motivational

Sympathy Can Be Addictive

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“If you’re looking for sympathy you’ll find it between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.” 
― David Sedaris, Barrel Fever

Once upon a time, I hung out with a shaman. 
He was my own personal “pocket shaman.”
He went everywhere with me, and helped me through all the wild things that were happening back then, with his wild eyed magic, his herbs and teas and his amazing energy work.
I was NOT having a good time with my spiritual awakening. I was a sick, whining, complaining, crying, hot mess.

He did love me, so he was somewhat indulgent. But he was so much further along on the spiritual path than I was at that time, that after awhile, he wouldn’t tolerate my behavior.
He would not continue to hear my complaints, no matter how valid. He could not bring himself to listen to my stories of victim hood for one. more. second.
He would just turn and leave the room…….while I was in mid sentence.
With my head in my hands, weeping, I’d beg for his advise about a situation that was causing me intense emotional pain, and his response would be: “We’ve discussed this, you know what I think you should do, I’m not talking about this again with you.”
WTF?! “Don’t you want to help me?”
“I’m not helping you by continuing to talk about it. If you want to stay there, if you want to summon a co-complainer, someone who will join you at your pity party, go call a girlfriend.”

I started to hate him. (I don’t want to say hate….. but I’m being honest here). 
I remember screaming at him to listen to me.
“You’re NOT my friend, you DON’T love me!”
“I DO love you! but you’re right, I’m not your friend, I’m your teacher, I’m here to help you. I will not come join you in your pain. A true friend would not keep you in this misery”
I remember slugging him hard in the arm as he turned and walked away.
Not my proudest moment.

“It is terribly rude to tell people that their troubles are boring.” 
― Lemony Snicket, The Blank Book

My friend Wes is similar. He wouldn’t commiserate with me when both my cats were killed by coyotes within a week of each other, and it almost ended our friendship. He just wouldn’t go there. He listened with compassion, when I cried about it in the beginning; but he wouldn’t indulge my need to keep talking about it, and stay in the “why” of it. He would get quiet, make a joke, or change the subject all together.
God, that was annoying.
He did it again when my business went south. I remember being at dinner with him and feeling so hurt and angry, because he seemed bored with my plight. He listened, but he wouldn’t engage. It was so freaking frustrating; like standing at the net with my racket and my opponent won’t return my serve.
Over and over and over again.
I felt ENRAGED!
The rage inside felt familiar; very similar to what I had felt toward my shaman friend years before. I had to restrain myself from hurling my body across the table and stabbing him in the neck with a fork.
Note to self: I am a pacifist ONLY if you indulge me, by listening to endless hours of my sad, sucky stories.

Staying in wounded victimhood has it’s own special high. With all the words of encouragement and people trying to help, it keeps you from having to stand on your own two feet, move forward, and take some responsibility.
Sympathy can be addictive.

Here’s the thing. They both loved me a ton, and they reacted in the most loving way possible. They wouldn’t stand with me in the energy of my pain for any longer than necessary. It’s a kind of spiritual “tough love.” I get that now.
And they did it at their peril. I felt abandoned and betrayed, and I lashed out accordingly. I strung together tirades of four letter words that would have made a drill sergeant blush, and there were long periods of time where I didn’t see either of them. I wasn’t ready to move on. I wanted to beat the dead horse and then some.
They would not meet me there. They stood in the place of my healing, of my wholeness, not my woundedness……….and they waited for me there.
It took awhile to join them, but eventually, I did.

I want to caution you: Please, Don’t try this at home. It may not go well. People want a shoulder to cry on, and if you take that away; they may punch you.
Be advised, there will be hurt feelings. But it IS the more loving act.
Maybe someone is loving you this way right now.
Food for thought.
Carry on.

Any thoughts? I’d love to hear ’em.

Xox

Things Are Not Always As They Appear

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When I was a kid, I walked a mile straight up our street, to my little Catholic Grammar school, St John The Baptist De La Salle. When I wasn’t struggling with my overstuffed, fifty pound ( my mom weighed it) book bag, the one that was covered in the same blue plaid as my skirt (groovy, I know, don’t be jealous) I was looking at all the houses that lined my path.

