Life

As my husband deftly backs our car out of the driveway I can see from my passenger seat’s, bird’s eye view, that he is once again thisclose to a couple of landscape lights that dot the path down to the street.

He’s darn close…closer than close…he’s pretty damn near on top of them…”Um, you’re getting pretty close to those lights” I interject nervously. I can’t help myself, even knowing full well what I will hear next. “No I’m not.”

And just like the thousands of times before, he makes it down the driveway with millimeters to spare.

Jackass or genius? I’m still not sure.
It makes my heart pound and turns me into a nervous wreak every time and I have to admit: one of these days I want one of those metal lights to peel back the side of the car like a freakin’ can opener.

I just want to be right!

What the fuck is that? Well you guys — its human nature, that’s what! Sometimes I just want to be right — no matter the cost. Geesh! Will I ever learn?

When the water main busted back in 2009 and spewed millions of gallons of water into my store I was certain it was the DWP’s problem. And the insurance company’s.

Through no fault of my own I had been put out of business overnight. I wanted people to pay. “Make it right you jerks.”

Four years, three lawsuits, thousands of sleepless nights, buckets of tears and hundreds of cases of wine later – we settled.

It cost me tens of thousands in attorney fees (the truth is, they are the only ones that make any money), it most certainly cost me my peace of mind, and it almost cost me my marriage.

I felt life had been ridiculously unfair and I just wanted justice. But I paid a huge price.

After that craptastrophe of bad choices and heartache, I was forced to reassess my life strategy. I looked for the nugget inside the shit.

Did I want to be right OR did I want to be happy?

I was operating under the flawed premise that big checks with lots of zeros and vindication would make me happy.

Only time and focusing my attention on the future instead of the past would eventually fill that happiness void.

AND…
I started studying The Path of Least Resistance.

What choices can I make now that will get me what I want and where I need to be, with the least amount of blood, sweat and tears.

That’s a concept, right?
What about “no pain, no gain?” What about standing up for whats right?
We erect statues and monuments to the warriors whose lives are fraught with struggle. Was that me? Was that the life I signed up for?

Fuck no! Not anymore.

Sometimes life isn’t fair, oftentimes we get dealt a raw deal, so do we make it worse you guys, by digging in and fighting the person or situation or do we get quiet, gain some clarity, some perspective, and then make the hard choices from that place?

I am in NO way advocating rolling over and playing dead, or throwing in the towel at the first hint of conflict!

If someone fucks you over by all means get compensation, but know this: you will NEVER get every dollar that is owed you and they will NEVER admit their guilt or say they’re sorry. EVER. And eventually…that has to be okay.

Listen, if you’re like me and you want justice and you want to be told “Oh, you’re right, we were horribly wrong, here’s what’s fair and oh, by the way, we are So sorry, ” it ain’t ever gonna happen.

Remember this is coming from a Pollyanna with sunshine up her ass.

I’m not cynical — I’m someone who learned the hard way that life would have been so much easier and in the long run happier, if I had just recouped what loses I could and then moved on with my life, instead of marinating in the deep, dark, treacherous cesspool of the legal system for four years —just to tell my sad story, get everyone’s sympathy, feel vindicated and get fully compensated — all which never happened by the way.

I have several people around me who are currently going through some incredibly difficult and unfair situations and this is the advice I’d offer…but only after they ask.

Start off with the best people around you. The no-shit takers—yours or anyone else’s. The most informed yet least vindictive experts you can find.

Have an endpoint in mind, a reasonable dollar amount, and a timeframe that doesn’t make your head explode.

Don’t fight for fighting’s sake, meaning, if at all possible don’t play mind games that incite rage (you know what I mean) and don’t let your own rage write emails, refuse to sign documents, negotiate, compromise or make deals.

Don’t let it bother you each time he pulls out of the driveway, and for Godsakes don’t wish a car wreak on him when he drives like a jackass.

Being right is highly over rated, hard on relationships, and wildly expensive. Take it from me.

Carry on you warriors,
xox

I wrote this back in February, but with all the changes afoot and mercury retrograde, and the fact that change is MESSY, I decided hat we all needed a little reminder that things often look awful just before they get good, so let’s celebrate that, okay?
On the private Facebook page of that kick-ass online business school I took last year, a post caught my eye.

