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Elizabeth Gilbert.
I love her. I devour anything she writes.
Her advise to help us navigate failure and success? You do the same thing for both. WHAT!?
Watch. It’s only 7 mins.
It applies to anyone….about any endeavor.
But now, as a writer, this has a whole new meaning for me.
Xox
“Sooner or later, everyone’s story has an unfortunate event or two…The solution, of course, is to stay as far away from the world as possible and lead a safe, simple life.”
― Lemony Snicket, The End
I was driving to the hair salon to see my beloved Reny and get my grey amped up.
Yes, you heard me, I’m embracing my inner crone, who is making her debut in my life one strand of coarse grey hair at a time.
On my drive through the canyon that morning, the traffic was light, so I was tooling along at a pretty good clip; lost in my thoughts, thinking about some drama from my past, when a motorcycle startled me – zipping past me on the left.
As you know, we ride a lot and there is a practice, splitting lanes, which is riding between lanes of traffic, and is legal here in California.
Before I rode, I used to think those riders were jerks who just wanted to get where they were headed faster than the rest of us fools, who were stuck in our cars.
Au contraire.
I got schooled by the hubby in the beginning of our relationship when we, to my horror, split lanes in traffic on the 101 freeway, and I yelled for him to stop acting like a criminal. “Let’s not be that guy, shall we?”
“Motorcycles are air cooled” he informed the very naive, backseat driver behind him on his bike, “so they have to stay moving, otherwise you’ll have a bunch of overheated bikes tying up traffic even more.”
Mea culpa Big guy, I stand informed and corrected.
Still, it hasn’t lifted the jerk stigma that I KNOW the other, not as clued in drivers, level on us as we wind our way between their cars during rush hour.
I’ve seen the stink eye they give us as we go by, so I close my eyes now.
If you can’t see people, they can’t see you – right?
As we weave in and out of the lanes of slow moving vehicles, we cut it thisclose to their rear view mirrors so I’ve asked him on several occasions: what happens if we hit someone’s mirror?
“We keep going.”
Jerk factor just ramped up several notches. Did you feel it?
We never have, thank God. I would have had to hear it, since I’m blind with my eyes closed, and I wear my invisibility cloak.
But low and behold, after I had this lane splitting flashback, I came out to my car, (with a lovely, new, fabulous silver wash over my hair) to a mangled rear view mirror on my drivers side, that I suspect was the unfortunate recipient of motorcycle karma.
As I looked for a note or flowers or some kind of clue as to the identity of the culprit, my husband’s voice echoed in my ears “we don’t stop, we keep going.”
Still Jerky.
And karma…. you have the wrong car! I’m just a passenger; a blind, invisible, unwilling participant.
When I was meditating later, and asking about the whole mirror, Karma debacle, you know what the Universe said? You’re gonna laugh, I did.
“You were thinking about some past drama too much, it wasn’t motorcycle Karma at all (besides, Karma doesn’t make mistakes) it was to get your attention and to remind you to move forward, stop looking behind you – stop living in the past.
Rear view mirror – get it?”
Ha. Got it.
What signal, signs, metaphors does the Universe send you? Do you always recognize them, or are you dense, like me?
Tell me about it. Help a girl out.
Sending love and good Karma,
Xox
https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/audio-recording-on-wednesday
Remember permission slips?
Those signed (or forged) whichever the case may be; pieces of paper that granted us access to off the grid childhood activities?
Weekend trips with Girl Scouts, grade school field trips to museums or the Observatory, Wednesday McDonald’s hamburger lunches in sixth grade?
Proudly, I had my dad’s signature down pat, the giant R of Roy with the straight tail of the Y, ending downward, no curling back up, no frills at all, very masculine, completely unlike my own girly sixth grade cursive; so occasionally, even though I had brought my delicious Spam with mustard on Wonder Bread sandwich in my Partridge Family lunch box for lunch that Wednesday, I’d permission slip myself a burger.
Forging (not to be confused with foraging) for food……hmmmmmm I’m sure there’s some deep hidden meaning in there.
