The Fierce Diva Guide to Life

My Dreams

 

It’s time to mingle once again!   I wasn’t sure what to serve today for my guest of honor, Tricia, from Raising Humans.  If you were at Bloggy Boot Camp in Charlotte over the weekend, then you would recall I said “no” to the pie, hoarded fruit, and really love black olives.   There has to be a menu in there somewhere, right?

Tricia is one of those gems that I found through the SITS Girls.  She’s a gifted writer who inspires me in every post to capture the small moments, moments which Tricia articulates with thoughtful attention and heart and beautiful words.  I am in love with this post below, because Bloggy Boot Camp has me all riled up about following my dreams, and feeling fortunate enough to be surrounded by an awesome tribe of bloggers who are on this path with me. I am truly blessed.

Please welcome the lovely Tricia. 

When I first came to Ilene's space here, I thought to myself, "Wow, Fierce Diva. That is awesome. I need a little bit more fierce and a lot more diva in my life."

I've never really been described as fierce. I'm rather meek, pretty shy, and happier hanging back out of the spotlight, quietly doing my thing as well as I can. That path, the quiet one that flies well below the radar, has taken me pretty far. I've had some successes. I've risen in my career. I've built a little blog that I call home and that welcomes more visitors than I ever dreamed it would (in that more than my husband and my best friend actually come to visit).

And that's all wonderful. I love my life and I'm proud of the successes I've had.

But now, I want more.

I have these dreams. Dreams that I've always had but that I pushed aside for one reason or another as I planted my feet firmly on the quiet, expected, traditional paths. But we all know, dreams will be pushed but they will never leave for good.

When I close my eyes, I see my name in print. I see my words shared with hundreds and thousands. I see my stories making a difference. I see people reading my thoughts and experiences and thinking to themselves, “Yes, I get that. She gets me. I'm not alone. I'm going to make it through this. I'm going to celebrate this.”

I see lives changed, even in the most minute, tiny, only visible with a microscope kind of way, but still changed, with my words.

When I close my eyes, I see myself standing on a mountain top, tossing inspirational quotes laid upon beautiful photos far faster than you can pin them all and promising that every last one of them is true. Believe it.

When I close my eyes, I hear interviewers asking me questions. "How did you do it?" "What advice would you give to someone who wants to do what you did?" "Congratulations on all of your success!"

Yes, in my dreams, I am a diva. I am fierce.

In my dreams I am going after my dreams and I am living my dreams. And I am not scared of honestly baring my soul in front of strangers. And I am not scared of sending my words out into the world in the hopes that they will resonate and someone will pick them up and publish them. I am not scared of rejection or failure.

In my dreams, the life I want more than anything is there. And it is perfect.

I know that dreams come true all the time. I know people whose waking moments match their dreams and even in the mundane of dishes and errands and cleaning and the administration of daily life, they can only smile because their life is as they want it and they've made it so.

I know it is possible. I can live my dreams. And if I live my dreams, my children will see that dream living is not only possible, but an unassailable right. So they, then, will live theirs. And their children will have no doubts that their dreams will come true, with two generations of dream living before them, and they, then, will live theirs. And I will leave, in my legacy, a line of dream livers. And, truly, what greater pursuit is there?

I've never really been described as fierce. But, see, I have these dreams.

###

Tricia is a mom & freelance writer, finding opportunities for growth in the most amazing places. Read about her growing triumphs & pains on her  blog Raising Humans. You can also tweet at her @raisinghumans or follow her on Facebook.

Play for Her

 

“Today’s the day,” he said, as he stood next to my mat.

“Today?”

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, not giving me a chance to change my mind.  “Clasp your fingers behind your head.”

I placed the crown of my head on my mat and clasped my fingers together as he had instructed.   

“Kick your legs up.”

I kicked my legs up into his hands and he lifted them straight into the air.  He held my ankles, firmly at first, then lightly, and then he let go of his grip entirely.

My legs began to sway back and forth. 

“Don’t talk yourself out of it,” he said.  

My mind raced, the thoughts not particularly encouraging. 

The “I can’t.”

The, “How is this possible?” 

The, “I’m gonna fall!  I’m gonna fall!” 

