Life

Hi Loves,

I was lucky enough to be in San Jose this weekend for the last stop of the Life You Want Tour and I gotta say; it was a privilege to breathe the same air as Oprah and all the great teachers that spoke, told stories and brought us to tears…every time.
I’m still processing. I’m sure I’ll write some take-aways soon.

Below is what Elizabeth Gilbert (my new BFF) wrote about her incredible journey. I’m sure if you’d have told this author a few years ago that she would be giving 45 minute inspirational talks to auditoriums of over 10,000 people in 8 different cites across the US she would have thought you were crazy!
Yet, that’s become her latest accomplishment – touring with Oprah.

Dream big, then surrender, because the Universe has even bigger dreams for you than you could ever imagine.
xoxJ

*Thank you to my beloved sister Susan for making this weekend happen and keeping me laughing the ENTIRE time…even through tears. I love you.

Take it away Liz-

DON’T WASTE THE TEACHINGS…

ONWARD!
LG

Another God wink
My sister took this picture of Liz and me in the lobby of our hotel on Friday afternoon while everyone was milling around waiting for the event to start. I, as usual, was foraging for food…and then there she was. We hugged – a lot (she’s a hugger) and talked, and I must say, she is as incredibly kind and down to earth a person as you will EVER meet.

xox

Have a wonderful Sunday!

xox

Morning!
Someone asked me to re-post this – as a little reminder to leave some things up to chance…you never know, it could be fun.
Have a great weekend.
xoxJ

Ultimatums are rarely a good idea.

In life, in relationships and when dealing with the Universe.

When we are driven to taking this tactic, hands on our hips, lips pursed, loaded with attitude, wearing our bossy pants…we will lose.
Every time. And we’ve ALL done it.

Think about it, you have set your terms, made your demands and you are promising some kind of retaliation or an end to communication all together, if you don’t get the answer you desire.
First of all, that’s called emotional extortion, that’s a topic for another day.
Still, it seems like you have all the power… butcha don’t….Not really.

The final outcome lies in the hands of the receiver of the ultimatum.
It’s his call, he could end it all. Because YOU said so.
So NOW who’s got the power?

You know what the Universe says to an ultimatum?
“You’re not the boss of me”.

You know how I know that? Because it told me so.

Recently; like yesterday, I was giving the Universe my latest, in the long line of ultimatums I’ve been issuing and that “voice” chimed in:

Me: So, here’s the deal, you’ve gotta do “this thing” or I can’t make all this other stuff happen.

Uni: Don’t give me an ultimatum, you’re not the boss of me, give me choices.

Me: What do you mean, choices?

Uni: Give me your three most preferable choices,in descending order, from best to worst. I’ll take it from there.

Me: Why would I do that?

Uni: To maintain your flexibility. It also allows us to throw you a curve ball. Something amazing, that’s completely unexpected.

Me: But I really, strongly, feel that it has to go down a certain way.

Uni: You are acting stubborn and misguided.

Me: Don’t sugarcoat it, tell me how you really feel…Shit…okay.

After that, I did come up with three alternative scenarios that would work in that situation. Funny, earlier I was convinced there was only one.

So, I shot off a mental memo to the Universe, and sat back feeling relieved. I wasn’t nervously waiting for the shoe to drop, I knew it could go any number of ways and that would be fine.

I AM feeling more flexibility around my expectations.

I’m Gumby dammit!

Now I’ve got to go borrow a baseball mitt, gotta be ready for my curveball.

How about you?

Hi Loves,
When I opened my email this morning I got so excited I wanted to jump up and down, but I was afraid my boobs would knock me out; so…

Okay, you read the post from yesterday, the one I was reticent to write because it was a little on the “edge”? It was about coincidence and serendipity being the signs that your future self uses to give you to signs that you’re on the right track.

A friend of mine calls them *God winks. I like that.

So I received a HUGE *God wink this morning when I opened this Note From The Universe. Check it out:

“Accidents, coincidences, and serendipities, Janet, are the disguises I use to sneak magic and miracles into your life without arousing suspicion that the game is rigged, the dragons are fake, and you’re about to hit the biggest “home run” of your life.

Now, please don’t ruin this for anyone –
The Universe”

Thoughts become things… choose the good ones! ®
© www.tut.com ®

*But there’s MORE – check this out, my future self and I are constantly talking about the book I’m writing…what?!

