writing

This is SOooooooo true! You know why my tribe?
Because they are the MOST interesting, sensitive and insightful souls.
Because they see the world differently than most.

Slightly tinted, and a bit skewed through the outsider’s lens.

Because they have an edge.
In their work and words and life.
It wraps it’s pointedness around their soft gooey hearts to keep them safe and sound, and if they let you inside, it feels like the Fourth of July, your first kiss and Christmas morning all rolled up into one.

Are you one of these wonderful, ragged, gypsy souls?

Then know I love You. Happy Saturday.
Xox

I’ve run across a few articles lately, by some authors whom I admire; about their reservations with the validity of blogs and social media in general.

What they expressed, was that they were glad blogging and Facebook weren’t around when they started out, because it would have diluted their process. 
They felt they would have just spewed or posted some observational quips, and not taken the time or effort to dredge the murky waters of their deepest feelings.

I disagree. AND. Who the hell do I think I am?

These guys are the real deal. These people are WRITERS. They’ve known they were writers since grade school.
They sat writing while I sang and danced. I saw them.
They’ve kept little blue journals with locks you can pick with a bobby pin (don’t ask me how I know that). These people edited the school newspaper, majored in journalism and communication (again, while I sang and danced) and have published magazine articles and books. 

Writing is what they do. A writer is who they are.

I JUST started calling myself a writer like five minutes ago, it’s easily my third incarnation in this incredible life I’m living.

Here’s where I part company with these guys.
Being new to this creative outlet, I have to say, I am SO freaking grateful for the internet.
I can’t help it, I guess because I don’t know any differently.
When I started writing two years ago, I had no idea where it would lead me.
All I knew was: I HAD to write.
I get headaches when I don’t. I get sullen and sad.
Let’s face it, I get itchy and bitchy.

I had heard about blogs, but I’d never read one.
Ever.

All I knew was, I had suddenly joined the ranks of these brainy creatives that had paid attention in creative writing class (while I sang and danced) and hence are able capture their inner most thoughts and feelings, and put them down on paper (or computer).

Being the extrovert and exhibitionist that I am, I had the audacity to start a blog (I was actually guided) and post something EVERY DAY. I didn’t know that was unusual, but hey, when have I EVER done things the usual way?

Like the authors I mentioned, I could have been silently, and anonymously honing my craft, letting all my memories and experiences marinate until they were ripe and ready for mass consumption.

Nah.

All of these months of writing coulda/ shoulda been tucked safely away, in a notebook, on a napkin, or on my iPad, with a lock and a password that made sure they were for my eyes only.
It’s a funny thing, the posts that make me squirm, the ones in which I rat myself out or discuss things that still cause me to cringe with shame, those are the ones that get the most traction. I think it’s because you guys can relate, just like I know I can, to someone telling the truth. It may be raw and not perfectly punctuated; but I think you can feel it anyhow.

If I self edited, waited, even hesitated for half a second….I’d never hit POST.

There’s my point. When I realized I wasn’t alone in my pain, embarrassment, failure and fear, I wanted to let other people know my truth, so I let my fingers do the talking.

I can appreciate the other writer’s process, I really can, but I would like them to appreciate mine.
It would feel out of body odd and uncomfortable for them to hit the POST button everyday, because when you do that, everything may not be just right, and that’s….okay.

The internet was made for someone like me. I’m not a solitary person At. All. I need feedback.

I know some days my thoughts ramble, or there’s a period where a comma belongs, or auto correct fucking goes insane, but that’s the spontaneity I think you get from blogging.
It’s real.
AND….

My blog is free. You didn’t have to purchase it, and if you don’t like it, or agree with what I write, you can hit delete. Simple as that.

But you don’t. Thank God. You continue to follow and comment and email me, and I appreciate that so much, you’ll never know.

Here’s what I love MOST about social media: it reminds you you’re not alone.
Boy, does it ever!

