the wisdom To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe.
Anatole France
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by Jill MacGregor
It was a cold night as New York prepared itself for the oncoming Nor’easter. My Seattle jacket was barely sufficient and I thank the excitement for warming me the rest of the way. Even the French were better prepared.
The French!
They looked at me. “Mal habilee americaine” their eyes said.
We all were looking to the night sky, hopeful and full of anticipation. I looked up at the giant screen in Times Square and CNN declared Obama the winner of the Presidential election.
Most people cheered. I know that you could hear the sound blocks away as it snaked its way around the skyscrapers. We had heard the crescendo as we’d approached and one more state had gone blue.
It is a sound that makes a promise and causes you to quicken your step.
I couldn’t help but think of Hong Kong at this moment. Because that was where I was the first time Obama was elected. I was sad to be away—thinking I would miss an historic, once in a life time celebration by being overseas.
When I landed in Hong Kong, I was picked up at the airport by a teeny tiny man named Hercules and I really wanted to explain to him why that was funny—on a lot of levels– but bypassed that opportunity. We hadn’t even gotten to the car when he was asking me who I wanted to be President and I saw for the first time how the world was watching us—not just their governments but the people– hopeful that we would make a decision that they could get behind.
In a way no other President had been able, Obama was the answer to a world-wide question that made people want to be my friend.
So very different from my experiences in college when we used to pretend we were Canadian to not get into spitting fights once it was discovered we were Americans. Even with the uber friendly Spain. This was the 80’s…
It didn’t matter what who I’d be talking to while in Hong Kong—cab driver, waiter, keynote speaker—everyone wanted to know my thoughts about the election. It defined me in their minds—right or wrong—and set the tone for our conversation.
The Hong Kong conference was filled with people from all over the world — Americans were definately a minority. Kindly,on election day, they put a giant screen TV in the dining area reserved for the conference where everyone would hang out. Of course, the Americans were glued to that as the afternoon progressed. But then we’d look behind us and notice the rings and rings of people standing quietly, just as glued on the results as we were.
People from all over the world.
That was when I realized; it wasn’t just our election. It was everyone’s election.
The world was rooting for us. I suddenly felt like the unpopular girl who is elected Homecoming queen. Regardless of things in the past that had made them criticize or even dislike us, they wanted us to win in a very personal way.
It was an emotional moment when they announced Obama as the winner that day and they showed the shot from Times Square at midnight, teeming with people. We explained we’re not usually in the streets during an election—this is reserved for great celebration. And as we explained, we began to understand to. This was a moment of great celebration on a lot of levels.
Obama represented the ability for us to change.
And he still does. During this election many of us had the opportunity to vote for equal rights in marriage for all, and, in my state, it looks like it’s going to pass.
I know things aren’t perfect and some people have it very hard right now. Some people argue that Obama caused our current problems. But when a problem starts and when we really notice the problem are usually two very separate points in time.
Really—just ask your therapist. Or your economist.
Think of all that change. It makes me feel good about us.
If you liked this, you may want to read:
I am Deep Throat
Punch Above Your Weight
by Jill MacGregor
I think of my Granny and Papa a lot. I whisper hello when I walk down the hall to my front door and sometimes smell the smell of their house: equal parts gasoline, mustiness and bacon grease. It is unmistakably them. No place in the world smells like that … except for my hallway during the occasional shout out from beyond.
And their house, which was torn down 15+ years ago.
I was always fascinated with the fact that they had straddled two different decades. There was something about them crossing that century mark; they went from horses to cars, saw two World Wars, a cure for polio, witnessed extravagances become modern day conveniences…I could go on.
To me, it made them witnesses to history; characters in a constantly unraveling epic.
Because I started at the end of their lives and glanced back.
They’d tell the story much differently, I image. Granny would recount days of fishing on her dock and tilling in her enormous garden. She would tell stories about her children and grandchildren.
Their lives were not always easy but you wouldn’t know it to hear it from them.
Their struggles defined them at early ages. They took chances and trusted life even if it didn’t always hold up its end of the bargain. Life made them sturdy and tough to knock down.
I chuckle as I realize I am now that historical character—well, aren’t we all? Here we are, straddling two centuries, and witnessing the blur of changes and events as they tear past us.
Watching how we attempt to harness all of the information available to us and convert it into knowledge.
Understanding that technology makes the loudest statement possible about our human condition: we are all connected. Like it or not.
