A few months ago, my beloved manslice casually mentioned to me that I often sleep "Like a Boss".
Heh?, I giggled, What the heck does that mean?
It means you sleep like this, he replied while leaning back, smiling and putting both hands behind his head and modeling an almost arrogant, smug pose. And you do it pretty much every night.
Laughing, I told him he was nuts and that I have never slept that way in my life. My arms would fall asleep, I said. I think I would know if I suddenly switched my sleeping position after 29 years. No one else has ever said this about me, so I feel like you've just been dreaming!
OK, he chuckled, but you literally do it all the time and it is really amusing.
Yea yea. Picture or it didn't happen, said the gal whom would inevitably eat her words.
Of course only a night or two later (because the Universe is even more amusing than me) I woke up to find that both of my hands were, in fact, neatly tucked up behind my head. Like a boss?, I muttered out loud, half asleep and wholly confused.
Apparently, I am one sassy sleeper.
The reason I share this mini story is not so much because I feel the need to publicly admit I was wrong about my unconsciously chosen sleeping position, but because I kindasortareallytruly love that B has tagged it "Like a Boss". Not "little chicken" (another nickname he actually does have for me), baby bird or some other dainty, fowl-like representation of the "wing" formation my arms make...but Like a Boss: Easy, bold, self assuredness. That's what this expression brings to mind.
So here's what I'm wondering:
What would happen if I tried to live my conscious life more in a state of "Boss"-- meaning full ownership, management and control over my days. What would it look like to face down my personal challenges with a mindset of having the expert, seasoned, educated, and deservedly well compensated view of myself and ultimately made decisions from that space?
And while we're mulling this over--What would it also be like if we all spent a little more time embracing our wide range of skills, capabilities and unique offerings to the world in the same way a super confident (maybe even slightly stereotypical) CEO-type does? What if...now stay with me here, cuz it's really getting juicy....we woke up each morning, arms behind our heads, satisfied smirk on our faces, and thought about tackling the day with an air of bold courage--essentially declaring this day to be ours for the taking, and...perhaps more importantly...for the making?
It's kinda like taking our power back, don't ya think? Like understanding that we are the creators of our days, and acknowledging our innate strength to remain fully alive no matter what might come our way throughout them. Like knowing we have a choice in who we have on our teams, and not being afraid to ask them for what we really need. Like having a say, bigger than anyone else, over how our stories should unfold.
I don't know about you, but I like this idea a lot.
Like a Boss. Try it on!
(But it's OK if you'd prefer to sleep with your hands at your sides. Nobody wins with a set of numb arms...)
PS-- Like I said...the gal who eats her words....(thanks for the sneaky AM photo, babe):
Me and Beebs, soaking up a bit of sunshine on an old picnic blanket by the Bay. We read our respective books...mine a heart opening fiction, his a brain cramping biology text...while people (and dog!) watching, sipping on a cold Foster's (they were on sale, so why not?). The wind began to pick up after about an hour, so we snuggled in close (though I never need a windy excuse to weasel my way into his nook) and cherished that our backyard is a place where folks from around the world adventure out to see.
Sometimes, mostly during completely ordinary moments like this, I look at B and say out loud in my most annoyed voice "Ugh. I love you so much it makes me SICK." before continuing to go about my business, leaving him confused on how to reply. "Sorry..but thanks? I love you, too?" Sure, that works.
Loving him doesn't actually make me sick, of course, but it sure as hell makes me vulnerable. And occasionally, vulnerable feels the same as "sick": anxious, worried, unsure of self...swirls, spirals, and uncomfortable trips down slopes of fear and insecurity. Damn those slopes and their evil ways. I was not born with skiis on! Remember what happened the last few times you loved big, they say. Let's think of all that could go wrong, because that sounds fun to me and I have one sick interpretation of fun.
Like Glennon tells us: Love is hard. (To which I say Psssh, yea girl. Love can be like, really freaking hard. Try doing it on stressful days in 500 square feet of you're-in-my-face studio space.)
But she also tells us: Love always wins. And this is Bible/Quran/Torah/Spirit/Universal truth. (Hence 500 square feet of wholeness, safety, and fun.)