Here are some other things I love:

I love that it reinforces the fact that mommie’s brains aren’t liquefying while they stay at home. There are some wickedly, crazy funny ladies blogging about the adventures of raising their kids.

I love that musical theatre lovers have their blogs. And science guys. And photographers, fashionistas and entrepreneurs.

I love that in the last ten days there have been so many amazing tributes to Robin Williams and blog discussions about depression that have enlightened me, and brought me to tears.

I love the blogs and articles that are being written on race relations. It’s a hot topic for sure, but it’s being discussed – in real time.

Here’s the thing about the internet, I don’t have to wait for the books that will be written about these subjects, with their pristine editing, perfect grammar and punctuation, I’m reading some really thoughtful and comprehensive writing – today.

All that being said, here’s the elephant in the room.
I’m about to go do a writing workshop with some heavy duty, REAL writers ( I KNOW! I can’t believe it either) and work on a book derived from things I’ve written in this blog.
A book? Whaaaaaaaatttttt?
Shut up!
I know! 

I’m going to take you with me on this journey, to keep me on the straight and narrow.
So My tribe, here’s a question before I go.
What are some things I’ve written about that you’d like to see in a book? What do you want to hear more about? I’m curious.

Thanks.

( I can see it in the comments now, “write more about that devilishly handsome, fascinating Husband character, he’s so very interesting.) 

Okay honey, will do 😉

Love you guys, 
Xox

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http://youtu.be/_waBFUg_oT8

Elizabeth Gilbert.

I love her. I devour anything she writes.

Her advise to help us navigate failure and success? You do the same thing for both. WHAT!?
Watch. It’s only 7 mins.
It applies to anyone….about any endeavor.
But now, as a writer, this has a whole new meaning for me.

Xox

• People always ask me if I’m afraid I’m going to die on the motorcycle, which leads me to ask them: Are you afraid to live?

  About ten years ago, we, my hubby and I, decided to take our “Left Turn Ride.”
  Our plan, (which was hatched over too much wine on a Friday night, but brilliant just the same) was to ride up the west coast of the US, from LA to Vancouver Island, British Columbia, staying as far left as the roads would allow without having to wear a wetsuit.

  Our trip motto: When in doubt – turn left.

  Those were in the days before I met Ginger who turned me onto custom earphones and the concept of riding with music playing at all times. I now go to great lengths to assemble the perfect soundtrack for each day of our rides.
  Big, sweeping instrumentals for curves and great scenery, Sting for the moors of Scotland and Ireland, Billy Joel, Annie Lennox or Gaga for city riding and even a best-selling book for the long stretches of flat, straight, highway in Wyoming.

  On this “Left Turn Ride” I had only my own thoughts to keep me company, which could put me into a kind of zoned out state of bliss, or wreak havoc, depending on what I was seeing, how much sleep and coffee I’d had, and my general state of being that day.

  I know.

  Crap shoot, in head to toe Kevlar, on two wheels going 80 m.p.h.
  
  I’m a pretty even-tempered person, relatively low maintainance (if you just heard a thud, that’s my husband falling out of his chair) I’ve even been known to fall asleep on the back of the bike.
  No, you don’t fall off.
  No, I don’t admit any of this to my mother.

  Up the coast of Oregon and Washington we rode through mile after mile of gorgeous redwood forests.
  The scent of pine is one of my all time favorite things in the world next to the sound of babies laughing and bacon.
  Redwoods and Pine trees are at the top of my list of the reasons Why I Ride.
  They feed my soul.

  Sometimes the forest gets so dense and dark and the smell gets so strong, like a Christmas tree farm, you become completely transported to another time and place; of fairies, devas and magic. The trees truly are not just living, but ALIVE, and so is the forest……and therein lies the rub.

  One day in central Oregon, if I remember correctly, we saw remnants on the road of a deer that had the misfortune of meeting the front bumper of a logging truck at 65 mph.
  Then another.
  The next day, a red pickup truck was at a gas station, totaled on all four sides as a huge buck had gone up and over the front hood and windshield, with its legs making contact with the side panels on its way down the back and straight to heaven.
  That is when my thoughts, left to their own devices without the distraction of music, went to work on me.

