The Gratitude Project - Week 1: Trust, Ease, Unstoppable

So it turns out this whole crowd funding thing for my Gratitude Project was, right out of the gate, what some of us would call “a trigger.”

(And lest you be stopping by here and wondering what Gratitude Project, here’s the link, and please donate! The Gratitude Project)

Just when I thought I had made huge strides in all that personal transformation stuff, up pops the opportunity to…put it into practice. What was I thinking? This stuff is so much easier to talk about than actually do.

My three words for 2013 are Trust. Ease. Unstoppable. And so I thought I could use a revisit of those words.

Trust requires faith in the unseen, the unknown, and maybe most importantly, in the unknowable. It requires a letting go of the results once the action has been taken, a relinquishing of control, if you will. (Yeah, about that – it went right out the window as soon as the clock started ticking. And it is not lost on me, my friends, that most of the songs on this project are about or at least reference the word “trust.” Oh, the irony.)

I immediately got caught up in my desire to make it happen, instead of allowing it to. And just to save you all some grief on your own paths – that never works. We set things in motion, yes. We can act with intention, a particular energy, a mindset. But the way things play out is not within our control and trying to make is so only pushes it further away. So, I am happily withdrawing my participation from the crazy panic (she says, in a moment of uncharacteristic calm).

As for ease, well, really, if I stop with the crazy, fear-filled panic, isn’t that all that’s left? I’ll get back to you on that next week.

…Which brings us to…unstoppable, a word that, for me, conjures triumph. There have already been so many wonderful surprises in connecting with people and inviting them to be part of creating something positive in the world. The Gratitude Project is happening. How that will manifest in detail remains to be seen, but the decision has been made, the train has left the station, I’m working daily on it, others are invested in it and working on it, and the word unstoppable is being embodied.

So there you go. I’ve taken a breath and reminded myself to be open to the miracles and not to quit before they arrive.

I hope you know how very much I appreciate you stopping by. Please tell your friends.

The Gratitude Project - Day 1

Well, after much talk on this blog about going for your heart’s desire because life is, after all, short, I am finally walking the talk…or is that talking the walk…or walking and talking. Okay, you get the point I’m trying to make here – I’m doing it!

For the backstory, we need to start in the early ‘90’s, about the time I discovered that every song I wrote did not have to be about heartbreak, or heartache, or breaking up, or just general relationship drama. It was then, when, thanks to a homeless man on the street in New York City, I began writing about the world around me as I saw it, the human condition, and what I believe our potential and purpose for being here is.

But silly me, I thought it was just one or two songs that would fulfill my need to talk about this stuff. And I didn’t know what to call it, or how to categorize it, or if people would even like it.

So here I am, a little more than twenty years later, having found that it’s precisely those kinds of songs that people who have heard me play out remember, mention, and are looking to take home with them. It turns out that people want to know that their lives, in fact, do matter and we like to be reminded occasionally that, regardless of our circumstances, it is not too late to resurrect a dream.

Oh, you don’t have to tell me that this type of stuff is not what’s being played on the radio. That’s why the twenty year hesitation on my part. I’m not an idiot. But it’s an idea whose time has come, because despite all our technological interconnectedness, we feel less significant, more isolated, and we are less apt to own the inherent power each of us was given and hungers to express. And how can I say that to you if I won’t act on it myself? I can’t. And so it is time to be the change.

The Gratitude Project is my way of finally stepping up, of saying, “I know what I bring to the table, and I recognize that it is of value.” Maybe some people never have trouble saying and doing that. And I say, “Good for them!” But for most of us, it is an act of bravery to move in the direction of our hearts, our intrinsic knowing, and our grandest of dreams.

I am taking that leap of faith. And if you’d like to support this endeavor or me in that leap, here is the link to join in and be a part of The Gratitude Project.

The Gratitude Project

Thank you so much for stopping by. Please tell your friends. And know that I am profoundly grateful for you.

