I chuckle now as I look back on my collegiate career. Convinced that I was "too poor" to be able to afford to hire a band, a graphic designer, or a business manager, I learned how to do all those things myself. I took classes in business, law, graphic design, and music. My first album (recorded during my time in college) features no other instrumentalists. Every track was laid down electronically. I mixed my own vocals, designed my own cover. I did have a friend shoot the pictures, but that was only because he had a camera and was willing to help.
Can you imagine the comic nature of me trying to set up a shot, run around to the back of the camera, set a timer, and run into the shot again? Don't laugh. I found myself doing exactly that in a recent photo shoot for The Sweet Browns - a vocal group I'm working with locally. I think we ended up taking that shot 4 or 5 times before I got situated in time for the flash.
In my family, it somehow meant we're weak, that we can't do "it" on our own... whatever "it" happens to be. I grew up in a family of strong, independent women, and had a pretty stubborn lineage of men in my life as well. We simply didn't ask for help. The downside to all that independence is that you pass it on. I watch my boys (8 and almost 18) think they have to have it all figured out. That they simply can't ask for help. They either have to wait for it to be offered, or they have to struggle through the frustration on their own.
(more…)I've been wanting to write a post for a very long time about a concept I dubbed "the two I's". Inasmuch as we have two eyes through which we see the world, there are two "I's" through which we see the world: our divine self and our human self.
You can try to dodge them, but no matter how hard you try, you will experience the agony and ecstasy of both "selves" in your lifetime. I've talked about our Shadow self before. How the Coward and the Pretender protect ourselves from the world, and the world from us. How they are all part and parcel to our being. But I thought an incredibly personal example from my own upbringing might drive the point a little deeper.
It's probably a good thing my family doesn't read my writing much. Especially this week. I've written about my Dad before, but I don't usually talk about my Mom. That's because ours wasn't the greatest of relationships. While my Dad and I weren't exactly buddies, he wasn't around much as a kid, so he and I didn't develop the strong animosities that Mom and I did.
Dad was a Vet from WWII. He fought in the Asia Pacific Campaign on the island of Hawaii. I never knew much about what he did or who he was, since that was 30+ years before I was even born.
This past week, his replacement Army medals arrived. He earned a bronze star for his campaign medal, and I'm still not entirely sure what that means. In addition to the victory medal, also earned a Good Conduct Medal and a marksman badge for rifle (which explains the gun he kept in the closet when I was growing up). He also earned an honorable service pin. To look at all that regalia, you'd think Dad was some kind of war hero deserving of a halo and a front row seat in Heaven.
Perhaps.
This was the same man who, in his 60's no less, took my mom to abandoned houses to pull out and strip the copper wiring to sell at the junkyard for cash. Granted, that cash was used to feed his family and keep a roof over our heads, but breaking the law is breaking the law, no matter what the intention.
Lest you think Mom was some kind of victim in all this, she is the prostitute in the subheading above. Did you ever wonder what happens to prostitutes after they clean up their act and get off the street? I did, until I learned about Mom's "torrid past".
Back in the early 1970's, Dad was a cab driver. He was in his early 50's, married to a drug addict with two kids - one whom he'd sired and she another she brought to the marriage. To hear Dad tell it, he loved her, but she couldn't kick her habit, so he was looking for another "option". That's when he met my mom. She was this 20-something vixen - one of the few white chicks that hung out at an all-black bar in town where he liked to go between calls.
I never knew mom or dad to be much in the way of drinkers, so that story took me by surprise.
He knew she was earning money the "old fashioned" way, and decided he wanted to get her off the streets and clean her up. So he moved her into his house - with his wife and kids - under the guise of being a live-in nanny and part-time cabbie.
My mom, the undercover live-in lover of my dad, a married man with kids. The wife was too high to care, I presume. Then one day Dad was in the kitchen making wifey a sandwich. She OD'd right in front of the kids and died.
There was nothing to stop them from getting married, so they did. Mom & Dad eventually adopted both boys and went on to have both me and my sister - all before the end of Gerald Ford's presidency.
By the 1980's we were one big family - the kind that put the "fun" in dysfunctional (this picture is from one of the few family camping trips we all took together). My oldest brother (on the right) started stealing from the family. My heroic war vet dad would bind his hands and hang him from the wrists in the garage and whip him with a belt to get him to 'fess up. That put fear into the rest of us to not steal.