It was one of the residential neighborhoods deep in the recently developed, middle class, suburban sprawl of the northern San Fernando Valley in the early 1960’s. Where once there were only orange and lemon groves, now stood, one to ten year old tract homes. I remind you it was the sixties, very cookie cutter; they lacked imagination and color. Some were ranch style with big lawns in the front, the garages in an alley around the back. Others had driveways with some generic plants in the front. They alternated, with the floor plan switching up every so often. Every few blocks the pattern would repeat itself.
It was new families, new sidewalks, sprinklers and the hum of “central air conditioning.” 

As an eight or nine year old I was already full of opinions. I knew which of the houses on my walk, I liked the best. Being the anal, Type A, control freak that I was, I preferred the ones that were well maintained, and I actually felt sorry for the ones that weren’t.
If the lawns were perfectly manicured, mowed and edged, the bushes clipped and the roses in bloom, I figured all must be well on the inside too. If the paint was peeling, the lawn needed weeding, and the place was a wreak, well, I thought maybe life wasn’t being so kind to those occupants. I noticed the screens that were brown with nicotine at the corner house, where the man smoked like a chimney, and I actually got frustrated when people chose bad window treatments, like beads, which were all the rage, or kept foil or sheets pulled up over their windows.
Couldn’t they see how that screwed up their curb appeal? Didn’t they care?

That was when I learned two very important life lessons: Things are not always as they appear, AND, some people pay more attention to what’s going on on the outside, than on the inside.

There were two houses that I can still remember loving. One was a light yellow, with white and yellow roses in the front. I approved of their window treatments and I even thought the decorative screen door was charming. It also allowed me to catch snippets of music, TV or conversation as I walked by. A nosey eight year old’s dream. I still love to catch a candid glimpse of how other people live. Although…..
One morning as I walked by, I heard an augment. It sounded bad. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but a man and woman were definitely yelling at each other. It stared happening on a regular basis, and went on for years. It was like, “okay, it’s 8:15, and in this corner, wearing the pink housecoat and slippers and weighing in at one hundred and forty pounds, the middle class champion…..” 
I began to pick up my pace, speed walking, just to get past without getting any of that vitriol on me.

Interesting observation number one: Life on the inside seemed to be a hot mess, while outside from the street, there didn’t appear to be a leaf out of place.

The second house was white with blue trim. It had the driveway in front, with two cars parked side by side. I watched the slow steady climb to prosperity that the house revealed on the exterior. It had a very fancy dichondra lawn, which required ridiculous maintenance. My mom tried one once. She was out there every afternoon with cuticle scissors and tweezers. I’m not kidding. It makes maintaining a bonsai tree look like a walk in the park. Anyway……beautiful house, stunning, professionally landscaped yard, a gardener and two cars that got nicer and more expensive every couple of years. I never heard any yelling. I really never heard or saw any people or signs of life. It was the perfect picture of suburban utopia, and I LOVED it.
One day, miss nosey pants here, noticed there had only been one Cadillac in the driveway for a couple of weeks. After that, the lawn started to get overrun with dandelions, and the flowers that seemed to magically appear in full bloom every couple of weeks were dried up and dead. Signs of human occupation appeared now on the crispy brown front lawn. A bicycle haphazardly discarded, like the rider had just flown off in a full sideways skid and disappeared. Trash and old papers collected on the porch. One afternoon I noticed a reddish curtain hanging, like a velvet tongue, out through a newly broken front window.
Not long after, a For Sale sign appeared. Divorce had beaten the shit out of my favorite house and apparently the family inside. That was shocking to me. Everything looked like it was going so well for them. I never saw any signs, there were no arguments for public consumption.

Interesting observation number two: Sometimes the exterior circumstances can reflect SO perfectly what’s happening on the inside. Mimic the slow decline. It can be unexpected, no yelling, no shot across the bow, and it’s heartbreaking.

