**HUGE thank you to Miss Pamela for the photos and video!!** My title here at Weebly, officially printed on my lovely business cards (thanks, Justin!), is Joyologist. To be blunt--I LOVE it. Borderline obsessed with it. Proud to hand it to folks and watch the smiles and chuckles as they read it out loud. I get such a kick out of it still, even after a year and a half! At first, this title started out as a bit of a joke--playful creativity in a company that supports all things creative and playful (mega points: Weebly!). But now I can honestly say I try to embody its meaning with my whole heart and soul. Hello, I'm Trish, and I'm in the business of Joy. I have this theory about life: either you laugh along with it as the leading, starring, shining role, or it's gonna laugh you right off the stage. Feeling pain is for sure a part of the gift that is being alive. Yep, the gift. So by no means do I believe we should avoid or squash or cover up those moments of less-than-happy. They are real and have much value if we let ourselves process them fully. But I also believe that Joy is our natural state of being; I believe that being joyful is our divine right. If something or someone is not helping to boost your joyful experience, it may be time to reevaluate their role in your life. My trip to Costa Rica was an amazing reminder of how deeply I wish to embody my Joyologist title. It was a reminder of how to allow myself to connect with others in true and authentic ways. These two ladies below will, hopefully, be my forever friends thanks to the vulnerability we permitted between us. When you get real, the Joy will always intensify. It was a reminder to dance simply because it feels good. For example, me shaking my booty on Julie's lap (I can't stop giggling at my Popeye face!).... It was a reminder to play. Costa Rican tour guides want to challenge me to standing up on the bumpy truck ride up the mountain? Bring. It. On. It was a reminder to be silly. I try to never take things too seriously, though I am always serious about living. And it was a reminder to let go, let myself fly and be free.... How much Joy are you allowing in your life?
In Gratitude, Trish, your neighborhood Joyologist
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Awesome breakfast smoothie inspired by the juice bar at the Harmony Hotel in Costa Rica; Avocado, pineapple, Thai-basil. My additions: coconut water, hemp powder, flax. Cheers!
I wanted to break my surf board in half. The frustration building up inside of me was so heated after my 5th fall, I think I genuinely had the adrenaline-based strength to actually break my board in half. How can I be sucking at this so hard? I'm a dancer and a yoga practitioner...how is my balance so undeniably bad on this board? And why the hell am I shaking so much? When I checked in with myself, I was forced to ask the important questions of; Why are you being so hard on yourself and why is this making you so nervous/scared/insecure? The answer was clear. About a year ago I went to Hawaii on a last minute trip with a guy I was dating for a few months. To summarize the epic failure of the trip, I will tell you we ended our...relationship? I'm not sure it can even be called that...about a week later. The trip wasn't actually all bad (I am still very grateful for his generosity and the laughs shared), but it was mostly eye opening to not only the vast differences of our personalities but also the enormous amount of doubt we both carried in ourselves as individuals and as a couple. To put it simply, we were not ready for each other. During this trip my travel buddy insisted on my giving surfing a try. Why not? I thought, surfer girls are super bad ass. I wanted him to have a good time, too, and so I squashed my nerves and agreed to give it a shot. My friends...I was anything but "bad ass". Embarrassment #1: The rented long board was so heavy I couldn't carry it to the water and was left behind to struggle, dragging it awkwardly thru the sand like a small child, much to the horror of the other "real" surfers. Embarrassment #2: My only instructions were to "paddle when I say and then push yourself up". Um, hi. Have you seen my scrawny arms? Picture Paris Hilton and Popeye's Olive Oil attempting to row a raft to shore with just their arms. This scenario is neither cute nor effective. Embarrassment #3 (this actually cracks me up to think about in retrospect): When I finally made it up on my board I had a mild panic attack, shocked at the sensation of standing on a wave, and thus reacted by running straight off the tip of the board, full steam ahead, opposite-of-gracefully face planting into the water. When I emerged from the sea my travel companion looked at me, blinked and said with the straightest of faces, "I...I don't even know what to say. I have never seen anything so awkward in my life." Quite the ego boost, right? (Though I am now giggling at the mental image of myself). Embarrassment #4: I felt completely unattractive in my bathing suit and if I'm really honest, my partner did nothing to make me feel otherwise. While I know it's never smart to put your self confidence in the hands of another, let's be serious--what girl wouldn't want her man slice boosting her self esteem on an exotic vacation by letting her know he thinks she's beautiful as she is? So there it was. My fear of surfing stemming from residual hurt and insecurities of my first attempt almost exactly, to the day, one year ago. Thankfully, in it's ever so beautiful way, the Universe helped me by sending the following messages: 1. One of the amazing coaches leading my retreat met me at the shoreline and, after asking if I was OK, reminded me to trust the process. She reminded me that, in the end, it really is totally OK and acceptable if I don't stand up on the board today; that I should applaud myself for giving it a try and respect where I am in this learning process. It was a reminder that I am calling the shots--if the activity was proving to be too frustrating or anger inducing, I had every right to stop whenever I wanted. There was no need to give away that power. There is no need to really ever give away our power. 