I try not to read them.  I barely understand them.  I’m neither “cool” enough nor smart enough to be a part of this group.  I slid in through the side door, the “blogger” who created her own website and then limped off to throw up. I just barely recovered, my brain hurting from the overexertion.

Anyhow..
It was written by a young man, an aspiring entrepreneur, whose boyfriend had booked a fancy, shmancy weekend away.
They were headed to a beautiful warm weather resort, with massages, fine dining – the whole shebang.

The intention behind the trip, his boyfriend told him, was to celebrate his best year EVER.

In his endearing, aw shucks way, he admitted to us, his tribe of up and coming internet movers and shakers, that this had been less than a stellar year for him.

“I didn’t hob knob with the rich and famous this year” he said. “No high level meetings, no mastermind groups, no Ted talk or speaking engagements at all. Instead of multiple six figures, I lived off savings.”

He went on to explain that 2014 had been a year of reinvention for him.

He took what appeared to be a thriving business and changed it up, downsizing some things, while reinvesting in others. He went on to explain that he’d spent the whole year at his desk with his hands in the clay. “If anyone wanted to find me I wasn’t on the road as usual, running from event to event, I was at my desk, from dawn to dusk, and I have never grown and changed, and worked harder in all my fucking life.”

Would he have labeled it his best year EVER? Probably not. Because the yardstick we all use for that doesn’t take into account anything besides the money and fame.
The outside trappings of success.

But his boyfriend could see it. He understood. And he knew it needed to be celebrated. Don’t you just love that?

I could SOOOO relate!
I too have had the best/worst year of my life. By the standards set by society at large – it sucked.
But in laying the foundation, the hard work, the networking, perseverance, personal growth and general all around richness – it was my best year EVER!

My husband has witnessed the changes and repeatedly suggested that we celebrate them.

How lucky am I?

Wouldn’t it be great to pay homage to those years that don’t look so great from the outside but change us forever on the inside?
Because isn’t that what makes a person a true success?

Thoughts please?

Carry on,
xox

GRACE
ɡrās/
noun

1. Simple elegance or refinement of movement.
“she moved through the water with effortless grace”
synonyms: elegance, poise, gracefulness, finesse

2. (In Christian belief) the free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings.

verb
3. Do honor or credit to (someone or something) by one’s presence.
“she bowed out from the sport she has graced for two decades”
synonyms: dignify, distinguish, honor, favor

“Go out into the world and be a source of Grace for people.”
~ Caroline Myss

Shit. That’s a tall order, right? I can’t do that. Be a source of Grace? What does that even mean? I read the definition and I’m still not sure.

You guys, are we out in the world being a source of grace — or are we a part of the problem?

The first definition made me blanche. It does not apply to me AT ALL.
My movements are as far from refined as I can be without calling too much attention to myself. Remember how Elaine danced on Seinfeld? That’s how I move through the world. Every step is void of poise, there is not a drop of elegance to be found, and as far as finesse goes? — forgetaboutit.

So…Am I the source of grace in that respect? No, no I am not. I am definitely part of the problem.

As far as definition three goes, well, I feel like when we can, when the stars align and we have some free time — we show up for people. We do our best.
Actually some of us drop everything and Grace certain people or places with our presence TO OUR DETRIMENT, or at least I used to. Now a days I’m super picky about to whom and where my Grace gets distributed.

So again I suppose I’m part of the problem, except…Just like fucks given, Grace can be depleted (in my opinion, the studies are inconclusive) — you can over extend, you can run out, and you only get what you get.

But unlike fucks, Grace CAN be replenished by other people bestowing their Grace upon YOU.

So there you have it, there’s what I think Caroline Myss meant by being a source of Grace for people.

Sprinkle it around, like fairy dust, like a tall drink of water to the parched masses.

Replenish each other.

You know the people in your life that need a re-fill.

And you can recognize them on the street.

They look pale and hollow eyed, over tired, over wrought, over stressed and more than likely over weight. In other words they are just plain over it.

Wait. I’m so confused. Blah, blah, Grace. Blah, blah, replenish each other. So how do we do that?

And there’s where definition number two comes into play.
Bestow your blessings.
Being a source of Grace is about bestowing your blessings, and blessings, unlike fucks and Grace, come in an unlimited supply.

Blessings look like volunteering yourself for babysitting or dog walking.

