waiting

Hey you guys, 

Have you ever pushed a button for an elevator or started the bar-b-que and then stepped away thinking that something was in progress? Yeah, me neither. I’m a watcher. I watch for signs of progress. 

If you have profound trust issues like I do, then you push the button to call the elevator like a junkie with a self-administered morphine drip. I know that the more I push it—the faster it will come.

Can I get an AMEN?!

But have you ever been distracted enough by let’s say Snapchat, or a CNN news alert about the latest asinine Trump tweet, that you missed the fact that you pushed—and nothing happened?

That’s the feeling I’ve been having lately. Like I pushed the Easy button and looked down at my phone for a minute and everything got hard. Harder. Hardest.

So what does this self-confessed lover of all things easy do in a situation such as this?

Well, I push harder. Duh! Don’t you?

My neurosis looks like this: I make a phone call to clear up some bureaucratic snafu and it goes straight to voicemail (which you have to admit is SO un-gratifying!) so what should I do? I think the answer is clear: I wait an appropriate amount of time for a reply (one hour) and then I call back obsessively and leave another seventy-hundred messages that start off nice and polite—and slowly devolve into a monologue that sounds like it’s taken from the pages of an old Andrew Dice Clay stand-up act circa 1980.

I push harder.

I sent important emails last week and haven’t received any responses. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Do dah.
Well, that’s just bad manners Fancy East Coast Magazine. At least send a confirmation that you received my submission and let me live in peace. Instead, I’m two whiskey sours away from risking looking like the insecure, over-zealous, micro-managing, control-freak that I am by re-sending it when you’ve specifically asked writers not to. You obviously know my type and want to save yourselves from four million re-submissions of the same essay.

They say on the submissions page, “We’ll get back to you in 90 days.”
Sadists.

That just makes me want to push harder. I could be dead in 90 days, killed by a horde of marauding middle-aged midgets who’ve been sent by my husband to put me out of my misery.

I suppose this will be a good lesson in “trusting the fucking process” (I added the fucking for emphasis. Pushing it?). But ninety days is an eternity when you’re waiting!

I have five articles out in the world right now with various publications, waiting for the green light.

I continue to push the Easy Button. Hard. And often.

I’m fifty-nine. When does this striving thing go away? Sixty? Seventy? Never?

Oh…wait…I forgot to say please.
And abracadabra.

I forgot to use magic! Shit. (Forehead slap) I do that all the time!

Sorry, gotta go.

Carry on,
xox

This post from two years ago makes me smile for a number of reasons.

First of all, the audio. Come on! Hilarious!

Then because the adventure I refer to DID change my life, it gave permission to call myself a writer which then unleashed the Kraken, so to speak. And finally there is the fact that I’m marinating in a delicious gumbo of anticipation this very minute regarding the most magical project EVER—and I’ve gotten so much better!

Are you camp instant gratification or camp anticipation? Which one are ya?
Carry on,
xox

Anticipation. Anticipa.a.tion
Is making me late.
Is keeping me waiting.
~Music and lyrics by Carly Simon

In a little over four weeks I will be embarking on an exciting adventure.
It feels life changing.

Hello, I don’t know if you’ve met me?
I am the “Queen of Instant Gratification” so the anticipation is KILLING me!

To some people, anticipation is delicious, something to be spread on little toast points and relished.

My husband is such a person. He will create little pockets of anticipation whenever he can.
Looking forward to weekend rides with his buddies, his Memorial trip every year with his brother.
I see him light up when he talks about it or is texting the details.

He enjoys EVERY SINGLE SECOND of the wait.
It makes me laugh and roll my eyes, but I do envy him his simple pleasures.

Me you ask? Not so much.

Anticipation is torture for me. I’m THAT girl.

Spontaneity is MY middle name.

Come on , let’s not draw this thing out, show me the surprise, or tell me the secret. Get on with it!

Byron Katie says that anticipation is where fear and terror live, not reality.
I usually don’t disagree with her, but from what I’ve observed at my house, that is not the case.

Now if you’re talking expectation – I believe that about expectations. I’ve met fear and terror there. But that’s a conversation for another day.

I think anticipation is a lost art—and that makes me sad.
It needs to make a comeback!

