Love & Glitter

The Rearview Mirror

So, this is interesting...

(Perhaps only to me, but still...)

Whenever I get a new computer, I do this thing where I go through my archives. It's good for a laugh at who I was back in 2000 (I have diary and blog archives that date back to that time), good for rediscovering old music, poetry, things I'd forgotten I'd written.

I've spent some time last night reading through some old posts and poetry and as I read, a pattern emerged for me:

The first ten years of my adulthood (so, 20 - 30) were spent offline and in search of ways to re-parent myself after a terrible traumatic childhood, and ways to parent my own kids better. So, we'll call that the 'relating to my inner and outer kids' period.

The next five years of my adulthood (so, 30 - 35) were spent straddling some kid stuff but mostly lots of romantic partnership stuff. 

The next five years (so, 35-40) were spent really tackling this 'being in a long term committed relationship' thing ~ with teenaged kids in tow.

And the last three years have been spent navigating how to be in the world (in friendship, in social circles) without losing myself.

The circles have been moving outward from a tight focus on me & my kids, rippling, spiraling outward to include more and more of the world.

And I feel like the circle is spiralling back in again. Now that I've done the parenting thing, done a lot of the re-parenting myself thing, done the 'figuring out how to be in a relationship with one person through thick and thin' thing, tackled the 'how to relate to the world at large' thing...

I'm back to square one these days, learning how to better relate to myself. What fuels me. What feeds me. What keeps me honest. What challenges me.

The care and feeding of the Effybean, if you will.

In looking back it feels as though I've both built up and torn down since I began the journey towards self-actualization in my late teens/early twenties. It seems I've torn down a lot of what the parental units conditioned me to believe about myself and built up my natural skills and talents. I've torn down a lot of what western culture and societal pressure conditions everyone to believe about themselves and built on what I know (or in some cases, what I wish) to be true. 

***

I've been accused of being self-absorbed throughout my life (especially by the parental units), but here's the thing: I am the only one I will never leave or lose. I am the only person I *have* to live with for the rest of my life. I strive to become the best 'me' I can be ~ not based on anyone elses standards but on the standards that rise up from the heart of me. So, it that makes me self-absorbed, I'm okay with that. I know this for sure: if I hadn't entered into this work of a lifetime, I might have parented exactly the way my parents parented. I might have stayed in abusive relationships. I might have been abusive myself. I might have never discovered my talent for wordsmithery or journal art. I might have been one of those sparkless, sad people with no lust for life who just gets by from day to day. I would have been no good to anybody.

At the end of the day, my heart's desire is to be useful. I know that I can't be useful as anything but a sad cautionary tale if I'm unconscious. 

So I strive to know myself. 

I work at it. Every single day. The good, the bad, the ugly ~ not one shred of me gets left in darkness. I examine it all. I'm ruthless. 

And because I feel compelled to do it, because I don't know any other way to be, it isn't even a 'virtue' that I can feel pride over. It's built into who I am. 

It's hard sometimes. Really hard.

But oh, so fruitful. 

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Because looking back the way I've done for the last few days, I see how far I've come. I see how much I've learned. I see the fruit of all this navel gazing, journaling, so-called self-absorption.

I'm useful.

And I'm happy about that. 

(This feels like a good moment to say Amen!)

xo

Effy

 

Silver YaYa & Where I'm Headed

Yesterday, right at the tail end of my live art stream, I took delivery on a new-to-me Mac Book. After much consideration, and with a little help from my friends I've named her Silver Omena YaYa LaRue. Silver for the silver apples of Avalon, Omena because it sounds pretty and it's 'apple' in Finnish, YaYa because I am so YaYa, no? And LaRue after my Sisterhood, whose tips and premium dues made this purchase possible. 

She is *our* baby, so she has *our* last name. 

Prior to taking delivery on this baby, I admit I already had two computers: an Acer laptop (a year old) that is great for entertainment (streaming video, music, social networking) but not much more and a three year-old Mac Mini that did what I needed it to, (video, PDF, and photo editing) but rather slowly, and it required that I be tethered to a desk.

