I went all the way to SF to break down

September 22, 2016

Where did we learn to take such poor care of ourselves?

September 22, 2016

New York, a book title I can’t write here and total ramblings…

September 22, 2016
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I really tried hard to put all of these ideas into some sort of order but it just hurt my brain too much so I decided to go freestyle and just spew thoughts and moments onto the page and walk away, satisfied. Hopefully, the satisfaction isn’t just for me and that somewhere in this mess of a blog, there is a nugget of shivers for you too.

I’m also writing this in the happy and energetic phase of complete exhaustion. Later on, my tired will be angry, overwhelmed and totally crash. But for now…party time!

And so, with that, I ramble…

I came back from New York last night after going to attend a Mama Gena book launch. I’m not going to write the title of her new book here because it might result in this email ending up in your Spam mailbox but if you are interested, and every woman should give Mama Gena a few minutes of her time, go here.

The book launch was a room full of women of all shapes, sizes, haircuts, ages, stories, journeys and outfits. The one thing holding all of us together was that we wanted to feel more. Be more. Love ourselves more. Step into the world more. All of us, at our different steps in our journey. Some have been transformed and are continuing to deepen. Some have their toes just over the starting line, terrified and thrilled of what stepping into themselves might mean. All of us there to support this warrior for women – Mama Gena. She is one of my mentors, although she doesn’t know it. And she is standing up for all women, even if they don’t know it.

She has three of her besties there – Marie Forleo, Kris Carr and Gabby Bernstein. Even though all of these women have celebrity status in their own right, they are there, that night, as women on their own journey, supporting this amazon woman of a friend whose courage deeply inspires them.

At one point in the evening, she asks any woman to stand up who has experienced sexual trauma or abuse. I can’t tell for sure but it looks like at least half of the women in the room. My heart breaks. And yet, inside all of that pain, there is also a communal breath of hope and support in between and through both the sitting and standing women. We are all HER.

I haven’t finished the book yet. I read a few pages and then I have to put it down and think about it. It is worth it’s weight. On one page, Regena (AKA Mama Gena) talks about pianos having 88 keys – just like women. Except for, most of the time, we keep hitting middle C.

Plink, plink, plink.

In my thoughts, the middle C feels like living in a very narrow bandwidth of being nice, just the right size for the world (in all aspects), prioritizing care taking of everyone else, being sacrificial, keeping the boat steady, suppressing our deepest feelings, desires, truth, fears and darkness.

I want to create places where we can be 12 shades of purple…not just plink, plink, plink away on middle C. I want to have a big wing span. I want to play all 88 of my keys. I want to be all that I am, without hiding away any of it. Without shame, without judgement, without rules, without shrinking.

I have fallen in love with New York again. (If you also love New York, you will adore this photographer’s love affair with the people of New York – Humans of New York.) The streets call to me. Here, I can be any me I want. There seems to be enough space for everyone to fit in. Hare Krishnas, a smartly-dressed man wearing pearls, a woman in a couture dress on her bicycle, young lovers sitting near a fountain, she crying, he kissing the back of her neck. Tables in a park, set up for a chess game and waiting only for the second player to appear. People walking walking walking everywhere. The parks filled with people talking, eating, reading…somehow this chaos seems to work. This city seems to work. I can feel the hardness underneath the surface but for me, right now, I am besotted.

I take a class at SoulCycle. A spinning class with dance club music and candles. I talk to the instructor afterwards, who played a song that made tears run with my sweat, and she is of my tribe! I have found another!

I talk with a woman in a farmer’s market (in the middle of the city? so busy? so many farmers and fresh produce? in the middle of New York City?!) about how a bee sting is therapeutic, Trump, growing up in the south and watching weird artsy documentaries in her New York neighbourhood.

I line up for things – coffee, food – because I have the time.

I’ve also been thinking about what it means to be one’s own hero. To be responsible for rescuing yourself. To swoop in and defend yourself from all enemies – be they from the outside world or from within. And how important it is for women to become our own heroes…to not wait to be rescued by the job or the guy or the money or the admiration or the appearance or the lost weight or whatever it is we give our power to.

I am fired up. I can’t wait for the Juicy Woman Revolution full-day retreat on October 15th. I’m closing registration in a few weeks so if it’s calling to you, pick up that damn phone and register now.

Become your own hero.

Live in all 88 of your keys.

Unfurl your wings and expand into the bandwidth that is waiting just for you to fill it.

Also, I am having an evening workshop in mid-town Toronto in November. Details are still being decided but it’s a chance to come out and meet me and experience the work I do. While I’ll be sending out more emails about this evening, if you want to make sure you get the invite, please reply to this email and let me know. There isn’t a lot of space so put up your hand if you want to make sure you have a seat.

Rambling over. I’m seeing the crash coming in the next little bit (coincidentally at the same time I have to pick up both kids from school! ) so I’ll leave this for now.

As always, thank you for giving me your cute little eyeballs. I hope reading this gave you something back.

 

 

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