motivation

Frejah, Tina, And A Really Dumb Hobby ~ Or, That Time I Tried Boxing

On beating yourself up

Almost everyone does it. I’m not sure why.

After the fact (or even during it) all the blame, second-guessing and paralysis. We say things to ourselves that we’d never permit anyone else to say. Why?
1. It leaves us bruised and battered, unlikely to do our best work while you’re recovering.
2. It hurts our knuckles.
3. It distracts us from the work at hand.

Perhaps there’s a more humane and productive way to instill positive forward motion. I’m sure there is.
At the very least, this is a dumb hobby.
~ Seth Godin


Once, back in the nineties, I took a boxing class.
I figured that with the boss I had and all of the sex I wasn’t having—I must have a lot of hostility to work out. And besides, I had read in Vogue that you could burn 1200 calories an hour boxing!

Sign . Me. Up.

The instructor, a tall, Mandingo Warrior named Frejah (pronounced Free-Jay) who trained professional fighters at a famous gym in Venice, would have us carefully bind our fists with tape, lace up our gloves, and stand in front of a six-foot tall dark blue leather punching bag that was suspended by a heavy black chain from the ceiling. Every class he’d stand behind us, kicking our legs into a wider stance as he ghetto-yelled “encouragement” which could have easily been mistaken for harassment—all in the name of motivation.

“Come on you little pussy” He’d holler at Kenneth, a guy who came in wearing a white shirt with a pocket protector, “You couldn’t hurt your grandmother, who by-the-way, said to say hello to you this morning.”

Some of us may have giggled.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?!” he swooped in beside me and bellowed in my ear like a drill sergeant, “Do ya?!” I shook my head no emphatically as I pawed at the bag like a baby kitten. “Is that how you hit a fucking bag?!”

He went and stood in front of all of us as we tried in vain just to make the heavy bag swing on the chain.
We all sucked. And this was like week four.

“Hit the fucking bag!” he screamed, foam escaping the sides of his snarled lips. “Hit it like you mean it!”

There was a timid girl next to me, Tina, wearing glasses and a ponytail. Her face was filled with determination but every time she hit the bag her glove would just slide off and she’d almost do a face-plant on the behemoth. Frejah became silent as he watched her punch and lose her balance, punch and lose her balance.

His silence was not a good thing. It meant that the pressure was building—and he was about to blow!

I couldn’t watch.

As I sent a flurry of kitten punches into the body of my bag, Frejah got into Tina’s face. Inches away he started sneering insults. “What the hell do you think you’re doing you little mamby pamby?”

I had no idea what that meant, it just sounded bad. Weak and lame. Frejah was right. We were a bunch of mamby pambys.

He grabbed the glasses off her face and tossed them over to the side. Oh, fuck, I thought, How do I watch what’s about to happen and still look like I’m hitting the bag? My talented right eye traveled over somewhere around my ear to get a good view. (It never happened before—and it has never happened since.)

Frejah was yelling obscenities at Tina while pushing her in the chest with his glove.
Goading her to hit him.
“Your daddy an asshole?” he sneered, “I bet he’s a reeeeeal piece a work. You hate him dontcha?” He pushed Tina a little harder with just one gloved fist.

“Hit me. I’m your shitty daddy. Hit me! You know you want to!”

But that bitch stood her ground. She didn’t budge. Until she did.
Without so much as blinking Tina landed a solid left hook squarely on Frejah’s right jaw. Then she walked out. I found out later that she drove all the way home (without her glasses!) with her hands still bound in the bright red boxing gloves.

We all froze in place like life-size, mamby pamby ice sculptures. Frejah barely flinched. His glove went up to his face and he nodded. I think I saw..admiration?

After waiting the appropriate three minutes to thaw,  I found my nerve, grabbed Tina’s glasses off the floor, unlaced my gloves, and never went back to class. Boxing had started to seem like a really dumb hobby, dangerous in more ways than one. I decided to take up running. Getting run over by a car seemed like a gentler way to go than boxing with Frejah.

