Category: Inspiration LIfe

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On Sunday, I was introduced to Joy

I spent April 7-12 at a deeply personal workshop exploring my subconscious. I worked alone or in very small groups. It was a an opportunity to do real, deep, inner-work and unearth the experiences that were manifesting in my daily life as anxiety, self-doubt, and stress. The best part was this experience provided tools and exercises to actually remove these connections my brain was making in error and allow me to start fresh. (For example, it’s pretty obvious to see why success has been elusive. My mind had associated being successful with feelings of stress, loss of time with my kids, loss of my relationship and anxiety. I could see why I kept pushing it away. Who would want that? So I redefine success with positive experiences: flexibility, learning, financial stability, the ability to help others, travel and happiness and suddenly success FEELS good.)

Looking back on my life there has been a lot that has happened that maybe isn’t in the realm of “normal”.  The loss of many friends and important family, experiences with sexual violence, depression. But I also have had my fair share of really amazing joyful moments. Yet it was the joyful moments, not the horrific ones, in my subconscious had been stifled and blurred. I had created a protective numbness to them. Turns out I can handle the pain of what life can dish out but I could not handle the joy.

It was on Sunday when I had this powerful awareness.  Experiencing joy meant allowing myself to accept and be aware of all that I could possibly lose. Experiencing joy somehow meant to me that I was not honoring those who left my life suddenly and tragically. Experiencing joy meant to me that I was selfish and that I was not trying hard enough. I was not worthy of experiencing joy.

That moment I became aware that I had connected happiness and joy with loss, fear and the anxiety of thinking, “I am not good enough to deserve to feel this”, my whole world changed. I broke down sobbing. At first for all the joyful moments I didn’t allow myself to fully feel: my wedding day, the day my girls were born, client wins, compliments, weight loss, I cried for it all. And then I walked, aimlessly around the Marriott grounds. Feeling the sun on my face, letting the tears come when they needed to. Feeling the knot in my stomach and throat lessen and being replaced with purposeful breaths.

The session day was winding down. It was then I heard this very unique music coming from inside the large conference room. I had been told at the end of this part of the course each day there would be dancing and I had told anyone who was listening that I would not be participating. But the music, a jig of sorts with Asian influence (I think), drew me into this room where about 400 people from around the world were joyfully laughing and trying to learn the steps.  I stood in the back and watched, smiling from ear to ear, uncontrollably.  I peered around the man in front of me to nervously glimpse the woman holding the microphone explaining the moves. It began. 400 people from all over the world holding hands in a serpentine kickline dance. Each one smiling and laughing. Behind me sat a young boy about 12 years old. I had seen him around. He didn’t speak much English. He was somber and looking at the floor. I smiled and motioned to him to come with me. He shook his head ‘NO’.  I walked over and smiled and again and asked for a high-five. He gave it reluctantly. I looked at the room full of people, dancing, present, alive and I looked at the boy alone, somber, withdrawn. And I began to reach for a chair to sit with him when I stopped myself and it occurred to me: I look for the outlier in situations to keep me from experiencing joy. It was like a bolt from deep in my own consciousness that struck me. I had goosebumps. I had tears in my eyes. I waved goodbye to the boy, took a deep breath, and grabbed the hand of the man at the end of the dance line. And I never looked back.  I danced, beaming, in a room full of strangers for the next 6 minutes and when it was done I went out the doors to the courtyard, leaned against the wall, slumped down and cried tears of joy. My first ever. It was the most powerful feeling I have ever experienced. Everything felt brighter, everything felt lighter. Parts of me had feeling that had been numb for my whole life. I met joy on Sunday April 10th, 2016 and she was beautiful, welcoming, safe, warm and totally unfamiliar.

 

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My Mosaic Soul

When you become aware that just beneath the still-surface of the status quo is your vibrating soul within, you will begin to believe that in the murkiness of the unchartered lies hope, promise, and unseen boundless opportunity and you can begin to steer towards your purposeful and yet still unknown destination.

A woman I met last night suggested that I “rein myself in”.  And that just felt wrong. She said it with a gentle smile, not realizing how condescending it was.  I stood, feeling the heat in my face intensify. I wanted to cry.  I wanted to shake her. For the love of God I am not unfocused, spinning out of control or jumping all over the place — what is it going to take for some people to understand this?   I have many talents and I am deliberately exploring, developing, and educating my whole self, creating a whole me that will come to a cohesive fruition. But to curtail my interests, to select only a few of my gifts to love and share, to build my own box to make the masses comfortable or to satisfy my immediate financial needs at the expense of all of me – that I can’t do right now. Not because it would be unfair to me, but it would be unfair to everyone I am meant to meet along the way who will benefit  from my willingness to take this chance.

The reality is there were times I felt like I may die penniless and alone and surrounded by Thank you notes. But my soul is a beautiful mosaic you see, made up of pieces found by going into the dark places, the unexpected, following the feeling of mischievousness and enjoying the spontaneity of life and I am proud of that. I simply am not happy with the One Thing. And so I will not rein myself in, instead I will explore even more, every part of me that there is. I will become my own One Thing, made of many colorful pieces.  And I will take along whoever wants to go on the journey with me.