As I write this, I sit in Midtown Manhattan, bustling and with all its lights on. It’s days away from Hurricane Sally, who came and stepped on everything, making a mess of much of New York and New Jersey. I am a witness to destruction, safely ensconced in Midtown.
I saw the runners yesterday; they were everywhere, misplaced without their marathon. I heard how some ran the course even though it had been cancelled only to be hit in the face with the destruction of Staten Island. I heard how many of the marathoners went to Staten Island to help—volunteered to do whatever they could.
My disappointment + your disaster = the best in both of us
Currently, Rockefeller Center is dressed like your crazy aunt on the 4th of July; all red, white and blue and excess. I will be there when they announce who our President will be and that feels interesting. Rockefeller Center, with all the blue and red lights and… ice skaters.
Of course, there should be ice skaters.
Before that, I will soak up as much art and difference and foreign language and feel strangely at home and foreign simultaneously.
So, I leave you with two thoughts, you witness to history.
First, vote!
Second, give—text 90999 and Red Cross and donate $10 in the easiest way imaginable.
Every day you participate in a moment in history, whether you know it or not. Sometimes it’s just hard to see it from where you stand.
If you like this, you may want to read:
How To Increase Your Sense of Wonder
The Symantics of Prayer
by Jill MacGregor
Oh, it’s magical. I see you on your unicorn followed by a trial of sparkles and serenaded by oohs and ahhs. You make it look so easy because, well, it is easy, isn’t it. Your special thing. That only you can do. Effortless and meant to be.
Bitch, get real. This shit can be hard. It’s got…moments. Moments when it becomes a cranky three year old who just doesn’t wanna.
There will be times in your life when you will feel out of touch with your dream/passion. Nasty, defining moments…those ones that taunt you with *give up*. Nasty, defining moments when you start listening to the horrible East German judge in your head who says you don’t measure up.
And at that moment, when the East German judge is giving you the lowest possible score, someone’s going to pop off with this “your passion should be effortless” business.
You might feel like your current frustrations have disqualified you from even being on the right track.
There will be moments (yes, the nasty defining kinds) when your secret dream feels like the ticket to the best show in town that you keep misplacing—turning out your pockets and upending your purse in hopes of being reunited before the curtain goes up.
I think I know why you feel that way.
You haven’t taken time out of the equation.
Hurry, hurry and now are commands best saved for other situations. And trust me, little engine that could, removing the irritant of time is not going to derail your progress in achieving your secret dream. It will allow for you to put the whip away.
I’m starting to think you and that East German judge might be friends….
Soften your benchmarks–you will start to see how time is responsible for the log jam in your flow.
Your secret dream doesn’t know time from a hole in the wall.
What if you started thinking about it this way instead?
Your secret dream is a thoroughbred—a hot horse with a mind of its own—and it likes to test you regularly by rearing and walking you into the trees. The best riders work at moving with the horse because trust is what tames. And trust takes time.
Sometimes, your secret dream is a progression that can be very solidly constructed with all the things you want to avoid: fear, anger, vulnerability, and pain—all those things you don’t like to look at.
It’s going to make you be honest with yourself when you might prefer to perpetuate a comfortable lie. Your secret dream is sewn through with feelings you might rather ignore. Because it is all you—good, bad and ugly.
It’s here to teach, you occasionally unwilling student.
Stop your hollering and stomping about. Your secret dream will most likely not respond to your harsh words and impatience.
So, go to the same place every day and sit quietly. And every day, it will approach a little closer, a little closer each time until, there it is, sitting quietly beside you. Then you’ll realize that it wasn’t your passion that felt hard to pin down or master. It was you the whole time. You, not sitting quietly enough and leaving a space for it on a regular basis.
Now, push up your sleeves. You’ve got some work to do.
If you liked this, you may want to read:
In a Single Bound
Passion Play
There is Enough for Everyone
by Jill MacGregor
I am ten and it is late October in Waterloo, Iowa. It is the last Halloween that I know I will be able to officially go out and trick or treat. I am at that age—next year I will just be too old for this kind of fun. Next year I will be working hard at being cool, something I will never master. Asking for candy with all the little kids just won’t help my cred.
I am a witch. Again. My mom always encourages me to be the witch (read: only buys me the witch costumes). My entire life, I am the witch, trained at a young age with the promise that, ‘The witch will always win the scary prize’—back when we actually did those things in school. Years pass and I am now conditioned to be the witch.