One of the guys who stayed, told me later that Frejah only got more abusive as the months went on (it was a twelve-week class) but that in his defense everyone who stayed (one heavily tattooed girl who was more masculine than Vin Diesel, and looked like she could kick the shit out of Frejah if given the chance—and five guys) —they all got REALLY good.

I guess that form of abuse “motivates” some people.

I met Tina that Saturday for coffee at Borders to give her back her glasses and basically say, “What the fuck, girl?!” I told her I wasn’t going back. Tina nodded, “Frejah sounds like all the voices in my head,” she said, “I don’t need to pay someone to talk to me like that!”

“I know. What a dick,” I agreed.

“But I can’t tell you how silent the voices have been since that night. I think I scared the shit out of them!” Tina laughed.
So did I.
Then she leaned in, “And for the first time in over three years I called my horrible father” she whispered like he might hear her. “How did Frejah know?” She looked at me with an odd combination of wisdom and naiveté.

“It’s his job. I think guys like that can smell it,” I said and went to order a giant slab of pumpkin bread so I didn’t have to think about how much I wanted to slug my shitty dad.

Maybe I should have kept boxing?

Carry on,
xox

What It Takes To Have An Extraordinary Life ~ Tony Robbins and Marie Forleo

“I don’t have to settle. I don’t have to tolerate the life I have, even if it’s good. I want great, magnificent, and outstanding.”

Take the time to watch this.
SO good.
It’s summer. You have time.
I’m not kidding!

PS. There’s naughty language used, wear your headphones if kids are around.

Carry on,
xox

Famous Failures

I don’t fail often but when I do, its alway been BIG. I don’t mess around.
One early marriage,
One ‘all our eggs in one basket’ business,
One interim jewelry job.

Wham, bam, failed.
But it looks like I’m in pretty good company. And if things aren’t looking like they’re going your way right about now — then so are you.

Carry on!
xox

I thought you might like this book on those nights when you can’t sleep because it seems as if the world is spinning backwards and your life doesn’t resemble anything remotely familiar, comforting, or worthy of continuing, and you’re asking yourself “what the fuck?” over and over until it sounds like whatthefuck, whatthefuck, whatthefuck, which sounds like a tiny town in Uzbekistan or one of the other ‘stans’ and that makes you want kebob, but it’s too late to get kebob at this hour, and then that’s all you can think about, and you’re wondering why you didn’t just order kebab before midnight…and you feel like a failure… and the cycle starts all over again. Or maybe that’s just me.

Pema Chodron Fail Again, Fail Better

http://www.amazon.com/Fail-Again-Better-Advice-Leaning/dp/1622035313/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1457227800&sr=8-1&keywords=fail+again+fail+better

Step up—Be Your Own Dream Maker—Flashback Friday

Be Your Own Dream Maker

*This is a post from early last year, you know, when we were all dreaming the things that have come to pass. Keep it up you guys!
Carry on,
xox

Do you have lists, folders or a bulletin board full of things you desire?
I do. At my store I had an entire wall of cork behind the desk. It was 11 feet high. The entire surface covered with pictures, cards, swatches, anything and everything I loved. Except for the very tippy top, because if I could reach it standing on my chair, so be it. If I had to get the ladder it didn’t make the cut. Too lazy.

I dream big. Always have, always will.
I believe EVERYTHING is obtainable.

The extraordinary things I covet and the pictures I collect are just reminders for me.
I want it all!

Then reality lands on my head, and while he messes my hair, he whispers in my ear this loaded question:
Are you willing to do what it takes?

We all know deep down what’s required to achieve our dreams.
What changes, course corrections, sacrifices, hard work and amount of commitment will deliver them to us.

But will we only reach as high as the chair will take us or will we get off of our asses and get the ladder?

Are you willing to do what it takes?
We can ask ourselves that question of ANY situation. If we do, often the answer will be: not now, or I’m not ready, or flat-out NO.
Then we have no one to blame but ourselves when something slips through our fingers and that’s no fun.