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The Empty Box

I am lying in bed in a pair of black lace boyshorts and nothing else, listening to the neighbors smoke alarm go off for the 3rd time and watching a grave get dug in the cemetery outside my bedroom window.

It’s a beautiful sunny fall day. Lots of wind. Leaves crinkling and giving way to gusts, falling from high up in the trees while those on the ground race each other; resting only in between cool invisible bursts of energy.
The calendar square is blank for the day. And while once I may have seen that as having nothing to do, now I see the space as an invitation to create, wander, dream, and experience. The box on the calendar is empty today. And I have anything and everything to do.
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You don’t Need to Shave your Legs to get the Client

10 years ago as a new Realtor I had a listing appointment that I was very nervous about. I researched the market, I printed my ultra-thick (totally useless) full color presentation. I double and triple checked the information, the address, I spoke aloud to myself all the scripts I was trained to handle possible objections. I packed my bag, I put my keys next the bag and I went to take a shower before the appointment. While in the shower I continued to speak my scripts. And then I took the time to shave my legs.

Out of the shower a few minutes later than I had hoped to be. I pulled on black pants, blouse, heels. Dried my hair ( partially). The 2 extra minutes I took in the shower to shave seemed like it had eaten up a huge portion of my time. I put on my makeup, I skipped the mascara, I raced to the front door. Grabbed my bag, hopped in the car. I did not have my coat and it was freezing out. My hair was damp. Back to the house to find a coat. The minutes ticked on.

The entire drive there I beat myself up, knowing I was going to be late. Wondering aloud to myself, “was everything I had done that morning preparing or procrastinating?”  I arrived 8 minutes late to the appointment. I wanted to die. I had worked so hard to prepare (so I thought) and I pride myself on always being early and here I was LATE! The husband standing in the doorway staring at the driveway waiting for me.  The appointment from the start did not go in my favor. The “new kitchen” they raved about during our initial phone call looked like the set of the Golden Girls. I was told it had “just been redone” when in fact as I stood there in 2006 the kitchen was actually redone in 1980, when their son graduated high school. They looked me up and down. They spoke about how they wanted someone with experience to represent them. I told them about my background in international business and the awards I had won awards during my first year of real estate. Then the wife asked me, “How old are you?” I was 28 I said. Married. The mother of a daughter. It didn’t matter. If they felt their kitchen was “brand new” when in fact it was 26 years old, then I was practically a fetus in their eyes.

I shook hands, left, followed up with a phone call that went unanswered and a handwritten thank you note. They called me a few days later to tell me they went with a more “established agent” (read: old white guy) He was an agent who was about 30 years my senior and who I knew had just gotten his license a month earlier, but it didn’t matter. He was older, and a man and they made the assumption was he was selling real estate for a long time. I bet they never asked him how old he was. And one other thing: I bet he was on time.

The thing about this experience that makes me still remember it all these years later is that I created a scenario where I was late, and because of that those homeowners could in good conscience dismiss me. Now I know they went with someone else because of my age and gender but they felt comfortable making that decision because I was late. I gave them the reason to not hire me. How I chose to prepare is what caused me in part to fail. I prepared with data, I prepared with useless facts about the broker that I was with at the time. I prepared with inauthentic memorized scripts that dulled my personality and didn’t allow me to share my own insight and ideas. What I didn’t do was prepare to present myself. The extra few minutes that snowballed into 8 and made me late were the result of SHAVING MY LEGS only for me to then put pants on!! What the hell was I thinking? The lesson I learned was that you don’t need to shave your legs to sell a house. And you don’t need to shave your legs to sell yourself. What you do need to do is know your value, be able to show up, ontime, showered or not, and still shine.

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4 Ways the Rags to Riches Story Screwed with my Head

I’m definitely in the midst of a rebuild. And as with some rebuilds the new foundation is built out of found objects, hand-me-downs, the remnants of what stood before. Before they are fortified this early foundation is crude and shaky and not exactly all that pretty. But with each uber-positive meme and motivational speech that is shared in my Facebook feed, each anecdote about the guy who lost it all and was homeless before hitting it big, the couple who declares bankruptcy before making millions, the story of the single mother who couldn’t buy groceries and now is a successful such-and-such, I find myself looking at my 3 daughters and thinking: Do I really need to experience poverty in order to experience wild success? I gave it some thought and then I heard my own voice say, “Oh hell no.”

