Learning

Letting Nature take her course

 (This is day 213 of heart finding for me on  Instagram . Follow along and find your own...)

(This is day 213 of heart finding for me on Instagram. Follow along and find your own...)

I was writing a post for the past year titled, The Elephant On My Head. It detailed my decision-process-trip through (first) the end of hair color, (second) the beginning of living life with a gray pixie and (third) meeting assoholic comments with dignity. I was ready to hit publish and then I realized that I was the only person with this elephant-on-my-head issue, everyone else didn't think (and hasn't thought) twice about saying whatever they want to say about the way I am presenting my shade of gray. 

That revelation occurred a month ago when I dreamed that I fell off the wagon and gave in, coloring my hair that weird red-brown that I thought was natural before I discovered it was very clearly not. I woke up in a cold sweat (over hair color, no less). 

I dreamed the same dream last night only the skit played through long enough for me to feel ashamed that I started covering up my natural hair again. Ashamed, which to me is a word very close to ascared (my version of scared circa 1976). 

You might think: it's just hair. Turns out: it's not.

Most people ask me the same question: why did you decide to let your hair go gray? At first, I didn't think twice about telling the story. But the story, like all stories, is just a story. It's just my version of events. The reality is:

I did not decide to let my hair turn gray.

My hair turned gray approximately eighteen years ago, on its own

without asking for my permission or approval.

So, to be clear, my role was to simply stop pretending that Nature didn't take the course she took. My role, the only control I could possibly exert, was to take the shortcut, literally, and prune my hair back to the roots. Worth noting: I was not ascared to do this.

I remember the moment I decided I absolutelyhadtodothis. It did not feel impulsive, it felt mandatory. Not coincidentally, it happened in between sessions with my shaman. When she saw me, newly pruned, she asked if I knew that hair holds memory. Did you know that? It was news to me, but it also instantly and clearly explained why I felt so light and free and grounded. I didn't just release hair, I released the commitment required to color it, the feeling of disgust every time my roots peeked through, and that constant nagging feeling that something about me was off, along with 40 other revelations and counting. 

It has taken me a year to share all of this. It has taken me a good year to get accustomed to the subtle but very real changes this continues to usher through. As you can imagine, none of this has anything to do with hair and everything to do with knowing that I am more than meets the eye. 

I just want to remind you that you are, too. 

You know. 

And I know. 

We have always known what's true.  

If you need further guidance...here's August's message: 

 Would you like to receive a year of love in the mail?  Now you can...

Would you like to receive a year of love in the mail? Now you can...

Flash cake and ice cream

  I knew when I googled flash cake I would find just the sort of entertainment I was looking for...so here's a flash cake pop I found at Kara's Party Ideas, proof positive we should all party on.

I knew when I googled flash cake I would find just the sort of entertainment I was looking for...so here's a flash cake pop I found at Kara's Party Ideas, proof positive we should all party on.

I was in a text conversation with friends the other day and my iPhone took the liberty to autocorrect the words fucked up to flash caked, as if my mother is living inside my phone editing my potty thoughts as they leak out of the tips of my chubby little fingers, dear God.

Anyway, back to this riveting story. 

I hit send before I could correct the message. When I read what I sent, I cracked up—"That feels like a fitting end to a flash caked up nine-year cycle"—at first I couldn't understand the sentence, but as I allowed it to sink in I realized that it made said cycle sound pretty delicious. In fact, I can almost taste the sugar on my lips right now.

I was referring to the last nine years, which in numerology is considered one full cycle. This year is considered the first year of a new nine-year cycle. Of course, I didn't realize any of this until it was brought to my attention back in early December. When that happened? I realized that nine years prior, almost to the day, I was shot out of the cannon I sleepwalked into with a mind that was blown open by an explosive ride through a completely miserable, professional experience. It was the start to a very wild ride. 

And therein lies the reminder (and the blessing) that there are two sides to everything, hereafter referred to as fucked up and flash caked.

Consider this nine-year cycle I'm waxing on about:

Fucked up

Now let's consider what happens when those three things are:

Flash caked

See? Much better. More flash cake, please.

I don't really believe that anything is ever in vain unless you miss the markers, you know, fail to connect the dots along the way. Truthfully, even if you do fail at that a few times, it is impossible to fail at it f-o-r-e-v-e-r. Eventually the dots will roll toward you like giant boulders, or delightfully huge flash cake crumbs depending upon your outlook, and even if you are highly skilled in all matters of diversion you will eventually be forced to rise up from the bottom of either avalanche (obviously one being more pleasant than the other). 

It's just life, people. Mystery solved.

The way I see it, we all have the choice to see what's fucked up or notice what's flash caked. And I don't know about you, but I didn't really enjoy the plate of 2016 fuckedupness, so I'm going to order me some flash cake for this glorious FIRST year of the next n-i-n-e. 

Might I suggest you do the same? Let's go grab us some forks and ice cream...