Silver YaYa (as I call her for short) is going to make my work life so much easier. I can edit video anywhere. On the red leather couch. In bed. In a coffee shop somewhere. So instead of being stuck in the house until the work is done on Mondays and Fridays (editing days!), I can upload the video and then take off. Go drink fantastic roobois tea at A Matter of Taste while I edit. Edit upstairs when kids tromp in early and make a lot of noise. 

I'm thaaaaah-rilllllled. 

***

I don't have a lot planned for the weekend. With the addition of another stream on Thursdays and a bout of menstrual fatigue, I am feeling like I earned the time off I'm due. So, tonight will be relaxing once I'm finished making the bolognaise sauce, and tomorrow will be full of non-Book of Days related art and touching base with the family. 

One thing I didn't expect when I began this pilgrimage was how peopled my life would feel. It feels very peopled in a way it never has before. I get so much email it staggers me (and I love it, but it's hard to keep up). I'm connected, plugged in, aware. I find it hard to turn off even when I'm supposed to be 'off'. What is 'off' exactly when you work in the same places you play? Beats me, but I'm going to try to figure it out.  

Introverts can get burned out when their lives are this intensely peopled, and I'm going to need to be mindful of that. I'm going to look at my calendar next week and think about time off. I am giving myself four to six weeks this year. Weeks when I will not do BOD or anything else that isn't solely recreational. Having been a parent since I was 19, this is new to me, this 'time off' idea. I was always either working outside the home AND parenting, or working at parenting exclusively. Either way, it's work. Hard work. Last year was probably the easiest year I've had in the sense that I didn't have to work outside the home AND my bio-kids are all old enough to fend for themselves. But last year was also the hardest year I've ever had in terms of personal development. I was challenged to my core...

...and that continued right on through until just this past week when I decided to turn my very loved face toward those that love me and move only in that direction. 

But as difficult as my years as a parent (mostly single, mostly incredibly broke) were, they were not very peopled years. There was plenty of time (once kids were in bed) for my own thoughts, the sound of my own breathing, silence (or music of my choosing) and solitude. This, of course, was pre-Internet (I got mine in 1997) and pre-Internet, even as an introvert, I experienced crushing loneliness. 

Now I can barely remember what real loneliness feels like. 

I'd like to be a little lonely sometimes. :)

So, yes. Four to six lonely weeks this year that are not about anyone else's needs, that are not about content creation, that are not about building my journal practice, that are not about self-development. It will be very challenging to turn off the need to self-analyze, observe, and express, but I will find a way. I want to spend some time this year completely unplugged. I want to go camping. I want to read an entire novel in one weekend in bed. I want to lie out on a beach. 

And I shall.

***

Meanwhile, I am loving what is with a ferociousness I can barely stand. As soon as I realized I wanted to soften, I cracked wide open. As soon as I knew what was really important, I started running in that direction like my life depended on it. 

Actually, it probably does. 

So, where am I headed? A hot bath. A good book. A snuggle with the manfingy. Hilarious conversations with people that slay me with kindness and goodness and humour yet never hesitate to call me on my shit. Book of Days and later this year Life Book, and into the arms of The Madonna and into the lovestream rooms at Agape. 

I'm going where the love is. I'm going to live there, as peopled as it might be. I'm going to employ exquisite self-care and take as much as I give, and sometimes I'll wander off into hell but I'll come back home, where there is meaningful work and so much art and tonnes of glitter. 

I know many of you will be my neighbors. 

xo

Effy

Pushing On Instead Of Pushing Back

I'm practicing taking ten deep breaths and censoring myself every two seconds in response to stuff I find challenging. I know that the majority of the people in my life (both personal life and wider Internetz life) are cool with me, and I know that focusing on those who aren't is a monumental waste of time. I know that what's best for me is to ignore ~ completely ignore without exception ~ the crap and focus instead on the love, the shiny, the work, the forward thrust toward what I want.

I'm also working on being less thorn and more rose in the world (which is kicking my ass!) and that is a worthy undertaking. 

