

Negotiations complete. Now I’m happy to do the fucking fast.

I am SO accommodating. And enlightened. Are you getting that?

Deep down I knew why the fast had been suggested.
Because Isis makes me eat.
Not terrorism as a whole, and not even Al-Qaeda
It is Isis.

Last week was the worst. Isis threw me into an epic food-binging blur.
It made me reach for the wine on a weeknight. We try not to imbibe on school nights, you know, so we can feel disciplined.

All bets were off. As the coverage of the attacks in France escalated, instead of curling into the fetal position and crying I dove into the Triscuits. Fucking Triscuits and cheese! Like, crack cocaine. And wine. Did I mention the red wine?

Also…last weekend…my husband’s ex-wife killed a man.
Yep.
As if the energy wasn’t batshit crazy enough, we heard that his ex-wife had committed first-degree murder. What do you do with that information? How do you process such a thing?

You add meat to the cheese on the Triscuit. Then you throw in some sort of fried food. And wine. Have I mentioned the wine?

So it appears I have developed an Isis and first-degree murder inspired eating disorder, which is redundant if you think about it and the all-time weirdest sentence I never thought I’d write. But I’m guessing you have too. 

By Saturday night, I was in a food frenzy coma. Feeling bloated and angry with myself, I said a little prayer as I rolled like a Weeble into bed.
Let me receive clarity, I asked. Clarity on all of it—Life, death, Isis, stress eating—all of it.
I’m not sure, but I think I feel asleep with a Triscuit in my mouth.

Do a green drink fast for at least the next three days was the first thing I heard the next morning in that place between asleep and awake. That’s my sweet spot, that place. I’ve heard amazing things there from the part of me that has my well-being at heart. Life changing things. Hard things. Things that terrified me in—a good way.

So I assumed that was the answer to my query.

Remember me? I’m the one practicing surrender. Fucking surrender. To what life offers and where my intuition guides me.

So here I am, late Monday morning, a little over twenty-four hours in and I am suffering! The timing of this is a cruel joke.

We shopped for Thanksgiving yesterday, so not only are there Triscuits in the house, there are Ruffles with ridges. And dip. And the ingredients for pies. Pies that I will have to make during this green drink thing.

Lord help me.

There were so many delectable holiday food commercials on television last night that I put myself to bed at 8:30. I couldn’t stand it. Even the Denny’s commercial had me salivating. I think I have to give back my foodie membership card for saying that.

This morning I’m hangry (anger brought on by hunger). I almost killed a man with my bare hands at the car wash. I see you there, you man. Enjoying your Power Bar. Asshole.

I’m coming unhinged.

Pray for me. I’m winging it here and have clearly lost my mind. I’ve decided to go all the way through Wednesday, making this a four-day green drink fast.

This is noteworthy. I am someone who only dabbles in green drinks. I am an amateur and an all time whining wimp. This is the Olympic Decathlon of green drinking and my hope is to medal because I’ve been told by the bravest part of me, the part that knows no fear, that after such a systemic detox—then I will find clarity.

Until then…

I am so screwed.

I’ll keep you posted.

xox

Hi guys!
Last week a friend posted this adorable little video, with an animated mouse teaching meditation, narrated by Dan Brown and that got me to thinking about his book 10% Happier and how he discovered meditation and it changed his life, and the fact that I wanted to recommend his book a while back, but I spazzed out and forgot and how helpful this could be in the week that follows with family, and you know, how timing is everything —oh well, this is a glimpse into how my mind works and the fact that I’ve had too much caffeine…oh yeah, have a great Sunday!

Carry on,
xox

http://www.amazon.com/10%25-Happier-Self-Help-Actually-Works–/dp/0062265431/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1447361807&sr=8-1&keywords=dan+harris+book

Change.  Who likes it?  Nobody.
Who does it?  Everybody.
How does it work?
Badly for those who fight it—better for those who go with the flow.

This is for me I’m Always learning!

