No End In Sight     I’m having a hard time getting to the end–the end of a sentence, a thought, the situation, the reality. I guess it’s because there really are no “ends” in my life right now. I’m working with beginnings.

     I was discharged from my job in August—an ending for sure. But it opened up an opportunity to do something else; exactly what is being determined. I’m checking Monster, Craigs List, Linked-in, and Facebook daily. Can’t say what I’ll be doing a year from now, but writing feels good in the interim.

      I lost my house the end of October—another big ending. I said goodbye to my home of 10 years, made arrangements for my teen boys to stay part-time with me and part-time with their dad, sent my boyfriend out to find a full-time job and moved in with a girlfriend.

     I’d love to finish the story, but I can’t even get to the end of the paragraph. I don’t know what’s coming next. It’s that simple. I can start a sentence but I’m not sure how to finish it. And I’m not forcing myself to! I’ve given myself permission to start chapters, paragraphs, sentences without the pressure of finishing. How freeing! There’s no pressure to draw any conclusions, determine any next big steps, or finish anything. Not even this darned blog if I don’t feel like it!

     Today is for starting. No ends in sight. Just beginnings.

crowdofpeople.jpg     Actually, I got an eye-full. It’d been a hell-of-a-night, followed by a hell-of-a-morning. I’d spent the night worrying—and that exhausts the living crap out of you. (Read Lost My Give-a-Shit if you’d like details.) I’d been mining my heart; fretting it, softening it, doubting it, preparing it to receive a greater gift: the gift of Understanding.

     I was driving north on I-25, on my way to pick-up my best friend, Kook, and her daughter, Alex, from the airport. They were jetting in from Milan; they’d spent the last two weeks in Italy. It was a typical Rocky Mountain Sunset—spectacular. Oranges and pinks blended in to gray blues and purples. The clouds were stirrin’ up an Earth-Meets-Sky raspberry/grape smoothie.

     The ride home was a swirl of conversation, a mix of stories from all of us. As they shared tales of drinking Italian roasted coffee from silver cups on a rose adorned and rose-petal covered patio, on a balcony overlooking the sea, I shared my excitement for the social networking seminar I’d attended, books I’d read on Facebook, Linked-in, and Twitter, updates to my websites, and the blog article I’d posted.

     Kook talked of the beauty of the people, and I bemoaned I had no beautiful people to work with—and then I understood! I want beautiful people, with passionate businesses that I can believe in and promote. I want to blog and tweet and book my face off. I want to sit on my tush and earn a living by writing for others—telling their story and engaging in a dialog with their customers. I don’t need a ton of clients. I need two or three with companies or causes I support.

     It seams so simple, now that “I got it.” Focus on the beautiful people! There’s no time for doubt. No time to worry. Only time to focus on others. What a glorious thought.

i-dont-care1.jpgi-dont-care.jpgi-dont-care.jpg   If you find it, let me know. I had it when I went to bed last night, had it when I woke up at 1:30 a.m. If I was a detective, I’d pinpoint the crime—if indeed there is one—sometime between the hours of 2:00 and 3:30 a.m. I think I had it when I did dishes, that would be around 2 a.m. I like doing dishes; I always have. It’s my “go to” activity when I don’t know where to start or what to do next. I do them first thing in the morning as a way to clear my head and set the compass for the day and I do them in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep. Maybe my “give-a-shit” drained away in the dish water.

     I do know, as I returned to bed and lay there in an anxiety-ridden heap of useless flesh, that the only way through this personal crisis is to write. But I’ve been postponing posting (ha, isn’t that an interesting play on words) because I was taught “if you can’t say anything nice…” you know the adage. Well, I’ve got nothing good to say. I’m in a fucking dark hole. Have been for years (not just months—years) and the harder I work the deeper the hole gets. Stop digging, some people say. Work smarter, not harder; run and pray; believe; keep-on-keepin’-on. Insert your own F’ed-up positive-thinking bullshit right here. And let me tell you, I’ve tried them all; I’ve taught them all. I’m not new to The Secret. Brian Tracy taught me the underlying principles in The Secret in his audio program, The Psychology of Achievement when I was 24 years old. I believed it so much, I’ve lived my life doing affirmations, and striving to turn every negative statement and situation I encounter to a positive experience. It’s all bullshit. And I don’t care who’s reading this or what your perspective is, it’s not working for me. Life is not working for me. And I don’t give a shit who knows it. That’s the “give-a-shit” that went missing around 3:00 last night.