But, (you saw that coming, didn't you?) being the control freak that I am, I have been desperately needing to do *something* while ignoring stuff. I have this uncontrollable need to process out loud what is happening in my life in a place where someone who might need to see it might see it. And in this very powerless feeling place, I need *something*, goddess help me, ANYTHING to give me the (okay, false but temporarily satisfying) sense that I am not powerless over teh Internetz Dramaz. 

So, yesterday, I was thinking about writing out what is known in recovery circles as a fearless moral inventory of all my failings and character defects and posting it here so people could just copy and paste it when they want to talk about me on the Intertubz.Then I thought I should write a blanket disclaimer using all the labels that have been applied to me. I considered erecting a page like the one over on Dooce.com  (one of my personal heroes) in which she has cleverly monetized the 'hate' that gets dumped in her comments and inbox on a regular basis. (It is a meme now, hating Dooce. I wonder if I will ever be that popular?)  

I decided against that, too, because who needs to be reminded of one's own bad press every time one goes to one's blog?

I spent three hours writing what can only be described as a venty screed. I let it all out. I did not hold back. I was feeling a lot liked I'd been wandering around like a battered wife holding her lips together and her guts in.

But that's awfully victimy, and I don't want to feed that either. So I deleted it. 

And then I decided to talk to a friend I trust, who helped me get perspective. And then she sent me this blog post, which seriously, you should NOT read if you are enjoying a beverage of any kind. 

(Go read it! You will laugh so hard your guts will hurt! I'll wait...)

So I read it and I laughed so hard my guts hurt, and I sent it to my husband who also laughed so hard he FARTED and we decided that $38.00 in shipping charges was not too much to own one of those $16.00 metal chickens. I whipped out the credit card and I ordered one and I'm now waiting to put it in my work space so every time I think "I should waste my time and energy fighting a battle that isn't even mine to fight" I will see said metal chicken and laugh my ass off. 

Perspective. I can has it. 

So, here's what I decided to do in the end. I decided to focus on the people I love. I decided to write an open letter to those who might be scared to act on their impulse to follow their dream because they saw someone else get lambasted on The Internetz. 

Dear Shiny Soul With Tender Dreams:

This whole Internetz Drama thing? It happens to a lot of people who start to get 'too big for their britches' according to those who would prefer you to stay small. It has happened to many 'big name' and 'small fry' mixed media artists. It has happened to many pagan community leaders, many poets, many content providers. Almost everyone gets hatemail. Almost every one gets bad press. Some get more than others depending on how controversial they are, or how hard they push back. It's not just you. It's not even about you. It's a part of the process. 

What I've learned so far is that the harder I push *back* the worse it gets, and the less energy I have to do my work. Pushing back is not only a waste of my time, but it feeds the very thing I *don't want in my life*. So don't push back. Learn from my mistakes. Ignore it. Seriously. Pay it about as much attention as it's worth: none. 

Chin up. Eyes on the prize. Push on instead of pushing back. Don't stop. Don't believe your own bad press. Listen to those who value you. Do your fearless moral inventories. Keep yourself in check. Admit to those who come to you with honest grievances when you have wronged them, but do not, for one second believe that some random, mean-spirited, vitriolic person on the Internet is entitled to ONE SECOND of your time, ONE TEAR from your eyes, ONE MOMENT of your consideration. 

Maybe everyone will abandon you because someone on the Internetz thinks they should but that's not what tends to happen. What tends to happen is that those who criticize your shiny things instead of spending their time and energy creating their own shiny thing attract to themselves exactly the kind of people you don't want anywhere near you, and they get to sit around talking about how awful you are. Meanwhile,  you get to do your work, create kick ass content, and hang out with the fun, self-aware, nonjudgey, thriving, glitter flinging, amazing, insightful, supportive, encouraging, gorgeous people that you *do* want in your life. 

The DramaLlama is an excellent gardner. It prunes your rose bushes. It dead heads your poppies. It weed whacks. If you let it do its work without pushing back, it will ensure that you are surrounded by the people who value you, appreciate you and support you in your work in this world.  

***

Now THAT was worth my time. 

