It is rumored that Bob Marley's last words to his son, Ziggy, before passing away in 1981 were: "Money can't buy life" Although this may very well be one of those urban legends left behind to symbolically summarize a man and his message, the famed Rastafarian singer was certainly well known enough for these kind of sentiments that I like to believe it's true. One of the solid truths about life is, simply, that it is fleeting. ("Nothing is certain but death and taxes.") When our time is up, it's up, and the reality is that we have little to no control over that timing...no matter how much money or stuff we may have accumulated (because yes, all of the richest riches in the world is just stuff at the end of the day...or at the end of our lives). But I wonder: What if we changed our currency? What if we looked at buying life in terms of exchanging not bills or coins, but love? Can you imagine the wonderful things that would be brought into our lives if we actively chose love and kindness (including for ourselves!), above all else? How we would leave behind a mark on this planet, long after we've left it, far more valuable than any old tangible heirloom? Heck, if you think about it, love is the most eco-friendly and recyclable inheritance out there! What if we willed love to our family and friends, instead? This Valentine's Day I encourage you to ask yourself (and maybe hum in the tune of the classic Marley song): Could you be love, and be loved? Can you give, send, spread love generously, wholly, authentically...can you be love in action? And can you open yourself up to allow love to come to you, as well? A kind of love without judgment or fear or stipulations? This is a key piece to the equation; the exchange part. Don't ever forget to take in real love, too. Can you believe you are worthy of this? Because I sure think so. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is; If we make love our currency, I'd argue we most certainly could not only "buy" life... We'd be billionaires. What do you think? Let's do business :) Happy Valentine's Day, loves bugs. In Gratitude, Trish
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I recently heard a story about a family in which their token parting exchange with one another, one that I am excited to adopt for myself, went something like this: Goodbye, I love you, I wish you enough. The premise of enough in this context is quite fascinating to me: Enough sunshine to soothe your soul. Enough hardship to help you grow, change, appreciate. Enough love to lift you. Enough sorrow to keep you grounded. Enough to keep you safe, content, whole, authentic. Enough patience to let it all unfold as it should. Just enough: never too much or too little. But enough. In this country we so often strive, fight, struggle to accomplish a, b and c in our lifetimes that it leaves us deeply lacking in appreciation for what we have, now. We measure our succesess and oh-so-unsuccesses against what we think we need or should have; what others think we need or should have. When I have this, I will be happy. If I ever get there, I will be happy. As long as I will make that, I will be happy. When I find him/her, I will be happy. And when we find/do/have/see all of that stuff, phew. We can rest, right? My deeply intuitive friend Jill calls it moving the goal post; we continuously measure perceived happiness in terms of reaching a certain point, but then once (if) we get there, we go ahead and set new standards for when I will be happy. The truth is: there is little to no sustainable satisfaction in this way of living. In my own work with T, therapist extraordinaire, I've discovered the ways in which I have fallen into that goal post pushing trap over the years. Since identifying these moments, I can honestly say I am far happier...genuinely happier...than I have been in a long time. Yes, I have a lot of love surrounding me. Yes, I have a good job, a lovely home I've built for myself, a healthy family. Yes, I know I will never be homeless, hungry, alone. And while these things certainly aid in the ease of which I can snuggle down into contentment and appreciation (I am sending up mega waves of gratitude just typing them out) for my life, the one key difference between "then" and now lies in the simple act of mindfulness. It lies in making my quick gratitude lists during stressful situations. In saying to myself "these are real points of gratitude, do not dismiss them". It lies in taking physical inventory to calm my nerves; in feeling the cold on my cheeks, the slight pinch from my shoes, the quickening of my breath on a walk home. These are things felt only by those who are living, here and now. Do not dismiss them. It lies in allowing the truth of the present moment to just be. No judgment. No rush to "correct", adjust, find solid ground. Just be. Because I am simply more aware...because I allow myself to feel whatever it is I'm feeling and then gently let it pass (have I ever mentioned the beauty in letting go?)...I am not scared about my future. Whether I'm rich or poor. Single or attached. Mama-title carrying or Super Auntie Trish. I know I will have enough. I know I will be enough. And that is a pretty great space to dwell. Wishing you enough, Trish Because of the way my apartment building is shaped, my shower has a window that looks down into a breezeway (though I have admittedly never actually looked down out of fear of what I may find). If folks keep their windows even slightly cracked open, you can pretty easily hear rumblings, pieces of conversations, ringing phones, etc within the other units.
