December 2004

It’s my birthday. I went to the gym this morning and told that to the woman who works there. I then challenged her to guess my age. Pathetic attempt to boost my ego, I know. But it worked. She guessed 35 to 38. I smiled and told her I’m 43. Yeeha.

Funny thing about the gym. I used to take the day off from working out because it was my birthday. Now I go to the gym because it is my birthday. Interesting shift.

Then I wrote my morning pages. They were very meditative today (that’s not always the case). I decided on my present to me: I will do everything in my power to be true to me, to attract abundance of every kind, to give to others in creative and loving ways.

As always, I strive to stay inspired and motivated to fulfill my life’s purpose. This week I seem to be getting a heavy dose of inspiration from a television show — The Actor’s Studio. I just love hearing success stories. Barbra Streisand talked about all the naysayers around her when she started out. It was hard work and determination (well, OK, there was some talent involved) that made her who she is today. Then there’s John Travolta. He’s always been confident and discriminant and he talked a lot about “due diligence.” Now the Bravo network is showing the coming attractions for this weekend and the guest is Morgan Freeman. In one clip, he talks about how close he came to quitting but then “the dark turned to light.” Fabulous!

Work hard. Stay the course. Have faith. I can handle that.

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I had to make a presentation this morning at my networking group meeting. We meet every Tuesday at 7 a.m. at a diner. Mornings aren’t my best time of day to say the least and it was roughly 25 degrees this morning, so I found this particularly challenging. However, I took the 12-block walk to the diner and it really invigorated me. The presentation was a breeze!

There’s something about public speaking lately that really jazzes me. At times I still get the shake in my voice but I usually work through it very early into the speech. The last few times I’ve prepared to speak I’ve analyzed those who I find effective, people who can really work a room, and listed what I think makes them so compelling. These are the three big keys for me: 1. Passion for the topic, 2. Knowledge of the topic, and 3. Little, if any, reference to notes.

I applied all three of those things today. I began by asking everyone to list three things they want to do before they die. Then I challenged them to create an action plan to make those things happen. What is the five-year plan? Three-year? One-year? What can you do this month to further the goals? This week? This day? This hour?

Then I listed the diverse goals I’ve helped my clients achieve. Then I read a testimonial from a client who got a book and film deal shortly after meeting with me. It was a fun presentation. I felt great. I fielded some good questions. I received positive feedback.

Hopefully those referrals will start rolling in.

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I’ve been trying to deal with some deep-seated anger the past 24 hours. It’s been building, I suppose. Unfortunately I took it out on someone I love. Isn’t that always the way?

This is one of those imperfections that doesn’t have to be. I know it’s human to lash out at those closest to us. Yet I see it as an excuse for bad behavior. I don’t like being on the receiving end, so why expect people I care about to put up with it from me?

Bottom line, I can’t take it back. So my best move is to make sure I feel the anger and then channel the energy into something positive and constructive. That’s where I am as I write this. Julia Cameron wrote with flair on this topic in The Artist’s Way:

Sloth, apathy and despair are the enemy. Anger is not. Anger is our friend. Not a nice friend. Not a gentle friend. But a very, very loyal friend. It will always tell us when we have been betrayed. It will always tell us when we have betrayed ourselves. It will always tell us that it is time to act in our own best interests.

Anger is not the action itself. It is action’s invitation.

Invitation accepted.

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I started this blog back in October with a story about a centipede. This week I have a mouse story. I think they’re related.

Let me begin by sharing my irrational fear of mice. I just can’t deal with the sight of them. Not even on TV. I don’t like to hear stories about them because then I have nightmares. It’s extreme, really.

A few months back, the minister at my church told a story about her irrational fear of mice. She saw them everywhere. One day, a day she remembers very clearly, she decided definitively that she would put the fear aside. That is the day she knew she would — despite her fierce resistance — start a church. I listened to this story with interest and, frankly, skepticism. What did the two have to do with each other?

Now back to this week. I’m doing some work at a local used bookstore. A few days ago I was watching the store while the manager took the afternoon off. A volunteer was in the back room. I was sitting at the register in the front of the store, helping customers and peacefully working on the computer as Abba entertained us on the stereo. At one point I saw the volunteer and another woman looking at the floor in the back room. I knew it was a mouse before I even heard them speak.

“Look, it’s convulsing. It must have eaten some of the poison.”

“Oh my God. Look. It’s thrashing.”

I got up and started talking to myself, “I don’t want to see it, I don’t want to see it, I really don’t want to see it.” There was a young couple sitting in the store reading. The guy, who appeared to be about 18, stood up and said he’d handle it. I almost kissed him, told him that his efforts would be much appreciated.

He attempted to pick it up with a plastic bag but it scurried away. Then it stopped again and died. I was still in the front of the store saying, “I don’t want to see it.” But lo and behold, my young hero decides the best thing to do is kick its dead body out the door like a soccer ball. Right by me. As I live and breathe. He kicked it all the way to the curb.