My other brother (on the left) decided that it was okay to force himself upon his much younger sister (me) instead. I didn't understand then why my Mother defended him. For years it was easy for me to see the darkness of Mom and the light in my Dad. Dad, the Angel, had left my mom because, well, she was the Devil. Nothing was ever good enough for her demanding ways. It was stressful, painful, and downright horrible.
After Dad and mom split up the first time, Mom took to the belt like a natural. It was an abusive, yet loving home - something you'd only expect to hear from a child of an abusive home. I'm pretty sure my extended family was somewhat aware, but nothing was ever done to my knowledge; no visits from child protective services as far as I know.
Then, in an effort to "make it work for the kids' sake" they got back together. That didn't last long. It was a painful mess of a relationship that colored so much of what my view on men, marriage, and family became for many many years.
It wasn't until I was an adult, with a child of my own, that I could really own that they were both a tangled web of shadows and light - like we all are.
As I approach my fortieth birthday, I look back and do my best to temper both the light and dark in my family. Fitting, since I'm biracial, right?
Amid all that darkness, I remember how my Dad would sit with me every week when my oldest son was still a toddler, and instruct and encourage me to be a better parent. How Mom attended and supported my sister's softball team in high school. The vacations and road trips we took to various parts of Michigan and the Eastern U.S. How they were both compassionate grandparents for as long as they were alive.
Those were good, glorious times: when Mom and Dad were letting their Divine selves shine through.
No one is perfect, in the zone, or "on" all the time. We see it played out when celebrities get caught doing something stupid, or a politician admits to some "corrupt" act. When I yell at my kids, swear at the driver that cut me off, or give credence to the "not enough" voices in my head.
On the other hand, our Divine nature calls us to live beyond our humanity. Wallowing in the "bad" things we do and resigning ourselves to our imperfection is a cop out. Saying "I told you I was trouble. You know that I'm no good." - with apologies to Amy Winehouse - is a cop out. We owe it to ourselves - to our highest good and to the people who need us to share our divine gifts - to keep showing up, warts and all.
When I meet someone for the first time that's previously watched my videos or read my blog, invariably, they say something about how inspiring I am because I have the courage to just show up as I am. That me "being vulnerable" is some kind of salve for them that gives them hope and courage to show up for themselves, too.
I used to think it was a back-handed way of saying "you could at least put on some makeup in those videos!" See how I couldn't even receive the compliment that was being handed to me? I was stealing from myself and robbing them of the gift of true gratitude.
Recently, though, I've noticed more and more people saying the same thing - as if my vulnerability is a gift I get to shine into the world for those who need it.
I'll be the first person to tell you I'm not perfect (my kids would probably be the second). It's part of why I don't show up with flashy videos and perfectly coiffed hair. My dishes are regularly undone, my house it quite often in disarray, and don't even think about looking at my desk right now - I'm not sure you could find it.
I've lied. I cheated. I've been "the other woman" - on more than one occasion. I've been mean, cruel, and just a downright "bad" person. And, as my favorite poet likes to remind us, still I rise.
Why?
Because my Divinity refuses to let my Humanity own me. Each day is another chance to stand up to the shadows of all my yesterdays, shine a light and say "screw you yesterday, I'm going to show up and keep trying to do better."
Not "do perfect." Do better.
My Humanity also refuses to let my Divinity own me. Because each day is another day for me to experience joy, emotion, respect, fear, lightness, darkness, faith, courage, happiness, anger, rage, and all the other emotions that are part of the human experience.
It's difficult to see the world through one eye. You're constantly craning your neck to see what you're missing. If you have two eyes, it seems senseless to cover one of them and pretend it doesn't exist. Why not put it to good use and see the rest of the world around you?
Why indeed. It's much harder to live life pretending you're perfect (or evil). You're constantly shift around to keep people from seeing the side you wish to ignore. If you have two sides, it seems senseless to cover one of them up and pretend it doesn't exist. Why not put it to good use and let us (and yourself) experience you showing up fully in the world around you?
This past week, I was fortunate to be able to travel to the Berkshires and visit with great friends. Actually, they're more like sisters. As one of the inscriptions reads in my book, sometimes friends are as family, and these ladies are it. We met during Amy Oscar's Soul Caller retreat last year, and we've kept in touch since then. We spent a few days re-connecting, learning, laughing, crying, and generally showing support for one another - which is what good friends and family do in my mind.
At one point, we made a trek to a nearby waterfall - the Umpachene Falls, to be exact.