Carry on,
xox

I don’t want to harp on it, but hey, after the atrocities of this past weekend, I was reminded of the brevity of life and how many things still linger on my To Do List.
So, if I knew the world (or my life) were to end tomorrow, what would I regret not having done?

Walking the 500-mile pilgrimage of The Camino to Santiago de Compostela, through France and Spain. (My guess is that the success or failure of this undertaking rests solely in the choice of shoes).

Cleaning out my closet and giving away everything I haven’t worn in a year—which will leave me five pairs of black yoga pants and a tattered Oprah t-shirt.

Go somewhere remote and take a two-week vow of silence. Seriously. (Not the Camino, I may need to ask for directions).

Write everyone that I love a letter expressing my deepest, most heartfelt feelings and use the nice stationery that’s still wrapped in tissue paper in a sealed box.

Write one New York Times Bestselling book—or five.

Order dessert.

Take dance lessons.

Learn Italian.

Cut my hair short and spiky.

See Pompeii.

Speak at a TED TALK.

Sing Karaoke in a foreign country.

Wear the gorgeous gown I wore at my wedding again (which by-the-way was not a traditional bridal gown).

Along those lines: Stop saving anything for a special occasion.
Open that bottle of wine, use the good dishes, wear those diamond earrings, dance in those insanely expensive shoes with the three inch Swarovski crystal heels.

Eat my favorite meal, Thanksgiving dinner, more than just once a year.

Bake more pies.

Start telling stories onstage.

Disclose all of my secrets. Then make sure I die. Immediately.

Sell a screenplay.

Spend more money. Yes, you read that correctly!

Walk among pine trees more often.
A pine forest is my favorite smell on the planet, followed by melted chocolate, puppy breath, and onions and garlic sautéing in butter.

Smile more at strangers.

Hug my dog and my husband more often. I can’t imagine how that is possible, but I’m going to try.

What’s on your list? Care to share?

Carry on,
xox

After years of exhaustive, mind-numbing, soul-crushing research and a lifetime’s supply of tears—I have found this to be true.

Sadness is pretty much at the root of anger. And jealousy. And insecurity. And, and, and…

Are you mad? What are you sad about waaaay underneath all that rage?
What is anger protecting?
What is so raw that you’ll pick a bar-fight in order NOT to look at it.

Hey, listen, don’t kill the messenger!

Tell your bodyguard to back off.

Love you,
Carry on,
xox

On Sunday and Monday, the weather seemed to mirror the energy of chaos that’s rampant in the world right now.

Isn’t that interesting how the weather mirrors energy? I remember 9/11 was a bright and sunny Indian Summer day in New York City with beautiful clear, blue skies, and the next day the skies turned grey and gloomy as they opened up and cried all of our collective tears.

I find that fascinating.

Anyhow, on Sunday, as the cold winds whipped our yards into a frenzy, tipping over pots and tearing branches off of the mature trees we have surrounding the house, and chucking them onto patio furniture, our cars in the driveway and turning the path to the front door into a sort of hero’s journey of leafy obstacles, I decided to do what I do best: hide in bed with the dog, a book, and some movies on TV.

Reading and watching TV at the same time is a habit I acquired as a teenager in high school.
It serves no purpose other than to keep every quadrant of my brain activated and occupied—so I’m unable to dwell on any of life’s other distractions, like personal hygiene, eating, or worrying about whether a terrorist sleeper cell exists in my neighborhood.

When I finally did decide to assuage the loud rumblings of my stomach by enjoying some cheese on a Triscuit and cup of Earl Grey—hot—I turned my full attention to the movie since it was nearly impossible to hold my book and a cheesy Triscuit at the same time.

It turns out the film was fairly recent and was only about ten minutes into the plot, which meant that now that I had given my body some brain food (as I like to call complex carbohydrates), I would be able to catch up quickly with what was happening on screen.