     “Fake it til you make it.” A statement I learned in Mary Kay as I struggled to build my team and become a Sales Director—a positive affirmation in action if I ever heard one. My ex-husband, who tends to be a realist, used to tell me I was just lying to myself. Well, I’m done lying to myself and others.

     No, I’m not fine. Life is a shit sandwich and I’m the creamy middle. There’s no one to help, no one I can count on. And I’m so damned exhausted from trying so hard, I no longer care who knows it. To quote my favorite band, “I don’t want to fake it anymore.” (Widespread Panic, Imitation Leather Shoes)

     Every day is a struggle. I see no reprieve from this stressful financial situation and no joy on the horizon. I’m unemployed and the first unemployment check won’t be here for 6-8 weeks. I’m in need of capital so I can start my own business (because “when the going gets tough, the tough get going” and make their own success—isn’t that the capitalistic bullshit we’ve all been taught?). I’ve been going backwards financially since May of 09 and the credit cards are maxed. Rent is due in two weeks and I’ve already tapped the folks and best friend for cash. I need to move out of my apartment but have no place to go or no money to work with. I’m down to my last few dollars and hope hasn’t been in my vocabulary for…ever (unless you count that tequila buzz I had two weeks ago—which turned out to be an alcohol-induced illusion.)

     Do I give-a-shit what you think of this blog post? Or my situation? Or my character? Nope. I’ve lost it. If you find it, keep it.

I’m always looking for the positive–especially in the stink of things. I look for the horse in the pile of manure, the proverbial silver lining, and believe the Universe has got my back–even when I don’t see it.

I believe our words create our worlds, and the simple turn of a phrase can turn the energy of a situation from funky to fabulous. Please don’t think I’m advocating positive thinking as the only option for dealing with stress. Since I trust in the Law of Attraction, it works for me–mentally and especially emotionally. I know good things are coming my way if I can stay open to the good. For those who embrace skepticism, cynicism and pessimism–if it’s working for you, go for it. Perhaps if expectations are low, you’ll always be pleasantly surprised. Hmmm, there’s a certain logic to that I must admit. I can see why so many embrace that thinking.

Coping with stress can be … tough … challenging … a bitch! And I’ve recently run into that with economic realities. Owning my own business and raising three kids has never been tougher. And I’ve been doing my share of stressing.

But the time for stressing is over. Stress just means my world is too limited. I don’t have enough solutions to the new problems in my life. Stress simply means I’m caught in old patterns of thinking and acting. To bring change to myself and the world, I have to begin with myself.

It’s time to stretch. Stretch to new ways of doing business, new ways of making money, new ways of serving people. It’s time to stretch my mind–look for new perspectives. Time to stretch my legs–increase my physical stamina.

Stressed out to stretched out simply means moving past what’s familiar to being comfortable in the unknown. We don’t have to change everything, we just have to expand what we are already doing–do just a little bit more. Push our brains a bit further. Believe that negative can become positive–and that’s when life gets interesting.

Two days ago I woke up and looked different. I seemed to have morphed into my Mother overnight.

I actually noticed it as I passed the bathroom mirror at 4 a.m. I dismissed it as sleepy eyes playing tricks on me in the dark, but when Steve remarked the next morning that I looked like my Mom–well there it was, not just staring me straight in the face, but staring others in the face, too. So, what happened over night? What can cause a person to look like his or her self one day and someone else the next day? And why didn’t I wake up looking like Terry Hatcher or Linda Gray (two actresses that others have said I resemble.) Why my Mother?!

I guess it’s no secret why I woke up looking like my Mother–as the commercial goes, “You can’t fool Mother Nature,” the biggest Mother of them all. My question, however, is: why today? Physically, I’m not that much different then yesterday. I didn’t cut my hair into an “old lady” style or gain 20 lbs over night. So I have to wonder what would have my Mom’s face staring out the mirror at me today? Was it the expression? Had I seen that expression on her face before? Am I at a place in my life that matches a stage my Mother went through?

