guidance

Thank you, ancient Chinese woman who is taking an eternity to cross the street.

There is no doubt in my mind that you will celebrate your 102nd birthday in the crosswalk—while we all watch and wait.

I’m tempted to buy a cake and balloons—but I’m pretty sure your resolve to get to the other side of the street is such that you wouldn’t even notice, and I don’t want an entire uneaten cake sitting around my house taunting me.

You see, I’m in a big, hairy hurry today and you have forced me to slow down, no, make that stop, and cool my jets.

You’ve probably saved my life. Maybe there was a car accident up ahead with my name on it—so thank you.

No, really.
I want to scream at you in Chinese or nudge you with my car, after all, it’s been over seven minutes and you’re not even half-way across—but I too possess feet that barely walk anymore—a conscience—and I want to go to heaven when I die—where I will wait for you—because you’ll still be crossing this fucking street!

A man tried to help you and you waved him off, so I’ve turned off my engine—we all have. We’re treating this like a train crossing.

But really, thank you oh ancient one, for giving me hope that I will still be getting around and holding up traffic at rush hour (that term is a cruel joke) when I am your age. I can only aspire.

By the way, where are you headed? Where did you come from? What’s your story? Why are you walking? What—no Uber for you?

And seriously, you have the tiniest feet I’ve ever seen on someone over six months old.
How do they hold you up? And I’m not sure about the little black Mary Jane’s over white socks.
They look like doll shoes. As a matter of fact the more I look at them the more certain I am that there is a barefoot doll lurking somewhere in Chinatown.

I would have chosen something more…sensible. Perhaps a cross-trainer. I’m just sayin’.

Here’s the thing, with all this time on my hands I’ve had a chance to look you over, after all I’m the first car at the crosswalk and you’ve been crossing in front of me for the better part of, well, a damn long time!

奶奶 Nǎinai (That’s grandma in Chinese, I had time to google it).
I like your pointy hat. Although a straw Chinese hat borders on cliché and would not have been MY first choice, I like how it ties under your chin with a red string and shades your entire face. I can see that you go for substance over style. Classics only, no fads for you. Good job.

And Oh My God, can we talk about that face for a minute?
It is the color of latte (which reminds me, I haven’t had my coffee yet—fasting blood test) and is so wizened that it appears that your lines have lines, tributaries that traverse your entire face from the corners of your eyes to your chin. (I can’t see the rest—your pointy hat is in the way).

Okay then, gauging from your progress so far, (sitting through four light changes), I’ll have plenty of time to finish this post AND check my emails.

I typically don’t check them while I’m driving, but I can see them flash across the screen when they come in—and of course two that I’ve been waiting days to see, have shown up at the moment I’m least able to reply.

Six hours at the computer—nothing.

Get in the car—every email I’ve ever needed to read, all the answers to all of my questions bling into my awareness—while I’m fucking driving and my hands are tied! (Sorry, remember I haven’t had my coffee and I’m a pint low on blood.)

So thank you ancient Chinese Nǎinai, I’m all caught up now.

I have also finished my taxes, filed a broken nail, plucked my eyebrows in the rearview mirror, and cleaned out my wallet.

Well, look at that! It seems that you are suddenly finished, (you took that curb like a champ)… and I already miss you.

Thank you for all of your life lessons today. You have taught me so much!

You slowed me down. You showed me you can live a perfectly lovely life at another speed besides TURBO.

You attempted to teach me patience, empathy, and compassion. (You were successful on two out of three.)

You showed me what wise, ripe, old age can look like. And power. You showed me you have the power to stop traffic.

You schooled me in the millinery arts.

And you made me fall just a little bit in love with you.

So now, the twenty or so of us that have gathered and waited (without honking by the way), for you to cross the street, we have to race away and try to make up the time we’ve lost.

But I’m going to think of you today, traveling at your glacial pace, and wonder how you are and if you ever made it to your destination.

Who am I kidding? I will be waiting for you in heaven!

Carry on,
xox

In the beginning of her book “Eat Pray Love”, Liz Gilbert finds herself in the middle of something she has no control over which is causing her a great deal of angst, worry, anxiety, and despair. In her case, a contested divorce. It has come to the place where it has the potential to consume yet another year of her life by tying her up in court, not to mention wasting every dime of their money on legal fees.

