support

“I’m not falling apart, but I’m perpetually not okay.” —Brene Brown

Hello Observers,

Soooooo great to be back, it’s been too long.

If you’ve been inhabiting the planet for the past two years, you’ve probably uttered that phrase. Me? I’ve mumbled it into my pillow, the hood of my sweatshirt, and the empty vat of raw cookie dough at least a dozen times.

This month.

Besides all the global fuckery, (and oh, for the love God, please, please make it stop) many of us have been grappling with intense, personal issues. And while ‘getting a grip’ has previously been our super-power, I can’t help but notice friends (mostly women) experiencing an emotional unraveling.

And who can blame us?

IT’S 2022 = The Year That Broke The Camel’s Back.

I think I speak for all of us when I scream into the void:

I CANNOT HANDLE ANOTHER VARIANT. THIS WHOLE TWO-YEAR, HYPER-VIGILANT-PANDEMIC STORYLINE HAS FRAYED MY VERY LAST NERVE!

I CANNOT HANDLE ANOTHER EMERGENCY SURGERY HEALTH SCARE!  SO, HUSBANDS, KIDS, PARENTS, DOGS, CATS & FRIENDS—CHEW YOUR FOOD THOROUGHLY, WATCH YOUR STEP, STAY OFF YOUR MOTORCYCLE—AND CONSIDER YOURSELVES FOREWARNED. SERIOUSLY.

I CANNOT WATCH THE CARNAGE IN UKRAINE. IT GUTS ME AND RENDERS ME USELESS. I WILL CONTINUE TO PRAY, JOIN GLOBAL MEDITATIONS, AND DONATE MY ASS OFF—BUT I MUST UNPLUG. I MUST.

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.” ~ Anne Lamott

If you’ve been following me for any length of time, you know that when I unravel emotionally, it’s usually because being a Pollyanna is freaking exhausting and like you, my adrenals are shot from holding up the sky. You also know the priority I place on finding balance—and that includes hormones because stress burns them away like a goddamn fiery Super Nova.
Everyone I know is depleted.
Misfiring.
Out of whack.
So, I partnered with a friend and got to work.

The other day I got busted—

“Are you sending this to the entire world?” a friend asked.
“Uh, no.”
“Why not? The women of the world are FRIED! They’re asking for this!”
“Mmmmmkay, but how do I do that?”
“Your blog, duh!”

OMG.
Women, in over 100 countries.
Of course, The blog!

*If you’re a woman who’s feeling FRIED —or, you know and love someone who is—check this out.



WE’RE HAVING A HOT FLASH -
AND THIS IS THE KIND YOU DON’T WANT TO MISS!

We’re positively on fire about this new way to experience Croneology! It will have the same Croneology snap and crackle, with one interesting difference—these recorded calls will be stand-alone Q & A’s—with a guest expert—open to women of all ages.
Experience Our First Flash!
Thursday, March 24 at 5pm PT / 7pm CT, with Dr. Christine Farrell—A renowned hormone and wellness expert, and Croneology round table favorite, Christine has a talent for making the complicated not only easy to understand but relatable. She blew our freaking minds with her knowledge of all the latest data, recent hormone advances, and the sage wisdom she delivered with empathy and compassion. Christine is a fierce advocate for women’s health and the education of women (and their doctors) about everything hormone-related. You can find her at www.bioidenticalwellness.com

Who can join? 
Women. Of any age.

How much? 
$55 per flash.

Do I have to ask a question?
Nope. While we’d love to see your face, camera-on is not required, and mics will be muted. You’re welcome to ask a question and share with the group or simply be there to listen and take notes. You’ll also have the option to email your questions to us in advance or type them in the chat during the call.

How do I sign up for a Hot Flash?
Respond to this email with “hell yes!” and we’ll send you the payment options.

Can I share this with my friends?
YES! Please! Spread the word!

