My New Blog

Often, having what you want is a function of letting go of what you have.

If you know what I mean.

The Universe

Odd, huh, the stuff people cling to?

This was the little saying that was waiting for me to find in my inbox. I've had a bit of trouble staying ahead of the electronic curve lately, so have been making more of an effort to hit "delete" without bothering to actually read the mesage. Notes From The Universe provides me with a daily email that I end up keeping around for much longer than I probably should. Coming from a Feng Shui consultant who usually is extolling the virtues of decluttering, that says a lot. Then again, I must admit that I'm a bit of a hoarding monster when it comes to email. Try as I might, I have yet to be able to get my inbox figures below 5 figures. When I begin to clean it out, I find myself going on a trip down memory lane, and that mad dash to the trash can halts.

Reading old posts of support from the time when I was dealing with cancer reminds me of my strength. Email from previous jobs serves as a warning to never give up on who I truly am. And each small post from my husband is a digital love letter, even if it is sublimely ordinary. Those, I keep. My sentimental nature prefers to have an archive of these activities.

But those Target ads? Gone! Groupon notices? Wheeee!! Watch them disappear! Heifer International requests? After I donate a pig...then poof! :)

Maybe it's still a small part of me that is afraid to lose myself if I delete too many of these posts, these musings on the past. After all, I wasn't always as aware of my fabulosity as I am now. They serve as a reminder of the danger of selling yourself short. And if anyone has ever met me, they would know that there is nothing short about me!

Piles and clutter serve a purpose. They act as anchors and dams to flow. Sometimes, though, when you feel like life is rushing river, you need that to bring a bit of stability back, that precious time to ponder the next step. Energy is constantly in motion, and it's good to take a moment to breathe into the next choice. That's why I love feng shui and energy work...never a dull moment!

For years, I pretended. I pretended that I knew what I was doing. That I had it all together. That I wasn't afraid every day that I would be found out to be the fraud that I was inside my head.

When the day finally came for me to tell my family about some errors in judgement that one of my children had made, I thought that all of my carefully placed cards would come tumbling down around my head. And guess what? They did.

It was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.

Parenting is the most difficult job on this planet. No breaks, no vacations, and the kids keep changing the rules on you. Then there are societal pressures, family traditions, and unrealized childhood expectations of "I'm going to be a better parent than MY folks!" to contend with. So when a child consistently makes major errors in thinking, my knee-jerk reaction was "What have I done WRONG?" More than just a little introspection, counseling, and energetic clearing finally helped me to see that I didn't, that each of us comes into this world with a contract to learn certain lessons. I was able to accept that life for my children wasn't going to always look like the Hallmark card version I had envisioned, and that I could still love them through their mistakes.

I will be forever grateful to my kids, because without their struggles to contend with, I may never have pushed myself to find ISEE Global, the organization that taught me the energy tools that are my life path. I would never have the depth of compassion for troubled youth and their families. And I certainly would never have seen the inner workings of the legal system. It's fascinating stuff! Letting go of the shame of the belief that "if only I had parented better" was gut-wrenching, and I'll let you know when I get to the bottom of the "Why didn't I do XX sooner?" pool.

Finding out that I've had many past lives with family members and clearing up the unsettled karma from them has felt like a full-time job this past year. Images of a high priest wearing a jaguar-skin cloak performing a sacrifice on a young virgin especially selected to assuage the God eating the sun was a particularly powerful vision that led to a huge release of emotion. Yeah, maybe I was calling on images from Mel Gibson's "Apocalypto", but it felt so immediate while in trance. Of course, our subconscious mind strives to find images stored in our brain to help us make sense of the complex world of our right brain, so I'm never surprised when I'm shown a scene with familiar overtones. Grateful, in fact. Gives me some context.

The vacated bedroom has now become my haven, my sanctuary for guests when I'm not using it as a meditation space. Feng shui allowed me to take the former chaos that reined there and transform it into a place of tranquility adn beauty. The intuitive coaching techniques that I use with my clients transformed my heart and energy into deeper understanding and openness to what is. And that has made all the difference.