Sometimes you think you know what you’re willing to do, but if you’d really known what it would take, you’d have packed your bags and moved to Siberia.

When I decided to buy a house I knew I had to put an end to my frivolous spending.
I was making good money and buying everything that wasn’t nailed down. I was a hoarder of all the finest things in life. But I could not continue to be that girl AND own a home. Not unless I learned how to turn shoes into gold.
I was sick and tired of greasing Uncle Sam’s palm with my tax money, and listening to my upstairs neighbor’s terrible music and bad headboard rhythm during sex.

I wanted a house, and I wanted it in a year.
I was 39 years old. Time was a wastin’.
But…Was I willing to do what it would take?

It had to be drastic. It has to be quick. I needed to save $40,000 in twelve months. I formulated a plan, and jumped. Are you seeing a pattern in my life? I am.

I moved out of my 3000 square foot rented duplex, and put everything in storage. Then my two Siamese cats, their giant cat tree, and 1/3 of my clothes, moved into a 10 x 10ft. bedroom at my sister’s with her husband and my two-year old nephew.

It was a toddler/cat free-for-all for this childless, terminally single girl.

Did I also mention that my 7 minute commute turned into one hour each way?
Oh yeah, now THAT’S commitment.
All the sacrifice, all fur balls and midnight cat fights paid off. I did manage to move out after exactly one year. It was a good thing too. My sister was four months pregnant with my niece by then and was going to need MY room.

As I write this I’m sitting in that very house, which I LOVE.
I’m proud of myself for buckling down, behaving like grown up, and going after my dream.
Parts of it were fun, but I can’t imagine doing it again. Not in a million years.

I’ve worked two jobs, logged thousands of overtime hours, and passed on great vacation trips, as I’m sure a lot of you guys have—to get what I wanted.

I’ve learned how to be soft and vulnerable, while getting my heart-broken, in order to be ready for my husband.

Some jumps I’ve taken have failed.
A lot of what I’ve done, I’d never do again.
If I’d REALLY known what it would take, I may not have been so willing.
I think as time goes on you develop a kind of amnesia to the pain. It keeps you in the game.

Regardless, it couldn’t have been THAT bad.
It has all brought me here, and here, is pretty damn good.
So I say: Go for it.

Xox

Finding Clarity—My Sloppy Journey

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Gaining clarity.
Getting clearer on what I want and where my path is taking me.
Often, no make that always, knowing what I DON’T want brings what I DO want that much more into focus.
Trial and error. Success and failure. Happiness and despair. They all bring clarity.
After I thought about that for awhile I made a list:

I got disappointed into clarity
I got frustrated into clarity
I got angered into clarity
I fumbled my way into clarity

I ran toward clarity
I commando crawled toward clarity
I skipped joyfully into clarity
I’ve been dragged into clarity

I found my footing on my way into clarity
I danced my way into clarity
I stumbled my way into clarity
I lost my footing on my way into clarity
I fell headfirst into clarity

I prayed myself into clarity
I chanted my way into clarity
I meditated my way into clarity
I hiked my way into clarity
I exercised myself into clarity

I lost friends on my way into clarity
I made new friends on my way into clarity
I lost jobs on my way into clarity
I got hopelessly lost on my way into clarity

I cried my way into clarity
I shouted and screamed my way into clarity
I slept my way into clarity
I got scared into clarity
I lost money on my way into clarity

I resisted my way into clarity
I argued my way into clarity
I changed my mind to find clarity
I took advice to gain clarity
I shunned advice on my way into clarity

I read books to find clarity
I listened to talks, music and Oprah to find clarity.
I reinvented to find clarity
I talked my way into clarity
I found out who I really was to gain clarity

I had luck on my side on my way into clarity
I hustled, whined and begged in order to gain clarity
I had magic with me to show me clarity
I laughed my way into clarity