A few months ago my neighbor and I happened to be showering at the same time, both with our windows open, and mid-shampoo lather my fellow building dweller began singing...loudly...to the (slightly 0ff) tune of Fleetwood Mac's Landslide. This being one of my favorite songs of all time (it's one of yours too, I know), I naturally began to sing along. I started off quietly. First with humming. Then adding a lyric or two. And before I knew it I was boldly singing in (not so great) harmony with him. He paused only for a moment to most likely confirm he was indeed being joined by a female voice. We sang passionately and fully for the entirety of the tune, ending our morning serenade session simply by shutting off the water and going about our days. No other words were exchanged. No notes left on doors. No additional musical duets have transpired since that morning. Which is perfect, if you think about it. Why ruin a spontaneous connection of two Stevie Nick's fans with awkward introductions or failed attempts at re-creating a so-this-is-happening moment? _____________________________________________________________ Depending on the bus route I take to work, sometimes when I get off at my stop I have to walk a couple of blocks down a fairly steep hill to my office. On days when I wear heels I have been known to wobble a bit at this task--I've never been great in heels, but when you add in a steep descent I suddenly have the weakest ankles on the planet. Last week as I mildly teeter tottered in heeled booties down Pacific Avenue through Chinatown I rolled my ankle in a super ungraceful almost-fall. To my surprise when the very old Chinese man (who shuffled so slowly up that hill he practically was moving backwards) I was passing caught sight of my awkward trip/tumble/ankle roll he began hysterically laughing and pointing at me. We're talking mouth wide open exposing a few stray, crooked teeth, eyes tearing up, knee slapping kind of laughs. I don't know what came over me, but I couldn't help myself....I began to crack up, too. There we stood; a 41/2 feet tall elderly Asian man with a predominantly gummy smile and orthopedic shoes and the skinny white girl who towered over him in her heels while clutching one throbbing ankle, pointing and laughing at one another in the middle of the sidewalk for a solid minute or two. After catching our breath we both then walked (shuffled and limped, actually) away chuckling and shaking our heads, wiping the tears from our eyes and heading to our respective destinations. I doubt I'll ever see that man again and I kinda wish someone had taken a photograph of this scene; I'd probably frame it and put it on my desk as a reminder to be light at heart and to laugh so hard at the silly, surprising side of life it makes you cry. I giggled about that moment at random for at least 2 days afterward, though, whenever it popped into my head. (Truthfully I'm still giggling, now.) Whatever gets you through the day, amIright? “Magenta…that’s what I call it when I get that way. All kinds of feelings tumbling all over themselves. Well you know, you’re not quite blue, because you’re not really sad. And although you’re a little bit jealous you wouldn’t say you’re green with envy. And every now and then you realize you’re kind of scared but you’d hardly call yourself yellow…I hate that feeling. Just hate it. And I hate the color magenta. That’s why I named it that. Magenta. No way to really explain it but, fortunately between friends you don’t have to.” ~ Blanche Devereaux, The Golden Girls When I was little my sister and I would love to have sleepovers at my great grandmother's house. Big Mom-mom, or Bigsy, as we lovingly called her, would let us eat "sweet" cereals for breakfast, hide coins for us to find in her old purses and wallets we'd play with, clap along as we danced around the house to her cassette tape of traditional Italian music (think of the most cliche sound of accordions and mandolins and then turn it up, loud) and let us pile every pillow in the house onto our fold-out couch bed and pretend we were living in a cloud. I remember forgetting my pajamas one time and practically melting into a pool of little girl dreams when she loaned me a dark blue, satin night gown that I believed made me look like a princess...I am sure I actually looked as if I were wearing a blue tent with lace trim, but my imagination was pretty sharp back then. I also remember feeling faint when the next morning she told me I could keep it over said bowl of "sweet" cereal. If I close my eyes, I can still smell her home.
One my favorite parts about sleepovers with Bigs was once we were tucked into that fold-out couch bed; Belle and I snuggled together in our sea of pillows, Bigsy nodding off in her chair next to us. We would watch a variety of TV shows together before falling asleep but the one that sticks out most in my memory is The Golden Girls. For one thing, the show (in my humble opinion) was ahead of it's time--Sex and the City for the 55 and older crowd before Sex and the City was even a concept in Michael Patrick King's mind. It is hilarious, sweet, authentic and charming. I have always found my best friendships are those in which a mutual love for the GG's is held. It's one of the many reasons I am so fond of B, too. Though he teased me at first ("these old biddies are floozies!"), he now giggles along with me when I put an episode on :) And for another, I have always thought my great grandmother resembled Bea Arthur a bit. She was tall and strong looking with white/silvered short hair and had a similar deeper toned voice. She even had a throaty cackle laugh that mirrored Ms. Arthur's. I remember sneaking peaks at Bigsy while she snoozed in her chair thinking "she looks so much like Dorothea...I wonder if....no no, that couldn't be...right?" Sometimes, when I am feeling a bit like being a grown up is a tad overrated, I sit and watch a few Golden Girls episodes in bed, squished between a mound of fluffy pillows. There's a comfort in watching this show; a spirit lifting. A settling into the Magenta until it passes. Fortunately, I have built a network of friends over the years that don't need much of an explanation for these magenta moods. This is the piece of Dorothea, Rose, Blanche and Sophia I am most drawn to, still, years after those sleepovers with Bigs--the displays of (and power within) friendship and loyalty so specific to female dynamics is something I deeply cherish in my own life. I am incredibly lucky to have the sisters I do. And I look forward to growing Golden with them :) In Gratitude, Trish 7am on a Saturday, and my upstairs neighbor decides it is the perfect time to move out.