  “What happens if we hit a deer?” I asked later at lunch, picking all the good bits out of my salad.

  My husband looked at me as if I just slapped him and slowly put down his fork.
  Shaking his head and fiddling with his paper napkin (he HATES paper napkins, it’s the French in him) he let out a long sigh.

  “Well, I will try to slow down if I have the chance, I won’t jam on the brakes and I won’t swerve to get out of the way because THAT will kill us for sure.”

  I stopped chewing.

  “When we hit it, the guts will splatter all over us, the deer will die, it’ll total the front of the bike, but hopefully we’ll be okay.”

  Shit. I dropped my fork.

  “If it’s an Elk or a Moose, you can kiss your ass goodbye.”
  I’ll do all the same things, I’ll slow down, go straight ahead…..but we’ll all die. That’s a huge animal.”

  He nonchalantly picked up his fork and started to eat again, like he just given me the weather report.
  Cloudy with a chance of reindeer.
  I’m crying now, and in my best freaked out seven-year old voice I wailed:
  “What!!!!!!!??????? You mean…we could DIE! Holy shit!”

  He was laughing now, big giant guffaws of laughter.
  “You’re kidding, right? It never occurred to you that you could die on a motorcycle?”

  Because my fate suddenly seemed uncertain and life too short; I stopped a passing waitress and ordered a hot fudge sundae.

  “Well, no. Certainly not at the hands of a Bambi.”

  He went on to explain that the greatest threat was when the wildlife was most active – dusk and dawn. That is apparently when the most vehicle versus fauna accidents occur.

  My husband has this theory about accidents. They are a series of random events that converge at the same time and place. If you remove ONE component, the accident cannot occur. For instance, if you forget something and run back into the house delaying your departure by five minutes, that will either place you on or remove you from the accident timeline.

  I wanted to remove us from that timeline.

  My new rule: No riding before nine in the morning and kickstands down by five.
  
  Suddenly my beautiful pine forests were filled with terrifying, furry, four-legged terrorists ready to leap out at any moment and render us dead.

  Why I Ride is all about the experiences. It’s about Living life.

  Hadn’t I just said that to the person that asked me if I was afraid of dying?

  Now I found myself afraid for tens of hours a day, my eyes searching for animals lurking in the landscape, ready to leap.
  Cute became creepy.

  Fuck I hate fear, it changes you…..it was changing me.
  It was making me afraid of some implied danger, trading beautiful experiences for the illusion of safety.

  I was willing to forgo some of my all time favorite things –– the sunrise and sunset rides, the mystical, foggy, early morning departures right after coffee with the promise of a big breakfast after a couple of hours of sleepy coastal roads.

• No way Jose, I’m sleeping in. Those brazen killers will be stirring at that hour.

  Wait…why do I ride?
  (To be continued)

  Xox

  

Creation!
Think about it.
This world operates on a kind of cosmic auto-pilot where Divine Order prevails.

Buds turn into flowers, acorns to oaks, tadpoles to frogs and an egg and sperm into a human being.
It is automatic, pre-programmed alchemy, mixed with a dash of abracadabra and a pinch of magic.

If you’ve ever planted a garden from seeds you’ve witnessed this.
One day there is dirt. Then maybe some dirt and fertilizer. Later, you throw down some seeds, quite randomly actually, trying your best to duplicate Mother Nature; add some water and sunshine and voila! In a few days, from what was previously barren earth, little green sprouts start to peek their way into existence.

You, with a lot of help from the Universe, have created SOMETHING from NOTHING.

That never ceases to amaze me when I slow down long enough to actually let it sink in.

SOMETHING from NOTHING.

