Honey Help YourSelf

A few months ago I took my friend Deb to pick apples. It was her first trip to Colorado, and I wanted to make sure I left her with memories she wouldn't soon forget. I had no idea how much the experience would impact me, too. We drove an hour into the countryside and pulled to a stop at the end of a long, hot road. The farmer was a kind man who showed us around the orchard and pointed us to a surprise in the far corner of his field: a dusty little potato patch. Deb and I would spend the next hour in the altitude and sun, digging yukon golds from the ground and yanking granny smiths down from the old apple trees. For all of our strain and sweat, we didn't score all that much by the time we weighed and paid for what we'd picked. I laughed, commenting to my friend how my grandmother—if she were alive today—would find it hard to believe how much I paid to work in somebody's field picking and digging for my dinner. As we scrubbed and cut those potatoes later that evening, it hit me—the realization that I was free to come and go from those fields as I pleased, that I could put my hands in the earth and feed myself by its bounty, that I was healthy enough in body and mind to do it at all. For every aspect of that day—friendship and laughter included—I was grateful.

Before last week, I hadn’t seen my friend Liz in at least five months. It was summertime, and after weeks of persistent emails and calling, I’d finally convinced her to meet me for tea. I missed seeing my friend and wanted more time with her, but I knew I was lucky to see her at all back then. In the aftermath of a nasty divorce, she'd tightened her circle of friends and all but shut down her social calendar. The heaviness in her voice and her listless demeanor were explanation enough. Mostly, we sat in silence at the café, and when I inquired about her plans in this new stage of her life, Liz told me in a whisper that she’d only ever been with James, her husband, and that she had no idea where to begin rebuilding her life. “I never thought I’d be that woman,” she said, “alone, sad and no plans.” She said James had made all of their plans in the past. It would take Liz a few more months before she allowed herself to see friends again and reclaim her happiness, and once she did, the changes were unmistakable. We saw each other at a concert on Saturday, and she was radiant. I noticed her unmistakably copper curls bobbing near the front of the stage and I got her attention. She was dancing—from the inside out—and she waved me over. What I could gather from our conversation in the noisy club was that Liz had been in survival mode since the divorce—focusing mostly on landing one foot in front of the other—and she'd learned to make a point of letting go of any reluctance to forge a new life on her own. “Screw it!” she mouthed over the noise. “I’m single now … and I am moving on!” She wiggled her hips playfully, determined to dance at any chance she got. As we mouthed to each other over the music. I couldn't help but notice men admiring my friend. And being caught in her current of confidence felt like a complete 180° from where she’d been just months before. It wasn’t that she’d become a different person since I last saw her, or that she was attempting to impress anyone in particular. She told me later that she found the concert listing online and made a last-minute decision to check it out on her own. It was by chance that we ran into each other, and the fact that she was there at all was unlike the Liz of the past who wouldn’t think of leaving home without an agenda and a small group of friends in tow. She wasn’t overly made up yet she was electric in her jeans and faded tee. My friend had changed. Seeing Liz in the wake of divorce and, later, at the concert, couldn’t have been any more of a contrast. The former was devastated at the prospect of life without a man or a ‘rescuer,’ as she put it, while the latter, this current Liz, was a man magnet, fully present in herself and happily oblivious to the heads she was turning. “It was always drummed into me that I needed a man to be complete,” she said. “For a long time, even when I was married and believed I was happy, I still had that creeping fear that he’d leave. Even with him, or any man, really, there was always some part of me that was afraid to be alone.” That was the gist of our conversation in the summer, and judging by the glow around her just last week, she’d all but conquered that fear. Whatever Liz had been doing was working. She was relaxed in her body in a way I can’t recall her being in all the years I’d known her. It was attractive and infectious; she was on to something. The emergent woman in front of me was self-confident; and it was sexy all over—to me and to most of the men in the room. It’s what made all the difference. Here are s few reasons why self-confidence is so sexy. Self-confidence is attractive. There have been countless studies done on what attracts us to each other, and while we might not always agree on what that is, one thing’s certain: we go where we feel pulled. And people with magnetic energy do the pulling. We’re not talking about charm here, necessarily. Self-confidence doesn’t need to schmooze or manipulate,

