Okay, I'm a Muse

(Sometimes I can't find the perfect shot to go with my words, but this one was kind of magical, too.)

Right, so I'm working on a book and I'm nearly through the second draft (don't get too excited because the second draft reads like the first draft should have... but I digress...), but I realized in the midst of writing about magical creatures that perhaps I've missed an important detail in my own life. 

I'm a muse.

Like those mythological sisters who inspired excellence and beauty and art from mortals, I'm on a mission to gently whisper inspiration to those who seem to be sitting on the fence between "reality" and their dreams. I try to tap them with a single finger and, in essence, push them over the fence and into the garden where their dreams can bloom.

These moments are even sweeter when the "mused" person is merely an acquaintance, someone who doesn't know my strengths or absurd desire to inspire. And I had another one yesterday, when author Christine Ashworth, the president of the Los Angeles Romance Writers Association, emailed me to say that a tip I gave her has inspired a change in her diet. (You know how much I love Kris Carr. I just can't keep my mouth shut.)

Christine gave me a shout-out on her blog, and she even spelled my name right (thanks, Christine!).

Inspiration is a funny thing. I can see when a person is ready for it and when (s)he isn't. And I'm not just a junkie for nutrition and green drinks, people. My super awesome friend Kendra - if you don't read her blog, you MUST! - went from telling me she's not a writer (pssshhaw!) to having 500 avid followers on her blog. And you know what? I begged her to start a blog.

And why? Why do I care what other people do? 

I guess that's the muse in me. I like to see the intersection of dreams and action. I like to be the catalyst for change. And I like to sit back and smile as I watch these tiny sparks of inspiration catch fire and become bright, blazing bonfires of creativity.

*sigh*

*smile*

Be crazy, sexy and inspired today. If you're reading this, you're already part of the inspiration revolution!

Awesome Loves Company, Too

Misery loves company. I've grown up with that phrase - I'm sure you have, too - and it's very easy to see examples all around us. Not only does it seem like miserable people find each other to commiserate, but terrible things seem to happen in bundles, as though one awful thing will cast a net far and wide, grabbing all the other calamities it can along the way. 

But one observation I've made over the past few years is this: awesome loves company, too. Just as much. Maybe even more.

Okay, okay. This is probably sounding a bit like that crazy self-help book The Secret and its promises that magical thinking can help you attract a good parking spot. But that's not a bad thing.

Hear me out... I've found that, since I've owned up to my own wishes and hopes and desires to be a better human on the planet, I've come in contact with other people who are similarly seeking their own awesomeness. And in pursuing that awesomeness, they ARE awesome, simply by the very nature of the pursuit. There is a spark in their eyes and a joyfulness in the way they talk about their lives and a willingness to take risks - and to fail, for goodness' sake - in order to find out what they're capable of. They are always learning, striving, interested... 

One thing I've learned about myself in making this observation -- hey, maybe I'm kinda awesome myself -- is in direct opposition to an old story I used to tell myself: "I'm not good enough." And I pushed it down by being "perfect" - sound familiar to anyone? I got good grades - no, not merely good, but the BEST - and struggled to put myself through college and to get a corporate job that paid well and to make all the "right" choices so that I would be "good enough"... 

But where does that get you when you've outgrown those ideas? Who are you if you no longer believe that story?

Well, you're awesome. And you're on your path. And that path will never end because you are too curious about its nooks, crannies and detours to worry about where it takes you.

Even knowing all of this, I must admit that, even now, I worry that I'm getting "too old" to write a book. 

Bollocks! my awesomeness says (and he/she sounds suspiciously like all the awesome people I've come to know in my life).

Here's to finding your unique awesomeness and allowing it to cast its own net far and wide, ensnaring a wide variety of awesome seekers who will encourage you on your way. Happy 2013!

Peeling Back the Layers

I found this pic
on www.yummly.com

Pardon the tiny, phallic picture. I just wanted to illustrate my point for the new year.

A few days ago, I went to my aesthetician Gia for my annual "winter blues" facial. Generally, after the holidays, I need a little pick-me-up in the form of a fake tan or a facial or a new cosmetic. I guess the excitement of the holidays and the promise of a new start makes me want to show off my enthusiasm for what's coming next. And when I look in the mirror, a sunny tan, glowing skin and/or a fresh lip gloss always makes me feel a little better.

Anyway, in lieu of the usual facial/microdermabrasion, I chose to go for a chemical peel. I won't go into the procedure or any of that stuff - if you're curious, Google is open 24/7 - but after 45 minutes, I was out of there and back in the world with a few words of caution to ensure the best results. 

