The newest chapter

I bought the coolest property. Its in the most adorable town of all the adorable towns. It was an old store front with like the coolest garage and workshop in the awesome downtown. I painted it all out in white and black and kept a lot of the industrial features. I made it into a fortress, where i am so safe. I have a workshop. I have a glam station. I create content. I have the most incredible man who is the love of my life and who wants to be by my side. I sometimes look at him and get lost in the love i feel for him. He and i are so into making our home gorgeous. I love the car i drive, we take it to do research on other adorable towns. We laugh and sing and have the best time in it. Our kids all have space there and are happy and healthy. We have a gorgeous puppy that is so sweet and loves us. Money is so easy, i make enough to never worry and so does he. I have half a million cash in the bank at any time and i easily replenish what i spend. Its easy for us to do what we want. We take trips and vacations all the time. He makes me feel so safe. So loved. The property is so me, its hip and trendy. Theres a live work aspect, i have a boutique, that is so successful. I sell furniture and accessories, plants and vintagey clothes. We love inviting people over and frequently host parties and suppers and game watching parties.

Murder and getting unFucked in a not Buddhist way.

I caught a snippet of this book a while back that was talking about the induction into Buddhism.

I don’t know a lot about Buddhism, it seems really interesting though. This book talked about the beginning of a person’s journey into the Buddhist life.

Did you know that Buddhists begin by spending 36 hours completely alone.

No phone. No internet. No interruptions. Just you alone with you.

This weekend my kids were with their dad. The house was quiet. Why not?

Three hours in…I’m on the verge of a nervous blinking breakdown.

I tried to keep going.

I didn’t talk on the phone, I didn’t text. I was avoiding the phone altogether.

I avoided TV because that is just me throwing days away binge watching nonsense.

I sat. I swam. I walked.

I tried really hard to just be cool to myself and enjoy the time but really quick–far sooner than I would have ever guessed possible this fear/hate/bullshit just started coming out of me.

There was this super painful pull for me to get the hell out of there and go anywhere else. There was a constant feeling I’m a shitty person. I caught myself telling myself that everyone hates me and I deserve it. I started envisioning my death and subsequent eating by cats. I wondered if my kids even cared if I lived or died.

Ugly huh?

I had no idea I hated myself like this.

I was scared, but I’m pretty stubborn so giving in completely was not an option. I decided on a compromise. I would not call in every friend I’d ever had to save me but I wasn’t going to be able to not have any distractions.

I painted the bathroom while listening to Unfuck yourself by Gary John Bishop.

I really liked his straightforwardness as well as how he brought ancient philosophers into our now with their relevant and pertinent thoughts.

I think my biggest take away from that book is that action is the only way to actually change. Not soon, or later or I’m going to…right NOW. Do it right now.

The other book that I listened to was ‘Stay sexy and don’t get murdered’. That book was ahhhhhhmazing for so many reasons.

It was entertaining, had awesome life advice, friend advice, silliness, anecdotes about growing up in the exact time I grew up and the biggest takeaway from that book was this:

Let your freak flag fly loud and proud. The authors are two weirdos that weren’t afraid to expose their weirdness and from it came overwhelming success and happiness.
(They are both super into true crime and apparently there are bagillions of people who are too and they call themselves Murderinos)

How cool.

I was still bummed about bailing on the Buddhist experiment. I am not trying to be Buddhist –not that I have any problems with Buddhists. I just am trying to better hear me but geeeeezus that was eye opening.

I have to fill any time alone with immediate information or action or anyone or anything at all or I freak out. This terribly mean inner critic takes over and picks at me, I pick at myself physically too…my face after the ‘facial’ is still blotchy and gross.

How can I not be able to be alone with my own

I never ever focus on the good.

I write. A lot. I love that about me.

Writing is more than a passion, I constantly do it all the time no matter what. I can’t stop it.

As Gary John Bishop says in Unfuck Yourself…(this is not a quote but some sort of forgetful style summation…he says it lots better I promise you) We all seek out certainty, when certainty is an illusion. Nothing is certain. Not ever. The only thing that is certain is uncertainty and yet uncertainty we treat like the plague. We consume billions of dollars of medicine yearly to try to quell gripping fear of uncertainty.

Nothing is certain.

So staying in this job so I can have a certain paycheck and certain life and certainly take care of my kids and never ever finishing a book like I’ve always dreamed of…where do his words have a chance? Where can his inflammatory statement pry up the loose board in the box I’ve built around myself to keep uncertainty…and happiness by the way…out?

They can’t. They stand zero chance.

In my mind, the finished book would do no better than the unread blogs–blogs I don’t even publish most times by the way. It wouldn’t be failure so I’m safer if I don’t even put it out there.
Which brings me to the last thing I’ll say about Gary John Bishop’s Unfuck yourself…he talks a lot about willingness and the need to be honest.

He says not everyone is willing to be rich. Everyone might want to be rich but not everyone is willing to trade their time for the extra zero in your paycheck. As long as you admit to yourself that you’re unwilling, then cool.

So I wonder if my not ever finishing any of the thousands of books I’ve tried writing over the years is really a fear of failure or is it really an unwillingness to let my vulnerability be exposed.

Putting the words out on the page is brutal. It’s like cutting yourself open and then if no one cares you’re bleeding out–that’s painful–and then again the thought of someone examining your oozing wound is terrifying too.

Those two books might not have been the self acceptance weekend that I needed but they brought a few great things to me and kept me from going crazy because before the Buddhist thing I wasn’t really sure that a human being could or should go two days without human contact.

I’ve been feeling in my heart for some time that I needed a reset and now that I know it’s not me being antisocial or weird and that it’s actually something that an entire religion uses as an induction…that’s enough for me to keep trying.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be blessed to find my Murderinos. I don’t know if I’ll ever be anything more than I am right now and I guess I’m willing to accept that uncertainty. For now.

So Juls, this is for you. Be nice to me. I’ve gotten you through so much, I’ve been there when no one else has. I don’t deserve to be called names, I am awesome enough to get you through ten thousand 36 hour Buddhist inductions and then some–just be kinder to me. Just as I am.

xoxo,
J

The first time I tried sushi…and agreed with Trump.

First, that was today.

I tried Sushi for the first time today.

I mean this in the most sincere way…I never want to eat anything else ever again.

I am allergic to shrimp.  I have a severe aversion to anything fishy tasting so this was Vegan sushi but oh…my…God was it the best thing I’ve ever had.

I am not Vegan.