Blessings look like filling the refrigerator of a workaholic.

Blessings are about picking up the check or leaving a thirty percent tip.

Blessings can hold open a door, clean up a mess, fold laundry, hold a hand, drive carpool, give a foot message and bring the wine (two bottles please).

Blessing are bountiful.
Blessings are bottomless, and in my humble opinion, blessings and the bestowal of them is what being a source of Grace is all about.

So easy peasy, right? Not such a tall order after all.
Whew! Sometimes this spiritual shit sounds SO undoable.

Whatcha think? Any more ideas for being source of Grace for people? I’d love to hear from you guys!

Carry on,
xox

Oh calm down! I’m jut saying what you’re thinking! OM…Back to a loving place…

Okay you guys…
As we enter yet another mercury retrograde, and since I’m not someone who embraces life’s revisions as much as I should…In this time of colossal change, covered in a thick, gooey sauce of uncertainty, (and chocolate sprinkles), I like to soothe myself by beating a drum and running naked in the moonlight, reminding myself of all the things that are grounded in certainty.

The things that never change, the things I know for sure.

I’m sure you’ll be able to relate to several of these and maybe they’ll even spark some other ones that you can use to soothe yourselves back to sanity at three o’clock in the morning.

Don’t you love knowing that the sun will come up tomorrow? I do. I must admit; I take this miracle for granted every damn day. One small deviation and we’re all screwed.

I love knowing that four out of five dentists surveyed recommend sugar-less gum.

I love knowing that everywhere I go today there will be a toilet and I won’t be forced to pee in a stinking hole in the ground.

I love knowing that if I want to read a book that I don’t own I can walk into any library and get it. For free. I don’t do that, but I love knowing I can.

I love knowing that for the most part when lights turn red, people stop. They also stay inside the lines while driving. Can you imagine if they didn’t?

Don’t you love knowing that Google can answer ANY question you could ever possibly type into the little box? Unless you’re Steven Hawking; but I’ll wager to guess that even he’s impressed. I must use Google fifty times a day, no lie. It has ended so many arguments at my house I can safely say, without exaggeration, that Google has saved my marriage.

I love knowing that when I look up into the night sky I can see the moon from pretty much anywhere on the planet, and that you’re looking at it too.

I love knowing that blondes don’t always have more fun.

I love knowing that when I go to Rome every ten years, very little has changed.

I love knowing that in any city in the country, (and most of the world) if you find a church, the door will be unlocked and you can walk right inside, losing yourself in the darkness for some cool on a hot summer day, and maybe find a bit of peace, quiet and contemplation.

I love knowing that as long as I pay the bill, when I plug something into a light socket or flip a switch, I will have electricity. (another miracle that I totally take for granted).
I’d also like to add running water when I turn on the tap and flame when I turn on the gas stove to this list. I fucking love knowing those two will show up for me.

I love knowing that my heart will beat, my liver will filter and my lungs will expand and contract without any help from me.

I love knowing there’s a seed bank vault in Norway that holds seeds for almost every plant on the planet. Hey! I worry about this stuff sometimes.

Don’t you love knowing that unless there’s a disaster of some kind, if you dial a phone number anywhere in the world…it will ring. What about Skype? — miracle!

I love knowing that donuts exist in the world. Don’t you?

I love knowing if I want ice; it is only as far away as my kitchen…Right?

I love knowing that sunlight and water (photosynthesis) is keeping all the flora alive on the planet, again without any help from moi.

I love knowing that Kanye will do something stupefying and ridiculous at every God damn awards show.

Don’t you love knowing that there are people who will volunteer to go to an Ebola hot zone? I sure as hell do.

I love knowing that when I cut my finger — it will heal.

I love knowing that back and white film still exists and the same goes for the cameras that use that film.

I love knowing the mullet will never come back in style.

I love knowing there is toothpaste, mouthwash and deodorant in the world and they are used by most people.

I love knowing that on every intersection in LA I will find a Seven-Eleven (or two) where I can purchase bad coffee and a slurpee, a quart of milk, a laxative, Pepto-Bismol and a lottery ticket.

I love knowing that jean jackets will always be in style.

I love knowing that I can find french fries at half a dozen places within a five mile radius of my home at a moments notice (otherwise known as a french fry emergency),

I love knowing that God never makes mistakes, there are no “extra” people on the planet and that love will always prevail. Don’t you love knowing that too?

