I have two words of advice for those of you who want great things to happen in your life: GIVE UP.
Give up, you say? Never! We are taught that we should work work work work work for all of the things we want. If you want a better job, work for it. If you want a healthier body, work on it. If you want a better relationship, work to attract it. I don't know about you, but all of this damn work is making me tired.
For the last ninety days, I have been drowning in work. The more I tried to accomplish, the more unsuccessful I became. I had a list of action items that could choke a horse, none of which I was doing very well. My list of work priorities in no particular order included:
* Creating one-day seminars for social workers, nurses, and bodyworkers
* Proposing corporate training on time management, overcoming adversity, and change management
* Pitching keynote speaking events for health care organizations
* Developing in-service training modules for teachers
* Acquiring a literary agent in order to reissue Opening the Kimono
* Writing my blog, freelance articles, and "Sex and the Suburbs" column
* Trying to get "Sex and the Suburbs" syndicated
* Contacting radio and TV stations for interviews
* Scheduling book signings at booksellers
* Submitting Opening the Kimono to popular book bloggers for review
* Teaching creative writing classes
* Hosting meditation circles
* Conducting intuitive healing private sessions
* Facilitating Club Kimonos
* Growing my social media network on Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn
* Networking networking networking
* At least 25 other "mission-critical" tasks
UGH. After writing all of that crap down, I can understand how I was miserable. There was simply too much to do, and not enough time to do it. I was under the wave.
During last week's flight to the East Coast, I asked Spirit for some much-needed help. My To-Do List From Hell had to stop, and I needed a receive a clear message from the Universe as to what I should be working on. After my prayer, I went about my business and waited for the signs to appear.
After conducting a couple of righteous guided meditations, two super-charged speaking events, and a heartwarming Club Kimono, I realized (or remembered, to be precise) that I NEED to be on stage bringing the Mojo in order to be happy. I get energized when I am in front of a group of people doing my thing -- making them laugh, inspiring them, and helping them to see what they can do to bring more joy and peace in their lives. I got very little sleep last week, yet I had enormous amounts of energy. Simply put, motivating people and connecting them to Spirit is my passion, not my work. It is like oxygen for my soul.
Later in the week, I received additional guidance that I should let go of any other tasks that don't have to do with my inspirational speaking. That meant that I was to drop corporate consulting, educational training, and bookstore events --- at least for right now. Instead, I should funnel all of my energies towards getting on the stage. As I have written before, it is my natural habitat. If I were to be honest with myself, I am not that juiced up about the other stuff. My motivation to accomplish all of those goals was simply fear in disguise. I was afraid that I wouldn't make enough money if I didn't get it all done. Never mind that, since my heart wasn't in most of it, I wasn't able to close any business.
On Saturday afternoon, I came to another conclusion: I no longer needed to kill myself to find an agent. This discovery was made ONE DAY before I was going to fly to New York City to attend a swanky "Meet the Agents" forum. How ironic! I opted to go to New York anyway, since I already had the plane ticket and prepaid for my stay in a trendy Brooklyn apartment. I decided that my new goal wasn't to acquire an agent; rather it was to have fun in The City and meet some cool people along the way. I packed my suitcase, put a few copies of Opening the Kimono in my big purse, and was on my way...
When I got to the event, I immediately noticed that the room was full of angst-ridden wannabe authors. While waiting for the presentation to start, many of my neighbors were kvetching about how unsuccessful they have been in acquiring an agent, how rude some of the agents are, and how unlikely they were to get a "Yes". Nice attitude, ladies.
After the agents introduced themselves, all of us fledgling writers waited in very long lines to get our three minutes of face-time with two or three of our preferred agents. The anxiety, depression, and anger levels were reaching a fever pitch. I recall a woman behind me who was nervously reciting her pitch in her head. She reminded me of the late great Chris Farley on Saturday Night Live doing The Chris Farley Show; she looked liked she was going to start pulling out her hair and scream, "I'm so stupid! Argh! I can't believe I said that!" One could almost smell the fear. I, on the other hand, was totally relaxed. I decided to tune out the crazies by goofing around on the Facebook app of my iPhone.
When it was my time to be in front of Agent #1, I joyfully sat down, plopped down my book, and said, "Hi, my name is Theresa Rose. I am the author of this book, Opening the Kimono: A Woman's Intimate Journey Through Life's Biggest Challenges. It has won two awards so far: the Royal Palm Literary Award and the Living Now Book Award. I am also a motivational speaker and workshop facilitator, and I sell my book to about 80% of the attendees at each function. I also write a column called "Sex and the Suburbs" for Creative Loafing newspaper, and I am looking to get it syndicated. I think the time is right for me to start looking for an agent to take Opening the Kimono to a larger audience. Is this something you might be interested in?" My pitch took me no less than one minute, and frankly, I could have cared less what her response was.
What did she say?
"I'd like to learn more. Send me the book and your proposal when you get home. Next!"
I waited in two more lines over the next two hours, and I had one more agent tell me to send her my materials.
Just like that. Easy peasy.
It was an interesting lesson for me. When I let go of the need to work so hard at it, the results come easily and effortlessly. Even today, as I finish up the book proposal, I am relaxed, confident, and totally trusting that whatever happens will happen. Either Ms. R or Ms. B will want to take me on as a client, or they won't. Whatev. It doesn't negate the power of the book or my absolute certainty that I should be on stage bringing the juice.
Two nights ago, I had the pleasure of seeing Deepak Chopra speak in front of 2,000 people at the University of Minnesota. Naturally, he was brilliant and inspiring. But, I got more out of watching Deepak than hearing him. I imagined myself speaking in front of a large, enthusiastic group someday and thought how friggin' kick@ss that will be! I heard the laughs, saw the smiles, and felt the warmth. Right now, I mostly speak in front of groups of 50. Someday, it will be in front of groups of 500. If I'm lucky, eventually it will be in front of 5,000. For now, though, I am content to let go of the need to "work" at it and just BE.
Sometimes we need to give up so we can receive.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Medicine In All Its Forms
When the going gets tough, the tough go to Dairy Queen.
That is exactly what happened yesterday when I learned that a major NY publisher, after three months of reviewing Opening the Kimono, decided to reject my book for publication. While they loved my book, they could not support it at this time. Specifically, the publisher said:
"We have done our best to analyze whether we can publish your book successfully. After doing that analysis, we have come to the conclusion that based on the market as it is, it would be difficult to successfully publish it at this time. I know that this could be disappointing news and I want you to know that this is not a reflection of your work, but more of what's happening in the market and what has been selling successfully in this challenging market. "
That was little comfort. I felt like I had been repeatedly punched in the stomach by the World Boxing Association heavyweight champ. I had put so much of myself into the notion that this top publisher would accept my book and take it to the masses. Visions of Oprah danced in my head. How could they reject it? Everyone who reads it loves it! I know that celebrity memoirs, works from known bestsellers and diet books are practically the only things being published right now, but c'mon! Isn't there just a little bit of room for something new?
My husband/business partner was with me when I read the email. My tear-covered face clearly showed my disappointment more than any words could convey. He immediately swept me up into one of his classic bear hugs. He decided that the first-level of response needed to be some quality Michael Medicine. He took me into the bedroom and made delicious love to me, telling me how proud of me he was and that I was powerful, beautiful, and an amazingly talented woman. He nurtured me through the tears and brought me through the worst of the storm.
That was Step One.
The next step in my grieving process was to bury myself in the comfortable confines of our bed. I wanted to pull the covers over my head until the sting of the rejection ebbed to a manageable level. However, hubby broke into my existential malaise and declared that he wasn't going to allow me to wallow in bed all day long. It was time to re-enter the world. At my urging, we hopped into the car and proceeded to administer the second dose of medication: a Dairy Queen hot dog, fries, and Reese's Blizzard. I gotta admit, the tasty treats did start to make me feel a wee bit better. There is something therapeutic about chocolate and peanut butter...
That was Step Two.
Once we got home, I didn't want to do anything productive, and I certainly didn't want to get on that damn computer to do any more work. Every time I looked at MacDaddy, he taunted me with the firebomb contained within my Inbox. Instead, I pleaded with my beloved to join me in the basement for some sustained mind-numbing TV. We popped in the Blu-Ray disc of season one of "True Blood" and watched vampire shenanigans for several hours. Somehow watching hot vamps all day long made the pain of my disappointment further recede into the mist of my saddened heart.
That was Step Three.
Throughout the day, I received numerous calls and emails from family, friends, and fans who reminded me that I am, in fact, worthy of success, despite what the fancy-pants publisher may think. With each supportive comment, my confidence grew and ate away at my pathetic, "I suck" attitude. One comment in particular stood out in my mind. A woman who has read my book several times and listens to the audiobook in her car sent me a note: "I just want you to know, your words continue to transform my life on a daily basis." Her thoughtful comment prodded me to remember other things. I recalled that one woman who is currently going through rehab was allowed to bring only a very few items with her, and she chose her well-worn copy of Opening the Kimono to be one of them. I recalled one woman chasing me down at the International New Age Trade Show saying that she had to meet the woman who wrote the best book she ever read. I recalled the awards my book has won. In short, I remembered that I am still, regardless of the painful rejection I just received, The Shizit.
That was Step Four.
Collectively, all of these steps brought me back from the brink. After a reasonably good night's sleep (how much sleep can one get after snarfing down DQ and seven episodes of "True Blood"?), I woke up with a new attitude. I firmly believe that everything happens exactly as it should, and there are gifts contained in every seemingly horrible situation. I am grateful that I don't have to wait on pins and needles anymore, waiting to hear from the people for whom I (incorrectly) placed all of my hopes and dreams. I am grateful that I have so many wonderful people in my life who support and love me. I am grateful that I have written a book that makes people feel better about themselves. I am grateful for another day.
After our post-coital cuddle yesterday, Michael reminded me of the most important thing of all: "Let's allow the Powers That Be who create worlds to take your book where it needs to go. We don't have to do all of the work. It's up to us to just live joyfully and act upon the signs that Spirit gives us. It is in charge, not us."
Damn straight. I will NOT hold on to my self-judgment and disappointment anymore. I will embrace this latest development as a gift, knowing that Spirit is driving me towards something phenomenal. Starting today, I am going to get back on the horse, share my words with as many people as possible, and sell the shit out of my little book of inspirational stories. The right publisher for the second edition WILL present themselves at the perfect moment, because Spirit is in the driver's seat.
And if/when I waver, Dairy Queen is just down the street.
**************************************************************
Please visit www.TheresaRose.net to take a peek inside Opening the Kimono!
**************************************************************
That is exactly what happened yesterday when I learned that a major NY publisher, after three months of reviewing Opening the Kimono, decided to reject my book for publication. While they loved my book, they could not support it at this time. Specifically, the publisher said:
"We have done our best to analyze whether we can publish your book successfully. After doing that analysis, we have come to the conclusion that based on the market as it is, it would be difficult to successfully publish it at this time. I know that this could be disappointing news and I want you to know that this is not a reflection of your work, but more of what's happening in the market and what has been selling successfully in this challenging market. "
That was little comfort. I felt like I had been repeatedly punched in the stomach by the World Boxing Association heavyweight champ. I had put so much of myself into the notion that this top publisher would accept my book and take it to the masses. Visions of Oprah danced in my head. How could they reject it? Everyone who reads it loves it! I know that celebrity memoirs, works from known bestsellers and diet books are practically the only things being published right now, but c'mon! Isn't there just a little bit of room for something new?
My husband/business partner was with me when I read the email. My tear-covered face clearly showed my disappointment more than any words could convey. He immediately swept me up into one of his classic bear hugs. He decided that the first-level of response needed to be some quality Michael Medicine. He took me into the bedroom and made delicious love to me, telling me how proud of me he was and that I was powerful, beautiful, and an amazingly talented woman. He nurtured me through the tears and brought me through the worst of the storm.
That was Step One.
The next step in my grieving process was to bury myself in the comfortable confines of our bed. I wanted to pull the covers over my head until the sting of the rejection ebbed to a manageable level. However, hubby broke into my existential malaise and declared that he wasn't going to allow me to wallow in bed all day long. It was time to re-enter the world. At my urging, we hopped into the car and proceeded to administer the second dose of medication: a Dairy Queen hot dog, fries, and Reese's Blizzard. I gotta admit, the tasty treats did start to make me feel a wee bit better. There is something therapeutic about chocolate and peanut butter...
