Love it Forward Superheroes!

Hellooooo Superheroes!

It's been so long that I've posted. I've been writing for Thrive Global and updating the new website -- check it out here: superherooflove.com.  Sign up for the Mailing List there and you will get all the latest and greatest superhero news!

I've been busy!  Last Sunday, November 11th I produced LOVE FORWARD TALKS -- like TED Talks for the HEART. And this was the giant flower heart backdrop for the event at Boston Court Pasadena.

There were six extraordinary speakers.  Check out the cool pics and details at the Love Forward Talks website!  You can get some of the fun wisdom shared that day in this article at HITCHED MAGAZINE.  The title of the article is 7 Ways to Infuse Love Into Your Thanksgiving.

Also, BIG NEWS - you can pre-order the book now at AMAZON or wherever you get your books!!!

Lenissima!

Lenissimaaaaaa!  My feelings for Lena Dunham can only articulated in Italian.  

I was looking for a new podcast the other day, having just finished back to back binges of Slow Burn and my friend Melissa Morgan's new fabulous podcast, Just the Tip-Sters.  I can't more highly recommend both by the way if you 1) share my unquenchable thirst for anything Watergate related or 2) like thoughtful and sometimes hilarious commentary on true crime.

I searched "women" in my podcast app and Women of the Hour was at the top of the list. I know I'm super late to this game (last episode June 2017) but I opened it and fell down a serious rabbit hole. Every moment I am not working or editing my book for the publisher (Did I mention this before on here?  It will be out January 2019 - just in time for Valentine's Day heart healings - with Red Wheel/Weiser/Conari Press), I am listening to Women of the Hour.  It is brilliantly curated, each episode chock full of brilliant, creative women who will provoke the hell out of your thoughts.

So many brilliant feminist voices I had not previously heard.  How had I not heard about Janet Mock (another podcast well I will inevitably fall into soon)?  There are lots of celebrity interviews with great writers, musicians, artists, etc.  Fun chat between Allison WIlliams and Lena on the occasion of shooting the last episode of Girls, and many more interviews with the not-so-famous. Ronnie Konner, the mother of Lena's partner, Jenni, talks about life after a stroke in her mid-40's.  Abuelita, the woman who sold trinkets in Mexico fueled by God and 8 cokes a day who had never been to a doctor (never been sick!) in her over 100 years: "It's all in the mind," she said.  The woman who discovered she was a lesbian after she moved to Los Angeles in 1945, and started writing gay parodies of well-known songs.  

Each interview has sparked my heart and mind. I'm kind of blown away by the depth and breadth of coverage of each topic. I feel like Lena grabs my hand at the top of each episode and we go skipping into whatever world she has chosen for the day.  One interview finishes, and then she says "OK, let's skip over here now!  You will LOVE this one!" I, of course, reply "What? More than that one?!  Impossible!"  Yes, I have crazy ass conversations in my mind with Lena Dunham while I travel with her along the real yellow brick road of Women of the Hour.  You should come!  If you want to be inspired by one kick-ass woman after another, come!

Wherever you get your podcasts....but here is the SOUNDCLOUD link to WOMEN OF THE HOUR

Superhero Shenanigans

Some superhero shenanigans happened today.  We had fun.  I could listen to Ally all the live long day.  She is hilarious, endearing, has a most awesome laugh, and is all about empowering women -- and men -- to be their most amazing selves.

If you want to get a sneak peak into the book and a glimpse into some things I haven't spoken about publically or written about even, you can click here: Ally's Superhero Episode with Bridget Fonger


Then...when you have time you will probably dig this Wonder Woman interview with the extraordinary Elizabeth Cronise McLaughlin: 

Ally's Wonder Woman Episode with Elizabeth Cronise McLaughlin


By the way, I just heard via Ally today of Elizabeth's current tour and scored a last minute ticket today to her upcoming event in Los Angeles.  Check out the tour Here!

Both Ally and Elizabeth are serious-big-time-up-to-super-big-heart-stuff Superheroes of Love so check them out in all the ways you can!

Madeleine Magic!

I have a new friend and a new recipe to share.  Check out my latest on HuffPo:

Remembrance of Things Past

Independence

 

 

I have a few people in my orbit kicking cancer's ass, at various levels of independence from their cancer.  I am seeing one of them today so I asked what her favorite dessert was.  Carrot cake.  I made my tried and true recipe - Best Carrot Cake Ever -- but the purist version, sans chocolat!

 

I doubled the frosting recipe, which I highly recommend.  This allows you to make the frosting between the three layers a proper thickness AND allows you to do one thin layer of frosting, throw it in the fridge to set and then do a nice second layer that looks prettier and without the marring of moist cake crumbs.  This is the moistest cake of all time because it is drenched in a buttermilk glaze before frosting.  That makes it sound super-sweet but it's not.  It's just pure deliciousness.

 

I found these cookies at Trader Joe's the other day.  They have pop rocks on top of the chocolate so it's like eating fireworks: a must add! 

 

 

 

I added food coloring to the leftover frosting:

 



Then I painted the cookies and top of the cake with a watercolor brush.  So, no, this isn't mustard and ketchup -- it's color-zapped cream cheese frosting:

 

 

Happy Independence Day to all - whatever independence you may be celebrating today.  May it be colorful, love-filled, and may you feel kick ass independent in all the right and wonderful ways.  