So when vulnerable starts to load me up on a sleigh, ready to push me down a steep hill of fear...when vulnerable starts to take me away...shield me... from my afternoon in the sun with a man whom I adore so deeply it makes me feel alive, thankful, and wonderfully open to possibilities...when vulnerable makes me feel physically uneasy to the point of shaky nerves and negative self talk, I run through some of the following pieces of advice I'd give to any of my other love sick friends (pssst--that's many of you!):
You guys....how cool are Weebly's customers?!
(pssst...my favorite is Deb, the Organic Artist. She is so rad, and I wish we could be besties.)
And for anyone who is needing a bit of inspiration to help bring their ideas to life, head over HERE for lots of creative juju! Yours truly may or may not be adding content on the regular these days ;)
"When I was a kid
...This is not a typical end to conversations I have with my girlfriends....(it's also probably not as un-typical as one might think -- I live in SF, remember?)...but it is one I recently stated.
Let me back up.
A few months ago I had date with myself at Imperial Day Spa. I do this from time to time -- head out for a day of guilty pleasures with good ol' Trish. Sometimes I try a new restaurant, other days it's just a book, a blanket, and the great outdoors. One time, I saw a matinee showing of the Hannah Montana movie by myself... which turned out to be pretty awkward, as the only childless adult in the theater, getting choked up when Billy Ray and pre-twerking Miley sang a father/daughter duet (save her, Billy Ray!). This time, my pleasure day was spent at a traditional Korean spa in SF . Here, I was bathed, scrubbed, rubbed, oiled, stretched, and flopped around on a plastic wrapped massage table by a tiny Asian woman in classic black Hanes Her Way undies. She was cordial but unsmiling; kinda mean, but kinda nice. She was no nonsense in her 100 lbs. of quality cotton covered unmentionables. I loved her immensely.
I was also surrounded by other women undergoing the same procedures, politely smiling occasionally when our "eye masks" (read: a wash cloth haphazardly draped over my face) slipped and we were face to face in equally naked, compromising positions. I had heard about this place from my yoga teacher, who sold me on the concept with words like "body", "butter", "smooth", and "I f*cking love it". (I tell her all the time she is the dream teacher - a zen California girl, with a mouth and a 'tude like the best of NJ). If Lindsay likes it, I thought, then so will I.
While this brief description probably has some of you cringing, and questioning my taste in recreational activities (let's just forget the Hannah date, k?), it's important for you to know that your judgements behind letting Hanes Her Way use a cloth and some sugar scrub to vigorously sloth off what gloriously feels like an entire layer of skin (and yes, they really get it all...from everywhere), are so very wrong. Because, dear readers, It was awesome.
After 90 minutes of hot water filled buckets being dumped on me, fresh cucumber applied to my face, warm oils rubbed into my pinked skin, I felt refreshed, stretched, scrubbed clean. Pampered, accepted, and even a tad glow-y, in fact. I recalled my experience for a handful of girlfriends recently, and 3 I want to try it!'s later, we come back to the title of this post...
Girls, I said as my friends nervously fiddled with their pink robes, I just read a quote today that I want to dedicate to this night with you...I'm paraphrasing here, but it goes something like this: It's time we end our memberships to the church of self improvement, and begin to worship at the temples of who we are! (actual, much more eloquent, quote can be found here). And with that, my beautiful friends and I dramatically dis-robed in the silent spa, giggling like children and obviously approving of one another's hot bods.
How does an evening at Imperial play out, you ask?
First, you strip down in a well maintained locker room and wrap yourself in a pink robe, trying not to make it obvious that you are attempting to read the back tattoo on the lady bending down next to you.
Then, you squat on a plastic chair in front of removable shower nozzles, soaps, and a bucket for a bit of pre-bathing. Yep, a bucket. It's all very primal. Yet somehow, slightly regal.
Next, you soak in the hot tub for 20 minutes (30, if you are able to take the heat without passing out, which would be pret-ty awkward in a nakey-time Korean spa).
When your number is called from upstairs (Fo-ty Sevan! Fo-ty Sevan!), you make your way up the steps to be greeted by a cordial, but unsmiling, middle aged Asian woman wearing nothing but her unsexy skivvies.