7am on a Saturday, and her hired help decides slam, boom, crash, scrape to the extent it shakes my window panes is the most efficient way to get the job done. 7am on a Saturday, and me--in a ratty tank top, flannel pj pants recently shrunk in the drier thus exposing my ankles in an Urkle-awkward sort of way, hair a mess atop my head and eyes squinted from lack of visual aid in the form of contacts or glasses--storming up the stairs to scratchy voice preach c'mon man! I know you gotta get your shit done, I respect that. But it's 7am on a Saturday and you are effing killin me. For the record, I'm not proud of the effing part. 7am Trish is more Jersey than California, it seems. But 7am on a Saturday is most definitely meant for sleepy time...no? I've been drawn to time lately. Heavily focused on scheduling, planning, squeezing it all in and getting it all done by x, y, z time frames. A lot of this is natural, I think; my work requires a high degree of time based organization from me and being one half of a long distance duo also demands (politely requests, really) some scheduling prowess. Having downloaded Mitch Albom's book The Time Keeper several months ago and only cracking it open (or rather, Kindle firing it up) this weekend I noticed how much the notion, concept, reality of time had been cropping up for me. For example, while taking a break from The Time Keeper, I re-opened Danielle Laporte's book The Fire Starter Sessions (highly, highly recommended to anyone in a creative funk) right to the chapter entitled "Calling All Sovereigns of Time!". After re-reading this section I then heard my phone alarm go off with a reminder, a 2013 "get more organized" tactic. Despite time's fresh insistence on almost overwhelming my days, Friday after work I settled into my home, my sacred space, and barely budged the whole weekend. I read and read and read. I took a de-tox bubble bath: Epsom salts, baking powder, apple cider vinegar and all natural lavender bubble-makin-to-the-max soap...which, according to B, sounds "stanky". But I assure you, it is heaven for your skin and soul. I cooked a healthy dinner for one of tilapia and steamed vegetables. I met a friend for a nourishing breakfast and heart to heart. I cherished my home, my life. I rested. I functioned at a pace very much unlike my normal one. Because that's how time needed to move for me. None of my musings during this quiet, self imposed time-out (pun intended) were groundbreaking: As kids, we wish for time to speed up. As adults, we so often ache for it to slow down. And if we are very lucky, we can sometimes be exactly where we are with no wish for either. This in-the-moment breath is what I like to call the sweet spot. It is where I most desire to be. Over breakfast yesterday my darling Kimmie and I discussed the beauty and bounty in holding space. I was so happy to hear about her Oprah a-ha moment during the holidays, which gloriously shed new light on what, exactly, holding this space entails. Breathing room, openness, flow, acceptance, peace, strength, flexibility...I think it can mean a lot of different things for people. I think it can change with us; grow with us. But it is so, so valuable to hold it for ourselves and for others. Because the sweetest of sweet spots? This lies in both space and time. In the balance. No more deep rooted worries over what will be. No more sweat filled anxieties over what has been. A respect for here, now. An appreciation. Trusting the process and all that jazz. "It is never too late or too soon. It is when it is supposed to be." -The Time Keeper ...including moving out at 7am on Saturday, I (begrudgingly) suppose. Happy Monday, Friends :) In Gratitude, Trish suiting up...gulp. by Kim Walker. Trish is one-of-a-kind. A beautiful snowflake. She is her own perfect self, seeing the world from a truly unique perspective. Except when it comes to one thing: trapeze. When it comes to climbing a ladder and throwing herself from a height while relying solely on her own strength, Trish is not alone in her perspective. Trish is the preacher, we’re all the choir. That shit is scary. When I say, “I do flying trapeze”, people say, “Oh, I’d be too scared”. I say, “Of what?” Then come the reasons: heights, climbing the ladder, falling, etc. Yes, all those things are ultra scary. But what if I told you we’ve got that all on lock. We got nets, we got safety lines, we got harnesses. We got your fear-busters right here. Now, this is where Trish is really unique. Where she really shines brightest as a rare jewel of a woman: she is honest about what scares her and honest in how she faces those fears. She said from the beginning, “I’d be afraid I couldn’t jump off. I’d be afraid I’d embarrass myself.” And I get it. Can you imagine how awful it would be if your flying trapeze class didn’t go well, and then you had to go home and blog about it? When Trish didn’t fly at that first class, I thought it was game over. When you’re standing at the edge of the tiny trapeze platform, thinking to yourself, “This is so stupid, why am I doing this, abort, abort, abort”, your brain enters a somewhat binary place. Yes/no, fight/flight, pee/poo. I have seen so many people face that crucial moment. It’s a one shot deal - you don’t get to change your mind. You either jump right then, and it’s as if the door is opened, the path is wide. Or you don’t jump, and the door closes, the path is blocked, and it’s almost impossible to come back. It’s a very rare case that someone can work up the nerve to climb back up and try again (Except my mom, who I told to “just climb back up and look around”, when I had actually secretly told the instructor to fling her bodily from the platform. Sorry, Mom). But