*Recently, a couple of you emailed me about this video. Yes, I did post it—over a year and a half ago—and yes it is derived from the work of the wonderful Brene Brown.
And yes, I’m so happy to do it again!
Here it is, using the voice of the brilliant Brene Brown. It’s short, sweet and insightful.
Enjoy!
Carry on,
xox
Mind your own business. She said; the voice in my head.
Who the hell are you? I replied.
Mind your own business!
Okay! I heard what you said.
Her insistence I could not deny.
Who does that voice sound like?
I want to know who?
Shit—It sounds like my mother.
Hey, Mom, is that you?
Mind your own business.
She warned, don’t look over there;
it’s not your concern;
Why do you care?
I see some disaster;
I’m compelled to assist;
like a poor choice of lipstick;
I can hardly resist.
Mind your own business.
She said, leave your thoughts to yourself;
that’s the best piece of advice;
better than any book on a shelf.
Mind your own business.
She said, and take this advice;
keep your nose outa trouble;
don’t make me ask twice.
Goddamnit you’re bossy;
Get lost! Too-da-loo!
just who do you think you are?
Darling. I’m you.
Mind your own business this weekend you guys!
xox
When you hold a book up next to your face on video; a book on surrender, and you tell all of your readers how you’re committing, to the best of your ability, to live your life that way — to let the “Hand of Life” call all the shots—said life immediately turns into a three-ring traveling shitshow and you end up canceling your Italian motorcycle vacation at the last-minute.
Yep. So that’s how I spent my Saturday. Canceling plane reservations, hotel rooms and motorcycle rentals.
It was the next logical step. All hell was breaking loose on several of my husband’s construction jobs and we couldn’t in good conscience, just leave town.
Arrivederci! See ya in two weeks!
Yeah, not gonna happen.
I saw it coming, (if i’m honest with myself; which I almost never am), about three weeks ago.
Everything that could go wrong—did.
But you know how you’ve made deposits—both financially and emotionally? Ones that you just can’t bring yourself to give up?
So we stayed the course until there was flaming hair, crying and name-calling (those were his clients, not me), and ended up canceling at the worst possible time. The last-minute.
So. What would I do differently, if I had it to do over again?
That’s just it. Nothing.
I called bullshit every step of the way. You know, like a good wife does.
My French husband, bucking the stereotype, refused to surrender.
Alas, there are two of us in this couple, and he sincerely thought he could make things right before our departure date. He is a magician after all, always pulling rabbits out of hats.
But as that date drew near, “The Hand of Life”, depending on where you were standing, either made the decision easier for us—or gave us the finger.
It’s still too soon to tell.
I can honestly say that at this very moment I’m not disappointed in the least. (Check with me in a week when I should be lounging on the Amalfi coast, tanned, drunk, and being attended to by a handsome waiter named Marco.)
Surrender. Who in the hell said this was a good way to live? Oh yeah, that would be me.
So you guys, here’s what I learned from this:
All the sleepless nights;
All the 3 a.m. walks around the block to clear his head;
All the angst filled conversations;
All the lists of pro’s and con’s;
All the endless vacillating.
All of that misery came from fighting the inevitable.
And after the surrender came a tiny nugget of a gift. Instead of disappoint; I feel peace. (I’m not sure my partner’s there yet. He still has a lot of magic to perform).
Carry on,
xox
*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
CONTEMPT IS CONTAGIOUS
The only emotion that spreads more reliably is panic.
Contempt is caused by fear and by shame and it looks like disgust. It’s very hard to recover once you receive contempt from someone else, and often, our response is to dump it on someone else.
If you want to be respected by your customers/peers/partners/competitors/constituents, the best way is to begin by respecting them and the opportunity they are giving you.
And the best way to avoid contempt is to look for your fear.
Seth Godin
This is from Seth Godin’s blog and the title resonated…deep. Contempt is contagious.