Until my yoga instructor interrupted my shaky stream of consciousness.

“Don’t think about it. Just do it. Steady…steady…excellent!” 

After 10 years of trying, I was up in my first unassisted headstand.

For a second, anyway.

That “shaky stream of consciousness”  mouths off at me more than I probably realize.  It comes in many forms and is typically preceded by fear, but fear in a form so subtle, that I don’t always recognize it as that.

It’s caution.

Is this headstand safe?  You’ll fall!

It’s self-doubt.

This writing isn’t very good. Maybe I ought to cancel this blog post.  

It’s rationalization.

Is that really a practical decision?

We have these conversations with ourselves repeatedly and often, yet how many of them go unnoticed?

How many of these unnoticed conversations have we based life changing decisions upon? 

Have you ever watched your thoughts?   Have you ever really listened to how you talk to yourself?

Would you ever talk to anyone else the way you talk to yourself?

If you were on the sidelines, watching your best friend run her first 5K, would you tell her that she wouldn’t finish?  

If she were writing a book, would you tell her that her efforts were futile?   

If she were starting a business or going back to school, would you tell her she would fail?

My guess is you wouldn’t.

 My guess is that if you were to talk to someone else the way you talk to yourself, it would be considered rude. 

My guess is that you’d lose a friend. 

I was recently reminded of this quote from Mia Hamm:

“Somewhere behind the athlete you’ve become and the hours of practice and the coaches who have pushed you is a little girl who fell in love with the game and never looked back.

Play for her.” 

All of us were once kids with dreams.  Maybe our dreams are the same now, or maybe they’ve changed. In a perfect world, we’d believe in those dreams the way we did when we were children.

Once upon a time, before the thought of failure entered our minds, we were invincible. We were in love with possibilities.  We were brave.

Some days, I lack faith in the person I am today, thanks to the clouded visions we often have of ourselves due to fears and past failures and misguided perceptions.  Yet, when I think back to myself as a fourth grade girl in coke bottle glasses, hashing out the details of her first novel in a Harriet the Spy marble notebook, I have no choice but to try.  She had a vision of what life would be like.  Who am I to rob her of that vision?  If someone talked to her the way I talk to myself, she would scoff.  There’s no way she would buy into their negativity.

When we don’t have the drive to try for the people we are now, when we’re ready to sit out or quit or just plain give up, think about yourself as a fourth grader and what that fourth grader wanted from life.  She’s counting on you.  How could you possibility let her down?

Go on now, play for her.

 

*This post was inspired by Christine’s post, “Am I a Hypocrite,” which I had cited as one of my favorite posts of the year.  Please come back on Thursday when it will be my honor to have Christine as my first guest blogger. 

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Miles to Go Before I Sleep - Fierce Diva Anniversary Edition

Presence

The In-Between

 

I’m late. As usual. 

I run to the car, without time to second guess combining the thick black rimmed glasses with the billowy skirt and the sturdy black boots.  I wonder if my boss questions what happened to that woman who showed up to interview, in the urban chic business attire, the patent leather heels, and the straightened, shiny hair,  which today, piles onto my shoulders, bigger than usual, thanks to the slight bit of damp on this cool spring morning.

It’s spring break week, my work schedule at the mercy of friends willing to take my kids, one house here, another there, phoning in favors that may or may never get repaid, and either way, it won’t matter, because one of the things I’ve learned this year is that true friends don’t keep score.  

A mountain of work awaits at my office along with a demanding boss. The first few months with him, I’d plow through it, not stopping to eat or chat with co-workers, but lately, I’ve slowed down.  I’ve grown tired of feeling the need to prove myself, to everyone, always. 

I don’t love this job.   When I took it, I knew it would be an in-between job, for an in-between year.  This is a year of transition.  Waiting, reconciling, resolving.  Parenting, selling a house, signing papers.

But life still happens in the in-between, a lot of life, actually, the joy of watching my son bowl his first strike, amusement park trips, winter afternoons at the beach, and dogs we’ve fallen in love with and nursed back to health.  It’s the kind of life that I wouldn’t want to miss due to my restlessness, and besides, I know I can’t charge to over there until I wrap up loose ends here.    

