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I’ve been thinking about the state of things lately because, well, they’re inescapable. Those darn things. And their twisty state.

What has been so curious to me are people’s reactions—my own included.

When I don’t stay high, as Michelle Obama in her infinite wisdom advised us all to do, and instead go low, like subterranean, send a search party, “where are your pants?” low—I am NOT my best self.

I know that’s shocking but it’s true!

After I find my way back into the vicinity of common sense, (no thanks to GPS, you useless piece of shit), I have begun to reflect on the familiarity of these feelings that have left me all feely and not in a good way.

I remember these feelings of acute frustration!
I remember this rage!
I remember feeling completely disempowered, gutted and left for dead.

Most of all I have the clearest sense of Deja Vu when “alternative facts” are used. That’s because we had a very similar parallel universe in my house when I was growing up.

Up was down.
Day was night.
Cats were fish.
Dogs had more value than actual human children.
And A’s on your report card were mandatory but being smart, or a “smart-ass”, (as it was called if you questioned ANYTHING) was discouraged and by discouraged I mean cause for punishment.

Sound familiar?

We kids coined the phrase “Koo-Koo talk” because, well, nothing our step-mother said ever made sense except to her, her dog, and occasionally our dad. She was a Kellyanne Conway doppelgänger, a decade younger than our father, a man who had ended up on the sad, lonely and desperate side of our parents 1970 divorce. When she came along with her platinum over-teased hair, thick black Carol Channing false eyelashes (not the good kind like I wear), and age inappropriate mini skirts, he was…let’s see…the word grateful comes to mind.

She hated kids and was nuts (maybe not in that order). And not charming or funny nuts. She didn’t wear silly hats or knit sweaters for hamsters. She was mean nuts. Infuriating nuts. She was a giant windbag of salty, mean nuts. And she was fluent in Koo-Koo talk or as we’re calling it all these decades later—alternative facts.

Or lies. Let’s all call them what they really are—lies.

I suspect that one of the reasons I get a bit twitchy when people lie is because of my childhood. And I also suspect the reason you all might be feeling like strung out wacko is for the same reason.

We’re all smart people whose stock has recently been devalued and we have finely tuned bullshit meters. Can you blame us?!

I don’t know about you, but when I go low I want them all to choke on their lying lies. I want karma to make a speedy round trip, like a boomerang thrown by Thor to dispense justice. I want heads to roll.

Then I pull back, find the stairs and make the long and arduous climb back up to the land where I’m in charge of how I feel.

That is what the Koo-Koo talking, mean-as-hell nut-job taught me four decades ago. That I can stay in the fight, pointing out all of the injustice and lies which just bounced off the Teflon bitch—or I can rise above it, intellect intact (because all that Koo-Koo talk kills brain cells), pick my battles and stay sane.

Because as we’ve all witnessed, you cannot reason with crazy. It will drive YOU crazy!

If you can relate—I advise you to try to do the same.

Carry on,
xox

Where, oh where, have I been you ask?

Well…

When last I left you, my uterus had conveniently and in a very sinister way, seen to it that the surgery to remove it was postponed. Therefore, (it is so clear to me now) after all the shenanigans with the flu and insurance and such—it got to go along on my BFF Steph Jagger’s book tour last week.

This makes sense to me now. Like a huge V-8 slap to the forehead.

My uterus likes a good time and we had a ball. A hoot a second, snort-laugh, drop your phone in a roadside toilet, #pokejuice, ball.

But it was eye-opening as well.

Now, I’m a writer and if any of you are writers this next part will be so interesting and I think that could hold true for the rest of you as well and here’s why:

When you undertake something as exciting but daunting and potentially exhausting as a book tour (or any large scale endeavor for which you have no basis for comparison), you MUST, and I mean without exception, take someone along with you who has your best interests at heart. (I am available for a fee.)

Someone who will drive the car, pick the music, take regular pee brakes and remind you to eat.

Someone who will tell you when you killed it—and when it fell flat—and be there to give you a giant hug and shove some chocolate in your mouth either way.

