In-flight Ruminations

It’s amazing what comes to mind when one is forced to endure a jam-packed, turbulence-ridden Delta flight from Minneapolis to Sarasota.

Having recently moved to Minnesota, I am not used to taking off during a snowstorm. Frankly, it freaked me out a wee bit. I know how hard it is to navigate my Toyota on a slippery, snow-covered highway, so how could I not question how the pilot would keep control of this massive chunk of steel on a slick runway? The answer, of course, is the mystery process called ‘de-icing’: that magical solution that makes everything A-OK. It's so reassuring to know that my life is safe now that the plane received a five-minute, high-powered car wash. As we careen down the runway, I focus on my tried-and-true “I'm scared shitless” mantra: All is well, all of the time. In conjunction, I try to calm my stomach that is doing somersaults and breathe into my legs that have turned into jelly. Despite my best efforts, I have visions of that terrifying movie Alive – the story about the jet crash in the Andes – dancing through my head. This is all happening a few hours before one of my public appearances in which I am supposed to become Big Theresa, the Bringer of the Mojo. As I type this, I am looking down at my black plastic and brushed metal bracelet that has the word "Fearless" emblazoned on it and wondering how the hell I have the cajones to wear it.

I am comforted by the fact that I’m not the biggest Fraidy Cat on the plane. There is a chick sitting in the row ahead of me who looks like she is going to jump out of her skin, barf in the white paper bag, and pee in her stonewashed jeans all at the same time. Prior to takeoff, my Nervous Nellie cabin-mate sporting the Taylor Swift tee shirt incessantly grilled the flight attendant on the safety of the plane, e.g. “What is that strange noise?! Is that sound normal?! What about all of the snow on the wings?!” (I was grateful to my squirrelly travel compadre for asking those questions, as I wondered the same things myself.) The jaded flight attendant whose behavior clearly indicated that she has logged waaaaaaaay too much flight time, condescendingly responded by saying, “Then maybe you should have taken a Greyhound bus to Florida”. Hey, Blondie? Two words: Blow me. Delta’s new tagline should read: Fly the Bitchy Skies.

In order to deal with the stratospheric roller coaster in which I am currently being forced to ride, I am focusing instead on my upcoming itinerary. I will be spending the next six blissful days in sunny Florida conducting Club Kimono discussion groups, facilitating two group meditations, having private intuitive healing sessions, and doing a speaking engagement. All of that that is fine and dandy, but to be honest, I am more pumped about seeing my peeps!! I get to spend quality time with Jax and V, go out to dinner with Abby, hoop with Shellie, lunch with Linda and Donna, gab with Lourdes, and laugh with Shaun and Di. I’m gonna walk the beach in my flipflops, get up whenever I want, and eat whenever I want. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband and daughter more than the Biggest Big Thing; but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it is gonna be pretty friggin’ nice to be a single gal for the next week. I am sure my jaws will ache at the end of the trip from laughing and talking ad infinitum. Sometimes I just need a break from the roles of Mom and Wife.

Not only am I spending quality time in the Sunshine State, but I will also be taking a quick jaunt to New York City for a “Meet the Agents” forum. During three nerve-wracking hours next Sunday afternoon, I hope to dazzle the to-be-determined Dream Agent with the awesome potential of one Ms. Theresa Rose and her literary baby, Opening the Kimono. This trip is huge for me, and I want to make a great impression. As any woman knows, the clothes we wear can dictate our confidence level. As I scoured my closet yesterday to pick out my travel wardrobe, I discovered several bold, trendy, oh-so-New Yorky outfits that would be perfect to wear for this event. The only problem is that none of them fit. Ever since our move, my girth has steadily expanded, thanks to too many trips to Caribou Coffee, too many take-home pizzas from Papa Murphy’s, and too few trips on the elliptical. It’s a depressing thing indeed when all one can find to wear on the eve of a major business trip are stretchy skirts and baggy shirts.

Blessedly, I found a cute Michael Kors skirt in the back recesses of the closet that I bought on sale at Macy’s several months ago. I have never worn it, because it was too big when I bought it (it was incorrectly sized and misfiled on the sale racks). Not anymore, dammit. Thanks to Caribou and the Papa, it fits perfectly now. Through a few tears, I cobbled together a decent Manhattan-worthy outfit that doesn’t make me look like a hausfrau or an aging hippie at Burning Man.

