Blessed
A couple returns to their block after Hurricane Katrina has done its devastating turn. The man asks the woman if she’s ready for what they might find. They forge ahead to find the home her father built. It has been destroyed.
The woman finds a decorative item intact here and there in the massive debris. They’re absolutely floored by the scene as they continue to survey it. Then she says, “A house is not a home. Family is home. My father and my husband survived. We’re blessed.”
I admire her perspective so.
Head games
Woke up this morning at 5:15 with the sinus headache from hell. Throbbing pain behind my right eye. Popped two Excedrin. Was still lying there awake and miserable at 6 o’clock, so I turned on Howard Stern.
Between 6 and 9 a.m., Stern’s “best of” segments intermingled with my dreams as I went in and out of sleep. I dreamt of Fred Durst talking about having sex with Britney Spears in scorching detail. Of course that was what was really coming out of my radio. It was bizarre, surreal.
Woe to my humidity-induced headache.
New attitude
I’m undergoing an attitude adjustment. Not easy for me. I’m a stubborn soul.
I once told a friend to focus on what a situation (friendship, job, etc.) is rather than what it isn’t. I’m taking my own advice.
Stay tuned.
Vogue dreams
I bought the 800-page September issue of Vogue to check out the fall fashions. It was a bonus to read the article and see the great photos of cover girl Sarah Jessica Parker.
The story tells of Parker’s post-Sex and the City life. Yes, she has acting projects, but what really has her jazzed is the fragrance she created. It’s a dream of hers coming true. It seems she’s been creating her own scent for years and now has undergone the process with a team of experts. Plus, picking the dress she’d wear in the ads was another whole process (they decided on a pink de la Renta).
I love when people succeed at something and then find another dream to conquer. They keep moving, like sharks in the water. One thing, then the next. What a treat to read.
And the surrounding pages are nothing to sneeze at. The latest Pucci coat. Or Tiffany bracelets shown with jeans, a crisp white shirt and a blue sash belt tied in a bow. Or … drumroll, please … the show-stopping brown croc boots (Dior by John Galliano) on the last page. Oh my God. Nearly flat. Knee-high. Sleek. They’re a work of art. Drool-worthy.
All kinds of dreams in this book.
Saturday
I went to a fabulous store today. Took the bus to Fort Lee to meet a friend and saw her workplace. It is filled with frames and lamps and mirrors and clocks and more stuff then I could take in. There was one floor lamp in particular that will haunt me now for weeks. The velvet shade has a cool geometric design in bold colors that would do wondrous things for my living room. Hmmmmm.
Then my friend and I came back to Hoboken to do dinner and catch up. What a wonderful touchstone. She introduced me to The Artist’s Way five years ago. She understands synchronicity and alignment and psychology. A precious gift.
A good day.
The flow
I’m ready to get back in a flow. I feel it.
Time for bravado. Risks.
Time to dig deep. Have faith.
There’s a shift happening beneath my feet. All the emotional, spiritual, physical work is being tested.
My view of the Universe is expanding. My vision around it more peripheral. I see so much. I sense so much.
I’m going with it.
Ahhhhhhhhh …
Live strong
I’m watching Lance Armstrong on Larry King Live and wondering why we can’t just leave champions alone. God, how I despise when people feel the need to taint triumph.
What frustrates me more is the media’s role in this little “scandal.” So often I defend the media, having worked in it for years, but what is this? Investigative journalism? Dredging up information from 1999? To what end?
As for the role of the French, look, I was the first one to say the whole Freedom Fries thing was for jackasses. I don’t paint the whole country with a broad brush. I can’t wait to visit there sometime soon. But, geez, the French media needs to grow up and get over it. An American won their freakin’ race seven years in a row. Shit happens.
It blows my mind that after battling cancer and pedaling his heart out on winding roads in high altitudes, Lance Armstrong has to deal with this.
Come on, people. Be happy.
Write stuff
I love to help writers and would-be writers. It seems I am reminded of that in droves lately.
– One of my current life coaching clients is hoping to make a living as a writer after 20-plus years in another career.
– A former client, well on her way to a completed novel, wants some “check-in” sessions in the fall.
– A relative has been asking for guidance on how to get a career in writing started.
– A former client just sent me an email about a book her young daughter is writing “just for fun” and wants to know if it has a shot at being published.
– I attended a retirement party for a former boss last weekend and a young woman I used to work with — currently in a new career — told me she’s still writing and it’s largely because of me.
All of this gets me thinking about how much I love combining my two passions — writing and life coaching. It’s an incredible rush when they intersect. And while I have been formally coaching for over three years, I was reminded at the retirement party that I have truly been coaching for a long time. It’s all very rewarding.
In another conversation at the party last weekend, I met a young woman who had the same journalism professor I did. She was telling me he is retiring soon. Then she asked if I knew he uses some of my articles to teach journalism. That just knocked me out.
Writing, writing, writing. I’m being hit over the head. I’ve been finding feathers at my feet at least once a day.
Write, Nancy, write.
Retreat
I was supposed to have a retreat day with a group of other life coaches today, but it was cancelled at the last minute. So I spent much of today in introspection instead, hoping to at least stay true to the spirit of a “retreat” day.
I sat on a bench at the waterfront this morning, took out my notebook to write my morning pages and realized I had forgotten a pen. That meant writing them in my head, so to speak. It was soothing.
Late in the afternoon I took a long walk and had to quiet my racing mind. I settled into a more meditative state. It was soothing.
I spent time relaxing and reading. Also soothing.
Mission accomplished.
Girls’ night
Had dinner with three smart, funny women tonight. We all live in the same building and I feel blessed to be surrounded by their positive energy and generosity.
The weather cooperated, so we dined at a sidewalk table at a local Italian restaurant and ate fabulous food. The conversation turned to dating and we all had stories to tell about prior experiences, protocol, what we like in guys, what we dislike.
I enjoyed myself so thoroughly.