That was Step Two.
Once we got home, I didn't want to do anything productive, and I certainly didn't want to get on that damn computer to do any more work. Every time I looked at MacDaddy, he taunted me with the firebomb contained within my Inbox. Instead, I pleaded with my beloved to join me in the basement for some sustained mind-numbing TV. We popped in the Blu-Ray disc of season one of "True Blood" and watched vampire shenanigans for several hours. Somehow watching hot vamps all day long made the pain of my disappointment further recede into the mist of my saddened heart.
That was Step Three.
Throughout the day, I received numerous calls and emails from family, friends, and fans who reminded me that I am, in fact, worthy of success, despite what the fancy-pants publisher may think. With each supportive comment, my confidence grew and ate away at my pathetic, "I suck" attitude. One comment in particular stood out in my mind. A woman who has read my book several times and listens to the audiobook in her car sent me a note: "I just want you to know, your words continue to transform my life on a daily basis." Her thoughtful comment prodded me to remember other things. I recalled that one woman who is currently going through rehab was allowed to bring only a very few items with her, and she chose her well-worn copy of Opening the Kimono to be one of them. I recalled one woman chasing me down at the International New Age Trade Show saying that she had to meet the woman who wrote the best book she ever read. I recalled the awards my book has won. In short, I remembered that I am still, regardless of the painful rejection I just received, The Shizit.
That was Step Four.
Collectively, all of these steps brought me back from the brink. After a reasonably good night's sleep (how much sleep can one get after snarfing down DQ and seven episodes of "True Blood"?), I woke up with a new attitude. I firmly believe that everything happens exactly as it should, and there are gifts contained in every seemingly horrible situation. I am grateful that I don't have to wait on pins and needles anymore, waiting to hear from the people for whom I (incorrectly) placed all of my hopes and dreams. I am grateful that I have so many wonderful people in my life who support and love me. I am grateful that I have written a book that makes people feel better about themselves. I am grateful for another day.
After our post-coital cuddle yesterday, Michael reminded me of the most important thing of all: "Let's allow the Powers That Be who create worlds to take your book where it needs to go. We don't have to do all of the work. It's up to us to just live joyfully and act upon the signs that Spirit gives us. It is in charge, not us."
Damn straight. I will NOT hold on to my self-judgment and disappointment anymore. I will embrace this latest development as a gift, knowing that Spirit is driving me towards something phenomenal. Starting today, I am going to get back on the horse, share my words with as many people as possible, and sell the shit out of my little book of inspirational stories. The right publisher for the second edition WILL present themselves at the perfect moment, because Spirit is in the driver's seat.
And if/when I waver, Dairy Queen is just down the street.
**************************************************************
Please visit www.TheresaRose.net to take a peek inside Opening the Kimono!
**************************************************************
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Confessions of a Closet Cougar
I am back in the groove of my writing, and boy, oh boy, does it feel GOOOOOD! I just finished my latest "Sex and the Suburbs" column for Creative Loafing newspaper titled "Confessions of a Closet Cougar". I hope you enjoy reading it, and please share it with your friends on Facebook, Twitter, or any other way you stay connected to your peeps in this crazy, 21st Century world of ours.
As an aside, I must tell you how awkward it was to have my husband edit this month's "SaTS" column. I kept thinking, I wonder if he'll blow a gasket when he reads the line, "I almost splurted after peeking at his perfectly round tushie." (The aforementioned tushie not belonging to my beloved.) Being the confident and supportive hubby that he is, he merely smiled and told me how funny the piece was. Honestly, the man is a freak of nature. I think he is missing the jealousy gene.
To all you cougars out there, keep prowlin' and growlin'. There is so much delectable prey on which to feast!
As an aside, I must tell you how awkward it was to have my husband edit this month's "SaTS" column. I kept thinking, I wonder if he'll blow a gasket when he reads the line, "I almost splurted after peeking at his perfectly round tushie." (The aforementioned tushie not belonging to my beloved.) Being the confident and supportive hubby that he is, he merely smiled and told me how funny the piece was. Honestly, the man is a freak of nature. I think he is missing the jealousy gene.
To all you cougars out there, keep prowlin' and growlin'. There is so much delectable prey on which to feast!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
In God I Trust
TRUST. It is such a simple word, yet it is sometimes so damn difficult to put into practice.
Several months ago, I was fortunate enough to have my book, Opening the Kimono: A Woman's Intimate Journey Through Life's Biggest Challenges, considered by a major New York publisher. If they decide to carry the second edition, it would most certainly be the easiest way I can get my work out to the largest possible audience. From a writer's perspective, having the support of one of the largest publishers behind my words is like reaching literary Nirvana. I have visions of Oprah, Ellen and Rachael dance in my head. (Oprah would most certainly LOVE Opening the Kimono! Can we say "Oprah's Book Club"?) Yet, I sit here in limbo waiting to receive the coveted email of acceptance. Maybe if I hit 'Refresh' one more time, it will magically arrive in my Inbox. I endlessly check my account, but the object of my desire keeps eluding me.
Dictionary.com states that trust is defined as a "confident expectation of something". To be honest, after one month of unrequited refreshing, I am starting to lose my confidence. I try to keep telling myself that no news is good news; maybe their lack of response to my status inquiries is the fact that they are busy figuring out the details of the lucrative contract they are going to present to me. However, as each day passes, my resolve is wavering. My insecure, inner nancy-girl fears that the answer will be "NO! We don't want your tacky little book of inspirational stories! NO! There is no market for your kind around here! NO! You are not a big enough name for us to gamble on! NO! NO! A thousand times NO!!!"
I guess I need a refresher course on trust.
My favorite tool I use when conducting intuitive healing sessions with people is the Osho Zen Tarot card deck. It has beautiful pics, none of which makes me feel like the Grim Reaper is waiting with his scary-ass sword to cut me to shreds. The insights I receive from them are always powerful and dead-on accurate. It just so happens that the Trust card, has always been my personal favorite.
Whenever I do a reading on myself, I invariably choose the Trust card. I have selected it so many times that I actually installed the image as my laptop wallpaper so as to remind me of its teachings. The card shows a woman enthusiastically diving into a beautiful pink void with outstretched arms, knowing she will safely land wherever she needs to. The commentary on the card states, "Now is the moment to be a bungee jumper without the cord! And it is this quality of absolute trust, with no reservations or secret safety nets, that the Knight of Water demands from us. There is a tremendous sense of exhilaration if we can take the jump and move into the unknown, even if the idea scares us to death. And when we take trust to the level of the quantum leap, we don't make any elaborate plans or preparations. We don't say, "Okay, I trust that I know what to do now, and I'll settle my things and pack my suitcase and take it with me." No, we just jump, with hardly a thought for what happens next. The leap is the thing, and the thrill of it as we free-fall through the empty sky. The card gives a hint here, though, about what waits for us at the other end - a soft, welcoming, yummy pink, rose petals, juicy...c'mon!"
This card reads like it was meant for me. After recently packing up all of our worldly belongings and moving across country to our new home in Minnesota, I feel like a bungee jumper without the cord. After having my husband quit his safe corporate job to manage my fledgling book and public speaking business, I feel like I am free-falling through the empty sky. As the card states, the idea scares me to death. Yet, Michael and I made the leap anyway, trusting that what awaits us on the other end of these incredibly terrifying choices is a soft, welcoming, yummy pink, juicy reward.
Maybe that yummy pink reward is a contract with the Mystery NY Publisher. Maybe it's not. As the card states, the act of trust isn't about knowing the exact details of the outcome. It's about taking that first step toward the unknown, knowing that whatever the outcome, it is always in the best interests of all involved. In Jason Mraz's song, "Make It Mine", Jason sings, "Leap and the net will appear". Well, God? I have taken the leap, and I'm waiting not-so-patiently for the net to appear. Can it appear please? Pretty please? Soon? Before I go totally insane?
The biggest piece of advice I give people when moving through a transformational phase in their lives is to do two things: 1) Watch for the signs from Spirit, and 2) Act joyfully upon them. I have most of that routine down, but I must admit that I sometimes omit the 'joyful' part. When a carrot so juicy, so delectable, so career-making is dangling in front of me, I have found myself forgetting that the object of the game isn't to reach the carrot, it's to have fun while doing so. Because once I actually grab onto the elusive carrot, another one will appear. It's just the rules of the game; nothing more, nothing less.
In order to insert the word 'joyfully' back into my world, I need to embody the trust that comes with playing the game of life. I must remind myself (yet again) that Spirit is supremely benevolent and wants only the best for me. I must remind myself that I have written an award-winning book worthy of international exposure. I must remind myself that whatever happens -- whether I get this particular contract or not -- is exactly what is supposed to happen. I simply need to trust that God knows what He (or She) is doing.
It turns out the hardest part of becoming an author wasn't writing the book, editing it, designing it, or self-publishing it. It's diving into the void that I am in RIGHT NOW and trusting that, no matter the outcome, that all is well, all of the time.
During my meditation today, I will ask Spirit to release me from my self-imposed burden of worry. I will ask for It to resume the project management role. I will fill my body, mind and spirit with that simple word until it pushes all of the fear and doubt out of me. Just to be sure, maybe I'll be like Bart Simpson and write it on the chalkboard over and over until it actually sinks in:
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
And so on and so on...
************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
In what areas of your life do you surrender to trust? In what areas do you hold on too tightly?
************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive the Rose Report or your Daily Dose of Mojo!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Several months ago, I was fortunate enough to have my book, Opening the Kimono: A Woman's Intimate Journey Through Life's Biggest Challenges, considered by a major New York publisher. If they decide to carry the second edition, it would most certainly be the easiest way I can get my work out to the largest possible audience. From a writer's perspective, having the support of one of the largest publishers behind my words is like reaching literary Nirvana. I have visions of Oprah, Ellen and Rachael dance in my head. (Oprah would most certainly LOVE Opening the Kimono! Can we say "Oprah's Book Club"?) Yet, I sit here in limbo waiting to receive the coveted email of acceptance. Maybe if I hit 'Refresh' one more time, it will magically arrive in my Inbox. I endlessly check my account, but the object of my desire keeps eluding me.
Dictionary.com states that trust is defined as a "confident expectation of something". To be honest, after one month of unrequited refreshing, I am starting to lose my confidence. I try to keep telling myself that no news is good news; maybe their lack of response to my status inquiries is the fact that they are busy figuring out the details of the lucrative contract they are going to present to me. However, as each day passes, my resolve is wavering. My insecure, inner nancy-girl fears that the answer will be "NO! We don't want your tacky little book of inspirational stories! NO! There is no market for your kind around here! NO! You are not a big enough name for us to gamble on! NO! NO! A thousand times NO!!!"
I guess I need a refresher course on trust.
My favorite tool I use when conducting intuitive healing sessions with people is the Osho Zen Tarot card deck. It has beautiful pics, none of which makes me feel like the Grim Reaper is waiting with his scary-ass sword to cut me to shreds. The insights I receive from them are always powerful and dead-on accurate. It just so happens that the Trust card, has always been my personal favorite.
Whenever I do a reading on myself, I invariably choose the Trust card. I have selected it so many times that I actually installed the image as my laptop wallpaper so as to remind me of its teachings. The card shows a woman enthusiastically diving into a beautiful pink void with outstretched arms, knowing she will safely land wherever she needs to. The commentary on the card states, "Now is the moment to be a bungee jumper without the cord! And it is this quality of absolute trust, with no reservations or secret safety nets, that the Knight of Water demands from us. There is a tremendous sense of exhilaration if we can take the jump and move into the unknown, even if the idea scares us to death. And when we take trust to the level of the quantum leap, we don't make any elaborate plans or preparations. We don't say, "Okay, I trust that I know what to do now, and I'll settle my things and pack my suitcase and take it with me." No, we just jump, with hardly a thought for what happens next. The leap is the thing, and the thrill of it as we free-fall through the empty sky. The card gives a hint here, though, about what waits for us at the other end - a soft, welcoming, yummy pink, rose petals, juicy...c'mon!"