Trish did it. She walked out of that building and then did something really unique: she came back. She showed up for a second time with fear bubbling and her mind set. She didn’t balk, she didn’t panic, instead she very stoically faced her fears. And did a damn good job of it. And I’m pretty sure she enjoyed it, because there’s a flipside to that tremendous fear: incredible joy and pride. Joy in flying through the air, and pride in choosing the scary path. Sam Keen, a journalist turned philosopher, wrote a book called “Learning to Fly” about taking up flying trapeze at age 61. He says: “Each day befriend a single fear, and the miscellaneous terrors of being human will never join together to form such a morass of vague anxiety that it rules your life from the shadows of the unconscious. We learn to fly not by being fearless, but by the daily practice of courage.” Fear never leaves us, and in fact, it probably shouldn’t. A little healthy fear probably keeps us safe from stupid mistakes. But fear does not have to be binary. We don’t have to let fear force us off the platform, never to return again. We can always climb back up and try again after practicing a little courage. When facing extreme fear, especially fear that comes from within, it’s a pretty good bet that there’s an extreme reward waiting on the other side. All it takes is a little jump. “The sacred is discovered in what moves and touches us, in what makes us tremble.” ― Sam Keen ___________________________________________________________ For part THREE (and final, with video evidence) post of me and the flying trapeze, check back tomorrow ;) kim making circus toys look like a place to lounge! About 6 months ago I had the extreme pleasure of watching my awesome friend and TGL guest blogger, Kim, show off her trapeze skills during one of her classes at the Circus Center in San Francisco. It was an impromptu tag along--we'd been spending the afternoon together and decided there was no reason for the fun to stop. Why don't you come with me and maybe give it a shot?, Kim asked. A quick change into gym gear and we were on our way! But when we got to the center I instantly knew I would not be participating. If I'm honest, I think I knew it the moment we walked out of my apartment. Kim's class mates and instructors were so sweet and encouraging during my visit (You'll love it, we swear! It's not hard, we promise!). They were so sweet and encouraging that I kinda wanted to make a fist and tell them to shut their traps, or else! in my best Jersey voice. I politely smiled and declined their numerous offers to give it a go, honestly replying that I really did not feel a desire to participate today and would rather observe Kimmy while taking photos and video of her. I told Kim that this was one of those instances where "no" was actually a "yes" for what I really wanted, parked myself on the sidelines and enjoyed the trapeze show. But the truth was, a part of me really did want to participate. And I was not just saying no because it didn't appeal to me at the time. I was saying no because, frankly, I was terrified. Full blown, butterflies if you make me do this, first day of school, give a speech to a full auditorium, biggest game of the year nerves. It's important to keep in mind as this little story unfolds that I am not usually one to shy away from a unique challenge. I have been skydiving (twice), white water rafting in Alaska (I was 7, but still), flown in puddle-jumper sized planes, zip-lined upside down across the jungle, etc etc. I am a lover of roller coasters, travel, and things that move fast. High adrenaline activities do not, generally speaking, scare me. So why on earth was the idea of taking a stab at trapeze so intimidating to me? When it comes down to it, I am easily able to put my trust in others. You want to strap me to your front and jump out of a plane with me? Let's do it. You pull the shoot and I'll squeal with delight on the way down. You want to take me for a flight around the Bay a few days after getting your pilots license? Sweet! Can I take pictures? The kind of adventure activities that are so glaringly outside of my control once I have accepted my role in them have little to no affect on me. I'm almost completely un-phased by the "risks". But when it comes to putting trust in myself...to owning up to all potential mess ups, boo boos, epic failures or "embarrassing" moments inevitable to learning a new skill (and walking away with my head held high)...well...we've got some issues. There were several aspects of trapeze that brought my insecurities bubbling, piping hot, to the surface: The act of climbing the ladder. eek. What if I stumble and fall? Standing on a tiny platform, death gripping the poles. wowza. What if I trip and fall? And reaching out to hold onto a bar that will then swing me over a net until I am instructed to get my legs up and hands off of said bar. um yea. What if I can't do it and look like a total doink? Behold, the mama of all ego based insecurity. So that was my first experience at the Circus Center: a slightly anxious view from the sidelines, a proverbial spot on the bench. And I have to tell you--it didn't sit right with me. That tiny, brave voice in my heart kept nagging at me for days following, telling me to try, try, try! despite my best efforts to silence her. And when Kimmy offered to take me again, along with my bff who was in town for a week (and who excitedly jumped at the opportunity without batting an eye...she's way cooler than me), I decided it was time to suit up, woman up and take the damn leap already. Can you guess how the day panned out? Stay tuned for part two.... In Gratitude, Trish Day 20: Music.