I AM WITCH.
There’s probably another blog post in that one…
I digress.
I’m at that delicate spot in my young life when a handful of months can move me from one stage to the next, informing me of what must be left behind and what must be embraced. You long to grow up and be treated more like an adult but it’s a little sad at times to put away some of the things that are your childhood pleasures…Barbies, Santa, Trick or Treating…these things recycle themselves into nostalgia and are quickly replaced by a list of responsibilities you have hungrily waited for.
But it’s really about the length of time it takes your parents to steel themselves to the fact that you are not so much their little girl any longer and time has sped up in a way they never thought it would and now they must acquiesce to the fact that you need them just a little bit less.
And they notice you like it.
I loved Halloween, not so much for the dressing up or the candy. I loved that we were allowed to roam the streets in tiny packs in the darkness, our identities hidden under masks and cheap wigs. Staying out much later than we would normally be allowed, essentially doing everything we were told not to do any other day. We would talk to strangers, not only take candy from them but ask for it, and stay out unchaperoned past 9pm.
When you’re 10 years old, this is the equivalent of leading a prison riot.
I loved the feeling of breaking all those rules while, at the same time, not breaking any.
Trick and Treat.
There was always the universal symbol of *no candy here*–those people who would leave their porch light off.
I always felt disappointed by their darkened doorways. Not so much that there was no candy waiting for me, but that they weren’t getting into the spirit of things—they didn’t seem to find the joy that the rest of us were experiencing. Those people had chosen to not interact with us, decided to not get into the spirit of this night that only happened once a year.
How could they not delight in the prison riot?
It’s just a little thing. Their darkened door didn’t alter my life. But recently it made me ask myself: Had I turned my porch light off to anything—or anyone? Had I created a *no candy here* zone in my life around something important?
Because I think I know people who have. Not with everything, but with some things. There are so many words we use and devices we employ that effectively turn off our porch light, telling the world we are shut down and please, don’t come knocking.
”I don’t have time.”
”It would be easier if I didn’t do it.”
”Next time…tomorrow…” too many times in a row.
Not being present.
Believing that you cannot change.
I guess it’s about saying yes more than saying no. Preserving the ritual of joy and encouraging it to approach on a regular basis. Embracing your awkward moments. Believing that you can—whatever it is.
Because, in this instance, leaving your light on means you get the treat.
If you liked this, you may want to read:
The Last Thing to Change
Not Quite Ice But No Longer Water
The Second Rule About Fight Club
The Stop Doing List, Part I
Image Credit
by Jill MacGregor
In kindergarten, I always wondered who Richard Stands was because we always gave a little shout out to him in the Pledge of Allegiance.
Sidebar: The Pledge of Allegiance was something we said after we had our breakfast of Tang and Space Sticks—breakfast of astronauts because sugar keeps you strong. We were uncivilized and rode our bikes without helmets, considered seatbelts as optional and got dressed up when flying on a plane. And somehow lived to tell.
Jarts, bitches. (That’s a lawn dart for those born after Watergate.)
So, yea…there is no Richard Stands. It’s actually “for which it stands”. It’s not “And to the republic, for Richard Stands, one nation, under God…” But I imagine this may have been my mistake only.
This kind of thing happens to me a lot. It’s not the Señor Center…imagine it—because I did—mariachis in black bolero jackets with gold braid, sombreros, doing what? Well, playing the guitar, of course, and singing loudly in Spanish. There is probably an array of fine tequilas and I will most certainly be addressed as mamacita.
And to think, I used to have to go to a bar for that.
But I jest—because I would certainly NOT be allowed in—not being a Señor and all that. This center is specifically for the Señors. To congregate, gather and…uh, I don’t know…do Señor things.
I was very disappointed when I discovered it was actually the Senior Center…hello, glasses.
But you see, this happens to me constantly and I have the unique and unmarketable skill that allows me to create a rich and believable back story instantly– which usually keeps me from questioning the strange thing I just thought I read or heard.
I take the weird out of weird and make it entirely plausible. I’m not sure if this is a good idea but it does explain some of the men I’ve dated.
Alright…all of the men I’ve dated.
And it’s not 35 Shots of Truth, but I certainly thought I read that and said to myself, *Wow, that’s interesting!*. My mistake was the impetus for one of my more popular blog posts.
It was 35 Shots of Rum and I was in an airport bar which really should have been the big giveaway. But I think you are starting to see how this works in my world.