Are you guys with me? Anxiety? Despair? Loss of control? Can you relate?

She feels hopeless and out of control and while on a drive through Kansas with a friend, she expresses her desire to write a Petition to God, you know, to inject some Divine Intervention into a situation which seems beyond repair.

Once she drafts a copy in the car, she and her amazing and very willing friend, add imaginary (energetic), signatures at the bottom. “My parents both signed it!” her friend exclaims. “So did mine! And so did my grandparents!” Liz replies. “St Francis of Assisi just signed it!” her friend yells excitedly, pounding the steering wheel for emphasis; and the exercise continues for well over an hour raising Liz’s spirits and bolstering her resolve.

Later, still in the passenger seat of the car, she grabs a quick nap and is awakened by her ringing phone. “You’ll never guess”, her attorney from New York exclaims without even saying hello, “He just signed the papers!”

God, I love that scene! Because I love magic, and I believe in the Physics of Quests, clues, and signs, and our right to Petition God or the Universe to take the wheel on our behalf, and so it dawned on me that I should write my own Petition, regarding my own crazy brave,crazy, brave, batshit crazy endeavour, and send it to my tiny inner circle—my tribe—so I did last night.

“Just like in the book I’d love it if you could sign it energetically (or literally) and send it out to others in the aether, living or dead, and let me know who we’ve got working on this.
I’ll put mine at the bottom.

I love you all more than words can express.
xoxJ”

And all day the names of the signatories have been pouring in!
Lucille Ball, Charlie Chaplin, Jackie Kennedy, The Obama’s…
Even the Pope signed it! What??!!

I wasn’t going to share it but then I realised that you guys are my tribe too! Below is what I wrote so you can use it as a template for your own Petition.

Then, I had what I thought was a great idea! I wanted to offer YOU this: If you want to write a short sentence in the comments about something that needs some energetic surrendering—start your own Pettition—I (we) will add our names and the names of others to it and up that juju factor.

How about it? Wanna try it? What do you have to lose?

I love you all more than words can express!
Carry on,
xox

Dear God, Universe, Nora, Nixon and All,
It is now time for you to intervene and facilitate the making of this “darling” screenplay into a movie. I humbly and respectfully acknowledge that I haven’t the faintest idea of what comes next or how to make this happen, and I am well aware of the fact that if I attempt to meddle in matters this far outside my paygrade, well, let’s just say ‘I’ll fuck it up’.

I realize that you may have more pressing things on your agendas like Chinese and North Korean diplomacy, Syria, finding a great karaoke song and looking for other ways to demystify death, and that helping me to ‘mind my own business’ seems like an insurmountable challenge, but we’ve come this far and worked so well together—that I beseech you to try.

Please attract only those to this project who are lifted by its message. Let it easily find its way to the best and the brightest. May the making of the movie be surrounded by as much love, light, fun and magic as the writing of the screenplay has been and may those that lay eyes on it see beyond what was written on the page. May it live to touch hearts and soothe souls.

Thank you for your kind consideration,
Respectfully,
Janet Bertolus

Picasso
Diane Sawyer
Mike Nicols
James Cameron
Elizabeth Gilbert
Oprah
Gayle King
My dad
Tom Hanks
Rob Bell
Erma Bombeck
Dear Abby
Clark Gable
Eva Gardner
Frank Sinatra
Andy Williams
Bob Fosse
Hemingway
Mark Twain
Martha Stewart
Mama Cass
Stevie Nicks
Joni Mitchell
Cameron Crowe
Ron Howard
Bryan Lorde
Rob Lowe
Prince

I was practicing resistance on Saturday morning, like the kid at the piano who is twisted sideways on the bench, one hand practicing their scales while the rest of their body searches for something better to do.

Procrastinating.
Dragging my feet.
Lolly gagging.
Diddly doinking as it’s known in our family.

I should have been tweaking a song that’s been giving me shit in our musical, downloading my screenplay onto a flash drive and then making my way to FedEx to print up the masterpiece, or unloading the dishwasher—but instead, I got sucked into my phone.

Not by Instagram; not even by Facebook.
This day I was swallowed up by the contacts in my cell phone to be exact.