  A few weeks ago, I attended a qigong (CHEE-gong) training intensive in Utah. It's an ancient Eastern practice of harmonizing the body’s energy for overall health and wellness. Dozens of us came from across the country to train for three days in a crowded room with Teacher Li. As he called the movements, we went quietly to work, undulating in silent waves through the room. We'd internalized the rhythm; we knew the meaning behind the flow; we were one. But whenever I paid too much attention to my form, and to ‘getting it right,’ I fell out of synch with the group and either went left when they went right, or I knocked into the person next to me with a wayward limb. Despite my attempts to 'flow like water' and 'be light like smoke' I had moments of going rigid, and it frustrated me. If you've ever attempted to learn something new, then you know how much harder it becomes to achieve the results you want when you're feeling self-conscious. There I was, feeling displaced as the 'odd woman out.' I looked around the room, observing their faces; so peaceful—many of them smiling, their eyes closed as they scooped and turned the energy gently around them. And that's when I thought, What are you doing here, Kriste? I'd begun to entertain these voices that had floated in from the ether. These grinning, tree hugging, beatnick hippies, they're not your people... . I was in a new setting, worlds away from home, doing deep work amid a sea of strangers. All was quiet in the room as we moved, yet the voices in my head were gaining ground. They were the voices of old familiars reminding me that I didn’t fit in, that whatever I intended to do, it wouldn’t work, that I was 'acting white,' and forgetting where I’d come from. Faded scenes of past defeats crowded the room and made it difficult to move against the weight of being 'the only one.' I felt increasingly self-conscious and as my resistance mounted, so did my resilience. I’m no stranger to those voices, and I’ve come to recognize them as a good thing when they start clanking in my head—and in my environment. I liken it to the effort of spring cleaning: when old energy gets moved out, it’s bound to kick up some dust clouds in the process. And the bigger the movement, the bigger the clouds. The point is: we've got to stay with the work if we're to witness their passing. Becoming conscious of our energy means we don't get to skate so quickly past what bugs us anymore; we don't get to look away pretending we haven't seen—or heard, or felt, or experienced—the discomfort. It means we must absorb the hits we take. At the same time, we need neither internalize them nor let them define us. In my case, even as my resistance and doubt rolled in, I had to accept the fact that 'those people' were actually my people, too. Just like 'them' I was fully committed to deepening my study of energy work and incorporating new practices into my personal and professional life. And, like ‘them,’ I was no beginner at this; I’d also had years of extensive training in other healing modalities; I have my own clients and have given many trainings too. This wasn’t a fluke; I was in for the long haul. Contrary to what my defenses told me—that I was the only 'normal' one in the bunch, that I was somehow accidentally plunked down in the middle of a metaphysical class—I was right where I belonged, learning and stretching alongside my peers. And if they were ‘grinning, tree hugging, beat nick hippies,’ then so was I. The surprise of the weekend was that I had to expand my idea of who I thought I was just days before entering the room. No matter how much we think we've grown, there's always more. I was reminded of the healing power in embracing the whole of who I am. Doing so invited me to take my place within a new community. It's not that I was invited in or welcomed; I belonged. Brene Brown said it so well: ‘The truth is: Belonging starts with self-acceptance. Your level of belonging, in fact,

I have a thing about superheroes. It’s the masks I don’t get. Whenever there’s a crisis, the hero, generally masquerading as a less-than-ordinary working stiff, slips off to the broom closet to magically reappear in a cape and a mask with the strength to save the day, and in some episodes, the world. Who was that masked person, we ask? All the while, they have the same build, the same voice, eyes and features of the people we work alongside and take for granted five days a week. Diana Prince flying invisible jets and pulling Steve Trevor back from the brink of death all the time? Impossible. Clark Kent—that bungling journalist who couldn't never get a word in edgewise with the boss—you mean to tell me he raced backwards around the globe to set the world back on its axis last week? You cray. What if we had that kind of greatness in our midst? Greater still is this: what if we possessed power to change lives and heal the world? We do—on both counts. Which is why the mask thing gets me. It’s probably Halloween that’s bringing all of this up for me right now, yet it bears mentioning on any given day. Some theorists would say the masks, or the alternate egos were personality aspects that weren’t fully embraced in childhood and were therefore triggered by serious trauma or emotional overload. Any shaman worth her rattle would tell us that a major animating aspect of those heroes' souls had gone missing and needed to be called back in if they were to be fully realized and whole in their lives. Just look at the poor anger management skills of David Banner and the pitifully small game Diana Prince played by day. Had the superheroes learned to work with their power, to come out—and stay out—of the closet and be their true selves in the full light of day, there’d be no need for split personalities, disowned selves, and hiding in plain sight. They'd be able to exist as full, contributing members of the community instead of faking it at the edges of  society. Learning to embrace our inherent power by honoring our gifts and leaning into them rather than cloaking them means we get to ditch the need for masks—and drama. It’s an act of courage that makes us responsible for ourselves and for the world around us. We no longer have a free pass to pass the accountability buck and hide out in the fantasy that someone’s coming to save us from us. Instead, we get to get it together and do it ourselves. We stop projecting our hopes or disappointments on the masked man; we begin the work of removing the masks that keep us from our power; we show up; we get busy. The author Maeve Binchy once wrote, Everybody is a hero in their own story if you just look. Looking at your own story, what are the secret strengths you’ve been hiding in plain sight? How willing are you to ditch your mask and activate your own power? No pressure, honey, but the world is waiting. - - - - - - You might also like: Victims Good Energy Tip(s): Know & Act The Inconvenience of Stars  Practical Magic