In storytelling, the in-between is the pause between the action and the tension.   It’s the lull between the conflict situations that the main character faces as he works toward attaing his goal.

None of us like conflict, yet Aristotle told us that it’s necessary for any good story.

The in-between is the time for the main character to regroup between rising to meet his next set of obstacles.

These challenges can be gut wrenching, for both the main character as well as the reader, yet McKee told us that it’s the job of a storyteller to put his characters in situations that evoke emotion.  

While I want to push the plot forward swiftly, I must be patient. I must be willing to listen to my heart, trust my instincts,  and honor my character.

According to Lajos Egri, well defined characters will drive the plot themselves, and therefore the foundation of character is the essential catalyst of a well-crafted story.

I remind myself we are the lucky ones, each of us both storyteller and main character in our own hero's journey, not always in control of the situation, yet the masters of our actions.  The best stories start with a world out of balance, and once we accept that, rise to the challenges and be true to ourselves, the outcome is often better than we could have imagined. 

As I arrive at work, I think about life and how I’m trying to face it, with gratitude and openmindedness, and the willingness to walk that unbalanced road, with the clear realization that every challenge is as sweet as every victory, and that life's magic often happens in those small, in-between moments.

This chapter may end soon, but it’s not the end of the book.  

xo

 

Have you ever lived in the in-between?  

 

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Presence

Bring on the Noise

Presence

I’ve recently begun reading Kristen Lamb’s blog, which I highly recommend to any writer/blogger.  She’s a goldmine of information and also understands and teaches to finding success as a writer in the digital age. 

Last week, Kristen blogged about the importance of having successful author presence.   What exactly does this mean?

As Kristen noted, presence is a hard thing to explain, but if I were to take my stab at defining it, here’s where I would start.  

Own Your Space

Presence is about owning your space, whether that space means your blog, your book, your social media page, your press kit, or in more general terms, your life.

Presence is about utilizing that space to the best of your ability. It’s acknowledging that words are powerful and making an intention to use them for good.  Ideally, we would all use the space that’s rightfully ours, every inch of it, but a good writer also understands that he should never feel like he needs to dominate the space of others.  Blogging can feel competitive at times, but there is enough space for all of us.

Know Your Mission

I believe that if you have a focus, you will be able to hold your presence more easily.  That focus may change as you evolve along with your writing and your subject matter, but know why you’re here now.

Do you have a mission?  With your book?  Your blog?  Your life?

I have one.  Go to my about page and you’ll find it.  I highly recommend that every writer – and human - has a mission.  When we know why we’re here and what we’re trying to do, we stay on course and we’re true to ourselves and our voices.  This goes back to owning that space, which upon presence is created.

Be Honest  

I utilize my space most effectively when I’m willing to be vulnerable.   When I’m willing to be vulnerable, I’m being honest.  I’m showing you that I’m not perfect.   I write at my best when I show you my flaws because we connect and identify with each other’s flaws. We’re put at ease knowing we’re “not the only one” who struggles with a certain personality trait or challenge or weakness.     

Yet, I’m not here to whine or flaunt my insecurities or to get reassurance from you on my problems. Vulnerable does not mean needy.  As Kristen noted, “We writers should be here to teach/inform (NF) or entertain (NF/fiction), not to use our audience as emotional hostages.”

I need to always remind myself that you are not here for me but that I am here for you.

Work Hard

Kristen discussed the importance of having confidence and noted, “Confidence is often birthed from hard work.”  That made me reflect on my early days as a blogger, someone who had been on an eight year hiatus from fiction writing and who, during that time off, the extent of putting words to paper had been making food shopping lists.  I wanted to write well and I worked hard at writing well.  I revised posts that I had already published because I would wake up in the middle of the night with a better closing sentence than what I had used in the prior draft.  I still engage in this process, but in my early days of blogging, I did it without having any readers. I had virtually no visitors to my blog for the first two and a half months, with the exception of a *very small* circle of personal friends and my sister.  But I still put out my best work in every post. 

I believe that our work as writers is never finished, and we need to be open to revision as well as the constructive criticism from others.  I once heard an interview with Toni Morrison where she said she never stopped revising  her work– even after a novel went to market.