The movie was Invasion, a current-ish, snazzy remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers with a younger Daniel Craig (yum) and an actress whose face is Botoxed so heavily that NOTHING moves. I found this incredibly puzzling since the only way those infected with the alien virus (that has turned almost the entire population of earth into emotionless robots) can identify those who have yet to be “turned” is their show of emotion.
When an uninfected person would run or scream or cry, they would stick out like a sore thumb and get apprehended and infected into compliance.

Yet here’s the heroine of our story looking like a gifted ventriloquist, her mouth stuck in an insipid grin while out pours the sound of full monologues of terror and grief. “I can’t find my son!” she wails in agony while her face maintains the serene mask of a woman getting a pedicure.
Interesting casting choice.

But that’s not what I wanted to focus on here.

As I sipped my tea and snarfed my carbs, despite the sketchy casting choices, I started to marvel at the synchronicities the movie was bringing up as it drew me in.

I’d spent the morning getting caught up in the atrocities in Paris, vacillating between feelings of disgust and pity toward humanity.
What a fucking mess we’ve made, I lamented. Look at all the pain and the sorrow caused by a few people’s feelings of deep despair and hatred.

Human emotions run amok. What in heaven’s name is the answer?

In the movie, an alien species had devised an answer: Remove all those troublesome emotions from humanity and then have the wiped out, robotic humans clean up all of their messes, leaving Earth a sort of over sanitized, completely passionless and uninteresting version of itself. Like Disneyland or Switzerland on steroids.

In the background of certain scenes was TV coverage of wars ending, peace accords being signed and walls coming down.
Neat and tidy with a handshake and minimum of fanfare.
Sounds great right? Especially after the events in the past couple of days.
But along with the absence of hostility, there was a complete lack of joy, or passion, no relief or cause for celebration.

Worst of all—there was a complete absence of love. If you showed compassion or love—Busted! They’d catch you and infect you into a robotic shell of your former self.

Supposedly it was all done for our own good. A wiser species trying to save us from ourselves, but, um no thanks guys. We will deal with the emotional lows if you’ll leave us the highs of love, joy and caring—thank you very much.

And therein lies my cheesy, frozen-faced, synched-up Sunday afternoon movie revelation.

“Humanity is capable of such horrible nightmares and such beautiful dreams” to paraphrase a line from the movie Contact and as empty and fed up as I can feel after horrible things happen— if we try and force change—or wish the world were different—we unleash a whole slew of unforeseen complications and lose sight of our greatest gifts.
Freedom, Compassion, and Diversity.

What do you guys think?
Carry on,
xox

Me and Ruby watching TV and being Sunday bed-slugs.

*The other day at lunch with a couple of my brilliant writer gal pals, Adrienne was telling us the story of her Elephant Journal piece that went viral. “I just woke up that morning and wrote a sort of rant, a list of all the things I was done with—then I sent it off and forgot about it. When EJ notified me it was up and I went to check it out, the numbers were staggering! I guess it resonated.”

She’s being modest. At over 3/4 of a million views and almost half a million shares.
Uh, yeah, Adrienne, I’d say it resonated.

It sure did with me so I asked her if it as okay to share it with you guys.
I know you’re going to love it! By the end, I was practically standing on my chair, cheering:

She was done! I am done!

See how many resonate wth you.

Take it away Adrienne.
xox

She was done not fully being herself.

She realized she was the only self she could be—and not being unapologetically true to herself was a disservice to her soul and the world.

She was done listening to the noise of the world. She realized the quiet voice of her own soul was the most beautiful sound.

She was done questioning her motives, her intentions, the call of her soul. She realized questions seek answers, and maybe she already knew the answers.

She was done striving, forcing, pushing through and staying on the hard path. She realized toughing things out might be a sign to pick another path.

She was done with friends that admonished her to be more light and breezy. She realized they didn’t understand she swam in the deep waters of life, she felt at home in their dark depths and died if she lived on the surface.

She was done with the distractions, the denials, the small addictions that pulled her away from the true desires of her soul. She realized that strength of character came from focus and commitment.

She was done not following the desires that yelled out in her soul every day. She realized if she did nothing about them, they died a quiet death that took a piece of her soul with them.