Whew!

Carry on my loves,
xox

I don’t think this needs any explanation.
Love you guys, Carry on,
xox

openingtothepossibiltiy.com

This post was a monster hit. People still email me for the title.
I know it really resonated with you guys, and even though it has only been a couple of months, I needed to read it again so I’m assuming you do too. Happy Saturday!

LET IT GO…

This is a sculpture I own which I call LETTING GO.
I had to show you the entire piece, but if you zoom in on her face –– it’s eerily peaceful…in her free-fall into the abyss. Hauntingly so.
I learn from her every day.

This poem by Safire Rose is the perfect reminder for this BIG energy of NEW BEGINNINGS that is currently pouring in. FIRST you have to Let Go. BTW –– it is in no way gender specific…men too!
Carry On,
xox

She let go.

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear.

She let go of the judgments.

She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.

She let go of the committee of indecision within her.

She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons.

Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask anyone for advice.

She didn’t read a book on how to let go.

She didn’t search the scriptures.

She just let go.

She let go of all of the memories that held her back.

She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.

She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn’t promise to let go.

She didn’t journal about it.

She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer.

She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.

She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.

She just let go.

She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.

She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.

She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.

She didn’t call the prayer line.

She didn’t utter one word.

She just let go.

No one was around when it happened.

There was no applause or congratulations.

No one thanked her or praised her.

No one noticed a thing.

Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort.

There was no struggle.

It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.

It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be.

A small smile came over her face.

A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore…

~ Rev. Safire Rose

BEFALL:
verb: (used without object), befell, befallen,befalling.
to happen or occur.
to come, as by right.
3.verb: to happen to, especially by chance or fate.

I have become aware of late, that I am a pain in the Universal ass.

I suppose I always knew it, I suspected as much, but today I feel that it has become an undisputed fact.

You see, when I take off on my morning walks, one of the first things I ask the Universe, besides helping me to sidestep the dog poo; is to give me a message — hey guys… you know what I want — show me something I need to know!

That means the Universe has to put down its coffee, get dressed, and pay attention to…me.
The pain in the ass.

If you follow me regularly you are well aware that most days I get jack-nuthin’, (the Universe gets caught up in an article on the Huffington Post) while other times I actually receive some answers in the form of a cryptic haiku on a Post It, a tiny gnome village or a bird-strike omen — you know, the usual.

Anytime I spy something out of the ordinary I pick it up, truly convinced that it holds a message just for me, and today was no different.

It seems our entire neighborhood is under construction these days, developers tearing down the smaller, quaint, 1930’s homes to throw up another two-story, Leave It To Beaver style behemoth.

At eight in the morning the streets are lined with construction trucks, roach coaches…and men. Lots and lots of virile young men.

Now, as a woman, I have a kind of built-in shame meter that makes me automatically cross the street when I see men in tool belts and hard hats. All those years of wolf whistles and cat calls have trained me well.
The thing is, I am no longer the age where I elicit that sort of display of machismo. I am just south of sixty, and even though I am still technically a woman, I’m sure I am older than most of their mothers.

These days they are polite, they smile at me and say “good morning” like I’m their fucking grandma in yoga pants. I haven’t heard anything resembling a catcall in over ten years; (she says with immense resentment) yet, still I run. Middle aged wishful thinking I suppose.
Anyhow…
This cruddy, yellow flash card caught my attention as I jumped up on the curb after sprinting across the street to avoid a construction crew and their catcalls.

I actually ran past it in my zealousness to escape the nonexistent wolf whistles, but once I had seen it I knew I had to take my chances and double back around to find out what it was. When I bent over to retrieve the card I made sure my ass was pointed in the opposite direction of the men, you know, so as not to tease them.

It was the flash card pictured above. It has the word “befall” in middle-school-aged boy scrawl, with a couple of the definitions on the back.

It was trash day yesterday so I’m pretty sure the card had just escaped its fate by falling on the ground. I have to tell myself that to override any guilt I have about sabotaging some kid’s English final by hijacking card #2 with the word befall on it.

Technically I was picking up litter, so calm down.

Befall. What an old-fashioned, Elizabethan kind of word.