I’m not sure I can lead the parade on this, but from living with The Grand Marshall, I gotta tell ya, anticipation kicks instant gratification’s ass every time.

What’s wrong with us? (Notice how I’ve lumped you in with Team Janet)

Why can’t the wait be great?

We want something, we buy it. We don’t save fifty bucks a month living on the excitement of the dream for a year.
Not anymore.
Shit. Amazon now has same-day delivery; they must have read all my emails complaining about the overnight wait. Same-day was MADE for people like me.

My husband. He’ll wait. He’ll look forward ALL WEEK to the Thursday delivery.

I want to be in his camp, I’m just not wired that way.

I do remember getting VERY excited when I was about nine and the one telephone we had in the house would ring. My dad would announce: Janet, it’s for you, and my heart would start racing. Who was it? Was it a boy? Thirty seconds of excruciating anticipation. Maybe that’s the cause for me. The point of origin for this particular neurosis?

HE, on the other hand, was raised in France.

They wait to see a doctor. The entire country waits until August to go on vacation, they even wait until after work in the evening to buy bread for dinner.

As he will patiently re-explain to me at least once a month:the feeling of looking forward to something is magical and must be savored.

Like a fine wine or stinky cheese, it gets richer and more complex over time. As each detail of the anticipated event unfolds, the feeling mounts; until, as I have witnessed with him, it culminates in a night before Christmas kind of giddy, sleepless euphoria – wearing a silly grin.

It’s impossible for me to maintain such a high level of excitement.

I’ll explode. My face will get stuck grinning stupidly, and I need my sleep.

“Are we there yet?”

I DO get excited, but it’s my nature to wait until the very last minute.
I just want the event, vacation, surprise, whatever to start, I don’t make a big Magilla out of the lead-up time. I don’t mark off days on the calendar to remind me how much glorious waiting time I have left.

But I just may this time.
I see how the other half lives and it looks…….fun.

I too want to wear a silly grin and become giddy as the days draw closer.

Let’s see how this goes, reviving this lost art of anticipation, shall we?

Are you in my camp or his? Do you relish the wait?
I’d love to hear your stories of anticipation my dear ones, they’ll help me!
Thanks!

Sending love….in a minute…..wait for it.
Xox

Wanna listen instead?
https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/anticipation

Listening and talking to the people around me recently and also, living my own damn life, it is evident we are ALL experiencing this to one degree or another. I love and agree with everything Tosha wrote and of course, I added a few words of my own in (parenthesis).
Carry on,
xox

THE PRE-ECLIPSE SENSE of UTTER SUSPENSION ~ by Tosha Silver

I wonder how many of you are feeling this?
It can be common as we go into the March month of eclipses (the first one on March 8 and the second one March 23). In the 30 days before big turning-point eclipses (i.e. NOW) an eerie ‘anticipatory stillness’ can arrive.

You sense something is around the bend, but it’s not Time yet.
The month before has much to do with shedding, releasing, saying No to those things you know in your heart are neither needed nor right. Letting go of what’s been outgrown, sometimes without ANY idea what will ‘replace’ it. (Deciding what from your past will come along with you into your future — Booyah!)

Decluttering your spaces and your psyche.
(Otherwise known in my house as ‘Hazeling’).
You’re literally making room for the next Divine plan to arrive. You may even feel like NOTHING (Zero, zilch, nada), is happening in your life at all and you’ve come to a total dead end. But it’s like that quote, don’t put a period where god only has a comma or maybe a semi-colon:)

If you’re feeling any of these things, don’t worry! It can very much be the clearing of the ‘container’ before the re-filling which often comes either with the eclipses themselves or in the month or two after. (Not to get too scatological on you but “clearing’ can also look like allergies, a bad cold or a stubborn cough, diarrhea, puking and in other breaking news: dumping the chump).

Even the I Ching has a similar line about the cauldron that must be turned over to be cleaned of ‘the old’ before used again for the new meal.(But leave a little bacon grease, just sayin’).

I am feeling all this so STRONGLY myself. (Ditto kiddo)
All I can say is I just feel so damn grateful to know to sit tight, clear out, get needed rest, keep releasing and allowing, and open to the what’s still unseen but arriving. Actually, often in the month before eclipses, you spend a lot more time saying No than Yes! (You’re actually saying YES to saying No! What?)