Anyway…….
Brene Brown talks about writing HERSELF permission slips.
I LOVE that idea.
When she was on Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday, she had one tucked inside the pocket of her jean jacket.
It read: I give you permission to be excited, goofy and uncool.
Just show up and be seen.
From what I observed she didn’t get too giggly or over stare, she had her occasional “Holy Shit, I’m sitting with Oprah” moments and they felt completely authentic and actually a bit brave.
She didn’t pretend “Oh hey, no big deal, I’m fine, I’m cool.”
As the story goes, after the show she heard that Maya Angelou was in another part of the building recording some audio poems. So instead of nonchalantly replying: “Oh, that’s nice” she abandoned cool once again and told Oprah how much she admired Dr Angelou.
After all, she still had the permission slip in her pocket; and as is often the case, the Universe rewards genuineness.
Oprah asked if she’d like to meet Dr. Angelou.
Hell yeah! (My words – just guessing)
Here are her feelings about the encounter in her own words:
“So grateful that I got to meet Dr. Angelou, look her in the eye, and tell her what her work means to me. When I told her that I love playing her reading of “I shall not be moved” for my students and children, she grabbed my hand and sang, “Like a tree planted by the river, I shall not be moved.” It was a sacred moment.”
Just imagine if she’d brushed off the mention of Maya Angelou with a Too Cool For School attitude, she would have missed that once in a lifetime moment.
How many wonderful, sacred, ridiculously epic moments do we circumvent due to our habit of playing it cool?
How many beautiful creations do we talk ourselves out of?
How many people do we meet and feel a connection with……and do nothing?
How many books are unwritten, paintings un painted, businesses un started and plans unhatched because we lack the courage?
Maybe all we need is PERMISSION.
I for one, have started her practice of the permission slip.
Here are some I’ve written lately:
I give myself permission to not always know what I’m doing.
I give myself permission to play more.
I give myself permission to suck while writing the book.
I give myself permission to be happy even though I don’t have a “job”
I give myself permission to not like everyone
If you Google BRENE BROWN PERMISSION SLIPS and look at images, there are hundreds of ideas if you have trouble getting started.
I’d LOVE it if you’d write at least one thing in the comments. Tell me, share, you’ll give other people the courage to do it and maybe give them a few ideas too.
Go ahead –
I give myself permission to__________________.
I give myself permission to adore you guys,
Xox
Damn, this always makes me feel better.
This goes for those of us that had it figured out early, took a right turn and are re-inventing ourselves in our fifties.
Success takes many paths and it is never a straight line.
You’re welcome.
Sending Monday love,
Xox
The difference between impossible and nearly impossible
Is as big as any difference we encounter.
All we need is ‘nearly‘ and we have completely transformed the problem–changing it from one to avoid to one to commit to.
Here’s the hard part: having the ability to see (and to announce) the ‘nearly‘ part.
Almost every breakthrough comes from someone who saw nearly when no one else did
~ Seth Godin
LOVE me some Seth. Makes ya think. Have a wonderful Sunday!
Sending love,
Xox
I’ve recently started a liver detox.
All the cool kids are doing it, so when the bandwagon came by, I jumped on board.
It was actually circling, in my orbit for a couple of weeks with several people mentioning that they were currently doing it, or that I should try it; which makes me wonder if my liver was sending out silent signals to strangers that it needed rehab.
My liver has gone rogue.
My liver is fucking Sid Vicious.
I was warned that anger could “come up” as a result of detoxing the liver and Sid being the furious malcontent that he is, did not disappoint.
I have an edge
My mouth wants to start a war, leaving land mines of vitriol in its wake, dropping F Bombs from the sky.
My mouth, it’s safe to say, is going to get me in trouble.
I’ve been a complete ass to everyone – but I swear it’s the juice.
Here’s the skinny according to Chinese medicine:
Anger is associated with the liver.
By its nature, anger causes qi to rise, leading to a red face and red eyes, headaches, and dizziness. This matches the pattern of liver fire rising. Anger can also cause liver qi to “attack the spleen,” producing lack of appetite, indigestion, and diarrhea (often experienced by those people who argue at the dinner table or eat while driving).
