Perception

Ah, perfectionism – you rat-bastard.

You are the behind the scenes ruin-er of every event.
You are the “I told you so” inside every mistake.
You are the “It could have been better, you should be thinner, I’m a freak, a fake and a fraud” whispered in my ear at the end of every day.

In short, you are the cause of so much grief.

Perfection, like a 22-inch waist, a man who asks for directions, and delicious vegan cheese—is literally impossible. It is a myth and an illusion.

Perfectionism starts in childhood.
The dolls lined up perfectly on the shelf, school papers stacked in neat piles, worn thin by rigorous erasing. I should know.

Perfectionism stifles creativity.
They cannot co-exist; creativity is messy, I don’t care what anyone says. When you’re in the flow, you can just throw perfect punctuation and grammar to the wind.

Have you ever seen a painter’s studio when they are creating? It is a catastrophe! There is shit everywhere – Empty coffee cups, brushes and tubes of paint in heaps, tarps, stacks of ideas, even some paint on the ceiling (?).

Perfectionism would never be caught dead in the swirling vortex of creativity – it might mess up its perfect hair!

When you take perfectionism to the office; well, yeah, good luck with that.
It is the bully in the room, taunting you with thoughts of inferiority, assuring you that you’re not good enough.
Work harder, be better, PROVE YOUR WORTH, it sneers.

Perfectionism sabotages joy.
It’s a punk. It steals its lunch money and gives it a wedgie. Perfectionism hangs out with those two thugs, anxiety and stress.
It is my belief that perfectionism is complicit in every nervous breakdown. Most especially, the ones suffered during the holidays.

I can speak to this with authority.

I am a retired perfectionist.
It started to wane when I got married again. Perfectionism doesn’t compromise, and compromise and relationships arelikethis.

The exact time of death of my perfectionism occurred when we decided to live in our house during a remodel. Any last vestiges that remained hit the road, (along with the tiny bit of modesty I possessed.)
You reside in so much chaos, dirt, and destruction; I can remember wiping 4-5 inches of plaster and drywall dust off random surfaces in order to sit and drink the coffee we made in the bathroom. The refrigerator was in the dining room and we were sleeping in the garage.

It got so bad I actually started to throw trash (gum wrappers, receipts) on the floor, fuck it, what’s the use, it’s a disaster, I’d tell myself. The upside was that I’d never in my life felt so FREE! So I ran with it, and I haven’t looked back!

Living in a construction zone is like aversion therapy for perfectionists.

It’s time to join me and retire from perfectionism. Take off the twenty-ton shield and fly.

Maybe you want to talk about how you kicked perfectionism’s ass, or how you’re still struggling? Either way, I’d love to hear about it in the comments below. Don’t be shy. It doesn’t have to be perfect. 😉

Xox

Some Monday morning wisdom. Self explanatory.
Take it in.
Marinate.
Let it settle –

Big love,
Xox

Happy Sunday!
Before you go to yoga, before you have your coffee, let Jason Silva Streeeeeeeetch your mind first. It’ll feel good, I promise.

You’re welcome.
xox

Dog kisses,
Worn thin and soft t-shirts
Hot tea
Birthday cards
Foot massages

Xox

I LOVE when the Universe sends me a love note that says just the right thing at just the right time, don’t you?

This one was so good I had to share it.

So, be impeccable with your thoughts and words, your dreams and desires, because it’s ALL cueing up behind the scenes.

“Janet, do you know what happens in time and space just before something really incredible happens? Something mind-blowing? Just before a really HUGE dream comes true?

All the best,
The Universe”

Sign up to get your own Notes From The Universe:
tut.com

xox

Damn! I love when someone get’s it right. This is SO right.

Enjoy your Sunday, save those memories.

xox

All the world’s a stage, 
And all the men and women merely players; 
They have their exits and their entrances, 
And one man in his time plays many parts.
~William Shakespeare 

On top of writing this blog, putting together my book, my women’s group and modeling for Victoria’s Secret, I’m also birthing,(with my composer friend Les) a Broadway musical. (Only four of those are true – can you guess which ones?)

It’s been such an interesting process and I’ll tell you why.
We have the whole story in our minds, we just have to get the characters to say, sing and do all right things to make that story come alive.
We’ve spent the last nine months letting the characters tell us who they are (their backstory) so we can write the dialogue and songs that will suit them.
We HAVE to know their motivation before one word is spoken.

A favorite saying of mine is: even the villain has total conviction and thinks he’s doing the right thing.

When you think like that, it brings compassion, and the words that appear on the page never have a false note; they always ring true. (That, and a chocolate chip cookie sacrifice to my Muse every Friday as we brainstorm really helps.)

Imagine if we did that with our lives.
If we questioned our motivation with compassion, making sure to say and do the things that will move us forward in life. 
If we could reverse engineer our paths and never make a false move. 
Impossible right? And we really wouldn’t want to bypass some of those mistakes because they did lead us here, but…

You know when you’re engrossed in a movie and the main character, who you’ve fallen for, big time, does something stupid? 
They cuss out a co-worker and get fired, they choose the dangerous, douchy guy over the boring sweet guy, they sleep with a married man, they spend all their money on shoes, they drink and dial their ex, or they stand in front of the fridge at midnight finishing their kid’s birthday cake?

Don’t you just want to yell at the screen and throw popcorn? “NO! Don’t go there! Stop it! That is SO CLEARLY the wrong move! Ugh, now you’ve done it. How are you going to get out of that?”

Think Liz Gilbert (Julia Roberts) in Eat, Pray, Love, when she meets the young, boy toy actor (James Franco) and starts a fling, right on the heels of her divorce.
“No Liz, Don’t do it! Take some time alone. Don’t go there. He’s not right for you… Shit.”