The Yes comes later :))

Anyone else relate?

‪#‎ToshaSilver‬ ‪#‎LivingOO‬
http://toshasilver.com

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/janet-bertolus/i-was-a-twentysix-year-ol_b_8086040.html

So I finally did it. I reached a milestone, the bloggers Holy Grail. I got a piece published in the Huffington Post!

But it was the journey there that made an even, dare I say, larger impression on me!

After receiving the nicest email a year ago from Arianna herself (on a Sunday for chrissakes), hooking me up with a blog editor, I have spent the past year submitting posts like a fucking headless chicken, with no luck.

Finally, around June-ish, my poor harried Muse suggested I give it a rest—just for the summer.

But, but, how will I know when to start again? I whined in protest.

You’ll just know, she replied in an exhausted tone; drink in hand, the nub of a cigarette dangling from her lips.

goddamnit! I hate when she does that.

Anyhow, I did as I was told. I immediately stopped submitting.
But I kept a keen eye open, looking for a signal; a sign; a flare;  SOMETHING; ANYTHING; to let me know when it was time to start submitting again. And… I never stopped writing.

About two weeks ago I sat down and out poured an essay about my divorce (Yawn*. I have covered that topic from head to toe, turning over every rock, so much so that I’M even bored with it).

However, this time was different. It was written from the perspective of my twenty-six year old self and how it all felt to her.  Hmmmm… I still wasn’t sure what to make of it, so I filed it away with the ten gazillion other unfinished drafts.

A week later as I was browsing the Huffington Post Facebook page, an essay on divorce caught my eye. It said at the top that they were running a series This is Divorce at… Stories about what divorce meant at all different ages. If you had one, they were asking for submissions.

Whoa, What?
Shut Up!
Are you kidding me? I just wrote that piece.

Then it dawned on me, because it takes me a while and I have swiss cheese for a brain. (You’re all way ahead of me aren’t you?)

OMG! That was my sign to submit!

So I finished the essay, sent it in, (I had to shorten it), and the rest, as they say is history.
It was THAT easy.

What’s that word we’ve been throwing around all freaking summer?

Oh yeah, surrender.

This is my best surrender story EVER! (Well, except for the time I surrendered my poor struggling store to the Powers That Be, and it flooded and died that very night) —yeah, besides that one.

Today I’m filled with SO MUCH gratitude! That is some powerful Unicorn ju-ju!

Love you, Carry on,
xox

Hey you guys,
I would appreciate it SO MUCH if you would leave a comment on the HuffPo article and up at the top there is a tiny little heart that if you click on it makes you a fan. Would you do that for me?
Thank you so much!

xox

*This is a post from last spring but it still applies. Happy Sunday!
xox

“I had tended to view waiting as mere passivity. When I looked it up in my dictionary, however, I found that the words passive and passion come from the same Latin root, pati, which means “to endure.” Waiting is thus both passive and passionate. It’s a vibrant, contemplative work. It means descending into self, into God, into the deeper labyrinths of prayer. It involves listening to disinherited voices within, facing the wounded holes in the soul, the denied and undiscovered, the places one lives false. It means struggling with the vision of who we really are in God and molding the courage to live that vision.”
~Sue Monk Kidd~

Sue Monk Kidd was on Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday a couple of weeks ago. I’ve loved her for almost 25 years.

Her most famous book is “The Secret Life of Bees”, but I became familiar with her after reading her spiritual memoir “When The Heart Waits” in 1990. That was a time when not too many people were brave enough to write about their spiritual journey of transformation. My copy is water stained from reading in the bath, highlighted with a yellow marker, has my insights written in the margins and is dog-eared almost beyond recognition. I ate it up with a spoon when she wrote that waiting for your purpose is a sacred endeavor.

Waiting is not always passive. It can be a passageway from one way of being to another. She gave me permission to wait for the reveal.

These days, even more so than 25 years ago, waiting, being still, has gotten a bad rap. Inactivity is THE cardinal sin of the 21st century.

She used the analogy of the caterpillar in the chrysalis. If you poke a hole to check on its progress, the butterfly’s wings will be underdeveloped, and it will be unable to fly. The same thing happens if you try to help it break through. Every second, every step of the process is critically important to the transformation…and the survival of the butterfly.

Just let that one sink in……All the way down to your toes.