Blessings to you and yours, especially if there has been emotional upheaval and anger. May the peace and unconditional love that is your birthright be restored to you and your family. Namaste...

There’s just something about putting on a cloak. It’s as if you stepped into a time machine, transporting yourself back in time when Robin Hood was real, and knights sat around a big round table discussing how they were going to save the kingdom. Add a tunic or a dress from a similar period, and next thing you know, you’re no longer concerned with rush hour traffic, annoying co-workers, or even the price of gas. Donning medieval garb gives you permission to use your imagination to create a society filled with Barons, titles, swords, and armored battles. One simple piece of clothing can give you permission to become someone else, to simply play a role that is unlike your day-to-day reality.

Our suburban family of four had the chance to experience this first-hand when we attended my brother-in-law’s wedding earlier this month. He and his bride met at a Society for Creative Anachronism function in Washington State, so it was fitting that they chose this venue as the setting for their nuptials. However, their request that all guests come attired in period-appropriate clothing made me pause. I mean, there’s retro, and then there’s Retro. People joke about “going Medieval on someone”, but the reality is that this encompasses a very large period of time. The guidelines given were to choose something between the 12^th & 16^th Century, which wasn’t a lot of help. Hence the cloak. They are easy to sew, and cover up “mundanes” (their word for modern clothing) very effectively.

While at the campground, though, I realized that SCA was far more important to the members than just playing dress-up, fighting with sharp objects, and creating elaborate tent structures. Everyone there got to choose their new name, an identity unlike their routine lives. Where else could a manager at a fast-food restaurant get to have an opportunity to become Queen in her own right by defeating all comers in a heavy armor competition? Or a vet tech be the captain of a mercenary group of sailors and a fencing champion? It was great fun listening to the stories that had been created around their characters, and sometimes heartbreaking to hear about the real lives that waited on the other side of the gathering.

This got me to thinking: what are the stories that we tell ourselves? Sure, it’s easy to slip into a new persona when you don a costume, but isn’t that what we do when we go to work everyday? The suit and tie is beginning to make a comeback in the workplace, because the casual attitude was blurring the lines between professional and personal. Casual Friday was invented to help coworkers lighten up at work, but sometimes the blinders of business attire are better at keeping people focused on living up to their role as employee.

When I was going through my cancer treatments, I made sure to have a full face of makeup, colorful scarves, and a cheerful attitude when I left my house. Yes, it helped me to feel better, but more importantly, I noticed that others around me felt more comfortable. It lessened the concerned looks and questioning glances, and reduced the comments of “are you sure you’re feeling OK?” Of course, there were days when no amount of shellac could cover the fact that I felt awful. Even now, I rarely go out without some form of facial embellishment, even if it’s just lipstick.

Perspective is important when dealing with the roles that we play. I was never a “cancer victim”, merely a person undergoing cancer treatment. I’m a mother, too, but that is merely one side to the multi-faceted woman that is continually evolving. It’s important to remember that you are NOT your job, your role as a parent, your hobby, or your political affiliation. When you stretch your image of yourself to include all aspects of yourself, you can fully expand into your potential as a human being.

If your image includes daring visions of broadswords and swashbuckling adventures, get a cloak and find your tribe. Metaphorically, we’re already doing it every time we get together with friends who enjoy similar interests, so if that’s what butters your bread, go for it. Some people may think of you as frivolous, while others will merely be envious. You get just one chance at this life. Which role do you want to play?

The news lately appears to be written by Chicken Little. "The Sky is Falling! The Dow is Falling! Our Profits are Falling!" It's enough to make you swear off poultry. However, few things can prepare you for the day when your children ask about the headline: "Worst financial crisis since the Great Depression!"

"We don't have any stocks, do we, Mom?" asked my eighth-grade son with trepidation. I soft-pedaled the danger to his college fund to stop the panic in his face. I wasn't lying about it, just drawing on my own experience with financial turmoil. My parents, who were farmers, had to file bankruptcy during my first year in college, and I learned that there are many ways to get an education if you want it badly enough. I briefly explained that it's all cyclical, and that it's wise to never let current events cloud the knowledge that the only constant is change.