You just know how that’s gonna end. We can all understand, we’ve been there.
It’s the sex – the blood leaves your brain, and it’s always phenomenal with completely inappropriate people.
It’s one of life’s great mysteries.

I have an exercise that I use in the woman’s group, to try to see the wrong moves before you make them, and I think it’ll help you with your future choices.
It’s a trick to get you to live more consciously.

Imagine your life as a movie. Right now.
In full HD color, on the big screen and YOU, are the star! (played by Kate Winslet or Reese Witherspoon, George Clooney or Hugh Jackman).
You can view, from afar, in your seat in the theater, all the options in front of you and watch as the character (you) makes their choices.
Are you watching YOU take some chances, have adventures, fall in love, laugh and have fun? Or are YOU miserable, on unemployment, being a sad sack, staying in bed, eating cheesecake?

Are you yelling “yes! Great decision!” or “No! Turn around and walk away!”

Remember, You are extremely fond of YOU (hopefully) and you only want the best.

If viewed on the big screen, how are YOU doing?
Are you avoiding the pitfalls and dick-heads, or are you going for the instant gratification? (the great sex with the wrong people)

Pulling back and watching the movie of my life has helped me immeasurably in my decision making. Sometimes I just shake my head, and other times I smile. 

I’m really rooting for me.

One of my friends imagines herself atop an impossibly high mountain and looks down at the overview of her life. She’s done it for years and it helps her so much to gain a better perspective.
I love that.

Think about this the next time you come to a crossroads.
We all know deep down what’s right for us. What would you want the YOU in the movie to do?

I’m rooting for YOU.
Much Love,
Xox

Late the other night at the Carmel writing retreat, after three plus hours in a masterminding session listening to and giving feedback on everyone’s books, my roommate Jeannie and I had become giddy from equal parts exhaustion, exhilaration, and chocolate.

In between fits of laughter, we would tell stories from our lives, peeling back the layers to reveal a bit more about ourselves.
We’d pull something out of our sacred stash of writings that we’d never read aloud to anyone before, offering ourselves up for critique, only to have our trusted roomie leap across the room and throw her arms around us. “You have to read that to the group!” We’d exclaim. Then we’d double over in a giant fit of the giggles. It was like summer camp for adults.
Pinkie swear.

One great story that Jeannie told, had to do with a crooked tooth.
She may be in her forties, and a highly successful entrepreneur, but she has the face of a pixie, a disarmingly charming southern drawl, the eyes of an imp, and a slightly crooked incisor (which I didn’t even notice until she told this story).

This tooth is part of a big beautiful smile, it is not unsightly, it’s certainly not calling attention to itself, and it is NOT a snaggle tooth. I know a snaggle tooth when I see one because my old boxer has a wicked one.

Anyway, Jeanne is living a perfectly lovely life, slightly crooked incisor and all. As a matter of fact – she doesn’t even see it when she looks in the mirror.

So as she tells it, recently her mom asked her, quite seriously, “Honey, are you ever going to straighten that crooked tooth of yours?”
“What?! I have a ….what?!” She ran to a mirror to survey the scene.

Yep, sure enough, there before her was a slightly turned in tooth.

‘Was it THAT bad? Why hadn’t she noticed it?‘ Her mind raced. ‘Is it holding me back? Are people repelled?’
You know how the mind works. Suddenly, because it was her mom calling attention to it, she had the teeth of a troll.

Hardly!

She just had a blind spot. Something she was so used to seeing, that she didn’t even notice it anymore.

God, we laughed about that tooth. “Yeah, I was wondering about that, when ARE you going to get that fixed?” I said, wincing and making gagging sounds. We laughed until our sides ached.

Then I remembered a blind spot story of my own, so I shared.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve had a flesh colored bump on the tip of my nose. I guess it’s technically a mole; but it’s not black, and there’s not a hair growing out of the center, so I’m not a witch—I can hear you, stop thinking that!

Anywho, I’ve had it removed twice, once sliced off and once frozen, and both times it grew back. Seems it felt cozy on that piece of real estate on my face, and it had no intention of vacating. So I left it alone.
To be honest, I never saw it when I looked in the mirror, it was just a part of my face.
Ahhhhhh, and then there’s my shitty vision—a blessing and a curse.

Cut to: A blind date, the 1990’s. I’m dressed to the nines, hair, make up, the whole enchilada. I’m seated across the table from an attractive man, at a VERY expensive, and perfectly pretentious Beverly Hills restaurant. I am picking at the $65 salad while he orders a bottle of something red, and when he finishes, he gets a big warm smile on his face, leans in like he’s going to kiss me (so I put down my fork and stopped chewing) then he reaches up and touches my nose lightly and says “You’re a pretty girl—you should get that fixed.”

He mole shamed me.

Motherf*cker, please. I spent an hour getting ready, I shaved my legs, I’m wearing my best…everything, I’m smart and witty (and humble) and you can’t take your eyes off my mole??

I grabbed my purse, politely excused myself and drove like a bat out of hell all the way home. I literally ran to the bathroom to study my face in the mirror, and there it was, my persistent friend.
(You really did have to get in just the right light to see it…I swear).

The next morning I called the dermatologist and had it removed…this time for good.

The things that I mentioned are minor, but what if we have a blind spot to something that is actually holding us back?
What if that guy was Mr. Right? Yeah, not in a million years. BUT…what if? I really knew deep down that I had the nose wart, I was just in a state of perpetual denial, so, maybe we shouldn’t shoot the messenger.

What else am I in denial about? Thinking I’m an organizing fool when I’m really just a fool?
Am I blind to the fact that I really cannot cook? Or keep to a budget? Or stay interested in a man for more than a year?

I’m convinced we ALL have a blind spot story. What’s yours?

Love you, warts and all,
Xox

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