Which one am I? Do I put up a good front when the walls are crumbling down?
I used to. It was exhausting. When I divorced my first husband, people were SHOCKED. No one saw it coming. Not even him.
But I’ve changed. I’ve become pretty transparent.
Ms. Cellophane.
I’d like to say I hide things. Save face. Maybe for a day or two, but I’m more like the second house. When my shit hits the fan, I don’t think anyone around me, who sees me, is surprised. If I were a house, MY big red velvet tongue would be hanging out a broken front window.

Which one are you? Have you encountered both? Were you surprised?
Tell me, I’d love to hear about it.

Xox

Allowing Joy To Enter

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Pain can only feed on pain. Pain cannot feed on joy. It finds it quite indigestible.
~Eckhart Tolle~

You will touch joy and suddenly realize that you have never felt joy because it requires abandon. It grows from gratitude and cannot exist where there is mad cynicism or distrust.
You will touch this joy and you will suddenly know it is what you were looking for your whole life, but you were afraid to even acknowledge the absence because the hunger for it was so encompassing. 

—Eve Ensler, In the Body of the World

Loose your fear and touch joy today…..Happy Sunday!
Xox

Outing Myself

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Sometimes, no, often, nope, daily, I get overwhelmed inside my wonderful life.
It’s wonderful on paper, and I juggle as fast as I can to keep up the charade.
It’s nothing that is overtly obvious, but I know that this house of cards could come crashing down at any minute. That, or my head will explode. I’m not certain which will come first, so I think I’ll just out myself, with the knowledge that I’m probably not alone.

Are you waiting for some epic admission? Too bad.
It’s nothing major, just SO MANY little things that add up. Like dripping water on my forehead.

I have many addictions. Thankfully, they will NOT be the death of me……unless I slip and fall on melted chocolate.
But some of them frustrate the hell out of me.

I have a coffee table book addiction. I have since before I owned a coffee table.
Between those and all the novels and best sellers, it looks like a freaking library in here. Here’s the thing. If I divide how many hours I’ve been alive by the hours it would take to read all these books….it’s never gonna happen. Most are partially read. I can see scraps of paper sticking out that I grabbed and used as a bookmark, half or three quarters of the way through.
I will need to reincarnate to get caught up.

I also confess to a magazine addiction and I have the good fortune to have numerous subscriptions. I’ve even culled the lot, trying to be realistic about what feels relevant enough to take the time to read. No more Allure or People for me. Alas, the stack still grows larger and more daunting by the day. It’s like they posses the ability to reproduce. One Elle Decor turns into three, and when I look again; there are five. Same with my O magazines. I have every unread issue back to January, which I briefly scanned and became aware of the fact that I hadn’t lost that “pesky ten pounds of holiday weight,” because I hadn’t yet read the article.

Why do I even continue to get the decorating or “shelter” magazines? My lifestyle store closed, and my house is decorated within an inch of its life. It is not realistic for me to lust after a house in Marrakech or to muse over a $4000 toilet. My favorite shelter mags were Domino and Better Homes And Gardens, and they went out of business. So now I’m left with House Beautiful and Elle Decor. House Beautiful still has too much chintz for my taste, and Elle Decor can be annoying. Like a super model telling me she can eat whatever she wants and never work out or diet. They make fabulous look too easy.

To further prove my inadequacy, there is a stack of unread books on my night stand.
It includes Fifty Shades of Grey. Sadly, I can’t even find time for the lady porn.
All I’m going to say is: I start out with the best of intentions. I want to stay current, and sound smart at parties. I can’t remember the last time I read the book BEFORE I saw the movie. Sometimes I lie.
There must be 25-30 partially read books on my iPad. If I start reading one of those before bed, the others, on the nightstand, stage a mutiny. There must be some kind of seniority or Union I’m not aware of. 

When I really want to rub salt in my wounds, I glance over at the pile of unopened mail. Nothing important, really; no checks or anything. I have a way of sniffing those out.
Nope, the pile consists mostly of health insurance notifications. If Anthem doesn’t have a check in its hot little hands on the first of every month, they send me a notification that I’ve entered a 30 day grace period. It’s my little game.
I have an automatic payment set to pay them on the third.
Fuck em. I like living in a state of perpetual grace.

The rest of the pile is just stuff that needs to get filed…….when I’m good and ready.