With love from your Croneology guides,
Janet Bertolus + Geraldine De Braune

P.S. head over to www.croneology.net to learn more about us and give us a follow https://www.instagram.com@croneology444 on Instagram.

This podcast is for anyone of any age who is having trouble finding joy right now:

Brené with Karen Walrond on Accessing Joy and Finding Connection in the Midst of Struggle

Okay, I know this was a lot and I apologize for being so long-winded, but it’s been a while and I had so much to say!

I love you.

Carry on,
xoxJanet

It was 8 pm. We had just settled in after a long day.

I was on the couch, wrapped up in a fur blanket, living off the fumes of a recently completed, particularly fabulous zoom call.  He’d just completed a day running around, “putting out fires”, (the irony of this will be evident shortly. Wait for it) which is the way he’s always described his life as a contractor.

“I’m so ready to have this beer and chill,” he said, his flannel jammie-pants signaling his surrender.

That’s when the power went out, throwing our den into a darkness so complete I never saw him leave the room.
For a brief moment, it went back on.
Then blackness.
Three times the power tried to return, each attempt producing a mournful groan. “What is that?” I asked no one in particular. It was a sound so weird I can hardly describe it, residing somewhere between a whale fart and elephants singing the blues, it triggered an anal kegel.
“I have no idea but it doesn’t sound good.” He’d found a working flashlight the size of a light-saber and was headed outside.

The Santa Ana winds had picked up at sunset, but they were nowhere near as ferocious as it takes to knock out the power. But apparently, ferocity isn’t necessary when you have bamboo branches to do the job for you.

“Siri, turn on the flashlight!” I ordered, following a loud popping sound as I traversed the pitch-black obstacle course previously known as our living room. He’d left the door to the driveway wide open, the wind whipping a frenzy of leaves into the garage.
The minute I looked outside I could see why.
I froze in my tracks. Ruby, who’d been hot on my heels, recoiled, the bejesus scared out of her by the roman candle of fire roaring and popping like gunfire directly across the street.

Holy shit, I whispered under my breath.

All the neighbors who hadn’t left for the holiday poured into the street. “Has anyone seen Raphael?” I yelled, the wind carrying my query up and down the block. Half a dozen people pointed toward the fire.
“He’s back there with Marty, they’re putting out the fire!”
Of course he is.
Across the street was total chaos. People were either yelling and running like headless chickens, or standing like zombies their faces frozen in fear as the wind whipped hot embers over the rooftops. Two large cables had fallen from a transformer igniting a wall of bamboo behind a gray two-story with a white picket fence, and then, in an act of contrition, the bamboo promptly lit itself on fire.

Before I could get my bearings, a hysterical woman handed me a terrified, shivering toddler who’d had the misfortune of being in the bathtub of the bamboo house when the power went out.
“Take him!” she screamed at me. “I have to go back for the baby!”

Wait. There’s a baby inside?

NOOOOO! the gathering crowd screamed in unison, reading my mind. I couldn’t help but notice, as I ran him across the street into the waiting arms of his grandmother, that the naked little boy was wrapped in one of Ruby’s dog blankets.

That explained why the door to Raphael’s van was open.

Within minutes, five fire trucks showed up. Checking for smoking rafters and smoldering bushes, it was their job to make sure all the fire fighting the brave men of our neighborhood had kept the fire from spreading. Soon, the crowds broke up and we all returned, safe and sound, to our eerily dark and silent homes. Y’all, there is no silence like the absence of technology. No humming in the background. No beeping, whirring, or clicking. Just quiet. And total, dark-side of the moon, blackness.

Full. Stop.

Things I’m grateful for this Thanksgiving:

Our wonderful neighbors, who really showed up for each other and restored my faith in humanity.

Raphael, the de facto mayor of Bakman Avenue, and a man who runs towards fire while wrapping wet babies in freshly washed dog blankets. And did I mention he makes a mean turkey and his gravy is sublime?