I made mistakes on my way into clarity
I fucked up big time on my way into clarity
I may have gotten fucked on my way into clarity
I got better glasses in order to find clarity

I gained insights on my way into clarity
I was loud on my way to clarity
I was silent on my way to clarity
I realized I didn’t know shit on my way into clarity

I’ve had great, inspired ideas on my way into clarity
I’ve had sucky, horrible ideas on my way into clarity
I’ve been funny on my way into clarity
I’ve been completely humor-free on my way to clarity

I’ve been exhilarated on my way into clarity
I’ve done the “dead man walking” Zombie limp into clarity
I created my way into clarity
I destroyed my way into clarity

I got annoyed into clarity
I joined the crowd on my way into clarity
I bucked the status quo into clarity
I became still enough to find clarity

I loved my way into clarity
I followed the signs into clarity
I ignored the signs on my way into clarity

Then I lost it…
And every time, I started over.

Carry on,
xox

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Nugget Of Redemption—A Poem (Revisited)

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

* This was a poem I wrote last summer when everyone and everything was going to shit—Hey, wait a minute, that feels a lot like this summer! WTF?
Take a look, know that we’re all in the same leaky, stinky boat together, and that This Too Shall Pass.
Change is a constant, remember that.
Now go have yourselves a crazy-ass weekend!
xox

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hang in there loves,
xox

The Big White Dress – But At What Price?

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The phone was ringing. That’s odd, I thought, trying to clear away that cotton candy that inhabits your brain when you’ve just fallen asleep.

Only minutes earlier I’d turned off the light after struggling to stay awake while reading my latest self-help book, “The Road Less Traveled.”

“It has to be late”. I mumbled, rolling on my side to get a look at the time on the digital clock radio next to the bed. It was half past eleven.

Now it is my experience that good news is never on the other end of a phone that rings after eleven. Ever.

Either that person is drunk and dialing, picking a fight about something that happened a week ago, someone is sick or there’s been an accident.
This call ended up trumping all those things.

“Janet, sorry, are you awake? I know it’s late.” It was my friend Rita (not her real name).
Rita is one of the “herd”, as we were called, because of the level of noise that entered a room wherever we showed up, and because there were always seven of us.

Seven teenage girls attached at the hip through all four years of Catholic high school.
I’m sure you can imagine.

We shared everything teenage girls share, all the firsts.
First periods, first cigarettes, first joint, first drunk/sick night, first loves, and all the trouble, chaos and complications that boyfriends bring to a young girl’s life.

Now we were in our late twenties. Everyone was pairing up, I was the first, already married and divorced, Rita, the smart, choosy one, was the last. Several of us had left LA, but the following weekend there would be a reunion of sorts – Rita was getting married.

Yeah, sure, no problem, I’m awake…what’s up?” I sat up in bed.

I think Marco’s cheating on me” she started to cry.

What? Noooooo.” I said, lighting a cigarette. I was up now, sitting on the edge of the bed; this was in the days before mobile phones, although I did have a fifteen foot cord on my yellow push button telephone – so I could wander.

She was crying harder now, rustling papers in the background.
Still groggy, the cigarette was getting me high, had I heard correctly? “What are you talking about? What happened?” I asked. The rustling stopped.

“A woman called me yesterday; she claims she and Marco are in love – that they have been for a long time…she knew my name.” she spit out that last part, I could hear in her voice she was getting mad.

Oh. My. God.” I was frantically searching my drawers for an ashtray, but had to settle on a plant.

That’s bullshit, he loves YOU, you’re getting married in less than a week…” She interrupted, her voice agitated, almost yelling, “She told me to check the phone bill for her number; Janet, it’s on here over sixty times just this month, the same with last month and as far back as I…

Hold on a second, where is Marco?” They’d been living together since the engagement, but he had a job that took him out-of-town two weeks of every month, so us girls didn’t really know him all that well.

He’s in Atlanta until tomorrow night.”