If you are a frequent reader of The Grateful Life you are well aware of my intense girl crush on the amazing, beautiful, super rad singer/song writer Tristan Prettyman. And if you're not a frequent reader, why hello there! My name is Trish. I wish I were friends with Ms. Prettyman so badly that my very best friend recently said to me "I'm actually a little scared of you for her...." So...that's probably not normal, right? I digress. TP's newest album, Cedar + Gold, was released last month and I'm completely in love with it from start to finish. I am also totally biased in this opinion due to aforementioned girl crush and you know what? I don't give a hoot---home girl's latest is just so good. The reason why this particular album is so lovely is because it's her story. It's her truth. It's her authentic self bravely sharing her heartbreak with anyone who cares to sing along and for me, it embodies the reasons why music is such a beautiful and important part of life. I am contacted fairly regularly by you, my incredible readers, with questions about life, love, relationships, careers, etc. I am always deeply humbled to know there are folks who feel my own (unfinished) story perhaps can help shed light on some truth within their own. While mulling over my gratitude for music in context for today's post, my thoughts kept circling back to this: There are thousands upon thousands of books, articles, songs, blogs out there aiming to help make love, romance and relationships "easier", "better", more "successful", etc.. I love that as humans we strive to try and make life more manageable for our fellow earth dwellers by sharing our thoughts, opinions and experiences in this way; that we seek to ease the path for one another by taking the opportunity to connect. But isn't the plethora of varying advice at our fingertips also sort of proof that there truly isn't one concrete answer to how-to-do-it-right? That we are complicated creatures, unique beings in unique situations every step of the way? That what works for one person or one couple may not work for another and that...let's be honest....if someone had the be all end all answer to happily ever after there wouldn't be so many broken hearts out there? For me personally, there are moments (though they are fewer and further between) when the weight of my past mistakes...years later...still come crashing down on me so heavily it feels quite like drowning; gasping for understanding of how I could have possibly let anything painful happen to myself and people I love. How I could ever be so destructive, selfish and outside-of-myself at times while I struggle to make sense of how it all can shift so quickly; while I once tried to understand where my courage and spirit ran off to, leaving me to fumble and fall for months on end. I don't know that there will ever be cut and dry answers to these questions (and many more). But I do know that my mistakes are, whether I like it or not, a piece of my story. They are a chapter in my tale that has shaped me to become the woman I am today. And I know what is most important to remember is that they are just one piece. One piece in a (hopefully) long and love filled life. I am grateful for what I learned and how I grew--how everyone in any less than sunny scenario learned and grew. And presently? Presently I am grateful for how my trials allow me, much like a song that is written and sung from the heart, to connect with folks who may choose to read my blog. So today, out of love and gratitude for music, I encourage you all to keep connecting. Keep sharing. Keep hair brush singing until your spirit's lighten, our judgements of self and others lift and our authentic selves feel strong enough to rock the life we're blessed with. Because after all--like our dear, brave, cooler-than-I'll-ever-be TP says, who knows--maybe the best hasn't happened yet. love and light, Trish Day 3: Fall. Fall is, in my humble opinion, the best time of year in the Bay Area. It's pretty much the best time of year in anyplace I've lived (except Jersey Junes...I will never get sick of those) and I cherished every day of October and now every day of November thus far. Summer sunshine finally arrives in the city with little bursts of heat to excite the locals into shorts, skirts and outdoor happy hours. When the sun sets and the temperatures drop, gals wrap colorfully patterned scarves around their necks and playfully coerce their male counterparts into loaning a sweatshirt (ps-why are men's sweatshirts always so much better than girls?). There's a calm to Fall. A quiet in waking up snuggled under my fluffy white comforter, open window bringing in the newly crisped breeze. The first 10 minutes of waking--that's the part of the day I'd pause for a little, if possible. The hum of the fan is the only sound filling my tiny apartment, the heat from said fluffy comforter keeping me in a hazy state of relaxed, my breath still slow and steady from sleep. A morning walk is best in the Fall. With a fresh appreciation for that first cup of coffee (pumpkin spice, what else?) and the energizing stretch of my limbs down the street. I'm so lucky to live in a city with a backdrop that makes a morning walk as pretty as a picture, regardless of whether I turn left, right or straight up the hill from my building. So today I'm most thankful for Fall. For the unwinding of summer's go-go-go, travel, make plans mentality; for the peaceful shift into a season of heightened gratitude and giving, family and tradition. I'm off to hike with a college pal in all of Fall's beauty in a little corner of the world called Muir Woods. I can't wait to share photos with you tomorrow :) Happy Fall, Trish There is a phenomenon of less than desirable life shaping happening amongst my friends, family and acquaintances that I like to refer to as self mansifesabatoge. I hear it all around me, including from my own mouth. I hear folks make, on a regular basis, general negative statements such as: "I'm probably not getting that job, it's such a competitive market." "He's not going to call me back. Men are such bullshit." "It doesn't matter how much I work out, I'm still fat." "I'll never make enough money to be happy. This rat race will be the death of me." Ack, so terrible! I could break down the plethora of reasons why this kind of verbal self bashing is no bueno for your mojo (and could also make the case for trusting the process and letting the lessons of life unfold as they are meant to), but mostly I gotta pump the brakes to draw attention to the fact that these statements are actively chosen as perceived truth. Out of the zillions of thoughts we can choose to focus on, these are the ones we give power to? The heck. What gives? For example: My most common thoughts this week? I'm off. I twisted my knee in yoga yesterday, I've been exhausted no matter how much I sleep, I can't seem to balance my social calendar, I'm so physically off I'll probably injure myself more this weekend.... With all this negative balance/mojo talk, it's no wonder I tumbled down my apartment steps today (I kinda wish you were there to see it as I'm sure I looked hilarious). Exhibit A: Here's the thing---while I deeply believe in the power of positive thinking, I'm not sitting here saying I specifically manifested a fall down the stairs. That, truth be told, can most heavily be blamed on my super cute but slightly difficult to balance in clog heels. But I'm also not sitting here saying I don't think we have some degree of control over the...graceful?...way our days play out.