I’m in a relatively new–just coming up to a year–relationship with a man I can see myself growing old with. Whoa–hold the presses. Did I somehow hook up “togetherness” and growing old together in my psyche and alter my physical appearance in doing so? Or is it because my Mom, still married to my wonderful, devoted father wears a certain expression and I’m wearing that expression myself? My facial features couldn’t have changed that much over night, but wasn’t that my Mom’s nose staring back at me in the mirror? And could my expression have changed based on the experiences I’m having with the man in my life?

I do know this different look has caused me to look differently at my life. Why? What caused the shift? And, if I’d stop right now and look in the mirror, who’s face would I see? Is it experience, is it wisdom? Is it knowledge, belief, understanding, acceptance? Is it a cosmic message from my angels to tell me to call my Mom? Is it a reminder of the similarities my Mom and I have, and are they coming to the surface now because of the similarities I have with my 16 year old daughter. (A raving beauty on her own.)

Steve did tell me I’ve been hard on myself this past week. A little more critical of my appearance–of which I don’t give too much thought. I look like I look. And I like how I look. But this whole “different face in the mirror” is causing me to look at my life. I even picked up Marianne Williamson’s new book, The Age of Miracles, about mid-life transition. Just a quick skim of the table of contents tells me we will be lovingly accepting ourselves and morphing our thoughts to living our best life with this new found knowledge. Maybe this is just time’s way of telling me to take a closer look. My Mom has pretty much gotten everything she’s even wanted in life, and at 74, she projects Sophia Loren style beauty.

Have I too–gotten what I want? Or is it time to move toward it? Maybe that’s what I’m looking at. Or what’s looking back at me: the question–what are you waiting for? Are you ready to move forward?

Hmmm, I think I’ll start with a trip to the salon.

Growing up the daughter of a devout Catholic–two actually–I witnessed first hand the power of Saint Jude. Saint Jude, according to legend and belief, is the patron saint of Lost Causes. While other Catholics would pray to Saint Anthony for lost objects, Saint Christopher for safe passage, and bury Saint Whoever upside down in the back yard to sell their house, my Mom went straight to the top–Saint Jude.

I have witnessed my Mom walk into a 40 acre field, at sunset, and find a tractor part the size of a bottle opener. I’ve seen her find misplaced checks, rogue house and car keys, and glasses gone missing. All she does is say a quick prayer, promise a financial reward as gratitude, and go in search of the missing object. Saint Jude comes through–almost always, and almost always immediately.

I, myself, have called on Jude on numerous occasions–like when I threw out an important bottle of medication and had to go dumpster diving to find it. Jude has helped me find countless items, and more importantly, has helped me through times of great stress…times when my moral has been in the toilet and I’m standing alone on one last shredded nerve. To me, Saint Jude represents faith…and the power of prayer. From that very first time in elementary school when I lost my brand new retainer and had to call in the Big Guy, I’ve been a believer.

Today I invoke Saint Jude. There is only one thing on my list, and I need it now. With heartfelt gratitude, I thank you in advance for coming through. Saint Jude, you’re the Dude.

And, as always, I’ll be sending my gratitude check to Saint Jude’s Children’s Hospital.

I awoke today to a familiar feeling–the yucks. I HATE that feeling! I fight that feeling a lot when I’m under pressure.

Being a student of The Law of Attraction, I knew I had to change that stinkin’ thinkin’ to thoughts that were positive. So into my self-help library I delved. The Power of I AM, a book by John Maxwell Taylor, was on the top of the stack by the bed. I grabbed it and searched for a tidbit of info that would transform my thoughts to something brighter…to no avail.

I then resorted to prayer and meditation. My mind refused to let me see the light. I felt like I was in a fog of negativity. And just as peering into a deep fog does nothing to help clear it, peering into my consciousness had the same effect–or lack there of. I fought it for hours not wanting to acknowledge the problems that were making me anxious. Not wanting to BE anxious! Finally, around noon, after hours of fighting tears and sadness, I gave in and welcomed the problem. As Tama Kieves says in her book This Time I Dance, I invited the problem in for tea and crumpets. “Well, as long as the problem is here, we all might as well get comfortable with it.” Instantly I felt better–a complete turn-around.

How did I do it? One simple little word helped me–the word “well….” “Well” is a transition word, a word that moves your mind from one thought to another. “Well” acknowledges the situation you’re in but still opens to a different, kinder outcome than the one you are imagining. It’s easier to let go of negative thinking when you move it forward one thought at a time. And I do that one word at a time.

“Well” is a word that moves me forward.