Someone who will go up front and read the room first and then alert you to the fact that the guy at three o’clock will probably try to use your platform to talk about himself—so be prepared.

Someone who knows when to talk and when to shut-up so you can collect yourself because collecting yourself will become a full-time job.

I kind of invited myself along on the first leg of her west coast tour from San Diego to San Fransisco. It sounded like fun so I offered to drive and be her handler. Her one-woman advance team. Her sister/mom. Not long after, I realized Steph had arranged for different friends and family members to accompany her along the forty or so cities where she will speak in the next couple of months and I have to tell you, that was SO SMART, because after just one week—I don’t know how she could do it otherwise.

I mean, of course she could. She’s an elite athlete for crying’ out loud. When you read her book the fact that she’s a beast is undeniable. But I’m talking quality of life here.

And that’s what most of us let suffer when we’re thrown into a very challenging life situation.

I suppose because she’s traveled abroad so extensively (and because it’s just her nature), Steph is so great at asking for help and delegating — The Large Scale Endeavor Dynamic Duo. I encourage all of you, and I include myself here as well—to cultivate these two qualities. Pronto.

Also, the woman can fall asleep in like 2.5 seconds. No lie. It’s her superpower and it really came in handy.

Here’s what else I learned. There are so many small, quaint and charming, family owned bookstores that are thriving. THRIVING!
“Business has never been better!” they chirped. I can’t tell you how much I loved hearing that!

Every single person at each bookstore was kind, supportive and engaged. They were genuinely excited about Steph’s book and I have to say, I think that’s why she was received that way she was from those who attended her book signings.

It was contagious.

Books know how to sell themselves—if you let them. With everything going on in the world right now the timing of her book release and tour could not have been more perfect.

And never underestimate word-of-mouth. Fuck platform. Fuck the sign at the point of sale. When you get to meet the author, hear the story first-hand, ask questions, and get your book signed — you fall in love a little… and you’re gonna tell your friends. ‘Cause we all like to kiss and tell.

And last but certainly not least. Women supporting women, like the salon event we did in San Fran made me a little weak in the knees. Spending an entire evening with smart, curious, awake and alive women drinking wine and using Steph’s book as a springboard for hours of heartfelt conversation—I’m telling you — I was kinda happy my wonky uterus had come along AND you guys, women are ready to rule. the. world!

So…What are you talking about to your friends today? What’s got you lit up? Inspired?

Let me know.

Carry on,
xox

Listen, please go buy this book.
https://www.amazon.com/Unbound-Story-Self-Discovery-Steph-Jagger/dp/0062418106/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1485822479&sr=1-3&keywords=unbound

“The trouble is not that I am single and likely to stay single, but that I am lonely and likely to stay lonely.” ― Charlotte Brontë

Hello my tribe,
Well now.
I wish I had all the answers. I wish I knew what to say to lift all of our heavy hearts.
All I can do is share what I believe and how that’s helping ME make sense of all of this madness.

I believe in energy. That everything is energy. Love, hate, optimism, fear.
It’s all energy and that energy has power.
And after a while, if you focus on one thing long enough it gains momentum.
We just saw the proof of that with this election. Lots and lots of folks whose fear and anger morphed into a blind rage. I say blind because everyone wants to be heard, right? We all want to think our needs are being served. So, in their own self-interest they blindly (and deafly (is that a word?)), followed someone who said, “I hear you.”

I believe he took the momentum of their fear used it against them.

That being said, I’ve alway remembered what someone wise once told me “Don’t be against something Janet, be FOR something else. Don’t be anti-war, be pro-peace.”
They explained how, from an energetic standpoint (yes, we’re still talking energy), it’s cleaner. It’s clearer.

Because, when you rail against something by yelling and waving your fist at it—you give that very thing MOMENTUM. That’s what causes rioting and violence in the name of peaceful resistance.

Besides, if and when the shit does hit the fan, if my hair is on fire, I can’t be a part of any solution. I believe fear is disempowering. Because I know fear won’t lead me anywhere near the solution.