I could say I was purging.
Yeah, that’s it—I was doing a little bit of purging. Except purging a little bit is an oxymoron.

Truth be told, I was looking around. Wasting time. Searching for one thing when I noticed another.

What is this?  I have over seven hundred contacts and I can’t for the life of me remember who the hell many, many of these people are!

For one split second on a random Tuesday, they must have meant something to me because there they are—living in my phone. But honestly, even with the hints I left myself (because I know how lame I can be), like Aaron—Washer Repair in the W’s, or Clifford and for his last name—Sandy’s deadbeat boyfriend. You guys, I haven’t the foggiest idea who Sandy is and for the past fifteen years a man named Raphael has fixed my washing machine.

He also sleeps in my bed, rubs my feet, and makes me coffee in the mornings so I figure he trumps Aaron in more ways than one.

Delete! Delete! Goodbye, Clifford! Adios Aaron!

That was fun!

And it was then that a tangent was born and I got on it and rode that sucker for over an hour!

One of the things that surprised me the most was the fact that there were so many dead people haunting my phone.
Is that a side effect of aging? Please tell me it’s not. I’d rather think that I have a group of extremely unlucky individuals as friends. Careless people who overindulge in the hedonistic pleasures of life or forget to look for falling pianos and such.

Nope. There were actual friends who I’ve known and loved who are gone too soon. Like Vinnie, whose list of emails and six different telephone numbers was like a sucker-punch to the gut.

And then some I just wish were dead. Like the two dozen lawyers and legal firms from back in the days when if you weren’t suing me—you were on the short list.

Because of the “cloud” and the fact that it never forgets a thing, I also had the contact info for a bunch of celebrities who used to shop in my store. The store that’s been closed for seven years. I hesitated in deleting these, you know because celebrities living in my phone made me cool and all, but the fact that most of that information had probably been changed a thousand times by now convinced me of its diminished cool factor—so out it went.

Delete, delete, delete.

Oh, sorry Gayle Zappa, you were an amazing woman and a great customer, but you’re the most useless of contacts: the dead celebrity.

There were five Patty’s.
Patty—with the neck. I suppose I wrote that to distinguish her from the other four Patty’s whose heads sit directly on their shoulders.

Patty S.—Oh, good, that clears THAT up.

Patty, Antique Mall—Which is a place I worked back in 1988.

Patty with a 310 number.

Patty with an 818 number.

I wracked my brain, I did. I actually sat for many minutes and I could not for the life of me remember ANY of these Patty’s. Not a one.
I suppose I could have called each one and asked them if we were close—but I didn’t. I was busy purging.

Delete, delete, delete.

Here is more useless information that was chewing up all of my storage capacity (and my Saturday):

The name, address and phone numbers of every landlord I’ve had since I was twenty.

Bandmates from the days when I was in “New Age” bands around LA. When “New Age” was a thing. This was the early 80’s, people.

Guys I went to acting class with, (I only know this because it says ACTING CLASS after their names), whose numbers I had so we could “run scenes” together. My guess is that most of them live in Orange County and are pretty close to retiring from some big corporate job right about now.

The numbers of every doctor, Gynecologist, dentist, acupuncturist, masseuse, Vet, chiropractor, and nail salon I’ve ever used.

The number for One Hour Photo. Yes, the magical place where you could get your film developed at the lightning speed of one hour! What?
Can you imagine?

All of my favorite restaurants, many of which have been closed for decades. (Rita Flora).

Jewelry contacts. You guessed it. Many who are retired… or dead.

Lessons learned? Were there any? Hell yeah!
1) The first one being, sometimes procrastinating (and purging), can be a good thing! And woman, for the love of God, you need to go through your contacts at least once a decade! (I’m now down to 238!).

2) Celebrities will give you their contact information ONLY if they want something from you. BUT… there is a small window of time where it is accurate. After that it self-destructs or you have to print it—and eat it.

3) Some people’s info NEVER changes. Forty-years later EVERYTHING is the same, and other folks info is obsolete by the time you finish entering it.

4) Be on the lookout for those neck-less Patty’s and if you see them—ask them to call me.

Carry on,
xox

What’s the oldest contact you have in your phone right now?

Transformation tourism

“I bought the diet book, but ate my usual foods.”