“I’d say it’s time to get ready to write your book and plan the world tour, Janet, on what it’s like to I will soon need to hire another person to keep up. And please remember to give a smidge of credit to these NOTES when you’re on Oprah, Ellen, or… The Discovery Channel. Well…”

So, you guys are always telling me that you never experience any of the stuff I write about, the affirmations, miracles or *God winks. well, here ya go! They are everywhere – even in your morning email. 😉 Well played Universe.

PS. Jason Silva’s video is also on Serendipity this week. Coincidence? I’ll be posting it Sunday – Lets’s just file this under WTF?!

xox

I had a unique experience the other morning, kind of a spiritual Ah Ha, and it was prompted by the movie Interstellar.

Don’t get your panties in a bunch, no spoilers here, unless you count that fact that it takes place in space and the theory of relativity gets bandied around once or twice.

This being the week of confessions, I have another one to lay on ya.

I am a science fiction FANATIC. Die hard, always have, always will be, lover of all things SPACE.
It geeks me out, it fucks with my head and it makes me happy.

So…one of the principals of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity goes something like this:
Spacetime: space and time should be considered together and in relation to each other. (Thank you Wikipedia).

Don’t fall asleep, that’s interesting as shit and here’s why; we think time happens in a straight line, past is behind you, you’re standing in the NOW and your future has yet to happen, right? Wrong.
Everything happens at the same time! What?! And time is malleable, it changes with the speed of light and…perception.

One of the principals the movie uses is the speeding up of time.
They, (the crew of the ship) are traveling SO fast and are SO far away, that when they make a pit stop on a planet, (I’ll call it THE DOG PLANET), one hour equals seven years on earth.

So the crew’s NOW – is Earth’s future. Get it?

Now stay with me here, all that being said, could your own future come and inform your present?

That’s what my little epiphany upon waking made abundantly clear to me. The answer is YES. It is always doing that. It uses déjà vu, serendipity, synchronicity, inspiration and the feeling of being called to something.

How it was explained to me, in that place between awake and asleep, was this way: Let’s say you feel like you want to change jobs, or find a new lover. You feel inspired to do so. It lights you up, it just feels “right”.

That’s your future calling you. It’s already happened.
All you need to do is pay attention and follow the breadcrumbs, so to speak.

Whew!
I felt such a sense of relief when that came through.
Why worry? Why get caught up in doubt? If you KNEW it was already accomplished wouldn’t that make the journey to get there so much more fun?
And haven’t we gotten it all twisted up and turned around? Life’s supposed to be fun.

It was a perspective I’ve read about, but with the help of the movie and whatever crazy, mind expanding thing I must have smoked while I was asleep, I REALLY got it.

What you want has already happened and it’s calling you forward.

Now, finish your coffee and GO!
Xox

I have a confession to make. I have a hard time letting go of the things I love. Not in a hoarding kind of way; I’ve come to discover it’s more of a tactile dysfunction.

Like a toddler and her woobie (torn and tattered blanket) there are certain things you will have to pry out of my hands while I’m asleep, for that is the only way I will be able to release my grip.

I had a small blanket as a child; it was a warm, buttery, yellowish cream color, with a satin trim. It felt delicious. I would carry it everywhere, folding the corner into a perfect point, and obsessively running my fingers over that satin triangle. It soothed my soul, making me feel secure; it was my tactile toddler Valium and it could only be mended and washed while I slept – otherwise there would be hell to pay. Even now, during my darkest hours, I pine for the calming effect that blanket had on that fast walking, fast talking toddler – me.

Here’s where the confession gets embarrassing. Like red-faced, hide under the couch embarrassing.
I have replaced that sainted blanket with an adult woobie – My $750 set of Italian sheets.

You scoff, well, let me take you back to that day I first fell in love, and I KNOW you’ll understand.

It was a perfect September afternoon, the year was 2002, and the city was Rome.

The big handsome and I were finally enjoying our postponed Italian honeymoon (detoured by the events of 9/11).
Imagine, if you will, the two of us gleefully descending the Spanish Steps, gelato in hand; careful to navigate ourselves around the cool kids passing a joint and the numerous couples that were practically having sex in broad daylight.

