Some friends and I were watching a dance performance at the Boulder Theater when a friend-of-a-friend arrived. During an intermission, she began to talk about her recent breakup, and the texts she was now sending him that he wasn’t replying to.
“I told him he was beautiful, and he didn’t say anything. All I need is a ‘thank you.’ Just a ‘thank you.'”
She proceeded to mention a couple of other messages she was “needing” replies from.
When she said it, it knocked me back to the person I am when I say things like this, which is a self that doesn’t quite feel like my full Self. It’s something I’m acutely aware of, and it inspires me to write about how we can start conversations that empower us—even if we never get a response to what we’re expressing.
When we have something to express, how can we communicate what’s truly in our heart?
Often, if we think we need a specific thing in return, it means that we are communicating from a state of lack—that we’re waiting for a response or reaction to fill us up or help us decide what to feel. To need in this way can feel very disempowering.
Continue reading The Key to Feeling Empowered in Conversation (Even If It’s One-Sided)
There are three things I need in my workday: making, managing and magic.
Here’s how I weave them all in—or better put, how they weave together to create me and my expression every day.
Making something every day is vital to my life force, health and sanity.
Continue reading 3 Things I Need in My Workday: Making, Managing & Magic
For the solopreneur, the inspired creative, and oh right everyone who’s coming to WDS—you might, like me, be wondering what to bring. Business cards? Obvious (actually, where are mine… ::opens moo.com::). Notebooks? Check. Pens? Yup.
But, what could you be forgetting? What object lying on your bedroom floor will haunt you on the airplane, personifying itself in your head and chastising you for your forgetfulness?
(No one else has an inner critic that intense? Ok, I digress.)
Let me help.
Here’s the heat I’m packin’—plus, I asked WDS alumni the #1 must-have they brought in prior years. Take it or leave it (but at least leave it intentionally).
What to bring to WDS:
Continue reading What to Bring (and Not to Bring) to World Domination Summit 2014
I’m in Spain, buying too many books in Castellano, drinking too much coffee (and wine and sidra and vermut and…), and really allowing myself to indulge in play. Lunch at 4 with wine? Sure. Gluten? Dairy? Pile ’em on top of each other and send them my way.
In terms of a more healthy type of play, yesterday I acquired a bicycle from the generous owner of La Bicicleta Cycling Cafe & Workspace, which I can borrow until I leave in 5 days.
I realized I had never biked in Madrid before—and I lived here for almost a year. I’m excited to combine my passions in a way I never have before—in this case, being in a world brimming with my favorite other language, and of exploring that world by bike.
Bicycling creates a flow, an ease, a rooted nugget of pleasure inside of me that can cancel out the negative outcomes of unexpected diversions. And in Spain, there are many: restaurants not opening when they say they will, losing something (my laptop sleeve now lives in Barcelona), machines eating your credit card at the train station then shutting down completely, clearly satisfied to have a siesta after eating your delicious only way of paying for things. Sigh.
Continue reading The Word “Retired” Should Be Just That
I’ve always enjoyed smelling people as they walk by, generally inside modes of transportation. Tight spaces, forced hallways. On trains, buses, planes. I inhale the waft they leave behind, the layers of their days. Their mornings, their showers, their indiscretions.
I generally like the smell of women more. When an intriguing woman walks by, I make my nostrils sive-like to distill her smell and form an opinion about her. Not so much men, women are the ones, licking at my nose, apple sweet.
Once, there was a Scorpio man I was in love with who was not in love with me, which at that time in my life was the only kind of man I could love.
I could smell him before he came into a room or after he left it. I don’t mean his cologne; I mean him. His being, his incense. His life, what he showered with, what he left on him from where he’d just been. I loved it. I loved feeling in tune with him, if only in this way. It made me feel poetic.
One day, I was walking down the hallway to my office and I smelled him. It always made my heart gymnastic; I went in, blood cooling after the swell. But, it seemed he wasn’t there.
Continue reading Scents of Crumbs of Days of Lives