This card reads like it was meant for me. After recently packing up all of our worldly belongings and moving across country to our new home in Minnesota, I feel like a bungee jumper without the cord. After having my husband quit his safe corporate job to manage my fledgling book and public speaking business, I feel like I am free-falling through the empty sky. As the card states, the idea scares me to death. Yet, Michael and I made the leap anyway, trusting that what awaits us on the other end of these incredibly terrifying choices is a soft, welcoming, yummy pink, juicy reward.
Maybe that yummy pink reward is a contract with the Mystery NY Publisher. Maybe it's not. As the card states, the act of trust isn't about knowing the exact details of the outcome. It's about taking that first step toward the unknown, knowing that whatever the outcome, it is always in the best interests of all involved. In Jason Mraz's song, "Make It Mine", Jason sings, "Leap and the net will appear". Well, God? I have taken the leap, and I'm waiting not-so-patiently for the net to appear. Can it appear please? Pretty please? Soon? Before I go totally insane?
The biggest piece of advice I give people when moving through a transformational phase in their lives is to do two things: 1) Watch for the signs from Spirit, and 2) Act joyfully upon them. I have most of that routine down, but I must admit that I sometimes omit the 'joyful' part. When a carrot so juicy, so delectable, so career-making is dangling in front of me, I have found myself forgetting that the object of the game isn't to reach the carrot, it's to have fun while doing so. Because once I actually grab onto the elusive carrot, another one will appear. It's just the rules of the game; nothing more, nothing less.
In order to insert the word 'joyfully' back into my world, I need to embody the trust that comes with playing the game of life. I must remind myself (yet again) that Spirit is supremely benevolent and wants only the best for me. I must remind myself that I have written an award-winning book worthy of international exposure. I must remind myself that whatever happens -- whether I get this particular contract or not -- is exactly what is supposed to happen. I simply need to trust that God knows what He (or She) is doing.
It turns out the hardest part of becoming an author wasn't writing the book, editing it, designing it, or self-publishing it. It's diving into the void that I am in RIGHT NOW and trusting that, no matter the outcome, that all is well, all of the time.
During my meditation today, I will ask Spirit to release me from my self-imposed burden of worry. I will ask for It to resume the project management role. I will fill my body, mind and spirit with that simple word until it pushes all of the fear and doubt out of me. Just to be sure, maybe I'll be like Bart Simpson and write it on the chalkboard over and over until it actually sinks in:
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
I trust.
And so on and so on...
************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
In what areas of your life do you surrender to trust? In what areas do you hold on too tightly?
************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive the Rose Report or your Daily Dose of Mojo!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, August 28, 2009
Back in the Saddle Again...Almost
Forgive me, reader, for I have sinned. It's been four weeks since my last blog confession.
I haven't written for over a month, yet my life has been busier and crazier than ever before. Since my last blog on July 27th, my husband (our household's primary breadwinner) quit his fancy-schmancy corporate job to work full-time at our publishing and public speaking business, Serious Mojo Publications. Within a week of him quitting, we decided to make another huge change and move across country from Florida to Minnesota. Subsequently, after four weeks of hell, we arrived in the 26-foot U-Haul outside our rented home in Minneapolis. Each day, I thought to myself, "I need to blog! I need to blog! I need to blog!". But I never did.
I kept telling myself that my inability to write was because the story was too big, there were too many details to share, and that blogging about major life changing events as they occur was too time-consuming.
Yeah, right. That wasn't it at all! That was just some bullshit excuse I created in my own head to avoid the obvious: I was afraid.
Any entry I would have made would have undoubtedly been peppered with words of fear, panic, doubt, agitation, exhaustion, and anxiety. As an inspirational writer and speaker, I felt like I would have jilted my readers (and been seen as a whimpering ninny) by showing my unattractive, unconscious self that has emerged center stage. I couldn't bring myself to describe my tumultuous journey, even though that is precisely what I do for a living. There were always other, "more important" things to do -- packing, finding a house, cleaning, moving, and settling in. I had a million things to do, but writing had not become one of them. I abandoned who I was, all for the sake of the next completed task.
Now, when everything is nearly complete, I am stuck in the muck of writer's block, or to be more precise, writer's fear. I am petrified that my career won't be able to support my family, nervous that our house in Florida won't rent, upset that I have allowed my body to go to pot, anxious about the status of a major publisher reviewing the second edition of my book, and overwhelmed by the work I have waiting for me. Even more importantly, I have been deathly afraid that, after a month-long hiatus from writing, the words will no longer come. Will the literary gods strip away my snazzy wordsmithing chops from lack of usage?? I am supposed to be the Bringer of the Mojo, yet I feel like I have morphed into the handmaiden of victimhood. Ugh. I am so very small right now.
My mantra over the last several weeks has been, "This too shall pass". I keep telling myself that everything will work out exactly as it should because Michael and I are following the signs that Spirit has sent our way. In my quiet moments (of which there have been precious few), I KNOW that Michael quitting his job and our move to Minnesota are exactly what needs to happen for my speaking career to flourish and my book to gain national acclaim. Yet, I sit here twiddling my thumbs, moving knickknacks, shopping at Target, endlessly surfing Facebook for the next distraction, and waiting, wishing, hoping that I can turn the corner towards balance and joy.
Where, or where, have my balance and joy gone? Did I leave them in a box in our garage in Florida? Are they permanent fixtures in my meditation room in the Sunshine State?
I am constantly trying to cocoon myself in trust before the tsunami of fear threatens to overtake me. Visions of food stamps and blank screens dance in my head. Will I be ever be able to resume my writing? Will my calendar remain empty? Will I continue to spiral down the darkness where inspiration is lost forever?? Needless to say, I am in the midst of a full-blown freakout.
Sometimes we forget that everything is temporary. When we are in difficult periods in our lives, it often seems like the challenges will never end. I recall the agony of losing my mother and fearing that I'd never be able to get back to a place of happiness. Of course, my grief, like all pain, lessened over time. But, as we all know, pain makes us feel like we are stuck in molasses on a cold, wintry night. It is so damn hard to see the light that is flickering in the distance, calling us forward. We often resort to self-medication to get us through the dark hours. Personally, I have chosen unhealthy food as my propofol of choice. I have consumed massive amounts of Dairy Queen, pizza, Wendy's, Waffle House, Starbucks, and all manner of artery-clogging, pimple-creating culinary creations. Somehow the sweet and salty goodness found in no-no foods has given me the artificial fuel I needed to slog through the emotional molasses. The result, of course, is the reappearance of my fat pants, an explosion of zits on my face, and the hint of a second chin. Oh joy.
Ironically, if I were to conduct a counseling session with a client in a similar situation, I would encourage her to do two simple things: joyfully move her body and meditate more frequently. I know from personal history as well as professional experience that getting into one's body and getting right with Spirit are the two biggest methods towards healing and empowerment. I KNOW this. In my head. Yet, the hoop remains on the floor and the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard continues to regularly enter my pie hole.
It isn't about knowing what's best for us; it's about DOING what's best for us. Those are two very different things. I know I should have kept up with my yoga practice and found time to regularly meditate, but I didn't. Instead, I ate crappy food and neglected my spiritual practice. Oops. Shit happens.
Unfortunately, getting back on the horse is never fun. Our tastebuds cry out for the sugary deliciousness of our edible anesthetics. Our bodies grown and wheeze when they are asked to perform in any other way other than to schlep boxes. Our self-esteem gets perpetually stuck in low gear. But, if we don't get right back on the horse, we'll stay firmly planted on the ground, bitching and complaining about how friggin' hard everything is.
Thankfully, I am just about ready to let go of my self-generated victimhood. Just about, but not quite.
I have decided to take baby steps back to the land of the Mojo. I've made a salad for lunch today instead of shoveling in Chipotle. I am planning on doing some gentle yoga later in our new meditation room. Maybe I'll even sign up for a local hooping class! I know my fat pants will not immediately go away, nor will my complexion magically clear up. But, I do know that writing to you today, dear reader, has helped me a great deal. It was the perfect boost I needed to get my rapidly-expanding tushie back in the saddle of life.
Thanks for your patience. Thanks for your understanding. Thanks for being there. I missed you.
I haven't written for over a month, yet my life has been busier and crazier than ever before. Since my last blog on July 27th, my husband (our household's primary breadwinner) quit his fancy-schmancy corporate job to work full-time at our publishing and public speaking business, Serious Mojo Publications. Within a week of him quitting, we decided to make another huge change and move across country from Florida to Minnesota. Subsequently, after four weeks of hell, we arrived in the 26-foot U-Haul outside our rented home in Minneapolis. Each day, I thought to myself, "I need to blog! I need to blog! I need to blog!". But I never did.
I kept telling myself that my inability to write was because the story was too big, there were too many details to share, and that blogging about major life changing events as they occur was too time-consuming.
Yeah, right. That wasn't it at all! That was just some bullshit excuse I created in my own head to avoid the obvious: I was afraid.
Any entry I would have made would have undoubtedly been peppered with words of fear, panic, doubt, agitation, exhaustion, and anxiety. As an inspirational writer and speaker, I felt like I would have jilted my readers (and been seen as a whimpering ninny) by showing my unattractive, unconscious self that has emerged center stage. I couldn't bring myself to describe my tumultuous journey, even though that is precisely what I do for a living. There were always other, "more important" things to do -- packing, finding a house, cleaning, moving, and settling in. I had a million things to do, but writing had not become one of them. I abandoned who I was, all for the sake of the next completed task.
Now, when everything is nearly complete, I am stuck in the muck of writer's block, or to be more precise, writer's fear. I am petrified that my career won't be able to support my family, nervous that our house in Florida won't rent, upset that I have allowed my body to go to pot, anxious about the status of a major publisher reviewing the second edition of my book, and overwhelmed by the work I have waiting for me. Even more importantly, I have been deathly afraid that, after a month-long hiatus from writing, the words will no longer come. Will the literary gods strip away my snazzy wordsmithing chops from lack of usage?? I am supposed to be the Bringer of the Mojo, yet I feel like I have morphed into the handmaiden of victimhood. Ugh. I am so very small right now.
My mantra over the last several weeks has been, "This too shall pass". I keep telling myself that everything will work out exactly as it should because Michael and I are following the signs that Spirit has sent our way. In my quiet moments (of which there have been precious few), I KNOW that Michael quitting his job and our move to Minnesota are exactly what needs to happen for my speaking career to flourish and my book to gain national acclaim. Yet, I sit here twiddling my thumbs, moving knickknacks, shopping at Target, endlessly surfing Facebook for the next distraction, and waiting, wishing, hoping that I can turn the corner towards balance and joy.
Where, or where, have my balance and joy gone? Did I leave them in a box in our garage in Florida? Are they permanent fixtures in my meditation room in the Sunshine State?
I am constantly trying to cocoon myself in trust before the tsunami of fear threatens to overtake me. Visions of food stamps and blank screens dance in my head. Will I be ever be able to resume my writing? Will my calendar remain empty? Will I continue to spiral down the darkness where inspiration is lost forever?? Needless to say, I am in the midst of a full-blown freakout.
Sometimes we forget that everything is temporary. When we are in difficult periods in our lives, it often seems like the challenges will never end. I recall the agony of losing my mother and fearing that I'd never be able to get back to a place of happiness. Of course, my grief, like all pain, lessened over time. But, as we all know, pain makes us feel like we are stuck in molasses on a cold, wintry night. It is so damn hard to see the light that is flickering in the distance, calling us forward. We often resort to self-medication to get us through the dark hours. Personally, I have chosen unhealthy food as my propofol of choice. I have consumed massive amounts of Dairy Queen, pizza, Wendy's, Waffle House, Starbucks, and all manner of artery-clogging, pimple-creating culinary creations. Somehow the sweet and salty goodness found in no-no foods has given me the artificial fuel I needed to slog through the emotional molasses. The result, of course, is the reappearance of my fat pants, an explosion of zits on my face, and the hint of a second chin. Oh joy.
Ironically, if I were to conduct a counseling session with a client in a similar situation, I would encourage her to do two simple things: joyfully move her body and meditate more frequently. I know from personal history as well as professional experience that getting into one's body and getting right with Spirit are the two biggest methods towards healing and empowerment. I KNOW this. In my head. Yet, the hoop remains on the floor and the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard continues to regularly enter my pie hole.