2. I had witnessed a fellow retreat participant pop gracefully up on her board a number of times in a row, celebrating her victories as a first timer while also brimming with jealousy. Then on one particular attempt this wonderful woman had a slip of a hand that caused her to falter on her stance. Instead of rolling off her board or continuing to push thru and inevitably falling due to lack of balance, she simply posed in Cobra (yoga position) and rode the wave in on her belly with a huge smile on her lifted-to-the-sun face. Duh, Trish. Smile a little. Have FUN for gosh sake. Don't be so damn hard on yourself. Everyone...EVERYONE...is a beginner at some point. We only get one shot at this specific life and we are all, always, beginners at it. 3. My surf instructor, Adrian, had marked our boards with wax in the positions where our feet should go. I realized I was focusing so hard on placing my feet in exactly the right spots that I was forgetting 2 key elements--1) when you look down, you go down, so keep your eyes ahead of you and 2) surrender to the wave. Surrender to my instincts. Surrender to knowing my body and my balance and my comfort zones better than marks on a board ever could. Surrender to the knowing *feeling* of when and where to pop up. I had forgotten the importance of giving up the planning, getting out of my head, going with the flow (literally, the ocean is always flowing!) and just surrendering. I took a deep breath and paddled back out. I stated, out loud, "I am so grateful to have caught a wave!", smiled at the immense sea and...well... As you can see I was quite surprised (and delighted!) to be standing :)
I'm proud to say I stood up a number of other times, feeling exhilarated and vindicated and just...well...bad ass. If you'd like to see any of the other surfing photos, you'll have to kill me first (or pay me $100 per photo). I cried from laughing so hard at them yesterday--I look as if I'm either horrified, about to drown, trying to go to the bathroom or a combination of all three. Hysterical! And also never seeing the light of day. Sweet friends, We are all beginners. Eyes up. Look forward. That which you manifest lies ahead. Have fun. Smile. Affirm what is yours. Respect and trust your process. Get out of your own way. Stop the judgments and comparisons. Don't give away your power. Surrender... ...then surrender some more. You will live quite the bad ass existence when you do. In Gratitude, Trish Costa Rica was... And I am... And the women who joined me are... I can't even begin to explain yet. I am still marinating in the love and support and laughter of the past 10 days; I am still downloading all of the powerful messages received. This adventure was...is...beyond my wildest dreams. My life is unfolding beyond my wildest dreams. I am left speechless (that never happens!), humbled, grateful, filled, inspired, forgiven, unwoven, renewed and in total, utter and complete awe. Hey Universe? You and me. I am so, so ready. Love and Light,
Trish
Hello, world!
A guest post by Snydes "Ay yo, Patsy!" is how I typically shout to my girl Tricia, the most gratefully grateful great & gracious person I know. So "ay yo, grateful readers!" Namaste. Ohm Shanti Shanti. Peace. L'chaim! Before you're let down and choose to continue reading this because you think that I'm going to come up with some witty one liners, let's be frank: I'm no Carrie Bradshaw. I am in no way going to talk about my love affair with Mr. Big, New York City, and my best girlfriends. I'll do that when Tricia goes to an Ashram in India. For now, whilst she's in Costa Rica, I'll do my best to indulge you (even further than Patsy does) as to why you should leave wherever you are right now and move west, to a land called San Francisco. Today was a big day in SF -- it was the annual Bay To Breakers run which is one of the most talked about days of the year here in the foggy city. B2B's (not Backstreet Boys, that's Bay 2 Breakers fo' short) official website states that it's "a San Francisco tradition for nearly 100 years; a 12k footrace held every third Sunday in May with serious runners and costumed participants alike." In my world & the kewl circles I run in [hahahahaha], B2B involves little running & a lot of drinking, usually kicking off before the hours of 8:30a on a Sunday. Bay to Breakers is historically known to attract more "costumed participants alike" than serious runners. Minus me of course, a recently-accomplished-5+ hour-marathon-finisher, who completed about 2 miles of the race 'dressed up' as Cher from the 80's. It was my first time participating in B2B even though I've lived in the city for about 2 years. Last year I haphazardly (read: purposefully) slept through the event because I thought it would rain on the parade. This year, the weather called for 100% chance of sunshine, light winds, and a whole lotta tushies + semi-nudity. I said, "put me in coach" to that. A group of friends and I organized around 8a in downtown SF for some brekkie and bubbles before heading out to the mean streets of San Francisco. We opted for a PG-13 group costume of 80's rockstars, it was all the glitz and glam I had dreamt it being these years. Ladies and gents, B2B did not let this sister down. No, if anything, it let me up and took me completely by surprise at the sheer OMG-ness of the day. Not only were there tons of naked/nearly-naked/barely naked/sort of naked/naked-costume-wearing-naked people, but today was (and is every year) the day that SF'ers declared, "I will let my freak flag fly!!!" The weather was gorgeous, the sun was out in full-force and I have seldom been as proud & grateful to live in this amazing city as I was today. I wish Patsy had been there to experience the insanity with me in-person. As an homage to her, and the cult-following-that-is-this-blog, I have shared with you some of my gal pal Kate's best shots of the day from B2B. Yours, in gratitude with an attitude, -s. A guest post by K.B Scent, smell, taste, touch, sound...