Be Humble

One of my favorite quotes from Kristen’s article was, “Talent is highly overrated.  Character matters in this business. It’s why I dedicate so much time to talking about the writer as a human being.  Without self-discipline, drive, humility, and a certain work ethic, a writer won’t make it long term.”

Humility is a big deal for me, as a writer, as a yoga teacher, a parent, and as a human being.   Part of humility, for me, is being “right sized,” and not overinflating or underinflating my own importance, which also helps stave off my inner narcissist or the person who needs constant ego stroking, as Kristen described in her post.

Be Grateful

For me, gratitude will always be closely related to humility.  I take nothing for granted, from your visits here, to your comments, to your re-tweets, to your support, and I am grateful for all of it. Part of being grateful means paying it forward, something else that Kristen talks about frequently.  Because presence is not just about me, but it’s about me in relation to you. 

Owning my space is being aware that there would not be a “me” without a “you,” and honoring that every way I can, first and foremost, by saying thank you, sincerely and often.

xo

Ilene  

 

Your turn  - What does presence mean to you?  As a blogger?  As a human being? 

 

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Miles to Go Before I Sleep - Fierce Diva Anniversary Edition

Finding Infinity

Successful Author Presence - Do You Have It?

Finding Infinity

The fall was a blur.  Suddenly, there was one of me, and one of me to get everything done that used to get done by two. 

There were the logistics of running a house, paying for a house, and being the 24/7 parent for my children, with little to no down time.  

In the back of my mind, I knew there were “big decisions” that needed to be made, yet, I promised myself in the heat of my finding my footing, that I would put off those decisions until January. 

The one crusade that I had decided upon was being able to keep our house.  I had convinced myself that keeping the house meant stability for my kids.  They needed consistency. I was against shaking up their lives in any way more than the divorce already had. 

January came, and my resolve to save my house led me to questions about where I was going next with my career.  My present job was a stop gap.  By fall, there would need to be a change, especially if I would be able to continue to pay my mortgage.  

When I need answers, I turn to yoga. I threw myself into my practice. I woke up at 4:30 every morning, reading, journaling, meditating, and performing postures as if my life depended on them.

Except the “answers” weren’t easy.   The thought of returning to Corporate America to hold onto the accoutrements of my once upper middle class life felt oppressive.  Yet, following my dreams felt irresponsible, especially as the primary caregiver to three young children who were depending on me  for shelter, stability, and three meals a day.

I didn’t know what to do. I indulged in my indecisiveness ad nauseum. I wore this as my badge.  I was a woman with “big decisions” to make, and became someone consumed with decision making while remaining totally indecisive.    

Then my youngest daughter got hit by a car.

On a beautiful day the end of January, she got knocked off her bicycle by a man pulling into his driveway who didn’t see her.

Her left leg was torn up pretty badly. She needed 17 stitches, physical therapy, visiting nurses, and was under the care of a wound specialist, yet, miraculously, she didn’t break one bone. She wasn’t paralyzed. She was alive.  And while I was grateful that the prognosis was good, I was stuck at the scene of the accident for weeks.

I felt nervous all the time.  I cried in the bathroom at work. I stopped returning phone calls.  At some point, I stopped listening to my voice mail all together.  I stopped sleeping.

The therapist I had been seeing since the onset of my divorce began asking me “probing questions.”  Was I sad?  How sad?  Was I anxious? How much so? I felt defensive in her presence.

Then sometime in mid-February, something shifted.  My emotions caught up with reality.  My daughter was going to be fine.  She was fine already.  She was walking.  She was healthy.  She was alive.

I was ready to stop feeling scared about something that never actually happened. 

I recently read an interview that Oprah had with Nate Berkus where he discussed the lessons he learned from surviving the Tsunami of 2004 which killed his life partner Fernando Bengoechea.  In it, he talks about “Finding Your Ultimate Question.” For Nate, the ultimate question goes back to survival, which helps him put the more challenging moments in perspective.