I am the oddest combination of liberal thinker, red meat eater, LGTBQ supporter,  deep South dweller, animal lover, carnivore, ignorant, polarized idiot you’ll ever meet.  I did not vote for Trump.

I love…and I mean LOVE…steak.

I’ve seen cows killed right in front of my face (thank you 4-H).
Shot right between the eyes, skin stripped off, hacked up, processed by people in white suits covered with bright red splotches of blood from head to toe….and I still love steak.

I also love my dogs and kitties.  I know..how weird.

I hated Trump from waaaaay before it decided to take a shit on our government.

I have hated him since he cheated on Ivana.  It was about the time that my own parents had split up and his stupid, cheating, lying face was on every tabloid.  I pinned every ounce of pain I had at my parent’s separation on that guy and his flashy new wife.

I can…not believe that he was voted President to this day.   I live in a sort of quazi-paranoia at the alien assholes that live in the same very rural small town I inhabit.  I don’t trust them.

They’re his base.

Even my own family, my AUNT.  Yes, my own AUNT voted for the pussy grabbing, alleged rapist on his third marriage because he repeatedly cheated on the first two wives.

My aunt is the most Catholic, judgmental person alive. If Trump was just a guy here in our little town, her lips would fall off at spreading gossip in order to ostracize him for his misdeeds.  And yet…she was ADAMANT to the point of almost physically altercating with anyone that didn’t agree Trump should be President.

She hates the lawyer here in town because he ‘drives a Mercedes’, yet he’s married to the same woman for his entire adult life, is an elected official, pays his taxes, run a charity, donates…I could go on. She hates him AND she voted for Trump.

Can you maybe understand my quazi-paranoia at living here better?

Also, do you think I could get Russia to convince the people in this town that there’s a driving by my house tax they have to pay so I can paint antique furniture funky colors and watch TV all day (Twirls hair, looking off into possibility while legit waiting for you to answer)?

I shit you not what I’m about to tell you is true.

When the last presidential primary election day came here in our little town, I was ready.  I had my card, my id, my kids prepared for what I was about to do and what it meant, and in tow and I showed up at the polling center ready to represent.  There was this long line…so I got in it.  I was prepared to show up to make sure the Trump monster was defeated all the pain from my parents separation still trained on him and making him pay for glamorizing the downfall of the American family.

I waited with friends and family in that long line that wrapped around the outside of the building.  It was so hot.  I let the kids sit in my car with the engine and air conditioning running while I stood in line.  I laughed and talked for what seemed like hours.  Long enough for me to get a slight sunburn later, a woman comes to the distant door of the building.  She announces that if anyone was there to vote in the Democratic primary there was no line.

No one moved but me.

I motioned to my kids to get out of the car and I clasped their hands and we walked the long walk to the front of the building.   You could have heard a pin drop as a hushed judgment fell on me as I advanced to the door.

I went right up to the voting booth.  There was not a single other person there voting Democratic.

I try never to get this worked up about anything but seriously the thought of him coordinating with Russia to buy America for another four years…or ten minutes for that matter…makes me feel like I’m going to be put in a concentration camp at any moment.

If they can buy a President…what next?

Suddenly no one seems fit.  No one seems unbuyable.

When I first realized that I agreed with one of Trump’s notions, I was worried.  I’d sworn off Facebook since that election and the infuriating crap that was floating around so I didn’t think I was brainwashed?

I’d watched so very many of my friends turn from sweet incredible people to these hate-filled, polarized jerks circulating reposts of a Hillary image being burned atop a fire for her compromised email server.

Remember the good ol’ days when Hillary’s compromised emails were such a big deal?  Lol.

Facebook was making me hate the people around me for the flaberghasting shit that they circulated during that last election.  I had to get off of it.  I didn’t even know then that the inflammatory crap I was so adverse to that they were reposting was Russian borne–I just knew it was wrong.

Nope it wasn’t Facebook.  I actually agreed with something Trump said and I could no longer deny it.

I know.  I want to vomit reading that last sentence as well.

Let me explain.

I hate the IRS.

When we were separated, my now ex-husband didn’t pay his taxes for 2 years.  He said nothing to me about this.

I’ve never not paid my taxes.  When we were separated, I filed separately.  On time.  Every time.  To this day I’ve never not filed my taxes.  (Cue me pulling out my binder of every tax return, letter, threat, etc ready to prove this happily).

The minute we got divorced the tax letters started coming.  He owed $125,000+ in back taxes and–the best part–since he’d filed for bankruptcy immediately AFTER we divorced, this tax lien was now mine alone.  He was off the hook completely.

My wages were garnished and my bank account emptied.

I hate talking about this because I’m still going through it.

I hate the IRS because they took every penny a single mom had.  They ruined my name in my small town by mailing letters to every bank I worked with as a local insurance agent.  Unless you’ve lived in a small town, you can’t really understand what this kind of injury does to a person…to a business.  It was as if I had the plague.  Policies cancelled, whispers ensued, I was an instant leper.

Trump hates them too.  His incoherent babble has repeatedly mentioned dismantling them in favor of a national sales tax/tariff situation and I’m wholeheartedly a fan of this  plan.

I would more gladly pay a national sales tax than the IRS.  Let the IRS regulate and bully business owners, at least that’s a choice to run a business or not.   I would gladly pay twice what I pay now for the things I need if I didn’t have to deal with the IRS again. 

IRS agents are legitimized monsters.  If you don’t think so, you’re blessed and lucky but delusional.

I can’t even imagine the kind of person, much less woman-which it was in my case-who would come to my dilapidated house and see my children faces and take every penny I had at Christmas while garnishing my wages and ruining my ability to support my kids by sending letters to every area bank I worked with as an insurance agent  KNOWING that the debt was not mine but my exhusband’s because I’d filed my own tax returns those two years as he was living elsewhere and was to live elsewhere with my old yoga instructor evermore.

(Envision me pulling her chick card completely in a snap fashion).

Glo**a  Goddamned.  K*ll*r  (I’ve redacted parts of her name so that the IRS doesn’t find new ways to eff with me.  I have read and been advised that as long as ten percent of the letters of her name are changed, I’m good.  I went ahead and changed more than 20 percent because I’m a good person).

I hoped during the government shut down that she was at least getting a taste of her own medicine (See what a good person I am?  Lol).  I tried to picture her kids hungry and with nothing at Christmas.  I don’t care if you think that makes me a bad person.  What kind of a monster takes this on as a job?  Sells their soul for a paycheck?