In a more long-term view, suppressed anger or frustration often causes liver qi to become stagnant; this might result in depression or menstrual disorders.
*It is interesting to note that people who take herbs to release stagnant liver qi often experience bouts of anger as the stagnation is relieved. The anger passes as the condition clears. (Whew) Similarly, anger and irritability are often the determining factor in diagnosing liver qi stagnation.
Many people are relieved to know their rage has a physiologic basis. (relieved, really?)
It is essential to avoid drinking coffee when treating anger-related liver disorders, as coffee heats the liver and greatly intensifies the condition. (Well, that just pisses me off)
When I gave a shot glass of said juice to my husband, his hackles went up, and he shouted out to the kitchen in his best bad husband voice, “don’t give me that shit to drink EVER AGAIN”.
“Hey, take it easy pal.”
I’m telling you, it’s that juice.
So here’s the deal, it’s not one of those heavy-duty, doctor prescribed, Gwyneth Paltrow “conscious cleansing” detoxes.
It’s super simple.
I was told to mix together in a small glass:
pure unsweetened organic cranberry juice
2 tsp of Organic apple cider vinegar
Juice of half a lemon
Then bottoms up.
The bitterness and alkalinity help to balance the enzymes inside the…………
Sorry, give me a minute – – auto-correct just made me mad.
Everyone said I would feel great.
I would start to crave kale and exercise and I would hear angels singing.
Three days. Nothing.
I crave ice cream, movie marathons and yodeling.
Sid is being extremely uncooperative, as often happens with these detoxes. He’s acting like a punk.
My liver doesn’t want to get clean, it wants to play pool, do Jell-O shots and go to the track.
I’ll let you know how this thing progresses, maybe by next week I’ll be able to give it my ringing endorsement.
I’ll be a new woman. (Meh.)
Maybe you should try it and let me know how it goes with you?
FINE, then don’t. See if I care.
Sorry.
Damn that juice.
Attempting to send love,
Xox
“I walk these streets, a loaded six string on my back
I play for keeps, ‘cause I might not make it back
I been everywhere, and I’m standing tall
I’ve seen a million faces an I’ve rocked them all
I’m a cowboy on a steel horse I ride
I’m wanted dead or alive
I’m a cowboy, I got the night on my side
I’m wanted dead or alive
And I ride, dead or alive
I still drive, dead or alive
Dead or alive
Dead or alive”
(From the song Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi /Songwriters Jon Bon Jovi, Richard Sambora. Published by Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC)
Call me crazy, but it seldom, if ever, occurs to me that I could die on the back of our motorcycle.
Jon Bon Jovi wailed into my ears while the sexy, steel string guitar licks washed over me as I hunkered down into my husband’s back, attempting to escape the fire hose strength deluge that had just broken loose from the sky.
That song is always in heavy rotation on the endless loop of music that occupies my mind on these long rides. It’s our anthem. A clarion call from the open road.
I usually murder it, loudly sharing the harmonies with Richie Sambora. “Waaaahhhh teddddd” …but not that day.
The rain came at us in sheets, slicing gray from every direction.
Somehow, it was finding its way UNDER my helmet, making it nearly impossible for me to see a thing. Racing down the two-lane highway in northern Montana at 60 miles an hour wasn’t helping.
The storm had left us no choice.
We were half way through another three hundred mile day of a 4500-mile loop.
LA to Glacier Park and back.
That day we were trying to make it through the Blackfeet Indian Reservation to St Mary’s at the base of Glacier Park. About as far north you can go and still remain inside the US.
The rain had stayed away… so far, which is why we take our longer rides in September; the weather tends to be reliable. Little did we know that this was an early start to one of the wettest, snowiest, coldest winters on record. The “Polar Vortex” winter of 2013.