Chocolate Cake + Milk, Please!

 

I went to the ever amazing T. Chick McClure's art show last night at the soon to be no more Bergamot Station.  It was so great to see his photos in large format.  When I stood in front of this one I felt like I was being showered with milk.  Look at the movement of that milk and the piercing blue eyes of her subject, comedian Bronston Jones!



 

 

And for another very good time you can make chocolate cake!  Chick asked me to make him a chocolate cake -- as chocolatey and moist as I could make it.  While I have made a million different moist and chocolatey cakes, I felt like trying something new to meet The Chick Chocolate Cake Challenge.

 

I bee-lined to my fave Smitten Kitchen and found this Double Chocolate Layer Cake recipe.  I just knew it would meet the challenge.  But I wanted it to be three layers, so I used three 8 inch pans and it worked great, but just bake for 50-ish minutes if you do that.  And, Chick specifically said he didn't want fruit in it -- just as chocolatey as possible -- so I didn't do the raspberry filling.  In honor of having just been blessed by all his milky portraits, I made a whipped cream mash-up for between layers.  (About a cup of heavy cream + a splash each of vanilla and coconut extract, a small handful each of shredded coconut and toasted pecan pieces), I just wanted to give a wee chocolate respite for the taste buds since I made the recipe (both the cake and ganache) with dark chocolate instead of semi-sweet.  It is kick ass chocolatey!  Wowza!

 

 

 

And, now your final treat, if after looking at the above photo of such a rich chocolate cake you need some more milk!  And maybe a little goooooooooooooold!  Isn't Chick a genius!?  Follow him on Instagram or Facebook for a very good time. 

 

 

 

 

Superpower Booster: Another Arrow for Your Superhero Quiver

I just saw Wonder Woman finally.  A mighty Superhero of Love she is.  Spoiler alert: Love wins. 

Made me remember how the more superpowers we have the better.  The more superhero tools the better.  The more areas where we are powerful, the more love we are able to give.

If you are looking for another arrow for that mighty quiver of yours, click this:

My latest HuffPo article

 

 

If it works for you, or inspires you, then pass it on.  Empower yourself, empower others and we all benefit from the generosity.

 

With love to all your kick ass superheroes out there!

 



Pi Love

Someone I knew who always brightened my path -- and that of everyone he met -- passed away a couple months ago.  His name was Jon.  He was sunshine.  It made sense then when I found out after he died that one of his favorite flowers was the sunflower.  I'm pretty sure they bowed to him whenever he passed them in his travels.

The person for whom his soul shined the brightest was his wife, Mo.  So when he died unexpectedly, suddenly, at far too young an age, it was most jarring for those of us who loved how they loved each other.  The solar system was thrown off its axis.  All hell broke loose in all of our hearts for her enormous loss.

A gathering was set for just several days after he died, so that everyone could somehow join hearts and heads together to try to rearrange the solar system in order to move forward. 

It rained all through the night and day leading up to the event. And then, just before the memorial began, the clouds parted and His Sunshineness came out to make his presence known. Many of us took it as a clear sign of Jon tapping us all on the shoulder in his elf-ish way: I. Am. Here.

Jon was famous for something other than his sunshine spirit, something tangible, edible.   People begged him to make his famous cheesecake.  So I asked Mo if I could make several for the gathering.  She led me to the fridge where she revealed all the main ingredients sitting waiting for me.  Jon had been scheduled to make one for a friend the day he died. 

Mo gave me his recipe with the warning "I'm sorry but they just won't be as good as Jon's because he made them with so much love."  So I mustered all the love in my heart to do his cheesecake recipe justice.  But my heart was less full of love than angst. I was not only worried that they wouldn't be as tasty as his but I was also concerned they might make people miss him even more. I was getting far too serious about the whole process.  Jon would have jumped up and down in the kitchen waving his hands encouraging me to lighten up about the whole thing in a playful sing-song: "Let's have fun baking!" he would have screamed. 

And "scream" he did -- with the symbol you see in the photograph above that I took just after I pulled the third cheesecake from the oven.

Why the Pi symbol, you ask? A few days before I baked the cheesecakes, I saw a cartoon on Instagram:

Setting: a couple's therapist's office.

The patient couple: the number 4 and the symbol Pi. 

The complaint: 4 is bitching that Pi "goes on an on..."

The cartoon stayed with me for days and I remembered the punchline as "He goes on and on FOREVER."

So when I pulled the third cheesecake out of the oven (with a witness at my side who can attest to my not having manipulated it in any way) and saw the above perfectly etched Pi symbol, I had to bow like every loyal sunflower to the Mighty Sunshine Jon.  "Yep," he would have said "I will go on and on forever, so stop your fretting and get back to the fun part!"

If you have lost someone you loved dearly, take a moment this Pi Day to give yourself the gift of make believe: pretend you pulled this cheesecake out of the oven yourself and got this reminder from them. 

Happy Pi Love Day, Superheroes! 