The fire department.

ELECTRICITY! Omg! We take it SO for granted—until it goes away.

The DWP, who restored the power at 3 am with the help of mayor Raphael who just happened to be awake, see their truck, and show them the way into the neighbor’s backyard. wtf?

Flashlights with working batteries.

Solar candles.

And an Honorable Mention shout-out goes to the Emotional Support Pie we stress-ate by candlelight.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone in the US and Thursday everywhere else.

Carry on,
xoxJ

I was chatting yesterday morning with one of my BFFs, Laura.

We were riffing on dating at a certain age, trust, truth and the internet.

How do you know in this day and age of cyber… well, everything—who is being straight with you and who is blowing smoke up your ass?

Do you lay all of your dirty laundry out there for people to gawk at and take selfies with or do you play your cards close to the chest?

When you meet someone you like how many of your dirty little secrets do you divulge?

Even though it’s getting to be ancient history, dating up until my forties was the catalyst I needed to decide to just lay it all on the line. I chose at a certain point, probably moved along by a profound sense of desperation, not to give a flying fuck.
I knew that nothing I could be, do or say, was the least bit provocative or shocking. To anyone.

Sad, but true.

After writing this blog for coming up on five years now, that theory had been cemented into stone for me.
As I told Laura, “I could write that I fall asleep with a dildo in my ear and people would IM, text, or email me, “Me Too!“

There were sounds on the other end of the phone. I thought she might be choking, but it was laughter.
“Oh my gawd, Janet! Stop!’

“Honey, it’s true! They would write and tell me about a support group they’ve put together, or a Dildo In The Ear Facebook Page.”

“Stop”, she gasped.

“I’m serious!” I continued. “There is no secret about ourselves that is too perverse or previously unexplored that it would keep that one voice (who btw speaks for thousands), from shouting out from the darkness, Me too!”

Humanity is joined in so many ways. There is so, so, so much more about us that is shared than different.

Don’t you love knowing that? I do! There is so much freedom in that knowledge!

I’ve farted in yoga class.
And my vagina has made loud belching sounds during sex. I think it once inhaled a school bus. Oh, wait. You too?

So there! Fly your freak flags, my dears. Why the hell not?
Stop being ashamed. Tell the truth. No more secrets.

So, you like to sleep with a dildo in your ear. Big deal. You’re not that special. I hear there’s a march for that up in Portland in May.

Carry on,
xox

The Lost Art of Humility

*This is an essay from last summer that a reader reminded me of recently. I agree with her wholeheartedly. We need more of this humility thing and not the fakity-fake kind, but the real, heartfelt, makes-me-weak-in-the-knees kind. Here’s to you Kylie; The Lost Art of Humility.
Carry On,
xox

I saw an interview recently of a young, huge hit maker, music industry mega star.
I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. For the sake of this post I will call that malady: menopause brain. It is similar to pregnancy brain, or so I’m told. I used to have total recall, but since 50 that has gone the way of perky boobs and flat abs.

Here’s a funny or sad story, you decide. I was talking to my sister the other day, on my cell phone, while rifling frantically through my purse, looking for my cell phone. I told her I had to hang up and try to find my phone, so could she please just call it so I see if I could hear it ring? There was just silence on the other end. I’m sure she was dialing the looney bin on her land line, to come and take me away. When I realized what was happening, I laughed so hard I almost pee’d my pants. Ugh… I’m turning into my mother.

Anyway….this young guy displayed a trait you don’t see much of these days in the mega famous. Humility.
It was so refreshing, it was like a glass of ice water in hell.
When asked how he felt about all his success he said, “I would not be here if it weren’t for the people around me.”

What?!

The interviewer pressed on: Well, what about this great thing, or that great hit? That’s just talent, right?