I heard the weather warnings on my way back to the bathroom at the rickety little joint where we had stopped for lunch. They crackled from the ancient portable radio that wore a coat hanger as a hat and was sitting on a chair in the bar. That sinister weather alert tone followed by the robotic voice that droned on and on, full of dire predictions.
Our guys got out the maps and basically informed us that we had no choice but we still took a vote—we’re democratic that way.
The vote said GO but go NOW!
The storm had used the morning to turn into a motherfucker.
Barreling across the plains, the ominous, dark, ground level clouds and distant thunder felt like a herd of stampeding black horses rolling in behind us, giving chase.
“It’s all the same, only the names have changed…”
In my imagination, as we rode the eight to twelve hours each day, WE were part of that wild herd.
A couple straddling the back of a wild stallion.
Cherokee, Apache, Navaho, Sioux, it didn’t matter. We were feral; mad with love and wanderlust, wildly riding the Great Plains bareback, looking for the next great adventure. Our deep brown skin glistening in the sun, our long black hair whipping in the hot Montana wind. That was the spirit of who we were then….and who we are now.
“I’m a cowboy on a steel horse I ride.”
The four of us were determined to outrun it. We were convinced we could.
I’m tellin’ ya, we’re badass.
Have I mentioned yet that I’m riding on the back of my husbands BMW 1200GS Adventurer, and we are accompanied by our trusty fellow riding couple, JT and Ginger? After meeting them in Spain in 2005, we have ridden the world with them.
I’ve been writing this blog since November 2012. Almost two years.
Up until this past September, it was NOT in my own voice.
I was too timid to come out of the shadows. A spiritual coward (my own label).
It was your run of the mill, generic, spiritual wisdom.
No humor. No personal stories and definitely NO F-bombs.
I know VERY few of you were readers back then. I know that because I had 23 followers, all friends, and family who were kind enough to hit follow after I sent them the I have a blog email.
Back to Montana and that freaking storm.
I wrote what happened next in Total Loss of Control (it’s in the archives).
We narrowly escaped being killed by a passing truck.
“Dead or alive”
But this post isn’t about that, it’s about what happened afterward.
Something did die that day. The part of me that wanted to remain in hiding.
When I checked in with the Muse that night to write the blog, I suggested like an idiot, that she might want to write about the harrowing experience of earlier that day.
You know, find the message in the mess. Here’s how the conversation went:
Me: Hey, you should really write about me almost dying today, that was pretty intense.
Muse: You write about it.
Me: Well, I don’t really write this stuff in my own voice. I just kind of download the wisdom and give it my best shot…but I think there could be some really good shit in that story.
Muse: It didn’t happen to me. I happened to YOU. YOU write about it.
How you felt, your thought process...
Me: Uh…yeah, here’s the thing..I don’t write.
Muse: Don’t interrupt me.
Me: Sorry.
And that’s when I started writing in my own voice, with my own personal stories and my “take” on things.
I even apologized in the first few posts.
“Oh hi, sorry, it’s just me here again”
Lame.
Timid.
Living small.
As far from courageous as you can get.
Shirking all responsibility.
Impersonal.
Total lack of vulnerability.
“I play for keeps, ‘cause I might not make it back
I been everywhere, and I’m standing tall
I’ve seen a million faces an I’ve rocked them all”
I can’t see your faces….but I know you’re there. I can feel you.
There’s so many of you now, and if I look at the analytics, you all started to read from September to today. When I started to write.
Changed my life.
Thank you. You keep me pure and true and courageous.
Much love and appreciation,
Xox
What do you think is the easiest ways to gather metal shavings?
Broom and dustpan? Windex and a paper towel? Magic wand?
How about a magnet?
Now apply that to gathering the right people for your new project.
Attracting the right partner.
Magnetizing money.
That’s right. Become the magnet.
Magnets have the ability to either attract or repel.
You know that guy at the office that you just can’t stand to be around? You are energetically repelled; so be prepared to say no when he asks you out…because he will.
Opposites may attract; but only for a short time, you just can’t override physics.
So, how do you become Magneto?
Here’s a trick I use.
I’ve done it since the 70’s, using it to help humanity by drawing in better fashion and hairstyles.