Yogic philosophy suggests that most of our fears can be linked back to the “ultimate fear,” the fear of death.  Recently, when I’ve revisited these decisions that have been overwhelming me, I look at them through a different lens. What’s the worst that could happen if I take Risk A or Risk B?  Will I die from taking these risks?  Will my kids die?

Because the reality is this: My child had a greater chance of dying at the hand of a car that day than she would have if I took some of the risks I had been contemplating.  

I started investigating opportunities that fell in the “follow your dreams” category versus the category of practical.  

I’ve surrendered to the reality that I might have to sell my house.   And that’s OK.  Because wherever I am together with my kids, as a family, will feel like home.

I’m not jumping into the unknown recklessly.  I’m doing my homework, but I’m moving forward. I am no longer using my children as my excuse to not go after the things I want or to set a different course than the one we’re on now.

Sometimes, it’s almost easier to live without possibilities, to stay complacent in our lives instead of exploring “what could be.”

Freedom is scary.  We all have choices – infinite choices actually, despite our expertly delivered inner monologues that tell us otherwise. 

As far as those inner monologues go, I’m hoping this is the year that I can revise that script, if not tear it up completely. 

Namaste 

Do you have an inner monologue that stops you from fully exploring your options?  What are your excuses?  

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Finding The Fire

The end of 2012 hit with a bang – but not the kind of bang I expected. 

We were sick this week, the kids and I.  Like, “super sick.”  The little one spiked a fever so high on Christmas night, that I was ready to drive her to the ER, until the Motrin, tepid baths, and cool wash cloths lowered her temperature “just enough” that I knew she was out of danger.  My older girl followed suit the next day, and then I came down with a full blown version of whatever they had which sent me begging my doctor for “any drug” that would help me feel better.  I had a fever for the second time in my adult life that I can remember,  my muscles ached, my lungs were on fire, and any small task, such as getting up to go to the bathroom, took effort. 

I am someone who has been gifted with good health – no – nearly perfect health – my entire life. Aside from a very slight case of scoliosis in my lower spine and my “really bad” nearsightedness for which I wear glasses/contact lenses, I am one of the healthiest people you will find.  Yes, I take good care of myself. I practice yoga, I run, I eat a plant based diet, I don’t drink alcohol (very little, at that) or eat processed sugar, I drink plenty of water and on most nights, get enough sleep. And while I’d like to attest my good health to the aforementioned good habits, there is more to good health than eating right and exercising.  There’s genetics.  And there’s just plain luck.  I am one of the lucky ones.

The yogis, as well as many New Age thought leaders, such as Louise Hay and Dr. Wayne Dyer, as well as a growing number of people in the western medical community, like Dr. Jon Sarno, famed for his work in curing his patient’s back problems by walking them through a program to help them own and release their negative emotions, adhere to the philosophy that disease can be traced to dis-ease, meaning we become physically ill when we are holding onto destructive feelings. 

I have been a subscriber of this school of thought for decades, but yoga teacher training brought it home for me, when we studied the chakra system, at which time, every severe headache, sore throat, and stomach ailment I ever had, suddenly correlated with my inability to connect with my intuition (forehead – third eye), my difficulty in speaking up for myself (throat – throat chakra – our “voice”), and a sense loss of personal power (stomach – solar plexus chakra – our power center).

So, is this raging mother of a virus that I am slowly recuperating from a sign of dis-ease? You bet.  2012 began as a sweetheart of a year, and it’s ending with a big, “oh, shit...” with me, the newly single mother, trying to hold it together emotionally and financially  in one of the most expensive states in the country while being home enough to parent my kids. I have decisions to make.  And while it would be easy for me to “play it safe,” and find ways to “get by,” working my ass off to make other people rich (yes, folks, I have made a career out of this), perhpas it’s time for me to bet on myself.        

M., A friend of mine, who I hold in the highest esteem, posted about her year in running on Facebook last night and how through her year, of running in the best of spirits and not so best of spirits, running through beautiful days and dreary days, running when she wanted to run and when she didn’t want to run, she found her fire, or her spirit, so to speak, and how finding that fire has been transformational.

Along with the changes that summer brought for me, I lost touch with my fire. I lost my connection to that fearless, kick butt, Fierce Diva.  My resolve for 2013 is to honor my fire every day and hold it close, and to allow that fire to guide me to all of the beautiful things that life has in store. 