I believe that...as Deepak Chopra so simply states...what we perceive as real, becomes real. I believe that what we spend our time mulling, stewing and swirling over will eventually become our daily reality. I believe this to the extent that we physically give strength to our thoughts and their ability to guide us towards our ultimate goals based on how much time we spend on them, how much emotion there is behind them, how much faith we have in their truth and of course, the degree of effort we then put into making them real. Because I believe so deeply in the power of manifesting, the reverse of happy-thoughts-bringing-happy-things is also true. I repeat--what you perceive as real becomes real--even if that perception is negative. Thus, enter self manifesabatoge. Now, my take on the whole power-of-positive-thinking theory does have a slight twist to it that differs from most works located in the self-help or metaphysical sections of book stores. I am firm believer in allowing yourself to lean into the discomfort; in sitting with your emotions, acknowledging their presence and letting them guide you to a place of release, acceptance or change. But I am an even bigger believer in eventually letting them go. In not allowing them to drag you down or suck the light out of your sparkle. And I, perhaps most importantly, believe that when shit just doesn't go the way we hoped we have the power of shifting our perspectives to help pull ourselves up and onward. We have got to stop doing this to ourselves; we have got to stop sabotaging our potential for good in life from everything big like accomplishing dreams to everything small like successfully making it down a set of stairs. It's time to step up for our own highest good and continue feeding loving fuel to our shining potential. I'm begging you--pay attention to your thoughts and ask yourself regularly, "am I being kind to myself?" If the answer is no, ya gotta give that thought the boot. It simply does not serve you. This weekend I choose to acknowledge how grateful I am to practice yoga with an instructor I trust and respect. I affirm my booming social calendar is a blessed sign of the wonderful life I've created in California and can easily be adjusted to fit my needs at any moment. I accept control over my sleeping habits and have patience with/love for my body.... ...And I retire my clog heels for awhile...ya know, until my stair-confidence builds back up again. So, my radical readers, I wonder: what are you creating? love and light, Trish pardon the poor pedicure. "I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls." — Anaïs Nin 2 years ago on my 26th birthday I got a tattoo on my right foot that says, in Italian, fuoco nelle vene. While the literal translation is fire in the veins, the expression itself has a meaning of living very passionately. And that's pretty much what I strive to do daily--live a passionate life from sun up to sun down, in the boldest of moves and in the most mundane tasks. From taking trapeze class (!!) to appreciating every bite of my breakfast croissant (seriously, it's heavenly) to planning my next big trip (Fiji? Bali? Africa? World, you shall be my oyster).
I've gotten some grief over the years from folks who worry about this life mentality and I don't necessarily blame them. I know a lot of very happy people who live simple, quiet, humble lives and I recognize not everyone is cut from the same caution-to-the-wind cloth as me. But I've gotta tell you--this way of living, though occasionally getting me into (big?) trouble, has mostly afforded me a plethora of adventures and experiences that I wouldn't trade for anything. It has connected me with folks who have changed my life, sent me into fits of pure, joy filled laughter and helped me explore the world from the corners of my own neighborhood to exotic lands across the seas. And when I fail? Man do I fail big. You could even say I fail passionately, with gusto, pizazz and a burst of pink glitter. But I also always get back up. With each passionate failure I am able to bring down with me another wall and this, dear friends, is the most important part--that our hearts, spirits and general excitement to be alive continue to grow, widen and deepen. That we continue to take down walls and allow love and light to flow from us and into us; that we connect, persevere and try, try again. There is a sign in my kitchen given to me by my best friend a few years ago that resonates with me deeply. It reads "I live simply, but deliberately". You don't need big frills and grandiose schemes to live a passionate life; you can be very happy living humbly in your own lovely nook of the world. You simply need the courage to deliberately start each day with an open mind and heart; to give thanks with each breath. You can turn anything into the marvelous simply by remaining in a state of child-like awe, curiosity and appreciation. You have the power to be utterly intoxicated by your wonderfully ordinary life. So today I challenge you to take down a wall. Big or small. Knock that sucker down and be amazed by your boldness, your strength and the wonders that will finally wiggle their way into your life now that you've given them a chance. There isn't much in this world we have true control over--just ask anyone on earth whose best laid plans have gone haywire. But we can choose to live passionately...live deliberately...and let the wonders of ordinary life amaze and delight us. From the boldest of moves to the most mundane tasks--put a little a fire in your veins. In Gratitude, Trish I probably should have cleaned my apartment last night. I probably should have cleaned my apartment a week ago, truth be told, but life and a case of the lazies seem to win out most evenings once I reach my floor, take out my ear buds and kick off my shoes. One of the best things about living alone is having no obligation to be tidy for anyone but yourself; one of the worst is sometimes then having more laundry crumpled on the couch than neatly hung in the closet. So, I should have cleaned my apartment last night but...and we'll go ahead and chalk this up to the Universe simply having other plans for my evening...when I flopped down on my favorite arm chair, post 2 mile walk home, my eyes immediately caught sight of a book gifted to me on my birthday this year by my dear friend, R. I'd placed it on my shelf with a few other books I've been meaning to crack open but for whatever reason, last night, this one in particular demanded to be held. Go ahead, it called to me, snuggle up... Three hours later, dust bunnies under the bed still needing to be vacuumed, I had read The Fault in Our Stars from cover to cover. God, I love when that happens...don't you? When a book sucks you in on the very first page and you just know it is going to be worthy of fighting off sleep until the very end? As if you pausing in your reading is somehow rude to the characters you are falling in love with; that they deserve your attention all in one sitting, instead of selfishly split up in rare moments of free time? This is that kind of book. I giggled, I sighed, I cheered, I swooned and I cried (yea, yea Trish is a crier--but I dare you not to shed a tear at the end, too). It is beautifully written. It is a love story, a life story and a reminder to embrace both no matter what. After finishing the book my mind turned to thoughts about R, and how grateful I was for his sharing this perfect piece of writing with me. I thought about how over the past months I have watched R on a path of great learning and heart widening; I have listened as he's shared with me his struggles and lessons, triumphs and hiccups in love. And of course, I've offered my usual bits and pieces of advice when appropriate: Trust the process. We teach people how to treat us. There is no script to life. Don't give away your power. Let go or be dragged. And most frequently, I have been there. So, R, if you are reading this... I just wanted to say thank you for sharing both the story of Hazel and Augustus with me as well as your own tale. Thank you for being authentic and vulnerable--two traits not valued highly enough in this world. Thank you for reminding me that real men are creative, that they read good books, dance unabashedly, travel, play, share, listen and laugh freely. I know I've said this to you before, but I am so proud of the ways in which you continue to bravely explore the depths of your generous heart. I am so impressed and inspired by your ability to choose kindness at every twist and turn; to have hope and faith in your own quirky way, regardless of any hurt you may be experiencing. I just wanted to say thank you for listening to my own story, too; for cheering me on, celebrating my growth and being a friend who knows me well enough to give such a perfect birthday gift. You are worthy of exactly the kind of love you seek--nothing less. Please remember that, OK? Deep breaths, one day at a time, my fellow tap dancer. We wouldn't want it so badly if it didn't exist, right? "That's what I believe. I believe the universe wants to be noticed. I think the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed. And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it--or my observation of it--is temporary?" - The Fault in Our Stars. In Gratitude, Trish I had a really great and enlightening conversation with a lovely friend of a friend a few weekends ago while she was in town for business that put a lot of thinking in motion.