The very humble star continued,“I had a music teacher in middle school that saw something in me, if he hadn’t, who knows where I’d be. I wasn’t good in school, I would have fallen through the cracks.
I had a mom that believed I was special. If she hadn’t, I might still be back in Virginia, doing who knows what. I had a mentor, a producer that took a chance on my first CD. It wasn’t successful, but it allowed me to learn. If I hadn’t had that experience, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

Those people changed the trajectory of his life and he is forever grateful.
I fucking love that.

There are too many stars, too many successful people, that buy into their own hype. They start to forget how things began, how they evolved, and all the people and the steps it took to get to the top.
They have no desire to pay it forward. They pay tribute to no one. They are legends in their own minds, because everyone tells them they are. They are surrounded by “yes” men and women who are all on the payroll.

They can’t find the time to mentor; they’re too busy looking in the mirror.

None of us are ANYTHING without the people around us.
I’ll take it a step further. We are all CONNECTED.
As one person is raised up, we are all raised up.
Come on people, let’s all remember to look back and lend a hand.
To pay tribute to those that saw our potential, even when we couldn’t.
To affirm humility above bravado.

Don’t get me wrong, I love me some bravado when it’s earned, but for God’s sake, if you had a mentor; and you probably did; mentor someone in whom you see potential.
Pay it forward.

Success is tenuous and delicate. Don’t take it for granted.
I’ll say it again. We all are NOTHING without the people around us.
You know who they are. They give you the support, the confidence, the love, the big breaks.
Give them some props man!

I had a music teacher, Ed Archer, who saw vocal potential. I had a sixth grade nun, Sister Mary Gabrielle, who instilled the love of learning and books. My mom said I could do anything, she was my mom so I believed her. My husband thinks I’m funny. He’s French and they think Jerry Lewis and the Three Stooges are funny and I don’t; but I’ll include him anyway. These are the ones that immediately come to mind, I know there are more. Stay tuned…

Tell me whatcha think. Who changed the trajectory of your life?
Who has been your biggest champion, believer, mentor?
Who saw/sees your potential?
Tell me about it.

XoxJanet

Dear Woo Woo Crew,

My brother has found himself in the midst of a personal shitastropy. You know, just like we all do from time to time.

And even though it’s winding down — it’s winding up (isn’t it weird how that happens? It gets really bad before it goes away. Like that stubborn boil on your ass). So the fan is blowing shit all over the fucking place. You know, like it does.

Anyhow, he’s had your help. I call you his Woo Woo Crew because of the alchemy you have performed through your love, loyalty and laughter. You have helped my brother weather his dark night of the soul with your special brand of magic.

Now, before you get all weepy on me (Billy).
Can we just talk for a minute about the medicinal properties of laughter? Guffawing your way through tears is highly underrated. It has a Merlin-esq magical quality to it. Laughter is the best medicine is no joke. Doctors should prescribe a visit to a comedy club (or humor blog) for depression. Seriously.

And as I see it, that’s been an indispensable part of his cure. You, his WWC make him laugh.
A lot.
Everyday.
The joke is often at his own expense—but that’s okay—he’s freakin’ funny.
You aren’t walking on eggshells. You aren’t worried about what YOUR future holds. You show up to his business with smiles and hugs and donuts. (I took artistic liberties in assuming there are donuts. It just seems like you would have something deep-fried and I like icing, so….)

Hey, don’t get me wrong, you work as hard as you play. You are so smart, so good at what you do, that I want to buy you all ponies. Well, Billy already has a pony, so maybe cars for the rest of you.

You are loyal, you are loving, you cut him slack when it’s needed and pick it up for him when he’s down.


I could not send bigger love to Y’all. I mean it.

My hope is that all you guys out there have your very own Woo Woo Crews. If you don’t — find one fast.
They will save you.

Better yet, maybe you are a card-carrying member of one.

My friend Kim is also walking the temporary tightrope of terrible. Again, like we all have; and I see or speak to her almost every day.