I met with another of this very type of person not long ago.  She came into my office for an appointment.  She was wearing an ICE uniform on her way to the legalized torture facilities that apparently we as Americans now condone.

‘But they knew what they were getting into when they came here’ says my Mexican American coworker after I repeatedly open and shut my office door trying to cleanse the room of the evil that permeated through that foul excuse for a human being that had inhabited the chair across from me for fifteen minutes too long.

I hate unnecessary Nazi references–and I do realize this is my second– but I wondered after she uttered these words if that was similar to what the propaganda that was circulated in Germany as the Nazi’s were dehumanizing others sounded like.

The shitty sing song way she said it too…it was like it was subliminally programmed straight from Fox News.  I shivered and bit my tongue hard thankful I was in a different room so she didn’t see my disgust and fury.

Kids had died and were dying still.  A few miles down the effing road from the office we were sitting in at that very moment.  Kids.  Missing their parents.  Screaming and crying and sick.  In shitty conditions.  Shittier than the ones that they were just trying to escape.

No one.  Ever.  Deserves.  That.

No one.

Not even Glo**a fucking K*ll*er deserves her children taken from her, in a constant state of distress without communication with her family or country and no advocation.

No one.

I pray that something happens to wake Karma up to the damage this President and the people who surround him that have sold their souls for a paycheck to remove them from power of inflicting one more ounce of pain on anyone else in my name.

Shouldn’t he have needed our permission to erect these kid prisons? I certainly would have remembered a vote coming up for this. Those of us who are angry about it are just ‘nasty’ and ‘liberal’.

If you think I’m harsh, maybe I am. I don’t think I’m harsh enough.  I don’t think anyone could ever be harsh enough when up against people who have no soul.

I am sick of being rational in an irrational climate.  I’m sick of being calm when faced with insidious, irrational chaos.   If you think that these people are justified in their cruelty, you can blog about that on your blog and maybe, hopefully find a soul as well while you’re at it.

I said I agree with a monster, that doesn’t make me anything other than able to appreciate the beauty in everyone–which is how we all should be no matter how ‘nasty’ we are. No matter how wrong it feels.  That does not detract from my strong desire to form a posse and storm the fucking ICE facility and free those kids each and every day like I pray someone would do for me if I were stuck in some foreign country separated from my children unable to understand my rights or have any help in getting free.

As much as I wished there were someone to help me when Gl*r*a effing K*ll*r took everything I had at a time when my kids were handing me lists for Santa hoping for things like a new mattress to replace the one she had since she was born and had now outgrown (actually on my daughter’s Christmas list that year as well as ‘something nice for Mama to make her smile’) and pants that weren’t too short like my son had asked for.

They got nothing from me for Christmas.  We had cheese crackers and the tiniest tree you’ve ever seen bought with change from the laundry room.

I hold these things on my heart. Each one a hole as if a dagger pierced it marked with the name of each item.

‘Pants’ still hurts a lot.

Tell me what I could have done differently to change this? I once pleaded through streaming tears to Gl*r*a K*ll*r.

‘As far as I can see, you’re a criminal and I’ll do whatever it takes to bring you to justice’.  She says to me with a cold, stern face.

His original tax debt? For both years: $41,200.

The current lien against me?: $128,900.

That’s over 300% more than the debt my exhusband didn’t pay.

Tell me who you think the criminal is?

I am a walking contradiction.

I hate seafood and love Sushi.

I hate the President and love his idea of limiting government.

I live in the rural South and support all kinds of people and believe that everyone deserves freedom, peace, happiness and best of all an opinion at all times–even if that opinion is that I suck.

We’re all walking contradictions.  We’re so blessed that we can eat Sushi and be allergic to shellfish.  That we can believe in basic human kindness and still harbor feelings of hate towards those that don’t.  That we can love our country and hate our president.  We all deserve common decency.  Even him.  Even Gl*ri* effing K*ll*r.  Even me and even you.

Even tangerine tinted idiots sometimes have a good idea.

xoxo,

J

Shotgun Shack love.

 

When I bought my home six years ago, I didn’t quite know what to make of this little house that sits 30 feet or so behind it.  Throughout the years there have been quite a few times I thought about knocking it down just to keep it from falling over on top of my kids.

I always had this feeling that it was considerably older than my pre-civil war home.  We’ve always referred to it as the shotgun shack…I’m not sure why.

A few weeks ago, after a health issue with my dad and discussing with family his plan for the future.  I mentioned this house as a possibility.  While it’s definitely dilapidated, it’s got some really cool bones.  Though when I mention this to my dad he wrinkles his face up like that will never happen.  His feelings about it aside, I would happily move into it.

The time I’ve spent in it over the last few weeks has been nice.  It’s got a really good vibe for something this old.

I know this will make you think I’m crazy but the main house is definitely haunted.  You try to remodel it and it throws cups across the room or shocks you or hurts you in some way.  I have banged and banged and banged on this little house and nothing.

The siding is actually structural.  There was no frame inside apart from the beams supporting the loft.  The exterior style is called board and batten.  The boards are just over 12″ wide and the gaps between them are covered with a long strip of wood with a strange routed curve along the edges.  I don’t know how the thing is still standing but somehow it is.

Inside the home is 284 square feet on the main level with a loft that’s approximately 2/3 the size of that.  I don’t know the exact square footage yet because I haven’t been up there in a very long time.

I wish that I’d started blogging about this when I decided to begin work on it because you’d have seen a far sadder photo above this post–though I do realize how sad this looks now.  I’ve already done a lot though it might not look like it.

There were broken out windows and a door that was homemade complete with several huge gaps letting in whatever wanted to come in.

Then there was the north side of the house.  Something rotted out at the bottom causing the entire north wall to separate from the floor which created a one foot wide gap between the floor and the wall open to the outside.  My dog used this as a doggy door whenever she wanted in or out of this house.

For years, this little house was home to all the stuff I didn’t have room for in the main house that I had dragged with us from our last move.  We moved from a 6,000 square foot home to a 2,000 square foot home so this little house was jam packed with boxes from floor to ceiling.

All that stuff is currently waiting for a yard sale in a box trailer sitting in my driveway as well as a completely full barn.  So much to do.

It took me quite some time to get all my stuff out…of the main floor at least.   There are still 20 or so plastic bins in the loft I can’t get to until we are done with framing.   Plus I am pretty much out of space in the 1500 square foot barn until I let go of some junk.