The Power of Suffering, The Power of Healing

Carol Woodliff is a very powerful shaman here in Los Angeles.  She posted casually on Facebook earlier today that she was going to do a meditation for a half hour to "pray for courage and strength for all who suffer..."  She was inspired to meditate for those wounded at Standing Rock, and that led to her seeing images of Syrian suffering, and she realized she would be meditating for all those who suffer on the planet, not just those wounded by the conflicts in Standing Rock or Syria.

I joined her and listened over and over to the 16 minute meditation by Master John Douglas (spirit-repair.com) called "Karmic Repair" which leads you through an exquisite prayer on behalf of those suffering -- from the micro to the macro level.  First I did it for those in war torn areas, then again for people of color all over the planet who has suffered from abuse based on the color of their skin, then for all indigenous peoples on the planet fighting for their lands and cultures, then for all who suffer in any way.

I saw vivid images throughout this hour, each time being shown the abused and the abuser, and each time seeing that we have all played both roles at some point, whether intentionally or not.  We all suffer in our own way.  We abuse when our hearts are profoundly wounded, and we can't find the answers to end our own suffering.  One image I saw of a man beating another was that both of their hearts were in extreme pain, mirror images surpassing this snapshot in time where one would be perceived as in more pain than the other.

We all suffer.  And we all have the power to heal.  Ourselves and others.  We all have it in us to abuse and be abused, and we all have it in us to heal ourselves and others.

A very wise friend, another master healer here in Los Angeles, Master Bruce Sun, visited me the other day and pointed out my own suffering that I had not seen, which was the source of a physical pain I was having.  He saw a vision of a past life of mine where I tried very hard to save a group of people and I failed. Since that life I have felt the burden of that failure, feeling as if everything that goes wrong is my fault.  I created experiences and relationships in this life to confirm that.  In this meditation (which clearly appealed to my "everything is my fault" wound! LOL!), I asked that my own suffering born in that past life also be healed.  I think this may be the end of recreating experiences to make me feel this burden and suffering.

We can all make a difference.  We can all heal ourselves and heal others, and from this meditation I saw that they feed each other.  Healing begets being healed.  Being healed begets more healing, and so on.  

Most important, never underestimate your own healing power -- no matter how short the amount of time spent giving a smile, a love-filled intention or prayer.  You've got this. We've got this.  

Here's to each of us making a difference for the suffering of all on this jewel of a planet. 

Love Army

Miraculously, I just recently changed one of the major concepts in my book from "Love Army" to "Love League."  I did it, profoundly reluctantly on the advice of my book guru, Pat Verducci.  It turns out she was a genius, yet again, for so many reasons! 

Van Jones has just stepped into his superhero suit to stop the freight train of ignorance, and leap into healing the heart of America with his #LoveArmy!  Go Van

The movement will officially launch in March apparently, but why not get in on the Love Army now?  

You will sign the most beautiful pledge ever when you Click here to Join the #LoveArmy!

Do it now. It'll feel good.

Here's to love love love and more love!  

Trumpland Dreams: The Art of Acting v. Reacting

Ever since election night almost two weeks ago, I have been having nightly Trump related dreams, each so startling and vivid that I got up and spoke the details of them into a recording. I hope I'm ending the cycle by getting at least one of the lessons today.

One of the first dreams had me living in my dream home, a beautiful modern house, , not unlike the one Tom Marble and his wife Pae White built for themselves, with a courtyard in the center of the design, all rooms surrounding that open courtyard: Paige Street House by Marbletecture . I fell in love with this design when I first saw it in Sri Lanka when I was 20, and it's been my dream house ever since. Apparently my soul took that quite literally. In my dream, I had a ginormous rendering of the design.

The center courtyard in this version of my house was a zen garden. In the dream I woke up hearing people bustling around, and walked out of my bedroom to find FBI agents swarming all the rooms Most of the agents were inspecting the courtyard which was now far from zen, as it was full of huge anti-semitic sculptures. The sculptures were all several feet tall and wide, heavy cement, all different modern designs, but not beautiful because they were covered with swastikas and other hate-filled graffiti. They were so large the only way I could figure out they had been placed there was via a crane. They were all far too large to come in a door or window. I was baffled by the efforts made to make their point.

 I sat quietly on a chair contemplating that point, as the law enforcement teams roamed noisily around me. I thought "I'm not Jewish," and thought this must be happening far and wide, if it had happened to me. Then it dawned on me. Technically, I am Jewish! My mom was not raised Jewish and has been Catholic most of my life. Her mom was Jewish, though, and therefore I am technically Jewish, as it passed through the mother's lineage. Then I realized that in this horrid Trumpian dreamworld, someone had ferreted out this info, which I barely remember myself, and attacked me because of it.

I sat paralyzed, watching the mouths move of the well-meaning agents as they confessed to me that it would be hard to find who did this, but they would work very hard to do so. They were angry and a few of them wanted me to be too. They looked at me as if waiting with baited breath for me to raise the cry for retaliation, and were dumbfounded when I just sat there. I wasn't "with" them in any way. I thought of those who had far worse done to them. Maybe neighbors? People down the road?

The nightly Trump lessons all have the same struggle: how can I make a difference? And the dreams always say the same thing: Act, don't react. Let them do their thing, the dreams say. Don't react with matching energy. Simply act. Matching their energy never works in the dreams.