This is where the pleasure begins, and where you quickly get over the fact that your ass is being scoured by a complete stranger. This is where you relax into the massage, and, instead of being freaked out, marvel at the fact that this woman can simultaneously kneel-balance on your freshly scoured ass while moving her knees in a circular motion and digging her elbows into the knots of your back. Was she a gymnast in another life? I'll never know. 90 minutes later, and you feel brand new.
Thankfully, my friends LOVED their time at Imperial. But I already knew they would, because my friends are awesome.
Here's the thing -- this sort of female bonding happens all over the world (e.g. Korean spa). This safe space to relax, breathe, cherish and nourish our bodies in their most natural states is not considered weird in other cultures. So why do we often make it such a big deal, here? Shouldn't we boost each other up by celebrating who we are at our most vulnerable? Shouldn't we say to our beloved gal pals what up, ladies, my parts are just like your parts, and they are beautiful and real and sacred...let's go get them polished!
Suffice to say, if you're ever in SF and want to try Imperial out...you know my answer.
Santa Barbara was lovely. Warm and sunny, and surrounded by powerful women who love a good glass of wine, spirited conversation, and a dance party as much as I do. Fresh air, Lucy snuggles, and way too many calories. It's good to get away.
But also, it's good to be home. Waking up yesterday I was hit with a hefty mental laundry list of to-do's, need to's, want to's, really shoulds. I could feel the type A portion of my brain begin to panic as I calculated the available time this week to accomplish what I felt was necessary. Hint: it wasn't enough. IT'S NEVER ENOUGH.
I'm often the person who waits til the breaking point. The one who compounds more commitments and obligations on top of an already teetering stack, most often for the sake of feeling guilty about 'no'. What could I do to be more proactive, instead of pushing the limits until my tank is empty? Let's start simple, I thought. So, I texted a friend with whom I had a scheduled lady date this week to simply say Friend, self care is needed. Reschedule, please and thank you? Not only did this buy me a whole night of catch up, but because of friend's encouraging reply with a side of "but we pick a new date right now", it made me feel reassured that oh goodness, honey, it's OK to say stop. The people who love you don't want your tank to be empty!
Great, I'm feeling lighter already. What else?, I thought.
Monday's are usually Game of Thrones night at Weebly. I LOVE GOT night. I love that folks wait a whole extra 24 hours to share in the mayhem that is Westeros together. I love that we cheer for the good guys, and boo hiss at the bad (so, so many bad). I always say it's the most silent hour ever spent in the office, each of us mesmerized by the glory that is HBO programming. But, I also did not feel up to staying too late at work. Decisions, decisions...
So, I messaged the crew with something along the lines of Friends, I cannot stay tonight, but am hopping downstairs to watch last night's episode early, if anyone wants to join. A few hours later, and our TV room was filled with friends not minding one little bit that our party started at a time that worked better for me. **SPOILER ALERT** Eff you, Joffrey! Karma's a b*tch!
The point is, making time for self care doesn't have to be a big, well thought out thing. It doesn't have to be a source of guilt. And it doesn't have to take a back burner to the hustle bustle of life. It can be as simple as asking yourself what you really want and need in this moment, and then giving yourself permission...a blessing, even....to do just that.
love and light,
The most perfect Sunday was spent playing tour guide to my buddy (and photographer for this week's Portrait of our Life series!), Clint. He's one of the most funny, genuine, smart, caring and loyal friends I have ever had the blessing of knowing. He's a huge reason why I adore my PSU memories so much, and a reminder that there are good, honest, wonderful men out there. (Sorry, ladies, his wifey is total catch status!)...
It was an absolute joy to spend the day with him, soaking up sunshine and breathing in fresh sea air. I have been majorly aching for east coast pals lately, so this little fix did just the trick to help bring a bit of my Jersey soul back to life again. Thanks for the wholehearted company, buddy, and the awesome photos to prove it :)
Big props to Honey Maid for their beautiful response to the negative backlash of their "This is Wholesome" campaign. One of these days, this big ol' human family of ours? We're all going to learn once and for all that love is (and always will be) louder.
And look what I found downstairs at work! How fitting (and funny, since the guys were all Trish, what the crap are you doing kissing a graham cracker box...and then I was like LOVE IS LOUDER and then they backed away slowly and now I have to message them a link to this post so they aren't scared of me or graham crackers moving forward....)