She was done with dinner parties and cocktail hours where conversations skimmed the surface of life. She realized the beverages created distortion and a temporary happiness that wasn’t real and disappeared in the light of the day.

She was done trying to please everyone. She realized it could never be done.

She was done questioning herself. She realized her heart knew the truth and she needed to follow it.

She was done analyzing all the options, weighing the pros and cons and trying to figure everything out before leaping. She realized that taking a leap implied not fully seeing where she landed.

She was done battling with herself, trying to change who she knew herself to be. She realized the world made it hard enough to fully be herself, so why add to the challenge.

She was done worrying as if worry was the price she had to pay to make it all turn out okay. She realized worry didn’t need to be part of the process.

She was done apologizing and playing small to make others feel comfortable and fit in. She realized fitting in was overrated and shining her light made others brave enough to do the same.

She was done with the should’s, ought to’s and have to’s of the world. She realized the only must’s in her life came from things that beat so strong in her soul, she couldn’t not do them.

She was done with remorse and could have’s. She realized hindsight never applies because circumstances always look different in the rearview mirror and you experience life looking through the front window.

She was done with friendships based on shared history and past experiences. She realized if friends couldn’t grow together, or were no longer following the same path, it was okay to let them go.

She was done trying to fit in—be part of the popular crowd. She realized the price she had to pay to be included was too high and betrayed her soul.

She was done not trusting. She realized she had placed her trust in people that were untrustworthy—so she would start with the person she could trust the most—herself.

She was done being tired. She realized it came from spending her time doing things that didn’t bring her joy or feed her soul.

She was done trying to figure it all out, know the answers, plan everything and see all the possibilities before she began. She realized life was unfolding and that the detours and unexpected moments were some of the best parts.

She was done needing to be understood by anyone but herself. She realized she was the only person she would spend her whole with and understanding herself was more important than being understood by others.

She was done looking for love. She realized loving and accepting herself was the best kind of love and the seed from which all other love started.

She was done fighting, trying to change or not her accepting her body. She realized the body she came into the world with was the only one she had—there were no exchanges or returns—so love and acceptance was the only way.

She was done being tuned in, connected and up-to-date all the time. She realized the news and noise of the world was always there—a cacophony that never slowed or fell quiet and that listening to the silence of her soul was a better station to tune into.

She was done beating herself up and being so hard on herself as if either of these things led to changes or made her feel better. She realized kindness and compassion towards herself and others accomplished more.

She was done comparing and looking at other people’s lives as a mirror for her own. She realized holding her own mirror cast her in the best, most beautiful light.

She was done being quiet, unemotional and holding her tongue. She realized her voice and her emotions could be traced back to her deepest desires and longings. if she only followed their thread.

She was done having to be right. She realized everyone’s truth was relative and personal to themselves, so the only right that was required was the one that felt true for her.

She was done not feeling at home in the world. She realized she might never feel at home in the world, but that feeling at home in her soul was enough.

She was done being drained by others—by people who didn’t want to take the time for their own process and saw shortcuts though hers. She realized she could share her experience, but everyone needed to do the work themselves.

She was done thinking she had so much to learn. She realized she already knew so much, if she only listened.

She was done trying to change others or make them see things. She realized she could only lead by example and whether they saw or followed was up to them.

She was done with the inner critic. She realized its voice was not her own.

She was done racing and being discontent with where she was. She realized the present moment held all it needed to get her to the next moment. It wasn’t out there—it was right here.

She was done seeing hurt as something to be avoided, foreseen or somehow her fault. She realized hurt shaped her as much as joy and she needed both to learn and grow.

She was done judging. She realized judging assumed the presence of right and wrong—and that there was a difference between using information to inform and making someone else wrong.

She was done jumping to conclusions. She realized she only needed to ask.

She was done with regrets. She realized if she had known better she would have done better.

She was done being angry. She realized anger was just a flashlight that showed her what she was most scared of and once it illuminated what she needed to see, she no longer needed to hold on to it.