This quote from “When The Heart Waits” is one of my favorites.
I need to add it to the list.

“When the heart weeps for what it has lost, the Spirit laughs for what it has found” 

That makes my heart stop every time.

When Sue had her chat with O, she relayed an insight she had around 50.
She realized she had been a seeker all of her 20’s, 30’s and 40’s. In that respect we are kindred souls. But recently she’d admonished herself.

Enough seeking, she needed to “find” something.

It was time to become A Finder.

That just about made my head explode. Now I get it.
That’s what happens in your 50’s. The energy you expended as a seeker is replaced with the energy of “finding” and sharing. You’ve sought, delved and explored. You’ve attend countless retreats, seminars, conferences and sweat lodges. You’ve discovered along the way you DID get some answers. You have found nuggets of truth. Things you KNOW FOR SURE. All your seeking has borne fruit. That fruit is deliciously ripe and ready to share.

It’s the reason I write this blog.
I used to spend hour upon hour, day after day reading everything spiritual I could get my hands on. At one time I had over three hundred spiritual and self-help books. I have given half of them away.
Now I spend hours writing what I’ve learned.

I will always be on a journey of asking WHY? I’m hard-wired for it. But I’m also hard-wired to share anything and everything I know.
THAT is the payoff, the pay-it-forward of the seeker. We get to say: Hey, you wanna know what helped me? Have you read this or seen that?

I feel like in our second acts we are now Finders.
Things start to make some sense. Not everything, I still can’t wrap my brain around vows of chastity and silence.
What I HAVE found is that I am much more willing to wait and see how things work out.
I’m not perfect, some days I still want to see the progress inside the chrysalis.
I am forever a work in progress. I will always be asking questions. But I’m embracing my inner Finder.

I feel like she has a lot to share.

Tell me what you know about waiting. How comfortable are you with being passively passionate or passionately passive? Lol.

Xox

Bad habit #319 – I offer unsolicited advice.

I know! It sucks—big time.
I’m working on it, but sometimes I can’t seem to help myself.
I write a freakin’ advice blog for God sakes!

It’s a very masculine trait, problem solving, one of the last remaining vestiges of working in a male dominated career and making it a priority to develop only the male side of my personality.
But enough of that, that’s a huge generalization and an exercise in stereotyping. If I try to reverse engineer how I became this way…well…
…I’m the eldest of three, and the younger kids would often need my help with…stop it Janet!
Enough!

You see, if presented with a dilemma I will chew on that bone, sucking out the very marrow of it until I’ve come up with a plan.
Make that three plans.
Usually a Plan A which is the best, (of course), to Plan C which I recommend only as a last resort.

From directions in the car—to what to order at my favorite bistro—to how to dump the chump, if you seem…uncertain—I’m your girl.

But you see, that’s the thing. I haven’t paid enough attention, or taken the time (a minute and a half), to distinguish what’s going on with you.

Is that look on your face the I’m working this out, I’ve got this look? Or, are you lost in a fog of uncertainty only wishing I would open my mouth and help you out? (No one has ever gotten that far so we’ll just have to imagine that one.)

Or this, right out of left field—maybe you’re just making conversation!

It’s a subtle difference (not really), and once I started to observe THE MASTER—I understood, and I decided to take a page out his play book.

My husband has developed a sort of super power.

It was acquired and has been honed after years of having his head bitten off.
Like an exasperated praying mantis after yet another beheading, he started to pay closer attention. He learned how to read me and slowly but surely he has become the Master of Silent Advice.

Now you may be wondering what the hell I’m talking about.

He has mastered the skill of silence. Not indifference, make no mistake—the two can be easily confused and he’s lost his head a few times over that one too.

No, he’s observed me closely when certain situations have presented themselves in the fifteen years we’ve been together and he listens; waiting for just the right moment, because honestly, whether I’ve got things covered or I’m lost in the fog—I look the same.

It’s a nuance thing.

And here’s key, the Golden Ticket so to speak:
He only extends me a hand or offers me advice—when I ask him.

What?
If you wait, someone will ask you?
What a concept, that is genius!

So if you’re around me these days you may notice a strange look on my face as you tell me about your day. Oh God, don’t mistake it for disinterest—I’m literally biting my tongue…listening.