Life is funny that way. Spit balling you with odd notions and thoughts from across the room, unseen. I imagine our days are constantly peppered with things like this—the Universe going to more and more extremes to get our attention because we’ve developed an unwitting acceptance to the strangeness, the out of the ordinariness. The trail of clues that is left for you on a daily basis.
And all you do is ignore it.
Doesn’t it makes you wonder what are you filtering out and, more importantly, how can you turn that filter off?
I’ve got some ideas on how to start turning the filter way down—ways that will help you notice the signs when you need them most. It’s going to take some practice.
Lose the word ‘coincidences’.
Humor me and at this moment think of one incident that you diminished by categorizing it as a coincidence. Now try to remove it from that context and make it purposeful—that happened specifically for you. You’ve got to admit—that is a much more interesting place to live. And doesn’t it make you respond to the event differently? Keep that thought in your head.
Say, ‘Yep, that is happening’.
Really. Acknowledge the pointer or the Universe is going to consider you the dull knife. Then it’s going to start doing even more things to get your attention. The Universe can whisper or it can yell. Which do you require?
Sidebar: It is seldom pretty when you force the Universe to yell.
Call weird ‘weird’.
We have become so politically correct; it’s loosened our ability to highlight what’s out of the ordinary in case we offend. Many times things are weird to get you attention, to stand out, because they have a story for you. It’s weird so you will see it: good, bad or ugly.
I wonder what you are going to notice today.
If you liked this, you may want to read:
Knowing It When You See It and Liking It When You Do
How to Work Without a Net
Knowing When to Say When
Image Credit
by Jill MacGregor
I’ve been away from the blog more than I would like because I am writing a novel.
Oh, wow—did you just force a smile and give me a little golf clap? I know, how original. You may be already practicing post publishing house rejection condolences in your head.
But, you save those.
I am full of myself on this one. I am Piss and Vinegar, personified. I feel like I’ve tripped into something wonderful and am channeling something that must live in a parallel universe—because these characters feel so real…and not in a *you forgot your meds* kind of way.
I feel like I am writing all the time. I sit in front of the computer and rearrange these character’s lives, cutting and pasting and deleting, until I like what I see. I am writing in my head while I swim, allowing the repetitive motion of each stroke to loosen plot lines. I think about it when I read –with my ears, I’m an audio book girl. I think about how words go together and what makes them beautiful or gritty or hard to hear, but important.
I think about it when you’re talking and possibly repeating yourself or launching into one of those monologues we all have a tendency to deliver. I mentally leave the room and visit these characters at these moments, throwing situations at them like an odd game of charades, just to see how they’ll respond.
I put words in their mouths and clothes on their backs and occasionally do horrible things to them. And, when you pause, I return and nod, no one the wiser. It’s as if I’ve stuffed pillows under the covers and snuck out—you still think it’s me under there but, mentally, I am long gone, living it up with this unusual collection of characters because I cannot wait to see what they will do next.
They are constantly surprising me—which is welcome—because I don’t feel like I get surprised half as much as I’d like to.
Over the last 20+ years, I would say that I have sat down to write a novel more times than I can count. I would have an enthusiastic start, fully prepared to weave a tale that had yet to be woven, only to find myself with a collection of mannequins doing the robot. No surprises. Stiff and unrealistic. I would eventually give up as my ill fated story would hit wall after wall and the characters/mannequins doing the robot would continue to say the most unbelievable things.
It is so disappointing to be bored by your own creation.
Those attempts at writing a novel remind me of all the times I tried to quit smoking. It took so many attempts before I finally was successful 15 years ago—and, it was Winstons or Dunhills, thanks for asking, I would love to talk about my brand while walking far too close behind a smoker and breathing deeply.
I digress…
That taught me, with the help of a few other teachers, that failing doesn’t mean you will never succeed. It just means you haven’t YET and that’s an entirely different way to grapple. As my Dad used to remind me when I was in sales, “Every no puts you one step closer to a yes”. Every time No would casually slap me in the face, that nugget would keep me going because it filled me full of *next time*. No was never an end to something. No was a bridge to all the yeses I was chasing.
My Dad also raised me on this one: “No just means you didn’t ask the question the right way.” Which implies, so, you’re going to try again, right?
No is a necessary function…it’s the test, the course correction…whether we generated the no or someone else did it for us. No is where your desire punches its way to the surface.