Dear friends and readers, I wish the same for you.

Happy New Year ~  Namaste xo

The Man Who Didn't Like Me

He didn’t like me, which was obvious from the moment he signed into the conference, and had trouble locating his name on my list of attendees.  The names weren’t alphabetized. I didn’t have time to alphabetize.  The entirety of my Friday was a last minute scramble to print and copy a dozen different forms and handouts, while answering emails with questions on the hotel, and loading up my car in time to get to the conference when it started.

I have been one step behind preparing for this conference since I began this new job a month ago. There is always too much work to do in the five hours a day that I’m in the office. It’s not hard work, but there is a lot of it. I didn’t want a full time job for a reason. I wanted to be around for my kids.  I didn’t want to have to pay exorbitant childcare bills.  However, at the same time, I have had to wrestle with my ego more than once, on accepting my role as an “assistant.”  Not long ago, I was a leader.  I had autonomy. I could send out an email without it being reviewed by my boss.  Now, I make coffee.  I make copies.  And over the conference weekend, I was treated as “the office girl” by many of the attendees and speakers. 

Besides, I was not at the top of my game.  I had a cold.  My eyes hurt from allergies.  I had gotten way too little sleep that prior Thursday due to a deep jab in my finger from cleaning a blender blade that most likely required a stitch, a proposition at the time that seemed too inconvenient.

So, when M. had difficulty locating his name to sign in on my non-alphabetized attendee list, I just smiled and shrugged, while inside, wished I was home practicing yoga, or drinking coffee in my own kitchen, since the hotel’s was less than memorable.

Later, when I asked M. to sign a release form acknowledging that we were videotaping the event, he was prickly.  Once again, I smiled and shrugged, and stood in front of him until he finally relented his signature. 

It was a huge strike two between us. 

Day two of the conference was overshadowed by the looming threat of hurricane Sandy.  People were nervous about their flights being canceled, since most of them were flying out of Newark.  On Saturday, the airlines were allowing passengers to change their flights without penalty fees, but Sunday was a different story.    I sat on a laptop checking random flights to some of the home states of our attendees, Oregon, California, Florida.  It seemed as if most flights departing after five o’clock had been canceled.

M. had come from the west coast, which I knew from my non alphabetized attendee list. While many attendees were on their phones at break time, checking in with their flight carriers, M.  seemed oblivious to the impending threat of the storm.

I tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Have you checked in with your airline about your flight?”

“No, why?”

“The airport is shutting down tonight, due to the hurricane. When are you flying out?”

“Tomorrow morning. “

“Listen, if you don’t get out today, you’re not going anywhere until Wednesday.”

“Should I call the airlines? “

“Don’t bother calling. Go to the airport and get on a line.  Get a flight to anywhere you still can, just get off the east coast.”  

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes softening.

He disappeared, along with the many others that I tapped on the shoulder yesterday, telling them to get to the airport, essentially emptying the room we worked so hard to fill.

It was my proudest moment of the weekend.

How do you measure success at work?

My Big Girl Voice

E. had a few things to say to me after my confession.

“Why did you do that?” her voice sounding a little annoyed.  

“They needed help.”

“And why did they need help?”

“Uh...” I stammered, feeling as if I was about to answer a trick question. “They were in a bind.”

“Their bind is their problem!”  She continued.  “It’s not your problem, don’t make it your problem.  Next time you need to say no.” 

“OK.”

“How do you ever expect to get to the things that really matter to you if you keep saying yes to the things that don’t?”  She asked.

My crime?  I took work home with me over the weekend. Why was that a crime?

Because I’m the girl who can’t say no.  Especially to employers.

Pulling my weight from 9 to 5 certainly can’t be enough for me to prove to you how indispensable I am. 

If you need me to take a work related phone call at 1:30 a.m., I won’t complain.  

If I know I’ll be stuck home with a sick child on the day that I have a deadline, I’ll be up at 4am to finish it before my child needs attention.

I’ll get it done.

For me, the “not saying no” department has mostly revolved around my work life.  Why? 