“I filled the prescription, but didn’t take the meds.”

“I took the course… well, I watched the videos… but I didn’t do the exercises in writing.”

Merely looking at something almost never causes change. Tourism is fun but rarely transformative.

If it was easy, you would have already achieved the change you seek.

Change comes from new habits, from acting as if, from experiencing the inevitable discomfort of becoming.

Seth Godin

SETH GODIN is the author of 18 books that have been bestsellers around the world and have been translated into more than 35 languages. He writes about the post-industrial revolution, the way ideas spread, marketing, quitting, leadership and most of all, changing everything. You might be familiar with his books Linchpin, Tribes, The Dip and Purple Cow.

His newest book, “What To Do When It’s Your Turn”, is already a bestseller.

sethgodin.com

“Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us.  Between the two stands Resistance”
~Steven Pressfield “The War of Art.” 

“The War of Art” is one of my all-time favorite books on creation, life, love and well… what else is there?

In my humble opinion, it should be a textbook in every school, on every hotel nightstand, next to the Bible, and reduced to liquid form and added to the water supply.

Beyond what the title implies, this book is not strictly written for artists and writers.

As you’ll glean from the list below, Resistance isn’t particular about which endeavors it sabotages. The only thing they have in common is our desire to become fully realized. Whether that be through artistic pursuits, the Paleo diet, Fab Ab Boot camp, that non-profit you want to start or marrying Skipper.

Up until Steven set us straight, we thought we were all just dumbass, procrastinating losers.

Nope, that’s just Resistance talking smack and taking the wheel, leaving us eating its dust and only dreaming about our unlived lives.
It will always stand in the way of our growth.
It’s a law; like gravity. That explains sooooooooooo much.

Assbite.

But…what I know for SURE….Resistance only has the power WE give it. 

“The following is a list, in no particular order, of those activities that most commonly elicit Resistance:

1) The pursuit of any calling in writing, painting, music, film, dance, or any creative art, however marginal or unconventional.

2) The launching of any entrepreneurial venture or enterprise, for profit or otherwise.

3) Any diet or health regimen.

4) Any program of spiritual advancement.

5) Any activity whose aim is tighter abdominals.

6) Any course or program designed to overcome an unwholesome habit or addiction.

7) Education of every kind.

8) Any act of political, moral, or ethical courage, including the decision to change for the better some unworthy pattern of thought or conduct in ourselves.

9) The undertaking of any enterprise or endeavor whose aim is to help others.

10) Any act that entails commitment of the heart. The decision to get married, to have a child, to weather a rocky patch in a relationship.

11) The taking of any principled stand in the face of adversity.

In other words, any act that rejects immediate gratification in favor of long-term growth, health, or integrity. Or, expressed another way, any act that derives from our higher nature instead of our lower.

Any of these will elicit Resistance.

Excerpt From: Steven Pressfield & Shawn Coyne. “The War of Art.” Visionary Press, 2012. iBooks.
This material may be protected by copyright.

I’d LOVE it if you’d tell me:
What beautiful thing has Resistance been talking you out of doing?
Do you agree that we have two lives, the one we live and the unlived life?

MuchO loveO
Xox

Once upon a time I took score too soon.
I was convinced that my life as I knew it was over. Which it was, but not in the sucky way I thought.

I told you guys back at the start of this year how a past love from thirty years ago had contacted me, wanting to reconnect. I also told you how squirmy it made me on account of—he quite literally broke. my. heart!

At the time of our breakup, it seemed as if he’d dumped me right out of the blue, with no rhyme or reason; and it took me five long and torturous (for those around me), years to get over him.

My days consisted of wanton displays of reminiscing, whining, moaning and crying, all of which demonstrated a complete absence of any self-respect or common sense. The cry-fests were of such unending duration that I was single-handedly responsible for the uptick in Kleenex stock at the time.
You’re welcome Proctor and Gamble.

When I was telling my friend Kim (you all remember Kim. She’s the no shit-taker Janet whisperer), the story back in January, I remembered, for the first time in like, forever—this little tidbit.

This nugget of wtf.

This slight of hand that destiny dealt me.

It should have always been the prequel to this tale of woe. The appetizer, the trailer of coming attractions, but it never was, because I forgot about it. Until this year.