An hour or so later I went out to help a woman carry in boxes of books she was donating. There was the dead mouse lying in the street. I saw it on the first trip and then on the next as we unloaded her trunk. I saw that mouse, like it or not.

So are you getting the big picture yet? The more I said “I don’t want to see it” the more the universe said, “You need to see it. Right in front of you. It’s a harmless little thing. What is this really about? Look at it!”

OK, OK. The next day I was in the store again and needed to go into the basement. I was scared. I know I’m a ninny. But I was genuinely afraid to venture down the stairs. I finally gave in to my trepidation and went down there. Needless to say I’m alive to tell about it.

So now let’s go back to the centipede. Staring that fear down led to several breakthroughs, including this blog. This week, as I head into a new year, celebrate another birthday and work my way through a particularly challenging time, I think of the minister and her mouse story. She started a church which inspires me every week.

I can feel my own seismic shift happening. I strive to inspire others as well. The mouse is pushing me to go above and beyond my usual mettle and determination. It’s telling me I have to stretch like never before and stay the course. Stay in action. Keep pushing myself like crazy. Shed the fear like a layer of skin.

There’s no other way.

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Christmas Eve has come and gone. It’s my mother’s birthday. We had ice cream cake.

Tomorrow the nicely wrapped presents will be ripped open and enjoyed. My niece and nephew will make the day a little more special. We’ll have antipasto, stuffed mushrooms, lasagne (with little meatballs), steak and salad. It’ll be followed by homemade cookies, little cheesecake cupcakes and coffee ice cream with caramel sauce and whipped cream.

In a blink it’ll be over. Then we’ll usher in a new year.

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I have come to treasure the two-hour train ride to my parents’ house. It’s a direct train from Hoboken to the Jersey Shore; since it originates in Hoboken, where I live, I can simply walk five blocks, buy a ticket, put my luggage overhead and then settle in with a good book or my journal. The last few times, I’ve taken the laptop and worked on my book. There’s nothing like a nice window seat, plenty of room to spread out (if the train isn’t crowded), and the chance to concentrate on nothing but my art.

Today I wrote and wrote as town after town went by my window. I streamlined some things. Got in a groove.

My Christmas present to me.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about my relationship with money. It’s complicated. Prior to becoming self-employed, I worked for “the man” and did pretty well. I bought shoes, traveled and went out to dinner. I gave good gifts.

Now it’s different. I’m on a path that calls for sacrifice in the short term in order to see the fruits of my labor in the long term. It’s testing my patience. It’s making me look closely at things like how much I spend on coffee. Yuck.

And yet it is strangely liberating to know exactly where I am and where I need to be. My big financial picture, so to speak. And the deeper effects are unquestionable. I no longer require shopping as a quick emotional fix. I am making a concerted effort to embody spiritual principles around all types of abundance. It feels really good.

I should add that the support in varying degrees from family, friends and acquaintances has been tremendously gratifying. I feel very loved. It is proof that the universe finds ways to support your dream.

You simply have to ask.

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I started gaining steam on my book today. That’s significant because the process has been filled with stops and starts. I had an idea. It began as part fiction, part non-fiction. Now it appears it will be what I’ll call unconventional fiction.

Confused?

Because it’s part social commentary, part self-help and part story, I think I like the idea of the freedom fiction affords me. It will allow me to use some fact and some fabrication and blend it all together seamlessly. Love that!

So my main character has a name and she’s starting to develop a personality. I’m sweetly challenged by her, by bringing her to life and drawing others into her quirks and irreverence.

Stay tuned …

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I’ve been doing some work in a local used bookstore. Part of my job is to assess the value of the books donated by the community. I was happy to find a copy of SARK’s Eat Mangoes Naked today while going through a crate of contributions. Especially happy because it was in mint condition, but was an uncorrected proof so it had no value to the store. I brought it home.

Here are a few lines from the book that immediately struck me:

We so often try to present our ideal or best selves to the world. Let me invite you into the pleasures of sharing your fragile, wrinkled, dented, tiniest self! I assure you, it’s what people find most endearing about you.

I hope she’s right. I’ve been trying to do that more and more in this blog. I seem to naturally find zen in the ordinary a lot of the time, but wouldn’t you just puke if it was all of the time? Sure you would. So, as I sit here in my way-too-precious PJ’s with the coffee cups all over them (hey, it’s below zero here with the wind chill), let’s see what I can tell you that’s not part of my “best” self.

Lately I’ve been wanting to delve deeper into my spirituality from an intellectual perspective, basically become more well-read on it. However, last night I realized that I really don’t want to do any heavy lifting; I want to be spoon-fed. I shared this with a friend who patiently explained that getting into the material is a big part of the learning. Sad, right? He was polite, but barely disguised his incredulity. I think he’s getting used to my dance, though. Resistance is almost always followed by due diligence and taking a real bite out of something.

I also work hard to have patience, but don’t always succeed. But let’s save that for another day, shall we? No need to ‘fess up to all my endearing qualities at once.

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