Plus, it feels like shit to hate. Doesn’t it you guys? The pettiness? The cattiness?
It feels like shit to think that fifty percent of the country is nuts. It feels like shit to be so freaking far away from love. Because you and I, we’re all lovers.
We’re the unifiers.
We like to think we’re spiritual, evolved, and open-hearted.

But look how conditional that has become.
It’s turned into “us” and “them.” And we’re behaving no better than “they” are!
“Think like me and I can love you/be your friend. Look like me, talk like me and vote like I do and only then can I love you.”

Yikes.

Don’t get me wrong. We must be vigilant. We must march our asses off, write letters, organize, protect, defend and sign petitions. And vote. For. Sure. We MUST Vote.

I’m just asking that you check-in with yourself. You’re intentions and the energy you’re giving momentum to.

It’s abundantly clear what you’re against, but what are you FOR?

I believe in civil discourse.
I believe it’s a small world and that we’re all connected.
I believe in using our voices.
I believe that the majority of the American people are decent, loving people.
I believe change can be a good thing.
I believe that our country needed a wake-up call. Many of us had NO idea how many “-isms” were alive and well and living under the rug.

I believe in us and that love wins. I really do.

Carry on,
xox

“All great changes are preceded by chaos.”

My friend loves that saying. She laughs every time we remember together the first time I said that to her when her well-oiled life suddenly hit the skids.

But it is! Change is messy. I wish it were tidy, but…it’s not.

Change takes its big muddy feet and leaves its tracks on your life’s clean floors.

“Every positive change–every jump to a higher level of energy and awareness–involves a rite of passage. Each time to ascend to a higher rung on the ladder of personal evolution, we must go through a period of discomfort, of initiation. I have never found an exception.”
~Dan Millman

It can feel like a ten car pile up or an out of tune piano concerto.
Your choice.
But it ain’t gonna be pretty…at least not at first.

You wanna know the Ah HA I had around change recently?

You can never be good at it— in…the…beginning.
How could you be?
By its very definition change is uncharted territory.
It’s different and it’s new and I don’t know about you, but I have a pretty steep learning curve with different and new!

“Whatever the present moment contains, accept is as if you had chosen it. Always work with it, not against it. Make it your friend and ally, not your enemy. This will miraculously transform your whole life.”
– Eckhart Tolle

All you CAN be is compliant.
You can act like you ordered change because you know what?
You probably did, you just can’t remember.
It was on that list somewhere, on the back of a napkin, or a crumpled piece of paper in some jacket pocket.

Maybe it was disguised under the title: Finding the perfect man.

Except, he lives in Chicago and you live in San Diego.

Or, I need a better job. Three months later, at the worst possible time, you get laid off.

Our political system is broken. We need a non-politician to take our country and make it great again. Just not THAT guy.

I want to expand my business. That means thinking bigger, learning new skills, hiring and maybe even firing certain people.

Get to my ideal weight. That can look like getting up at 5 am to meet a friend or a trainer at the gym before work, which also means early to bed, which probably means no wine. I told you. Messy!

All of this is very do-able.
But in the beginning, it can shake up your life like a 7.0 earthquake. It feels so groundlessly uncomfortable. I literally get shaky when I’m in the midst of a big change. It’s like my body is wrestling with the new information coming in. Part of it is processing it, and the other parts want to literally break loose and run in opposite directions.

So, don’t let your body, especially your eyes deceive you.
It’s gonna look like a shit storm for a little while, especially at the start.

But you know what? You can do this! The bigger the request, the bigger the storm.
The bigger the storm, the bigger the changes.
The bigger the changes, the bigger and better the end results.

Just not right away. Sorry.

Just remember, you ordered it.
XoxJanet

Hello Tribe,
I don’t know about you, but lately, money issues have been as viral as that nasty flu bug I just managed to survive.

Everywhere I turn, almost everybody I talk to is stressing about money.