“What fate will befall you Janet Bertolus?”
Can’t you guys just hear those words spoken by a handsome King, who wants me to be his Queen (naturally) as I ride off into the sunset on a white horse with a young construction worker who has found me irresistible? Yeah, me neither.

My immediate reaction? Foreboding. Like it was a warning.
But when you throw down a word like BEFALL Universe, you get me thinking. And then I remembered the bird strike, and omens, and the fact that sometimes things that SEEM awful…aren’t.

What if it’s foretelling something magical that’s going transpire by chance or fate? What if befall means: to come as if by right — like I’m entitled to everything wonderful?
Much better, right?

“Great success was to befall Janet Bertolus in the very near future.” Oh, I like that one.

So you guys, what if you were as big of a pain in the ass as I am, and you asked for a sign from the Universe? What word do you think you’d get? Remember, these guys are tricky — nothing is ever obvious.

What fate will BEFALL you this fine weekend? A trip? A graduation? A great meal? The time to curl up with a good book?
More importantly, what are you entitled to?

Aren’t you liking the word BEFALL more and more? I am.

Carry on,
xox

I don’t know if you guys saw this essay by Liz Gilbert on Facebook yesterday, it’s an important topic and if you’ve already read it — go make yourself a sandwich and then read it again because you probably missed something.

It is my belief that our tolerance for someone being less than kind to us starts in childhood when we are powerless to stand up to authority or “sass” back a teacher or family member who lobs something unkind our way.

But there’s no excuse for putting up with that shit once you’re an adult — no excuse whatsoever!

The unkind words of others can cut you to the core (because really, isn’t that their intention?)

Other people grow a callus, a hard surface that the unkind words just sort of roll off of, I’m probably one of those people; but don’t let anyone tell you it doesn’t hurt — because it does.

Please take a minute to read this, it’s really good.

Here is the takeaway in a one sentence:
“Generally speaking, people are pretty much what they show you they are — not what you wish they were.”

May I also say right here, right now, that you guys, my readers, my tribe, are SO freakin’ kind and thoughtful, and…nice! It’s a rare commodity on the Internet and greatly appreciated. Love you guys!

Take it away Liz—
xox

“Dear Ones-
So I saw it happen again the other day.

Last week I watched as a friend of mine got (quite savagely) verbally attacked by a friend of hers. As I was comforting her later, she said, while brushing away tears of pain, “It’s OK. I know she didn’t mean to hurt me. I know that deep down she’s a really nice person.”
To which my question was: “HOW deep?”

I mean, if you dig down deep enough into ANYONE, you’ll find some traces of decency and humanity buried in there, right? (As they say, Hitler loved his dogs.) But how deep do you have to dig, in order to find that goodness?

How much toxic waste do you have to claw through with your bare hands, before you reach any evidence of hidden kindness?

How many layers of concrete do you have to blast through, before that person will let you see their one deeply hidden molecule of niceness?

And how much abuse do you have to take, in the meanwhile?

And is that really how you want to spend your life? Exhaustively trying to excavate scraps of decency from someone who has basically buried their goodness beneath a rubble of darkness?

I have the same reaction whenever I hear someone make these kinds of statements:
“I know she seems rude, but deep down she’s actually really kind.”
“I know he acts stingy, but deep down, he’s truly generous.”
“I know he lied to me and cheated on me, but deep down he still loves me.”
“I know she has a horrible temper and says awful things to her children, but deep down she’s a sweetheart.”

I don’t know, you guys. I don’t like it.

I’m not saying that you should throw people away or condemn them. Every major religion in the world asks us to search for the common light of humanity that is hidden within everyone. Of course you should always look for the best within people. Of course it’s enlightened to give people the benefit of the doubt. Of course it’s the highest virtue to forgive others for their shortcomings, as we would be forgiven for ours. Of course it’s compassionate to look at the difficult circumstances of a person’s life, in order to better understand why they may have turned out so broken, bitter, and mean. (Remember, though: Lots of other people had equally difficult destinies — or worse — and still find ways to be kind and generous to others.)

But it doesn’t mean you have to voluntarily expose yourself to abuse and cruelty.

Without denying the possibility that every thorn has its rose, I think it’s wise to keep your distance from people who repeatedly and consistently demonstrate injurious, neglectful, or flat-out cruel behavior. You can pray for them and wish the best for them, but you might want to cross the street when you see them coming, just to be on the safe side.