She was done being sad. She realized sorrow arose when she betrayed her own soul and made choices that weren’t true to herself.

She was done playing small. She realized if others couldn’t handle her light, it was because they were afraid of their own.

She was done with the facades and the pretending. She realized masks were suffocating and claustrophobic.

She was done with others’ criticism and complaints. She realized they told her nothing about herself—only informed her of their perspective.

She was done yelling above the noise of the world. She realized living out loud could be done quietly.

She was done needing permission, validation or the authority. She realized she was her own authority.

She was done being something she was not. She realized the purpose of life was to be truly, happily who she was born to be…and if she paused long enough to remember, she recognized herself.
~Adrienne Pieroth

Adrienne Pieroth is a meditation teacher, single mother of two teenage boys, conscious co-parent, writer, mindful technologist and lover of all things human, mindful and heartfelt. Before leaving the world of high tech to raise her sons, she was a network engineer and systems designer. She still loves technology and works to raise people’s consciousness around their digital presence and the use of technology in their lives. She lives between Santa Fe, NM and Los Angeles, CA and can usually be found hiking in the mountains or walking on the beach.

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/04/she-was-done/

Thank you, doctor, for keeping me waiting forty minutes for my fifteen-minute, two hundred and fifty dollar consultation.
I was your second appointment of the day. How could you be running that far behind? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I’m firing you on account of bad time management. I may not have all the letters after my name, but my time is just as valuable as yours.

Thank you, dear friend who is chronically late because she can never find parking.
Because of you I keep a ten-minute window ahead of all my appointments, even lunch dates, to make sure I can wrangle the admittedly criminal lack of sufficient parking in Los Angeles.
I love you so I’ll tolerate this one character flaw.

Thank you every commercial airline I’ve ever flown.
You treat departure and arrival times as loose suggestions, which has forced me to get all the apps that alert me of your lateness so that I don’t end up getting trapped at the airport, overspending at the duty-free shops, or standing so long at the arrivals gate that I end up printing a random name on a box lid just to fit in.

As long as I’m venting, thank you private jet travel.
I’ve been fortunate to partake in your luxurious expediency and I must say: You have ruined me.
It is my belief that NO individual who is financially incapable of sustaining their own jet ( which is 99% of us), should be allowed to fly private.
It is a mind fuck on steroids.
When they say they’re leaving at 10, you may arrive at 9:50, but you will be wildly, inappropriately, “rookie” early because by 9:53 someone will have taken your bags, lead you to your double-wide, leather, Barcalounger; peeled you a grape, dipped you a strawberry, massaged your feet and told you a joke. There is no long security line, no barefooted X-ray pat down or frantic belt removal.
And if everyone is on board by 9:54 — they just take off.
What?
It’s too good. I can’t take it! Never again.

And last but not least thank you over-entitled rock singers. You know who you are.
At my current age of fifty-seven I’m well aware that I’ve wasted vast portions of my youth, hundreds if not thousands of hours, waiting for you to start your fucking concerts and I’m pissed and I want that time back! I know you’ve been to the arena or stadium. You had a soundcheck and a driver for Pete’s sake. Why can’t you manage to be fed, made-up and dressed by showtime? I can.
Is that too much to ask for the millions we’re paying to see you live? I just don’t get.

And thank you, Taylor Swift. Although I’ve yet to see you live, I heard you start your set right on time. Just one of the things I love about you.

Sorry about that, I just needed to vent. I have a thing about punctuality!
What about you? Are you late as a habit? Do you think it’s rude? How long will you wait for someone?

Carry on,
xox

Holy Crap! I was just having this conversation with some girlfriends this weekend. Nobody has any freakin’ energy! Is it the time change? The darker, colder days? WTF?  Then I read this essay by Liz Gilbert and every, single, word resonated! So, of course, I had to share it with you guys!

I have gotten more energy in my fifties for a lot of the reasons she talks about below, but I know I have more stupid shit to jettison! How about you?
xox

You’re going to love this: Take it away Liz!

