What to do after you have eaten your way through Italy, prayed your way through India and dreamt of exotic love in Bali.
That’s really the question isn’t it? What do you do after you’ve read the book?
That was what I kept asking myself. What’s next? How do I change this?
So, how did I change my life and end up in Paris (where I do my share of eating and found beautiful love).. I wrote into reality.
Here’s my story
As I have shared in blog posts, at one point in my life, crying wasn’t relegated to the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. I cried everywhere, seemingly all the time.
It began when lost my mom in 2008, which catapulted me into a fear state, prompting my painful, guilt ridden divorce (after 5 years and 8 counselors, mind you, I discovered that as great as he was, we weren’t great for each other).
This was closely followed by the unexpected death of my step father, then my beloved nephew at the age of 32 (on my birthday), a series of painful losses for my baby sister, (whom I adore and am very close to), and even more painful struggles for my son, (who is my heart).
To make life more exciting, well, and since I had to go back to work full time after my divorce, I started a business, my second, if you don’t count teaching yoga for 9 years, (which was both liberating and terrifying, the business, not teaching yoga. That was just fun.)
Then, I sold my “forever dream home” (at a significant financial loss), got myself into an engagement that left me $40,000 lighter, right before a fall that shattered my knee and left me unable to walk for four months. But that was just the icing.
Finally, for kicks, I decided on a total career change and wrote a book.
Then tragedy hit again, as I sat at my father’s bedside, helpless, for several months, until he too, left us.
Every time I went in for routine lab work my physician would ask me how life was. Small talk of course. But, as I laughingly related my life changing moments, she would grow wide eyed and then ask with sincerity if I was ok. I think the time I showed up for an appointment with no shoes (I am dead serious) and then had to go next door, barefoot, to buy shoes, she really started to worry.
But, in all of this, what pulled me out of things I could not change, and yes, change the things that I could, was writing. I wrote. Yes, I am an author. But first, I am a writer.
What I noticed was that when I wrote, I had more clarity, more composure, more joy and more purpose. Whenever I allowed the events of life to stop my writing practice I grew confused, anxious or angry, and then, there came the damned tears again. Argh!!
You see, we are bombarded with over 35,000 images/thoughts/stimuli daily requiring our attention, and often a decision. We miss most of this, thankfully. (Can you imagine what I might have forgotten to put on otherwise!?) But these things, noticed or not, alter our lives, until one day, unaware, we wake up and ask ourselves how the hell we got here.
That is why I write. That is why I am a writer. And that is how I re-wrote my life and wrote my way to Paris. Sound too good to be true? Try it for yourself and see.
I can’t promise it is easy, just simple, and joyful.
Because that is why I do what I do. I help women re-write their lives. I can show you how to do it too.
It is not a fairytale. It is my life.
And this is yours.
Psssstttt… Pixie Dust not required
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