If no is cake, it is slathered with a thick frosting of oh yea, make me.
So, I joyfully write my shitty first draft and reminding myself that this is the goal—I am instructed by other writers that this is the goal: shitty first draft. Every book I have ever loved was once a shitty first draft, they remind me. And, strangely, I love the way that feels.
I have whispered in my own ear that maybe, just maybe I could deliver a shitty first draft to myself as a birthday present this September. That might be more meaningful that my usual birthday trip to the fun kitchen store. It’s a good stretch, if nothing else.
Whenever I am deeply into something, when the figuring of the puzzle becomes all consuming, it has a tendency to seep into my dreams. It will follow me around, sleeping or awake. The other night, I had some random dream, and when it was over, I did something I hadn’t done before. In my sleep, I started it again from the top and began cutting and pasting the pieces of it, meticulously rearranging and replaying it in its new form, over and over, until I liked what I saw. A strange little editing room in my mind.
It’s the same process when I write.
So, I’ve said some things that make me uncomfortable, which to me is always a good sign when writing a post. I’ve confessed a dream and set a deadline and squealed ‘how interesting’, with great excitement—all things that make me slightly itchy. And told you how much I still enjoy cigarette smoke and the lengths I will go to get me some second hand poison.
Like every writer, I fear the mere mentioning this to others will create some voodoo, casting me into the writer’s block of all writer’s block…making me once again the creator of mannequins doing the robot.
I have just enough chapters to make me feel daring.
But now it’s time to revisit the odd world I’m creating, where I cut and paste, and the people are always surprising me by what they do next.
I think I’m going to make one of the characters smoke.
If you liked this, you may to read some of my faves:
They Say It’s Your Birthday
In A Single Bound
Kingmaker
Romper Bomper Stomper Boo
Image Credit
by Jill MacGregor
I have a spot reserved in my heart for the small voice that speaks at the exact moment the yammering crowd silences –when the noise parts and the small voice says the thing everyone is to afraid to say—and usually the last thing I want to admit.
Finally.
Sort of.
But until that voice speaks, the yammering persists. And amidst all that noise, seeds are planted—well, thoughts get planted—firmly, in my rocky, little pea patch of a brain and sometimes the one thing that thrives is doubt.
Excuse me while I second guess myself.
Psst. Shut it. Busy in here.
This small voice—let’s call it clarity, bright and glaring. My horrible internal friend who would never be mistaken for a yes man, by anyone’s definition.
This small voice, is not always kind but it is so on the money. Its sentences often start, “You know exactly what to do, you big whiner…” and “Seriously?”
This small voice is the first to announce: “Something is not working. Welcome to your crossroads.”
To which I respond, “Aww dang—again? Sumbitch…”
Choosing the Right Story for Yourself
Bringing things together in your life requires patience and persistence and percolation.
I love alliteration.
Developing your personal mythology is not for the faint of heart. Your story gets really interesting at the So, here I am at a crossroads part, especially in retrospect. In the moment, it’s a churny pain in the ass.
Let’s look at what got you here.
Untying Your Knot
For things to change, something usually has to stop or end. Sometimes it’s not your choice; sometimes it’s not any easy choice to make. And at first, you might even miss the thing that you’ve let go off and you may notice that it’s left a little black space where nothing else seems to grow.
Loss can make you hesitant. Loss can also make you fight for the wrong things.
Wrassle. Struggle. Fight. What do you want me to tell you—that it’s not fair? Maybe, but this story is yours for a reason.
You’ve got something to solve.
It may all start with some reoccurring pattern—that’s usually what the struggle is all about. That thing you thought you had already done for the last time but here it is again just in different wrappings.
Truth, the hot stinking truth—it begins to seep into your situation and you welcome it the same way you welcome noxious gas. Why is it that something that is designed to be such a solid, helpful reflection of our internal and external situation can make us hide and deny its existence? Truth is such an influencer even though our ego likes to claim that role for itself.
Cue denial. Perhaps it will only make a short cameo.
But, you’re starting to get it. Because that small voice keeps chirping—it is the smoke detector that has a dying battery. It’s going to keep beeping until you change the battery.
Truth–just try to ignore it. It will stand too close until you feel its breath on your neck—truth is a bullying, forcing function. Truth can be very intimidating—how do you argue with something that’s –well, undeniable?
But you do spend some time arguing it down ‘cause you’re so smart—and you are as effective as a drunk arguing for his car keys. You want it your way. But the truth has no flexible points. It is what it is– clear and firm.