Late one hot summer night in 1986, I got off the phone with my luvah boy-toy after what could be described as a three-hour nasty-chat that sizzled the telephone lines between Long Beach, where he was attending college, and LA, where I was busy robbing cradles.

After finishing my post virtual-sex cigarette, I fell asleep ten times less horny and fifty times happier than earlier that night.
He was the love of my life…or so I thought.
Deep into my sexy, sweaty, summer stupor, I had a dream. It was as vivid as real life; only way more interesting.

I was walking barefoot into a cave, running my hands along its cold, smooth, stone walls, feeling the powdery sand between my toes as I ventured further and further into its pitch-blackness. It was cool and dry and I can still smell the mustiness that filled my senses as I  inhaled deeply. Even though I’m not a fan of dark cave walks in real life; at the time I felt more curious than anything else.

Suddenly, there was a male presence ahead of me dressed in a black robe with a hood that obscured his face. Again, in real life that is the universal sign for ‘run for your life’, but inside of this dream instead of being afraid I started a conversation, you know like you do with black hooded figures in pitch dark caves.

It’s not like our lips moved, well, maybe his did but it was so dark I couldn’t see them and besides, it was a dream, so we communicated telepathically. I started by asking him who he was and he immediately broke the ice with an ultimatum.

“This is not the direction your life is meant to go. This relationship must end.”

“Whoa there big hooded fella” I replied, appalled by his rude opening line. “That will NOT be happening!”

“He is not the one for you, this is not where your life is headed, let him go and move on.”

“I don’t remember asking you for advice, this is none of your black capey business.”

“This must end. Now”,  He demanded.

“No!” I could feel myself getting emotional as I argued back.

The tone of his thought/voice was firm and unwavering. There would be no compromise. I started to cry.

“But.. I love him.”

“This is not the life you are meant to live. The relationship must end.”

As he said that, I began to sob, and before I knew it this large hooded figure reached out and pulled me in for a hug.

I kid you not.

The moment we made contact I felt an amazing rush of incredible love and I knew EVERYTHING.

I mean EVERYTHING.

Who killed J.R., why we are here, the reason for it all, the cure for cancer, the names of all the planets in our galaxy and every baby that will ever be born on Earth. EVERYTHING.

I remember thinking for one split second remember this and omg it is all so easy.

When he let go of me I knew in my kishkes that my life had been changed forever, but I didn’t remember anything else.

“Show me your face” I begged.
“Not now”
“Then when?”

It was everything I could do not to reach up and pull the hood down but I was suddenly distracted by a telephone ringing in the distance. I turned around and started to run to answer it. As I raced out of the cave and back toward the light and the sound of the ringing, I remember glancing over my shoulder to see if he was still there—but he was gone.

I opened my eyes to bright sunlight streaming through the blinds and my telephone ringing loudly on the floor just where I’d left it the night before.

“Hello?” I croaked, my mouth so void of saliva that my lips were sticking to my teeth.

Silence. Then, “Hey baby…we have to talk”. And right then and there he told me he didn’t want to see me anymore. I pleaded for a reason, something I did wrong, something I could do to change his mind, but he was adamant. Just like that, we were over.

“That hooded dude did a Jedi-mind trick on your boy!”, Kim exclaimed at the end of my story.
“Really? You don’t see it? It’s as plain as day!”,  she snort-laughed seeing the gobsmacked expression on my face.

Why hadn’t I ever thought of that?!

“OMG! He still can’t explain why he left you, hence all the regrets and looking back”,  she howled.

She’s right. The dream provided me some warning for the impending 180 my life was about to take, but the Universe took the wheel and forgot to share its plans with my friend.

In the middle of it all, I took score.
Note to self: Don’t take score in the middle.

I was convinced my life was over when it was only just beginning.

In response to my extreme dumb-shittery during our time together, his departure facilitated a life-long spiritual practice . I went on a journey of self-discovery, saw the world, and started eating meat again, just not in that order.

And beware of black-hooded telepaths who hang out in caves giving hugs—for they may speak the truth.

Carry on,
xox

“Fear shows up unbidden, it almost never goes away if you will it to, and it’s rarely a useful tool for your best work.