Each of these wonderful senses has a way of taking us back- the song that was playing when you kissed that boy you really liked, the smell of your eighth grade victoria secret lip gloss, the taste of soft serve icecream from the shore, the feel of that old college sweatshirt, the sight of the first blossoms of spring... For me, however, my senses are often overcome by my love of words. I associate memories with simply uttered words, sentences and delicisous syllabic phrases - those sorts of utterances that kick you in the gut, surprise you, embarass you or delight you. Most often, my "word memories" come from books - I read a phrase which sends my mind in a memory rollercoaster, turning me upside down and leaving me catatonicly replaying my life. Recently, I began re-reading the books of my little life - those childhoold books filled with whimsical nonsense, but which - lo and behold! - contain deeper messages. In particular, I began to re-read a favorite childhood author, Shel Silverstein. Mr. Silverstein and I had a lovely relationship in my youth - he spoke in non-sensical rhymes, I saw the world in weird, wonderful ways...a wonderful escape tool when you are a child of a broken home. During my most recent encounter with Shell, I re-read Where the Sidewalk Ends and was taken back to a very specific moment in my life. The moment I met Trish (I will, however, spare you the details of how we exactly met as thats a story for over drinks). At the time of our first meeting, I was 13, motherless and shattered. I, because of the actions of those who loved me, lost a childhood and became an adult far too soon. In addition, I was something of a nomad - I changed schools three times in three years and was ripped from home to home. Ultimately - I lost friends, family members and hope I was someone important. While we weren't close friends that year, Trish sent me a message (uttered through hilarious phrases I taunt her with to this day) that I was better than I thought of myself - that I could not settle for less than I deserved in life. Naturally, this was about a boy - but the message settled deep in my heart like a seed in fresh soil. And so...just when I thought my sidewalk - my childhood, my carefree life - had ended...I received fresh air. My friendship with Tricia didn't bloom until later in high school - we were friendly, of course, but our paths didn't forge until a little while down the road - while we were dressed in matching (actually triplicate with another dear friend) costumes for a school play. It was in giggling over our "creampuff" like attire, sharing a dressing room, gossiping about boys and pretending we were musical dancing sensations that we became ironed together. It was during this time that I learned what it felt like to be fifteen, carefree and, quite frankly, immature. I loved every second of the time I spent with T, she made me feel okay to be who I was (and still am)- a little strange, a little vulgar, and a lot nerdy. She also wore overalls in high school like I did - though she could make them look actually cool. Over the next twelve years (yes, its been that long), we witnessed some really beautiful victories for eachother, picked eachother up after some wicked falls and have come to the conclusion that there is very little that can't be cured after time on a couch with an old friend or a glammed out night of dancing. I've learned so much from Trish, too many lessons to count, and I value her for her teaching - which so many of you experience on her blog. But for me, the most beautiful part of our friendship is the way she makes me feel - young, ambitious and full of life. She's shown me to look at the world child-like - never childish - with open eyes, a kind heart and a taste for adventure. There is a place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind. Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To the place where the sidewalk ends. Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go, For the children, they mark, and the children, they know The place where the sidewalk ends. Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends A special and incredibly grateful thank you to Tricia for providing me with the opportunity to write for The Grateful Life. Many times the inspiration for my own site, www.unwoven.blogpsot.com, comes from here...
I shovel yet another handful of kettle corn into my mouth. My tastebuds delighting when each oh so delectable crystal of sugar dissolves on my tongue revealing a tantalizingly familiar hint of seasalt that keeps me going back for more. I realize that it won’t be long before my teeth start to resent me for the kernels that are guaranteed to get lodged in between almost every tooth. And my body will surely have words with me for blatantly ignoring the suggested serving size and instead opting to enjoy the entire - gulp - seven serving bag. But for now, I will sit here and and savor each sweet and salty bite, hoping that it really isn’t true that once you hit thirty your body changes and you just can’t eat like you used to. Because let’s face it, that means I only have two years and one month to eat like a champ. But that, dear friends of Tricia, is a story for another day. My tongue mulls over a kernel, while my nose takes in the faint scent of the calming lavender essence evaporating from the candle neighboring my laptop. My ears listen to the wooden candle wick that crackles over the music quietly streaming through my iPhone. From the corner of my eyes I can see the iridescent flame softly dance against the silver votive. And in front me, the bright screen on my laptop stares back at me, expectantly, each key of my worn, but well loved computer anticipating the gentle strum of my tired fingers. Keys that are blind to the inner workings of my complicated mind. The vast white canvas that is my very blank, very untitled google document, unaware of the words that are about to be carefully, selectively ingrained into its pixels. But, perhaps most ironic of all, is how my very own mind is completely unaware of what will soon be tumbling out of it, through my fingertips, appearing on my screen for all of the grateful lifers to absorb. There are many times when I turn to my computer to empty my mind, feed my soul, nurture my heart, but there are just as many times when I turn to my computer for the sheer fact that I am lucky enough to write, without purpose, without cause, without reason. Tonight is one of those times. Tonight, I will sit back and enjoy the ride that my hands are about to take me on. I do hope you enjoy. The thermometer in the car read a balmy, beatiful 68 degrees. Actually, it really only read 68, but my five senses naturally registered balmy and beautiful. Obviously, my left hand immediately gravitated toward the power switch for the front windows. No part of