Even those people around me who typically can’t close their wallets because they’re packed with so much cold, hard, cashola.
It feels like a phase.
Bad ju-ju perhaps.
And what do I do when the ju-ju goes south?
Well, I write a letter, of course.

Below is one I wrote three years ago and you’re welcome to copy and send it with your name attached.
It’s my understanding that money has ADD and a very short memory.

Carry on,
xox

Dear Money,
I know our relationship has felt strained these last few years,
but we’ve always been so close and…..I miss you.

My darling Money…I think we should reconcile.
I know it looks like my life’s been all topsy-turvy for a while now, and I seem like a bad risk, but I can assure you, I’ve worked really hard on myself and I’ve grown so much.
I feel like I can meet you half way.

You must admit, you’ve been very elusive, really playing hard to get.
You barely even show your face, and when you do, I turn around and you’re gone.
That hurts because I can still remember all the good times we had.
All that crazy spontaneous traveling we did together, remember Italy, with all the shopping and long lunches?
You were always so there for me. I want to make more of those memories!

We even bought a house together for cryin’ out loud!
I think I showed my commitment to the long haul, what about you?

Sure, I made a few mistakes, but who hasn’t!
We had “it” once and I think we can have “it” again.
That kind of friendship doesn’t just evaporate.

My choices may have seemed questionable at times, but now, if you could just stick around for a while, you’d see how they’re all working out for me.

You’ve said in the past that I’m overly sensitive, but you’re the one who’s stayed away for so long…and without even a goodbye.

I’m willing to forgive, forget and move on…together, hand in hand…like the old days.

Take a few days to think about it…I know how you are about ultimatums… and begging.

xox Janet

My tribe,
If you haven’t already read this, you must.
It resonated deeply with me and several of my friends and I know it will with you too.

I’ll let Danielle take it from here.
Carry on,
xox

All of my failures can be traced to my silence. Every. single. one.

Getting fired from the company that I co-founded happened because I had gone months without speaking up. Lots of money on the line. Better keep my mouth shut and give this a chance to work.

When I hurt a colleague’s feelings, which was completely avoidable, it was because I didn’t have the courage to speak to them directly. I overpaid for some things because I didn’t want to appear unreasonable, so I just stopped… negotiating. I didn’t want to demotivate people who worked for me/with me so I just… didn’t bring it up. Shit, I have a tattoo that I’d really rather not have because I didn’t talk back to the tattoo guy.

Failed to protect. Failed to love. Failed to lead. Failed to make art. Failed to speak up.

“Failing” and “succeeding” aren’t very poetic terms.

In-between the labels of “failure” and “success” are all of the painful things that make us so much more beautiful.
But after you lose out (like, on a BIG DREAM) because you kept your mouth shut; or you take a piece of someone’s heart with you because you took the easy (silent) way out, then speaking up starts to seem like less of a heroic act and just way more… practical. “Practical” as in… voicing your truth becomes a life practice.

Truthing isn’t necessarily easier to do, but it brings incredible ease to your life. And the more you do it, the easier it becomes. The courage, the classy delivery, the compassionate humor, it all becomes more accessible when you’re using your voice every day.

Your voice is a muscle. You need it to rise to the occasion of your life. That’s why it’s called speaking up.

Danielle LaPorte is an invited member of Oprah’s inaugural Super Soul 100, a group who, in Oprah Winfrey’s words, “is uniquely connecting the world together with a spiritual energy that matters.”

A speaker, a poet, a painter, and a former business strategist and Washington-DC think tank exec, Entrepreneur Magazine calls Danielle, “equal parts poet and entrepreneurial badass…edgy, contrarian…loving and inspired.” Her charities of choice are VDay: a global movement to end violence against women and girls, and charity: water, setting out to bring safe drinking water to everyone in the world. Her favorite person is her 12-year-old son.
You can find her @daniellelaporte and just about everywhere.

http://www.daniellelaporte.com/#

“My fake plants died because I did not pretend to water them.”

I could have died last Thursday. You laugh. But I could have.