Seems my life makes her laugh.
My triumphs, my tragedies are…funny to her. I suppose it’s in the delivery, but still, we laugh A LOT!
The thing is, when I see her walk up the driveway with a sad face and then later, I watch her walk back to her car and she’s still laughing about that thing I said. That makes me feel good.

Listen I’m no Mother Theresa.
The other day I yelled at her mid-cry, right to her sad, soggy face: “Stop crying! Stop being sad!”…and instead of punching me in the face — we both burst out laughing. Like doubled over, can’t speak laughing.

Dammit, it was time. Time for her sadness to turn the corner, lose its grip and get the hell out of her life!
Just writing this make me giggle because I can still see the shock that washed over her before she started laughing. I’m sure my face looked the same.

It was priceless. Like a two-year-old. Tears one minute, laughter the next.

Why can’t we do that? When did we lose that talent? Why does the laughter dissipate so quickly but the tears stay for…weeks?

Woo Woo Crews Unite! Be funny! Be kind! Be goofy! Bring donuts! Buy ponies!
Turns some frowns upside down (yes I did say that).

Write love letters to people who are making a difference, so they can become aware that they are.

Enough rambling.

So incredibly grateful for you guys,
Carry on,
xox

Here’s some medicine for you — Happy Friday!

“Well, what will you do for money?” The fork stopped halfway to her mouth. Her eyes were huge, and the fear inside them was palpable.

“Nooooo, honey, you’re a jeweler, that’s what you do.” It was not a statement, it was a directive.

“What? Why? Now? You’re in your fifties.” Said by someone whose recent anthem had been: Fifty is the new Thirty.

Turncoat.

Those are just a few of the reactions I’ve gotten when I’ve been asked ‘So, what are you up to?’ And I reply “I’m a writer.”

I’ve said it before and it’s worth repeating. A lot, no, make that most – most people who ask you how you are and what you’re up to – they don’t really want to know.

It’s the amuse bouche of conversation – obligatory and unnecessary.

Which leads me to two important revelations ( bigger than insights, more important to remember than observations) that I’ve had about who I told about the writing in the very beginning; and I think they can apply to anything precious that you’re considering doing in your life.

NUMBER ONE:
Don’t tell just anyone everything. THAT can be considered an act of self sabotage.
That was a hard one for me because I’m about as opaque as Saran Wrap, but you’ve really got to be careful here.
How well do you know the person in front of you?
Are they safe? Meaning, do they have your best interests at heart – or an agenda?
I’ve had more amazing responses and feedback from strangers – on airplanes – than I have from the people close to me.
Probably because they aren’t invested in my old identity.
One guy recently responded “oh wow, that’s great; you look like a writer.” Whatever that meant. It felt like a compliment, but I’m thinking he got a look at my writer’s flat ass.

Advise in a nutshell – take a minute, and size up the asker.

Don’t divulge your new passion/ plans/ career choice/ to anyone who wouldn’t understand, may laugh, or potentially invalidate you – and you may get burned by a friend.
Just don’t get burned twice by the same flame. 

NUMBER TWO:
We’ve talked about this in our Wednesday night group because I’ve found this to be true WITHOUT FAIL.
Whatever insecurities and doubts I’ve had about any new venture I’ve undertaken (and this includes relationships) I’ve always been able to count on them to be mirrored back to me by some assbite naysayer.

So those responses at the top of the page?
Of courses those were my trifecta – of – terror.
Fear of the loss of income, abandoning my long-standing career, and starting something new at my age; lobbed back across the lunch table for me to justify…to myself really.

Because here’s what happens: when you have the mirror held up and it pisses you off, and your hackles go up; all your College Debate Team skills kick in, and you’re able to come up with graphs and evidence and flow charts, to prove to them – AND YOURSELF – why this is the best idea ever!

So how can you be mad? They did you a favor. I’m aware that I’ve played the naysayer role in other peoples’s dramas many times.