Hallelujah.

Love & Glitter,

Effy 

 

There was a screed here.

I deleted it. Because I'm flighty like that. 

So shoot me. 

:)

I'm going shopping at Michael's with a kick ass coupon and then I'm going to sit somewhere peaceful and quiet with my manfingy. 

Internetz, I quit you. 

(Until tomorrow, anyway.)

The Original Wound

So, we've moved (not so gently past) the losing my shit part of the program and into the dealing part, and I'm breathing a deeply grateful sigh of relief that instead of spending 48 hours in a twisty knot of ohmyfuckinggodthisisawful, I only spent about ten hours in that unfortunate state.

Between the manfingy running me a rose scented bath and my friend of 12 years reminding me (in not so gentle, but much needed terms) that I am okay with her, that I am better than okay, my bad moment turned into a pretty good and deeply insightful day. 

"You're owning your stuff." she said. "I hear a lot of how you are accountable for your experience" she said. And just in case you get the mistaken impression that she is all sweetness and light, she also said "Fuck them." and "People who see their shadow in you HATE you. That's ALWAYS been true. Get OVER it." 

So, this is the truth as I see it. This is how I move in the world. 

I like myself. I like how those I love always know where they stand. I like how I tell it like it is. I like how easily I let go of what isn't working for me. I like how freely I give of myself until I no longer feel like giving. I like that I say what I see. I like that I own my mistakes and do my best to fix them when given the opportunity, but I also like that I can move on from them. I like that I am adaptable. I like my strength. I like my fierceness. 

I affirm that I'm not here to make anyone else comfortable. I'm doing my own work, processing my own shit, owning my own life. 

Yes, I want to move with less thorn and more rose. I want to be a person of easy grace and forgiveness. I don't particularly like the fact that I attract more than my fair share of Teh Crazy ~ but I get that I probably attract it because I *am* my own fair share of Teh Crazy. It's also come to my attention that I mirror shadow for a lot of people. At first, that's attractive, but like any relationship, the honeymoon ends. They see shit in me they hate and so they hate me with a passion. We're not talking about the more healthy 'meh...not into her...moving on' type reaction that people without Teh Crazy practice with ease. We're talking *pure, unadulterated, vitrolic, bitter hate*.

It sucks sometimes. 

I'm not a victim of it, though, and most days I'm not sorry about it. Those who love me *realllllly love me* so it makes sense that those who hate me hate me with equal vigour. Thankfully, they are not equal in numbers, though sometimes they make a helluva cacophonous lot of noise. 

Here's where things get sticky for me: being blessed with my particular brand of neurosis, those who hate me with vigour and venom get a lot more of me than I'd like. I mean, I know (and the people that love me know) that they are projecting, and the bits of truth that swim in the public cess pools they produce are unrecognizable once they are done with the hyperbolic rhetoric. 

But I can know that in my head, and still hurt. I can listen to cooler heads and still feel completely baffled and frustrated and pissed off.

I don't get this kind of hate, and I don't hate that way. I don't hate, actually. Either I love you and I'm cool with you, or I love you and I'm pissed at you, or I am passing curious about you, or I kind of like you, or I am completely over you.  

I sure as hell had that kind of hate modeled for me, though.

See, those haters that I struggle with are pushing my original wound right in my face and because we're dealing with the original wound here I give a lot of weight to the hate. I keep trying to figure out why the hater hates instead of doing what a healthy human specimen does: turn the loved face toward the lover and loving back.

This is not me whining. This is me owning. That is my cross to bear, the proverbial thorn in my side. This is the curse I inherited from being despised by my mother. See, I mirrored her shadow, and she couldn't face it. Here was this angelic looking little girl (and I really was) who'd witnessed violence against her mother at the hands of her father, who had then been sexually abused by her mother's lover, who had then been emotionally abused by her mother's second husband, and my mother could not face that. She could not accept that her poor choices led to the gross violation of her child. If she'd ever asked, I would have forgiven her. She chose to project it all onto me, label me, and pretend to discard me while talking about me with family members and friends instead.