It was a possibility seeing that I was going to be under general anesthesia and since the thought had entered my head via the delivery system of mountains of paperwork I had to sign. This pre-op ritual made it clear that I would hold absolutely no one responsible for my death—should I become dead while not paying attention.

Doctors make you do that just before they put you under.

Culpability. It’s a thing.
I could have choked on my pastrami sandwich at lunch today but the deli didn’t drown me in documents before I took my first bite.
Sheesh.

I get it. It’s their duty to remind you. That’s the thing about drugs that render you fake dead. And being cut open—they up your odds of becoming real dead.

Anyhow, it got me thinking about dying.

About my “exit strategy”, which is a term my deceased friend uses to refer to death. “Everyone has one, you have several opportunities actually” she reminds me all the time. Apparently, it presents itself in the form of an illness, car accident, egg salad at the beach or a cheese sandwhich from a vending machine.

Everyone keeps telling you that shit’ll kill ya.

So even though I didn’t have a reasonable reason to feel as if my days were numbered—I just did.

I lived as if I was going to die.

Imminently. Like Thursday.

I’m not gonna lie, my fake death made me a little fake sad. Mostly it made me crave bad food (because hey, why not)—and wish I’d had time to get my hair straightened (good looking corpse rule #2. Rule #1 – Mani-pedi.)

Oh, and it made me pay attention to life.

Everything felt like the last time so I savored it. Kissing my dog was delicious. Ice cream tasted better if you can imagine that. Lemons were more sour.

And it’s definitive: I can’t stand cheap aftershave on men in elevators or vanilla candles.

I noticed things I tend to overlook. The sound of the rain as it hits the pavers in our courtyard.
And have you ever noticed that lots of people hold hands? Have you? I never did. And not just parents and kids. Couples of all types. Young, old, fat, skinny, young and skinny, old and fat, didn’t matter. Hands were being held. I think that’s sweet.

Did you know that studies have found that holding hands is good for your heart? I looked it up.

I took my time. I dawdled. I went to the movies in the middle of the day and ate a hot dog—with extra mustard. I walked in my neighborhood and forgot to bring my earbuds. I noticed my feet and my legs and how they move me through life and instead of run/walking everywhere like I normally do, I strolled. I looked more closely at the street art. I splashed in puddles. I said hello to strangers.

I wondered if my fake death was making me lazy? Look, a fake problem.

You wanna know what I didn’t do?
Hold on tight to anything.
Worry (why waste my time?)
Diet.
Walk on eggshells.
Work hard at much.

Then I got the flu and it suddenly felt as if the rumors of my death would pan out to be true.

My surgery was canceled, and as suddenly as it had appeared, the energy of my “exit strategy” passed.
Just like that. It has left my consciousness so completely that I can’t even conjure the feeling of it if I try.

I know that when I do get this surgery the thought of dying won’t even occur to me.

I had my fake dry run and I took away something real.

My life.

Carry on,
xox

In what I can only hope will be her final act of defiance, my uterus waved her magic wand (or her fist) and gave herself a reprieve.

It all started last Thursday when my Paul Bunyan sized husband had his arse handed to him by a virus.

It entered our lives innocently enough, disguised as a scratchy throat, a sniffle and cough. In other words just your common cold. But by the weekend things took an ugly turn as we both realized this thing had teeth. The cough was deep and relentless, and it was accompanied by the pain of a thousand sit-ups.

I’m just imaging the body aches as such since I myself have never even come close to doing a thousand sit-ups. Fifty can leave me barely able to take a deep breath for a week, and watching my husband, who breezes through Cross-Fit like it’s grade school recess, suffer like he was, well, to me it was the agony of a thousand sit-ups.

A thousand sit-ups and being hit by a car.

Again, I cannot draw on personal experience on this kind of pain, let’s suffice it to say, he looked miserable as fark, and this “cold” began to look like the nastier cousin of Ebola.