I don’t think it makes you extra spiritual to keep putting yourself in the pathway of degradation and suffering just because you have decided that — against all available evidence — this cruel person is actually a sweet person.

Generally speaking, people are pretty much what they show you they are — not what you wish they were.

People who behave cruelly toward you are more or less cruel people.

People who behave nicely toward you are generally nice people.
(Unless they are full-on sociopaths, of course, which most people are not.)
You can almost always count on that.

That being the case, I think you’re allowed to choose what sort of people with whom you wish to spend the precious waking hours of your one rare and beautiful life.

I choose to spend my life with people who are not afraid to wear their goodness and their niceness on the OUTSIDE.

I choose to spend my time with people who aren’t afraid to show love, or to receive love.

I choose to share my life with the nice humans.

I don’t find nice humans to be boring; I find them to be an oasis.
Keep it simple: Be nice to others, be nice to yourself.
ONWARD,
LG”

“Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”
~Alfred Lord Tennyson

Hey you guys, how do you handle it when a project goes south, a relationship doesn’t work out or you lose your iPhone?

Processing loss.
What does that feel like to you? Kinda like you wasted your time and it,(the love, the attention, the years spent) was all for nothing?

Like a failure?
Do you go over and over the reasons in your head? All the coulda, shoulda, woulda’s?
Are you your own judge and jury, sentencing yourself to twenty years of sit ups and lunges for bad choices and various other transgressions?

Or is it more like a bump in the road?
“Okay, I gave it a shot. A ton of my time, energy and devotion went into this thing but the time has come to give up the good fight. I’ve been here before and I know how this works. It’s gonna hurt for a while, I’ll spend some time alone, licking my wounds; I will cry and scream and kick my dog until I rally, getting back on my feet…and then I will transfer all my contacts and info into a new phone and try to get on with my life.

I’m thinking it depends on the clarity of the ending. Some are clear-cut, easy to see; while others are ambiguous, shrouded in doubt.

Maybe you’re more like me — somewhere in the middle? Even occasionally ambivalent?

Don’t get me wrong, I can come unhinged, feeling completely abandoned when the book that I love or the TV series that makes me laugh out loud ends. When I see one lost glove I actively mourn their mate. So there’s that…

It gets worse.

I had a pair of huge, overstuffed down pillows that cost me more than I made in a month — for twenty years! I purchased them in Austria on vacation (naturally, I would have NEVER spent that on pillows at home — I didn’t even need pillows, I was pillow shamed by the rosy-cheeked Austrian goose down pillow lady in Salzburg) and then I lugged them all over Europe with me like a high-end, dough-boy gypsy — for three weeks.

Train stations, airplanes, restaurants, if I was on the move, they were with me. Why I didn’t ship them home I’ll never know.

Dammit I loved those guys.
Recently I made the long overdue decision to toss them. They were stained, lumpy and I’m sure mite infested. It took me FOREVER to make the decision, after all, we had been through so much together. I could only part with one at a time. It took me fifteen minutes to get up the strength to lower it into the disgusting black trash can on the morning of pick-up. Tears filled my eyes when it came time to do the same with the second one. I told my husband, late that night that I felt bad because it was so cold outside.

He just snarfed, he doesn’t understand when I give emotions to inanimate objects.

Remember when I couldn’t part with our ridiculously expensive sheets? (which I’ll have you know were also a vacation purchase).
http://www.theobserversvoice.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=4471&action=edit

Yet I’ve been known to walk away from commitments and projects, friendships that I deemed toxic, and even some romantic relationships — and never look back.

Ice queen or pragmatist?

I’m not sure which response is better so therefore I’ve come to the obvious realization that I suck at processing loss.

I am the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde of endings.

Some things I am able to love and lose without much heartache at all, others gut me. I walked around in a marshmallow head stupor for five years after a bad break-up.

I’m either in tears about parting with a favorite sweater that is riddled with moth holes; unable to cope with decisions regarding my long dead business; or on the other hand throwing away mementos and keepsakes, photos, art projects and drawings from times gone by like a cold-hearted pirate separating his booty.

All this to say, I may not know shit from shinola but I do know this:
Death is sad;
friends come and go;
break-ups hurt;
gloves are made to be in pairs;
failure is inevitable;
And all loses are not created equal.