Now, I hardly get any blowback, because I worked out all the confidence kinks early on and I’m better at owning it.

I’m kinda a writer like someone in their eighth month is kinda pregnant.

Just be advised; if it keeps happening, your doubts are bigger than you think – or you may need new friends.

Remember: Don’t get burned by the same flame twice.
(I swear, we should all embroider that on a pillow)

As always, I so appreciate you reading and your comments below.
When have you had your insecurities mirrored back at you? Have you gotten burned by revealing too much to the wrong person? Was it a friend? Or family?

Thanks loves,
Xox

Sometimes the Universe delivers to you the hard scrabble lessons that you need in order to grow.

You can either resist or comply.
If you resist, it will revisit you, getting larger and more complicated in its delivery until you are forced to pay attention and acquiesce.

You know how I know that?
I am currently being supported by a man
Ugh………
AWKWARD (sung in high voice)

In a very deliberate attempt to be my own person and pay my own way, I got a job at sixteen, while I still lived at home.
Also, my dad made me. But that’s beside the point.
He insisted it be at Von’s supermarket, but rest assured, I would have started earning my own money at that age if it killed me.

I wanted to buy my own food (I HATED what was served at home).
I wanted to supplement my clothing budget. Sears and JC Penny’s-OUT, Bullocks Wilshire- IN.
I wanted to buy my own shampoo and make up, and get my hair cut where and when I wanted, and pay for it myself
AND
I wanted to stop taking the bus and buy a car.

Everyone in my family has a very strong work ethnic which has come in extremely handy for me, since I like money.
I like the financial freedom it gives me, and I’ll work my ass off to get it.
I’ve held two jobs at one time, with eight hours in between to sleep.
I like to spend it or give it away without explanations, excuses or apologies.

This independence has been a badge of honor I’ve worn all my life.
Hi, My name is Janet, I pay my own way.

So you can imagine how I feel at this stage of my life, mid fifties, with no job and no income stream.
I never saw this chapter coming.
It wasn’t how I’d imagined my life would be.
But hey, shit happens, right? Get over it.

I can sit around wanting things to be different, which is like trying to give a cat a bath, or I can embrace – Where. I. Am.

I’m being supported. Not by the state, or strangers, but by a man. Husband.
I hate even writing that.

My bad. My lesson to learn. Obviously.

But look how lucky I am. He is willing and able.
I would totally do it if the situation were reversed – no question about it.
I am the only one that has a problem with the arraignment.
Note to self: When shit hits the fan and you ask the Universe for help, it’s not polite to say “Oh, not THAT!”

I’m reminded of the parable about the man and the flood. 
There is a terrible flood and a man is trapped on his rooftop as he fervently prays to God to be saved.
After awhile, a boat comes by, but the man won’t get in. He’s waiting for God to save him.
Next a helicopter hovers overhead and throws down a rope. The man won’t take it. He yells up “I’m waiting to be saved by God.”
A second boat appears and still the man declines. “I’ve prayed to God and He’s going to save me”.
Soon, the man drowns and goes to Heaven. As you can imagine, he’s pissed.
When he finally sees God he exclaims, “I was praying so hard for you to save me, why did you let me down?”
To which God responds, “I sent you two boats and a helicopter, what more did you want?”

Just because what is supporting me right now feels foreign to me, doesn’t mean it’s not the answer to my prayers. As a matter of fact that’s how I KNOW it’s sent from God.

It just irked me to have to be supported.
Until I read the definition.
Supporting someone is noble and at times, necessary.
I’ve done it many times without giving it a second thought.
Being the receiver is much more difficult, but I’m starting to think that it can be just as noble a task – when your head’s in the right place. (Work in progress)

SUPPORT
sup·port
səˈpôrt/
verb
1.
bear all or part of the weight of; hold up.
produce enough food and water for; be capable of sustaining.
be capable of fulfilling (a role) adequately.
2.noun
give assistance to, especially financially; enable to function or act.
provide with a home and the necessities of life.
give approval, comfort, or encouragement to.