my being could be tempted to press the snowflake button on the control panel that would pump out man made air conditioning. Not when I could drive with the windows down and feel the warm breeze caress my skin and whip the springy strands of my pony tail back and forth. I was running a bit late, in very tried and true typical Courtney fashion, so I could have - should have - taken the maintstream highway that is 101. But knowing my cousin would be beyond understanding of my belatedness, I took the more panoramic route of 280. The slightly lesser frequented highway that I always favored when travelling to and fro my favorite cities. Within minutes I was driving past what I once upon a time coined the “palm tree community” upon my first sighting a few years back. Envision dozens upon dozens of sky high, picturesque palm trees literally soaring above quintessential terracotta roofed houses and, ladies and gentlemen, you have my version of paradise. The canopy of emerald fronds that extend off of the champagne skyscrapers allow for the perfect amount of space for the sun to glisten through and reflect off of the poppy hued earthenware of some of my absolute favorite abodes. I let my mind drift into the infinite abyss of my surroundings and head north. Rather than being thrown into the hustle and bustle the paralleling highway would take me through, I drive full speed ahead into a gallery that seems to exist at that moment in time for my pure enjoyment. There are no distractions of urbanization, only shallow valleys nestled between vast rolling hills. The pastures are still boasting their lush green colors before the summer drought sets in and slowly transforms the fields to shades of pistachio and then a season long complexion of ecru. But even when this happens, I know I won’t mind, for the rustic colors provides a sense of nostalgia that inherently bring me back in time. In a few more miles, I drive past the massive landmark Stanford radio telescope off in the distance and I am brought back to the day I ran the ever so popular dish route favored by Stanford students and visitors to the Bay area alike. I see the strapping cows lazily dotting the landscape, and remember their sinewy muscles taking me by surprise as I once ran among them. I breathe in deeply and am reminded that I was lucky enough to call this geographical simplicity my backyard only a few short years ago. I know that in a matter of miles I will come across the the most outlandish architectural home of route 280. Unofficially known as the “Flinstone House,” I took it upon myself to change its name to the “Dr. Seuss house” when I would point it out to guests. An eyesore to its neighboring residents, I find myself looking forward to driving past the whimsical, brightly painted orange house that looks like it was transplanted straight out of the Lorax. Its quirkiness is a not so subtle reminder to not take life so seriously all the time. It’s only been forty minutes, but the warmth radiating from my forearm tells me that I have been kissed by the long, graceful rays of the warm, California sun and I know it will only be a matter of miles before the fog of the San Francisco Bay will cast down upon me. Aside from the astounding beauty offered by route 280, the looming fog is the one constancy I can always count on as I make my way toward the city. Although it temporarily conceals the stunning azure backdrop of the sky, its vast encapsulation transcends serenity to its visitors. When I emerge on the other side of the thick, cool fog, the serpentine reservoir that snakes its way through the valley on my left is as scintillating as ever in the renewed sunshine. I feel myself smiling, knowing that the familiarity of this drive will never get old. I watch the thermometer drop a few degrees and know that any second the infamous “South San Francisco: The Industrial City” sign that is tattooed into the hillside by large concrete letters will appear. My eyes are hungry for what awaits me. Miles upon miles of pastel colored houses erase any familiarity of the vernacular I am used to back home. For some, the dense population is overwhelming, but for me it is quite the opposite. Layers upon layers of homes decorate the hillsides with their unique features and I am simply humbled to have the opportunity to drive through such adornment. By this time, the landline that my iPhone has become, has died and I am left to my own knowledge of the city to arrive at my final destination. So, of course, I get lost. But any negative connotations that typically accompany “getting lost” are uninvited and stay at bay. For being lost in San Francisco is akin to being set free. I know that I am severely overdue for my arrival at Tricia’s, but there is no hesitation in my mind that she will not only understand, but would have encouraged my exploration of her - and my - favorite city. And so, rather than sweat with trepidation, I embrace the exploration that awaits. And explore I do. I find myself freely rolling up and down the massive hills that are unique to the city, admiring the masterpiece that is the architecture of San Francisco. Not one for fully being able to appreciate all forms of art, I know that this city truly is a one of a kind gallery that can cause anyone to step back and say...Wow. The victorian rowhouses, with their pointed rooftops and exquisite woodwork take me back in time, the narrow breezeways between buildings and sporadic, but astounding courtyards and parterre’s of Twin Peaks fill my lungs with a deep breath of fresh air. Over and over again. The sun is starting to surrender to the enticing evening fog and I ask for directions. A few genuine smiles are exchanged and I am on the final leg of my journey. Before I know it I am driving in time with the antiquated cable cars and MUNI until I am surrounded by the hip twenty and thirtysomething population of the Marina district of San Francisco. I park my car along a familiar road only a few blocks away from the bay and peer up at the magnificent bay windows that frame each of the houses in this aspiring neighborhood. As I walk to my cousin’s most adorable apartment, my eyes and ears continue to absorb my surroundings, taking note of the carved fretwork; steep, winding staircases; and palms that may not be native to the city, but complement it quite nicely. Within minutes I am embracing my dear, sweet cousin Tricia, who I prefer to call my friend, as our friendship is something we have chosen, and I know that my love affair with California never quite ended. For the journey that I took several years ago into the vast unknown of California was merely just the beginning. And the drive I make from the heart of one valley to the heart of one city is a simple, but beautiful reminder of this. With Gratitude from a Jersey born girl, Courtney. A Guest Post by Jaime L.