Ever since Alexander Hamilton advocated that we actively pursue national debt, our country has built itself around "buy now, pay later." Credit cards were invented to allow citizens the same privilege. After all, when the car breaks down for good, most people don't have the extra $30,000 in the bank to pay cash for a new one. Small businesses need to have access to capital if they are to grow, and so on.

Still, I'm amazed at the lack of working knowledge people have about money management and investing. Since money is at the heart of so many things, why are we so afraid of it? Studies consistently show that the happiest people in the world are those who have the least, yet Americans tend to be fixated on what we don't have, rather than what we do have. Self-esteem has become inexorably linked with how much something costs. The reality is that no matter how hard you try, you can't buy your way to a contented soul.

My favorite saying these days is: "This too shall pass." I even had a friend create a bracelet for me to remind me to maintain perspective. Many people fall back on this phrase when bad things happen in their lives, knowing that ultimately better days are ahead. But I've been concentrating on it when in the midst of that perfect, glorious day that I wish would never end. It always does, so I do my utmost to enjoy every single magnificent second. Bobby McFerrin had a very catchy tune many years ago called, "Don't Worry, Be Happy." It's a rather Pollyanna-ish song that many disregard as a slacker mantra, but I look at it as a reminder to find joy in everyday events.

We made it out of the crisis in the 1930s, and we'll make it out of this one, too. Long-term leadership strategies made the difference then, and lots of personal sacrifice was required as well. Yes, we will all have to pay more taxes, make do with less and suffer indignities such as not getting the latest fashions and walking to school. Some will still find ways to succeed, while others will succumb to the doom-and-gloom mentality that pervades the news.

Accountability, both personal and national, needs to become the mantra, since we all worked the system to get to this point. Regardless of which candidate wins the upcoming election, we will eventually do what Americans have done for generations: Pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and improve the outdated notions that aren't working. And maybe this time, we'll remember the lessons learned.

On Mother's Day, my family knew to avoid the color pink in any gifts for me. I'm 5 ½ years out from my own brush with breast cancer, and have had my fill of that color.

When National Breast Cancer Awareness Month rolls around in October with its ocean of Pink, I put up my mental barriers and try to enjoy a fuschia-free fall. It was when I got blindsided by a Girl Scout wearing a Pink beribboned bucket hat talking about the importance of a mammogram that I lost it.

Breast cancer ribbons have become the latest in tacky fashion accessories. Women are being lauded as "heroic" for simply following a prescribed course of treatment for a disease that kills only 40,000 a year. By comparison, heart disease kills 350,000 women and strokes kill another 96,000. Yet the American Heart Association's Red Dress campaign hasn't achieved the cachet of that ubiquitous pink ribbon. I keep asking myself why: What is it that makes one particular disease more visible than the other?

Breast cancer has a better marketing department. So many products are available to "support the cause" that it's become easy to indulge your altruistic urges with the swipe of a credit card. Buy a Pink mixer. Eat some decorated yogurt. Go for a jog in your new Pink Ribbon warmup suit. Pay your bills using your special Pink pen and mail it with your Breast Cancer stamps. Hey, we're making progress toward getting rid of this scourge, aren't we? Aren't we?

Quite frankly, the massive marketing effort has cheapened the show of support. What many well-meaning consumers don't get is how looking at all of these Pink-logo'd items actually take many survivors straight back into the chaos of the initial diagnosis and all of the life-altering changes that ensued.

By constantly being bombarded with Pink, it makes it much more difficult to move on to the next phase of our lives. And there I am at a Girl Scout meeting, being asked by a sweet 10-year-old if I had had my mammogram this year. She was trying to earn a special Breast Cancer Awareness badge. One of the troop member's mothers had been recently diagnosed, so this was thought to be a good way for them to show their support. If it had ended there, maybe it would have been, but when they started handing out bookmarks, pencils, key chains and other cheaply made, destined-for-the-Dumpster pieces of Pink, I got irritated.