After getting the stuff out, I removed these really well made and neat looking workshop benches that were existing in that barn when I bought it.  These are obviously far newer than the little house and put there by someone who loved wood working.  I’m pretty excited to get the chance to set these up in a way that I can use them.

I’d love to create a wood shop for myself in the barn eventually but for now I just crammed them in the middle of it.

Once it was empty, we started framing.  We framed out the door wall first and installed two recycled but considerably newer windows.  Then I moved this super old window unit air conditioner from the porch wall into one of the newer windows because while it’s ugly…this is South Texas and it will come in handy throughout this project.  It will eventually  be removed altogether and replaced with a mini split system that my boyfriend donated.  He owns an air conditioning company and refurbished a unit for me.  This will work really well for this space.  I can’t wait.

We are trying to do this project as cheaply as possible.   I just finished paying for the bathroom remodel we did over Thanksgiving and I’m trying to do the same with this thing…pay as I go without taking a loan or dipping into savings.  That means that I spend a lot of time on craigslist and shopping at the rehab stores for supplies.

I actually love doing this.  I wish that I could turn this into my real job, something about getting a good deal and making something nice out of things that other people don’t want anymore makes my heart happy.

So far we’ve framed out all of the walls inside and the bathroom.

Right now the loft is comprised of about sixty 1″ x 6″ x 14′ boards that look incredibly old.  There are a few old 2″ x 4″ s running in between 2 layers of these boards holding it up.  This is going to have to all come down so that we can make sure it’s able to support a bed and people sleeping in it.

When I demo the loft, I’m hoping to reclaim all of these boards to reuse for doors and a focal wall at least…if not hoard some for future projects as well.

I am also putting in two more windows.  The loft and the main floor will all be treated with the same tongue and groove flooring that I’m buying raw and finishing myself.  We stumbled upon a pallet sale a while back.  I bought a pallet of random things and inside was six five gallon buckets of wood stain and sealer.  I paid $25.

We’ve already used the items in this pallet quite a few times.  It also contained a brand new five gallon bucket of interior semi gloss paint we used in the bathroom, joint compound we did the sheet rock in the bathroom with, as well as bug spray and weed killer, a gallon of goof off and many, many more items.  I think that might have been one of the best deals I’ve ever gotten.  So far it’s saved me at least $350 in interior paint, the stain for my pool and deck, pest control and fertilizer for my roses, joint compound etc.

The plan for this little house is pretty well designed, the 284 square feet will include a full size bathtub, toilet and sink as well as a washer and dryer, stove, sink, fridge and staircase to the loft all while still remaining very open.  I’ve planned for a small dining table that will also serve as a laundry folding area and desk.  Additionally there will be a movable kitchen island and either a very small sectional sofa or a love seat and chair depending on the deals I’m able to find when I’m to this point.

Upstairs there will be a queen sized bed, two small side tables as well as a dresser inset into the eave and a rolling clothes rack that I’m making out of some old metal pipes I found under this house.

On the outside the only thing really changing is going to be the porch, the porch floor is rotted out and will be completely removed.  I will be putting in new cedar 4 x 4 roof supports and eliminating the beam in the center.  The porch floor is as of yet undetermined but likely will either be concrete or pavers, something lower to the ground so that chilling on the porch isn’t just for short people.

I’ve got lots of work ahead, I know this but somehow this is my therapy.  Sure the mean main house needs cleaning and painting and lots more but this is my therapy for now.  It energizes me.  I hope to document that here.  I hope to be able to look back in the near future and be wowed at how far I’ve come.

If you’ve ever remodeled a house this old, be sure to comment and tell me how it went.  Suggestions are appreciated.

xoxo,

Jules

A new expiration date.

It’s been a whirlwind the last few days.

Early yesterday morning, his mother died.  4:53 am.  62 years old.

She came to the farmhouse for Christmas.  Her last holiday and her family was there with her.

It was the first and only time I’ve entertained at the farmhouse in all the years I’ve lived there.  We painted and cleaned and remodeled for weeks to get ready.  I was so excited.

I know when people die we tend to blame ourselves.  I am hung up on that I might have killed her by giving her the flu.

I had the flu though I didn’t know it.  Later that night, Christmas Eve, my fever started blazing.  I had prepared all the food, I cleaned the house, I layed out all the dishes.  My germs were everywhere.

For her the flu turned into pnuemonia, then that was compounded by the addition of c-dif acquired during one of her hospital stays.  Then she got a urinary tract infection that caused her to go into septic shock.

She’d lived with MS for thirty years.  I can’t imagine being chair bound for any amount of time much less thirty years.  What a strong woman.

She has four kids.  All so strong willed and dynamic, each in their own way.  A true testament to who she was.  They were all there with her and all managed to be civil to one another as well as being civil towards their step father whom the three older children can not stand.  I thought that was so admirable.

Away from her bedside they were all carping about her care, the situation, the lack of information being given to them, words said in pain, happenings of the past…in my mind this was the biggest indication of the woman she was…that all four of her children were pissed about something on her behalf.  Any mother should be so lucky.

The hospital she spent her last days in was in my view was something truly outstanding.

I’m no stranger to hospitals.  Three years ago I lost my own mother at 63 years old to cancer.  She fought so hard but in the end the stupid cancer beat her.

After seeing this behemoth military hospital his mom was in, I felt like we failed my mother that we weren’t able to provide her with this kind of care.

His mom had a team of people watching her.  They hopped at results.  They’d try one thing, see her body’s reaction and then revise the plan.  Never have I seen Doctors bouncing ideas like that off of one another, calculator in hand, making determinations based on calculations just made.  An entire conference room was dedicated just for the doctors to confer, make notes and plans of attack and research all options.

I felt a tinge of regret at not choosing a military life as I walked out of that hospital that night.

The propaganda they play on the TVs at each elevator landing of people working out and performing in unison and cooperating and giving their best, not to mention the promise of medical care fit for a queen in the end…if I were an appropriate age to join I think I would have signed up on the spot.

Sitting in the waiting room watching the cleaning crew come by every 30 minutes, cleaning and recleaning already clean things…I got used to it.  Somehow it felt comforting.

I tried to convince him to come home with me and rest, he wouldn’t.  No one would.

I had to.  My kids needed me, work needed me.

Walking into an ancient farmhouse after the days spent in the hospital was eye opening.  I am a disgusting slob.  I know this now.  Had we really been living in such terrible conditions and I just didn’t see it?  Yes we had.