Since the beginning of time, the term “Ex” has been filled with a ton of negative connotations. I mean, I get it – for any relationship to end, it must be plagued with some varying degree of negativity, fault, or misfortune; so the label is not a complete misnomer! But in light of some recent platonic banter with some of what I like to call my “former” boyfriends, I’ve reflected on my time spent with these guys, and how it has made me who I am today. When I think about most of the men I’ve dated (some were merely boys at the time), my mind and heart are filled with feelings of gratitude and thanks, not angst or disdain. I’ll admit, it took some time and life experience to arrive at this perspective, but I’m here. And I am so grateful to have arrived. I have fantastic memories with former beaus that I will carry with me for the rest of my life, but more than anything each blessed me with the gift of self-discovery. Don't get me wrong - there were arguments and some unpleasant times but for some reason I have a much harder time remembering the bad moments than I do the good moments, which I guess is a good thing. It was because of our break-ups… the “Ex” factor… that I journeyed thru sadness, self-reflection, and landed on inspired hindsight free of grudges. Because of my formers, I’ve learned to invest more time and energy concentrating on myself, because I’m worth it. I wish them all well because without the Mr. Wrongs, I would not be my most true self. To express my thoughts, I drafted a letter to my formers; an exercise to express my gratitude and outline the top 10 most powerful lessons I learned along the way. Dear Former Boyfriends, I hope you’re well. No, seriously, I really do! Regardless of the kind of relationship I shared with you when I was 16, 27, or anywhere in between, I truly hope life is treating you kindly and you’re happier and healthier than ever. I’m writing you this letter because the relationship we shared molded me into the woman I am today. Thank you for all you taught me, whether you realized you were teaching me something at the time or not. To that, I want to share my top ten lessons learned from you. Strap on your seatbelts. 1. Trust my gut… it’s always right. I learned that there can be a huge dissonance between what you think or what you know is happening, and what you want to believe is happening. I’ve had some very difficult conversations with myself over the years regarding just that. I learned to trust my gut because when something is blissfully wonderful, it probably is. And when my gut quietly tells me something is terribly wrong, it probably is. I learned to stop making excuses for things that just didn't feel normal (for me) and that just because things weren’t right with us, neither of us was necessarily wrong. You forced me to listen to myself, move past feelings of sticking with the status quo, and always trust my gut. For that, I’m grateful. 2. No one else in this world is responsible for my own happiness except for me. This is probably the biggest revelation I’ve made in the last 365 days. Previously, I allowed other people’s moods and words affect me to such a degree that my own mood would shift at the drop of a hat. I learned that this is not only an unhealthy way of life, but also totally unsustainable. Being happy is a decision and it’s completely up to me to decide to be happy and to do the things that make me happy. I don’t rely on others. You taught me to be kind and generous with my own being, because the longest and toughest relationship I’ll ever have is with myself. You positioned me to finally put myself first, which ultimately helps me be a stronger and more independent woman, and someday, a better wife and mother. 3. When talking about people in public, always talk in code or use initials. You taught me that the world is small and I should never assume otherwise. I now always speak carefully and quietly (and most of the time in code) about others in public settings. You never know who’s sitting next to you on the bus or at an adjacent restaurant table. 4. Excessive anger is never excusable. I learned this about three years ago, and man was it an interesting (for lack of a better word) lesson to learn! I recognize everyone gets angry and everyone deserves healthy outlets to release that anger. However, in no way is it EVER acceptable to release negative energy on me or other people in the form of violent words or actions. I’ve come to appreciate the “opportunity” to learn this lesson early on in life. Although hindsight tells me it took too long, I am so grateful that the light bulb finally went off before it was too late. Make love. Lots of it. Not war. 5. Never pop a zit. Did I just cross the TMI line? I cannot tell you how many times I’ve embarrassingly showed up to work with what looks like a chemical explosion on my face because I couldn’t resist the urge to pop a blemish. You taught me to be patient with my body and that time heals all zits. Who knew a blemish would go away faster if I didn’t pop it? Ugggh! You did. 6. Always ask objective questions. It’s funny because professionally, many of our jobs require us to ask the right questions. We are often trained to ask objective and specific questions in order to get to the root of a business problem or issue. I never thought to apply this to my love life, until you came along. I learned that in my personal life, I often had a propensity to ask leading questions that infer judgment or disapproval. I didn’t even know I was doing it until you opened my eyes. Thank you for bringing this to my attention and helping me become more self-aware. I’m a better person for it. Now, what do you think about that? Kidding! 7. Reconciling past grievances is really good for the soul. Simply put, forgive and let go. As I’ve gotten older, I now more clearly understand that people really do change over time. I will be the first to admit that I made mistakes in past relationships, some of which I regret. But I can’t take them back. So I’ve come to accept them for what they were and move on. Same goes for forgiving. You made some poor decisions in our past too, but honestly, life is too short to hold on to grudges. I have no space in my head or in my heart for negative energy; I can only hope the same for you. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to learn the implicit value of just letting things go... 8. My family’s opinion really matters, especially my dad’s. Yes, God love him, my Father still talks about some of you! You left a mark, on not only me, but on my family too. It’s because of you I learned that when you date someone, you date the whole family. You certainly taught me to evaluate guys more closely, and now more often than not I think, “What will my dad think of this guy?” Because when you date me, my family is involved! Thanks for leaving your mark on the lives of my loved ones and for proving just how large of a role my family plays in my life. 9. I’m not totally ready for marriage. This is a heavy one. I’ve never been the girl who’s dreamt of her wedding since she was 10 years old…I’m actually the polar opposite as the thought of planning a wedding grosses me out. But do I want to get married, have kids, and live happily ever after? Of course! Over the past few years and several break-ups, I learned that sometimes the worst part of a relationship ending is simply the lack of a relationship and the loss of comfort that a relationship provides. But now more so than ever, and because of you, I am grounded in my decision to patiently wait for the person who I am meant to be with, versus settling for someone to simply fill a void. The thoughts of my future wedding, husband, children, home, family dog, etc. are wonderful and exhilarating – but my hopes for the future are NOT ones that force me rush or settle for someone or something that is not true and right. You showed me what it feels like to NOT know the intangible, inexplicable, “I-want-to-be-with-you-and-only-you-forever” emotion; so when I do feel it one day, I am confident that it will hit me over the head like a ton of bricks. 10. Never stop evolving. I’ve come to know that I do not believe in soul mates; but I do think that someone, somewhere, will not only complement my personality, intellect, and soul perfectly, but will partner with me and push me to continually evolve and grow year after year. As one former boyfriend put it, “If you’re not evolving, what are you doing?” You’ve inspired me to always be reflecting, growing, and evolving on my own so when Mr. Right does come into the picture, he’s getting the best version of me and we can evolve together as a couple, and also as individuals. In closing, I want to thank you for being you and for helping me be a better me. It didn’t work out between us, but I’m convinced we came into each other’s lives for a reason. I thank God every day for the people in my life – past, present, and future. In gratitude, Jaime P.S. Thanks for letting me keep your golf driver. Should come in handy this summer. So, there it is! I really want to thank you for reading my post and serving as such a great outlet for my thoughts. When Trish asked me to be a guest blogger on The Grateful Life, I was thrilled (and a little scared) to express myself in an oh-so vulnerable way. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever done before and man has it been exhilarating to put it all down on paper (er, the internet). “Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” – Dr. Seuss What do you think? What lessons have you learned from your “formers?” Guest post by Kristin
This Paul McCartney lyric from “The End” is a personal favorite and one that I find myself returning to again and again. It so perfectly captures the infinite karmic loop that is the universe. It reminds me that we are all charged with manifesting what we want. Often times giving out what we wish to receive feels counterintuitive. Isn’t what we need by definition something that we are lacking and therefore cannot produce? This quote challenges me to refocus on giving as the path to getting. Peace, Kristin Hi Grateful Lifers! My name is Shannon and I blog over at A Pinch of Ginger about my adventures in leading a healthy lifestyle. I’m honored to be able to guest post for Trish while she is enjoying her trip to Costa Rica. Now I know there are a lot of healthy living blogs out there that offer great advice, but today I’m hoping that you’ll learn a little about an alternative healthy lifestyle I have recently taken to, with a little Ginger sass thrown in. Let me give you a little background about myself and this healthy lifestyle journey I have embarked upon the last few years. I met Trish (and guest blogger Courtney W.) many moons ago during our college years in Happy Valley. During that time, I was conscious about my health, but only enough to make sure I wasn’t going up a jean size per semester. Exercise? It was a pre-emptive strike to hit the bars hard and sleep was something I didn’t concern myself with until a rainy weekend rolled around. Fast forward 3 years later (and only 5 pounds lighter) I found myself going through vicious cycles of dieting and exercise binges that would only lead to burnout and frustration. After one particularly stressful work day, I decided to lace up my shoes and head over to the local junior high to ‘run laps’. Once I sufficiently wore myself out (the ginger rage takes time to settle and laps are the perfect remedy) I realized running was a great and healthy stress reliever. And so... a health-nut was born. I began to look forward to my sweat time pushed myself to run a little further each time. I signed up for 5ks, then a team relay and finally a half marathon. The only problem with my running habit was that I was still eating unhealthily. I would have a handful of M&M’s before a race to get a quick burst of energy only to putter out 40 minutes later. Pizza and beer were totally acceptable Friday night traditions if a few miles were on the calendar the next day. I have been living this way for past 2 years. It was a constant pattern of eat whatever I want and run it off. Only recently have I taken on an alternative lifestyle known as Paleo. Often referred to as the ‘caveman diet’ this lifestyle beckons followers to eat lean meats, vegetables, fruits, nuts and seeds (I also eat a little dairy from time to time.) I do not eat grains (I haven’t had cereal or a bagel since January), I have worked hard to cut out sugar and limit the amount of cheese I consume. (If you want to drive a girl crazy, get between her and her cheese) Paleo-ites also discuss the importance of 8 hours of sleep every.single.night. and exercising in moderation (I haven’t quite mastered this one as I signed up for my first full marathon). The idea is that eating naturally, sleeping for hours that have been determined by our ancestors and exercising with quick short bursts of energy (Hello CrossFit!) are going to have you in optimal health. Now I am enrolled in a 30 day Paleo Challenge with my local CrossFit box (CrossFit is my new running high). This requires I cut out (in addition to grains) all dairy, sugar and ALCOHOL. I’ll admit that adopting a Paleo ‘diet’ isn’t easy- in fact, I’ve thrown internal temper tantrums when I see others enjoying a piece of cake or WINE! What I can say is I believe it’s worth it for anyone to give it a try for one month. You may be surprised in the changes you notice in your body. In my first two weeks of not eating processed foods, grains and sugar I have become more creative with cooking than ever before. There’s no more calorie counting, weighing and measuring food, and instead I am making informed, choices about how to fuel my body. "Giving up' delicious food sounds a little bit crazy right? Maybe so, but if you want a little inspiration for delicious health recipes, or follow my Paleo progress, head on over to A Pinch of Ginger.