~Seth Godin

I’m going to tattoo this on my forehead or better yet, get it as a tramp-stamp. How about you?

“Never drink wine while operating power tools. The dust will spoil it.”
~Ted Bixby

…or apply eyeliner. “Never apply eyeliner while operating power tools. The line will always be crooked.”
~Me

We are forbidden in our house to use the words never and always. Mostly because when we do they’re spit out through grit teeth during an argument, and secondly, and most importantly—because they’re never true. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.)

“I can’t wait for that to never happen.”

It’s a good rule (of course it is, I made it up), and I credit it with the longevity of our marriage.

“You never take me anywhere” is quite simply a lie. My husband and I are in the car together a lot and most of the time he drives. Same with the motorcycle, so just as a technicality—it’s total bullshit.

The same holds true for “You are always picking on me!”. IF there were a grain of truth in that statement, he would have left me long ago or my forehead would have met with a fork in a very unfortunate way.

It’s all about communication. Picking the right words. Saying what you REALLY mean…and chocolate. Relationships, and pretty much all the other good things in life are made that much more tolerable with chocolate.

So as not to belabor the point and to maintain my status as a contradicted mess—here are some never’s that never disappoint and a few always that always hold up.

“Wicked people never have time for reading. It’s one of the reasons for their wickedness.”
― Lemony Snicket

No matter how smart you are you can never convince someone stupid that they are stupid.
~Anonymous

I never made a mistake in my life. I thought I did once, but I was wrong.
~Charles M. Schulz (And my husband)

Never moon a werewolf.
~Mike Binder

Never ask a starfish for directions.
~Anonymous

Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else.
~Margaret Mead

You can always tell when the groove is working or not.
~Prince

It always seems impossible until it’s done.
~Nelson Mandela

If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don’t, they never were.
~Khalil Gibran

Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible. (grimacing a little on this one, but, okay…he’s the Dali fucking Lama…)
~Dalai Lama

All of this just goes to show that it’s a good idea to watch your words and that every rule is made to be broken!

Carry on,
xox

Okay. Prepare to have your minds BLOWN.

I am currently reading The Power of I Am ~ Two Words That Will Change Your Life Today ~ by Joel Osteen.

Yes, you read that right. The book is by pastor Joel Osteen.
Yes, THAT Joel Osteen,
Pastor of the America’s largest congregation, Lakewood Church in Houston Texas, where more than 45,000 people attend services EVERY WEEK.

Before you all think I’ve flipped to the tele-evangelist side of the street, let me explain.
First of all, the rumor that he is supporting Trump is unfounded, I checked, so calm down.

Here’s the thing, when I saw him recently chatting it up with Oprah on Super Soul Sunday, I was like, ‘Oh Oprah, really?’, but if she was willing to devote an hour of her time to promote his book, I could settle in for the forty minutes (sans commercials), and attempt to practice open-mindedness.

You all are familiar with that? Right? Open mindedness I mean.

Well, I did it and I’ve gotta tell ya, to my surprise he did NOT thump a Bible, not once! As a matter of fact, he speaks my language, the language of Law of Attraction, something I’ve studied for over thirty years!

What?

Instead of Universe, or Higher Power or Scott, the terms I prefer, he uses God or The Lord.
I can live with that.
The rest of his message is the SAME!
But you probably already knew that, right?
I forget that many of you still practice Christianity and are not heathens…like me.

The basic tenets of his message being:

Watch your thinking.
Watch your words.
Watch your beliefs, yadda, yadda, yadda.
And it will change your life.

I write about all those things here. A lot.

So, I felt connected. Simpatico with the Pastor. Loving HIS interpretation of that book known as the Bible.

In his book, he talks about a particular passage in that book, Deuteronomy 15 to be exact, and about a law that God gave the people of Israel. Here it is: At the end of every seventh year, you get released from any debt you owe.

Which means—all things are temporary.

“The seventh year is when you break free from any limitation that is holding you back. Sickness, addiction, worry, debt, and constant struggles. Things that looked as if they would never change.”

Situations look and FEEL permanent. Each day repeating itself without any hope of things changing. We’ve all felt that way.