I was so exhausted that even though I fully intended on getting the house spic and span, that fell by the wayside as soon as I saw my bed.  Even in all of it’s disgusting glory it still melted my resolve and sucked me right in.

Seeing people I care deeply about having to go through this makes me feel really helpless.

It reminds me that I am also without my mom.

I’ve tried to come from a place of experience in his loss when asked.

I shared my regrets at not being more present, not getting along better with family, not being more aware of her presence when she was unconscious–watching what we said and did while she was in that state so she could have had peace.

I brought those lessons to this for him, for her, for my mom.

Everyone’s experience with death is unique.  This is their loss.  This is indelibly written onto each of their hearts for the rest of their lives, each heart with unique version.  When asked, if asked, sometimes inadvertently sharing anyway…I let slip too much from my experience.

It’s just when you lose your mom you are forced to learn so very many shitty lessons.  Seeing someone you love lose their mom…well…you feel so helpless because you know how fucked up they feel and how long it will take them to recover and you want to help.

I know the feeling that you have an expiration date because your mom died.

I know that feeling that your ticket to this planet was just revoked.

I know the urge to call her just to tell her how upset you are with her for not being here or to tell her about your day–good or bad, or to ask her what color your great grandmother’s eyes were.  All these conversations you’ve been cheated out make you so very angry.  Anger really pain in disguise.  Deep, black, hot, seething pain that is so close it almost chokes you.

I want to tell them nothing is ever the same.  Birthdays, Christmases, Easters, Tuesdays.

This immense love that you didn’t even realize enveloped you and made everything special is just gone.  You didn’t even realize it was there until it wasn’t and you aren’t able to do a damn thing about it.

I want to warn them that her dying immediately turns you into that five year old she dropped off at school and left behind.  Standing there cold and alone.  Helpless.  As if someone peeled off your skin and now everything hurts.  Then there’s the crying…Dear Lord, the crying.  The fact that a can of ravioli at the grocery store can turn you into a blubbering idiot and there aren’t enough tissues around–ever.

I want to tell them how going through this is a sure fire way of seeing real angels.  You are in so much pain you might not see them for what they are at the time but being in that kind of pain and not dying yourself must be some kind of beacon to angels.  They find you, they comfort you, they make themselves known though you don’t ask.

I want to warn them that this immense pain also is a beacon to demons as well.  They’re attractive and enticing and eager to help…and easy to fall for.  They’ll take control when all you want is someone to take control.  I want to tell them how important it is that someone have your back–someone who will do it even when you don’t deserve it.

I want to tell him these things but unfortunately these are things you have to figure out for yourself.  There aren’t short cuts, as much as I wish there were.

What a shitty club to be a part of.

May God bless her sweet soul and be with her family.

xoxo,

Juls

 

A Diva is born…

I am…as I type…listening to Maggie Rogers sing Whitney Houston’s “I wanna dance with somebody”.

Dear Lord.

I think even the Diva herself is somewhere grooving to this–even knowing how she felt about others performing her stuff.

Music for me is something that I use to be multidimensional.  In the future, sometimes the past but also the present.  I’m so very glad I’m presently enjoying this rendition–also, it’s reminding me of just how much I love dancing and that I’ll never have that.

All in all Monday, I think I’ve just about had enough of you and I’m hoping that Tuesday is a kinder and more gentle experience.

You should totally listen to Maggie Rogers sing this.  Worth the goooooogle.

xoxo,

Juls

Eff off Facebook

Ugh.  Now here on day six of my mindset reset with Mel Robbins and this is the day she’s going after my morning.

I’ve always worn the badge of just not being a morning person.  I’m grumpy, I snooze, I’m late…this has just always been who I am.

She wants me to take my phone out of the bedroom because of Facebook?  She doesn’t realize that I’ve already been converted.  I read her book, I’ve been subscribed to her emails for over a year.  I am a 5-4-3-2-1, book thumping, productivity freak because of Mel Robbins and I LOVE it.

Her point about not having the phone in the bedroom is because most people find the temptation to look at the phone too much and stay up way too late on things like Facebook.

I don’t Facebook.   I don’t Facebook mainly because of fomo, if I’m honest–it gives me anxiety.  Facebook makes it appear that everyone I know is out there living a far better life than I am.  In reality four of my 1000 friends posted photos of their recent vacations, fifteen of my friends commented on other friends vacay pics which caused them to pop up on my feed, and before I know it I’m anxious and depressed and I feel like a super huge failure because I’m the only one not doing and going and getting awesome things—and that’s how I feel before you factor in the fact that Facebook almost single handedly is responsible for the current idiot in office.

I was dating a member of Donald Trump’s base when that election was going on.  Racist, sexist, ageist –you name it–if it was different from him and his redneck friends–he hated it.

I remember the vulgar Hillary posts he’d like and share.  I was so offended and flabbergasted at how these assholes could possibly stand behind this clearly delusional and dangerous idiot so vehemently.  Why couldn’t I understand how everyone I was surrounded by was enamored with Donald Trump?

That’s easy.  I do not Facebook.

I did not get brainwashed because I do not Facebook.

Why don’t I Facebook?  I hate the sheep mentality.  I don’t like the weirdo stalker factor and also I have to tell you that if you think stalkers are the only people checking you out that you don’t want to be checking you out–you’re dead wrong.  The IRS checks you out as well.  I know this from the current IRS hell my ex husband has me suspended in.

They’re looking at those braggy vacation posts, the ‘look at my new car’ posts, and all those shopping pics as well.  That’s an honest to God true story straight from a first hand party to it.

Does having nothing to do with Facebook kinda make me feel like a hermit?  Yes.

Will I cave about it after the whole Russia thing?  No.

Maybe i’m socially withdrawn, maybe I’m just someone who’s had it with the stupidity of the masses but either way in my book Facebook is to blame for the current presidential nightmare.  Oh, and remember that war room they promised to put together in order to satiate the mob (and congressional leaders)  baying for their blood?  Dismantled.  Just in time for Russia’s new and improved plan complete with a much bigger budget to buy or keep themselves an American President.

We are truly letting the monkeys run the zoo.

Our only defense is to stand up for America and kick facebook to the curb for good so that our decisions are our own and not those of outside forces trying to take us down from the inside.

Hope you kick it to the curb too.  I’m 2 years free as I write this and I have to tell you there are things that have really changed in my life for the better because I gave it up.