A big thanks to Trish for having me on The Grateful Life! A guest post by Courtney W. Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived with her two parents in a small valley. Her father was a scholar and her mother stayed home and played with her every day. When she would meet her parents’ friends, they would tell her what a smart and beautiful little girl she was. The term “genius” must have been thrown around at some point because eventually, she started announcing, “I genus!” (the nuances of language were still somewhat difficult, despite her apparent intelligence). As she grew up, she excelled in many areas, particularly those in the academic realm. She gained 3 younger siblings and became quite adept at all things baby-sitting. She was very good at school and she had some friends, though not as many as she would have liked. She played sports and discovered the theater. She was good at many activities, though never the best… And this bothered her a bit. It nagged at her and made her wonder if her parents were lying to her when they told her she was not just smart, but capable of doing whatever she wanted to do, too. When the girl was a teenager, her family moved to a new Kingdom. Here, the girl found herself suddenly the best at some things, simply by virtue of the fact that many girls in this new land had far less experience than she did in some areas, like sports. She felt more comfortable and started to believe that maybe her parents were right; maybe she was lucky and special and blessed, just as they had always told her. The girl lived for each day, enjoying the friends and hobbies she had in her new home, though she still missed many of the freedoms she had enjoyed in her homeland. All too soon, the girl’s education approached its end. She knew that she, like most children her age, wanted to continue her scholarly pursuits, though she did not know what she would study. She longed to know what her calling was, but had no inkling of what it might be. Still, she applied to many schools in her home country, and though she asked her parents repeatedly if she could go to one in the city of her choosing, they insisted that she attend the school her father had attended. And so she did. Going to school was quite an adventure for the girl. The Kingdom she had been living in was very restrictive, and it was strange to not only return to the openness of her home country, but strange as well to not be under her parents’ very protective eyes. She enjoyed this time in her life, but continued to feel as she had before: confused about her future, uncertain of her own talents, and untrusting of those who told her she could do well in life. And yet, like all young people, she had to choose a subject for her studies, and so she did, despite the nagging sense of “wrongness” that still plagued her. Once again, the girl’s time as a student passed rapidly. Faced with the prospect of going out into the world to begin working, the girl realized that she did not want to work in either of the fields that she had studied. Panicked, she applied and was accepted into a program that would allow her to teach others, and learn to become a professional educator. The girl had always loved learning, and so she thought this might be a good plan for her future. The girl’s time in the program was not easy. Although she loved many of her colleagues and most of her students, she did not enjoy the work her new job entailed. She felt trapped by structures outside her control and knew that she could not stay a teacher, no matter how much she wished otherwise. It was not her calling. Once again, the girl was faced with a fork in her path; she could continue teaching, regardless of the emotional toll, or she could go in a new direction. Not knowing what to do, but sure she couldn’t stay on the course she was on, the girl applied to new schools to study a different subject she thought she might enjoy. Once again the girl was good at school. She made new friends and enjoyed what she was learning. Shortly after starting, she began to suspect she was still not on the right road, but she decided to stick it out. She finished her studies, and moved to a different part of the land with her fiancé (during the girl’s first foray into higher education, she had met and fallen in love with a handsome prince, who she began living with after she decided to stop teaching). The girl searched for a job in her new home but found that much to her chagrin, no one was hiring, not even a “genus” like her. She searched for quite a while, and even began volunteering. From this she learned that she probably had chosen the wrong path again with her studies, and began to despair that she would ever find intellectual fulfillment. She struggled to maintain her faith that she was capable, let alone intelligent. And then one day, the girl reconnected with an old friend from her first round of studies. The friend was like a ray of sunshine in the girl’s life; she was happy and positive and SHE believed in the girl. She also believed in herself and the power of positivity and good deeds. The girl decided it was time to learn some new lessons and had many long talks with this new-old friend. The friend introduced the girl to wonderful women in her new home, and the girl began to once again believe that she was both capable and deserving of happiness. She began to seek new opportunities and to take chances she would never have thought to before. She tried new foods and new thoughts, met new friends and went new places. The girl still knew that she hadn’t found all of the answers she sought, but suddenly she was okay with that. Some might say that this is not a true fairy tale, because there is no happy ending. The girl would argue with you, however, because she no longer believes in ENDINGS. Her new-old friend Trish taught her that rather than seek to be finished, she should simply trust the process. And so, even though she doesn’t know where it’s going, she feels like she’s finally on the right path. - Guest Post by Kim - Up until the third grade, I thought I was fluent in a second language. I didn’t know it was a second language, I just thought it was English. But it turns out that I knew about 100 words that weren’t standard English at all, just my father’s creative pidgin mix of good old American English and zany dad-isms. Much to the embarrassment of my third grade self, I discovered a "bouf" is more commonly referred to as a "fart". A bit of dirt was always "gunge", and a zit was a "hinkie". Clearly. The dad-isms went well past simple words and included phrases, sentences and song lyrics. I was pretty convinced that "Mrs. Pink" meant daughter and "Mr. Blue" meant son. My Dad called me his "little flange" (pronounced flan-gee, which is actually an English word but bears no relation to the dad-ism definition). And of course, "Easter time am the time for eggs, Am the time for Eggs am the Easter time". Clearly. To this day my husband will occasionally catch me saying something ludicrous in public and whisper, "Um... that’s not a real word". When I found out that I was living this strange double life, I didn’t feel misled or betrayed, I felt awesome. My dad was so damn cool; he just made shit up. As I got older, I’m not sure why, but new dad-isms slowed down and petered out. Maybe because it’s harder to be completely silly with your grown-up, married daughter than with your third grader. But the older I get, I realize the dad-isms were replaced by something even more important: a secret set of really good advice. Just like the original dad-isms, I had no idea that everyone else didn’t have access to this playbook of truisms. Because his stuff is so powerful, it’s made me more receptive to hearing and appreciating the advice of others. It turns out my friends and family have an uncanny ability to dole out the cosmic 2x4s that move me and motivate me. It makes me want to call up the people who make inspirational tchotkes and say, "Bust out the kittens - it’s poster time". I’ve