I’m definitely at a crossroads in my life and I’m not passive at all. I’m actively pursuing a couple of different ventures, but while I do, it’s nice to be able to eat and have a roof over my head, and believe me when I say- I have SO MUCH MORE

Yin and yang
Light and dark
Ebb and flow
This too shall pass.

What irks you right now that you KNOW is part of a bigger plan?

Love, love,
Xox

<p>“Comparison is the thief of joy.”
~Teddy Roosevelt~

It would be very easy to catch right now.
I haven’t been vaccinated, I’m not big on needles.
All I can say is; It feels VERY contagious right now.
I hope I don’t come down with a case of Comparison-itis.

Here in LA it’s easy to get caught up in “keeping up with the Kardashians” so to speak.
You can find yourself wanting a better car or a bigger home. The clothes, the shoes, the handbags…oh my!
Even youth. This is the land of young and beautiful people.
Here in La-La Land that over 40 crowd that succumbs to Comparison-itis help keep the plastic surgeons in their alligator loafers.

The truth is; comparing WILL steal your joy.
Because there will always be someone smarter, taller, thinner, richer, whatever! And when you chase them, you lose sight of your own blessings.
Believe me, there are people who want what you take for granted.

I’ve started my business course this week and it comes with a private Facebook page.
There are fellow students posting the amazing progress they’ve made and the epic insights they’ve had. They’ve completed all the assignments, attained magnificent clarity, increased their customer base by 60% and their income by 200%, and they are enthusiastically sharing it with our community, to great fanfare.
Let me be clear, school started Monday…it’s Wednesday. 

I keep reminding myself that when you re-enter the school system, even on the internet, you avail yourself to every “itis” imaginable.
I see Comparison-itis and his buddy Competetive-itis hanging out in our virtual Facebook hallways.
I remember them from High School and College. Funny, they look the same, they haven’t changed a bit…but I have.

Maybe it’s my age. I’d like to think its the wisdom I’ve accrued. Ha! 

Nevertheless, I’m an observer rather than a participant this time around. My latent competitiveness has woken up, but it knows how that story ends, so it’s behaving more like a sling-shot than an anchor.

These people are brilliant!
With their enthusiasm, they are gifting us with all the answers, and that’s the difference. They have the best sources and ideas, so their posts are becoming gold mines and I’m mining them every day to help in my endeavors.

I do see others in the comments though, that have come down with a horrible case of Comparison-itis.
I suppose a short bout is inevitable.
When you up your game, when you enter the arena, you can’t help but notice where you are in the standings.
There are the true Gladiators, and there are the newbies.
You can feel inferior or inspired. 
I pick the inspired.

Inspiration seems to be the Holistic cure for Comparison-itis.
That virus can’t stand up to all the fresh ideas.
Creative juices flowing and all the new ways of being and thinking are the anecdote.
Try not to look around and feel like you’re not enough, like you’re not doing it right, or “getting it” fast enough!
Become inspired!
If “they” can do it, you can too!
XoxJanet

• I wrote this when I first started writing about a year and a half ago.
  I think it’s worth re-posting.
  Xox Janet

Wherever you are, I am there.
Mistake not, a baby’s cry, as a sign of my absence,
nor the prisoners face, clinging to the bars.
Weep not at the outstretched beggar’s hand,
or the wounded soldier’s sigh.
I am there.

Fear not.
For the evil that you witness,
in nature and in man,
does not convey my abandon.

For as sure as the spring follows the frost of winter,
and the sun chases the darkness of the night,
I am there.

In your most private moments, I sit beside you.
In your grief, on your shoulders I rest my hands.
I touch your head as you kneel in prayer,
as you walk in solitude, your hand I hold.

I am the witness of your life,
and when you take your last breath,
wherever you are,
I am there.