Synchronicity

Well, it’s been kind of an interesting week, filled with synchronicity and a few photographic misconceptions that I might want to clear up…or not. But first, there’s been some talk of “what are you waiting for?” or more accurately, perhaps, what am I waiting for, so here’s the teaser for my holy-cow-yes-I’m-finally-doing-it CD project! And rest assured, there will be lots to follow about it soon!

So back to my week in pictures…

It all started a few days ago, when my friend Loralee told me about spotting Val, one of the Dancing with the Stars pro dancers at a restaurant near her home in Florida. Good friend that I am, I humored her as she, in no uncertain terms, told me of his God-like appearance and otherwise general magnificence. Now, I have as much appreciation for magnificence as the next girl, but I feel certain, hard as I tried, there was some eye-rolling going on on my end of the phone line.

Our conversation ended with her telling me that I had to go see the God-like creature’s dancing brother, Maks, on Broadway in Forever Tango. And I told her that, short of a ticket falling from the sky, this wasn’t gonna happen.

Funny thing – two days later, some friends called me with an extra ticket the next night to see Forever Tango. So off I went to see at least one Chmerkovskiy brother in person.

Standing with my friends in the sweltering heat outside the Walter Kerr Theater waiting to see Maks, I spotted the younger Val Chmerkovskiy, yes, in all his stunningly sculpted, well, perfection, really. (Loralee was not lying about that.) And I wanted a picture to send her as proof of, well, nothing, really. Hell, he’s a gorgeous. Why pretend there’s really any justifiable reason other than that?

But I don’t have the nerve to bug the guy in the sweltering heat with the crowds of people. That’s what I have friends for. So Renato, the designated photographer and purveyor of anything you could ever dream up, stops Val, who is walking by right in front of us, and asks him to take a picture with me, which he very kindly does, with not an ounce of attitude or arrogance. The picture is taken, Val is on his way, I message it to Loralee, who, for reasons of my history with this kind of synchronicity, is not all that surprised, and we’re done – almost.

Then, my friend, Anthony, suggests I post said picture on my Facebook page. Why not? So I go ahead and do this. And while I’m at it, why not tweet it, also?

By intermission, I have more Facebook messages than I’ve ever gotten when it's not my birthday. And for those who watch Dancing with the Stars, there was much enthusiasm. But for those who don’t watch it, and who don’t evidently read captions, I appear to be dating a pretty hot guy. (I won’t go into the mathematics I did that all added up to…crap, I’m Mrs. Robinson.)

Okay, so on to the next bit of fun with photography…

Evidently, there’s a phenomenon known as Throwback Thursday. I don’t know if it began on Twitter or Facebook, or how it came into existence. And for that matter, don’t get me started on the origins of the term “hashtag,” either, because these are questions best left for people with some time on their hands. Let’s just say that I’ve observed it for a while now and gotten a kick out of it.

Well, on this particular Throwback Thursday, after seeing Kenny Loggins tweet side by side pictures of himself now versus a time when reindeer sweater-vests and unruly facial hair were smokin’ hot, (and really, when are they not?), I couldn’t resist the urge to jump in and play along. Only one minor obstacle:

Me + Social Media + Technology = Hilarious

(Translation: I had no idea how to get an old hard copy picture of me side by side with a current digital picture of me housed on my computer. Stop laughing.)

By day’s end, I had taken a picture of my old picture with my swanky iPhone and posted it on FB and Twitter. Really, is this the best use of my energy?

Well, if you thought the picture of me with the dancer got a response, you should try posting a 20 year old picture of yourself. Even though I mentioned “Throwback Thursday,” and it was, in fact, a Thursday, I’m still certain that people didn’t quite get it. Or they just chose to make me feel really good, which they did, bless their hearts.

But you know, once you start in with this kind of stuff, you just can’t stop. So I, who have not changed my profile picture since Facebook statuses were chiseled on cave walls, decided it was time for an update. By this time, though, it was Friday.

So here’s me then & now. And don't ask me how I got them side by side. It only took me until Sunday.

Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.

what are you waiting for?

When last I blogged, I was having, well, sort of a day. And much to my surprise, it turned out quite a few people related to the accompanying emotions surrounding that day. So to those of you who reached out to me in love, or support, or mere camaraderie - thank you so much. Now on with the blog...

I get a lot of political emails, and the subject lines of them range from mild outrage to downright pissed-off-titude (my own new word). But I got one recently that grabbed me. Oh, not because of anything political, but it seemed like a question that the universe was asking me directly. "What are you waiting for?"

Yeah, that's a great question we could all be asking ourselves. What are we waiting for? The right time? Money? The stars to align?

What is it that stands in the way of us doing that thing our hearts would love to do? What would it take for us to realize that the time is now and the moment is ripe for us to step up knowing that the world needs exactly what it is we have to offer right this very minute?

I really don't think most of us are compelled to action until we're either in so much pain that we must act, or until we have some type of life-changing experience that opens our eyes to both the fragility as well as to the brevity of life. But be that as it may, here we are, plodding along, waiting and hoping for - oh, what's it called again? Courage.

So I'm offering up this quote from an interview I transcribed a few years back, along with a proposal to all of you. Here's the quote: "I believe that we can all have our dreams to the extent that we are willing to help others have their dreams."

And here's my proposal: if you're not willing or able to take the step today on behalf of yourself, then help someone else on their journey. Every one of us has the ability to be an encourager at the very least, or a miracle-worker at our finest. Perhaps our work is a solitary endeavor, but accomplishing anything beyond the creation of it isn't.

What kind of world would this be if we told each other why we should strive for greatness instead of why we shouldn't? How would the fabric of our humanity be altered if we were happier? What are we doing here if not becoming the fullest version of ourselves?

And what are you waiting for?

who am I, again?

I’ve been in a good place for a while now, so this was bound to happen. Most days I’ve got enough optimism to look on the bright side of everything, enough faith to believe good things are coming even if I don’t yet see them, enough energy to work towards my goals, and enough perseverance not to stop until I reach them.

Then there are days like today.

Every once in a while I want to take my toys and go home, leave the proverbial sandbox and go sit in a corner and cry for a while for all the ways in which I think I’ve failed miserably, for the seeming futility of big dreams, and for what might, despite my best efforts, never happen. It is a dark place I go unexpectedly, and so it catches me off-guard when I find myself there.

I don’t imagine that most people can understand this. It is a peculiar life that writers and artists lead. While I can’t speak for all of us, I think it would be safe to say that most of us have a heightened sensitivity to human suffering and an insatiable longing to fill a perceived void within ourselves. That the void doesn’t really exist and that the suffering is not ours alone to bear is not really the point. Perception is everything.

So there I sat, aware that I’m usually the one cheering everybody else up when they’re in this place, but unable to do it for myself. That’s what we have friends for – to remind us who we are when we’ve momentarily forgotten.

Anyone who has ever taken a blank piece of paper and made something out of it, whether it is the great American novel, the Mona Lisa, or a paper airplane has honored some part of their spirit longing for expression. It is never the logical, rational, or even wise thing to do by the world’s standards, but for those of us who create, it is the only thing to do, the only choice there is.

I have wanted to record a CD of my inspirational songs for many years. And at the start of 2013, I declared that this was the year for it to come to fruition. But as we are approaching the halfway mark of 2013, I must admit, all the reasons not to do it seem far more prudent than the ones to do it. Oh, I never said I’d given up, but the truth is I had.

Funny thing about that, though - because I had already engaged other people in my vision and had started planning, working, setting all the wheels in motion, when I got to my “I’m gonna give up, cause what’s the point of it” funk, my friend, Tanya told me, kind of in no uncertain terms, I might add, that she wasn’t going to let me give up on me.

She used irrefutable logic like: Do you really want to be on your deathbed saying, “I should’ve made that fucking album?” Who could argue with that kind of reasoning?