Ideas become real, caught in third dimension, for eyes to behold, scholars to ponder, haters to hate.
We cannot help it, residing in this world of creation.
It is everywhere.
Bee hives and boobies, birds nests, coral reefs, ant hills.
Nature is constantly showing off. Her cycles of birth, life and death, showing us the way.
It’s that ashes to ashes thing she does so well.

SOMETHING from NOTHING.

The earliest men and women stared at the blank walls of their caves and after dinner and dishes, they drew with ash from their fire what they saw around them.
It’s in our genes.

A blank canvas calls the painter to it, like the marble summons the sculptor.
Aren’t we all glad the marble didn’t summon the painter, the canvas the cook?
Divine Order is savvy that way. An acorn doesn’t become a rosebush any more than we hatch from eggs, it’s all been worked out and it’s perfect.

SOMETHING from NOTHING

It’s the same with writing.
I start with a blank screen. Some days it taunts me with its blankness, but then the Muse starts to talk, and when she talks I listen – and I write.
Soon, that blank screen is filled with five hundred words. In the old days I would have been engulfed in a sea of crumpled rejects, these days if something doesn’t jell it’s as easily forgotten as delete, delete, delete.
I know I’m no different from every other writer when I confess to being as surprised as anyone, that the ideas actually make it to the page.

SOMETHING from NOTHING.

Cooking.
Random ingredients, spices, oil, water, et al, gathered into an empty pot, simmering, beckoning for recognition. An hour ago this dish ceased to exist. I’ve said it before – add the final ingredient, LOVE.
It’s freaking alchemy. I’m telling you.

If you make jewelry, it all starts with an idea. Then add gold, stones and artistry.

If you build a house – idea. Then add dirt lot, lumber, elbow grease.

If you write a song, it’s an idea that attaches itself to music. How about THAT.

Every Corporation, company, great cause, charity, invention, started as an invisible idea.

SOMETHING from NOTHING.

As I see it, it goes:
idea, intent, execution…..stand back……repeat.

We all do this in so many aspects of our day to day life, I think it’s important to recognize the alchemy and be appreciative of the fact that Divine Order exists.

SOMETHING from NOTHING.

What do you think? What have you created today?
Do you take the time to notice Divine Order in nature?
I’d love it if you told me what you create from nothing – Share it with us!

If you’d rather listen than read, I get it, here you go:

https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/something-from-nothing

Big love,
Xox

At dinner Monday night, the conversation, fueled by my favorite Italian wine, one of my all time favorite couples, candlelight and a table on the patio, led in its meandering yet revealing way, to talk of Resistance.

You all know how I LOVE that subject.

I’m convinced that the the more I can shine a light on that creative cockroach, sending him back into the shadows, the better off the world will be.

The food was epically delicious; like accidental drooling level good, yet it was eclipsed by the conversation because I got to discuss Resistance with someone who’s creative genius I admire beyond words.
He paints and he is also a musical wonder.
He writes, plays multiple instruments, and is a highly sought after producer.
But beyond that, he is disarming, present, engaging and humble as hell, which makes me LOVE him and want to put him in my pocket for safe keeping.

We have a similar relationship with the Muse, and obviously his channel is clear.
He keeps on delivering great work from her, year after year.

Still, he has his struggles with the beast, Resistance – he was just unaware of its name.

If you can’t name your enemy, how can you defeat it?
So now you have it, my friend.

Remember, this isn’t just for artists and writers, we are ALL creating SOMETHING, and Resistance is an equal opportunity saboteur.

Here are a few things we touched on:

*RESISTANCE IS INSIDIOUS
“Resistance will tell you anything to keep you from doing your work. It will perjure, fabricate, falsify; seduce, bully, cajole. Resistance is protean. It will assume any form, if that’s what it takes to deceive you. It will reason with you like a lawyer or jam a nine-millimeter in your face like a stickup man. Resistance has no conscience. It will pledge anything to get a deal, then double-cross you as soon as your back is turned. 
If you take Resistance at its word, you deserve everything you get. Resistance is always lying and always full of shit.”

That always lying and full of shit part; I’ve dated that guy.