I realize these are “white people problems”. I’m too busy writing to read.
Oh, Boo Hoo.
It makes me laugh when I get plugged up about this stuff because I realize how fortunate I am to not have to worry about clean water or my immediate survival. That is, until the nightstand books, that unsavory bunch, figure out how to kill me while I sleep.

What are the things that pile up around you and drive you crazy? Do YOU have stacks of unread books ,magazines and mail? Any suggestions to quell my addiction? I’d LOVE some suggestions!

Xox

OWN IT

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You want to make ten million bucks? Have at it.
You want to be the next Mother Theresa? Cool.
You want to live at the top of Kilimanjaro in seclusion? That’s fine too.

We get down on ourselves for the life we want. WTH?!
It’s okay to want what you want.

Some of us feel bad for not wanting the white picket fence and 2.5 children.
Those that have it, feel bad because they should want a big job and a sexier life.
We’re all afraid that what we want is too much…….or not enough.

The people that want the house on the beach in Tulum never say it out loud, for fear of getting laughed at. “Oh sure, don’t we all!” no, not everyone. But there are some that DO have the Tulum house and the first step was being ok with wanting it.

At 27 years old, Richard Branson took his girlfriend on a weekend excursion.
He wanted to impress her. He was pretending to buy an island.
It was a perfectly remote, completely deserted tropical paradise. As part of the charade, he made a ridiculously low offer, and that was that.
Well……I’m sure he got lucky that night.
A year later the real estate agent called him with this unexpected news: “All the other offers on the island have fallen through, if you can up your offer to $125,000- you can have it.” Of course he bought it. He wanted it. He eventually developed it into his private paradise, Necker Island.
He even married her there.
That man has no shame, and I love him for it.
He knows: It’s okay to want what you want.

My husband’s mother was in her fifties when she sold everything. All her worldly possessions. Every carefully curated collection, tchotchke and piece of furniture. She condensed her life into two suitcases and moved to Europe, where she traveled extensively, living with friends in Spain, Germany and Austria. She lived very simply and very happily.
I never met her, but from all accounts she was extraordinary. She lived life on HER terms.
I think because she came to the point in her life where she believed: it’s okay to want what you want.

We can get so preoccupied with second guessing ourselves. We judge what we want our life to be as silly, or extravagant.
Too simple, or overindulgent.
Instead, we live on the default setting, where we watch our list of unacknowledged wants circle the drain.

You want to quit your job and travel?
You want to quit corporate and run a non-profit?
You want to work hard and play hard?
You want lots of kids and a big family?
You want to be a full time mother?
You want to live in a flat in London for a year?
You want to speak Italian…fluently?
You want to take a luva?

It’s okay to want what you want. OWN IT.

Do you go for what you want, or judge it? Tell me in the comments, I’d love to hear about it!

Xox

10 Things That Piss Stress Off

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“We have perfected the attitude of worry. If we don’t have something to worry about, that worries us.”

—Michele Longo O’Donnell

Stress is a thug and a thief. It’s a thug because it has such little regard for our well-being, and a thief because it absconds with BIG chunks our time. It adds up. Stress, that jerk, has looted months, if not years, of accumulated hours from my life. So, I have no problem giving stress the finger, whenever I can. I take great glee in pissing it off.
Here are the Top Ten things that piss stress off. Practice them wisely—and often.

1) Rest. Stress HATES when we’re well rested. We make better decisions, we’re on our game and less likely to muck things up. Naps, long weekends and vacations are its Kryptonite.

2) A Sense of Humor/Laughing. Have you ever tried to laugh while completely stressed out? A real, deep belly laugh? It’s almost impossible. It’s akin to keeping your eyes open when you sneeze. The two CANNOT coexist.

3) Asking for help. Stress can’t stand it when we realize our limitations, delegate and ask for help. It needs a frazzled, overextended, perfectionist, control freak as a host. Calling in the Cavalry BEFORE you’ve reached your wit’s end sends stress the silent Jedi signal: This is not the droid you’re looking for.

4) Believing you have enough. If you believe you have enough time, money, resources, help and happiness, you will be invisible to stress. It will pass your house and go torment your neighbors.