Did you call him? What did he say?” This I had to hear.

Of course, the minute I hung up with her.”

And?…” I was dying to hear his explanation.

“Well he denied it, said she’s a girl from work, that she’s super needy, really insecure and kinda crazy. He explained that her number’s on the bill because they have to talk about work problems – he’s her supervisor. I know things have been super stressful at the office lately, with all the layoffs and personnel changes.” She was quiet for a minute.

“He started accusing ME of having cold feet.”

That didn’t sound right, but I stayed on script. “Okay, well see – she’s just a kook from work; he’ll set her straight honey.” I lit a cigarette with a cigarette, something I never did, but this situation called for it.

“That’s what I thought, but she called again tonight – I just got off the phone with her… and called you.” Her voice took on a desperate edge.

Shit” I suddenly went ice-cold.
There was a sweater in a pile of folded laundry that was waiting patiently on the chair to be put away; I pulled it on, switching the receiver from hand to hand, turned on the light, and started pacing – wandering the room.

“She’s been here – they’ve been here together, she described the condo and she described me! She’s seen me, she waits for me to leave! Get this – she says that I’m the girl he marries and has children with – but she’s the girl he loves. Fucking bitch!” That sent a jolt through my body. Rita NEVER used the “F-word.”

He was feeding that girl a crapsandwich. He was dishing out crap all over the place. It sounded like this guy was wading waist deep in crap.

I was speechless. She continued. “She said he’s Latin and that it’s a cultural thing.” She was crying again. “They laugh at me, she says they laugh about how unsuspecting I am, that I think I’m going to get married and ride off into the sunset…they laugh at me Janet.
As I listened to her sob, the tears filled my eyes and I started to sniffle, so I put the receiver to my chest so she couldn’t hear me.

After a long time I thought of something to say, “What does she want from you?
Rita cleared her throat, her exhausted voice was a whisper
She wants me to walk away, to break things off, otherwise at the wedding, when they ask who objects – she’s going to be there and tell everyone the truth.”

“That’s bullshit! That only happens on soap operas!” my voice was so loud it actually startled me.

Janet, what should I do? He’s just going to deny it. So what if she IS just a crazy girl from work, she’s still going to ruin my wedding!”

“Maybe when Marco comes home, you guys have a heart to heart; he has to figure this mess out… I don’t know, maybe postpone things…” Rita jumped in. “I can’t call off the wedding! I just wrote the balance check for the hall! This morning was the final fitting on my dress!” She was bordering on hysterical.

Okay, I know, listen.” My tone was firm.
If he’s cheating on you, you sure as hell are NOT going through with this wedding! I don’t care how much money is lost and how embarrassing it is. People will just have to get over themselves.”

Silence.

You know I’m right. I’ll help you. I can call people and…” She interrupted me. “I’m tired, I have to go; I’m sure when Marco comes home, this will all get settled.”

Her voice turned Stepford.
I’m sorry I called you so late, you’re right; it’s probably nothing.”

What was happening? I never said that. I never said it was nothing.

Goodnight” The line went dead.

I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night, and I struggled with whether I should share it with anyone else. The rest of the herd would be in town by the end of the week – if this whole thing didn’t blow up before then. I decided it was best to zip it.

The next time I saw Rita was at the rehearsal. I was singing Ave Maria and One Hand One Heart from West Side Story at the ceremony, so we did a run through.
She looked beautiful and happy, all smiles. Even when I searched her eyes while saying goodbye after the rehearsal dinner, there was no hint that anything was amiss. Marco sat surrounded by relatives from out-of-town – beaming.

So okay. They’d worked it out. It was one of those late night calls that you just chalk up to nerves and you forget it ever happened.

The next morning, up in the choir loft, after Rita’s entrance in her big, flowing, white gown, I watched from above, scanning the crowd. Marco’s family and friends on the right, and Rita’s giant Irish Catholic family on the left – and a mystery woman, in a huge hat, all in black, standing in the back.