 Last night I woke up three times and each time the message that Trump's attacks are only revealing his fear -- to millions around the globe. His Twitter feed is like a long confessional of that which scares or intimidates him, that his Twitter attacks don't make him look tough, they make him look weak. I repeatedly got the instruction to tweet to him that great leaders manage their fears behind the scenes and he should try to follow suit. They can even admit their fears to those they lead -- which is healing for everyone -- IF they work through the fears, so the fear isn't dictating their actions. But that is mighty work that those leaders do behind the scenes. It used to be that bullies were feared far more.

Anti-bullying groups, teachers, schools, Lady Gaga and other artists have all done so much for this conversation. Natalie Hampton's new Sit With Us App is doing even more. The curtain is being pulled away to reveal the bully as the fearful powerless one he or she really is behind the bravado.

We don't need to cut down the bully. The bully is cut down, hence the bullying. The bully has forgotten his true power. We just need to reach out and share the real power -- love -- with those who need support, bullied or otherwise. They've got it already, but sharing ours allows them to remember their own.

When we re-act with in-kind energy, we are falling into the volcano of fear too. If we stay in the fear of how we can possibly protect our brothers and sisters who are being currently verbally threatened, we are far less powerful ourselves. If we stay in the love that inspires us to protect them, and we take positive actions to buoy them up, give them what they need to feel safe and to stay out of fear, we all get to become more and more powerful.

 React. Re. Act. Re. It's been done. Over and out, good buddy. Re is the past.

 Just act. Acting out of love, all the more powerful.

I have a long way to go myself.  Anger is definitely an enticing drink to sip. So is paralysis.  Yummy, intoxicating, seemingly-relaxing-but-oh-so-not paralysis.

I'm trying to take a positive loving action every day. Calling lawmakers to take a stand for our brothers and sisters. Reaching out to those I know are in fear. I'm smiling more at strangers. Anything to calm the fear fires with love. I have a long, long way to go in my own heart, but every day an action helps.

Seeking Beauty

[ORIGINALLY POSTED 10/10/16]

is the day my dad passed away.  Ten. Ten. 

It’s so strange that people automatically gain another birthday when they die - one for entering this adventure, the other for going on to the next.   I’m just thankful my dad’s “birthdays” are several months apart.

He’s been gone 7 years now and on Saturday morning I thought "Oh I have to tell my dad that..."  Seven. Years.  Later.  Jesus.  That afternoon the appliance repair guy informed me that I needed to buy a new dishwasher.  My 19 month old Kenmore that came with this house was more expensive to fix than replace.

My dad would have told me to go get another Kenmore. He loved Sears. Every time he came to LA he would insist on buying something for my house, and it would either come from Sears or his second love, Sam's Club.  Sturdy.  Dependable. Affordable.  Make life better.

I wasn't so keen on acquiring another Kenmore, given this one's early demise.  Hours after receiving this news I went to dinner at a friend's house and was loading her super cool dishwasher and started coveting its beauty and design.  She suggested that since I own my house that I should not scrimp on appliances.  I thought she was right, but my dad was fairly loudly protesting in my other ear: "What's wrong with another Kenmore?" 

The first night I spent in this house I met my new dishwasher that the flipper had installed. Right before I went to bed, I opened it, removed all the manuals still sitting inside, and loaded it up with freshly-freed-from-their-boxes dishes and utensils.  Moments later, Lucy, Tallulah and I could be found collapsed on the bed. 

We felt at home immediately in our new house, and were beyond exhausted from a full day of zipping back and forth between houses, top down, piled high like Beverly Hillbillies.  The movers were so horrid that what should have been a 7 hour job at most, became a two day 14 hour job. If I wanted things with me that first night it was going to be up to me...and the girls, who I didn't feel comfortable leaving either place given the level of chaos in both.  So, they didn't get any of their normal nearly continuous nap time. 

Seconds after passing out we were all startled awake by a loud strange sound. I think we all thought "This must be what an intruder sounds like here!"  The girls started barking ferociously as if a fleet of intruders had come through the front door.  I jumped to my feet, gathering my wits about me as I did.  Then I heard the water flowing and knew immediately it was the new and mighty dishwasher working its magic.  But, damn was it loud!

So noise played into my choice for a new one. I decided on a Bosch, a notoriously quiet brand. My dad would have just replied "Uh-huh" in response to the declaration of my choice, and there would have been the tiniest bit of silence that I would have nervously filled with the list of its many wonderful traits.

My dad had Midwestern common sense, was fiscally conservative, and thought purchases like this were frivolous and sometimes irresponsible.  He wouldn't have cared about the noise, and he definitely didn't give a hoot about the beauty factor. I care pretty deeply about the beauty factor -- yes, even with a dishwasher – and yes, inside and out.  The inside of this dishwasher is beauteous, stainless steel, brilliantly designed racks, more space than the earlier one by far.  It was gorgeous.  And, I watched videos where people equally enamored showed how quiet and clever it was. 

The beauty factor mattered to the YouTube strangers too!