Until…suddenly they do.
Suddenly you meet the right person.
Suddenly you get the right doctor.
Suddenly your health improves.
Suddenly a check arrives.
Suddenly you get the best idea you’ve ever had.
Suddenly things don’t seem insurmountable.

We’ve al had THAT happen too. Come on. You know you have!

According to Pastor Osteen (and Deuteronomy) and the Bible–that’s your “seventh year” in action.

Don’t you love that!

I was reminded once again by Facebook of something I did seven years ago this week. Someone, a friend, had posted a kind response to an email I had sent to the loyal customers of my store. It was 2009 and the economy as in the crapper. Stores all around the neighborhood were closing. Some of them overnight without so much as a whimper. A few of them I loved so much that I was devastated.

Why hadn’t they shared their plight with us, their loyal following? Maybe we could have helped.

When things in my retail world started to crumble and I was literally three months behind in my rent, I decided to send out an email. A clarion call of sorts. It took me days to complete.
It had to have just the right tone. Not too needy—or pleady—or sad-sacky. I thought that if I could explain just how dire the situation was—that I was thisclose to being arrested for squatting—they could consider themselves forewarned and might be more likely to take advantage of the 50% off that I was offering.

It was a HUGE deal for me. I’m not someone who asks for help or solicits pity. I hate feeling ashamed.
I’m a stiff-upperlipper. One of the best. So as you can imagine (or maybe not), I puked when I hit send on the email that day. Then…

Suddenly things turned around.
Suddenly we all stopped pretending things were “great”.
Suddenly people started showing up and BUYING stuff.
Suddenly I could become current with my landlord.

The store did drown later that fall, but still…it was an exercise for me in how people react to courage and authenticity. (They react with compassion and more authenticity, by-the-way).

Knowing that it’s been exactly seven years since I incurred the biggest debt I’ve ever carried while at the same time committing the bold act of leaving my retail career in the rear-view mirror to pursue writing, I feel a renewed sense of excitement after reading about this seven-year forgiveness plan.

So, what was happening with YOU seven years ago? What burden can be set free for YOU?

And if you think about it, every day is your seventh year from something. Which was exactly the point.

Nothing is written in stone, people.
Well, except for the commandments.
But not the bad stuff.
Take it from me. The new Biblical scholar.

Carry on,
xox

http://www.amazon.com/Power-Am-Words-Change-Today/dp/0892969962/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1461613626&sr=8-1&keywords=the+power+of+i+am

I forwarded this to my honey yesterday. He is two weeks into a minor but highly annoying post-surgical recovery.
“Thanks”, he said, nodding his head, “I needed the reminder”.
“Me too”, I replied as I reassuringly rubbed his back. Then I thought of you guys.
I think at one point or another we ALL need the reminder that everything is energy…and we are a self-healing masterpiece/miracle in a meat-suit.
Love you,
Carry on,
xox

Your body has self-healing superpowers
by psgrout

“Life is not about healing; it’s about accepting that we are already healed.”–Annie Zalezsak prescription-pad

Yesterday, I invited readers to share a meme from the old paradigm, a meme they are now re-writing, thank you very much.

A wonderful reader named Bob brought up a meme that is in our face night and day. “Getting old means your body is supposed to fall apart.”

This meme is such a big player in the current paradigm that I thought it deserved its own post. We are constantly being slapped around with the crazy idea that our bodies are plotting against us.

Just watch an hour of television. The drugs ads warn us into great vigilance:

Better watch out for this symptom.

Make sure you’re aware of that problem.

It’s only a matter of time until your body is going to reach out and strangle you.

Here’s the ad I’d like to run:

Your body is a self-healing masterpiece.
It is brilliantly equipped with natural self-repair mechanisms that fight infections, repair broken proteins, kill cancer cells and keep you in tip-top shape. The only thing that ever stops it from doing its job is your ridiculous belief that it is not your closest ally.

I got this story the other day from a reader of E-Squared. It was one of a long list of things she says she manifested:

“I regulate my own health.
If I ever feel like I am going to have an allergy attack or something in my body hurts, I simply give myself command not to entertain it, and the allergy attacks and pain go away immediately. I used to pop anti histamine almost daily in spring and summer seasons. I have not taken any allergy medicine for a while now. I simply tell myself, I don’t believe in allergies and I am the overlord of my body and nervous system. My body obeys what I ask, nicely of course 🙂

“Using this, I have stopped allergy attacks, aches and pains, fever, upset stomach etc. experimenting with my own abilities is just so much fun! Anytime I meditate, I reach a new level of self control and enhancement of my ability to control my own health.”