Because if I say yes to everything you ask of me, even if your requests are unreasonable or  don’t mesh with my life or my values or my schedule, at least I’m guaranteed a paycheck, and so long as I have that paycheck, I can survive.

So I’ll jump as high as I can and for as many hours as I can pry my eyes open to write your proposal or finish that report in hopes that you will never fire me.

Because if you may recall from my last post, I can get a little uptight about my chances of survival!

But back to E.  

“But…it’s a new job…” I counter.  Because I am still in that “trying to prove myself,” phase, that self-imposed hazing of trying to show an employer my awesomeness.    

“OK, the other thing is, are you listening to your voice?” E. asks. “It’s an adolescent voice.  It’s nasal.  And a little whiny” (E. doesn’t mince words, if you haven’t noticed).   You need to drop your voice into your throat and speak from your adult place.  Let me hear you try.”

“How’s this?” I ask, in a deeper tone.

“That’s it,” E. says.  “You’ve got it.  I want you to practice speaking from your adult place this week.  When you feel challenged by your boss or when you are asked to do things that don’t work for you, like put in extra hours that you don’t have to give them, remember to use your voice.  Come from your adult place,” she repeats.

The next day, at work, when challenged on how I handled a phone call with a client, I dropped my voice, and magically, the debate was resolved.

When trying to wrangle the kids out to the bus stop, the adult voice cut right through the commotion.

And when I made eye contact with my children while using the adult voice, the results were next to miraculous!

When my wireless carrier gave me the run around about some problems I was having with my phone, poof! Like magic, I got the help I needed when I dropped my voice.

There is more, of course, than just altering your voice. The secret ingredient in this for me is the attitude behind the voice. 

Dropping my voice reminds me to approach these situations from my adult place.

My unapologetic adult place.  Without excuses.  That place that is committed to take care of and honor me.

Because when we stand behind ourselves, from our voices, and from our hearts, the other person has no choice but to take us seriously.  

Adjusting the tone of my voice has somehow re-set the tone for how people treat me.  To be specific, it has allowed me to set the tone for how they treat me.

At least for this week.   

My belly is out of real estate at the moment, so I’m using my wrist for this one!

 

Namaste, Divas!

 How are you at saying “no?”

Are there certain people or areas in your life where it is more difficult than others?  

When you do say no, do you worry about the repercussions afterwards?   

My Big Bad Belly Tattoo

I stand in front of the mirror with a black sharpie, with my shirt hiked to my upper ribs. I pull the skin around my belly taut and dig the marker into my abdomen, as I slowly begin to write the backwards B, which in the mirror, looks forward facing.

This was my assignment from E, the transformative coach with whom I had just spent an hour rambling about the past 4 years of my life, the many changes, studying yoga, the issues with my marriage, and what I see as my ideal future.  

“What do you want for yourself?”  She asks.

“I want a book deal,” I say without hesitation. 

“You’ll get one,” she answers nonchalantly, “And it will happen quickly.” 

My heart flutters at the thought of quickly. 

“But first, you need to believe on every level that this is yours.  So here’s what I want you to do.  Take a sharpie and write book deal across your solar plexus.  Write it backwards so that you can see it in the mirror. Make the book deal an extension of you.  Literally. And invite the kids to write a word or phrase on their bellies,” she added.  “They could use a little empowerment right now.”

After my session, the kids and I head toward the mirrored closest doors in the playroom and write our words.  My cheerleader writes “Win,” while the Dude writes “Toys.”  My little one writes “Love and Friends,” but she is bothered by the marker and scrubs it off in the tub later that evening.

Mine has faded a few times since Monday, but I’ve gone to the trouble of filling it back in.

I’ve taken to my backwards Book Deal tattoo.

It reminds me of the bigger picture, beyond my current daily grind, and the learning curve that I’m facing right now, with all of my logistical challenges.

It reminds me that I’m entitled to pursue the things I really want, and it allows me to feel gratitude for being honest enough with myself to acknowledge that I really want them. How many of us bury our desires because they’re too scary or downright inconvenient?

And now, I must remind myself to go work on my book outline, because the only way I’m getting a book deal is if I actually write this book.

Besides, E. wants a progress report on Monday.