I imagine in my mind’s eye all the projects and people who I admire.
These days it would be:
Brene Brown, Liz Gilbert, Anne Lamott, Maire Forleo, Richard Branson, Daniele LaPorte.
The TedTalks, Hay House Conferences, OWN Network. Various Writing and Philanthropic groups.
All the big publishing houses, filled with their über creatives.
The smaller publishers hungrily looking for talent.
Then I bless them all. I send them love and light.
I imagine myself in their company. I belong there. I am their peer.
As I do that, I imagine the rearrangement of my molecules.
They become charged to the same frequency as the things I am imagining, and the metal shavings start their slow dance in my direction, so to speak.
Shipping containers, cars and refrigerators start flying my way…..Kidding.
(How cool would THAT be?)
But it’s fun to imagine being magnetized so that you can attract to you the people and circumstances you desire.
It’s my own personal super power.
I used it to attract my husband. Shhhhhhhh, he doesn’t know. Let’s just keep that between us.
I KNOW energy can do that.
It delivers control of the seemingly random aspects of life back to us.
You gotta love that.
I do this while I fall asleep, in the car, (no,no, not at the same time), walking the dogs and at the gym. Basically any time I don’t want my mind to wander into the minefield of my negative thoughts and doubts.
Give it a try for fifteen days.
Then report your results back to me.
Much love,
Xox
Several of you have been lamenting lately about the fact that you’re having trouble finding gratitude these days. You’ve looked over every rainbow and things still look like shit.
Does that happen to me? Um…..hell yah.
There are days when saying “I got up on the wrong side of the bed” is a colossal understatement. They can happen in succession, which then becomes known as “The Week From Hell” to myself and anyone who breaths my air.
I am to be avoided at all costs.
On those days, I can ONLY tell the cold, hard truth, and if “you can’t handle the truth,” as Jack Nicholson so famously snelled (which is a sneer and a yell) to Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men, don’t call me or come over. Don’t ask me if your butt looks big in those jeans, if your bangs are too short or if I like your new boyfriend.
Really. I won’t be kind.
On those days the “truth” as I see it is tragically skewed.
All my eyes can register are the flaws and fuck ups in life.
Not the big heavy, real stuff. Those things are glaringly evident.
I’m talking about finding fault with the little shit, and the way those things can pile up and send you over the edge.
We’ve ALL had those days.
A beautiful table, but I can only see the tiny scratch.
My husband comes out in a new shirt he loves; I zero in on a loose thread and a possible stain.
My hair is too soft. (What?)
Why isn’t it hotter/colder?
Why are they always out of my favorite _________?
The garden looks okay, but why aren’t there more roses? There are usually more roses this time of year.
And on and on and on.
Yep, I do that.
Those are the days when I have to literally force myself to practice gratitude.
I do practice gratitude on a pretty regular basis. I teach it after all. I send a daily gratitude text to friends and I write a list, because I know I have a ton to be grateful for.
But…..some days. I have appreciation for nuthin‘.
So a month or so ago, I remembered an old exercise that I used to use, and I thought I’d start again, so that the next time I felt I was grappling with gratitude, I could stop and be reminded. Sometimes I just need a physical anchor to my practice, otherwise it gets too airy fairy and I won’t do it.
It’s simple and easy, and it works.
Here goes:
Get a stone or rock. Something you’ve collected or something from around your environment. It can even be a crystal or your Maya heart stone (wink).
The point is, it has to feel good in your hand.
Kept it next to your bed, and before you go to sleep, think back to the BEST thing that happened to you that day. Hold the stone while you replay how good that experience felt.
Wallow in it.
Then say Thank You to this thing for making your day.
Really say it all the way from your big toe.
Three times usually does it for me.
If things are going well in your life, you’ll know exactly which thing to dwell on. There may even be a few. (Lucky you).
But when you have to rack your brain……..Awww man, I feel ya, it sucks, but this is an important exercise to give you some impetus toward the turn around.