Kind of like my present haters do.  

Calling bullshit comes easily to me, but the consquences are still difficult for me to deal with. (See above with regards to the original wound.) You are talking to a girl who sat her mother down and said to her face "You didn't protect me from him." I was met with "He was very good to us, and you were a very provocative child." I was six. I always tell the truth hoping for resolution, but secretly I am braced for another line like that one, another indictment, another 'well, that's your fault and here's why...'

And with those I love, that fear is completely unfounded. They receive my truth with (initial discomfort but eventual) grace and acceptance. Shit gets worked out. The sun shines once more.

But I have a magnet for those things that will help me heal my original wound, so sometimes, I throw my truth around like pearls before swine (and, no. I'm not calling my haters swine. I'm calling my throwing around of truth wasteful.) and the results are usually very painful. 

Despite this and despite the brutal fucking travesty that was my childhood, adolescence, early (and even later) adulthood, despite the challenges I've faced, despite a brokenness many of you can't even possibly begin to imagine, I put myself back together. I faced my shit. I marched my ass to therapy. I owned my flawed humanity. I dared to write poetry. I dared to write at all. I faced my own failures. I made my amends (often, over and over again, because I fuck up a lot, as do we all). I lived through horrors and did not let it turn me into a messy pile of bitter victimhood. Okay, I had my moments (years) but I moved past them. I grew. I learned. I *thrived* and I continue to *thrive* and if I piss a few of you off along the way, well, sue me. No one is holding a gun to your head. If you like what I do, how I move through the world, great. If not, go find someone else to like.

This life? It's precious. I'm not being arrogant here. It weighs more than one life.  My sister, who experienced many of the same horrors I did, did not survive. She took her own life. So, when I take the bull by the horns, I see her face before me. When I face adversity, I see her face before me. When I stare down some random, entitled, nasty person who thinks I owe them something, like carte blanche to behave badly in my life, or my ear when they are pouring nothing but poison, or my hard work when it gains me nothing, or a chance to sit at my hearth fire uninvited, I see her face. Through her death, I have faced my own mortality and I know how precious life is. I know how important it is that shit gets worked out. I know how valuable time is and that it is not to be wasted on social niceties or relationships that make you unhappy or work that sucks the life out of you or people that don't value you. 

Because I'm living 'for two' in a sense, I live as honestly, as authentically, as boldly as I possibly can. And I inspire people to love me a lot. And I inspire people to despise me. And I'm coming to accept that neither is within my control. I give up. I'm going to be me. Lovers gonna love. Haters gonna hate. Some lovers will become haters. Some haters will (and have!) become lovers. 

I'm in a 'business' where everyone talks with a honeyed tongue, and I am no different in the sense that until you give me reason otherwise, I am going to love on you. I am going to support you, encourage you, fiercely defend your right to practice your art. I am going to tell you what I like about what you've made. I'm going to empathize with you when you're having a bad day, and I'm going to cheer with you when you're having a good day. I'm not here as a life coach (tried that. hate it) or a counsellor or an expert. I'm here as someone who is doing her *own* work where you can watch. That is my vocation. That is my way of being in the world. 

I'm going to respect your way of being in this world.

Even if you don't respect mine.

But I'm not going to sit in the lion's den with you and try to pull the thorn from your paw when you are screaming in my face that I put it there. I'm not going to agree with you that I put it there. I am not going to shrink so you can feel bigger. I am not going to go belly up so you can feel powerful. I'm not going to lie so you can feel comfortable.

My mother would love that. My sister would hate it.

Guess whose side I'm on?

 

 

 

Totally real, unshielded, gross public display of angst and snot bubble inducing bawling ahead. Disregard if you wish. It won't hurt my feelings.

Ya know. If my ex-best friend had talked to me about *any* of the things that were bothering her before she dumped me, we might have worked things out. Talking about it afterwards (and in public, no less) seems a rather shitty parting shot, but I maintain this: She is a wonderful person and a very talented artist. It is sad and frustrating to me that she prefers to air our dirty laundry on line instead of working things out with me, especially since I never knew what her grievances were, but that's her choice to make. I could go line by line in my own defence, and I admit, I'm very tempted, but I'd rather be happy and at peace than right and in pain. She has her perspective, I have mine. 