The Desire to be Real
“It’s not what you did. It’s what you do next.”
A friend said this to me while we were philosophizing and it has stuck in my head, echoing around in the wide open spaces of my mind.
It’s not about the damage. It’s about the reconstruction.
Not about the omission but the commission.
Not how it ties you down but how you free yourself.
It’s what you do next.
I have a tendency to rub my face in my mistakes, like a bad dog who should know better, hoping that the sting of shame will be enough of a reminder to keep me from making the same mistake again. It can be hard to pry myself out of the constant replay I force myself to watch.
I bet we all do that to some degree.
Shake it off like a wet dog. Your task is to live in the present.
What are you going to do next?
I bet it’s going to make us pick up our pompoms and shake our asses.
If you liked this, you may want to read:
Moving Forward and Other Feats of Super Human Strength
Believing in Ghosts
Battle Ready: The Worthiness Rule Book
Image Credit
by Jill MacGregor
liminality: a psychological or metaphysical subjective state, conscious or unconscious, of being on the “threshold” of or between two different existential planes
I harbor a deep and growing resentment toward the horoscope in the Sunday paper. It repeatedly tells me *today is a 7*. I cannot get past a 7. Every flipping Sunday—7.
My horoscope score (HS) is a 7.
I just invented Horoscope ScoreTM.
Everyone else is having 8’s and 9’s…it makes me think they get tired when they get to September and they say, “Aw, let’s just give the Virgos a 7 again. They won’t notice.”
But we do. We are Virgos. And that in itself is not always easy—nor is it often a 7.
Liminality showed up in recently my horoscope and caught my eye…it felt so very *not* a 7.
Sidebar: Sometimes I read other horoscopes only to gather evidence against my argument of being a 7. Because, of course, I want to be fully prepped to defend my case in Horoscope Court. Best argument to date: I am definitely not a 7—maybe more of a 9 or, dare I say it, a 10—because I am experiencing liminality.
So, moving from the topic of my horoscope rage…I think there might be something to this liminality–excuse me while I overuse my new word. I do feel like I’m in a bit of a jumping off place (HS 9)-—maybe a launching pad (HS 10)-—or if nothing else, some sort of transition (HS 7).
Transition is such a boring word, boring like buying tires. When you think about it, a step forward involves one foot in the past and one foot in the future. Passing from one to the next—let’s call it what it really is.
Time travel (HS 11).
My next step creates the past just as it creates the future.
Liminality. So much more interesting than transition.
Jill is experiencing liminality. Jill is liminalious. Liminalicious. Even though I’m not sure how to use it in a sentence, I pretty sure it will make you study me and wonder.
And not think I am just having a mid-life crisis.
And, as you study me and wonder, you will notice that things are mid-process, that colors are slipping off me only to be replaced by new ones. You will see all that I have shed lying in a heap at my feet and wonder about the slightly raw and pink newness that has taken its place. You will nod at my desire to stretch my new baby muscles, tight like rubber bands.
You will think words like re-invention and rebirth.
That sounds so much more glamorous than mid-life crisis…
But the Virgo in me wants to distill it down to its truest nugget – and also find something I can use properly in a sentence.
I’m doing gap assessment.
Once you understand where the gaps lie—that tender spot between what is and what will be—you can then lash your bridge together and close said gap.
This will allow me to touch something that I once could only see from a great distance.
That’s got to be at least a 9.
If you liked this, you may want to read:
Defying Gravity
That Red Haired Yankee Girl
The Search
How To Change The World
Catastrophic Thinker
Image Credit
by Jill MacGregor
Action expresses priorities.
~ Mohandas K. Gandhi
Drowning and Swimming – both involve water and splashing about but, of course, you’d never confuse the two. You may think that’s a ridiculous statement but reflect a moment. There are choices you make, things you decide to do that make you sink like a stone in life yet you tell yourself that they represent forward motion. You are in the water and there is splashing…but you are going down.
Are you struggling for the fun of it? And as you say “Why would anyone choose to struggle?” three or four people will probably pop into your head.
Are you one of them?
Ask yourself this: What do you think you deserve?
It can be very simple: Are you able to say please and thank you—and really mean it?
But that is other people. You’re fixing to get to that super important life changing thing as soon as you make it through your to-do list.
Sidebar: So that I can avoid all the messages from friends asking why I wrote a blog post about them…this is not about you.