When I expressed my uneasiness that young girls were pawns in a major marketing campaign, I was surprised at the reaction: "If we don't keep up the marketing, then people will forget all about this disease!"

Fat chance. As long as there are mammogram machines and breasts, this disease will continue to be found and treated successfully the majority of the time. I'm just tired of the in-your-face ubiquity that keeps us in a constant state of trepidation as to if/when our mammaries will become memories.

I am concerned that, in our zeal to educate, we have instead planted the seeds of fear in our daughters' minds. It broke my heart when my own 10-year-old ran downstairs after reading a coming-of-age book from the library saying, "Mommy, Mommy, it's all right! That lump I felt last night isn't cancer! It's normal!"

We live in a climate where it's easy to succumb to fear, whether it's terrorism, liberalism, conservatism, racism or any other type of -ism you wish to insert. When that enormous amount of energy is put out there by an entire society, it has no choice but to manifest itself in unhealthy ways.

Self-loathing gets a lot of press. It makes up a large section of the bookstores in the form of beauty magazines and self-help books and creates wealth for cosmetic surgeons and clothing manufacturers.

Unfortunately, when you speak about loving yourself, you often get raised eyebrows. Our media has created an environment of unhappiness, softly disguised with the veneer of self-improvement and self-indulgence. Mental health professionals provide wonderful outlets for those souls trying to figure out why they feel unworthy of the affections of others. And yet the constant struggle to fill the inner void with new things and new people continues unabated.

I’m curvy. My favorite fashion era is the look from the ’40s, when they celebrated women with hips. Fashion is a fickle mistress, though. Just when you think you have a good look going, the designers change it. I don’t begrudge them that, but I do get irritated when advertising encourages permanent changes to the human body to keep up with trends.

Breast augmentation, tummy tucks, lip enhancements — all of these procedures are relatively permanent, expensive and sometimes even deadly. Why? Because some superstar of the moment has really pouty lips? Or because some fashion darling decreed that we look better in our clothes with the body of a 10-year-old boy?

What is it that people want? To look younger? To be more attractive to the opposite sex? To gain an edge in the workplace? All speak to the need for love and acceptance. But how can we expect people to love us for who we are if we literally put up a false front?

My personal wake-up call was a cancer diagnosis more than five years ago. I met with a plastic surgeon to discuss breast reconstruction options after a planned mastectomy to remove my breast cancer. The option involved taking fat from my stomach and stuffing it into the hollowed-out spot where my breast tissue used to be. Ingenious! A free tummy tuck and a boob job, compliments of my insurance company!

And yet, something inside me said no, thanks. I just couldn’t do the seven days in the hospital, the extensive scarring, and the foreign body to be placed in the unaffected breast (to achieve symmetry!). I hadn’t been totally satisfied with my body, since no one is perfect. But it was really discouraging to see all of the Sharpie marks on my torso, literally taking my shape back to the drawing board. I instantly began to loathe my body, which added to the already impending sense of doom from the invasion of cancer cells.

Turns out I didn’t have to go through with the mastectomy. Chemo shrank my tumors enough to get by with a quadrantectomy. That was day surgery, and though I have a significant divot, my breasts are my own.

Hey, I’m not above working out to keep myself in shape, and my hairdresser does a great job of keeping my gray hairs hidden. I just keep thinking about what my mom used to say: "You can’t judge a book by its cover."

Simply slapping on a coat of spackle on the jagged crevice in the wall doesn’t fix the cracked foundation any more than elective plastic surgery can convince the sad inner child that she is worthy of unconditional love. Fixing the root cause is far more difficult and painful. Some medical facilities are getting this connection. I’ve been pleased to see that some of the ads for Lap-Band surgery now include counseling to help patients internally accept the new external appearance, as this is one of those extreme surgical procedures that has far more ramifications.

By loving yourself enough to choose good food, focus on the positive things in your life and moving your muscles with gentle exercise, you can do your part to avoid being a health care statistic. You just might be the positive influence that others need to get their own self-love going. Light up your inner beauty, and odds are that your outer self will shine as well.