My perspective is that it's true I made a lot of mistakes running WPS. I was new at it. I was a control-freak. I was anxious. I knew nothing about the phases of group formation. I let drama ruin it for me. I mixed business with friendship. 

I failed to make it work. I totally accept that, and my part it in. And yes, when I realized it was a failure, I was more than ready to move on with very little regret. I didn't know it would cost me my most valued friendship. 

But, listen. I learned a lot, and I'm proud of persevering and creating something that rocks my life. I have no shame around being a person in perpetual progress. I have no desire to hide just how very fucked up I can be. I'm not here to be perfect or to pretend like I have it all figured out. I'm totally flawed, totally human, and totally okay with it. That doesn't mean I don't struggle. It just means I'm not in denial about having issues, being prone to fail at least as often as I triumph, and being completely clueless sometimes. 

I'm fucking sad. I am tired of people dealing 'about me' instead of dealing 'with me'. I can't stand the way the Internet makes dialogue difficult. I am frustrated by passive aggression, by hearsay, by having other people's shadows projected on to me. I have enough shadow of my own without having to deal with yours. 

I would like to come to a place where this kind of thing doesn't bother me, and to be honest, when it's just some random person on the Internet, I have learned to let nastiness go. But Maisy was my best friend. I love her. I'm sorry I hurt her, I'm sorry I didn't get an opportunity to hear *from her lips* the ways she felt I'd wronged her, and I'm sorry she decided to dump me and blog about me instead of working things out with me. 

Hell is other people, they say. But I still believe the same can be said about heaven. I just need to remember that and focus on that and make that what I notice, appreciate, and nurture in my life. 
I'm going to go cry now and work this shittiness out in my art journal. 

Please keep your comments respectful of the fact that my guts are hanging out and my heart is fucking broken. I really don't want pity, and I don't care 'who is on my side'. It's not about that. It's about being real about where I'm at. 

Happiness Is...

...a week during which I was totally in the flow.

...only six spreads left to fill in my first Book of Days.

...a ginormous new Book of Days ready to be smushed full of my life.

...meaningful work.

...the beautiful Sisterhood LaRue. 

...less Facebook.

...more time out of the house.

...live art streams. (Seriously. I *love* live streaming so much that I've added a second show on Thursdays!)

...*Happy Mail!

...the new website for Book of Days

...being too busy living to blog.

...chicken salad with raisins on toasted French bread.

...good coffee.

...finding fellow mystics.

Mmmm hmmm.

Here's the latest recorded Wild Soul Art Stream. 

Wild Soul Art Stream #3 ~ February 19th, 2012

Live video for mobile from Ustream

I Really Am Okay. :)

Inspired by the fabulous Sisterhood of the Book, I have adopted a name for my inner turtle (also known as my muse, my internal inspiration station, She Who Creates). 

And she told me today that she wanted dangly feather earrings and wrist bangles. 

So I took her shopping.

And she is very happy. :)

I don't know why I'm sharing this with you except that I want you to know just how very *okay* I am. 

Your letters & messages have buoyed me right up out of the ghetto of self-doubt. You. rock. my poptarts. And I am very grateful that I'm priviledged enough to have an opportunity to, in small ways, rock yours. 

(Wow. That was a doozy of a sentence.)

Because, listen. Internet Drama? So not even on my radar. A great service is being done for me by the Universe. My rose garden is being pruned. What is being excised is nothing I want anyway. The paring down means we get to have more light, more love. 

What I began last year felt like it was going to be my 'forever thing'. And it was beautiful for a while. I knew nothing about group formation, though, and I was ill-prepared for the 'storming' part of the group formation process (Thank you to my LaRue sister who knows who she is for naming this for me!) and I admit: it freaked me out. I felt like my world was coming apart at the seams. Because I *ran away from the storming*, because I didn't *deal in a transparent way* with the stormy ones among us, the group didn't get to move into 'norming and performing'. Wild Precious died. I couldn't stand to be there any longer. Neither could my partner. Yes, I'm admitting I let a few people ruin it for me. Yes, I'm admitting that they won. 