Have you ever had someone look at you this way? I have; although at the time I wasn’t altogether sure, so I mistook the first few times as indigestion or constipation. Eventually it became clear. Yep—it was contempt alright.
You know why? They could smell my fear with its side of shame.
Fear. Shame. Contempt= The Shitstorm Trifecta.
If you’re in it, you know it—you can smell it.
Right now! Quick! Are you the dumper?—Or the dumpee?
I’ve been both and I can guarantee you—either way, it sucks.
Looking for the fix? What’s the alternative?
Expose your fear; shine a light on the shame; brush yourself off; gather your wits; show some SELF RESPECT FIRST and keep moving forward.
It’ll be all right. You can take it from me, a “Silkwood Shower” and some Visine works wonders to wash away contempt.
I’d love to hear YOUR thoughts.
Carry on,
xox
Who out there is experiencing a high level of stress these days? Show of hands? Yeah, I thought so.
Well, you’re not alone. I had three—count ‘um—three Level-Five (Level Five being, there aren’t enough mantras, pharmaceuticals or fucks-to-give that can remedy this shitstorm)—stressful situations to handle before noon today.
That was AFTER I talked my husband down off the ledge.
So I feel you. I know what you’re going through, and I have one piece of advice. (Which I had to remind myself of every ten minutes).
Me: Mother of god, my mind is racing and it’s driving me nuts!
Better Part of Me: Stop and listen to it. That dialogue, diatribe, or sorry-ass monologue that the devil wrote and is repeating on an endless loop in your head right now? Ask yourself this:
Is it helping you—or hurting you?
Me: Shit. Thanks. I almost forgot.
Better Part of Me: Is it calling you names and telling you how much you fucked up?
Is it kicking you while you’re down?
Is it making shit up? Terrible; awful; life-or-death shit?
Is it making this problem seem like it’s the worst thing that’s happened in the history of the world; or since Donald Trump decided to run for President?
Then it’s NOT helping you and you need to tell it to “SHUT THE HELL UP!”
That voice is the voice of your childish, fear-filled mind. And it has NO IDEA what it’s talking about!
Would you take advice from a scared child? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Take a walk.
Take a nap.
Take a drive.
Play some music.
Pet your cat.
Read a book.
Meditate.
Do anything you can to change the station. You will never find the solution inside the energy of the problem.
After a while the little brat will get tired; and then I’ll take out my earplugs and finally be able to get a word in edgewise.
That’s when the good ideas will come.
That’s when you find the missing piece to the puzzle.
That’s when you’ll be able to take a deep breath (I know this, and I still walked around blue, holding my breath for an hour).
That’s when you see the light.
That’s when you find forgiveness.
That is when you realize that you’re on a tiny blue planet, spinning in an insignificant part of the galaxy—and none of this shit really matters anyway.
Me: Whew! What a relief!
Carry on,
xox
Hey you guys,
This is new territory for me.
I’m a mover, I’m a doer. A striver. I strive to MAKE things happen.
I will ignore a closed-door, swim a moat, or hunt you down, to get to where I think I need to go.
At least that’s been my M/O in the past.
These days?… I get still.
Mostly when I’m stuck—ESPECIALLY when I’m stuck.
I wait to be inspired.
What?
You heard me.
Inspired action. I wait to take inspired action.
I check in with my gut. What is it saying? Is there excitement? Is there enthusiasm? Am I meeting the right people? Seeing the signs? Am I observing things moving into place?
Then there’s my answer. Hell YES!
Otherwise it’s a Hell No.
Too fucking easy, right? I’ve got to say, I’m tired of swimming moats, I’m really beginning to embrace easy.
Have a lovely, easy, Labor—free week,
Carry on,
xox
“People call these things imperfections but they’re not; oh, they’re the good stuff.”
Idiosyncracies. Imperfections. Being Perfectly Imperfect. “I’ll save ya the suspense Sport, nobodies perfect.”