I know it’s hard when you’re not in a good place, so it can be stuff like:
The sweet relief of getting off work.
You got your period.
Realizing you had fifteen more minutes to sleep.
The cleaners was still open when you got there.
Your boss is on vacation.
There was an extra roll of toilet paper in the cabinet.
They got your lunch order right.
Your car started.
Your coffee was hot and how you like it. (Along with that, the barista actually wrote YOUR NAME not some bastardization of it on the cup.) I’ve been Hammit, Jammit, Jnae? , Jane T. , Jana, the list goes on. Some funny, some not so much.
You get the gist.
Feel the gratitude for the mundane things that DO go right.
Get your bearings.
Give up your quest for the flaws.
Search for the BEST thing.
Anchor how good that feels onto that stone.
The energy of gratitude feeds on itself. It will give you more and more things to be thankful for. It’s really crazy how magical it is.
But some days you’ll need the stone staring at you on the nightstand to remind you, and you’ll have a tinge of gratitude for me ( wink, wink).
Then go to sleep knowing you’ll have a better tomorrow.
Sending love,
Xox
“I want to live my life in such a way that when I get out of bed in the morning, the devil says, “aw shit, he’s (she’s) up!”
― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience
I can feel it. The dry wind and rolling tumble weeds of change signal it’s departure.
Like a ghost town in an old John Wayne western, the town of Smallville is fast becoming deserted.
It wasn’t a bad place, there was simply no room to grow.
One by one, its inhabitants are leaving their old, timid and fearful ways behind and hitching a ride out of town.
They are breaking old habits, daring greatly, and living LARGE.
The part that has floored me is that it’s happening so fast….to so many.
Here are the tales of just three:
One of the residents of Smallville took a consulting job recently at an hourly rate in the three figures. She was approached because of her level of expertise and honesty. It doesn’t interfere with her day job since it was arranged to be done on her free time.
She has previously been approached but never agreed to do this. The townsfolk of Smallville had convinced her she wasn’t an expert, and that she didn’t deserve that kind of money.
But she’s grown so much and is now very aware of her worth.
She’s gonna have to look for new digs, the fit is wayyyyyyy too tight for Smallville.
Another resident also did something she’d never done before.
I’m telling you, THAT is when you can call the moving van to whisk you the hell out of Smallville.
She flew to another city for the weekend for classes that will take her to the next level of certification in her field.
Not bad for an already successful forty something woman.
She’s kicking ass (and tumble weed) and taking names on her way out of town.
“Live your truth. Express your love. Share your enthusiasm. Take action towards your dreams. Walk your talk. Dance and sing to your music. Embrace your blessings. Make today worth remembering.”
― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience
Then there is the story of one of Smallville’s life long inhabitants.
I don’t think she’d mind me saying that.
She’s played it safe, making sure she wasn’t too loud or too bright along the way. She tried not to rock too many boats, because when she had in the past, other people had problems with the choppy seas.
But she’s over sixty now, and as the world is fast finding out, you can’t keep a wise woman (with the winds of maturity and bravery at her back) down.
She is using her beautifully strong voice, fueled by integrity, to rally her community for a noble cause. She is taking a stand, as others around her are too scared to speak up.
This is very unlike her, so it is the first time for such a courageous act.
Last week she was on the front page of the paper in a large metropolitan city. (I know!)
The picture shows her, like an Amazonian Guardian of the Gate, standing firm but feminine in her conviction of the cause.
Not only has she outgrown Smallville, I’m not certain if her huge city can contain her now.
Too-da-looooooo Smallville!
“The Bhagavad Gita—that ancient Indian Yogic text—says that it is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else’s life with perfection. So now I have started living my own life. Imperfect and clumsy as it may look, it is resembling me now, thoroughly.”
― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love
How are you living small? Are you ready to leave Smallville? I know you have ideas. Tell me how.
I’d be so happy to hear about it below!
*Welcome to the tribe Mauritius, you crazy little island nation, you. I had to look you up. Aren’t you a beautiful place?! Thanks for following.
Much love,
Xox