It isn't about knowing what's best for us; it's about DOING what's best for us. Those are two very different things. I know I should have kept up with my yoga practice and found time to regularly meditate, but I didn't. Instead, I ate crappy food and neglected my spiritual practice. Oops. Shit happens.
Unfortunately, getting back on the horse is never fun. Our tastebuds cry out for the sugary deliciousness of our edible anesthetics. Our bodies grown and wheeze when they are asked to perform in any other way other than to schlep boxes. Our self-esteem gets perpetually stuck in low gear. But, if we don't get right back on the horse, we'll stay firmly planted on the ground, bitching and complaining about how friggin' hard everything is.
Thankfully, I am just about ready to let go of my self-generated victimhood. Just about, but not quite.
I have decided to take baby steps back to the land of the Mojo. I've made a salad for lunch today instead of shoveling in Chipotle. I am planning on doing some gentle yoga later in our new meditation room. Maybe I'll even sign up for a local hooping class! I know my fat pants will not immediately go away, nor will my complexion magically clear up. But, I do know that writing to you today, dear reader, has helped me a great deal. It was the perfect boost I needed to get my rapidly-expanding tushie back in the saddle of life.
Thanks for your patience. Thanks for your understanding. Thanks for being there. I missed you.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Hay There!
Last weekend, I attended the International New Age Trade Show (INATS) in Denver. As predicted, it was equal parts exhausting and exhilarating.
My goal of the trip was to promote the bejeezus out of Opening the Kimono through book signings, event schmoozing and hard-core floor show networking. In a few days, I dispensed over 120 signed copies of my little book of stories to bookstore and retail owners, wholesalers, fellow authors, publishers, musicians, and a few cheeseballs who sneaked into the event to snag loads of free shit to resell on Amazon.
My time spent in Denver was fantastic! The people were warm, and the reception they gave Opening the Kimono was phenomenal. I had people seek me out to tell me how much the book touched them. One woman squealed when she saw me, hugged me, and said that Opening the Kimono was her favorite book...EVER. Even a hard-as-nails, gruff retailer who has been around the labyrinth more than a few times said that Opening the Kimono was the first book she ever personally recommended to her staff and customers. Tons of New Age bookstore owners told me that they are either already carrying it or will be as soon as they get home. I made several huge connections, one of which was with a major publisher who is considering picking up the book for its second edition. However, the ultimate moment of the weekend was when I got to meet Louise Hay in person! Louise is the Grandmother of the Self-help movement, founder of Hay House Publishing and author of the wildly popular book, You Can Heal Your Life. I waited in line like a giddy schoolgirl to get a signed copy of her seminal book. When it came my turn, I told this incredible 82-year old dynamo how much her work inspired me, and she warmly responded by giving me a big hug. Thankfully, her cutie-pie assistant Aaron was there to take a snapshot of the magical moment with my iPhone. I will treasure this picture forever.
However, the moment was a tinge bittersweet in that I was thisclose to the Grand Dame of Inspirational Publishing and did not give her a copy of my book! A signed copy of Opening the Kimono was burning a hole in my purple trade show bag with Louise's name on it, but I never got up the nerve to reach for it. I thought to myself, "Just give her the gift as a token of your appreciation! You'll never know what may happen. Louise will undoubtedly fall in love with it, make one phone call to the acquisitions director, and you'll be getting an email by the end of the week from Hay House with an offer!!!!" Believe me, I was sorely tempted.
But, then I saw the fragility of this 82-year old woman and remembered how friggin' draining book signings are. You have to interact with huge crowds of people all telling you their stories, and you want to make each and every one of them feel special, even if it is for just thirty seconds. My book signing kicked my ass up one side and down the other, and I'm over forty years younger than Louise! So, I imagined myself in Louise's place. If some overzealous chick with a big lion mane slipped me her recently self-published book during my signing, I would be a skosh put off to say the least. To be honest, I would probably "accidentally" leave the book at the signing table and mutter under my breath about how I didn't have time to read someone else's self-described literary masterpiece when I'm busy doing my own gig. Even though I was pressed against the glass looking at the future I so achingly desired, I didn't feel it was right to add another burden to this woman who has done so much for so many for so long.
It was then that I decided the best approach was to simply enjoy the juicy hug I got from one of my biggest she-roes. Love you, Louise!
Someday soon you'll get to read Opening the Kimono, I promise!
*************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to take a peek inside the award-winning Opening the Kimono!
My goal of the trip was to promote the bejeezus out of Opening the Kimono through book signings, event schmoozing and hard-core floor show networking. In a few days, I dispensed over 120 signed copies of my little book of stories to bookstore and retail owners, wholesalers, fellow authors, publishers, musicians, and a few cheeseballs who sneaked into the event to snag loads of free shit to resell on Amazon.
My time spent in Denver was fantastic! The people were warm, and the reception they gave Opening the Kimono was phenomenal. I had people seek me out to tell me how much the book touched them. One woman squealed when she saw me, hugged me, and said that Opening the Kimono was her favorite book...EVER. Even a hard-as-nails, gruff retailer who has been around the labyrinth more than a few times said that Opening the Kimono was the first book she ever personally recommended to her staff and customers. Tons of New Age bookstore owners told me that they are either already carrying it or will be as soon as they get home. I made several huge connections, one of which was with a major publisher who is considering picking up the book for its second edition. However, the ultimate moment of the weekend was when I got to meet Louise Hay in person! Louise is the Grandmother of the Self-help movement, founder of Hay House Publishing and author of the wildly popular book, You Can Heal Your Life. I waited in line like a giddy schoolgirl to get a signed copy of her seminal book. When it came my turn, I told this incredible 82-year old dynamo how much her work inspired me, and she warmly responded by giving me a big hug. Thankfully, her cutie-pie assistant Aaron was there to take a snapshot of the magical moment with my iPhone. I will treasure this picture forever.
However, the moment was a tinge bittersweet in that I was thisclose to the Grand Dame of Inspirational Publishing and did not give her a copy of my book! A signed copy of Opening the Kimono was burning a hole in my purple trade show bag with Louise's name on it, but I never got up the nerve to reach for it. I thought to myself, "Just give her the gift as a token of your appreciation! You'll never know what may happen. Louise will undoubtedly fall in love with it, make one phone call to the acquisitions director, and you'll be getting an email by the end of the week from Hay House with an offer!!!!" Believe me, I was sorely tempted.
But, then I saw the fragility of this 82-year old woman and remembered how friggin' draining book signings are. You have to interact with huge crowds of people all telling you their stories, and you want to make each and every one of them feel special, even if it is for just thirty seconds. My book signing kicked my ass up one side and down the other, and I'm over forty years younger than Louise! So, I imagined myself in Louise's place. If some overzealous chick with a big lion mane slipped me her recently self-published book during my signing, I would be a skosh put off to say the least. To be honest, I would probably "accidentally" leave the book at the signing table and mutter under my breath about how I didn't have time to read someone else's self-described literary masterpiece when I'm busy doing my own gig. Even though I was pressed against the glass looking at the future I so achingly desired, I didn't feel it was right to add another burden to this woman who has done so much for so many for so long.
It was then that I decided the best approach was to simply enjoy the juicy hug I got from one of my biggest she-roes. Love you, Louise!
Someday soon you'll get to read Opening the Kimono, I promise!
*************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to take a peek inside the award-winning Opening the Kimono!
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Art of Downshifting
I am a woman of extremes. Sometimes I find myself on top of a mountain completely disconnected from the modern world and basking in the light of Spirit; other times I fly around my house like a headless chicken, maniacally seeking the never-ending end of the to-do list. I think it's time for me to learn the middle way.
Two weeks ago, I was literally on top of a mountain in Northern California. Many wonderful things transpired for me -- some personal, some communal, some marital, and all spiritual. It was my time to remember who I was: a Divine being worthy of joy and love. I am so grateful for the transformational journey I took, and it's experiences will stay with me always.
So what did I do upon returning from this Zen-like state of absolute bliss?
I stressed out, of course!
First of all, going for more than a week without writing is NOT good for me. I missed my creative outlet and I longed to receive my regular treatments from the King of All Healers, MacDaddy. When I did re-enter my so-called-normal life, I was inundated with the heavy tolls one pays when going out of town: laundry, mail, laundry, putting away stuff, laundry, catching up on email, and laundry. Each day I promised myself that I would sit down to write, and each day I filled it with other tasks deemed "more important" than my creative expression and primary vocation. I had excuse upon excuse that kept me from MacDaddy. My need for literary release became stronger and the gulf between the written word and me became larger.
This morning, I became acutely aware of how I had inadvertently micromanaged my schedule such that writing time was not even considered. I would get up early to make The Bean her breakfast and lunch, go to an appointment, follow up on a proposal, send some important emails, have a working lunch with Michael, update my web site, pick up The Bean from the bus stop and get her hair cut, go to Publix for milk and other necessaries, and finish the day by primping myself for a fancy shindig I will attend later this evening. In my mind, I had accounted for every minute of the day, leaving absolutely no room for one teensy little thing: ME.
Thankfully, a little while ago I forced myself to step away from the computer so I could finally, truly return to it. For the first time since returning from my spiritual retreat, I put on Jai Uttal's "Music For Yoga and Other Joys", did some much-needed movement, and had a fantastic, relaxing, restorative meditation practice. How ridiculous it was to respond to my spiritual retreat by totally ignoring Spirit. Duh. Double Duh.
It was glorious to move my body again! I had grown tired of being one big head, unconsciously flitting from task to task, wishing hoping begging that I could get it all done and knowing that I never would. This afternoon in our meditation room, I did what is foreign to me: I downshifted. I slowed down and allowed my spirit, head, heart, and body to occupy the same space. It was nothing less than Divine.
After only 15 minutes of quiet reflection, my muse returned to me in all her splendor. I knew what I would write about and how I would return to my rightful role as Author, Speaker, and Bringer of the Mojo. I would simply share with you how difficult it is to jump from total release to total responsibility in the blink of an eye. The guilt for having gone away propels us forward and pushes us to accomplish just one more item on the list. Why do we think we don't deserve to slow down, even after a period of rest? Is it some sort of emotional masochism that yells, "You can enjoy your vacation, but you better damn well know you'll pay the price for it when you return!"
That's total bullshit.
I want to live in the groove where it's OK to slow down, even if it is for just 15 minutes a day. I want to give myself permission to write as often as possible. I want to bask in the moment instead of automatically jumping to the next one. I want to remember that I am more than a mom and a wife. In the end, I want to put into practice what I learned on the mountain.
Thank you for waiting for me, dear reader. I know that I have been absent for a while, and I know that it is annoying when you are used to seeing new installments of my Serious Mojo blog on a regular basis. I appreciate your patience and will do my best to deliver the goods from this point forward. We are in a relationship together, you and I. And I am ready to do my part again.
Ahhhh.....it feels SO GOOD to be back.
********************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
Do you ever go crazy right after vacation?
********************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to take a peek inside the award-winning Opening the Kimono!
Two weeks ago, I was literally on top of a mountain in Northern California. Many wonderful things transpired for me -- some personal, some communal, some marital, and all spiritual. It was my time to remember who I was: a Divine being worthy of joy and love. I am so grateful for the transformational journey I took, and it's experiences will stay with me always.
So what did I do upon returning from this Zen-like state of absolute bliss?
I stressed out, of course!
First of all, going for more than a week without writing is NOT good for me. I missed my creative outlet and I longed to receive my regular treatments from the King of All Healers, MacDaddy. When I did re-enter my so-called-normal life, I was inundated with the heavy tolls one pays when going out of town: laundry, mail, laundry, putting away stuff, laundry, catching up on email, and laundry. Each day I promised myself that I would sit down to write, and each day I filled it with other tasks deemed "more important" than my creative expression and primary vocation. I had excuse upon excuse that kept me from MacDaddy. My need for literary release became stronger and the gulf between the written word and me became larger.
This morning, I became acutely aware of how I had inadvertently micromanaged my schedule such that writing time was not even considered. I would get up early to make The Bean her breakfast and lunch, go to an appointment, follow up on a proposal, send some important emails, have a working lunch with Michael, update my web site, pick up The Bean from the bus stop and get her hair cut, go to Publix for milk and other necessaries, and finish the day by primping myself for a fancy shindig I will attend later this evening. In my mind, I had accounted for every minute of the day, leaving absolutely no room for one teensy little thing: ME.