5) Exercise. Yes, it is possible to outrun stress. You can outrun it on the treadmill, or with the dogs at the park. Once that heart rate goes up and those endorphins kick in, stress will NOT be able to keep up. Stress carb loads, always goes for seconds, eats peanut butter out of the jar with a serving spoon, and parks illegally in the handicapped space, so it never has to walk far. Stress hates a fit body and a clear head.

6) Organization. When you’re well organized, meaning, you know where everything is, and can easily find it, stress has a shit fit. How can it fuck with you and mess with your head, if you can immediately come up with your passport, keys, glasses, insurance papers, rent check, stamps, cat nail clipper and both of the same black sandals?

7) Behaving like a grown up. Stress despises adult behavior. Stress is counting on us to NEVER grow up. It adores a good temper tantrum and will do everything in its power to keep us from getting our ducks in a row. As a matter of fact, it is heavily invested in the prospect of us not saving for retirement, avoiding responsibility, making uninformed decisions and never planning for the future.

8) Self-care. THIS pisses off stress almost more than anything. Getting a massage, doing yoga and meditating. Those are three of its mortal enemies. It throws its hands up, shakes its head and walks away in defeat. It can’t take hold of a peaceful mind.

9) Not caring what other people think. Once you drop that bad habit, stress will have to go find another victim. Don’t feel bad for a second. There are millions.

10) Awareness. Stress has a full-on hissy-fit when you call it out. It can’t stand that you know its name or what it looks like. It would rather stay anonymous, in one of its many disguises. As a headache, an ulcer, colitis, hives, over eating, over spending, depression, and anxiety.

I told you, it’s a thug.
It knows, that once you know why it’s there, it’s days are numbered.

Can you think of more ways to piss off stress? Tell me what you do, I’d LOVE to hear some comments!

Carry on,
Xox

Stuck In A Toxic Job?

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Think of your work life, not as separate from your spiritual life but as central to your spiritual life. Whatever your business, it is your ministry
~Marianne Williamson~ 

Can I get an Amen?
I don’t believe that the people around us, are there accidentally. Especially those we see every day at work.
This is not a random Universe. It is a Universe of order. Nothing is extemporaneous. Everything is on purpose. We are all brought together with the intention of the enlightenment of all concerned. Sounds heady right? Not so much.
It happens by showing those around you respect. By making them feel seen and heard and fostering their creativity.
So, that being said, what the fuck is with my boss? What karmic debt am I repaying at this job? I must have been a REAL ASSHAT in a past life.

I had lunch with my besties last week. We discussed and tried to solve allllll the problems of the world. We may know what happened to the Malaysian airliner, at least we have some pretty intriguing theories.
A lot of salad, some fries, a couple of eggs and lots of work talk.
A couple of us work for small businesses, mom and pops. Some of us are currently unemployed.
One of us has a corporate job for which she is EXTREMELY grateful. Let me just get that in there. She LOVES her job and the benifits, but the dynamics are not sitting well with her. Some recent life circumstances have caused my beautiful friend to grow and change, so the BS in her company seems just that much more manipulative and petty.
She yearns to enjoy her life. They would rather she not.

Even the swankiest workplace at the best address can have a gulag mentality. You get minimal breaks with lunch standing at your desk, if you eat anything at all. There is jockeying and score keeping for time off, unreasonable sales expectations, and a fostering of unhealthy competition, suspicion and greed where commissions are concerned.
I believe the heading on the moral compass is set at the top; so when these corporations become so large that human influence gives way to the bottom line…..they are lost. Thing is; they need human beings, not every sale is closed online
And therein lies the rub.

This year the topic of questioning. “The American Work Ethic” seems to have reached a tipping point. I’ve recently read Sheryl Sandberg’s “Lean In” and “Thrive” by Ariana Huffington. After I finished reading this article in The Washington Post:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/she-the-people/wp/2014/02/21/5-things-you-get-from-working-too-hard/?tid=pm_pop%20)
I Wanted to cheer and vomit, just not at the same time.