Who was that? I bent waaaay over the ledge to try to catch a glimpse of her face, but short of doing a half gainer with a twist off that balcony – it wasn’t going to happen.

All black. To a wedding? Really bitch? My heart was pounding. Was this the “other woman” all set to ruin Rita’s special day?

I was helpless to do anything. It was time for the Ave Maria. The minute the song was over, the last note still reverberating, riding those incredible church acoustics, I ran back to the ledge, searching for the stranger in black – but she was gone.

I wish this story had a fairy tale ending…

As it turns out Marco did have another woman. Several actually. He let it be known right after Rita told him he was going to have a son. They tried to play happy family for a while, but I think the whole marriage lasted all of three years.

It’s been about thirty years and Rita hasn’t had a serious relationship since. She’s never been able to let herself trust a man again.

She got the big white dress – but at what price?

The thing that Rita really lost was the trust of her own internal navigation system. She stopped trusting herself. She’d known in her gut what was going on, even when he denied it, but she thought she was too far in to get out. She wanted to save face, to be married – only to be divorced a few years later, as a single mother.

We all do things we know in our hearts are doomed to fail.
We stay in situations that we know aren’t right, because we’re deeply invested.
But there can be a way out, there’s always way out.

Gut check – intuition – rumors – lies – denials.
WE KNOW.
If it feels bad – it probably is.

Have you ever found yourself in a similar situation? It’s not just about weddings. Did you get out? How did you do it?

much love,
xox

Let’s All Create Diamonds Instead

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You must never allow something that happened to you to become a morbidly treasured heirloom that you carry, show people, put back in its black velvet pouch and then tuck back into your jacket where you can keep it close to your heart.”
~Augusten Burroughs

Same topic. Wounded-ness. Forgiveness. Healing.
Seems to be in the air these days.
Everyone’s got an axe to grind.

What if one day you took that pouch out of your jacket pocket and diamonds spilled out instead?

How could you tell your sad little story when all you held in your hands were…diamonds? Not your morbid heirlooms, just beautiful crystals forged under pressure from the blackest of coal.

What if your heart had transmuted your sad stories into diamonds through the alchemy of forgiveness?

What if we all refused to enable each other’s wounds?
Because we were so dazzled by the diamonds we found there, in our pockets. We could finally see our stories transformed into the gems they really are.

THAT is the power of forgiveness my loves.
Let’s all make diamonds…

Xox

What are you going to take out of the black velvet pouch and turn into a diamond today? Tell me about it?

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Let There Be Light

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Sunrise At Burning Man – Stunning – Enjoy Your Sunday!

Xox

REPRISE: Ego

Ego

This is a reprise of a popular post from earlier this year. It’s a cautionary tale in the form of a poem, about that rascal Ego. Have a great Sunday!

XoxJanet

When Ego whispers in your ear,
“Psssst buddy, come on over here.”
Quick; turn and run the other way,
’cause he’s got nothing good to say.

He’s not a chum, he’s not your friend,
His words won’t have a happy end.
He’s only got himself in mind,
A more selfish dude you’ll never find.

What ego thinks is a good idea,
Will fill you later with dread and fear.
You don’t want hear what he has to say,
Just tell him nice, to go away

The Ego has a strangle hold,
on those who do what they are told.
He has sold his bill of goods,
by selling “wants” and “needs” and “shoulds”.

It just won’t play, it won’t suffice,
when heeding Ego’s bad advise.
To say you’re “feeling” anything,
To this bad guy, the head is king.

His dictums are complex and sly,
You must beware if you comply,
he’ll lead you down the garden path,
then laugh as you suffer bad choice’s wrath.

He has an agenda all his own,
his methods are proven, his skills well honed.
You needn’t curse, don’t waste a good cry,
he’s doesn’t care, he’s not that guy.

You can try to beat him at his game,
Living with soul can end his reign.
It won’t seem fair,
He isn’t nice, plus….

The Ego gives really shitty advise.

Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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