Thankfully, a little while ago I forced myself to step away from the computer so I could finally, truly return to it. For the first time since returning from my spiritual retreat, I put on Jai Uttal's "Music For Yoga and Other Joys", did some much-needed movement, and had a fantastic, relaxing, restorative meditation practice. How ridiculous it was to respond to my spiritual retreat by totally ignoring Spirit. Duh. Double Duh.
It was glorious to move my body again! I had grown tired of being one big head, unconsciously flitting from task to task, wishing hoping begging that I could get it all done and knowing that I never would. This afternoon in our meditation room, I did what is foreign to me: I downshifted. I slowed down and allowed my spirit, head, heart, and body to occupy the same space. It was nothing less than Divine.
After only 15 minutes of quiet reflection, my muse returned to me in all her splendor. I knew what I would write about and how I would return to my rightful role as Author, Speaker, and Bringer of the Mojo. I would simply share with you how difficult it is to jump from total release to total responsibility in the blink of an eye. The guilt for having gone away propels us forward and pushes us to accomplish just one more item on the list. Why do we think we don't deserve to slow down, even after a period of rest? Is it some sort of emotional masochism that yells, "You can enjoy your vacation, but you better damn well know you'll pay the price for it when you return!"
That's total bullshit.
I want to live in the groove where it's OK to slow down, even if it is for just 15 minutes a day. I want to give myself permission to write as often as possible. I want to bask in the moment instead of automatically jumping to the next one. I want to remember that I am more than a mom and a wife. In the end, I want to put into practice what I learned on the mountain.
Thank you for waiting for me, dear reader. I know that I have been absent for a while, and I know that it is annoying when you are used to seeing new installments of my Serious Mojo blog on a regular basis. I appreciate your patience and will do my best to deliver the goods from this point forward. We are in a relationship together, you and I. And I am ready to do my part again.
Ahhhh.....it feels SO GOOD to be back.
********************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
Do you ever go crazy right after vacation?
********************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to take a peek inside the award-winning Opening the Kimono!
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Green-Eyed Monster in Me
I friggin' hate being jealous. And it happens far too often for me to ignore.
The most recent case in point: A high school friend of mine just launched her first book with the help of a proper agent and publisher. She has an ungodly huge blog following, each of whom were chomping at the bit to buy her book the day it came out. As part of her launch efforts, she sold one autographed copy of her book on eBay which netted more than what I made last month in book sales. Just recently, she had a book signing where 60 copies of her book were sold (the number would have been higher if the bookstore would have stocked more). At my last book signing, I sold 6 and practically begged each customer for the sale. She did 15 phone interviews in one day; I can't remember the date of my last one. To put it mildly, I am INSANELY jealous of her.
The thing that really sucks about my mental malaise is that this chick is totally nice, funny, and talented. She was like that in high school, and she remains so to this day. (She was one of the few girls in high school I actually liked; she was a delightful flash of realness in a morass of pretentious, teenage phony-baloney.) She deserves to have huge success, and I am genuinely happy for her. However, I cannot escape my own insecurities, doubts, and fears whenever I hear about her latest score.
Why do we silently curse the successes of others? What is it about someone else doing well that rankles us so? I should have more sensitivity to this particular condition, as I have encountered it on the other end from people with whom I thought were my friends. As I dip my pinky toe in the pool of literary success, I have discovered that not everyone is overflowing with joy for me. Somehow they think that going for one's dream is unseemly or that I have become "too big for my britches". I have spent many a night kvetching to my husband about so-and-so giving me the cold shoulder simply because I am enthusiastically pursuing my career as an author, speaker, and bringer of the Mojo.
Yet, I am not immune to it. Unfortunately, this fog of envy that occasionally envelops me is not a new phenomenon. I have been jealous for as long as I can remember. As a kid, I was jealous of Mary because she had the first pair of Jordache jeans in school. I was jealous of Kim because she had cable before anyone else did. I was jealous of Angela because every guy (and more than a few girls) wanted to do her. I was jealous of Lindsey because she had the most phenomenal hair and always smelled like pretty French perfume. Bear in mind, these chicks were my best friends. Can you imagine how psycho I got about girls I DIDN'T like?
Jealousy is like a virus. It seeps into our souls and convinces us that who we are, what we do, or what we have is not good enough. It casts a pall over our Divine light, insidiously whispering in our ears, "You suck...you aren't good enough...you'll never have what she has...you'll never be that pretty/successful/popular/insert desired characteristic here". It makes us sick, unhappy, and afraid.
Enough is enough! I'm tired of it. I have been jealous for far too long. I think my friend's rapid rise to stardom is my chance to rid myself of the green-eyed monster once and for all. Every time I read of her latest accomplishment, I will say to myself, "Good for her! There is more than enough to go around. I'm glad to see another female writer succeed and know that I, too, will achieve my goals." There is no reason why her success can't pave the way for my own.
At least that's the plan.
Oh great...the drop-dead gorgeous waitress with the perfect body is sauntering over to my table to deliver my southwestern wrap and fries. Damn her! Who does she think she is, anyway?
Oops.
****************************************************************
For your comment and/or consideration:
Who or what brings out the green-eyed monster in you?
****************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The most recent case in point: A high school friend of mine just launched her first book with the help of a proper agent and publisher. She has an ungodly huge blog following, each of whom were chomping at the bit to buy her book the day it came out. As part of her launch efforts, she sold one autographed copy of her book on eBay which netted more than what I made last month in book sales. Just recently, she had a book signing where 60 copies of her book were sold (the number would have been higher if the bookstore would have stocked more). At my last book signing, I sold 6 and practically begged each customer for the sale. She did 15 phone interviews in one day; I can't remember the date of my last one. To put it mildly, I am INSANELY jealous of her.
The thing that really sucks about my mental malaise is that this chick is totally nice, funny, and talented. She was like that in high school, and she remains so to this day. (She was one of the few girls in high school I actually liked; she was a delightful flash of realness in a morass of pretentious, teenage phony-baloney.) She deserves to have huge success, and I am genuinely happy for her. However, I cannot escape my own insecurities, doubts, and fears whenever I hear about her latest score.
Why do we silently curse the successes of others? What is it about someone else doing well that rankles us so? I should have more sensitivity to this particular condition, as I have encountered it on the other end from people with whom I thought were my friends. As I dip my pinky toe in the pool of literary success, I have discovered that not everyone is overflowing with joy for me. Somehow they think that going for one's dream is unseemly or that I have become "too big for my britches". I have spent many a night kvetching to my husband about so-and-so giving me the cold shoulder simply because I am enthusiastically pursuing my career as an author, speaker, and bringer of the Mojo.
Yet, I am not immune to it. Unfortunately, this fog of envy that occasionally envelops me is not a new phenomenon. I have been jealous for as long as I can remember. As a kid, I was jealous of Mary because she had the first pair of Jordache jeans in school. I was jealous of Kim because she had cable before anyone else did. I was jealous of Angela because every guy (and more than a few girls) wanted to do her. I was jealous of Lindsey because she had the most phenomenal hair and always smelled like pretty French perfume. Bear in mind, these chicks were my best friends. Can you imagine how psycho I got about girls I DIDN'T like?
Jealousy is like a virus. It seeps into our souls and convinces us that who we are, what we do, or what we have is not good enough. It casts a pall over our Divine light, insidiously whispering in our ears, "You suck...you aren't good enough...you'll never have what she has...you'll never be that pretty/successful/popular/insert desired characteristic here". It makes us sick, unhappy, and afraid.
Enough is enough! I'm tired of it. I have been jealous for far too long. I think my friend's rapid rise to stardom is my chance to rid myself of the green-eyed monster once and for all. Every time I read of her latest accomplishment, I will say to myself, "Good for her! There is more than enough to go around. I'm glad to see another female writer succeed and know that I, too, will achieve my goals." There is no reason why her success can't pave the way for my own.
At least that's the plan.
Oh great...the drop-dead gorgeous waitress with the perfect body is sauntering over to my table to deliver my southwestern wrap and fries. Damn her! Who does she think she is, anyway?
Oops.
****************************************************************
For your comment and/or consideration:
Who or what brings out the green-eyed monster in you?
****************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, April 3, 2009
Subpar Sex Spam
If you are like me, you get at least one ridiculous spam email a day touting the latest and greatest product to rev up your (or your partner's) sexual prowess. Normally, I automatically delete these unwanted solicitations without a second glance; for some reason, however, this afternoon I decided to actually open one and read it. It may have something to do with the fact that it mentioned multiple oorgasms (that's not a misspelling; it's how the numbskull spammers have to spell it in order to pass through our filters.) Having recently experienced the aforementioned glorious multiple orgasms without the aid of such products, I guess it caught my eye.
Here was the text:
Do you want to be seen as a captain of the bedroom? Do yoou want your woman to be RAVING to heer friends about the great sex she has while all of them get normal boring sex? Well if you do, then you definittely need to ...
Look THAT
Be glad to go wherever you please, replied eunane. Of honours in an armie, whiche soche a man ought me to defend the front of the fortress, while bim ruefully. If i wanted to abolish the noble at what people think, but see the results. You.
------
Umm...what sort of alternative universe is this person living in? The second paragraph doesn't even make sense! Maybe he or she is a closet Shakespearean beat poet that is stuck writing bad spam emails in order to pay the bills. Upon further inspection, I feel inspired by the avant guard product prose. I think I shall write all of my blogs in sexspamese from this point forward...
Lo, what glorious day laundry brings, scoffed bittina. Of great witness to the piles whiche maketh me loath to sorte, i proclaimed ruefully. If it shall be done, will it be so through joy and without craze. Me.
OK, maybe not.
Here was the text:
Do you want to be seen as a captain of the bedroom? Do yoou want your woman to be RAVING to heer friends about the great sex she has while all of them get normal boring sex? Well if you do, then you definittely need to ...
Look THAT
Be glad to go wherever you please, replied eunane. Of honours in an armie, whiche soche a man ought me to defend the front of the fortress, while bim ruefully. If i wanted to abolish the noble at what people think, but see the results. You.
------
Umm...what sort of alternative universe is this person living in? The second paragraph doesn't even make sense! Maybe he or she is a closet Shakespearean beat poet that is stuck writing bad spam emails in order to pay the bills. Upon further inspection, I feel inspired by the avant guard product prose. I think I shall write all of my blogs in sexspamese from this point forward...
Lo, what glorious day laundry brings, scoffed bittina. Of great witness to the piles whiche maketh me loath to sorte, i proclaimed ruefully. If it shall be done, will it be so through joy and without craze. Me.
OK, maybe not.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Dilly-Dallying
I have a very important document to edit, but I can't for the life of me settle my ass down to finish it.
It's not that I'm being lazy. Yesterday, I worked like a one-armed sherpa scaling Everest. Several key projects were completed, and I was a clicking maniac on MacDaddy. My publicist even commented on my rapid-fire emails directed toward her. (I'm sure she was feeling an equal mix of surprise, admiration, and deep annoyance.) I crashed into bed with that warm feeling that I had accomplished some big things during the day -- it was a day of which to be proud.
Yet...
I didn't get THE document done. For some reason, I have a mental block about the damn thing. I know it really won't be that hard to finish once I just commit to doing it. My writing recipe is typically the same: straighten up the work space area (clutter distracts me), do some yoga (moving my body helps pull in the inspiration), lay in meditation for a while (quieting my mind helps pull in the actual words), play my "Chillax" playlist on the trusty iPod (B-Tribe is particularly good to write to), light an India Palace incense (the scent relaxes any last-minute "I can't do this!" feelings), and flip open Mac.
However, with this particular deliverable, I have been unsuccessful using my typical measures. I have rationalized to myself that for some reason I needed to get EVERYTHING else out of the way before I tackle this one. Hmmm.... an interesting excuse. Since I actually did get nearly everything done yesterday, I will have this afternoon to prove my hypothesis.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that will get in the way of me finishing this paper TODAY.
Unless you count my own fear.
***********************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
What procrastination techniques do you use?
***********************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's not that I'm being lazy. Yesterday, I worked like a one-armed sherpa scaling Everest. Several key projects were completed, and I was a clicking maniac on MacDaddy. My publicist even commented on my rapid-fire emails directed toward her. (I'm sure she was feeling an equal mix of surprise, admiration, and deep annoyance.) I crashed into bed with that warm feeling that I had accomplished some big things during the day -- it was a day of which to be proud.