Waiting for you to ask me what I think.

You’re gonna ask soon—right?

Because I’ve got this.

Plan A is genius (if I do say so myself, humility is my next hurdle).

So ask me already!

Being aware you have a problem is the first step…right?

Carry on,
With big, big love and buckets of gratitude for putting up with me,

Xox

PROCRASTINATE

synonyms: delay, put off doing something, postpone action, defer action, be dilatory, use delaying tactics, stall, temporize, drag one’s feet/heels, take one’s time, play for time, play a waiting game
“fear of failure often causes people to procrastinate”

For the last several years, on the date of the Winter Solstice, Darling Diana holds a meditation. It is my favorite one.

Held on the evening of the longest night of the year, it manages to be dark, moody, sacred, and festive all at the same time.
If you can imagine that.

There is always a huge turnout, hugging of old friends, crystals glistening in the candlelight, and this year a Christmas tree.

One of the traditions (and I love a good tradition) is to intuit a word during the meditation and then write it down.
This will be your defining word for the year.
No pressure.

She cautioned us not to overthink it. “Just empty your mind and let the word come to you“, she advised. “It may not even make any sense, just stay with it.”
And off we went; into that dark mid winter’s night meditation deep.

Never one to be able to just follow a simple assignment, I got TWO words that kept repeating. No matter how many times I shouted “NO!” at them.
“Hey, follow the rules you guys, besides, those words suck.” Wow, even my meditation voice is snarky.

I would write them on imaginary paper in my head and then wad it up and throw it away. Still there.
I would scratch them out with a big red circle/slash. No use, they kept coming.
Not only were there two words, one of them scared the shit out of me. It literally made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. It gave me a headache.

My words: Aligned Conception. WTF?!

Conception is a loaded word for me, since I’m someone that is of the childless persuasion; and at my age, and in my circumstances, it would be a colossal fuck-up – and a medical miracle.
The act of conceiving a child is something that I have actively avoided my whole life, sooooo I’d have a lot of fast talking and explaining to do – to my body – to my husband – to our doctors – and our future.

For about three minutes, in the grips of a deep panic, I fought that word tooth and nail. I did, I bit it and clawed at it.
It was an epic battle between ME and me.

Then I just gave in. Fine. Fuck you, Conception. (pun intended). You win.

But what I’d been overlooking in my immediate and strenuous, jumping to conclusions, was the word aligned that had preceded it every time.
Aligned conception – idiot.

Aligned Conception. What a concept. Now I love my word(s)!

Aligned, meaning to line things up. BEFORE you make a move.
I tend to be impetuous, so daily, no, make that hourly, I’m attempting to think before I leap.

Well played Universe.

Waiting to be inspired, which I’m doing more and more.

Creating or conceiving ideas or concepts, as they line up, make sense, feel right.

Noticing that if you’re aligned, all the right people, places, ideas, and inspiration will beat a path to your door. Impetuous not so much. It can’t find your door because it couldn’t take a minute to write down your address.

Taking the time to align, sounds a lot like procrastination – well, yeah, it is, except it’s Divine Procrastination. With it you’ll take Inspired Action, you’ll experience Aligned Conception.

This is foreign to me. Fish out of water foreign. I’ve never been a procrastinator. Ever. Ask my husband, oh wait, he’ll tell you later. He’s a pro, and it works for him. I had to break it down to understand it. Here’s how I think it works.

I always thought procrastination was a dirty word, with a negative connotation. It was a habit of the fearful and the lazy. It can be, but it’s also a tool of the wise.

Let me explain.

How many times have you made THAT call or answered THAT email, when you weren’t lined up (aligned)?
You hadn’t taken the time to breathe, get centered, take a walk, or kick the dog. How did that go?

Light-yourself-on-fire shitty, right?

How many projects have you started when the funding was dicey, the players weren’t lined up, your ducks weren’t in a row, your i’s were not dotted, your t’s were not crossed – and your gut told you to wait?
KA BOOM! Crash and burn, right?

I may know a thing or two about this, being as impetuous as I am/was.

What if I had only procrastinated? Waited for the “gut green light”?

If it doesn’t feel right. I won’t do it. I’ll Wait. I’ll Align. Then I’ll Conceive.

Got it!

I don’t know about you, but I think Aligned Conception just kicked Impetuous’ ass.