This is where my dad and I parted ways.  I have been seeking beauty since I can remember.  The mud pies I made as a tiny tot were even an opportunity to create beauty. My dad bought houses because they were the right choice, not because they were beautiful.  He bought American cars because they were made in America.  I bought European cars because I found them beautiful and fun to drive.  My dad bought things that worked and were dependable.  I bought things that were sexy and made my heart sing.

I will never forget the  summer I went to Alaska one summer to work for my dad's business.  I had just learned to drive and he gave me the company van to use while I was there for the summer.  A company van?!  The horror! 

My dad helped me start my own small business in the early 90's, an angel store, and when he saw what I created, he lit up.  Shining like a klieg light, fueled by pride but touched by the beauty, he was moved to tears. Had he seen the same beauty - or better -  elsewhere he likely wouldn't have noticed.  He saw my heart in the creation and knew how much it meant to me.  

In contemplating this dishwasher conversation with my dad these last few days I realize it wasn't that he didn't appreciate beauty.  He just sought it in its purest forms.  He moved to Alaska for its beauty.  Most important, though, he sought beauty on a daily basis in people's hearts -- even those for whom it might be more obscured, covered with dust or seemingly absent to the rest of us.  He would light up when people he loved walked into a room.  

My dad was as much a beauty seeker as I was, he just found it in the places that didn't cost time or money.  And he saw it everywhere, in just about everyone he met.

I wish I hadn't been so hard on my dad for not caring about my kind of beauty.  I wish I had acknowledged him more for the beauty he did seek.

We are all seeking beauty in our own special way.  It's all about what makes our heart sing. 

My dad still makes my heart sing.

The Nerve He Touched

It's almost a week since "the grab" Trump video aired.  It's been a rough and tumble one for many women, including me.  I have been the victim of many -- yep, the word many is not hyperbole here -- sexual assaults.  Most of them happened in my 20's and 30's, which also happens to be when I first started working on all the goings on inside my heart and head (therapy, meditation and self-help recipes of the day). So I came out the other side of these events relatively unscathed.  

I also had wonderful male friends around me at every point to remind me that the perpetrators were not the norm, they were an aberration.

It's been a long time, though, since the majority of these things happened. That's why I'm always shocked when the nerve is touched.  When I heard Trump's words I felt like I put my finger in an electric socket.  Every single nerve previously touched by any male trespass buzzed back to life.

I thought I handled that.  

I thought that scab had been long healed. 

Wow, that was so long ago, I had forgotten about it until...

Trump touched that nerve.  He spoke for every man who felt like they had a right to my body.

Several hours before the video aired, I was asked out on a date by a man that I had been introduced to by an old friend's mom.  My friend's mom has always wanted to set me up and she met this man, didn't know a lot about him but thought the was adorable and would be a good match for me.  He had gone to high school with the son of her best friend so he wasn't a complete stranger in her circle.

I had spoken to him on the phone the previous night.  Before we spoke I had assumed it would just be the final "all clear to meet" after a few days of texting (I had a deadline and couldn't talk before that) and that we would likely be sipping wine together the following night.  

It became clear very quickly, thought, that it wasn't a match, that our basic priorities in life were not even similar.  We spoke for over two hours but he learned very little about me.   He had a lot he wanted me to know about him. So when he invited me out I told him it probably was not a great idea, we were likely not a great match.  I suggested he google me and read for about 4 minutes, and that he would very likely agree with me, that I would drive him bat shit crazy.  I also told him I had someone in mind to set him up with possibly, a friend I knew would also find him quite attractive and whose priorities in life were a bit more on par with his.

He was immediately incensed.  How dare I?  I "promised" I would meet him. He shamed me for not giving him a chance, and lashed out further at the idea of setting him up.  A few hours later he butt-dialed me and attacked me for calling him.  

When I saw Trump video soon after this, I was still stinging from his attacks. I realized that I have not only been the victim of many sexual assaults, but I have also been the victim of many domination assaults.  It's not just that my body was theirs if they wished it, it was all of me.

I like you, so I get to meet you.  I don't care what you think.  

I like you, and if you had your head on straight you would like me too. So get it together.

You are mine if I stake my claim on you.  This claim is invisible and in my head but it's as mighty as any pillar of steel or bronze plaque.  I. Own. This. You. That. It.

I started imagining my body with little bronze plaques all over it, imagined the myriad men hammering the plaques onto my body.   Then I imagined letting them all fall and clank to the floor.  That felt good.  

A few days later as more levels of healing took place as a result of that infamous video, I had a bit of a dark night of the soul for a few hours.  I yelled out to the universe that I don't want to draw men like that anymore into my life.  I added that I also don't want the super critical guys I have been attracting, unhappy with everything in their lives, taking responsibility for none of it.

Most important, because i know we draw in what is not healed in our own hearts I yelled that I wanted to stop the self-criticism. I am dealing with being very critical of the extra weight I have on me now, hating myself for it.  At the same time I also bumped up against the realization that all the sexual assaults that have taken place over the course of my life were when I was thin and felt my prettiest.  "It's not safe to be thin," said life.