We all agree that everything is energy, right? What kind of energy do you suppose is at a company where the employees are overworked, underpaid and grossly unappreciated? Does that corporation really believe those people will represent them and their brand at the highest level? Will they brainstorm the best ideas for their company’s continued growth? Or, are they worried about getting that weekend off for a wedding, the sick kid at home or the constant insinuations about being easily replaced?
I think as an employer it is perfectly acceptable to expect the highest standards, and as an employee, to feel respected and appreciated.
When we are able to live our lives full of enthusiasm and creativity, we will bring our A game to the office. Doesn’t that make more sense?

There are four rules of miraculous work creation: Be positive. Send love. Have fun. Kick ass. Amen.
~Marianne Williamson~

Do you try to function at your highest level in an unconscious workplace? Are you willing to challenge the status quo, even if just by example? Let’s talk about this! I’d love to know.

Xox

Take The Universal Reboot

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“Believing in yourself is an endless destination. Believing you have failed is the end of the journey.”
– Anon

The Universe is a self correcting force. It is always aimed toward the highest good. The only things that can make it deviate from this trajectory are fear, anger and guilt.
The freaking Trifecta of Punishment, the Grand Slam of Self Sabotage, The Catholic/ Jewish/ Italian/ Triple Crown.

I hate to break it to ya,
The Universe doesn’t judge, it doesn’t hold a grudge or believe in mistakes or failures. We can count on ourselves for that.
Every time we fall on our faces, the Universe is waiting patiently for us to get up, brush ourselves off, and stop complaining. It knows there is always the opportunity to self correct. There is always tomorrow.
Believe this, and it is the key to your freedom. Don’t; and it will feel like hell.

Note to self: The Ego gives shitty advise.
While the Ego talks you into doing that thing that “seems like a good idea at the time” or “what everyone else is doing”, the Universe takes a comfortable seat and waits for the finale. This is not its first rodeo.
It knows it may take a while, so it brings Sudoku and it’s knitting.
When things inevitably fall apart, because they are built on the quicksand that the Ego provides, the Universe NEVER says “I told you so.”
The Ego ALWAYS does. AFTER it tells you you are a pathetic, no good, loser.
That’s when the anger and self hatred kick in.
Those are the Ego’s henchmen. The Universe doesn’t take their calls.

Since the Universe is self correcting, it will plot another course for your success.
Just like your GPS does when you don’t listen and take the “short cuts.”
While you’re waiting, it’s easy to lose your faith. You’ve mucked it up and things could not look worse. If you stay centered in the present and field every hunch and idea for the future, no matter how crazy or far fetched they may seem, the Universe will deliver the goods. If you fall prey to the Trifecta, she’ll wait……and correct again.

Marianne Williamson likens faith to a pilot making an approach to the airport in heavy fog. He has to trust his instruments to “see” for him and land the plane.
I love that analogy.
You can’t see radio waves, yet you know they exist. The same with gravity.
Even if you can’t see your way to success, or love NOW, there is a bigger picture in which it exists.
Have faith. The Universe will appear like a freakin’ Ninja Navy Seal. It was there all along, crouched in the shadows, just waiting for the right time, you just weren’t aware of it. It’s that stealth. 
And it’s coming in to kick some Ego ass.

Have you fallen prey to the Trifecta? Do you have a Universal Reboot story? I’d love to hear it! Let me know in the comments below.

Xox

Are You Paying Attention?

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Winks From The Universe
Don’t you love it when the Universe takes time out of her busy schedule to wink at you? I do.

The medium she uses the most with me, is license plates.

I live in LA, basically on the 101 freeway, so that makes sense. She uses billboards or the side of taxi cabs in NY, a song in Nashville and digital clocks and our phones anywhere.

“Psssssssst. Come over here; no, here. Look. Listen.”

If you pay attention she’ll answer a question or just show you she cares.
With a freaking license plate. The personalized ones can be scary good.

I was driving to the Y Saturday morning, with a bunch of ideas playing hide and seek in my brain, I looked up and Voila! To a writer, that is the Holy Grail of coincidences.
Think about this: The amount of coordination, synchronicity and just plain WTF involved in sending us the perfect messenger, and then making us look up and pay attention.

