Rowdies

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We're Not In Kansas Anymore

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We're Not In Kansas Anymore

You probably know by now that I kinda pride myself on my fierce sense of self-reliance.

My ability to depend on no one.

And no thing.

Asking for help is a withered and atrophied muscle. Long ago forgotten.

My productivity. My accomplishments. My ability to get things done. My fearlessness. My willingness to take risks. Power through.

To be self sufficient.

Autonomous.

These attributes not only make me feel like a badass, but they also help me hold a slight sense of superiority over other mere mortals.

Last week, with typical sense of sovereignty, I packed myself up to go to Wanderlust(you're welcome) to hike myself to the top of a mountain (8200 feet) to camp (by myself) for the duration of the festival.

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How To Let Go

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How To Let Go

I know how to hold on.

How to push. Force. Sweat. Grunt. Dig deep. Grit my teeth. And get shit done.

I'm fiercely talented at keeping a grudge alive.

I know how to stay focused. Eyes on the prize. Nose to the grindstone.

I don't give up. Nor do I give in. Until the universe beats it into me.

Surrender's just not my strong-suit.

And sometimes this strength has moved mountains in my life. It's gotten me through death and divorce. It has finished a marathon, published two books, and paid off more than a half-million in debt.

But sometimes this strength has been my weakest link.

Because anything too rigid.

Can break.

And I did. Well, my heart did.

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Moon Prayers

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Moon Prayers

I said a prayer for my heart tonight. 

I felt that cold seeping in.

The inky blackness that hides in my veins. Just waiting for a call to duty. To harden and cement a barrier so thick that I will be protected from this hurt. 

The white hot barbed-wire that courses from my gut. Twisting and turning a tangled rusted knot. Weaving itself a corset through my rib cage. Suffocating and stifling. Tighter. Till there were only two words.

Love me.

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How To Be Extraordinary

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How To Be Extraordinary

I have a question that I'd love for you to answer.

Try not to read ahead quite yet.

I want you to articulate your own answer to this.

What makes a person extraordinary?

Pause. Don't read on. Answer the question first.

Really think about it. Think about the people who you think are amazing or extraordinary.

What is it that makes up that extraordinary-ness?

What is your definition of a truly amazing human being? 

I posted this question in Rowdyville (read their answers below) - and have been contemplating my own answer all week.

And what I found was there is actually a very simple 2-step concept that sets apart Mother Teresa. Martin Luther King. Oprah. Or any other amazing person that you know.

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No One Is Going To Save You

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Let’s get this straight.

I have never been a docile, passive or victim-y person. I have never appeared to be the damsel-in-distress-type. I’ve always had my snappy comebacks.  My audaciously loud laugh. My sassy independence.

Yet for most of my adult life, concealed behind the tough exterior, was a woman (girl) secretly waiting to be saved.

I believed that if I just had the right guy. Or the right job. Or the right body. Or the right family.

Or maybe if I lived in the right place. Or fell into enough money.

That everything would be ok. That I would finally be safe.

Lovable.

That I would feel at home. That I would belong.

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Built For Days Like This

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Built For Days Like This

It was still dark outside. Customers had lined up with their lawn chairs and sleeping bags. Some had been there all night. The store had not opened yet, but the excitement buzzed around us. We were in the storeroom, receiving last minute training, watching videos from around the world showing our fellow employees, people just like us, handling a day like today.

My brilliant manager looked each one of us in the eye - and said:

Our store was built for days like this.

She explained to us that our store wasn't built for the average Tuesday afternoon, where we had one very friendly customer who knew exactly what they needed and just handed over their credit card to make a simple purchase.

Our store was built for days like today. Lines out the doors. Frustrated customers. Excited customers. Disappointed customers. Equipment not working. Employees going too slow. Or too fast. This was the day that our store was built for. And this is the job we signed up for.

This Seems Hard... Because It Is.

This Seems Hard... Because It Is.

I have a love/hate relationship with my yoga teacher. She is so sweet and cute. She speaks fluent Zen. She practically floats from inner-peace.

Yesterday, in her serene "Rock-a-bye Baby" sing-song tone, she asked us to hold a lunge, for what seemed like 103 minutes, while twisting our bodies in the opposite direction that a human is meant to be bent, sweat dripping off our noses, balancing on the tip of our right big toe while 'smiling with our eyes.'

And right when I was about to give up, yell profanities at her, or try to start her on fire with my retinas, she said:

If this seems really hard... it's because it is. 

Immediately, I felt relief. I held the pose and relaxed into the fact that it was just hard. And it was supposed to be hard. I thought it was so interesting that I thought I couldn't hold the pose for one more second and that I was willing to walk away and give up.

Until I knew that it was supposed to be hard.

And with that knowledge, I was able to keep going.