redemption

Last week I was approached by an editor at The Huffington Post asking me to write a piece for them. An essay on divorce.

Wait I sec, this must be a mistake, I thought to myself as I scanned the email on my phone.
I had already done that—I had written that piece for them about being a divorced twenty-six year old Unicorn.
Surely this was some glitch in the system.
Unicorns—Divorce—What more could possibly be said?

Then my eyes landed on this sentence:
“I know you submitted on the subject recently—but we’d love to include something else from you specifically for this series.”

Really?
I felt honored and puzzled all in the same moment.

The deeper meaning behind this sequence of events was not lost on me. Why was I revisiting a divorce that happened over thirty years ago NOW?
I had faced the facts, I had cried the tears, made the gut-wrenching decision to leave and moved on.
Or had I?
According to the Universe—apparently not.

They needed the essay in five days.
Okay…that’s doable, I thought, I’ll just use the over 500 words that I cut from the Unicorn piece to fashion something fresh.

But the voice in my head, the sassy, bossy one, she had other plans: Write a love letter to your divorce. she barked, suggested.

You see, after a shit sandwich (Thanks Liz), has had the time and distance to fully digest, I’ve taken to writing love letters to my adversities and I had just published one in the HuffPo: My Love Letter to Failure, about the loss of my business.

But it had never occurred to me to write one to my divorce.
Why you ask? Because I’m tellin’ ya, I thought that was water under the bridge, a horse that had been beaten to death—in other words: ancient history. Then it occurred to me why I hadn’t, my divorce had taken great care NOT to become an adversity.

So as I sat down to start the piece, the words just poured out. Heartfelt sentiment infused with gratitude as I realized gift after gift it had given me.

Still, she was right, that bossy bitch that resides inside my head, it was the perfect time to craft a love letter to my divorce!

It was as if it had been fully written somewhere in forgiveness-land and was just waiting for the exact right time to be pulled down to earth. It took me less than an hour to write, (which is by no means a testament to my writing prowess), it just shows how ready this baby was to be born.

My wish is that it will be able to sooth a young soul, and assure them that although it may feel as if your life is ending—it is truly just beginning.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/janet-bertolus/a-love-letter-to-my-divorce_b_8223504.html

A Love Letter To My Divorce

Dearest, darling Divorce,

Man O man, you saved my life!

I had no business getting married at twenty.
That’s a decision that is layered with complexities and as science has shown, I had four or five more years of brain development ahead of me to get that one right.

Besides, I agree with you, no one should be able to sign a marriage license before they can legally buy beer.

I stayed for six years but I could feel you, there on the sidelines right around year three, and here’s the irony: I was terrified of you. I had you pegged as my adversary when in actuality you were to become my greatest ally.

What did I know? I was wearing Daisy Dukes and living on Doritos and Dr. Pepper.

You were right Divorce, (and you of all people know how hard it is for me to utter those words), when you kept reminding me that you were NOT Failure.

That was a tough lesson for me to learn, what with all the snarky remarks from the peanut gallery and the years of confused men and a seriously empty bed.

Still, I love you deeply, I do!

They say you know it is love when you become your best self inside of the relationship. That was the clincher for me. I was never better than those eighteen years we spent together. I guess you could say we grew up together you and I—and you taught me so much.

You taught me the courage to make the tough, unpopular decisions. To never settle, to run from mediocrity and forge my own path, and to be my own person outside of a couple.

You taught me to be discerning. To call bullshit, and not to fall for the fast lines and the cheap wine.

You taught me to slow down already! Life is not a race to the finish line.

“Savor it. Take your time”, you said—and I did.

You taught me that although I was still young, once might be enough. That I may never get another walk down the aisle—and that would be okay. If I got panicky you reminded me that I had been there and done that.

You taught me to hold my head high. That even though I had already been married—no one had to know unless I told them. There was no banner across my chest, no giant D written in red lipstick on my forehead.

You taught me that I could use the accumulated relationship experience those six years had provided to do good in the world. I had insights that could help other girls.

You showed me that adversity builds character and I was a girl who was in serious need of some character building.

You taught me tolerance. The fact that even when people start out with the best of intentions—promises gets broken.

You taught me compassion. Leaving someone is hard enough. You don’t have to emotionally eviscerate them and kill every ounce of love on your way out.

And you were right again when you cautioned me not to stay too long in the marriage or this was bound to happen.

You taught me to listen to my gut. That it is the real brains behind the operation. Not my head and most certainly nothing that resides below my waist.

You cautioned me against closing up my heart. That I needed to keep it open and supple—resilient and willing to try again. A dried up raisin of a heart has a hard time holding love.

As luck would have it I did find love again. But I never would have been able to recognize it or love him without your years of priceless observations.

Now go; visit yourself upon another young girl who is in over her head and is just looking for that chance to grow up.

And whisper that stuff about Failure to her. I loved when you did that for me.

Big Hug,

Xox Janet

*One necessary component. Sugar. It fuels my musical creativity. Don’t judge me!

Transgression has two Masters,
called cowardice and greed,
there is no backbone to a man,
Who’s soul has not been freed.

These are lyrics to a song from the musical I’m collaborating on. (Since they’re a bit of a tongue-twister they may not make the cut).

Anyhow, they are sung with a combination of great angst and gut-wrenching passion by the antagonist, the villain if you will, during a moment of long overdue self reflection—just before he either cuts and runs—or redeems himself. (You’ll have to see the play to find out what happens).

At this point in the plot he has repeatedly fucked up. Big time.

His intentions in the beginning were pure, make no mistake about that. But he has talked himself into believing that his transgressions were okay and that nobody was getting hurt.
Wait. Make that cowardice and greed.
Those two rapscallions are the ones that hold his attention now. They are the ones doing all the talking and through coercion and lies they have convinced him to do their bidding.