How do you motivate yourself to get closer to your goals?

Have you ever tattooed a word or phrase on your body for motivation?

And most importantly, will you buy my book?   :)

Namaste, Divas! 

My Big Girl Shoes

Predictably, the morning went to pot since I had to get out of the house a half hour earlier than usual.

To my new bosses it probably felt like a nominal request. “Can you come in a half hour early on Friday?”

What’s a half hour to most people?  

But for me, it required making “arrangements,” two sets of arrangements to be precise.  One for my grade school kids and one for my preschooler.  A neighborhood parent was kind enough to see the older guys onto the bus, and I was able to drop off my toddler a half hour early at her pre-school.  For a fee.

But it was my fourth day on the job, and I hated to say no, to their minor request, even though I had to scramble to make it happen.  

An “important client” was coming in that morning, and most of the staff was out. The receptionist was out.  The Operations Manager was out.  Everyone was out, as a matter of fact, except me.  I needed to open the building, put on lights, start the coffee, and answer the phones – and get to the office a half hour earlier than usual.  Not difficult, right? 

I’ll let you decide.

7:30 I ask my kids what they want for breakfast.

7:40 I ask my kids what they want for breakfast again.

7:45 Throw breakfast on the table and tell them to eat (“Shared ownership,” by the way, has gone out the window.  I am again a drill sergeant).

7:46 My kids protest in unison, “I didn’t ask for that.”

7:47 I tell them to eat what I’ve put in front of them or they will be grounded from play dates for the rest of the year.  

7:50 I tell them to eat quickly!

8:00 I tell them to brush their teeth and get dressed.

8:02 Toothpaste explosion all over the bathroom sink which I am now cleaning up while trying not to get pink Cinderalla Crest Kids on my work clothes.

8:05 The dog pees on the carpet.

8:06 The other dog pees on the carpet.

8:07 I scrub the pee out of the carpet with a rag, while trying not to get dog pee on my work clothes.

8:10 I realize that I have not yet packed lunches!

8:11 After screaming many exploitives, I quickly prepare three lunches.

8:17 I holler for the kids to put on their shoes.  

8:20 I throw my two older kids at a mom from the bus stop, toss my youngest into her car seat, and haul ass out of my driveway.

8:30 I walk my girl into the “before care” room at the preschool and after 20 rounds of hugs and kisses, make a beeline to the exit and hop into my car.

8:40 I arrive at work 5 minutes earlier than they asked me to get there!  Psych!

8:41: I unlock the office, turn on the lights and radio and start the coffee.

8:50:  I answer the phone without stammering.

8:52:  It came almost as no surprise that the phone call was from the 9:00 client rescheduling due to car trouble.

I slump back in my chair and exhale.

Was it for nothing? Maybe.  Did I stress way too much about getting there early and doing everything right?  You bet.   

That half hour took effort.  At least for me.  There’s been a lot of changes in my life recently, which have required this Diva to trade in her Doc Martens for a pair of big girl shoes.  Being the only parent in the house and getting to a new day job hit me almost simultaneously.   This Diva has had to grow up pretty quickly, and the new shoes need a little breaking in.

Look, I’m not naïve to think that a slight change in my work schedule was a hugely big deal – because to many of you, this is nothing. It’s what you do every day and then some. There are those of you who drop your kids off at daycare by 6:30 am to make your train, and those of you who work a day job and go to school at night on top of taking care of your kids – and some of you single moms. There are those of you who pick up your kids from the sitter after work and hop on a bus to get to a Laundromat and others, still, who work a second job so that you have enough money to take that bus to the Laundromat. And to those of you who do that, my bopping around in my high heeled boots and mascara and feeling like a rock star because I figured out how to use the coffee maker may seem trite.

But each time we step a little bit out of our comfort zone, even if it’s a comfort zone of thirty minutes, we get to prove to ourselves that we CAN step out of our comfort zone. And as I sit here and struggle right now, struggle in a way I haven’t struggled in a long time, that little tiny step out of my comfort zone is a sign that I can take more tiny steps out of my comfort zone and be OK. 

And it’s a safe bet that I’ll be taking those little tiny steps while wearing these.

Namaste, Divas!