We were strolling into the Piazza di Spagna, enjoying the colorful characters that surround the Barcaccia Fountain (the people watching in that particular piazza is off-the-hook ridiculous), when it caught my eye. It is to the right of the steps, across from where we’re standing; the facade is a sun bleached salmon color, and the smell is intoxicating, even thirty feet away – old Italian cotton, class, and money. I try to look away but there are SALDI (SALE) signs in the windows, making its siren song that much sweeter and more seductive.

The Frette Store – in Rome – a veritable wonderland of linens, towels and all forms of hedonistic goodness.

“Oh, sale, let’s go in” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, pulling my poor, unsuspecting husband into the cool, dark, recesses of Italian Heaven.
I call it that because if you’ve ever had the good fortune to touch their sheets, the sensation, especially to this tactile whore, sends you straight into ecstasy.

It was unlike anything I’d ever encountered. Forget the thread count. These are woven from the soft, down, hair of a cherub; marshmallow, and cloud.

They would never have the bad taste to be stiff and starchy, they are impossibly soft and worn in from day one – and they just get BETTER and BETTER.

We had been talking about getting a King size bed, so we were brazen enough to purchase two sets of the Italian equivalent of California King sheets with pillow shams. They were to be shipped in four weeks, after the bottom sheet had been Americanized (elasticized). $750 was the sale price, half off, which is how I talked him into two sets. “Two for the price of one.”
It was easy since he still had on his rose-colored glasses where finances were concerned. He was on his honeymoon, in Italy, high on pasta, red wine and gelato; well before he started to “hemorrhage” money on the remodel to accommodate the King sized bed.

For two and a half years; the time it took us to build the room to fit the bed; I looked at those boxes covered in FRETTE tape high on the closet shelf everyday, imagining ripping them open to reveal their magical contents, and then enjoying our first night sleeping on cherub’s hair.

At last, in February 2005, it was time. I slowly opened the boxes, the smell of Rome filling the room. I was never so happy to make a bed in. my. life. and I can tell you emphatically, – they did not disappoint. Amazingly, through the years, they have gotten softer and cozier – more than you could ever imagine.

They are my wildly expensive Italian woobies, and I love them.

We are now almost ten years in, and even though they are in rotation with sadly inferior Pima cotton sheets, the last year and a half has been hard on them (me).

My beloved Frette sheets have become threadbare.

I’m ashamed to admit, I even called Frette to complain that they had started to tear and develop holes, “oh my, well, how long have you had them?” her thickly accented voice inquired, “um, ten years” I answered, hearing myself say it out loud for the first time… crickets. They sent me a catalogue out of pity.

We have become the Clampetts, those hillbillies that hit it rich and moved to Beverly – Hills that is. Because inside the facade of a life of put together beauty, lies my tattered, patched up, little secret.

My cleaning lady, carefully patches them when I’m not looking, bless her heart; just like my mom did with my wobbie.
Sadly, with one set, the patch to sheet ratio finally became unacceptable, forcing my husband into an intervention. That night I took the long walk of shame, head hanging, eyes tearing up, to the trash to throw them away. Then I fished them out. It took me three tries.
I still think about them, late at night, sleeping in a dump somewhere.
They deserved a better fate.

Last night I put my foot through a hole in the bottom sheet of the remaining set. They have become impossibly delicate, like some ancient parchment from the Vatican archives; I need to wear white gloves and socks in order not to snag them. These sheets are so heavily mended and patched I’m completely mortified even though I’m alone in the room making the bed.

The writing is on the wall – they’re about to join their compadre in the city dump – or I can cut them up and have $750 rags.

Time passes, things move on. They let go a looooong time ago. Every marshmallow thread, every fiber of cloud – and I just need to do the same.

Wish me luck.

The problem is not the problem. The problem is your attitude towards the problem.”—Captain Jack Sparrow

My dysfunction of choice has always been guilt. Maybe you’ve been on the same hamster wheel? The one where you obsessively worry about all the things you could have, should have, why didn’t I? do better.

I wrongly believed that if I beat myself up enough I would become a better person. If I listed all my faults and came up with a plan to improve upon each of them, I would finally get the guy, the financial situation, the (fill in the blank) I so desired.

What I finally came to realize is that guilt (and all its mean girl cousins) is a deterrent to miracles. Each “why didn’t I?” only made the wall between me and my highest good more impenetrable.