Thanks to a generous Weebly connection (what else is new?), I was able to attend the world premiere of HBO's new series, Silicon Valley, last night down in Redwood City. We were treated to the first 2 episodes with the cast and crew, including Gabe from The Office (a personal favorite)! Zach (Gabe) was totally sweet for all of the 2 minutes I mustered up the courage to bother him at the after party (including telling me my necklace was beautiful, woot!), and was a good sport for posing in this fabulously awkward photo. Brandon was the source of my "in" to this meeting, since Zach went to the same high school in PA and I totally took advantage of that conversation starter, after I waved to him from across the room as if we were old friends. Oh man, his sweet face of confusion watching me walk over...
The lead character, played by Thomas Middleditch and the man sitting to my right, looks terrified to be next to me, and Zach looks like he could fall asleep on the spot/smelled something mildly stinky/is annoyed by me. Soooo...I'd say they are perfect to portray the kinds of tech guys I've worked with for the past 7 years (said with nothin but love!).
So how was the show, you ask? You guys -- it was SO funny. Like...I actually snort laughed at one point. I'm sure much of the humor landed with me so well because my entire career has been spent within a start-up (I definitely need to pitch some of my stories to the writers room somehow), but even if you don't live out west in the beautiful Bay Area, I think this show will tickle your funny bone.
Give it a try! And a get a peek into some of the most hilarious, interesting, entertaining, and even inspiring aspects of my corner of the world...
I know what you're thinking: Is that a Sochi medalist?
(I actually look a tad like a winter version of Phil Dunphy, and am not mad about it at all....)
This weekend was spent up at beautiful Lake Tahoe with my Weebly family. The photo above is the only picture taken during my stint in the great outdoors, and it almost didn't happen at all.
I was having quite a cranky, woe-is-me morning. I was tired, not loving the cold (never have, never will), and sad that I didn't have anyone to join me on this activity. I am not a skier or snowboarder (never have been, never will be) so was left to decide if I wanted to to give snow shoeing a try on my own, or wallow in our hotel room while watching Sex and the City and Golden Girls marathons (I know--not a bad option) until everyone else returned from their adventures.
But I wanted to move my body. I wanted to work up a sweat, and take in the sights of this beautiful corner of the world. I wanted to breathe in fresh mountain air and give something new a try. I just couldn't seem to get over this mental womp womp roadblock, and it was annoying me more by the second. Isn't that always how it seems to go? As if being bummed out for unknown reasons wasn't hard enough, we then go ahead and slather on a layer of self annoyance, to boot. So helpful, self...so helpful.
As Brandon left for his solo ski time (he's way cooler than me), however, I seized my 20 seconds of insane courage, pulled on my boots, and head out the door to tackle the task of hiking in snow, while wearing funny shoes (because it turns out that is actually all snow shoeing is).
I realize it sounds kind of dramatic (read: totally dramatic) to categorize my decision to change out of pajamas as "insane courage", but as someone who balances her life with anxiety lingering around many corners, it can often genuinely feel as though it takes deep levels of insane courage to pull me out of a funk. What really was the fear behind leaving the room? Probably a mix of things: being alone, struggling up hills because I'm mildly out of shape, being wet and cold, etc etc...It was all so silly, in retrospect.
It was a glorious day, a lovely hike with great company in the form of a sweet, patient resort tour guide (who never once got annoyed at me for pointing out animal tracks and exclaiming "Oh my gosh, is that a bear!?" while gently explaining "no ma'am, still just squirrel"), and excellent exercise. I was shvitzing my tookus off within the first few steps, fell on my butt down one particular hill, and lost my phone halfway through (don't worry, we back pedaled for 1/2 a mile and found it, still alive, sticking out of a snow heap!), but it was totally worth it. At one point my guide thought I was being quiet because I was upset about losing my phone, but it really was because I was just trying to catch my damn breath! I'm almost 30, kid, I said. Now that is some heart pumping fun.
Lesson learned? Get moving. Just get up and go. SATC and GG marathons will always be there for you when you really need them (everyday?), but great things will happen when we work to ditch the funk and channel our inner positive and motivated Phil Dunphy: “Always keep the rhythm in your feet and a little party in your shoulders."
love and light,