So begins my trip. I am trying to stay as positive as possible, recognizing that wonderful things are just around the corner. My goal right now is to be in the groove, go with the flow, and embrace every moment, regardless of how unpleasant it may seem. I pray this damn turbulence will end soon, the cranky old coot next to me will eventually arrest his restless leg syndrome, and the faceless-yet-powerful expeller of noxious intestinal gas will stop his (or her) pungent tooting. Just a few moments ago, my jittery neighbor actually had the stones to ask me if I’d switch seats with him, giving him my coveted aisle seat in exchange for his middle seat. Yeah. That’ll happen. I’m all for loving my neighbor, but he’s gonna have to keep his shaky ass right where it is for the duration of the flight.

PS: Despite how it seems, I love writing while traveling. There is something about being surrounded by strangers being put in uncomfortable surroundings that make my creative juices flow like the Colorado River (or at least how the Colorado River ran ten years ago). The only drawback is the presence of nosy neighbors who think they are being surreptitious when they sneak a peek at the contents of my screen. Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you, buddy. Keep your damn eyeballs on your USA Today or Golf Digest where they belong.

I love traveling. ☺

Loosening the Apron Ties

I just finished putting my seven-year old daughter on a bus to Bemidji, Minnesota for a week-long stay at Spanish Immersion camp. I can't stop crying.

When I woke up this morning at 3:00am, I knew the departure was going to be rough. I kept mindf#@king the supply list, mentally going over it one last time (ha!) to make sure that Em has everything she needs. I thought it ironic that the parent handbook stressed the importance of the children packing lightly, yet they put 75 things on the friggin' list, including sleeping bag, pillow, a set of sheets, three towels, backpack, laundry bag, clothes appropriate for any weather, rain gear, four kinds of shoes, water bottle, sunscreen, industrial-strength mosquito spray, stationery, Spanish books, toiletries, and other assorted camp fare. When all was said and done, my kid looked like a mini-version of a Tibetan sherpa.

Beaner and I had breakfast at Caribou Coffee, and we discussed some of the new experiences she would be having over mochas and scones. We talked about cabins, bunk beds, group showers (Eeeeek!), counselors, campfires and deer ticks. Whereas Emma was totally calm, I was rapidly becoming a screaming mimi. I was reassuring her left and right, telling her how much fun she was going to have in North Country. I stressed the added benny of having a whole week without parental supervision. Needless to say, she was thrilled.

After breakfast, we headed to the Brookdale Mall, the location of the bus pickup. Given my anal-retentive personality, we naturally arrived forty-five minutes early. There were already dozens of older kids loitering with their luggage, waiting to get on their assigned bus. I didn't see any parents accompanying the kids, so I figured they've all done the dealio before. In a moment of parenting inspiration, I opted to refrain from dragging my child over to the congregation, thus sparing her the nauseating humility of having her mother doting after her, fixing her hair, quadruple checking her backpack, and giving her a spit bath. Instead, we spent the next thirty minutes talking, laughing, and cuddling in the front seat. As I looked into her beautiful green eyes, I started to get choked up at the thought of my little girl leaving. The only words she kept repeating were "Just don't cry. Just don't cry. Just don't cry." The more she said it, the closer the tears came.

Once the other kids started to board the buses, I felt it was safe to exit the vehicle. A Minnesota Nice camp counselor approached the car ("Hey there! How ya doin' today? Where'ya headed to, young lady?") and checked her in. He pointed us to Bus #2 and instructed her on how to stow her luggage. We walked to the bus together and another Nice welcomed her and took her bag ("Spanish Bemidji, eh? Sounds good!"). Before we knew it, it was time for THE MOMENT: the final hug goodbye. Emma was self-conscious about the other kids witnessing her mother have a potential emotional meltdown, so she made the hug and kiss brief but meaningful. Right before she stepped onto the bus, she turned around, gave me one of her priceless toothless grins, and gave me the "I love you" sign. Lower lip quivering, I returned the gesture and watched my only child disappear into the darkness of the luxury coach.

For the next ten minutes, I sat in my car and cried. It just didn't seem possible that EmmaBean was already old enough to be parent-free! Even though she has been away from us several times before, there wasn't the comfort of Mim, Nana Jean, Auntie Suz, Jackie or Shellie to soothe my nervous tendencies. I am now being forced to trust strangers with my precious angel. As any parent can attest, it's harder than it sounds.