But I won, too. Because what I learned from that experience is informing how I handle this bit of stormy weather. 

I know better than to run away from the 'storming'. I do things with as much transparency as possible. I don't delete shitty messages left in my worlds. I let people see exactly why someone is being excised from my life like a dangerous, cancerous tumor. 

Because, listen. Toxic is toxic. Trying to work with it feeds it. Leaving it alone and moving into spaces where love lives, where encouragement lives, where people know your worth, feeds something in you. 

Which would you rather do?

And also. I get that one girl's toxic is another girl's champagne. I don't expect everyone to be allergic to what I'm allergic to. 

But I *do* have the right to say "You do not belong in my garden. You are welcome in my foyer or in my front yard or in the house down the block, but I don't want you that close to me."

I will say it nice the first time.

And then I will say it firm. 

And if saying "You do not belong in *my* garden" makes me a dangerous person? Then, I embrace that kind of dangerous. 

Good boundaries, people. 

Get some. 

All my love,

Effy

 

 

Rose scented soak in a claw foot tub (okay, so it's an 80 year old claw foot tub, but still!). Breakfast sandwich made by the beloved and served on a paper towel with a fresh cup of coffee on the side. A day ahead of me to do with as I please. The LaRue Crue (you know who you are!) flinging glitter, kicking ass, and buoying me up. The Cosmic Cowgirls. The Red Madonna. Friends who have no interest in cashing in on me in any way shape or form. Friends who send love letters *just because* they know I'm having a rough day. Red wine enjoyed in moderation (instead of used as medication). Stand-up comedy. Shopping for a Macbook with *my own money*. Hair that is now long enough (barely, but still!) to go up in a pretty clip. Pink. Purple. Glitter. A dog that does Jazz Hands whose name is also Jazz. A son whose troubadour nature makes me cry in proud and puffed-up-mama way. Another son whose intelligence leaves me with jaw hanging down around the vicinity of my ankles. A daughter in law who pushed through hard stuff with me and now calls me Mom (and now I'm crying). Another son whose own self-inquiry saved him from the hellish halls of addiction. A step-girly who studied hard all weekend and passed her history exam. And got a part-time job. And plays piano like an angel. A daughter who mirrors me, loves me unconditionally, and makes me happy simply by virtue of her being on this planet.

This is what I'm attending to today. You?

Love and Glitter,
Effy

Your Story and LIAV and Andrea Schroeder! YAY!