Xox

Hi Loves,
Holy Moly…
Transformation is messy, and difficult and at times infuriating! Don’t loose hope. Don’t throw in the towel at the 11th hour.

Remember, before the caterpillar’s transformation into the beautiful butterfly is complete – it is literally soup.

Don’t open the chrysalis before you’re cooked.
Don’t take score too soon.

We are ALL in the process of transformation, the journey from one point to the next spanning our entire lives. You WILL get to your destination – you WILL metamorphose, of that I am sure.

The grander, more ambitious and fantastical the transformation – the more hellacious it seems during the process.

Don’t listen to the soup. The soup is well…soup. It’s uncomfortable and ugly and incomplete. The soup does’t know shit and it doesn’t give good advice.

Soon you’ll take flight,
Love you!
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

Anticipation, Anticpation
Is making me late.
Is keeping me waiting.
~Music and lyrics by Carly Simon

In a little over four weeks I will be embarking on an exciting adventure.
It feels life changing.

Hello, I don’t know if you’ve met me?
I am the Queen of Instant Gratifiction so the anticipation is KILLING me!

To some people anticipation is delicious, something to be spread on little toast points and relished.

My husband is such a person. He will create little pockets of anticipation whenever he can.
Weekend rides with his buddies, his Memorial trip every year with his brother.
I see him light up when he’s asked about it, or texting the details. He enjoys EVERY SINGLE SECOND of the wait.
It makes me laugh and roll my eyes, but I do envy him his simple pleasures.

Me? Not so much.

Anticipation is torture for me. I’m THAT girl. Spontaneity is MY middle name.

“Come on , let’s not draw this thing out, show me the surprise, or tell me the secret. Get on with it.”

Byron Katie says that anticipation is where fear and terror live, not reality.
I usually don’t disagree with her, but from what I’ve observed at my house, that is not the case.
Expectation – I believe that about expectations. I’ve met fear and terror there.

I think anticipation is a lost art and it’s making me sad.
It needs to make a comeback.

I’m not sure I can lead the parade on this, but from living with The Grand Marshall, I gotta tell ya, anticipation kicks instant gratification’s ass every time.

What’s wrong with us? (Notice how I’ve lumped you in with Team Janet)

Why can’t the wait be great?

We want something, we buy it. We don’t save fifty bucks a month living on the excitement of the dream for a year.
Not anymore.
Shit. Amazon now has same day delivery; they must have read all my emails complaining about the overnight wait. Same day was MADE for people like me.

My husband. He’ll wait. He’ll look forward ALL WEEK to the Thursday delivery.

I want to be in his camp, I’m just not wired that way.

I do remember getting VERY excited when I was about nine and the one telephone we had in the house would ring. My dad would announce: Janet, it’s for you, and my heart would start racing. Who was it? Was it a boy? Thirty seconds of excruciating anticipation. Maybe that’s the cause for me. The point of origin for this particular neurosis?

HE, on the other hand, was raised in France.

They wait to see a doctor, the entire country waits until August to go on vacation, they even wait until after work in the evening to buy bread for dinner.

As he will patiently re-explain to me at least once a month:the feeling of looking forward to something is magical and must be savored.

Like a fine wine or stinky cheese, it get richer and more complex over time. As each detail of the anticipated event unfolds, the feeling mounts; until, as I have witnessed with him, it culminates in a night before Christmas kind of giddy, sleepless euphoria – wearing a silly grin.

It’s impossible for me to maintain such a high level of excitement.

I’ll explode, my face will get stuck like that, and I need my sleep.

“Are we there yet?”

I DO get excited, but it’s my nature to wait until the very last minute.
I just want the event, vacation, surprise, whatever to start, I don’t make a big magilla out of the lead up time. I don’t mark off days on the calendar to remind me how much glorious waiting time I have left.

But I just may this time.
I see how the other half lives and it looks…….fun.

I too want to wear a silly grin and become giddy as the days draw closer.

Let’s see how this goes, reviving this lost art of anticipation, shall we?

Are you in my camp or his? Do you relish the wait?
I’d love to hear your stories of anticipation my dear ones, they’ll help me!
Thanks!

Sending love….in a minute…..wait for it.
Xox

Wanna listen instead?
https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/anticipation