Yet...
I didn't get THE document done. For some reason, I have a mental block about the damn thing. I know it really won't be that hard to finish once I just commit to doing it. My writing recipe is typically the same: straighten up the work space area (clutter distracts me), do some yoga (moving my body helps pull in the inspiration), lay in meditation for a while (quieting my mind helps pull in the actual words), play my "Chillax" playlist on the trusty iPod (B-Tribe is particularly good to write to), light an India Palace incense (the scent relaxes any last-minute "I can't do this!" feelings), and flip open Mac.
However, with this particular deliverable, I have been unsuccessful using my typical measures. I have rationalized to myself that for some reason I needed to get EVERYTHING else out of the way before I tackle this one. Hmmm.... an interesting excuse. Since I actually did get nearly everything done yesterday, I will have this afternoon to prove my hypothesis.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that will get in the way of me finishing this paper TODAY.
Unless you count my own fear.
***********************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
What procrastination techniques do you use?
***********************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, February 13, 2009
Getting Schooled
I am immersing myself in the promotion of my book and speaking engagements. My swirling, twirling eyeballs are pretty accurate indicators of how I am faring.
There is so much to understand. I had a two-hour consultation with a speaking coach today, and I scribbled every last bit of info that was hurled toward me in rapid-fire fashion. I learned about angles, hooks, pitches, segments, discounts, contracts, press kits, show producers, and other critical elements to a successful brand launch. (That's what I am now -- a brand. Eeesh.) Of course, I am hugely grateful for the opportunity to learn from someone who knows the ins and outs of my industry, enabling me to hone my message and save a bunch of time and energy. I knew meeting her was a good thing even as I felt my guts churn and my hair fall out from the stress. There is SO MUCH TO DO! I am having a serious "Calgon, Take Me Away!" moment.
Here is a sample of the chatter in my brain: What non-profit organizations will I contact about speaking engagements and will I remember everything I need to negotiate? How can I morph the teachings of Opening the Kimono into acceptable and desirable corporate-speak? How will I get all of the pieces together for my Press Kit? What are the dozens of 30-second pitches I need to create in order to call TV producers? (Uff da...that last one makes me want to urp my healthy Whole Foods lunch.)
Such is the life of getting big. We run into our crap that keeps us small. Our fears. Our doubts. Our negative self-talk. Our deeply-held beliefs that we can't possibly pull this thing off. ("Who the hell do I think I am?" is not-so-silently running in the background.)
Just when I feel like I want to hurl myself in front of a bumper-stickered hybrid car in the Whole Foods Parking Lot, I get an email from a long-lost friend who just finished reading Opening the Kimono. My buddy reminded me of what was truly important. Here is a portion of what she wrote:
"Wow. I mean, some people have funny, and even poignant tales to tell, but it takes a real talent to put the words together to make a meaningful and interesting story. You have a gift. I think you’ve found your calling girl! Your book arrived in my mailbox last week. I was busy that day (Wednesday I think??), so the book sat on my kitchen counter screaming “read me, read me, read me damnit!” So the next afternoon, I took the book out onto my sunny deck and started reading. During the course of my read fest, the kids came home from school, the sun sank behind the trees (creating a chill that I was oblivious to), and dinner time was approaching. I finished the book in one sitting. It really touched me. I was literally laughing out loud through tears in my eyes...I’ve loaned your book to a good friend of mine who I know will love it. Hope you are well, please take care, and hurry up and write another book. The world needs to hear more from Theresa Rose."
I'm workin' on it, girl, I'm workin' on it.
**********************************************************************************
For our consideration and/or comment:
Do you ever freak-out when you start going after your dreams?
**********************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There is so much to understand. I had a two-hour consultation with a speaking coach today, and I scribbled every last bit of info that was hurled toward me in rapid-fire fashion. I learned about angles, hooks, pitches, segments, discounts, contracts, press kits, show producers, and other critical elements to a successful brand launch. (That's what I am now -- a brand. Eeesh.) Of course, I am hugely grateful for the opportunity to learn from someone who knows the ins and outs of my industry, enabling me to hone my message and save a bunch of time and energy. I knew meeting her was a good thing even as I felt my guts churn and my hair fall out from the stress. There is SO MUCH TO DO! I am having a serious "Calgon, Take Me Away!" moment.
Here is a sample of the chatter in my brain: What non-profit organizations will I contact about speaking engagements and will I remember everything I need to negotiate? How can I morph the teachings of Opening the Kimono into acceptable and desirable corporate-speak? How will I get all of the pieces together for my Press Kit? What are the dozens of 30-second pitches I need to create in order to call TV producers? (Uff da...that last one makes me want to urp my healthy Whole Foods lunch.)
Such is the life of getting big. We run into our crap that keeps us small. Our fears. Our doubts. Our negative self-talk. Our deeply-held beliefs that we can't possibly pull this thing off. ("Who the hell do I think I am?" is not-so-silently running in the background.)
Just when I feel like I want to hurl myself in front of a bumper-stickered hybrid car in the Whole Foods Parking Lot, I get an email from a long-lost friend who just finished reading Opening the Kimono. My buddy reminded me of what was truly important. Here is a portion of what she wrote:
"Wow. I mean, some people have funny, and even poignant tales to tell, but it takes a real talent to put the words together to make a meaningful and interesting story. You have a gift. I think you’ve found your calling girl! Your book arrived in my mailbox last week. I was busy that day (Wednesday I think??), so the book sat on my kitchen counter screaming “read me, read me, read me damnit!” So the next afternoon, I took the book out onto my sunny deck and started reading. During the course of my read fest, the kids came home from school, the sun sank behind the trees (creating a chill that I was oblivious to), and dinner time was approaching. I finished the book in one sitting. It really touched me. I was literally laughing out loud through tears in my eyes...I’ve loaned your book to a good friend of mine who I know will love it. Hope you are well, please take care, and hurry up and write another book. The world needs to hear more from Theresa Rose."
I'm workin' on it, girl, I'm workin' on it.
**********************************************************************************
For our consideration and/or comment:
Do you ever freak-out when you start going after your dreams?
**********************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Running Up That Hill...Again
I'm about to do what I promised myself I wasn't going to ever do again: I'm gonna mail query letters to literary agents again. Ugh. Double Ugh.
It's not that I have anything against literary agents; I'm sure they are wonderful people. They certainly have a way with words, as evidenced by the stack of rejection letters I have received so far. Last year around this time, I started the painful, laborious process of sending out query letters. I researched, wordsmithed, polished, and otherwise blew kisses on my perfectly-crafted queries in the hopes of acquiring someone who would recognize my literary diamond. I had visions of the perfect agent shepherding me as I navigated the treacherous terrain known as the publishing industry. Alas, all I received for my efforts was a steady stream of "Dear Author" letters. (sniff sniff)
Instead of pounding my head against the wall month after month, year after year, I felt driven to get Opening the Kimono out into the world ASAFP. As such, I manned-up and ponied-up the dough to publish the damn thing myself. I hired the cover photog, the interior page designer, the cover designer, and all other manner of services to make my book Barnes & Noble-worthy. After a few short months, I was blessed to hold my book in hand. Very soon thereafter, many others started holding the book in theirs. People are digging it, and I'm digging life. Happy Dance!
With everything going so well, why in the hell would I want to subject myself to more agony, more rejection, and more heartache? I don't honestly know, other than I have been receiving information from Spirit about it. I am having dreams about it; agent names are finding their way to me; I have seen what the new query letters will look like. Believe me, I'm not overly jazzed about reopening this can of worms again. I'd much rather go on my merry way without having to deal with the body-blow known as the rejection letter. However, when Spirit compels me to move forward, there's no amount of wishing, tantrum-throwing, or ignoring that will make it go away. I need to run up that hill, dammit.
Time will tell if my agent querying will net me anything other than another valuable life lesson. Maybe it is the perfect time for the perfect agent to see the glorious manifestation of Opening the Kimono and want to take it to the next level. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll be schooled again in the act of surrender. This time, my goal isn't to put my faith in the timing of literary agents; it's to put it in Divine Timing.
That's all the Time I need.
*********************************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
What gentle nudge are you receiving that you need to act upon?
*********************************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net for your Daily Dose of Mojo!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's not that I have anything against literary agents; I'm sure they are wonderful people. They certainly have a way with words, as evidenced by the stack of rejection letters I have received so far. Last year around this time, I started the painful, laborious process of sending out query letters. I researched, wordsmithed, polished, and otherwise blew kisses on my perfectly-crafted queries in the hopes of acquiring someone who would recognize my literary diamond. I had visions of the perfect agent shepherding me as I navigated the treacherous terrain known as the publishing industry. Alas, all I received for my efforts was a steady stream of "Dear Author" letters. (sniff sniff)
Instead of pounding my head against the wall month after month, year after year, I felt driven to get Opening the Kimono out into the world ASAFP. As such, I manned-up and ponied-up the dough to publish the damn thing myself. I hired the cover photog, the interior page designer, the cover designer, and all other manner of services to make my book Barnes & Noble-worthy. After a few short months, I was blessed to hold my book in hand. Very soon thereafter, many others started holding the book in theirs. People are digging it, and I'm digging life. Happy Dance!
With everything going so well, why in the hell would I want to subject myself to more agony, more rejection, and more heartache? I don't honestly know, other than I have been receiving information from Spirit about it. I am having dreams about it; agent names are finding their way to me; I have seen what the new query letters will look like. Believe me, I'm not overly jazzed about reopening this can of worms again. I'd much rather go on my merry way without having to deal with the body-blow known as the rejection letter. However, when Spirit compels me to move forward, there's no amount of wishing, tantrum-throwing, or ignoring that will make it go away. I need to run up that hill, dammit.
Time will tell if my agent querying will net me anything other than another valuable life lesson. Maybe it is the perfect time for the perfect agent to see the glorious manifestation of Opening the Kimono and want to take it to the next level. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll be schooled again in the act of surrender. This time, my goal isn't to put my faith in the timing of literary agents; it's to put it in Divine Timing.
That's all the Time I need.
*********************************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
What gentle nudge are you receiving that you need to act upon?
*********************************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net for your Daily Dose of Mojo!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, January 30, 2009
Happy Dance!
I am all warm 'n fuzzy inside!!!
Last night I went to a networking function for West Coast Woman magazine. My alma mater, Eckerd College, was giving away a signed copy of Opening the Kimono in a raffle drawing, and I was asked to be there in support. Never turning away an opportunity to blah-blah-blah with some cool chickadees, I immediately said yes. When I walked up to the booth, a woman was reading the book. I sidled up next to her, waiting to chat her up. She looked up with wide eyes and enthusiastically proclaimed, "This is an EXCELLENT book! You gotta read it!" I blushingly responded by saying, "I already have read it. I wrote it!" While not exactly acting as if she had an Elvis encounter, she was definitely impressed to be talking to the woman who wrote the words with which she was smitten. Like the Grinch whose heart grew 2 times on Christmas Day, my head grew two sizes -- temporarily. (It was deflated when I saw the ballroom dancing demonstration across the room with a drop-dead gorgeous diva dolled up in sequins and 4 inch heels. I felt like Charlie Brown watching the Little Red Haired Girl.)
Still high from my brush with mini-fame, I popped onto my Amazon page this morning, wishing, hoping, praying, that there were a few more Customer Reviews. (I have a goal to reach 50; I'm at 29.) I'm happy to report that there were two new glowing reviews, one of which was from someone in Alabama I didn't know. This anonymous Divine being has made my day by penning a few simple words:
"This book is headed for Oprah's book club and the author, Theresa Rose, for Oprah's couch. We'll be hearing lots more from this author. Can't wait!"
From your fingertips to God's ears, sister. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
PS. I'm now feeling a lot more like Peppermint Patty than Charlie Brown. After all, I love a ballsy chick with a high degree of sass, and my hair is freaky-deaky like hers.
********************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
Which Charlie Brown character do you relate to the most and why?