• 14 or 15 years old -- My dad's best friend in his late 30's, very drunk, drives me home far too fast from a party in his Porsche. I had wanted to stay at the event longer than my dad, and I thought the friend innocently offered a ride. I got out of the car to run inside to safety as while he sped he rarely watched the road as he was busy leering.  He followed me inside, pushed me against the wall and kissed me.  Only his fear of being caught by my dad made him stop.
• 21 years old -- In Paris, a quintessential old Parisian man with requisite wool vest and beret, puts his tongue down my throat.
• 23 years old -- Man comes in my NY window in the dark of night. I talk him out of raping me, but not before he has extensively touched my body with hands and knife.
• 24 years old -- Two different men on two different occasions -- both of whom are now renowned TV and film producers respectively -- trapped me in their apartments, shoving me against a wall and kissing me.  I tried talking to both of them.  In both cases, I thought we were casual friends. We had many mutual friends.  In both cases, these meetings were not dates.  I fought my way out of both.
• 35 years old -- Dear friend's husband grabs me and pushes me against kitchen counter leaning into kiss me and I somehow (he was a big guy) get myself out of his clutches. His wife is in the next room.  I lost that friend when I had to tell her why I was being so distant.

There are many more in between, including many colorful public lewd acts done for my benefit specifically.  Jesus. 

I had to go dark and deep to deal with the parts of me I had assumed were long healed, and come to a place where I could declare I don't want to draw this domination, assault, entitlement into my orbit anymore.  I had to look at where I push it down in myself, how I am that myself.  I worked through a lot of it, but I'm sure more is to come. But now I shout from the rooftops in my mind: You don't own us because you are drawn to us. You don't get to touch or be with us because you want to.  Don't make us encase ourselves in bullet proof glass to protect the treasures we are!   

The good news is that almost every girlfriend I have spoken to this week is coming to another level of healing about her own history of assaults.  As Michelle Obama said today "This is not something that we can ignore." That's the good news. We can't ignore it anymore.  

So for this we can be grateful to the Trump.  The boil is bursting.  Hot goo shooting everywhere, and with it the opportunity for us all to heal on yet another level. We are all waking up a little more every day since the Trump alarm clock started ringing last Friday. The snooze button won't work. It is demanding we wake up and heal.

I am a stand that the healing will lead to all of us -- men and women -- to being our most powerful selves without having to dominate another. The power isn't over there, it's right here.  It's not in the grabbing - of anything or anyone. 

Seeking Beauty

Reposting this on 10/13 because of technical difficulties with formatting on this particular post. Go there for the words that go with this adorable face!

In Praise of Paeans

  

I have been contemplating -- and yes, I admit it -- complaining about the general lack of acknowledgments being bandied about in our world today.   I don't really understand why people don't acknowledge each other more.  It's so damn fun.  Why wouldn't everyone want to do it?

I was trained very well by a series of friends and family, starting with my dad, who loved to acknowledge me and others.  I watched him do it in his business and saw that it was what made it a happy workplace.  I also knew how it worked on me, marking my evolution as a good person, to show me that someone was watching who I was becoming in the world. 

It feels great to be acknowledged as thoughtfully as my dad did it, with all his heart on deck for the ceremony of it all, but damn I am also absolutely unabashedly conscious of the fact that it makes me feel just as happy to acknowledge others as it makes them feel.  I don't do it for me.  At least I don't think I do.  But honestly how could I separate out a history of feeling better when acknowledging someone?  And does it really matter if part of my motivation is that making someone feel good also feels good to me? I think not.  

I think acknowledging people can be vulnerable work, and it's possible I'm just used to the years of vulnerability.  You have to unveil what touched or moved you to speak up.  I find that even when I am acknowledging something devoid of emotional spin, I do feel a little vulnerable still to this day.  Will they reject my acknowledgment, disagree or not like the way I say it?  I often have a hard time receiving it myself. It's even more vulnerable to receive it, but still giving it is vulnerable as well.

Several months ago I accomplished a near miracle for someone and I received no acknowledgment for it.  I was thrilled beyond belief to have been able to accomplish this not so small near miracle.  Truly, I remember feeling more alive than possibly ever before when it occurred.  I was buzzing with the thrill of it all.  So I got all the goodies that come from doing a good deed.  Yet, the lack of acknowledgment of any kind put a little dent in the post-near-miracle joy.  It's like we didn't put a period at the end of the sentence of that experience.  We wrote that sentence together. It's begging for a punctuation mark.

I didn't need a big thank you.  Sometimes the tiniest, simplest of thank you's are the most precious.  Two days ago I found this acknowledgment on my front porch.  It was sent to me by my neighbor's son.  I asked her why I had been so blessed to find this magical black handmade envelope and magical contents awaiting me.

She explained that her son had been contemplating the used -- yes USED - birdfeeders I had handed off to them, and decided that he wanted to do something nice for me.  So he made these lovely little sculptures and wrapped them lovingly, artistically and left them for me as a little love surprise.

 

 

I'm pretty sure this heals every single missed acknowledgment I have had in my entire life.  They truly are the best neighbors on the planet and his mom and I actually have a battle of acknowledgments that we have agreed is a little out of control, yet slightly hilarious. But neither of us is lying, we just truly do appreciate each other and what we do for each other.   But she wins the battle because when her kids say thank you - often in the form of artistic missives like this one - even if its the sweet little utterances of the words "Thank you Miss Bridget," my heart is beyond satiated and happy at the punctuation mark on that lovely sentence.