And lastly, I thought I’d re-run this blog post from a year ago about this very topic. Enjoy!!

“It’s supposed to be a professional secret, but I’ll tell you anyway. We doctors do nothing. We only help and encourage the doctor within.”–Albert Schweitzer

At the party of “anything is possible,” there’s always the one cranky uncle who sits over in the corner. More times than not, the belief that stubbornly refuses to budge is the body as in “My mind has no control over my health, disease, aging, weight and any other fool thing my body decides to do.”

So today, I’ve got a packet of Reese’s Pieces and, like Elliott who was able to lure E.T. out of hiding, I’m hoping to lure out that curmudgeonly uncle to at least take a spin on the dance floor.

Reese Piece No. 1: Dr. Lissa Rankin’s book, Mind Over Medicine. After years of being a physician, Dr. Rankin finally got fed up with the seven minutes she was allowed to see patients and the refusal by her colleagues to acknowledge the most powerful component of a person’s health: their beliefs and their thoughts. Initially, she was as hard-nosed and closed-minded as any doctor, but after investigating 50 years of peer-reviewed medical literature (New England Journal of Medicine and Journal of the American Medical Association, to name a few), she found ample evidence proving that beliefs play a powerful role in a person’s biochemistry and to ignore those findings was irresponsible, a betrayal of the Hippocratic Oath.

Reese’s Piece No. 2: The body is wired to heal itself. Our bodies are self-regulating, healing organisms, constantly striving for homeostasis. But instead of teaching our children this all-important fact, we teach them they need someone or something outside themselves to heal. The minute they get a fever or an earache, we rush them to that all-knowing doctor. This, at a very early age, cements in the fallacy that our bodies can’t heal themselves. Most of the thoughts in our default setting are planted before age 5.

Reese’s Piece No. 3: Placebos are often as effective as drugs. Patients have been able to grow hair, drop blood pressure, lower cholesterol, watch ulcers disappear and cure about every other symptom after being treated with nothing but sugar pills. It was their belief they were getting “medicine” that cured them, not the medicine itself.

Dr. Bruce Mosely, a surgeon and team physician for the Houston Rockets, performed arthroscopic knee surgery on two of ten middle-aged, former military guys. Three of the 10 had their knees rinsed (without the scraping) and the other five had no surgical procedure at all. It was an exercise in just pretend. After two years, all ten believed their surgery was a success. What Mosely discovered is that the bigger and more dramatic the patient perceives the intervention to be, the bigger the placebo effect.

Reese’s Piece No. 4: Our beliefs are the hinge on which our bodies function.
Rankin tells the story of a guy with tumors the size of oranges. After begging his doctor to try an experimental new drug he’d read about, he was treated with the drug and his tumors disappeared. Several weeks later, reports hit the airwaves that this new drug was not as powerful as originally thought. The tumors returned. His doctor, by now savvy, gave his patient a placebo, telling him it was a stronger form of the drug and that the ineffective trials had been using too little of this powerful drug. Once again, the tumors from his stage 4 lymphoma began to disappear. Finally, the FDA pronounced the drug ineffective and pulled it off the market. The patient, who had been rapidly recovering, died within a week.

Okay, enough candy. I could go on and on about how 79 percent of medical students develop the symptoms they’re studying. Or about the woman with a split personality who has diabetes in one of her personalities and normal sugar levels in the other.

But I’m not a doctor and would never dream of prescribing anything.

But I do know this:

We should teach our children that their bodies have self-healing superpowers.

And we should quit hexing ourselves by looking for disease.

And we should remember that if chimpanzees can lower their blood pressure at will, something Harvard doc, Herbert Benson, discovered in his research, there’s probably not much we CAN’T do to heal ourselves.

Uncle, are you ready for that dance?

Pam Grout is the author of 18 books including E-Squared: 9 Do-it-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality and the about to be released, Thank and Grow Rich: a 30-day Experiment in Shameless Gratitude and Unabashed Joy.