********************************************************************************
Visit TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
Last night I went to a networking function for West Coast Woman magazine. My alma mater, Eckerd College, was giving away a signed copy of Opening the Kimono in a raffle drawing, and I was asked to be there in support. Never turning away an opportunity to blah-blah-blah with some cool chickadees, I immediately said yes. When I walked up to the booth, a woman was reading the book. I sidled up next to her, waiting to chat her up. She looked up with wide eyes and enthusiastically proclaimed, "This is an EXCELLENT book! You gotta read it!" I blushingly responded by saying, "I already have read it. I wrote it!" While not exactly acting as if she had an Elvis encounter, she was definitely impressed to be talking to the woman who wrote the words with which she was smitten. Like the Grinch whose heart grew 2 times on Christmas Day, my head grew two sizes -- temporarily. (It was deflated when I saw the ballroom dancing demonstration across the room with a drop-dead gorgeous diva dolled up in sequins and 4 inch heels. I felt like Charlie Brown watching the Little Red Haired Girl.)
Still high from my brush with mini-fame, I popped onto my Amazon page this morning, wishing, hoping, praying, that there were a few more Customer Reviews. (I have a goal to reach 50; I'm at 29.) I'm happy to report that there were two new glowing reviews, one of which was from someone in Alabama I didn't know. This anonymous Divine being has made my day by penning a few simple words:
"This book is headed for Oprah's book club and the author, Theresa Rose, for Oprah's couch. We'll be hearing lots more from this author. Can't wait!"
From your fingertips to God's ears, sister. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
PS. I'm now feeling a lot more like Peppermint Patty than Charlie Brown. After all, I love a ballsy chick with a high degree of sass, and my hair is freaky-deaky like hers.
********************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
Which Charlie Brown character do you relate to the most and why?
********************************************************************************
Visit TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
The Lone Pubber
I used my new credit card processing machine for the first time. Yippeee!!!
Last night, I hosted another wonderful installment of Club Kimono, the monthly women's discussion group dedicated to All Things Juicy. I chose yesterday's topic from the Career section of my book and read aloud an excerpt called "Failing Forward". This story illustrates that no matter how crappy our circumstances seem to be -- lost jobs, failed businesses, unknown direction -- that everything is in alignment with a Divine Plan that we simply don't know about yet. The resulting discussions were lively, emotional, and as always, empowering. At the end of our sharing session, over half of the attendees bought copies of the book, and a few bought additional copies to give to their peeps back home. I'm so blessed! Kimono Clubbers are the coolest chicks in the henhouse.
When I came home, Michael showed me the front page of yesterday's New York Times. One of the articles (above the fold no less!) was "Bright Passage in Publishing: Authors Who Pay Their Way" by Motoko Rich. It talks about how the traditional publishing industry is dramatically cutting back, while self-pubbers are popping up all over the place. Yes, most of us will never have more than our beleaguered family and friends read our masterpieces. However, there are a few of us lucky writers (me included, I hope!) that see success beyond our initial circle of supporters. I believe with all of my heart that lots of people will find their way to Opening the Kimono, and a few of those readers will know somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody who knows Oprah. :) Short of that, I'm at least hoping to get a decent agent out of the deal.
I admit that it's great to see my book getting noticed, and I am starting to get paid for my efforts. Who doesn't want to make a living? Let me tell ya, it costs a butt-load of money to make Opening the Kimono and all of its marketing stuff look so darn purdy. There is no doubt that I'm ready for some green energy to start flowing my way. I warmly welcome the revenue (since I have that pesky credit card debt), but more importantly, I love the thought of people all over the country diggin' it's vibe of love, self-acceptance, and trust. Each one of us is amazing and beautiful and powerful and delightful beyond measure, and my little book of stories helps people to see that.
It is, after all, why I write. It isn't about the money; it's about the Mojo.
Suck on THAT, Stephanie Meyer!
P.S. On the off-chance that the hottest bestselling author in the world would happen upon my little bloggie, I have one thing to say to her: "I humbly apologize, Ms. Meyer. My sarcasm is purely for entertainment purposes. I'm a huge fan. Would you like to receive a free review copy of Opening the Kimono? Maybe you'd like to introduce me to your agent afterward?"
Last night, I hosted another wonderful installment of Club Kimono, the monthly women's discussion group dedicated to All Things Juicy. I chose yesterday's topic from the Career section of my book and read aloud an excerpt called "Failing Forward". This story illustrates that no matter how crappy our circumstances seem to be -- lost jobs, failed businesses, unknown direction -- that everything is in alignment with a Divine Plan that we simply don't know about yet. The resulting discussions were lively, emotional, and as always, empowering. At the end of our sharing session, over half of the attendees bought copies of the book, and a few bought additional copies to give to their peeps back home. I'm so blessed! Kimono Clubbers are the coolest chicks in the henhouse.
When I came home, Michael showed me the front page of yesterday's New York Times. One of the articles (above the fold no less!) was "Bright Passage in Publishing: Authors Who Pay Their Way" by Motoko Rich. It talks about how the traditional publishing industry is dramatically cutting back, while self-pubbers are popping up all over the place. Yes, most of us will never have more than our beleaguered family and friends read our masterpieces. However, there are a few of us lucky writers (me included, I hope!) that see success beyond our initial circle of supporters. I believe with all of my heart that lots of people will find their way to Opening the Kimono, and a few of those readers will know somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody who knows Oprah. :) Short of that, I'm at least hoping to get a decent agent out of the deal.
I admit that it's great to see my book getting noticed, and I am starting to get paid for my efforts. Who doesn't want to make a living? Let me tell ya, it costs a butt-load of money to make Opening the Kimono and all of its marketing stuff look so darn purdy. There is no doubt that I'm ready for some green energy to start flowing my way. I warmly welcome the revenue (since I have that pesky credit card debt), but more importantly, I love the thought of people all over the country diggin' it's vibe of love, self-acceptance, and trust. Each one of us is amazing and beautiful and powerful and delightful beyond measure, and my little book of stories helps people to see that.
It is, after all, why I write. It isn't about the money; it's about the Mojo.
Suck on THAT, Stephanie Meyer!
P.S. On the off-chance that the hottest bestselling author in the world would happen upon my little bloggie, I have one thing to say to her: "I humbly apologize, Ms. Meyer. My sarcasm is purely for entertainment purposes. I'm a huge fan. Would you like to receive a free review copy of Opening the Kimono? Maybe you'd like to introduce me to your agent afterward?"
Friday, January 23, 2009
Acquiring Writing Material the Hard Way
Yesterday I came up with material for my next book. Drats!
I will most likely break ground on mi libro numero dos in the next few months. I have already received downloads on the title, high-level content, and structure. I have also been given assurances from Spirit that I will be living some of the featured stories in the coming months. Oh joy. More pain.
In the last forty-eight hours, a confluence of circumstances have prompted me to begin noodling one of the first chapters, tentatively titled, "The World's Ugliest Person". Who is this hideous creature that I'll be exposing in Opening the Kimono-like raw detail? Me, of course.
I woke up yesterday morning with one overriding thought: I am officially the World's Ugliest Person, at least at that moment. Bleary-eyed from a disastrous night's sleep in which I had nightmares about running into the most foul of creatures from middle school, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. In the cold, harshness of the early morning light, I did NOT like what blankly stared back at me.
While looking at my reflection, I discovered:
* A three-inch, beet-red blotchy burn the size of a small hot dog emblazoned on my left cheek, courtesy of an altercation with my curling iron
* A massive pimple explosion thanks to my upcoming period and consuming far too many mochas from Starbucks. My facial eruptions included several painful, unpinchable lip-zits which spontaneously appeared on the ultra-tender spot where my lower lip meets my chin
* A patch of unsightly grey roots nestled in my previously-blogged-about lion mane that my hairdresser inadvertently missed during last week's touch-up
* Deep pillow creases all over my face, including over the 3-inch hot dog on my cheek
* Pesky extra padding around my mid-section that quietly mocks me
* Scant remnants of the previous day's eyeliner which gave me a Marilyn Manson-as-linebacker look
I admit that I couldn't summon the balls to take a picture of myself at my most heinous, but I somehow found the nerve this morning. While not as super-scary as yesterday morning, I could still vie for Miss Ugly USA.
WARNING! View the following picture at your own risk!
So there it is. The World's Ugliest Person. A Glamour 'Don't'. The love child of Quasimodo and the Joker. I wondered how the hell I was going to have enough confidence to solicit speaking events to organizations in this ghastly frame of mind. I could just imagine it..."Mr. Event Planner, would you like to hire me to speak in front of 500 professionals so I can be stared at in horror and mocked en masse?"
Thankfully, with the help of my friend Shellie I was able to talk through my bilious self-judgment and realize that we ALL have the World's Ugliest Person days. There are some days where we convince ourselves that we too fat, too skinny, too pasty, too sunburned, too unkempt, too boring, or too damaged to be attractive to anyone, much less ourselves. It is the universal truth born out of our modern Western culture: I think therefore I think I am ugly.
Then I realize the glorious gift contained in my gruesomeness: I'm gonna write about this! It's funny! It's perfect for the book! People will relate to it! Hallelujah!
Even though I still resemble a troll-woman who got into a back-alley fight with a cat brandishing a branding iron, I am reveling in the fact that I received some juicy new material to write. I got a tasty shot of literary adrenaline that will propel me to tackle that most daunting of tasks: staring at a blank screen, waiting for my pain to turn into words which will eventually turn into inspiration.
How interesting it is that I chose a career where insecurity and vulnerability are its building blocks.
*************************************************************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
Do you have World's Ugliest Person days, and what makes them so?
*************************************************************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I will most likely break ground on mi libro numero dos in the next few months. I have already received downloads on the title, high-level content, and structure. I have also been given assurances from Spirit that I will be living some of the featured stories in the coming months. Oh joy. More pain.
In the last forty-eight hours, a confluence of circumstances have prompted me to begin noodling one of the first chapters, tentatively titled, "The World's Ugliest Person". Who is this hideous creature that I'll be exposing in Opening the Kimono-like raw detail? Me, of course.
I woke up yesterday morning with one overriding thought: I am officially the World's Ugliest Person, at least at that moment. Bleary-eyed from a disastrous night's sleep in which I had nightmares about running into the most foul of creatures from middle school, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. In the cold, harshness of the early morning light, I did NOT like what blankly stared back at me.
While looking at my reflection, I discovered:
* A three-inch, beet-red blotchy burn the size of a small hot dog emblazoned on my left cheek, courtesy of an altercation with my curling iron
* A massive pimple explosion thanks to my upcoming period and consuming far too many mochas from Starbucks. My facial eruptions included several painful, unpinchable lip-zits which spontaneously appeared on the ultra-tender spot where my lower lip meets my chin
* A patch of unsightly grey roots nestled in my previously-blogged-about lion mane that my hairdresser inadvertently missed during last week's touch-up
* Deep pillow creases all over my face, including over the 3-inch hot dog on my cheek
* Pesky extra padding around my mid-section that quietly mocks me
* Scant remnants of the previous day's eyeliner which gave me a Marilyn Manson-as-linebacker look
I admit that I couldn't summon the balls to take a picture of myself at my most heinous, but I somehow found the nerve this morning. While not as super-scary as yesterday morning, I could still vie for Miss Ugly USA.
WARNING! View the following picture at your own risk!
So there it is. The World's Ugliest Person. A Glamour 'Don't'. The love child of Quasimodo and the Joker. I wondered how the hell I was going to have enough confidence to solicit speaking events to organizations in this ghastly frame of mind. I could just imagine it..."Mr. Event Planner, would you like to hire me to speak in front of 500 professionals so I can be stared at in horror and mocked en masse?"
Thankfully, with the help of my friend Shellie I was able to talk through my bilious self-judgment and realize that we ALL have the World's Ugliest Person days. There are some days where we convince ourselves that we too fat, too skinny, too pasty, too sunburned, too unkempt, too boring, or too damaged to be attractive to anyone, much less ourselves. It is the universal truth born out of our modern Western culture: I think therefore I think I am ugly.
Then I realize the glorious gift contained in my gruesomeness: I'm gonna write about this! It's funny! It's perfect for the book! People will relate to it! Hallelujah!
Even though I still resemble a troll-woman who got into a back-alley fight with a cat brandishing a branding iron, I am reveling in the fact that I received some juicy new material to write. I got a tasty shot of literary adrenaline that will propel me to tackle that most daunting of tasks: staring at a blank screen, waiting for my pain to turn into words which will eventually turn into inspiration.