 

Today someone at work provided me with something truly brilliant.  I asked for some information but I got far, far more than that, all of it exquisitely written aka "stealable"!  I wrote an email to her boss and her boss's boss to mark the occasion of her going above and beyond and being a genius about it to boot.

 

Her boss forwarded my email to her and she thanked me for my paean.  I am embarrassed that I have been on this planet as long as I have and did not previously know this most glorious word.  It's now my favorite word. 

 

Who doesn't love enthusiastic praise?  It's a true gift and like every gift exchange it really is hard to figure out which end is more satisfying.  But I think paeans are the gift that keeps on giving. 

 

Acknowledgment: it's what's for dinner.   Try it, you'll like it.  Paeans will be served for dessert over a warm berry compote.  

 

 

 

 



I Found a Yoga Superhero of Love!

 

I've been wrestling a lot of octopi recently, final edits (hopefully) on my book and my hormones/weight being two of the biggies.  Slippery, many-tentacled creatures, I'd have one handled, two, three and then four in my control...and then SNAP!  Start all over again!

 

One of the messages I've been getting -- in the form of every book I open, every show I turn on, every friend I talk to -- I HEAR YOU, GOD! --  has been to get back to yoga. 

 

I haven't had a happy relationship with yoga, though, for almost two years.  About 17 months ago I hurt my hip pretty badly in a power yoga class with a less than stellar teacher.  It doesn't affect my daily life.  I just can't sit in anything near a cross-legged position, which is pretty much of a yoga deal-breaker.   At least it was one for me when I tried to go back to yoga a few times only to get curious looks from teachers and students when I was accommodating my injury with alternate postures.  I grew sick of the looks and also got advice from people I trust that I should stop stretching it, that yoga was probably the wrong thing to do for it. 

 

But then the messages started pouring in and it occurred to me I could do this in the privacy of my own home, just me and my hip, no curious judging looks, as awkward as I want to be.  I've been doing yoga since I was 18 so I know what to do but I didn't want to self-guide, I wanted someone fun to lead me through it.  So, I said to my hip, "Hey let's start gently, with a yoga video on youtube."  My hip liked that idea and googled yoga videos.  Smart hip.

 

The first hit in the list was my new yoga mecca, Yoga With Adriene.  She is a Superhero of Love, because man oh man does she have a way of encouraging us to love our bodies and where we are exactly in this moment, like no other teacher I've experienced.  Somehow, also like no other teacher before her, she takes me instantly to calm.  Seriously. Instantly.  I never get distracted or wonder how many minutes are left.  This is nothing short of a miracle for me, who listens to podcasts or books AND plays solitaire while on the elliptical!

 

But my #1 favorite thing about Adriene is she has this incredibly perfect human moments like seeing a piece of lint on the floor in front of her mat and then looking down at her yoga pants with the comment -- mid-pose -- "I seem to have a lot of fuzzies on my pants today!"  But when she says it it doesn't even slightly take you out of the moment or distract from the pose.  

 

How does she do it?!  Genius!  She is delightful and she really knows her stuff. 

 

I didn't want to put too much pressure on myself because of my complex recent relationship with yoga, so to start, I committed to doing her 30 Days of Yoga (recorded in January 2015) because it just drew me.  I'm on day 8 but yesterday I did two videos from her other series and today I did one from another in addition to my minimum, because I really wanted to.  I wanted to.  Seriously, a miracle that I wanted to do more than my commitment.  After having a love-hate relationship with yoga for the last few years leading up to my injury, I feel like I am in miracle-ville. 

 

I realize now the hate part was I can't stand being preached to by teachers.  But Adriene doesn't preach.  She sincerely, gently, suggests.  Authentically.  That's the difference. 

 

My hip is way better on this Day 8.  I look forward to it healing completely.  And Tallulah is super happy about this new yoga practice.  For the first 6 days she lay two feet away like this, very polite, just out of reach, watching, almost pretending to sleep but totally alert: "What is this new thing my human is doing on the floor?  I must make sure I stay awake as it may require my assistance."

 

 

 

Yesterday and today -- with multiple videos and more sweat -- she decided that her assistance would be to lick the sweat off me.  I put her nearby stuffed dog on her back, but that didn't deter her.

I may have to wear a head to toe rubber suit to continue my practice with Tallulah nearby but it'll be worth it because....Adriene rocks.

Love Warriors: A Call to Action!

 

The book I'm finishing is The Superhero's Guide to Break-Ups, Loss & Heartache.  Therefore when several people I trust told me to pre-order a book called Love Warrior, it was kind of a no-brainer. 

I have to admit, though, I was scared to open it when it arrived on Tuesday.  Would it make my book irrelevant?  Four years of work down the drain?  But then I heard her interviewed of author Glennon Doyle Melton on Linda Sivertsen's podcast (Linda Sivertsen & Martha Beck Interview Author Glennon Doyle Melton) I knew that her book was very different because there is no one exactly like Glennon, just like there is no one exactly like me, or you, dear reader.  We all have these juicy little unique hearts holding their very own juicy little unique stories.  That's why everyone who wants to tell their story should.