As I began to dismantle each shaming thought, to take my focus off the “facts” of my pitiful existence, a higher Truth began trickling in. I am okay just the way I am.

Every wrinkle on my 58-year-old face, every age spot, every time I felt wronged or angry and acted less than the perfect human I aspired to be is okay.

Self-love isn’t about getting a massage every other week or treating myself to a bubble bath–although they’re nice gifts and never discouraged. Self-love is about accepting myself exactly as I am. Warts and all.

It’s about the two magic words I mentioned a couple weeks ago: It’s okay. Whatever I think, whatever I feel, it’s all okay. And I am lovable and loved despite my perceived flaws and alleged past “failings.”

Guilt, it turns out, is as foolhardy as any military Strategic Defense Initiative. The only thing it can ever deter is the always-flowing stream of universal good.

Pam Grout is the author of 17 books including E-Squared: 9 Do-it-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality and the just-released sequel, E-Cubed, 9 More Experiments that Prove Mirth, Magic and Merriment is your Full-time Gig.

I rue the day I decided to become a business owner. The location was flawed, the timing was wrong, and ultimately it crashed and burned.

Well, not really, it drowned in a flood; but it died just the same, and it took a piece of me with it.

Being that it had been such a huge desire of mine to open that store; giving into that desire and making it happen just seemed like the natural course of events. But as I surveyed the aftermath and the giant face plant that my ego had barely survived; I started to have desire’s remorse. And not just about the store – I had it about a LOT of things.

Why had I married David at such a young age? We fucked up a perfectly good friendship taking it to that level. Divorce was inevitable.

Why had I pursued acting until thirty?
I’d be SO much farther along in life if I’d only just been quicker to read the writing on the wall.
Shit, I’d probably be Secretary of State right now.

Why had I died my hair red for the best ten years of my life?
Best years physically speaking being my thirties.
My body was bangin’, my boob were perky, the pimples were waning and the wrinkles hadn’t shown up yet.
We all know that all the smart, rich guys marry thirty something blondes in LA. The artsy, fartsy, unemployed, musicians and bohemians are the ones that go for the red heads.
I rest my case. 
Shit, I’d probably be Mark Cuban’s first ex wife by now. 

These were a few of the many desires that had lead me astray – or so I thought.

Now, looking back, I have the benefit of time. I’ve matured (somewhat) which helps me to come from a different perspective.
I agree with Steve. (married to a blonde)
I feel I can call him Steve; given that I know someone that works at Apple, I’ve spent a small fortune on his products, and the only book he had on his iPad, “The Autobiography of A Yogi,” currently lives on my nightstand.

This has been my enlightened conclusion:
I cannot recommend Desire’s regret. It no longer makes any sense. All of those desires have carried me to exactly where I stand today, and YOU too.

I tried marriage; I was able to commit, for a whole seven years and that says something about me, AND it didn’t suck enough to discourage me from trying again, this time with the right guy, for the right reasons.

I quit acting when I was good and ready. No one could have persuaded me to throw in the towel until I was good and God damn ready, and when I was, I worked just as hard on my new career, as a jeweler, and it actually made for a nice life.

I look back on the ten years of red hair as a blessing. I met some incredibly interesting men, not settling on the usual suspects; and when I was ready to finally settle down, I went back to blonde and naturally attracted the man of my dreams.

So there you have it. As I look back and connect my numerous desire filled dots, my remorse ebbs, and I can actually thank each and every one of them.

How about you?
Xox

Whatcha think? Exhilarating or terrifying?

xox

And there she stood, hands braced on either side of the bathroom sink, gazing at her reflection in the mirror, feeling…smug satisfaction. She looked goooood.

She’d totally nailed it. The evening, the party, a good hair day—and her introduction to HIM.

She smiled at the thought and that’s when it suddenly became clear to her—crystal clear.

As close as she claimed to be, as much history as they had shared, after all of their years together – she was NO friend of hers—because there, in the mirror, staring back at her, was the biggest piece of spinach – lodged between her two front teeth. It was a piece of greenery so large, it could be seen from space, and she had let her circulate, and smile, and flirt without alerting her to this fact.

That’s right, she was not a friend; because friends don’t let their friends talk to HIM with spinach in their teeth.

Ladies, am I right?

You Have A Good Saturday!
Xox