The bit about farting was improvised, and the laughter so hard and genuine that you can see the camera, held by the camera man, shaking with laughter.
goddamnit Robin Williams was a good actor.
Love you guys, enjoy your weekend,
Carry on,
xox
I was married at twenty and divorced by twenty-six.
It was the eighties, the decade of Princess Diana and Madonna, and it seemed everyone was doing it—getting married young and divorcing.
Even my best friend at the time shocked me when she suddenly filed for divorce. When someone close to you calls it quits you take a magnifying glass to your relationship, searching for the cracks. No need to look very close, ours was shattered to bits; held together with spit and glue.
I have to admit; in the beginning her divorce left me appalled! But after a while, I saw how happy they both became and that’s when it finally dawned on me that deep down my husband was probably as miserable as I was, and so I decided that for the sake of the continued happiness of us both—we could not stay married for one. more. minute.
NOBODY LIKES A QUITTER
It was impossible to paint a picture of my ex as an insufferable troll.
People understand when you divorce a man who is a cheater, an addict, or someone who can’t hold a job. It wasn’t him it was me. That line is cliché I know, but some sayings become clichés because they’re so damn true!
My ex-husband was/is one of the nicest men on the planet and that sucks even more. I left an all around great guy because I yearned for something more.
“More than what?” my dad asked upon hearing that I wanted a divorce. “What more could you possibly want? It doesn’t seem like anyone can make you happy!” He was right about that. That was my job, only I didn’t know it at the time.
I only knew that something profoundly wonderful was missing. Something…untenable, indescribable and indefinable—and I wasn’t able or willing to settle.
That made me feel greedy. And wrong.
Other people settle. Why can’t I? It would be so much easier!
God, I had so much to learn! I had gone from living under my father’s roof to living under my husband’s. I identified as someone’s wife. Until I wasn’t.
HIDDEN BENEFITS
I would say the biggest benefit was becoming comfortable with my independence. I had been half of a couple, a team, and now every decision, every mistake, was mine alone. I needed to figure out who I was and what I wanted from life, and in the process I was forced to become comfortable living without a man.
When there was a creepy sound in the middle of the night who checked it out? Me and my trusty baseball bat.
I started taking some risks, teaching myself how to invest money. I bought stocks and bonds, which scared the shit out of my dad, but ended up rewarding my courage with great returns.
I also became skilled at all manner of apartment maintenance and eventually acquired a power drill and a small, red toolbox. Woof!
DATING
I had a hard time with the label divorcee. Every form I filled out asked me my marital status and checking the DIVORCED box reminded that I had failed at one of life’s most cherished milestones.
In my twenties.
Guys aren’t sure what to make of a twenty-six year old divorcee.
No wild-eyed desperation or ticking time clock here. Some of them acted relieved. Many seemed a bit bewildered. Truth be told, it scared the bejesus out of most of them.
I don’t know where all the other twenty-something divorcees went to date—but in my circle, I was as rare as a Unicorn.
A twenty-six year old divorced Unicorn.
TRANSITION IN MY THIRTIES
Once I realized, much to the amazement of my single girlfriends, this controversial fact: that most of the men out there really did want to get married and have babies; and that a divorcee was way too much of a wild card for them at that stage of the game—I was able to formulate a game plan.
I dyed my blonde hair red, which narrowed the field even further. Only serious, artsy guys need apply.
I decided that unless I met someone extraordinary, marriage and children would probably not be a reality for me; and except for about a month when I was thirty-three and everyone around me was having babies—I was more than okay with that.
I made a great life for myself. I had a career I loved; great friends, wonderful family and I made foreign travel my passion.
That all felt amazing. Until it didn’t.
EVEN UNICORNS GET A SECOND CHANCE
After I turned forty, stability became my middle name. I settled down, bought a house in the burbs, let my hair grow longer and went back to being a blonde.