THE SECRET TO HAVING MORE ENERGY!

Dear Ones –
My whole life, I’ve defined myself as a low-energy person. For years, I would have told you that I get run-down easily, and I’ve always needed about 10 hours of sleep a day to get by. (8 hours is minimum, but 10 is ideal.) I would have told you that I am susceptible to every cold and virus out there, and that, on a group trip, I will for sure be the first person to get sick. On a hike, I would be the first one to quit. I have always been somebody who falls asleep in movies, in class, on park benches. I’ve been known to go and visit people at their offices, and ask if they have a supply closet somewhere that I can take a nap.

But that’s all changed in the last few years. I’m 46 now and I have more energy than I’ve ever had in my life. I’ve finally discovered what is (for me, at least) the secret to having more energy. It’s not a supplement, not a beverage, not a diet, not a ground-breaking new exercise regime.
It’s much simpler than that.

Here’s what I’ve realized: If I want more energy, I don’t need to go out and find more energy from some outside source. I only need to stop wasting the energy that I already possess on stupid shit.

For most of my life, the reason I was so lethargic was because I was pouring my energy into various external emotional black holes. These black holes included: strings of bad romantic relationships, nasty breakups and desperate sexual encounters; co-dependent or toxic or otherwise exhausting friendships; the thankless work of trying to please people who cannot be pleased; the equally thankless work of trying to save people who don’t really want to be saved; the TOTALLY thankless work of trying to get somebody to love me who doesn’t want to love me; getting involved in other people’s business that is none of my business; trying to pretend I was somebody I am not; spending money on things I didn’t really want or need in order to soothe myself from my latest emotional horror show; taking on tasks (out guilt or duty) that I was never equipped for or good at; denying myself self-care out of a sense of low self-worth; wearing myself out by digging deep pits in which to bury my pathologies rather than healing them…
There were more black holes, but that’s a good starter list.

Any of it sound familiar?

All of those things take energy. Metric shit-tons of energy. So much energy that, of course, by the end of each day I had nothing left for myself. (In fact, I usually STARTED each day with nothing left for myself.)
So I walked around for years saying, “Man, I have such low energy! Maybe I should eat more flax seeds, or something?”

No.

It ain’t about the flax seeds. (Although flax seeds are very nice, don’t get me wrong. But it ain’t about the flax seeds.)
The truth is, as I have learned in recent years, I actually have TONS of energy. I’m a person who was born to be on fire with life. But the reason I was so exhausted until very recently, was because I spent most of my life leaking my energy out (pouring it out really) into all the wrong places.If you blew through energy like I blew through energy, you will be out of energy very quickly, too. For me to say, “Jeez, I just don’t have enough energy!” is like Mike Tyson saying, as he faces bankruptcy after blowing through his 400 million dollar fortune: “Jeez, I just didn’t earn enough money!”
No, Mike Tyson. You did not go bankrupt because you weren’t given enough money. You went bankrupt because you bought 10 mansions, 100 luxury cars, a golden bathtub, and THREE ALBINO TIGERS!
And no, Liz Gilbert, you were not tired because you didn’t have enough energy, or because you weren’t drinking enough water. You were tired because  YOU TRADED EVERY MOLECULE OF ENERGY YOU HAD FOR DRAMA AND TRAUMA.

Fucked up interpersonal relationships were my albino tigers, you guys. Toxic friendships were my golden bathtubs. Trying to please, change, seduce, or fix every single person I met were my 100 luxury cars. It all bled me dry.

The transformation for me came when I started asking myself “Where is my energy going?” instead of asking, “How can I get more energy?”