I'm happy to offer you a preview of what we usually do in BOD on a weekly basis. This is a sampling of one of the three emails that will go out to our members this week. xo Hello lovely. :)  It's Monday! And yes, I'm late, but it's still Monday, and I have a video as well as a guest post and some musings for you.  ***  In our last dispatch, I offered up a few questions to consider as you went about your life. Some of you have already sent me some gorgeous, deep, authentic answers.   I'm going to be honest with you. These questions were pretty triggering for me. I have a hard time (have always had a hard time) dealing with the 'They' and 'their story' about me. It is one of the most painful and difficult challenges I face, and I have put myself in a particularly vulnerable position by being 'out there' in the way BOD puts me 'out there'.     But triggered or not, I mused and I jotted and I wrote and I arted. And here is some of what I know for sure:    I do not inhabit my story. My story inhabits *me*. I find this distinction important for me because though I believe my story informs me and shapes who I am, I don't believe that I *am* my story.    Good thing, because sometimes the story I tell myself about myself isn't a very nice story. Better thing because sometimes the story other people tell about me isn't very nice, either.     But it's just a story.     *It's Just A Story*    It may somehow reflect where I am in my journey today. Or it might reflect where I was in my journey last week. It may or may not even be true.       But it's just a story, and I'm bigger than my story. I can change my  story. I can reframe it. I can choose a different ending.   So can you.     For more on this, I invite you to take a look at The Work of Byron Katie. My other answers took me down some long and windy paths.   I wanted to share them here, but I realized that they were ridiculously personal, and most of you just want the art. But I want you to know: If I had 37 days left to live, I'd eat a lot of brie. I'd dye my hair pink. I'd do a lot of snuggling! I'd excise anyone from my life that felt toxic. I'd embrace those who felt like healing salve. I'd art. I'd write letters to my loved ones. In other words, I'd live with my whole heart.   And can I share something with you that's really sweet to know? I already live this way.          Here's The Video      Just click to access. No password is required for this one. xo And now a word from the delectable Andrea Schroeder! Your Art Practice can Supercharge your Intentions Let's start with three basic truths: No person is more or less worthy than any other person. No dream is more or less worthy than any other dream. Life itself wants all dreams to grow and is always actively engaged in supporting their growth. So why do only some dreams make it? The easy answer is that most dreams don't grow because most people don't understand how to grow them.  It's not taught in elementary school like it should be.  Personally, I had to spend a lot of time, money and energy in order to learn.  It doesn't occur to most people to do this. But that's not the whole story.   In my training to become a teacher in The Art and Science of Bringing Dreams to Life, I saw lots of people learn all about how it works and still fail to bring their big dreams to life.   And I always wondered - why was I different?  As soon as I started taking classes things became really easy for me and by the time I'd finished my training and become accredited as a teacher - there wasn't a dream that I was not able to bring to life. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why this stuff worked so well for me because I wanted to help my students get the same results. And I found the answer in what I thought was the most unlikely place:  ART. I am an artist.  For me, creativity and spirituality are 2 different ways to describe the same thing. By the time I was in the advanced classes studying The Art and Science of Bringing Dreams to Life (in my third year of classes) - my essays had turned artworks.   I remember bringing the first one to my teacher and saying "This is just how it came out.  There is too much to express here, to use words alone." and he said as long as I had the required number of words there were no stipulations about the words being printed on plain paper so I continued to created artworkessays. Because creativity is one of my core Superpowers. And if you're an Art Journaler than I suspect that Creativity is one of your Core Superpowers, too. Which means - when you combine intention setting with your art practice - magic will happen. You know how amazing art journaling feels. You know how it's super amazingly good for you. It's because arting puts you in your creative flow. It ignites your Creative Magic. (And with Creative Magic ignited there is nothing you cannot do.) The next step is to direct that magic towards what you want to create in your life. Because creating dreams come true in your life is not really all that different from creating art journal pages.  It uses the same creative building blocks: taking risks, listening to your heart, trusting your intuition, being brave, putting it out there, expressing your truth. You already know how to do all of this stuff.  All you have to do next is direct it towards setting intentions and bringing your dreams to life. Create a page that shows you living your dream, right now.  Make the page feel the way living your dream will feel.  Don't try to plan it out too much, just get into your creative flow and let your intuition tell you how to create this page. The magic part is that this page will be filled with clues and information about your dream and how to bring it to life. It can tell you where your intention is solid and clear and where there is something blocking it. It can show you what supports you, and what blocks you.  It can tell you what your next steps are to bring this dream to life. It can show you clues that lead to secret shortcuts. And if you're ready for more, I've created a whole kit full of lessons and magic that will lead you through every step of turning your Art Journal into a Magic Wand and using it to bring all of your dreams to life.     A Note From Effy:  I love everything Andrea and here's why: She is a creative Bad Ass. She kicks fear and doubt to the curb. She knows how to engage the inner critic in super efficient and helpful ways. She is one of my most powerful influences when it comes to art as spiritual practice. This kit will rock your poptarts. (It totally rocked mine!) This, and anything else Andrea produces (even her blog posts!) will get your inner muse dancing within you and set your heart alight with creativity. {The above are affiliate links. I do not promote things I do not believe in. If I talk about it, I love it.} A final word:  And That's All She Wrote!   I'll see you Wednesday with more Life Is A Verb. If you miss me in the meantime, you can always read my blog! Effy  P.S. If this programme is a blessing to you, please consider tipping me? Your support makes this project happen! xo