Here's a photo one of my companions (Nicole Navratil) took while we were trekking. The beauty of the photo pales compared to the beauty of the experience at the falls. Imagine coming into a quiet little town park, green grass, lots of trees, and a small cache of playground equipment. Then imagine coming around a bend and seeing massive grey rocks with cool, clear water cascading in and around them.
Stunning doesn't begin to describe it.
As I climbed, I reached a point where the only way to go higher was to either move away from the water and go inland, or cross the water to get to the other side. I considered my options and, because I was more afraid of what I couldn't see in the trees (and because my companions were all waterside), I figured my best bet was to cross the water. At least if I fell, my friends would be there to collect me.
The higher I went, the more exhilarated I was. When I turned back, I could see everyone down below. I could even see the handful of brave souls that decided to climb higher. Then, as I turned forward to see what lay ahead, I saw something that couldn't be natural. Something I really wanted to look at more closely.
(more…)About a year ago, my husband and I bought a Porsche. We call it "The Time Machine" because it's really a blast from the past.
When we bought it, we got the expected commentary from friends and family:
"A Porsche? Really? How can you afford that?"
"What are you going to do with a Porsche? It's way too small for your family."
"Mom, can I have it when I graduate from high school?"
... and on and on.
When they found out it was a Porsche 924 - a classic from 1977 - and we only paid about $1500 for it, the comments took a different turn:
"What are you going to do with an old beat up car?"
"Forget it! I don't want my friends seeing me in an OLD car!"
"That's $1500 more than I would have paid."
"Does it have seatbelts?"
"Regular or unleaded gas?"
... and my favorite: "Can you even fit in that thing?"
One guy I used to know - who owns a limited edition Porsche Panamera (valued around $75k) - liked to poke fun and ask me when we were going to get a real Porsche. He'd say to me "Don't you want to see yourself someday in a new Porsche?"
I wonder if he'd say that to his wife - who is about 20 years his junior. 🙂
Last summer was a rough one for us. After two years of trying to keep a failing business venture afloat, and some personal financial issues around the health of our kids, we made a tough decision (more…)
This song was recorded before I left town for the Pink Papaya national conference. It was a song I'd heard a couple of years ago
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I may be ill this week, but I'm not skipping my weekly video. It's time again for another musical medley mashup!
This time, it's the most well known Sunday song of all time (that classic Commodores hit, "Easy") with a little country thrown in for good measure (that Tim McGraw hit "Watch The Wind Blow By").
Lionel wrote his song as a breakup tune, while the other is just a feel good, kick back love song. Put the two together, and it's a fun little anthem about freedom and doing what you love on your own timetable. Enjoy!
Four ounces.
It's approximately what the iPhone 5 (and a variety of other every day items) weighs.
And since the start of the year, that's my net weight loss for all of 2014.
Four ounces.
For the past two years, I've logged my daily weight (well, as often as possible), high or low, I've watched my body fluctuate around the same 10 pounds. And I'm still 90 pounds away from what most reasonable people would consider a healthy weight for my age and body type.
To an outsider, four ounces is laughable. It's barely a tick on the scale, and yet it's one worth celebrating.
Why?
Because I'm past the half-way point of the year, and I'm still trending downward.
See, I started the year above my normal weight - by about 3.5 pounds. That means, not only have I lost that extra baggage from the holidays (and my birthday party!), it means I've actually made progress toward my ultimate goal.
Plus, in June, I started a 3-day fast, which gave shaved another 4+ pounds off the scale. But I didn't fast for weight reasons (more on that in another post), so when the fast ended, I wasn't surprised to see some of that weight return.
But not those four ounces!
I'm no small woman. I know that. I also know that there are lots of moving parts to my own weight loss journey. Food sensitivities, emotional eating, and other stuff I'm just now discovering. Like my Cinderella complex. For as independent as I am, I keep hoping my Fairy Godmother will come with her magic wand and miraculously flush that 90 pounds off my body, give me a gorgeous dress and send me off to The Ball in my fancy glass slippers.
My coach called me on it this week. When I told her about my resistance to following through on my weight loss goals, she pointed out how good I am at getting things done - when it's a priority for me.
Zorch. She got me. It's fun to talk about what I've done well. It's sexy to talk about plans and goals.
I've worked over the last six months to see that four ounces - but not consistently. I'd put my head down for a while - anywhere from 5-21 days, and then I'd shrink back. I gave my power over to other people and put myself in a position where I didn't have healthy options available to me.