I started dating. A lot. I told anyone who had a friend with a pulse that I was looking to settle down. I was finally ready to share my life.
Eighteen unmarried years had gone by and men my age and older couldn’t have cared less that I got divorced in my twenties. Seriously. Most of them were on their second or even third divorce.
I was no longer an anomaly, an outsider.
I decided to go on a blind dating binge and that’s how I met the extraordinary man I married at forty-three—he was definitely worth the wait.
At last I found that indescribable, indefinable something I’d spent nearly two decades searching for—and he found me.
Isn’t timing everything? Ain’t love grand? Maybe it was greed. I don’t know; I think it was all just dumb luck.
We all know how lucky Unicorns can be.
photo credit: http://therealbenhopper.com/index.php?/projects/naked-girls-with-masks/
I just spent the day writing an article about getting divorced at twenty-six for a series on divorce at all ages.
I called it I Was A Twenty-Six Year Old Divorced Unicorn because that was how…um,…unusual I felt at the time.
You see, my ex wasn’t a troll. He wasn’t a bad guy in any way. We just weren’t a good match. But you need more than that as grounds for divorce. How did I know we weren’t a match that could pass the test of time at the tender age of twenty-six?
Because I was desperately unhappy. Like can’t eat, can’t sleep unhappy.
That was my first clue. My second clue was the fact that the stress I was under (pretending I was in love) kept my appetite nonexistent and my weight at barely one hundred pounds. I know. You’re thinking Oh, boo fucking hoo, you can’t gain weight. But at five foot five, it was a real problem.
True story: At the time of my divorce my weight dropped to 97-98 lbs. I wore a size zero and looked like a skeleton. Apparently my eyesight went too because I thought I looked amazing. My mom, never one to mince words, looked at me wearing my teeny-tiny Barbie clothes and lost her cool. “You think you look good, don’t you?” she hissed. “Well, you don’t! You look like shit! Eat something! NOW!”
Sadly, in recent years my metabolism has begun to listen to my mother— and it has turned on me. Now when I’m under intense stress I crave raw cookie dough, and frosting out of the can; and if I eat an olive, I gain five pounds. Hand to God.
Today I searched for the one word to describe how I felt at the time. At the time I was not able to articulate exactly what I wanted and what I felt was missing—all I knew was that in my heart of hearts—I wanted more. That’s when it suddenly came to me—greedy. I felt greedy. Not a positive word because my emotion at the time was so misunderstood.
“More than what?” my dad had asked me upon hearing that I wanted a divorce. “What more could you possibly want? It doesn’t seem like anyone can make you happy!”
Wow! He was right about that. That was my job, only I didn’t know it at the time.
I only knew that something profoundly wonderful was missing, and I wasn’t able or willing to settle.
So that made me feel greedy. And greedy felt wrong.
Other people settle. Why can’t I?
Believe me when I say, It would be so much easier to just stay married!
“I’m a freakin’ unicorn! An anomaly; and NO ONE understands or knows what to make of me!”
Once I was single, I found out guys didn’t want to date a twenty-six year old divorcee.
Typical First Date Conversation:
“So, you ever been married?”
“Yeah.”
“Really? He die?”
“Uh, no, we’re divorced.”
“He cheat on you?”
“Nope.”
“He left you?”
“Nope. I left him.”
(Beat) “Waiter, check please!”
Obviously I needed to set my bar higher.
What I eventually discovered, after a whole lot of sleepless nights, and years of pain, was that there were benefits to divorce; to asking more from life; to refusing to settle; to being greedy.
I also forgot that a Unicorn is a mystical, rare and beautiful creature.
So I’m curious…
This being what it is, more of a stream of consciousness, I want to turn the tables and ask you guys:
Q- What does it mean to you to settle? When have you done it and when could you not?
Q- Do you agree with the word greedy? What word would you choose when things look good but you want more?
Q- Are you a Unicorn? Why?
I love you all madly, carry on,
xox