As Florence Nightingaley as I am (not), I attended to him at arm’s length. After all, I had a date with a surgeon scheduled for 7 am on the 12th that I was not going to miss under ANY circumstances.

Here’s the funny thing about me. I drag my feet about some things. Most are health related. I ponder, reasonable doubt it and procrastinate it—ad nauseam. Then, when I finally, after careful consideration, (and usually by the fact that it can no longer be tolerated), decide to take action—I want it done YESTERDAY!

As he hacked up a lung all night in the den, I slept peacefully in our bed knowing all of the insidious germs were sequestered there with him, on the other side of the house. Does that make me a bad person? If you think it does, you’re gonna love what happens next.

Although he was far from one hundred percent, he rallied enough to go back to work half day on Monday. What can I say? The man is a specimen. (He has since relapsed, this shit is REAL!)

At that point, it had been five whole days and I was fit as a fiddle. I did the happy song and dance. “Too da loo you pesky uterus! No lame-ass virus is gonna come between me and my freedom from…wait…eh, hem…what’s that?…a scratchy throat?”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Long shot of the word NO echoing around the globe.)

I started pounding the vitamin C and practicing my ninja mind-over-matter superpowers.

“I got this!” my deluded brain convinced itself as it began it’s battle with a virus with teeth.

I think I heard my uterus chuckle.

Never mind.

Then I got a phone call, which I missed because I was gargling with Listerine.

It was the hospital. The woman wanted to do an early check-in like it was the Ritz Carlton or something. When I dialed her back I learned the real reason for her call. Even though I was pre, pre-approved, and we had double, triple checked. Even though I had changed insurance companies and was paying a house payment sized premium to avoid anything remotely resembling this…the hospital we had booked my surgery in was OUT OF NETWORK!
If you are reading this from Canada, or anywhere besides the US, stop smirking, or looking up this term. In plain and simple American it means: you’re fucked.

By the time I hung up with the hospital, my doctor, and my insurance agent, I only had strength enough to crawl into bed. The next morning—T-minus twenty-four hours to surgery— I was shivering and hacking, sweating and sneezing, the pain of a thousand sit-ups wracking my pre-operative body.

Needless to say, we canceled.

This eleventh-hour, Hail Mary play had her “fingerprints” all over it.

Even though her enormous size has left little room to move, my uterus did a victory lap around my abdomen adding to my misery.

I’m letting her gloat. Her days are numbered. The procedure has been rebooked at the proper hospital, IN NETWORK, in a month.

So stay tuned and carry on,
xox

What is a belief anyway? It’s just a thought we keep thinking, right? I keep thinking about all of this stuff and more so I guess I have to say that still makes me a believer…I feel an “I Believe” speech 2.0 coming soon!

*To be read aloud by James Earl Jones.

I am a firm believer in the goodness of people.
In kindness and hugs and the power of love.

I am a firm believer in friendship.
In tribes, and surrounding yourself with people who “get” you.

I am a firm believer in magic.
Yesterday my magic told me that believing in it was just like sex.
Everyone tells you not to do it and when you finally do, the first time might not be so good, but every time after that feels better and better. (And eventually, you get good at it).

I’m a firm believer in the healing properties of DARK chocolate,
black licorice,
thunderstorms,
dog kisses,
Fritos,
bouquets of flowers,
peanut butter,
sex,
red toenails,
laughter (blooper reels)
long walks,
karaoke,
candles,
warm salt water,
stories with happy endings,
books with the word Journey in the title,
foreign travel,
gelato,
fireworks,
babies laughing,
red wine,
diamonds,
handwritten notes,
freckles,
badly told jokes where the punchline is given away right at the top,
coffee,
loud burps,
emojis,
holding hands,
and a good night’s sleep.

I’m a firm believer in the FACT that if you leap the net will catch you.
You may bounce first. And your skirt may go up over your head.
But here’s the deal. If you are reading this, you have survived whatever godawful things have befallen you.

You’re okay.
You’re breathing,
It’s all working out.

I firmly believe that ALL IS WELL.

What do you believe?
Carry on,
xox