Over a glass of wine and a few tapas we caught up on work, family, friends, life and inevitably...as the female gender somehow always does...made our way to the topic of romantic relationships. I listened to her explain her current, somewhat unsure, "status" and gave as much support and girl, I hear ya love as I could. "So," she asked "are you dating?". Oy. When, I immediately thought, will this not be such a loaded question? Yes. No? Sort of. I think? Not really. But yea? This is what I could muster: "I'm trying to trust the process with someone I've known for years", I said, "who is an amazing man I'm so grateful and happy to have in my life. He's funny, thoughtful, smart, loyal, playful and so easy going. Also, let me be real--he is a total effing babe. But he lives on the east coast and I, obviously, live 3,000 miles away from there. So...it's....I don't know. And sometimes I feel...just...I don't know." Then a few days later, in an unfortunate liquid courage fueled moment, the act of trusting the process was crumpled up, lit on fire and used as the flame to burn up a great deal of my street cred. In short, I came clean about my fears of the blurry, undefined nature of the relationship to B way too late at night through tears I could barely understand my own thoughts within. To be clear, it wasn't the coming clean aspect that I was disappointed in myself for (this is a brave and necessary act in relationships) but the salty, boozy, shouldn't-you-both-be-asleep timing I chose for it. Even Superman has his kryptonite, though, right? Much to my relief...and much to B's credit...when I then called the next day to apologize, he was sweet and forgiving, kind and patient. Telling me "there's nothing to be angry about. Everything you said was totally fair." He even made a few jokes to lighten the entire ordeal and lessen my worries. If it were possible, I would have reached through the phone and kissed him for that. And even though no great mystery was solved or resolution shook upon, I felt a lot better simply because of B's nature to be generally unafraid of the unknown future and his gentle willingness to let the past stay where it is...including "the past" of just a few hours before. So here's what this mini melt down lead me to wonder: If I truly have the faith that I speak of here on TGL--faith in myself and God, faith in the process, love and light--what, exactly, am I stressing about? I think it comes down to a couple of things. For one, I've got a lot of love to give and I'm excited to share it with someone. For another, my past few attempts at dating have left me still a little scarred. The residual fears and insecurities from those are hard to keep from bubbling up at times. And most of all, I'm homesick. It's odd for me to publicly state that since my rolling stone soul has craved ever changing adventure for as long as I can remember, but there it is--I am deeply homesick. This wave of homesickness has caused me to feel like the glorious freedom I've had for the past 2 years in particular...a freedom that has been a huge gift, learning process and healing path...has finally started to lose its appeal a bit. Or perhaps more accurately, I'm losing my ability to manage it. In the ultimate #firstworldproblems statement, it's almost as if too much of my life is flexible, willy nilly, fly by the seat of my pants. I have no one to answer to, no one to hold me accountable for much and no one to make a priority besides myself. And that has been OK. Good for me, even. But I think I'm craving a bit of structure (security? responsibility? commitment? I'm not quite sure.) now and I've been putting all my attention into gaining that structure in the form of a partnership when there are so many other ways to be fulfilled. Ironically, everything that I told my wine and tapas date a few weeks ago in the style of big sister advice applies to me now, too. Mostly: Love comes in many forms. It's important not to close yourself off to any of it. At one point in our conversation my friend glanced at her phone, sighing. "You know what sucks? I have 4 different friends texting me kind and loving things right now..but because none of them are *him*, I feel like I can't appreciate it." Nail on the head, right? Life is big. Our hearts can be bigger, if we open them enough. So learn to appreciate love of all kinds; let it come in and freely give it out. Be careful where you put your passion. In reply to an old, dear friend and Grateful Lifer I recently said (pardon my email cut and paste job): Passion is something I will, like you, continue to chase my whole life. It's just who I am...when I put my source of passion in another person, however, I'm screwed. I wouldn't recommend that to anyone. But when passion comes from within, is generously shared with others (including friends, family and partners) and explored even within the mundane? That's when I feel the most full. Make sure to take the time expressing and indulging in passion from the ooey gooey goodness within you, instead of seeking it in another person. And here is what I know in my heart, above all else: No matter what, everything will be OK. I know that both B and myself are in the midst of a number of life changes and there are things for us to "figure out" that have nothing to do with one another. I can't speak for him, but I know it's important for me to figure out my own shit first in order to be the best possible partner I can be to him or anyone else. Two halves don't make a whole; two wholes do. The "security" I was seeking in a title of sorts is for the benefit of others, anyway. A title only goes so far; the life that happens between two people is what really counts. And if you can be light and love during that shit figuring out process, regardless of the outcome? If you can be present and playful, authentic and kind while knowing you are worthy of good things? Well, that's a pretty damn great place to be. In Gratitude, Trish I took a walk to a nearby park today to sit in the sun for a few moments, away from my desk, away from the headache-inducing-if-I-stare-too-long monitor light.