Glennon has a way with telling hers in a way that might really have a shot at opening millions of hearts.  She has wrestled bulimia (since age 10), alcoholism (since her early teens), mental illness, a cheating husband, motherhood and the circuitous and perfect journey toward her own recipe for faith.  The gift of this book is that she opens her heart so your can feel safe rummaging around in yours, looking at "what's underneath" the pain and behind the walls she has built around her heart.  We all do it.  She makes the journey to an open heart feel possible.  If she can do it, we can do it.

She can turn a phrase too.  Some of them took my breath away.

On motherhood:

"The scent of him is so comforting and soothing it has ruined regular air for me altogether."

On the trauma's life can deal us:

"Shock is a grace period.  It gives a woman time to gather what she needs around her..."

On faith:

"Fear and God together will never make sense to me again."

 
I read it in just two nights.  It's a fast read because it's authentic.  If you know of anyone looking for a heart opener, anyone looking to have a possible breakthrough with their addiction, bulimia, or with the ever-delicate balancing act of being a mother and wife, click here: Love Warrior Book.

I Spy a Shadow

I am close to finishing The Superhero's Guide to Break-ups, Loss & Heartache: Heal Your Broken Heart & Then Go Save the World.  Like with anything big I set out to accomplish - like training for a marathon, buying a house, reaching any enormous goal that requires me to step outside my normal vision of myself -- I have come to realize that writing a is just one big fat opportunity to have a series of confrontations with oneself. 

When I trained for the one marathon I ran I remember not having a clue how I would run 9 miles for the first time in my life.  Then 12 - only 3 more than the previously daunting 9, but still.  Then 20, and then on top of that a whole other 10K in addition to make 26.2 miles.  Each number was an unfathomable stretch.  "How will that get accomplished for the love of God?," I would wonder.  Each run a bit of a mind game, not being fully present, looking always to the future. Sometimes though, fully present for the sake of survival, each and every step a struggle.  "Maybe I should walk now," I would negotiate.  Negotiations: some gentle, some harsh.  And the time in between runs spent trying to not fall or twist something or get a debilitating pull, cramp or even a searing blister.  And so it is with books in a way.

I think the only difference between the people who get their books out into the world and the ones who don't is sheer stubbornness -- with oneself, and wanting to come out a winner in those damned internal battles.

A big chunk of my book is encouraging the reader to look at the shadows that are thwarting them from giving or receiving love, so in the edit that I finished last night I've been embroiled in reliving my own shadow work that I chronicle in the book.  I came to some new realizations, deepening my understanding as I revisited those pages.

So it's no surprise that today I would be blindsided by one of my previously undiscovered shadows. And I should be proud to say - though I can't muster pride in this case -- that  I completely set myself up to have this breakthrough. 

I knew I had a writing deadline. I was turning in this last round of changes at 10 p.m. Friday.   Yet when I received an Airbnb reservation request for my guest room that I knew could potentially thwart my work, I said yes.  The couple had a 10 month old baby, so I had originally said "no"as it clearly wasn't a fit given my deadline.  The man contested that they would rarely be here.  This didn't end up being true, nor were they sensitive to the baby's noises echoing loudly throughout the house starting at 6:30 in the morning after I had been up into the wee hours of the morning.  The mother even chided the cleaning lady who was here (when they had promised they would be gone), angry at her that her car alarm kept going off while the baby was napping.  I had to calm the cleaning lady when they finally left, yet another thing to yank me from my writing.

Who in their right mind has a family of 3 stay at their house when they have a writing deadline?  Someone who has a shadow rearing its head, the shadow that says "You don't deserve to be great.  You deserve to be as good as you can be in spite of a slew of icky circumstances."   Bravo shadow, you created the perfect circumstances! 

Three hours of sleep always makes me more emotional, but that's actually a good thing when processing these old conversations that have been clutched like dead bouquets by adorable little shadows.  That little girl doesn't believe I'm worthy, and she hasn't believed it for decades.

One of the concepts I have in the book that others who have read it have quickly adopted is the Love League (previously known as the Love Army but more superhero-y now, eh?) -- the friends you can enlist to be there to bring you back to our superhero self.  My friend Gina did that for me today when I called and asked if I could vent about this Airbnb debacle.  She said this brilliant line that I had long forgotten from Steel Magnolias.

Then she very kindly listened to my vent, oohing and aahing at all the right moments.  As soon as I was quite finished she paused and then asked "So do you think there might be something for you to look at about deserving to have this book be great?" 

I don't recall one of my precious shadows shooting me directly in the foot for quite some time.  "I demand attention!" that little shadow girl inside me shouted.  "Oh, and by the way, you are NOT great, so the book won't be great either and you may as well fill your house with insensitive house guests now!  And  really, who are YOU to right a book like this?!"

So, now I get to let the shadow express her emotions and calmly tell her as Gina shouted for me today with glee "I am the PERFECT person to write this book, and it's going to be great! End of story. Period."  

The adult is now taking over steering the car of my writing life, and the wee scared one gets to sit in the passenger seat.  And when she reaches over to change the radio channel to one that loudly shouts my inadequacies and encourages me to say yes to insane distractions, I get to change the station back and suggest instead a round of "I Spy": "I spy something that starts with the letter "s"...."