Blows me away…….every time.
I see groups of three numbers all the time. 444 is my favorite. It’s my lucky combination. The Universe also gets my attention with 143. 143 is a very sophisticated numerical code my family uses for I LOVE YOU. Can you figure it out? You’re all geniuses. 😉

When my sister’s son got too old to answer her “I love you” at the school drop off, and still maintain his cool points with his friends, he WOULD turn around and flash 143 with his fingers. That much he could give her.

My husband is obsessed with Universal winks.
He texts me all the time how many triple numbers he’s seen.
He expects to see every one, like a straight in poker. That’s a perfect day for him. A Universal sign that he’s on the right track.

He also loves 11:11, sees it ALL the time, LIKE I KNOW A LOT OF YOU DO. Eleven and 22 are his lucky numbers.

If you’ve always wondered what these number combinations mean, here are the meanings according to Doreen Virtue, who is kind of the “Angel Number” guru. She’s written MANY books on the subject. See if they apply or resonate to what your seeing and what’s going on in your life now.

Be on the lookout for your next wink, don’t make the Universe go to all this trouble for nothing.

111 – Monitor your thoughts carefully, and be sure to only think about what you want, not what you don’t want. The sequence is a sign that there is a gate of opportunity opening up, and your thoughts are manifesting into form at record speeds. The 111 is like the bright light of a flash bulb. It means that the universe has just taken a snapshot of your thoughts and is manifesting them into form. Are you pleased with what thoughts the universe has captured? If not, correct your thoughts…ask your angels to help you with this if you have difficulty controlling or monitoring your thoughts.

123 — Simplify your life. Get rid of anything that’s pulling at your energy, time, or finances—especially anything that pulls you away from your life purpose. The ascended masters are helping you with this simplification.

222 — Have faith. Everything’s going to be all right. Don’t worry about anything, as this situation is resolving itself beautifully for everyone involved. 

333 — The Ascended Masters are near you, desiring you to know that you have their help, love and companionship. Call upon the Ascended Masters often, especially when you see the number 3 patterns around you. Some of the more famous Ascended Masters include: Jesus, Moses, Mary, Quan Yin and Yogananda.

444 — Thousands of angels surround you at this moment, loving and supporting you. You have a very strong and clear connection with the angelic realm, and are an Earth angel yourself. You have nothing to fear—all is well.

555 — Buckle your seatbelts. A major life change is upon you. This change should not be viewed as being “positive” or “negative” since all change is but a natural part of life’s flow. Perhaps this change is an answer to your prayers, so continuing seeing and feeling yourself to be at peace.

666 — Your thoughts are out of balance right now, focused too much on the material world. This number sequence asks you to balance your thoughts between Heaven and Earth. Like the famous, “Sermon on the Mount” the angels ask you to focus on spirit and service, and know your material and emotional needs will be met as a result.

777 — The angels applaud you… “congratulations, you’re on a roll! Keep up the good work and know your wish is coming true.” This is an extremely positive sign and you should also expect more miracles to occur.

888 — A phase of your life is about to end, and this is a sign to give you forewarning to prepare. This number sequence may mean you are winding up an emotional career or relationship phase. It also means there is light at the end of the tunnel. In addition it means, The crops are ripe. Don’t wait to pick and enjoy them. In other words, don’t procrastinate in making your move or enjoying the fruits of your labor.

875 — The changes you’re making have put you on the right path for manifesting abundance in all ways.

999 — Get to work! The world needs your Divine life purpose right now. Fully embark upon your sacred mission without delay or hesitation.

000 — A reminder you are one with God, and to feel the presence of your Creator’s love within you. Also it is a sign that a situation has gone full circle. 

Do you see triple numbers everywhere? What numbers do you see the most? Tell me a cool song or license plate story. I’d love to hear about it!

Xox

For The Love Of Mom

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Damn, my mom looks good. She looks like Jane Fonda from her “Klute” days, in this picture.
Makes sense, it was taken in the early seventies. She was about 35 years old.