How interesting it is that I chose a career where insecurity and vulnerability are its building blocks.
*************************************************************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
Do you have World's Ugliest Person days, and what makes them so?
*************************************************************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Lights, Camera, Action
I've decided to make a movie. A five minute one.
I am currently in the production phase of creating the Opening the Kimono book trailer. Several nights ago, I received the storyboard while dreaming, and yesterday I filmed the two live action shots (Shout-out to my tough-as-nails director, Jean, a.k.a. Sophia!). I now have to gather the still photos, choose the soundtrack, write the titles, and put the whole thing together in iMovie. Since I have made my YouTube videoblogs for the last year or so, making the movie isn't the daunting part.
It's putting my "fat" pictures in it.
In the film I will be providing a brief description of Kimono, showing personal pics that coordinate with each section. For example, in the "Love & Sex" section, there will be the wedding photo of Michael and me. In the "Raising Kids" section, a precious one of The Bean and me will be included. In the "Death" section, there will be a very touching picture (and the last one we took together) of Mom and me. And since I discuss my lifelong struggle with weight in the "My Body" section, I'm gonna use a pic where I am a porker.
If I can find one.
Unfortunately, during the height (or width) of my obesity -- when I tipped the scales at over a deuce -- I went on several rampages and ripped up any pictures that made me look like a house, which were most of them. Sadly, I have very few pictures of me growing up, because most of them got angrily destroyed in multiple fits of bubbling self-hatred. The scant snapshots that remain are of me when I am at a somewhat "normal" weight (like I am now), or slightly heavy (like I am now!). The real Dumbo pics are nowhere to be found.
Still, I have not given up hope. I am confident that there are a few cringe-worthy photos buried in a neglected photo album somewhere. I think Emma has one or two in her baby book. (Eeesh! Post-baby flab. That'll be pretty.)
I find it ironic that, after twenty-five years of artfully dodging the camera, I am now frantically trying to find those same photos that caused me so much pain. Not only am I trying to find them, but I am going to include them in my book trailer for all to see.
Yes, Virginia, I've come a long way, baby.
***************************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
What kind of reaction do you have when you see photographs of yourself?
***************************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am currently in the production phase of creating the Opening the Kimono book trailer. Several nights ago, I received the storyboard while dreaming, and yesterday I filmed the two live action shots (Shout-out to my tough-as-nails director, Jean, a.k.a. Sophia!). I now have to gather the still photos, choose the soundtrack, write the titles, and put the whole thing together in iMovie. Since I have made my YouTube videoblogs for the last year or so, making the movie isn't the daunting part.
It's putting my "fat" pictures in it.
In the film I will be providing a brief description of Kimono, showing personal pics that coordinate with each section. For example, in the "Love & Sex" section, there will be the wedding photo of Michael and me. In the "Raising Kids" section, a precious one of The Bean and me will be included. In the "Death" section, there will be a very touching picture (and the last one we took together) of Mom and me. And since I discuss my lifelong struggle with weight in the "My Body" section, I'm gonna use a pic where I am a porker.
If I can find one.
Unfortunately, during the height (or width) of my obesity -- when I tipped the scales at over a deuce -- I went on several rampages and ripped up any pictures that made me look like a house, which were most of them. Sadly, I have very few pictures of me growing up, because most of them got angrily destroyed in multiple fits of bubbling self-hatred. The scant snapshots that remain are of me when I am at a somewhat "normal" weight (like I am now), or slightly heavy (like I am now!). The real Dumbo pics are nowhere to be found.
Still, I have not given up hope. I am confident that there are a few cringe-worthy photos buried in a neglected photo album somewhere. I think Emma has one or two in her baby book. (Eeesh! Post-baby flab. That'll be pretty.)
I find it ironic that, after twenty-five years of artfully dodging the camera, I am now frantically trying to find those same photos that caused me so much pain. Not only am I trying to find them, but I am going to include them in my book trailer for all to see.
Yes, Virginia, I've come a long way, baby.
***************************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comment:
What kind of reaction do you have when you see photographs of yourself?
***************************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Price of Beauty
As I write this, I have a plastic shopping bag from Publix on my head. Why, you ask? To hold in the mayonnaise, silly!
I am in the middle of one of those kooky at-home beauty recipes that you read about in Cosmo or Glamour but never actually have the balls to do. Trust me; I am SO not the mayo-on-the-hair type. I have never put cucumbers on my eyes, spread yogurt on my face, or soaked my feet in olive oil. However, after spending $40 at the salon two weeks ago on an unsuccessful deep conditioning treatment, I decided to take the goop into my own hands.
What prompted this radical use of condiments? If you saw my hair, you'd know. I currently look like a cross between the Cowardly Lion and Rosanne Rosanneadanna. Yesterday morning, my daughter entered our bedroom, looked at my disheveled mane and yelled, "Whoa! That is some fluffy hair!" Yeah, Em. That is some fluffy hair.
It turns out that the "subtle highlights" I had done a few weeks ago completely fried my already parboiled queen-size coiffure. Sure, the highlights turned out pretty, but it exacted some serious collateral damage. To describe my hair as frizzy is like saying the ocean is wet. It is every color, shade, texture, and flavor of frizzy that one can imagine. In a word, it is scaryfrizzy. Since I don't want to be known as the crazy chick with the frightening hair, I thought it time to give my 'do some much-needed TLC.
While my head was immersed in the oh-so-comfy salon washtub a few weeks ago, my dearest hairdresser, Julieta, quietly whispered to me the secret home remedy: put gobs of mayo on my hair, wrap plastic around my head, and wait. After a sufficient period of heat-up time, wash the sandwich spread out and watch my luscious locks return.
Hence, the mayo on my mop. I feel like a flaming dork.
One part of me knows I look like a freakin' goofball, and another part of me thinks I am being a narcissistic ass. Most likely, I am a combination of the two. I can't help it! I admit it; I want to have pretty hair. I don't have to have perfect hair like Angelina's, Kate's, or Jennifer's; I just don't want Roseanne Roseannadanna's. It's not too much to ask.
So, this morning I will be Little Miss Professional, sending important email interviews to national magazines, updating my website with articles and reviews, planning speaking engagements, and otherwise living with some Serious Mojo.
And I'll do all of this with a plastic Publix bag on my head.
Scary.
************************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comments:
What silly thing have you done before, all in the name of beauty?
************************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am in the middle of one of those kooky at-home beauty recipes that you read about in Cosmo or Glamour but never actually have the balls to do. Trust me; I am SO not the mayo-on-the-hair type. I have never put cucumbers on my eyes, spread yogurt on my face, or soaked my feet in olive oil. However, after spending $40 at the salon two weeks ago on an unsuccessful deep conditioning treatment, I decided to take the goop into my own hands.
What prompted this radical use of condiments? If you saw my hair, you'd know. I currently look like a cross between the Cowardly Lion and Rosanne Rosanneadanna. Yesterday morning, my daughter entered our bedroom, looked at my disheveled mane and yelled, "Whoa! That is some fluffy hair!" Yeah, Em. That is some fluffy hair.
It turns out that the "subtle highlights" I had done a few weeks ago completely fried my already parboiled queen-size coiffure. Sure, the highlights turned out pretty, but it exacted some serious collateral damage. To describe my hair as frizzy is like saying the ocean is wet. It is every color, shade, texture, and flavor of frizzy that one can imagine. In a word, it is scaryfrizzy. Since I don't want to be known as the crazy chick with the frightening hair, I thought it time to give my 'do some much-needed TLC.
While my head was immersed in the oh-so-comfy salon washtub a few weeks ago, my dearest hairdresser, Julieta, quietly whispered to me the secret home remedy: put gobs of mayo on my hair, wrap plastic around my head, and wait. After a sufficient period of heat-up time, wash the sandwich spread out and watch my luscious locks return.
Hence, the mayo on my mop. I feel like a flaming dork.
One part of me knows I look like a freakin' goofball, and another part of me thinks I am being a narcissistic ass. Most likely, I am a combination of the two. I can't help it! I admit it; I want to have pretty hair. I don't have to have perfect hair like Angelina's, Kate's, or Jennifer's; I just don't want Roseanne Roseannadanna's. It's not too much to ask.
So, this morning I will be Little Miss Professional, sending important email interviews to national magazines, updating my website with articles and reviews, planning speaking engagements, and otherwise living with some Serious Mojo.
And I'll do all of this with a plastic Publix bag on my head.
Scary.
************************************************************************************
For your consideration and/or comments:
What silly thing have you done before, all in the name of beauty?
************************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Cerebral Bubbles
I can't think of a single coherent theme to write. My thoughts are like champagne bubbles today. Instead of sitting here wasting time, wishing I could harness my thoughts into one logical stream of thought, I thought I'd share a few of the fizzies dancing in my brain, hopefully enabling me to get happy and actually get some quality work done.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
The Holiday Post-Game Report
The holidays are finally over and “normal” life has resumed. I am back on my writing perch, sipping decaf hazelnut from my favorite mug, smelling India Palace incense burning, listening to Ben Harper (”With My Own Two Hands”), and feeling groovy. There is a firestorm of information, emotion, and inspiration I want to share. I missed you guys!
Here is the highlight reel of what happened in the Rose abode over the last two weeks:
* Santa arrived as planned on Christmas Eve, bringing Emma the items she requested on her list: a long, fuzzy purple bathrobe, a fancy, “flowy” dress, and the WALL-E DVD. My inquisitive daughter got up at 2:32am on Christmas Day just to make sure that Saint Nick had arrived, eaten his two Publix sugar cookies, and brought some packages. Thankfully, Santa must have arrived just after Em had gone to sleep (even though, I am sure, he was friggin’ tired from a full day of activity and desperately wanted to get his job done ASAFP so I — oops, I mean he — could finally get to bed.)
* I taught my daughter the art of being a hardcore gamer. As anyone in my family can attest, I am a bit of a psycho competitor when it comes to games. I LOVE GAMES. More importantly, I LOVE WINNING. This Christmas, I decided to teach Li’l Miss how to kick ass and take names in boardgaming. We played backgammon and Monopoly ad infinitum, and as expected, she is a chip off the ol’ block. It pained me to let her win the first few times; soon thereafter, however, the little urchin tasted blood and went after the parental jugulars with glee. I was so proud.
* Michael and I were able to go to not one, not two, but THREE movies over the holidays! They were big people movies too! We saw The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (Brad Pitt has the yummiest tooshie in Hollywood), Slumdog Millionaire (contains a serious emotional POW! factor), and Frost/Nixon (God bless great writing and acting). While we didn’t partake in our normal movie treats of Reese’s Pieces, buttery popcorn and a vat of Sprite, we still enjoyed holding hands in the dark and dissecting the films a la Ebert/Roeper afterward.
* The three of us spent a lot of time outside, enjoying the beauty and bounty of Mother Nature in sunny Florida. Michael and I like to call our forays around the neighborhood lake as “walk ‘n talks”. Em runs ahead of us, singing songs and finding all kinds of interesting treasures, while he and I talk about major life stuff. The holiday walk ‘n talks involved sharing our big dreams and desires for the coming year (and the corresponding panic and fear that accompany them). I revealed several nasty fears over my upcoming corporate speaking engagements, promoting my book nationally, starting my new radio show (stay tuned for more info!) and writing the next book (which is soooooooo ready to get written).
* Countless other juicy things took place — enjoying delicious meals made by my beloved spouse (Risotto!), curling up with several great books (In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan), performing some much-needed decluttering, reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban aloud to the fam, and lazily cuddling in the hammock with The Bean.
The holidays were precious! The time off was restorative! The family connection was blissful!
And now I’m ready to get back to work.
There is so much I want to accomplish in 2009. There are books to sell, speeches to make, interviews to conduct, videos to record, newsletters and Daily Doses of Mojos to create, press releases to send and articles to write. However, my most important goal for the next 365 days doesn’t involve tasks on a To-do list: it is to simply wake up each day feeling grateful and joyful, staying in that mindset for as much of the day as possible.
I want to remember that I am rich beyond measure no matter what happens or what I get done. I am so very thankful to Spirit for providing me the life of my dreams.
*****************************************************************************
(My blogs will now contain a question for your to ponder and hopefully write a reply. Please join me in a dialogue!)
What was the best thing that happened to you over the holidays?
*****************************************************************************
Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