Head North

When I started writing little love notes to myself back in 2010 I didn't really understand how it would change my life. 

I didn't realize the power of my words. I didn't know that writing one sentence could reel in more joy. After all, it takes so little effort to pen one positive thought a day. Shouldn't the road to joy be a little more work? Isn't happiness on the other side of a very high mountain? And how, in God's name, can writing one little positive sentence help you hang on to bliss indefinitely?

My experience with this process has very slowly, but surely, rewired my brain. I'm not saying that I'm floating on a cloud 24/7 (I'm not) or that I don't experience things I'd rather not experience (I do). What I am saying though is that this process of writing a love note has helped me tap into my own power, it reminds me (daily) that I am in charge of orchestrating my own happiness and it helps me stay connected to the Universe in a way that is just lovely (and often surprising). In essence, it keeps my head aligned with my very own North. 

I want you to experience this for yourself in 2017 so I created a little love note package for you to give it a go. There are 12 tiny notes a feather pen and a set of really easy instructions that will take you all of five minutes (or less) to follow. I think you'll be surprised by the way your seemingly random words carry you through the new year. In fact, I promise you will. 

Wishing you a sweet and peaceful holiday and a blessed new year. 

xoxo

Fresh starts, daily

I made a few resolutions on December 31, 2015 but only one stuck—

Resolution five: start the day reading Rumi and then meditate. Every day.

I've lived many years where my only resolution was to not have one. Years where I sat right next to Change and politely whispered, "Shush."

Years where she and I hopped forward, ankles tied together, feet in a potato sack, inching our way to an imaginary finish line that disappeared just two, short hops away.

Years where I traded her for her sister Complacency and we cuddled in front of a screen and numbed our senses in the soft dim of pixel light (not to be confused with pixie dust).

Then there were years where Change snuck in on her own, hurricane-style, as she so often does after being silenced, dragged, traded or ignored. Hard to blame her, even she can only take so much.

But this Rumi resolution? This is Change at her most loving. This is Change inching through me day by day, page by page, word by word, cell by cell. There isn't a day the Genius of Love doesn't make me stop, think, smile and/or gasp for air. 

The real (re)solution here? Choosing to start every day grounded in love, thinking about love, absorbing love, meditating on the incomprehensible stream of love within me, within you. And then, and only then, entering into The Day. 

Give us the inner listening
that is a way in itself
and the oldest thirst there is.

Do not measure it out with a cup.
I am a fish. You are the moon.

You cannot touch me, but your light
fills the ocean where I live.
— Rumi, excerpt from The Oldest Thirst There Is

Sometimes I wonder what my days would have been like if I started them this way when I was a young(er) mother. Or, better yet, even before that when I was single and working in the advertising industry. I doubt I would have found the time to squeeze Rumi in between five cigarettes, two cups of coffee and a shower, but if I had? Who knows, really. We land where we land when we're ready, and not a second sooner. 

And so I'm here. Gentle contemplation. Inner listening. Quiet quenching. 

Day by day by day by day by day. 

How about you? Did you do that resolution thing this year? And if so, did it stick?

It's never to early to make a fresh start. Today is always a good day to begin again.


If you'd like to tap into your own inner listening, join me for Moonshine, a live event happening at my studio, August 29th, 7-9PM. Space is very limited. You can learn more and sign up here.  

 

Loving yourself is inconvenient, until it's not

The reason why you're able to say so many nice, encouraging, uplifting things to your best friend is because you know in your deepest, purest heart of hearts what sort of person she is on the inside. That person? She's worthy of your love, attention and affection. Even on her worst days, right? No question about it. 

This is the nature of how you are attracted to people. You look for the person who will make it convenient for you to love yourself through association.

You are sometimes attracted to your shadow, too, but that's a story for another day. 

And your friend? When she looks in the mirror she only sees the reflection of herself in all of its storied shame. She sees a lifetime sludge reflected back, even though it's invisible to your naked eye. It's invisible because that sludge is beyond your field of experience. Likewise, she can't see what you see about her, that's beyond her field, as well. 

Only when she looks at you does she understand, at some level all her own, what you see in her. In you she finds her own goodness, reflected back, in real time.

This is why you can say the things she needs to hear and and she can drink the words you need to drink and both of you can walk away from every encounter with each other with your souls refreshed, hearts open, heads in check.  

Until, of course, you spy your reflection in a plate glass window and those stupid stories re-rise to the surface again and muddy your view. 

Maybe it's just time to wipe your own mirror clean and see exactly what your best friend sees in you. Loving yourself doesn't have to be so inconvenient. It can be, scratch that, it should be, scratch that, it is as convenient as loving your best friend. 

Just a thought, sweet heart. 


It's impossible to develop your intuition and not end up loving yourself really, freaking hard. The Field Trip begins on Friday. It is full, but we'll make room if you are ready to lean in. Registration closes until next year on Sunday, May 8th. Lean forward. You won't regret it.