One of the practices I've instituted this year is re-commitment. It's easy to get on board with something, but when you hit The Dip, it's also easy to fall off that bandwagon, and never return. Re-commitment is permission to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start over again with what you've said matters.
When the scale starts climbing, or the exercise gets monotonous, it's easy to give up, grab a jar of Nutella, and forget about what really matters.
When your friends invite you to go fun places - like Cops & Doughnuts in Clare - it's easy to get lost in a sea of sugary goodness and succumb to the temptation of tasty treats. It's easy to give up on your long term goal for some short term socialization and delicious debauchery.
And in some ways, I did. In others, I didn't. At the end of the trip (which was fabulous, by the way. Did you see my mugshot on Facebook?), I hadn't gained a pound.
Of course, I hadn't lost any, either. But my wins included:
One week later, and I can proudly proclaim I'm down almost 2 pounds from the trip - and then there's those glorious four ounces.
Re-commitment takes guts. It takes courage to say "Hey, I fell down, and I'm not gonna stay down." It takes balls to say "I made a disempowering choice (or series of choices), but I'm going to get back on track."
It takes cojones to say "Yep, I've dropped the ball regularly on this in the past, but now, I'm re-committing, doing some things differently, and we'll see how this time goes."
And it takes supreme levels of courage to do that in the face of well-intentioned friends and even haters, who've seen you fall and don't expect you to ever get back up.
When you do get back up (because you're awesome like that), you celebrate that win. Dance! Sing! Shout! Tell your friends! Paint a mural! Blog about it! Take pictures!
Even if it's "only" four ounces.
Don't focus on the thirty-eight steps you still have to go to see the finish line. Just focus on the step right in front of you. Take THAT step and see what shows up. Then take the next step, and see what shows up.
Rinse and repeat until you see the finish line.
You've got this. I believe in you.
See you there!
"Let me be a lesson to you of what NOT to do."
When you're a celebrity on par with Jonah Hill, that's probably not the ideal phrase to be uttering to your fans. In this case, though, Jonah's sincere apology on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon after being caught on camera making a grossly inappropriate comment has done a lot to mend fences.
[I'll also go on the record as being ignorant, because I didn't realize the comment he made was now considered "a homophobic slur". I grew up hearing that phrase from men and women alike in my neighborhood. Not that it was a pleasant thing to hear, I was just a little surprised that it was a nuanced term.]
From the paparazzi video, it's hard to know exactly what was said, but Jonah indicated he and his family were being verbally attacked on a personal level by the photographer and "was genuinely hurt by this... and in response wanted to hurt him back".
To borrow a line from The Dixie Chicks: "There's your trouble!"
(more…)
Each time I go to my coach's weekend intensives, I always walk away with lots of ideas that pop like "popcorn" over the coming weeks. Sometimes they come in the most unusual ways.
For example, I was back in my hotel room, kind of winding down for the night. After a weekend like this, you can be emotionally raw, which means I can cry at the drop of a hat.
This video took me over the edge. Not only is it a powerful display of courage, but also conviction, commitment, and to staying the course when it comes to owning your dreams. Watch (you might need tissue), and I'll share some key lessons after. (more…)
Every time my family and I make the trek to North Carolina to visit my in-laws, there's one place I have to stop.
It's called JR, and it claims to be "The World's Largest Cigar Store." I don't know if that's true or not, but every time we plan a trip to Statesville, I try to finagle my way to JR... but not for cigars.
To be clear, cigars don't do it for me. I don't smoke, never have, and can't see a time in my future when I ever will. Heck, my Dad died from lung cancer. After Mom's heart attack, her doctor told her to stop smoking. She didn't. She died. So I know that smoking is one dead end road I have no intention of travelling.
Like any good nerd, I'm there for the books. JR has an extensive selection of best selling books and a few out of print or hard to find titles, as well as books on tape, and other media. To a bookworm like me, it's like putting a $20 in the slot machine in Vegas and hitting the jackpot.
Unfortunately, this last time I was there, the selection of books was grossly diminished. The book section was maybe half the size it was a couple of years ago. I started grumbling to myself about how I was actually going to have money left in my pocket when I was done shopping. There are usually so many good books - hard to find, out of print, and best sellers - that I have to use decide which books to leave on the shelves because I just don't have enough money. I walked out with three titles to add to my bookshelf, and a whole lot of change from that $20 bill.