I have 3 funny, inspiring little monkeys who require food, and shoes, and shelter and all kinds of good stuff. And while money is extremely tight I am managing to keep them really happy and really safe when they are with me. But it’s right there. Always. The financial struggle. I refer to this last year as the year of “put it back.” And that brings me to my first reason that the classic rags to riches story has messed with my head:

1) The Rags to Riches Story Uses Extremes: Think back to any movie or story or lecture you’ve ever heard that was themed around Rags to Riches. Inevitably a life-changing purchase is made with the very last few dollars the person has available. A lotto ticket, a suit for an interview, a pair of shoes that catch the eye of someone important. There is almost always some purchase that causes the tides to turn. But how do you know which purchase? As I stand in the aisle of TJMaxx and lament over whether or not to buy the expensive day planner or the basic day planner I wonder, “if I look unpolished with this dinky planner will it matter to someone? But if I get the cheap one I can buy 2 dinners worth of groceries.” Ultimately I decide the planner on my phone is free, works fine and does not need to be replaced. I save $39. I am on top of the world! For like 35 seconds and then I feel badly that a) I can’t afford a fucking planner and b) what if that planner was the thing? We’ll never know…

2) The story expects you to be a fucking genius. No rags to riches story has every been told that goes from Rags to Meh. The credits have never rolled on the content single mother who happily cuts hair or becomes an accountant. Two very needed and respectable ways to support yourself and a family. But in the Rags to Riches story it’s not ENOUGH. The story of going from “financially stressed to the getting by a bit better” is not a good one because it’s way too much like the norm. It lacks glamour. It lacks Hollywood. We are told if we aren’t Joy Mangano we are not enough.  And so somehow my story seems, less. And I don’t think is right. So many people are leading good, happy, meaningful lives after suffering a hardship or struggle and they don’t share their story with others because it doesn’t end with an empire. I want to change that. I want to celebrate the women who maybe didn’t go from Rags to Riches but instead from Goodwill to Macy’s. Because you know what? That’s a pretty big fucking deal.

3)The role of the MAN. Alright ladies you know exactly what I am talking about. In each of the stories we know (my favorite is Working Girl with Melanie Griffith and Sigourney Weaver) the financially strapped, underdog woman finally wins big at the office, and is swept of her feet by the handsome leading man only after she makes it big. And although she has been struggling, she always is gorgeous. Her hair is on point, she is never nervously biting her cuticles (my worst habit, gross, I know), her shoes are never worn down past the sole. She is on her game. She is never 20 pounds overweight, sleep deprived and running on coffee, adrenaline and a bit of fear. Instead we are set up to believe that even while we rebuild, we must look good because even though in the end we will create our riches the real reward is a good man.

Finally #4)  I am a ‘have’ and a ‘have not’ all at once. For me that means unending guilt
I am stressed out, anxious and plagued by bad dreams of losing everything, losing my kids, not have a home; all while I sleep here in my 2 bedroom, 2 bath apartment with granite counter tops. I know that compared to so many in the world I am fortunate, and light-years more secure than most but I’m not nearly as secure as I used to be and no where near where I want to be. I want to experience stability again. I want to be successful again, but then my guilt comes again, like my “rock bottom” is just too cushy to count. And I don’t think it’s right. I think each of us comes from our own struggle. Some more visible than others, some truly inflicted by circumstances out of our control and others created by our own choices. But I think the notion of needing to experience the extreme failure, dire straits and essentially poverty in order to qualify as a success story is missing the mark.

So many of us teeter on the brink and manage to pull out a great Christmas, or rob Peter to pay Paul but still get the new shoes paid for or stretch it 9 weeks but still get our roots done.

And at least for me there is a guilt attached to all of that. Guilt because I don’t have enough and guilt because still I have so much more than others. It was sucking the joy out of everything little thing. I can’t look at my girls and say “yes” to the self-serve frozen yogurt on our walk without a major debate in my head. And when I do say yes, I’m in charge pulling the handle to keep the cost down and I’ve imposed a two topping maximum (one topping is fudge or raspberry sauce because it weighs less) and they have stopped asking me why I never get any or why they can’t buy water to drink with it. They know it’s not something I want to talk about.

So now it’s a mindset issue. And I believe there is magic in the mindset.

I will continue to be thankful for my kids, their health, my education, my love of all things creative and my ability to help people. But I will also do my best to practice patience as I rebuild. And this is so incredibly hard for me, and probably you too. It’s easy for the person on the stage holding the microphone to tell us all to have faith, to believe, to follow your journey. It’s wonderful to see the movie end with a kiss and a mansion. (Even in the 80s movie Overboard which reversed the gender roles in the traditional Rags to Riches story Kurt Russell still finds love and marriage after creating his own success. Because let’s face it — love stories without money are basically just Ramen noodles and sex; essentially college.) But those of us on the journey, deep on the path — at the part where you have moments where you think “this is it! I can feel it, I have found my calling!” followed almost immediately by thoughts of, “if I had to sell some of my stuff, do I even have any stuff to sell that’s not from the Christmas Tree Shop?”.

To truly know in my soul that the ebb and flow of money and finance are just that, predictable tides that ALWAYS turn back one way or the other means I need to have faith in more than just me. But refusing the story, denying the anecdote, acknowledging that I do not need to experience the pain and devastation of a massive, crippling drought in order to experience and appreciate the highest of tides and the roar of a flowing waterfall. I can be a success in my eyes, and my children’s eyes, just by continuing to share my gifts, and breathing and accepting that it’s okay to bob for a bit in the shallows, while I collect my thoughts and establish a new normal for my post-divorce family. This era of “put it back” has let me find the gift in what at times feel stagnant, a gift of time together, at playgrounds and beaches and trails and an honest appreciation for time and each other and the things in my life that I truly value that don’t cost a thing.