I lay down on a hill, kicked off my heels and silenced my phone. I watched a little girl--4, 5 years old--run barefoot in the surprisingly plush grass against a cityscape backdrop. I watched as she became preoccupied with observing a small butterfly hop from wildflower to wildflower. I watched as she watched; eyes wide with wonder, mouth poised in a permanent "oooh" shape. I watched as her face lit up with genuine delight each time the butterfly moved closer to her "hiding" spot; as she giggled and tried to nestle even closer to the earth. I watched as she squealed and looked back at her mother as if to say "can you believe what we're seeing?!" when the butterfly finally fluttered above her head; as if the flight of this simple bug was the highlight of her entire day. I watched this scene on a sunny hill in the park today, away from my desk and my headache inducing monitor light and all I could think was Damn. When did this stop being the highlights of our days, too? There's a great staircase analogy in the coaching world (I've heard it from a number of counselors, teachers and therapists over the years--definitely can't take credit for this one) that pertains to making moves towards achieving our goals. Essentially, if we think of our desires--career, personal, health, relationship, etc--in terms of this staircase, our final stage of "victory" or "success" lies at the very top. This is a pretty all around applicable image, I think. Get such-and-such degree. Achieve this-and-that professionally. Accomplish a-and-b physically. Get the f over so-and-so already. It's particularly applicable because, as we peer up from the bottom of the stairs, the climb can seem so daunting that we falter in mustering the courage to begin our journeys. Sadly, we sometimes feel so discouraged by this staircase that we never even begin at all. We sit at the bottom, chin in our hands, bah-humbug, boo-hiss and coulda-shoulda-woulda-if-only'ing. The second part of the analogy...the part that aims to give us hope and encouragement...tells us to stop staring at the top. Stop counting the steps. Stop measuring your perceived strength against the amount of energy it may or may not take to finish the climb. The second part of the analogy tells us to simply look at the very first step. This is far more manageable. This, my dear friends, is a most excellent step to take. I have 2 small additions to this analogy: 1. Utilize the railing. There is never any shame in reaching out for assistance when it comes to finishing, completing, arriving at a point that is deeply important to us. Asking for help can be humbling (I am still learning how to gracefully do this daily), but it can also be just the ticket to boosting us up one step closer to success. Be willing to give up a bit of control, Miss/Mr. Independent. The railing is there for a reason. Let it help you! 2. Consider the Harry Potter Grand Staircase. These stairs, located within the ever so magical walls of Hogwarts, had a knack for moving around the chamber. They usually began to shift when a student was walking up one of them and I love this imagery in relation to this topic. How often in our lives have dreams, priorities or goals changed once we've started down a path? The truth is we don't know how our staircase may shift during the process and how, in response, it may also shift our perspectives. The best we can do is simply trust and be open to change; the best we can do is not let our doubts cause us to miss out on the adventure altogether. Because really, the adventure is what it's all about. Yesterday I scheduled a call for next week with a member of the admissions team for the Institute of Integrative Nutrition. I officially took the first step towards getting certified in Health and Wellness Coaching. Phew. The funny thing? Even this teeny step felt a bit daunting to me. So much so, in fact, that I actually declined the "contact me now" option and scheduled the call for Monday, thinking to myself OK OK...I'll be mentally ready by then...I just need a few more days... Welp, the Universe apparently had other plans. About 2 minutes after hitting "submit" I received a call from someone on the admissions team. The young lady had missed the note requesting a call next week and instead carpe diem'ed the crap outta my submission and totally put into motion the course of my what's next. Another phone call a few hours later with a current student (who ever so kindly told me "I can feel your positive energy through the phone! I am SO excited for you!") and I am finalizing my plans as we speak. Stop staring all the way to the top, shaking your head, sighing with pre-grets (side note: pre-grets are the things we regret before we even do them). Stop giving yourself a timeline based on how long others feel you should take to arrive at the top. This is your climb. This is your pace. Be eternally patient with yourself. Be in awe of it, yes. Let it make your pulse race with excitement to think and dream about. But don't let the unknowns of the climb completely discourage you; never, as I like to say, let the dream die in the details. There is much about my future career that still remains a mystery to me and that is truly OK because I can officially look down and say I took the first step. A most excellent step to take. love and light, Trish |
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November 2023
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