So, I’m in a quandary you guys and I’d love to know…

Which one are you? The sentimental saver, big-hearted devotee of all things you’ve loved? Or the cold, hard, rational pragmatist who understands loss and is able to move on unencumbered.

Or are you both and it depends on the loss?

Carry on,
xox

(This was taken during my five,eleven, fifteen-year “awkward phase” —you can see she had her work cut out for her).

I was reminded recently, as I continue my snarky, sweaty slog through my fifties, that I’ve done so without the guidance or fair warning of my mother. In all fairness she was too busy; engaged in the parental heavy-lifting of getting the three of us into adulthood, that it never occurred to her to share these pearls of wisdom.

So I’ll do you all the favor of pulling back the curtain, exposing all the hidden truths (in no particular order), of life in middle age.

1.) Invest in a good bra, and for godssakes if you have anything over a D cup, don’t jog. It is for that reason alone that I have to tell the girl at Nordstrom that I wear a 36 long.

2.) Carry an across-the-shoulder messenger bag and keep the weight below thirty-five pounds. Yes, you heard me. I have a divot in my shoulder and the posture of a Sherpa from carrying a bag that has been way too heavy for over forty years.

Oh, and ladies—after you stop menstruating, you can toss all the tampons. I’m giving you the all clear. I put them in my time capsule along with my Midol, my flat stomach, my perky tits, and my happy-go-lucky disposition.

It’s okay—give up the fight.

3.) If someone says they’re sorry — forgive them. You may never talk to them again, or wish them well, but the forgiveness will set you free.

4.) Make eye contact and remember people’s names, My trick? I repeat it back to them and use a rhyming game (in my head, not to their face).
Along those lines—Listen without interrupting, ask people questions about themselves and always introduce yourself and anyone standing with you.

These are the Golden Rules of any dinner party, staff meeting, black tie event or ladies restroom line — really, any social situation you may find yourself in.

5.) Use those dental-pick-thingies every night. I brush and floss like a maniac and yet I still manage to pull an entire steak dinner out from between my teeth with those things!

6.) Listen to advice but only from the smart people — Never the stupid ones. Pay attention. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

7.) Word to the wise. You can forget about those mustache and chin hairs.
After forty, pubic hair will lose its genetic coding and start migrating around your body.
It will crawl up your stomach and onto the back of your legs if you let it. I tried to wrangle mine, to fill in my over-tweezed eyebrows (a seventies fad that went horribly wrong), but to no avail.
I did find one on my arm last week. Consider yourselves warned.

8.) Men stay boys all their lives. This needs no explanation.

9.) Stay curious. About people, life and the planet. It will help to demystify every seemingly mundane, stupid thing that surrounds you.

10.) Beach hair only looks good on twenty-three year old models named Tia. The same goes for a navel piercing. Trust me on this.

11.) This is a big one. A lie is someone’s imagination working against them. Remember that.

12.) Always carry matches or a lighter. And lipstick. Always carry lipstick.

13.) You will never use calculus beyond college—but good table manners, clean fingernails and comfortable shoes will carry you far in life.

14.) Carrying (and reading) an interesting book will be an amazingly effective airplane conversation starter—and the perfect companion when dining alone.

15.) Be polite and try every food that is offered to you, (which means eat a bull testicle even if you’re a vegetarian). It will broaden your horizons in unimaginable ways and make you a sought after dinner guest.

16.) Self-tanner is a catastrophe-in-a-can waiting to happen. Make peace with your paleness. End of story.

17.) Know that your looks will fade and reconcile yourself with that. Your neck will waddle, the hair on your head will thin, and your breasts will sag. If you decide to take matters into your own hands, make sure your surgeon has a light touch.

You still want to look like you — only rested.

19.) Pay attention to your feet. They will start to fight back after fifty. All the years of squeezing them into severely pointed, one size too small, five-inch heels have made them…cranky.
Can you blame them?

20.) Take the effort to make a good first impression — you may never get a second chance.

And last but not least—reinvent. Don’t rest on you laurels, don’t question your intuition, and don’t tell yourself you’re too old, too fat, or too busy to reassess your situation and reinvent yourself.

Now pay this forward and don’t say I never gave you anything.

Carry on,
xox