This is about all of us.
Which one of these feels familiar?
The Finger Puppets, Dancing Bears, Key Shaker—
You’re very practiced at finding that clever way of not getting it done completely or correctly each time. You avoid your goal by adding yet another elaborate task to the mix. You’re the man behind the curtain, pulling levers, creating smoke—hoping that no one ever discovers that you are a fraud.
You don’t seem to be comfortable getting what you want. But all the talk you do certainly distracts the crowd. All the puffs of smoke and brightly colored scarves in the air…there’s a lot to look at even though it contains no substance.
You’re afraid. But we all live that moment. Put away all your magic tricks and tall tales and start talking about your fear. Pick one person. You will probably hear this: “Yea, me too.”
Everyone has fears. Gently give yourself permission to be human—the rest of us already have.
You are a doer of great things.
The Gift Blocker—
It’s never going to be right for you, is it? You’re always wishing that it had happened at a different time or a different way—because then it would have been perfect and only then could you have enjoyed it.
Your focus is on the *not* and *if only* portion of every situation.
Maybe there’s a part of you that feels this approach shields your from disappointment–to start all new endeavors with low expectations. But you’re really making a declaration: please take your stinkin’ gift back because I can tell, without opening it, shaking it or holding it up to the light that it is subpar.
Opportunities are given to you, just like gifts, and you never know how a gift will change the course of your life.
Life is a bag full of surprises and you, you are here to LEARN.
Because let’s face it. If you knew everything, we would have put you in charge a long time ago.
The Spin Cycler—
You make problems for the sake of making problems and love the accompanying struggle like it’s a badge of courage. You spend a lot of time tying tiny little knots in things, then spend more time untying them only to call it *progress*.
Imagine all you could accomplish if you used all that energy in a different way.
Creating churn and froth is not forward motion. Churn has no give back. It’s not a sign of innovation to build something only to tear it down.
Honey, hop on the Love Train, immediately. Your burning need to identify everything that you think is wrong is delaying you from seeing everything that is wonderful.
So, no more pretending, no more avoidance. Quit being a puss about it. Today. Accept the gifts. Embrace the positive. Allow for differences. Be your strongest advocate. And, become a laser beam for all you wish for—even if deep down inside you think you don’t deserve it.
Here are some easy words but also a possible hard truth: you do deserve it.
Get ready.
If you liked this, you may want to read:
How To Change the World
The Art of Controlling the Skid
Pitch Perfect Perspective
Loving The God Damned Moment
Image Credit
by Jill MacGregor
The measure of who we are is what we do with what we have.
~Vince Lombardi
There is a drill sergeant in my head who is usually yelling at me to drop and give him 10 and this makes me constantly wrestle with my definition of *more*.
Does more mean acquiring extra of the thing(s) you already have?
Does more mean pushing harder and trying to grab the thing you can just barely touch with your fingertips?
Does more mean finding time for the things and people you never seem to have enough time for?
More is very personal and, like snowflakes, no two definitions look alike. Often, more is a promise that has yet to be delivered. More whispers to us in a language we haven’t quite mastered about meaning and importance and balance.
Much like our smart phones, we are usually in the process of downloading one more item…maybe it’s our constant search for the piece that we feel is missing, that final thing that will make things just so.
And give us more.
I have a recipe for more. It calls for equal parts impossible and attainable but it’s a recipe that requires constant revision. Because that’s the trick, isn’t it.
More is never the same thing twice.
Things that are chewy + challenging + creative = rewarding—or however you stack your equation for more—constantly slide from want it to got it, forcing you to up your own ante.
And forcing you to redefine more. Your more of ten years ago is very different from your more of today, isn’t it?
We walk through life in a constant state of sync, many times so very unaware of all the information we’ve collected through our lifetime of osmosis. There is a lot informing our definition of more. We are assailed by others telling us what our more should look and feel like. And that is a shame because there is one thing that will take the more right out of your more—and that’s comparison.
As long as we have hearts that beat and enjoy the feeling of beating faster, more will be there—getting us out of bed in the morning. Giving us the power to do things we thought we couldn’t.
Only to put on its mask and make us find it again in the crowd.
If you liked this, you may want to read:
In Your Heart Are You A Champion?
Leverage, Baby
The Second Rule About Fight Club
How To Make Fear Your Bitch—Turning Fear Into Challenge
Image Credit
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