I don’t check my phone a million times a day.  I talk to people face to face.  I will not touch my phone when I’m talking to a real person.   I have more free time at night.  I don’t care one little bit about what anyone thinks about what I think or do or feel or say or look like or how I live.   I feel happier with my life.  I have more than some and less than others but exactly as much as I need right now and that’s ok where I used to feel inadequate, under achieving, like something was wrong with me because I didn’t buy 2 new cars like my friends x, and mad at my boyfriend because my friend y’s boyfriend bought her jewelry and jealous because so and so is in Tahiti while I’m stuck behind this desk.

I like my farmhouse.  I love that I have eight chickens.  I like that we eat food from the greenhouse I built, I love that I work four minutes from home and that I can pick up and leave anytime I want if my kids need me.  Sure there are things that I’d like to continue to work on but giving up Facebook has done nothing but make things better.

 

xoxo,

Juls

 

 

How to make it better from here.

I’m limping along behind the pack in doing Mel Robbin’s mindset reset.  I’m on day four which should have been done on January 4th, but hey, I’m doing it.  Better late than never…pretty much the tattoo I should get as it’s the theme of my life.

Today’s message was about limiting beliefs.  Mel Robbins asks that you comment on her videos and to me it’s so validating to see that I’m not alone!  One commenter asked where Mel thought that our limiting beliefs came from and her answer was sent from God himself I am sure.

Mel Robbin’s response to that question was something I have always been told was a cop out to even think, I’ve had therapists tell me that the answer to this question wasn’t the obvious answer no matter how much I felt like it was where the source of my mean inner voice came from…it was deeper but according to Mel?  Our limiting beliefs come from our parents.  Just like I’ve always known.  Fuck the therapists.  Reading that answer was like watching a home run ball hit right out of the park and catching it in my bare hand.

Why was I so sure that was where the negativity in my mind comes from? The voice in my mind is that of my mother.

You see when we are small our parents are our whole world.  We study their faces, their sounds, their movements…we have such unconditional and pure love for them.  Babies don’t have jobs, bosses, bills, stress…parents however do.  Over the course of our childhoods inevitably our parents succumb to stressors like money or work or responsibilities and they snap at their children.  It just happens.  As careful as you can be as a parent, at times you just lose it and you say thing either to or in front of your children that you don’t even realize scar them.

The things my mother said to me I hear each and every single day.  A hundred times a day.  Her voice is the voice of criticism in my life and I carry it with me in every single thing I do.

I have always felt like I was so truly terrible and offensive that I was the only person in the world whose parents hated her.

My mother is gone now and she had a hard death so disparaging her for me is tough.

My mom didn’t have the easiest life.  She commuted, she worked for a bank and so I’m sure that there were lots of rules and stress. My dad didn’t always have steady work, it was seasonal and so there were months where her income was the only income I’m sure.

Somewhere along the way, when she would have a stressful day and come to pick up her daughters she began using me as a sort of verbal/mental punching bag.

Over the years I grew some beliefs about myself as to why this was happening.

Here are some of those beliefs…the one’s I’ve discovered so far:

1.  To her there were two kinds of people, good and bad.  I was bad and there was no way I could redeem myself at any point ever.  Just bad.  I actually remember her saying this to me on several occasions.  She also used this same euphemism with law abiding people.  You either were law abiding or you were not.  At the time, I had gotten a speeding ticket and as I was in high school and didn’t have a job I didn’t really know what to do about it.  Approaching my harsh hateful mother about the ticket was worse than hell so I just didn’t.  Well, the ticket came in the mail at some point and this was when her bad vs. good euphemism adopted a new version to law abiding vs. criminal.  As a adult I realize that there are plenty of times that I’m both.  That we are all fucking both.  Not wearing your seat belt is a crime and yet many people do that.  In fact I just saw a judge in our town not wearing his seat belt.  In her eyes does that mean that he is in fact not law abiding but a criminal instead.  Yes.   The saddest thing about this stupid fucking mindset is that while she was doing this, she had my sister at her feet as if she were a mother wolf training her young to devour prey.  My sister to this day sees everything in this light and it’s horrifying to think that my nieces and nephew have to grow up in this environment as well.  I can’t seem to escape the abuse because my sister perpetuates it.  I am either right or wrong.  I am allowed no grace according to her.
2. I’m not good enough.  For anyone.  Anywhere.  At any time.
3. That I’m a burden and no one really will ever want me around.  She actually screamed this at me when I was leaving to go to college.  “I’m so glad you’re not my burden to deal with anymore”.  Really.
4. That my depending on anyone for anything is undeserved and out of the question.  I am completely undeserving of love and care.  This is what a child who grows up without compassion feels.  When asked if I could borrow money when my husband left and I was dumped with a home, bills, and an empty bank account…she said in a nasty tone that she was so sick of bailing me out.  She’d never bailed me out.  She’d always turned her back on me spouting some bullshit about how I’d feel so much better if I did it on my own.  I did watch as she bailed my sister out time and time again.  I watched her pay the bills and let her live for free in a home they owned for five years.  My sister currently lives for next to free in a home my parents own while I pay a mortgage.
5. That I am not deserving of any good things.  I am not worthy of a college education.  I am not worth putting braces on, I am not worth any kind of attention or affection.
6. I am so stupid that I deserve to die, that I should literally kill myself because I am that much of a horrible monster
7. That everyone hates me.  Literally to my mother and my sister…everyone hates me.  They have both said this to me on several occasions.  Does everyone really hate me?  Or is it perhaps that I come from a long line of narcissistic twats that shouldn’t be allowed around people?  The latter for sure.  I could maybe see if I’d murdered an innocent person, if I’d had an affair that ruined lives but they’d throw this one out there for just about anything.  You took my earring backs?  EVERYONE  hates you.  You came into my room, EVERYONE hates you.  You got a bad grade?  EVERYONE hates you.  You’d think after hearing this one in so many stupid situations that I’d just laugh at them.  Instead I ingrained this.  Everyone hates me in my mind.  There is a special place in hell for people that say things like this.  This one statement caused me to almost kill myself.  This statement causes the other person to envision a reality in which people are flagging down the abuser to tell them how hated the victim is.  And that’s exactly what it is.  It’s abuse.  Using this phrase makes you an abuser and the person you say it to a victim.
8.  That there is just something irrevocably and unforgivingly wrong with me.  Nothing I do is ok and any reasoning I have behind doing anything that I actually do is a cop out?  This one is infuriating.  It makes me feel lucky that my mom is no longer here because I think I’d most like to confront her about this one and I honestly don’t think she would have been capable of wrapping her head around what this did to me.  If she were still here this is what I’d say to her in this moment.  I had adhd bitch.  Maybe if you’d paid attention to me a teensy little bit you’d have seen this.  Maybe instead of yelling and hitting and locking me outside if you’d have gotten me some fucking help my life would have turned out differently.  Maybe if instead of barring all that you’d have just extended basic human kindness so that I felt like I mattered to anyone at all I would have had some self worth.  I’m glad my sister turned out so well for you.  I am glad that you got to help ‘bail me out’ once before you died so you knew what that felt like.