When I saw where my energy was going, and decided that I didn’t want it going there anymore — that’s when everything started to change. I realized that I had made my life too big, too crazy, too out-of-control. I couldn’t begin to feel the magnitude of my own energy until I learned to create boundaries. Or how to excuse myself from other’s people’s dramas. Or how to stop inventing dramas of my own, the way kids carelessly play with matches until eventually they burn something down. Or how to stop pretending to be happy when I’m not. Or how to accept the fact that the only person I can change is myself (and even then — BARELY!) Or how to get out of the “I will rescue you if you rescue me!” business. Or how to learn to stop saying “Yeah, sure!” when what I really meant to say was “Hell, no!” Or how to measure friendship not by how many “friends” I have, but how deep and true the love is with the tiny number of people whom I can actually trust with my life. Or how to learn to forgive myself and others, and shake it off, and move on.

I write this message to you this fine morning, having just come back from a five-mile run. My thirty-year-old self couldn’t have run five FEET, because she was so weary, so spent, so tired, so jacked-up and wiped out and bone dry and aching and depleted. But my day is just getting started, and I’m fire with all that is to be done. Gonna work on a new book today. Gonna check in with my peeps. Gonna get on my knees at some point and pray. Gonna cook a nice dinner tonight. Gonna laugh with my husband.

Suddenly there aren’t enough hours in the day for all that I want to be, all that I want to do, and for the tiny handful of people who I actually love with all my heart.

Life is smaller than it used to be for me, but so, so, SO much bigger.
So, of course…now I have to ask you: Where is your energy going? What is your albino tiger? What can you let go of, to gain access to the power that is already inside you?
ONWARD
LG

BEST
adjective
Of the most excellent, effective, or desirable type or quality.
“the best pitcher in the league”

The Best! What does that even mean anymore?

I’m here to downgrade the word best or rather the world at large has done that for me being that The Best doesn’t hold the same weight that it used to.

You did your best honey and that’s all that matters.
Those words could soothe my soul as a child. I knew, as the type A, perfectionist, driven for accolades, honor roll, and extra-credit-ass-kissing kid that I was—that my best had taken me hours, maybe even days, it had made me sweat blood, and I had left NOTHING on the table.
My best was enough.
Actually it was probably more than enough.

An “A” for effort. Right?

But over the years as we mature and grow and hopefully get a life—our best changes.

When I was five, just coloring inside the lines was the best I could do. By eleven I could color like nobody’s business!

I know I’m a much better wife than I was the first time around, although I would have assured you at the time, through gritted teeth, with a flip of my over highlighted blonde hair and a ton of attitude—that I was the best wife EVERRR (valley girl speak) and that he was lucky to have me.

Some people are so incredibly proficient that even on an off-day their half-ass work is better than most people’s best.
My friend can grade diamonds like a Mofo. Without a microscope. In the dark. With her eyes closed. And never get it wrong.
It’s a superpower what can I say?

So best is subjective. It morphs and changes. You have to consider all sorts of outside influences.

How many times have you been introduced to someone with the lead-in being: This guy’s the best________.”
Is he the best? In the world or in a five block radius? Who determines that? Did someone take a poll? Did his mother get to vote 17,000 times?

How do we ever really know if someone or something is The Best?

I am the best writer.
In.
this.
room. (which is currently void of other human beings).

Donald Trump is the best candidate for President of these United States.
Who says? He does. Loudly and often.
We, the voters will be the judge of that—so, is he doing his best?
I can’t tell.
If he wins he’ll say he did. If he loses the nomination he’ll say he was distracted, misunderstood, or that we’re too stupid to recognize greatness.
Either way, was his best good enough?

I suppose I’m becoming less and less impressed with the word best.
Best by whose standards?
Our own or society at large?

When we chase wanting to be the best at something what are we running after?

My best is constantly changing. These days I go more for a feeling.
Am I proud of what I just produced?
Also, is it unique in some way? Or is it the same old, same old, re-hashed, 2.0 version of somebody else’s best?

What do you guys think? Has best lost its sparkle? How do YOU determine if something is The Best?
Does that joint at the corner really have THE BEST pizza in town or is that just a marketing ploy?

You really are THE BEST readers of any blog EVER! (I know because I can feel it) and I’d love to hear your thoughts on this.

xox