So instead of continuing my tearful wallowing, I went through my list of prospective songs for the project. I recorded work tapes of them, even finding one I really liked that I’d forgotten I’d written. I began thinking about what I need to hear that I haven’t yet said and what holes need to be filled in terms of tempo, meter, and subject.

I can’t say I didn’t shed a tear the rest of the day. But I can say that I moved in the direction of my heart’s desire anyway. I just needed a reminder that following my passion and purpose will never be something I’ll regret at the end of my days. But not following it, on the other hand...

Days like this one pass, as do the feelings that accompany them. But they serve a purpose. They are a chance to choose consciously the path well worn or the one we forge ourselves.

Possibility lives in the not knowing. Are we willing to go there? The terrifying thing is anything can happen. And the great thing is...anything can happen.

Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.

And big, fat hugs to my friends for being the stellar examples of what I’ve done so very right.

"Best Wishes for a Career"

I’ve been cleaning out closets lately, sifting through a lot of things, not stopping too long on any one, trusting my initial instinct to let go of or to save. But tonight I got to a big gray envelope from a music store in New York City that no longer exists, and in it were housed papers from my college days – recital programs, transcripts, various notes from my roommates. But also among these artifacts from the 80’s was a handmade autograph book from a performing arts program I attended in the summer of ’79 when I was fourteen.

I looked at all the complimentary parting words from my cast mates from various shows, our youthful exuberance, and our confidence that future success was a certainty. I wondered if any of the names had become household ones as I tried to recall the faces that went with them.

None jumped out at me. I could remember some of the faces, but mostly of our instructors. I got to one page and immediately remembered ballet class. (I know, I know, you’re imagining the visual that accompanies me in ballet class. Stop laughing.)

On another page, I read, “I’m glad that we will keep in touch.” And because once in a while that kind of statement is actually true, I’ll tell you I’m having dinner with her on Thursday, and we have remained close friends over many miles and years and life paths.

And of course, there was, “I’m glad you are also a pirate.” That’s the kind of thing you just don’t hear often enough these days. Funny thing is I don’t remember actually being a pirate…which, clearly, I was. These are the times I both wish I had some sort of pictorial documentation to jog my memory…and am simultaneously thrilled that I don’t.

But the thing I remember most about that summer is it was the first time I played and sang my songs publicly. And though I have no doubt that they were heartfelt, angst-ridden, and probably dreadful, they moved people, even at fourteen. And knowing that what emanated from my heart and soul could move people, altered the course of my life.

The last note in my little handmade autograph book was three sentences. It read: “Your music is beautiful. Please continue your songwriting. Best wishes for a career.”

It made me laugh out loud. It was definitely to the point. And only now could I both fully appreciate and be amused by the “Best wishes for a career” line. So I googled the guy who wrote it.

I wondered what kind of career he’d had. It turns out he has sort of a common name. And though there were many listed, I only found one in show business – the guy who produced Field of Dreams and the Die Hard movies. Nah, couldn’t be him, I thought. Could it? I have no idea, but because I’m still a believer, I’ll go with maybe it is him. Besides, the one picture I found on IMDB did kind of bear a resemblance to what I remember him looking like, albeit having aged 30+ years.

As for me, I’m still writing songs, although I do think we can safely say that my pirate days are over.

Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends. And oh yeah, “Best wishes for a career” – whatever your biggest dream for one may happen to be.

the things we clean out of our closets

We don’t think of cleaning out our closets as a particularly spiritual endeavor. At least I didn’t. But a strange thing happened to me while meditating: I got the message – “clean out your closets.”

At first, I laughed, dismissing it as something I must have conjured or unconsciously thought about doing. Surely it could not be any sort of higher power urging me to fill up bags for Good Will. I mean, that would be a nice thing to do and all, but it didn’t seem like higher power stuff to me.

But every day I kept meditating, and every day I kept getting the same message – “clean out your closets.” It was obstinate and felt urgent, like nothing else could happen unless I cleaned out my dang closets. But I’m a doubter, so instead of immediately setting about the designated task, I questioned why.