Putting these limiting beliefs down here turned out so much uglier than I had hoped.  It’s so ugly that I don’t feel like publishing it but it’s raw and honest and in my opinion those are the things that really matter.

I don’t really feel like I hate my mom.  I want you to know that.

She said something in the beginning of her video this morning and that was that we either evolve our thinking or we repeat patterns.  That’s easy to think about but really hard to implement.

I don’t think my mother set out to hurt me.  I think she did the best she could.

Do I think I’ve done better with my daughter?  No.  I think I’ve done what it takes to get through and I am positive she will have anger for me at the things I missed and got wrong as well.  So what I would say to my mother with this in mind is that I appreciate the things she got right and I am blessed that I was given the opportunity to grow as a person to get past the set of limiting beliefs put in my path.

The mindset reset process has shone a light into a dark void that has been my deepest shame for most of my life.  I have been laid bare on this page and it’s not as terrifying as I thought it would be.  There’s also a lot more of it than I thought there would be.

The next lesson is deliberate thinking and this isn’t a new topic to me.  This is something that takes a lot of time and practice.  I’ve been doing this in some version for years now.  Each time that good old auto pilot kicks on…usually when I’m washing the dishes or the clothes and starts saying that I’m not good enough and that no one loves me and that I deserve terrible things and that I should die…I immediately snap my fingers and out loud say ‘Shut up’.

Yes.  My kids probably think I’m insane.  It’s just the likelihood of them thinking I’m nuts versus the damage that this thinking has done and is doing to me over all this time is just mind boggling so I choose to sound nuts instead in order to stop these negative thoughts.

If I could have back any of the years that I spent hating myself I’d be thrilled.  I can’t.

If I could take back any of the shitty things that I’ve done because I hated myself I would love it.  I can’t.

Even still stopping these destructive thoughts from ruling my mind is nearly impossible, I actively try with each breath.  In order to be better unfortunately it isn’t an instantaneous decision. It’s a decision I have to make a hundred times a day, every day, no matter what i feel like.

There used to be not only whole days, but whole weeks and months when it won.  Now I can usually stop it and if not the next time I do.  There are not whole days anymore, I hope soon I can say there are no longer whole hours.

All that to say that steering your mind away from the negative defaults that were preset in your brain when you were young or from bad relationships is a process.

I read somewhere that it takes seven positives to make up for one negative.  I’ve always been leery of affirmations but I’m revisiting that opinion this week.  I don’t really have a plan on how I can better incorporate them yet.  I’ve always felt really silly speaking super cheesy positive affirmations out loud where others can hear me.  I guess that’s better than the ‘Shut up’ or ‘Stop it’ I’m randomly spouting off out loud now.

Based on my limiting beliefs above I created the following affirmations and in place of the negative thoughts I’d like to try to swap them out.  For example the next time I find myself thinking that I’m so stupid I should kill myself I’ll stop myself and then say, “I blessed with an innovative mind and a driven soul and I can’t wait to share that with others.

So based on the negative limiting beliefs I listed above here are some affirmations that might help me:

1. There is no such thing as an entirely bad or good person, I am the best person I can be each day.
2.  I am perfectly enough for everyone that matters to me.
3. I am able to succeed at whatever I want to do.
4. I am lucky to have as much support as I need.
5. I deserve everything I want and need.
6. I am here because I have gifts that need to be shared and people that need me.
7. The people that belong in my life love me.  All the rest aren’t meant to be in my life.
8. I am thankful for the traits that make me who I am and also that I am capable of improving myself.

I don’t know how to incorporate these just yet.  I don’t see myself necessarily being the kind of person that just says this out loud all the time but if I had them on hand when the voice attacks me maybe I could just replace the bad for the good?

All I can do is try to make each day better.  The more I do that, the further away from bad I get and bad for me was real bad.  I remember bad like the back of my hand and to be honest even long after bad was not the case any longer bad still reigned in my mind.

I’m looking forward to better.  All I can do is to focus on doing better one day at a time.

xoxo,

Juls

Boutique Obsession

This weekend I went to visit another small town a few small towns over.  My visit was mainly because of the river that runs through it.  I am river obsessed normally but never more so than in August in deeeeep South Texas.  As river obsessed as I am, I am equally as boutique obsessed and this small town unlike my small town has a main street straight out of an old-timey western filled with adorable shops, bars, restaurants.

If there was one place on earth that personified me…this place would be it.  Natural beauty, girly frills, and live music.

When I was a kid and we came here I found the boutiques so intriguing with their beautifully crafted displays and pretty paper bags being carried down the main street.  We were always coming through town on our way somewhere else and we never had enough time to stop and look around.  Instead I had to imagine what getting to go inside those shops must be like, the smiling faces of the people walking out of their doors fueled my imagination. The thresholds must be a portal to a better place where they left the dusty little town behind and entered a land of magical twinkling lights, pretty displays and sweet smelling aromas.

When I started coming back to visit this little town as an adult, the boutiques were my main goal in coming.  I inhaled deeply upon entering each one, taking in the rich scents of leather and scented candles.  I took in each display in my own time, enjoying the experience thoroughly.  Each bag filled with my finds was a present to my inner child who had too many times been denied.

I was predisposed to retail.  I was raised in a store.  Not a boutique, no fanciness, no frill–just well stocked displays, clean shelves filled with perfunctory items and fresh cut meat.  My grandparents owned the town grocery store.  In our store, the shopping carts served dually as not only shopping carts but also as play pens.  The aisles were our playground, the customers part of our family.

I sat in the little office with my Grandpa when he ordered from suppliers, I sat at the table with my Grandma as she kept the books, I helped price and stack cans–these were my child’s play.  The day I mastered that pricing gun I’d watched my Grandpa wield my entire life–you know the kind with the peel off sticker tape and the adjustable dial numbers–was one of the proudest days of my life.