After realizing that I actually needed to drive my car, I wiped my face and tried to exit the mall to go to my next destination. It literally took me another fifteen minutes to decipher Google maps, my iPhone GPS system, the labyrinthine side streets, the parking medians, and the Sears Tire Shop. I finally finally finally got out of the damn mall parking lot with tears still streaming down my face.

My rational side knows that Emma will be fine. Actually, she'll be more than fine. She'll be fantastic. She is a naturally adventurous, open person who welcomes new people and activities in her world. I know she'll be talking non-stop on Saturday about how totally cool camp was and how excited she is to return. But my rational side isn't in charge right now. The crazy, nervous-nellie, emotional, sentimental, basket-case mommy side is in control and she doesn't like it one little bit that her little girl is on a bus to Bemidji right now.

Wow. I can't even fathom what I'm gonna be like when she goes on her first date.

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.

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For your consideration and/or comment:

Do you ever go crazy right after vacation?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to take a peek inside the award-winning Opening the Kimono!

Almost Ready to Blog

I have been on vacation and away from the blogosphere for over two weeks, and I can't figure out how to re-enter.

There is so much to say, yet the words aren't coming to me...yet. My house is a chi nightmare with piles of dirty clothes, hampers of clean ones, stacks of paper, and towers of post-travel clutter. Almost 300 emails awaited me upon my return, and important proposals are in the hopper. Big stuff happened while I was on the mountains of Northern California and Sedona, yet my journey is staying within me, unable to find a public witness.

I want to share with you about my spiritual quest. I want to inspire you with stories of Truth and Beauty. I want to rant and rave about my last two weeks.

But, somehow, I'm not quite ready.

Maybe I need another day to have my house settle down so I can settle in. Or maybe I need to get my much-anticipated bodywork session tomorrow before I dive into the juicy stories. Whatever the case may be, I am not ready to share my West Coast dramas, traumas, fears, hopes, dreams, realizations, anecdotes, or a-has on the keys of MacDaddy. Maybe I never will... I'll have to search inside to see if my stories are meant to stay private or not. I sure hope they want to come out!

However, I want to take baby steps back to you. I thought a perfect way to do so would be to share with you an inspiring video of one of my most talented and adorable teachers, Jonathan Baxter. Bax is the King of the Hoop, and his circular dance with the Divine never ceases to put a smile on my face, a sparkle in my heart and a tingle in my loins. Enjoy!

Let It Flo!

I am going on a much-needed retreat and vacation with hubby starting next Friday, and there is only one thing on my mind right now: my friggin' period.

In order for me to properly participate in both activities, both on a spiritual and carnal level, I want to be menses-free. Historically, my monthly visitor Flo always seems to arrive at the most inopportune times; therefore, this week I am endeavoring to nudge her along so she'll be gone by the time I step on the first of many Delta airplanes.

Ever since I stopped taking The Pill, Flo's ETA is a crap-shoot. The near-absence of sugar and caffeine in my diet has made her stay a little more bearable, but it has not done much to predict her whereabouts. Two of the consistent indicators of her impending arrival are sore boobies and a bad f#@king attitude. I can attest to having both. (If you read my scathing rantblog yesterday called "Don't Let the Nutters Win", I'm sure you have an inkling of my mood du jour.)

I've been shown the two unpleasant warning signs; now it's time for me to kick it into high gear. Here are a few proactive steps I have taken to start riding the red pony...

1. I'm wearing white panties underneath white pants. This is the surest way I know of to taunt the menstruation goddesses into action.

2. I emptied the bathroom garbage. Only then will it be ready to receive the pile of nastiness associated with copious used plugs and pads.

3. Speaking of products, I've moved all applicable sundries into the bathroom staging area. There are tampons of all sizes (junior, regular, super, superplus, and twin mattress), pads (supermaxiovernightican'tbelieveyouneedthatmuchprotectionwhileyou'reasleep), and the cute little pantyliners for the final, is-it-over-maybe-i-don't-think-so-not-yet day.

4. I scheduled a really huge TV interview for tomorrow. Having mere stage jitters is for pussies; I want to have a full-blown, nauseous cramp-fest in order to make the moment as memorable as possible.

There it is. I'm stepping into the driver's seat so I can have unrestricted time with Spirit on a mountaintop followed by unrestrained nookie with the Spousal Unit.

I'm ready for ya, Flo.

Your move...

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For your comment and/or consideration:

What are the signals that Flo is about to arrive at your house?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to read a chapter of Opening the Kimono!

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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.

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(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?

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Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!