All kidding aside, the implications of this seem daunting.
The level of commitment and fight, not to mention the sheer tonnage of alcohol and chocolate it will take to overcome; well, pick your poison and come sit by me, we have some serious strategy to employ.

This all makes me sick to my stomach because that fucker is in MY head.
It leads me to believe that it’s smarter than me, when it’s NOT. How could it be when it is using MY intellect – against me?

*RESISTANCE IS IMPLACABLE
Resistance is like the Alien or the Terminator or the shark in Jaws. It cannot be reasoned with. It understands nothing but power. It is an engine of destruction, programmed from the factory with one object only: to prevent us from doing our work. Resistance is implacable, intractable, indefatigable. Reduce it to a single cell and that cell will continue to attack.
This is Resistance’s nature. It’s all it knows.”

Resistance IS the Alien parasite that rides along with its host, fowling everything it encounters.

It’s an inside job; this ruining of our lives.
Much like the Alien/parasite, resistance doesn’t have the good sense to know it’s slowly and systematically killing its host.
Either that or it doesn’t care.

Both make me want to hurl, and then they make. me. angry.

Anger is good. It’s mobilizing. It short circuits victim hood
.
If Resistance lies within me, then, it is within my control.
Therein lies the Ah Ha.
MuuuuuHaaaaaaaa! (Diabolical laugh).
Control. Now you’re talkin’

If Resistance is the Alien inside, then I have no problem getting all Ripley on it.
“Get away from ME – you bitch!”

I’d love to hear your struggles with Resistance and the ways you’ve battled the Alien. Did you realize it was an inside job? Does that make you feel more empowered? Talk to me.
Your comments help the tribe.

Much love,
Xox

*All excerpts from Steven Pressfield & Shawn Coyne. “The War of Art.” (My bible)

I don’t appreciate being pigeonholed, and I try not to do it to others, but honestly, as we all live and breathe, and the sun sets in the west, I’m an extrovert – right?

Ha! Not so fast.

I took a test back at one of those kookie workshops in the eighties, where the air was scented with sandalwood and body odor, and the leader was a fellow with grey dreadlocks and colored striped gaucho pants. Short Circus pants, really.

Since said test was administered toward the end of a loooooong day of chanting, drinking only carrot juice and nibbling on cacao covered coffee beans ( you can’t make this shit up, it was said to improve our “stamina”).
We were on a twenty-four hour, soul-searching quest to discover our true selves, using each other as mirrors, so I’m pretty sure all twenty people would have pegged me as an extrovert.

I can be a bossy pants, especially back then, when I was living my life as the Divine Masculine.

But the results of the test proved what I kinda suspected.

I’m a chatty, sensitive, loner, spotlight stealing, amalgamation of the two.

An Ambivert (which I thought he was making up, just like the validity of the cuisine he served; but it’s a real term).

Here are a few questions that can help you determine if you’re and introvert or extrovert:

Where do you gain or lose energy? (Crowds suck the life force right out of my husband. Me? Not so much.)

Introverts are drained by people and need alone time to recharge. (Only if I’m around the energy vampires)

Extroverts are drained by too much time alone. They need human interaction to recharge. (Ding, ding, ding, BINGO)

A smidgen of both? Welcome to the club.

See that beautifully enlightening graphic above?

It’s another one of those things that should be hanging in every schoolroom, outside every therapist’s office, in the bathrooms at Starbucks and taped to the front door of every party we attend.

Don’t you agree?

That’s just some common sense, good thinking…but I hadn’t thought of few of them.

Here are a couple corrected misconceptions:

Introverts aren’t just shy. They’re introverts. It’s about energy.

Extroverts aren’t necessarily the best sales people, as is often thought, they can be terrible listeners.

Give this some careful consideration. Maybe, in your haste to judgement, you mis categorized those close to you, and maybe even yourself. I know I did.

Let’s all take a moment of silence, and send some juicy gratitude to Gaucho Clown Pants Guy.

OMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I love when you comment! Let me know. Are you an introvert, extrovert or Ambivert? Did you learn something from that graphic? I did!

With love, whispered from the rooftops,

Xox

*Another unsuspecting victim. Sorry Hillary. Happy Sunday!

“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

We both noticed it. My husband and I.

There was one lonely sheet of double ply Brawny paper towel on the butcher block in the center of the kitchen, when we got up this morning.
I thought it was left over from some boxer-shark puppy calamity that he’d cleaned up, and I’m sure he thought the same.

Neither was true.

It just laid there, like a blank slate, ready for a mess.

Five minutes later when he was bringing me my coffee, (cue the sappy music and the Husband of the Year Award) it sloshed up and over the side of the cup, leaving a little trail to the TV room, where I sit in the morning, posting this blog.
Now the handy dandy paper towel that was nearby, primed and ready, waiting for a spill, was finally put to use.

Often, the Universe leaves us clues of what’s to come.

The other day, I noticed a rogue Band Aid on the bathroom counter. 
Hmmmmm. How’d THAT get there?
It came in handy when my groovy shoes gave me blisters from hell later that afternoon.

I love the concept that the Universe, like a helicopter parent, is waiting there with a Kleenex before we even sneeze.

I, for one, welcome the help.

I can think of SO many of these. Can you?

You’ve probably never tried.

Do it! 
It’s fun. Close your eyes and think a minute about the little clues that you’ve received, out of the blue.
When has the Universe placed something right in your path that was exactly what you needed. You probably won’t have to think long, these things tend to make an impression.

Tell me, I’d love to hear your story!

Xox

Even though my neck is developing a waddle, my arms are jiggly, and my bra size is a 36 long, I’m FAR from dead.

I feel great, look pretty darn good for my age, and I want to just give life a big slap on the ass for providing such incomparable entertainment, (because we all came here to be entertained, right?)

Here’s to fifty and beyond!

1) No more zits. That’s huge for me. I literally had chin acne up until five minutes ago.

2) More free time because of reduced mirror time.
I can’t really see anymore but I’ve decided that using the magnifying mirror is masochistic, so, if I have an occasional chin hair or stray lipstick creeping into the creases above my lip line, cut me some slack.
While I used to relish getting ready in the morning, these days the routine ends with me throwing my arms up saying: “Okay, f*ck it! This is as good as it gets.”

3) My BS meter is finely tuned,
I can smell a “phony baloney story” a mile away.

4) I BE WISE.
Not necessarily smart, more like crafty and clever.
I may not have a ton of what some would call common sense, or be very tech savvy,
but I have a keen street sense. In other words, “I be wise in the ways of the world.“

5) People expect less of me because my hair is gray and I often wear more sensible shoes (idiots) so when I get off the back of the motorcycle or I’m funny or say something current, they’re like, “Damn!”

6) My bucket list is getting shorter —and it seems suddenly attainable. Bo Shizzle!

7) I have felt all different kinds of love (except for a child…next life.)
But I DO know the difference between dog love and cat love, teenage crush, misguided 20 something love, sibling love, infatuation (not to be confused with love), lust (also not to be mistaken, under ANY circumstances for love), “I love you, but I’m not in love with you, love”, platonic love, love of country (don’t wince, travel; then come talk to me) And last but certainly not least—Self-love.

8) I give less F*cks.
I have so few left, why waste them? My inhibitions are almost non-existent. I offer my opinion, I don’t shy away from conflict, I’ll sing first at karaoke night and I’ll dance in Greek restaurants.
There’s not much that scares me anymore, much to the horror of my introverted spouse.

9) I stopped asking why. It was just SO exhausting. I wish I’d stopped decades ago.

10) I realize that I may have more years behind me than in front of me, and that doesn’t make me sad (most days)—on the contrary, it mobilizes me.
Listen, times a-wastin’!

Okay, you over fiftys! What can you add?
If you haven’t reached fifty yet, what are you looking forward to?

Xox