tried to share these oh-so-powerful words of wisdom before, but usually, to my complete shock, they don’t resonate. It’s as if I told someone they had “gunge” on their face. They'd look at me like I was crazy, like I wasn't speaking their language at all. Is this because all advice is inherently personal? Or because you can’t really ever hear something until you want to hear it? Or maybe it’s a wrong place / wrong time problem? Or.... maybe I’m sitting on a gold mine of life-changing mantras and and it would be downright cruel not to share them. So here goes: 6 Pieces of Advice From People I Love That Have Changed My Life So Drastically That I Cannot Help But Share, Even If It Sounds Like I’m Speaking Another Language: "Throw money at it" - My Dad I know after all this hype you probably weren’t expecting my dad’s magical advice to be about something so banal as money, but think about how often money is a stress in life. There comes a time when pinching pennies is doing more damage than good. If money can occasionally buy you a reduction in stress, fork over the cash and don’t look back. "If you act like you belong, people will think you belong" - My Mom My mom delivered this one in the car outside of my middle school, when I was all geared up in flannel and angst, about to march angrily across the courtyard to homeroom. I think it was followed with, “If you look like an angry bitch, people will treat you like an angry bitch”. Harsh, maybe, but damn mom. You’re right. "It’s all about time in the water" - My Father-In-Law When I was learning to surf I wanted to punch a dolphin. It’s hard. It’s frustrating. But his advice was to just be patient. Sit out the big sets. Enjoy the sun and surf and stop stressing and the skills will come. "Isn’t that a little insulting to Michelangelo?" - My Mother-In-Law When I was in grad school for design I was required to 'learn to draw'. It was harrowing. I’d never drawn before. After a full 3 months of daily effort I threw my arms up and said it was impossible. To which she reminded me that Michelangelo spent decades drawing and practicing before creating the masterpieces we see today. Isn’t it a little demeaning to anyone accomplished to assume we can do their caliber of work without putting in the same level of effort? "Sixty Forty!!" - My Grandmother At age 94, she yelled this out in the middle of my wedding. Twice. Right after the preacher said that marriage was a compromise: fifty/fifty. At the time I thought she was kidding, but my dad later explained that she’d always said a marriage was only successful when each person felt like they were putting in more effort. Because a marriage takes work. Even if sometimes it means picking up the slack. "What’s to be ashamed of? Because you have a heart and sometimes that motherfucker hurts? You love big and that’s the risk we take." - Trish This one needs no explanation. But I can say without exaggeration that I think of this quote from our dear bloggess Tricia about once a week. And it gives me never-ending comfort. So there’s the list. The things I live by. The words that have radically changed how I think about the world. I collect them and cherish them and I’d love to hear more from you readers. I hope that at least some ring true. Or at least the one from my dad. Because honestly, how can the Captain of Righteousness have been wrong? (Yes, that’s really what I call my dad) Guest post by Brooke (Lucy's mama).
I believe that people are generally good. There are plenty of bad people out there. Turning on the news these days is an assault of murders, rapes, theft, and other examples of people doing some pretty awful things. But in the classic debate of “are people naturally good or naturally evil,” I believe pretty strongly that people are indeed good. Which is exactly why I think that we, myself included, need to cut everyone else around us some slack in our day-to-day interactions. I’m not sure when or why we all got so critical and judgmental of one another, but it isn’t good for any of us. Recently, my fiancé and I came to the same realization, independently of each other: we need to be more understanding of "bad" drivers we share the road with. Ever since I started driving my bulldog Lucy around the city, and consequently started driving like a cautious old lady lest I jolt my car too quickly and she goes flying around the car, I realized that there are any number of reasons for people to drive like, well, morons. San Francisco driving is usually a series of quick turns, yellow light running, speeding, and whipping around slower cars just in order to get wherever you’re trying to go as efficiently as possible, and we don’t take lightly other drivers that don’t also follow these city driving norms and who slow us down for even a second. The other day I saw a driver slowly and thoughtlessly drift into my lane and I smugly thought “tourist” before catching his Nevada license plate. But how many times have I done the same thing because I’m trying to not jolt Lucy? Or times that I drove slowly and poorly because I was driving a car I was unfamiliar with? Many times recently I’ve realized that I was being exactly the same kind of driver I usually can’t stand, and as people drive past and glared at me, I’ve thought “You don’t understand! Normally I’m like YOU – but today something is different and I don’t deserve your hatred!” I think they call these the “a-ha moments” in our lives. I just need to remember to cut these people some slack—who knows why they’re driving the way they are? And does it really matter that much? Here’s another example: as a female, how many times have I glanced over at a girl at a party or at a bar and immediately judged them or wrote them off as one stereotype or another, only to find myself wanting to become her new best friend later after 5 minutes of conversation? Why do we do this? I dislike very few people once I get to know them, so why do I assume when I see someone I don’t know that I won’t like them? That kind of quick judgment isn’t helpful or healthy for anyone. There are plenty more examples of this. The clerk at the DMV that treats you poorly and you in return give her attitude, and walk away thinking “what’s HER problem?” The ticket maid (err… parking enforcement officer) that won’t let you off even though you got there BEFORE he started writing the ticket! The person from the opposing political party that Just. Doesn’t. Get it. Why do we judge these people or let them get us down, when we don’t really stop to understand why they’re acting the way they are or why they believe the way they do? Presumably, the clerk isn’t pleasant because she works at a thankless, stressful job where she probably gets attitude (or worse) by people like me all the time. And who wants to be a parking enforcement officer? Literally no one is ever happy to see you. (Fun fact: I once saw a guy giving me a parking ticket from my bedroom window and I ran downstairs and begged him not to ticket me, and he didn’t! He said it was because I didn’t yell and curse at him like everyone else does. Kindness really can be a useful tool, kids.) And while I myself have a very difficult time understanding those with political views different from my own – particularly in social issues – I know deep down that their belief system comes from a good place, as misguided as I may find it. So let’s cut these people some slack, shall we? We shouldn’t assume based on quick interactions and first glances that someone is “bad” in one way or another. People are good, but we all have bad moments or moments of weakness. It’s important that we all put our best foot forward as often as we can, and that includes reminding ourselves that no one is perfect. Not only will people respect you more if you approach situations with an open mind and without judgment, but your mental and emotional health will be better off for it. Wouldn’t you like it if people cut you a little slack now and again? - Brooke |
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