Nothing revealed itself to me, nor did the message subside. So finally, I began heeding it. It seemed overwhelming, at first. Where to start? This used to be home to five people. Now there are two. And I had lived away for so many years, I had my own household worth of stuff to figure out how to store or incorporate back into this dwelling. Plus, there was the emotional component of my mother and grandfather being gone.

I decided to start with my own closets, a shelf a day, and to be merciless. Hmm, interesting choice of word. When it came to clothing, if it hadn’t been worn in three years, or if there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of me ever fitting in it again, out it went. As for other items, if I hadn’t used them, remembered them, or still loved them, out they went.

At first, it felt liberating. Liberating, but not spiritual. An idea whose time had come, but I couldn’t really glean any deeper meaning beyond the idea, on a literal level, that getting rid of the old makes room for the new.

Sure, it would be nice to have more space, be organized, know what I own, blah, blah, blah. But ten Hefty bags into it, I still couldn’t tell you why this was so friggin’ important to do now or what I was supposed to learn.

Then it happened. Little by little, I looked at the things I kept for “someday.” First, they were my own things. And those were relatively easy to let go of. But then there were my mother’s things, things I had kept “in case,” or because they fit – sort of, or because you never know. And I felt her presence as powerfully as if she was sitting next to me.

The more things of hers I put in the pile to go out, the greater my sense of fear became. Not sadness, not longing, but fear. What if I need this someday? What if there isn’t enough? What if I am completely unprepared for life and this is the one thing I could use, but I got rid of it?

It was completely irrational. I looked like Bea Arthur from Golden Girls in her clothes. They were swimming on me. This wasn’t about how getting rid of her stuff was somehow a betrayal of her memory. This was about my own fear. This was about seeing life as potentially treacherous. This was about coming from a place of lack versus abundance. And the kicker is I thought I had already dealt with all of that.

I thought I had chosen to see the universe as friendly and abundant. I thought I believed in always enough. But there I stood, realizing quite the contrary, and knowing that this moment was a chance to clear out more than my closets; this moment was beckoning me to clean out old belief systems that no longer serve me. And that, indeed, was the spiritual, and emotional, and psychological task at hand, the real reason I could receive no other message until I had done this.

As I felt my mother’s presence surrounding me, I became clear that these beliefs weren’t my own. Sure, I had adopted them as my own. We’re all served up all kinds of things from the time we come into the world, and we dutifully accept them all as the clean slate we are that’s being written upon. We copy exactly what we’ve seen or been told. But sooner or later, the decision as to what to believe and how to operate in the world is our own. Of course, by that time, our beliefs are so unconscious and ingrained in us, that we often don’t see them as a choice at all, but simply as how things are. That goes for relationships, jobs, money, everything. I would never have suspected that getting rid of an outfit that wasn’t even mine could stir up so much inner turmoil.

But that’s just it. These things didn’t belong to me. They weren’t mine. It was as if my mother was saying, “I lived my life. And these were the things of that life. Now go live yours.” From that moment on, I felt free of the fear, the what ifs, the need to hang on, as if hanging on actually made me any more or less safe in the world. It was more than purging. It was reclaiming a piece of myself I didn’t even remember. So step by step, I am releasing what isn’t mine and making room for a life of my choosing instead of the one by default.

And there’s plenty that remains just as it was when my mother was alive. The house is my father’s, after all, and I respect his wishes to leave it much the same as my mother had it. That is his choice to make, and if it brings him some measure of comfort, then so be it. Those who visit the house, who didn’t know my mother, will fast be made aware of her pervasive love of the color blue, among other things. It is my hope that they will also fast be made aware that they are welcomed, and that, though small in size, this is a place with ample room for love and laughter. And of course, food…cause you gotta eat.

Thanks so much for stopping by. Please tell your friends. And might I suggest cleaning out a closet or two of your own. You never know what you'll find when you do.