My mom was just getting aquatinted with herself right around that time.
Divorcing my dad, getting out from under her Jackie Kennedy bouffant, becoming politically active, getting back into the workforce and finding her independence. Her musical tastes changed from Andy Williams to Bruce Springsteen.
She became a free spirit, a hippie of sorts.

I have a very different experience of my mom than my brother and sister.
I was the oldest. To me, growing up, my mom was a hard ass.
The disciplinarian. The enforcer. Strict but fair.

She made sure my Catholic School uniform skirt touched the floor when I kneeled.

She took me to see live theatre, which in turn got me hooked on live theatre.

She insisted I walk the one mile to and from my Catholic school every day, rain or shine. It was no big deal back then. ( I was the only one in the family that went to Catholic School all the way through grades 2-12)

She enrolled me in Girl Scouts so I could learn teamwork, sales and acquire some camping and outdoor skills.
(It barely worked)

She enforced a strict 7pm bedtime, even in the summer, when it was still light 
outside.

She indulged my fear of the dark. She checked under the bed for monsters, never shut the door to my room after saying goodnight, and made sure there was a nightlight on in the bathroom.

She “locked” us outside in the summer with a kiddie pool bought with green stamps. (She made a game out of wetting the sheets with a sponge and putting them in the books) and prompted us to run through the sprinklers.
At noon she provided a lunch of bologna sandwiches and pitchers of Kool Aid.
At three, homemade Popsicles made from freezing grape juice in Tupperware Popsicle forms. All the neighborhood kids hung out at our house.

She sat with me, and nursed me back to health when I had Scarlett Fever at seven years old. She would walk up to my school every day and get my first grade schoolwork. I missed almost the entire year.

She washed my mouth out MANY times with soap for being sassy.

She made every holiday a big hoopla. Parades with red,white and blue streamers on our bikes, watermelon eating contests (with no front teeth) and backyard fireworks for the fourth. Egg hunts and clues that lead us to HUGE elaborate baskets for Easter. Imaginatively wrapped presents (my name in red licorice whips, my sister’s in Hershey’s kisses) under a giant tree whose every branch was lit, ornamented and perfectly tinseled. Elves on shelves and Gumdrop villages. Cookies and milk for Santa, who left a ridiculously nasty mess of ashes and wood on Christmas morning.

She never gave us soda, so I got to sidestep that addiction.

An addiction she did introduce me to was the Rose Bowl Flea Market and my wallet has been the thinner for it.

She made sure my dad bought me a swing set after I escaped to a neighbor to swing on theirs.

She gave me an appreciation of history and current events.
She sat me down in front of our black and white TV for the 1968 Democratic Convention and corresponding riots, the Watts riots, the March on Washington,the astronauts stepping foot on the moon for the first time, the coverage of Apollo 13 and the funerals of President Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr. And Bobby Kennedy (for whom she campaigned).
Classic mom phrase: Pay attention, this is history!

She always had the Dodger game on in the background……always. Still does.
Vin Scully’s voice is like a natural sedative to me.

She gave me books and talked with me about sex. (funny story alert)

She made sure I did my homework, polished my shoes, loaded the dishwasher and made my lunch in my Partridge Family lunch box (sigh) every night before I went to bed.
Often she would write me a love note on my napkin and sneak it inside before I left in the morning. I felt love and embarrassment at the same time, so I threw them away. But I did thank her now and then.
(I wish I’d kept them all)

She taught me how to: 
walk, talk, go potty in the potty, tie my shoes, ride a bike, tell time, read a book (I knew how to read before I entered kindergarten), change a diaper, burp a baby (my sister), set a table, say please and thank you, whisper, write a thank you note, braid hair, swim, roller skate, brush my teeth, paint my toenails, make chocolate chip cookies, wrap a present, embroider, climb a wall AND a tree, pick myself up and brush myself off, collect lady bugs, collect leaves for our silk worms, finish a puzzle, love cats, love food, love music, sing, clean a house, be on time, love the holidays (especially Christmas), weed a garden, trim a rosebush, body surf and love the beach. To name a few.

She thought I could DO anything and BE anything. She still does.
Thanks mom, I wouldn’t be who I am without you.
I love you.
Happy Mother’s Day!

Xox

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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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