The main one was: don't panic. Gia said, It will get bad... and then even worse... before it gets better. Way better. Trust the process. In 3 weeks, you'll be so happy with the results.

Okay, that was three days ago. I survived looking like a St. Tropez vacationer, and then an Oompa Loompa, and now my face is both tight and shedding skin like a snake. I need to go to Costco for something but I am reluctant to even leave the house because I look CRAZY.

However, I'm trying to remind myself that this process is identical to what I'm going through in my life, both creatively and personally. I'm shedding skin. I'm going through the process, trusting that what looks rather unappealing now (in the form of my 2nd draft, or the blank art-deprived walls of my house, or my winter garden, or sticking to a fitness routine, or any number of in-process projects on the inside of my brain) will pay off in spades once it's done. 

I may look like a withering old cobra now, but when this is done, I'm hopeful that my skin will appear as soft and buttery as the flesh of a banana... 

May your new year allow you to shed some old habits, too, so that you can emerge with a new "skin," too. 

xoxo

More Love

I am shaking with horror at the images from the Connecticut elementary school where an asshole decided to shoot at young children, their teachers and other staff who love them. Normally, I don't love to swear in this blog, but I am stunned. Those could be my kids, or yours, or perfect strangers - it doesn't matter. They are *all* our children. We are all connected. 

In that vein, I'm just taking a moment to remind all of us to LOVE more, every day, every hour and minute. Do what we love. Love who we want. Be the people we mean to be.

A Poem for Monday

Sometimes change happens because outside forces cause us to change the way we live. Other times, it happens from within, like a light that gradually bursts out of our bodies like a wildfire. In the midst of contemplating the very nature of change in my own life, I dutifully went to Monday morning yoga.  And I was rewarded by this poem, which my teacher read at the very beginning of class:

Archaic Torso of Apollo

We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast’s fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life. 

Rainer Maria Rilke

The Honor System

In honor of Halloween, I'm posting this very scary picture, taken two years ago. No, it's not a cute costume or a trick-or-treater or a spookily decorated house. This is what happens when two moms see an "honor system" candy bowl and no one's around to say, "Hey! You're too old to trick or treat!"

And tonight, when the moon is full and my little goblins are out scaring the candy away from unsuspecting neighbors, I will keep my eyes peeled for more unattended candy cauldrons... If you see any with Reese's peanut butter cups or Junior Mints, let me know...

Swimming with Sharks

We took the girls to Heavens, just north of Malibu, and found an empty cove. The girls wandered over the rocks to a tide pool while Raf and I read our books, listened to our iPods, observed the random daytripper and shell-seeker. We dreamed about going to Spain and Italy next summer, discussing what the kids would eat, where to stay, lowering our expectations to simply a string of days on foreign beaches interspersed with Gaudi and gladiators. 

A pod of dolphins swam past the rocks. I counted them silently, wondering if the girls noticed them. One... two... three fins! 

"At least they're not sharks," I said to Raf, who took one earphone out and clicked off his iPhone.

"Yeah, I didn't tell you this," he said, squinting under his dark glasses, staring out to sea, "but a surfer got attacked by a shark last week, north of Santa Barbara. Guy my age."

"Attacked?"

Raf doesn't sugarcoat things. "Ate him. He washed up on the shore."

I didn't say anything at first. I blinked under my own dark glasses, searching the horizon for  answers. I wondered aloud if maybe the food supply for sharks has been affected by global warming or some other environmental illness, and maybe that's why we're hearing about more shark attacks closer to the shore.

"It's the first time a shark has killed a surfer in Southern California in 11 years," Raf said.

A few paddle boarders and kayaks sailed by the cove. My life with Raf flashed before me, glorious beach days like this one combined with the future I imagine for us, filled with traveling and surfing and weddings and grandbabies and growing old, really old, together. 

"I haven't told the kids," he said. "They'd never go back in the water."

"Or they wouldn't want you to go back in." I held my tongue though I wanted to add, Please don't get eaten by a shark... please don't get hurt ever...

He laughed. "Like I'd stop surfing because I'm afraid of sharks."

I let some time pass, considered the glint of sunlight on the glassy green surface of the water. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you," I said, trying my best to keep my voice flat, unemotional.

"You'd be okay."

"Yeah, but -- "

"You'd be okay. That's one thing we know, unfortunately. Life goes on." 

I saw the girls rounding the top of the rocks again, waving, pink-brown skin and bikinis, big smiles, beach hair. Max and death and Isaac and sadness and the Great Unknown swirled above them like the banners that soar behind small airplanes over beaches on sunny days. The ocean lulled below them, lapping softly at the barnacles on the rocks. Understanding seeped in, and I let it sit with me.

We swim with sharks.  And life goes on.