Ever since then I’ve dreamed of my very own shop.  While my grandfather was a true retail man with his enticing displays…he was a man.  In the version of the store in my mind the shelves would be lined with bunting and racks would hold gorgeous home decor, barrels lined with festive linens would be filled with dazzling items, there would be frill and beauty in every direction.

I’ve heard it said that doubts are what keep us from realizing our dreams.

While I would be possibly the happiest version of myself running my own boutique, I have always had more doubts than faith.

I don’t feel like my small town would support a boutique.  I’ve seen so many, many things come and go throughout my time here. The town’s average income is well below poverty.  Then there’s Amazon driving a stake through the heart of brick and mortar stores.  It seems like each day brings news of another major retailer shutting it’s doors.

Then there’s the little town I visited this weekend.  I can say without doubt that there are only a few retail establishments that have stood the test of time there, a couple of bars and one restaurant.  In just the last few years, I’ve seen so many adorable boutiques come and go, only a handful are able to hold on for more than a year.  And this town unlike mine…it has wow factor, it has tourists, it hosts Harley Davidson festivals and a farmer’s market and live music.  My little town has none of those things.

As I talked with the lady helping me check out at the only boutique I was able to get into this weekend, I found myself fighting the urge to ask her all the questions floating around in my head.  How is business?  Are you able to make a living?  Do you like it?  What got you into it?  Do you enjoy the lifestyle? What are your regrets?  And on and on.  Surely she wouldn’t appreciate these questions, she was nice but you could tell she was a bit grizzled.  Instead I bit my tongue and made assumptions.  Obviously business wasn’t going that great.

I knew this woman to be the owner of the store, she’d introduced herself as such during a previous visit.  I’d bought expensive things from her store like I was doing today before–most notably a black sarong style dress 2 years earlier that was still hanging in my closet with the tags on it.  This very style dress was currently on a mannequin in her display window.

She did a good job merchandising this stock I knew to be old so that it didn’t seem that way, I doubt anyone else would have caught it…it just so happened that very dress mocked me often with it’s price tags still on it taking up real estate in my closet.   The store overall was clean, with interesting displays, creative, artisan crafted display cases, well accessorized outfits, a few home furnishings, a small but well stocked men’s section but as far as her inventory went…it was pricey and it  hadn’t changed much in years.

I was the only person in the store except for her though the sidewalk of the little town was filled with people.

Still, whatever her answers to those questions might have been…I would love to be in her shoes.  That’s probably why I didn’t ask.  I already know too well that a boutique is a bad idea and I didn’t think hearing it from someone who ran one was something my heart could take.  I wanted to believe she was doing well.  I voted for her survival with my dollars every chance I got.  I wanted her to flourish just so that she could prove it’s even possible anymore.

Shopping was what I did with my mom most weekends.  My mom was a different person when we went shopping.  She worked a lot, she commuted a long distance and what was left of her afterwards wasn’t much and what we did get was a short tempered and mean.  Except on weekends.  On weekends we would get up and drive the hour drive into town and she’d take us shopping.  Without her saying so, this was her way of making up with us for the slights and abuses we incurred during the week.  She smiled, she was relaxed and we had fun.

Now that I, and everyone else Amazons whatever they need I don’t think that anyone realizes quite what we’ve lost.   We’ve lost the experience.  I think one day that will be missed.  I would much rather go boutique shopping than Amazon stuff I wear even if it cost more.

My kids do not share my opinion of shopping.  Teenaged children would rather go without than go shopping for new things even when I’m willing to literally buy them whatever they want.  They tell me I am a dinosaur for even asking.  I’ve been told this enough times that it’s sunk in.  Instead they just text me links to the things they want, I click on the link and two days later whatever it is they wanted is sitting on my doorstep. Without us ever having had said a word to each other, without us spending any time together.

If my dream wasn’t meant to be why would I keep having it so persistently for all my life?

They say that you should do what you love, do what you’d do even if it didn’t pay.  For me that’s a boutique…well that and writing. Unfortunately for me at the present time the doubts outweigh the force, hopefully that won’t always be and one day I get my beautiful little shop.

xoxo,

Juls

 

Why making it all about you is most of your problem.

This is tough.

I am a recovering narcissist.  I get to say ‘recovering’ because I realize that I’ve been selfish and self-centered and I try to do better.  There are lots of people who don’t.

While doing some work on myself recently on getting unstuck, I was guided to this incredible point.  Twice.  In one day.  Two of the people I admire most brought this to my attention.

In my beloved Thursday email from the incredible Mel Robbins, she says this on the topic of friendship:

It’s all about how other people feel about themselves when they‘re around you. If you make people feel like they matter, you’re genuinely interested, and you cheer the loudest for everyone else, then you’ll be loved. It’s truly that simple.–Mel Robbins

Taking the time and energy to worry about how you make others feel–especially when you grapple with something as monumental as narcissism is tough.  Consideration of others takes practice, time, commitment and perseverance.

As someone who is looking to find ways to open herself up and grow–I’m interested in anything that can help me exercise qualities pertinent to my goals.  It just so happens that improving my social life is one of those goals.

It turns out that putting others first is not only pertinent to my goal of improving my social life but also in creating a business based around my talents and passions which is another of my goals.

Each morning I go through a daily checklist of the things that I want and need to do for the day.  This list includes things like blogging and drinking enough water, it also includes checking out a new podcast on something that I find interesting.

Today I chose a podcast that I’d heard of a few times called Unmistakable Creative.  I’d become interested in this podcast because they have interviewed something like 700 successful people.  For me, getting to be influenced by a successful person living in flow without any intimidation is magical.  I ended up choosing one that was an interview of Beate Chelette–a famous entrepreneurial motivational author and speaker that I’ve admired for quite some time.

Little did I know that this podcast I’d chosen quite at random was about to tell me basically the very same thing that Mel Robbins had emailed that morning.

Beate Chelette said on her interview with Unmistakable Creative, “We are remembered by how other people remember us.  We live only through the memories of the people who we touched.  So if we didn’t touch anybody, but we have a really big bank account, we’re not really remembered.  But if we are remembered, people say “when I listened to what you said, when I saw what you created, when I read what you wrote, when I got my treatment from you…this is how you made me feel…and that creates an emotional bond”.

Today’s tiny step in the right direction is to work on the experiences I have with those I interact with today.  To consider what it is that they’ll take away from that experience and to try to make that the best interaction I can each and every time.  By focusing on doing this as well as I can, I’m hoping that it will become something that is second nature.

Here’s to the quality of the interactions we have with one another, to building better and stronger relationships with others and ourselves.

xoxo,

J