They have turned an otherwise good guy into a villain.

All that got me to thinking.

During the year and a half of character development, this guy has morphed from Voldemort (pure evil) to a heroic guy who’s lost his way (most of us).

He has strayed off his path, his moral compass spinning wildly, but he’s chosen not to look at it. And although he lost his backbone,(it is lying in a ditch somewhere, along with his integrity), a large part of him thinks he’s doing the right thing.
AND
Buried so deep it will take an archeological team years to uncover it—There is still love in his heart. Really.

It was important for us to have him reveal his struggle, otherwise no one would care about him, the audience would turn on him and by the second act he’d have to get extensive plastic surgery—or die.

You know what? The audience is just a microcosm of humanity.

We have to show that no person is made up of pure evil or pure good.

Writing this character is convincing me that we’re all just a delicious gumbo of both.

Listen, who hasn’t succumbed to the dark side once or three hundred times?
I know I’ve played the villain in some shitshow along the way; and at the time I either didn’t care or I wasn’t aware.
Both of those suck and I’m not proud.

It’s amazing to me how we come to realizations in our lives.
I’ve had more epiphanies writing this blog and developing this musical than any ethic’s class, spiritual lecture or monastery retreat.
And even inside my own resistance I can hear the words of my villain, the one I created on the page,
Reminding me:

The villains in our lives are not ALL bad.

They believe what they’re doing; their cause; is right.

And contrary to popular belief there is not an empty space inside their chest.
A heart beats there. And it loves.

A dose of understanding and compassion. I got all that from a fucking musical! 

The Universe has such sense of humor when it’s figuring out its wisdom delivery systems.
You won’t believe where it will come from.
Don’t you love that?

Carry on,
xox

I realize this post could be polarizing. It could upset people.
What upsets me is the fact that because of your age, many of you may not even know who Monica Lewinsky is!

“Public shaming as a blood sport has to stop.”

“Show of hands – who has regrets from their days as a twenty-two-year-old?”

“At the age of twenty-two I fell in love with my boss…”

These are just a few quotes from Monica Lewinsky’s recent TED talk.

I had read the Vanity Fair article, but I was curious;
what did she have to say for herself now as a woman in her forties?

I found her talk articulate, fascinating, and thought-provoking.

Like many at the time, I’m ashamed to say I had judged her as a doe-eyed, beret-wearing bimbo, who during a lapse of better judgment, trusted a “friend”, and neglected to get that freakin’ blue dress to the cleaners…then lived to regret it.

I drank the kool-aid of popular opinion.

As I watched her speak I have to say, I was awash in contradictory emotions. I found myself feeling sorry for her, yet what surprised me were my overriding feelings of empathy and pride. I was damn proud of her. Yes, that’s right, I said it.

She’s had the audacity to pick her head up and speak out.

How long do we punish ourselves for our mistakes and missteps?
Ten years? Twenty? A lifetime?

Are we allowed to re-write our narratives? Start over and reinvent ourselves using all our gained wisdom and insight?

Watch the video and then…
You tell me.

Carry on,
Xox

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

* I haven’t written a poem in a while. I never know who’s gonna show up to write, the storyteller, the f-bomb dropper, or the poet.
This one wrote itself in the last few days, ’cause Lord knows I can’t write poetry…but I can take dictation 😉
My wish is that it gives you peace.

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

Dearest, Darling Failure,

Do you mind if I call you by that name?

I realize it’s much more politically correct to refer to you as re-direction, contrast, un-met goals, course correction,
blah, blah,blah.

I admit, you do possess ALL of those more soul soothing attributes; but let’s be honest here, let’s call a spade, a spade.

You are greatly under-appreciated but let me be clear — No One wants you around!

When shit hits the fan, when careers crash and burn, when marriages end, when we get fired, sued, or otherwise fucked over, when things in our lives fracture and give way under stress, it’s YOUR face we all see at the scene of the crime.

In any case; I’ve come to know you well over the past few years and – well – I’ve fallen for you….
Hard.

I don’t mean to sugar coat things, but you came into my life with the face of my foe; and you have become my friend.

You shook things up for me BIG TIME.
You took my tiny Etch A Sketch of a life, with all of it’s perfectly drawn straight lines, and you hurled it into an F-five tornado.

But I love you for that, ya big lug.

Just uttering your name, failure, can definitely set a negative tone and cause anxiety; please don’t take it personally, we just don’t want you in our lives and when you do show up – we’re afraid you’ll never leave.

But truth be told, you are just as fleeting as success, THAT you’ve taught me.

When you are standing next to me knee-deep in the rubble of my life, you know what I do the next day?
I get up and put one foot in front of the other, each step moving me forward.

You know what I do the days success holds my hand?
I get up, put one foot in front of the other and move forward with my life.

Success has its value don’t get me wrong, but you, failure, your lessons have marked me deeply and profoundly, and I love you for that.

Success never caused me to grow, gave me depth or made me an internally richer person. 

But by God, you have failure.

Success made me lazy, afraid to try new things and take chances.

You gave me a glimpse of my true nature. You have delivered to me some of my most agonizing moments, but they have transformed me.
You made me better. Better in business, better in life. A better friend, sister and wife.

Damn it, I love you man.

We all go to extraordinary lengths to avoid you, I know I did, but I realize now that was a mistake.
It’s like trying to avoid aging, which is a similar double-edged sword, and just as futile.
There are as many benefits to be gained from failure as there are from growing old, and BOTH are a privilege.

I truly love you failure
If you had not come into my life when you did, I would not be the person I am today.

Big hug and a sloppy kiss,

We’ve all failed at something, What have you learned from your failure?
Do you agree that it’s made you a better person? All the action happens in the comments below, don’t be shy, your feedback could help someone.

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