One thing we cover in writing class is that in order to build strong characters, they must be complex, believable and, sometimes, the slightest bit unbelievable too. Good characters, we learn, must also do things out of character on occasion. Maybe that means they make a big purchase, love the wrong people, or pursue exactly the wrong thing for reasons at first unknown. I'm talking about fictional characters, but the same holds true for us real ones too. Nowhere has this been more evident than in the past three days. Since Monday I've seen and heard tell of people making outrageous decisions, going MIA, and behaving badly without the slightest concern for consequences. And I am no exception, honey. My astrology-minded friends might say I'm responding to the influence of Mercury in retrograde, which is known for throwing its wrenches into our best laid plans and clear communications. To spare us all a drawn out story, let me give you the highlights: there was a thing I didn't really want to do, but I said I would because I was available and why not. Rather than say no, I went against my gut, rallied for the cause and forged ahead anyway. The day that thing I'd committed to came around, I woke up late, got stuck in traffic, played phone tag for an hour, and wound up going home. I also got a $50 ticket for parking on the wrong side of the street! When I finally caught up with the people by phone and explained myself, I'd arrived at the courage to say no, apologize, and take my lumps as needed. The experience felt yucky because I don't much care for that mealy mouth sound of indecision. I also pride myself on being reliable. Well. So, what's the lesson here? Among other things, it's to trust the intelligence of our own minds and bodies when they repeatedly tell us no; to honor what's right for you—from the start—in order to avoid greater complications down the line. And if you just can't get it together until the eleventh hour, be willing to look like the ass if you have to. Our communications will be messy sometimes. We may fail and sputter along the way, but it's all part of the path to wherever we're going. It won't do us any good to push away the discomfort of our decisions—or indecision—because when we do, we reject the lesson that's wrapped inside the fiasco. And that alone can be costly. Today, celestial upheaval aside, let's do ourselves the favor of honoring the gritty truth—especially those which might cause us some discomfort. Trust me, this is the act that builds real character and aligns us to the best that's in us! - - - - - - - You might also like: Dummies and the Real Deal False Awakenings Freedom: What’s it to you?

I got called for jury duty a few weeks ago, and had to pay for one of those all-day parking lots. Turns out they didn't need me in court, so I was able to leave within the hour. Thirteen dollars lighter, I returned to my car annoyed at the expense of time and money. Looking for a way to put a positive spin on the situation, I took the ticket from my dashboard and approached a woman who'd just pulled into the lot. I smiled, waving to her, and quickly explained I no longer needed the ticket—which was still good through midnight—and that I wanted to give it to her. As I extended my hand, the lady pulled back, searched me over, and said 'Thank you' with a tone that sounded a lot more like Screw you. Funny, but I saw the movie, and as I recall little Haley Joel and Kevin Spacey said we were supposed to feel tingly and magical when we  helped people for no good reason . As I drove off, I stewed over the incident, then fumed at the woman's  attitude. Truth was, I'd still be out of the thirteen dollars, no matter what I did. So, the deeper question is why was I so pissed? Paying it forward, or performing a random act of kindness, goes over a whole lot better when there are no strings attached. Otherwise, when we mix in our hidden agendas, we do so at an expense to ourselves. Hours later, I was still thinking about the woman in the parking lot. The irony isn't lost on me that even though I wasn't called to sit on any jury that day, I'd appointed myself the judge of a complete stranger. I was surprised at how disappointed I was by  incident. And the more I thought about it, the more I saw a side of myself that surprised me. Without realizing it, I'd set myself in a position of influence and because I held what looked like power; and I had certain expectations of the recipient of my good deed. When she didn't act right—like I expected her to—well, that wasn't in the script, Haley Joel! If we don't put ourselves in situations to learn and grow, then we won't. It's not always pleasant, but if I can eventually come around to recognizing any slippery beliefs, motives or expectations I've been unwittingly harboring, then I've done well. My friend Kimberly reminded me that we can only be responsible for our own actions and added that the woman could have been on her way to the courthouse as the victim—or as the perpetrator—in a court case and was probably consumed with her own thoughts. Who knows? she said, maybe that woman's freedom hung in the balance. You're gonna have to let this one go. That's the other thing: standing in judgment of others compromises our capacity for nonjudgment. Am I still an advocate of random acts of kindness? You bet I am—because I like to think I grow a little bit from the experience, no matter how imperceptible it may seem. The next time you pay it forward, I'd encourage you leave your expectations out of it if you can. And if you cant, then pay attention to any shifts that occur in you during the exchange. Instead of resisting the invitation to be open to the growth and change, stay with whatever feelings come up. Especially the uncomfortable ones. Contrary to what we may think, the act of so-called 'selfless' giving sometimes comes with strings—and it's not always warm and fuzzy. Pay it forward anyway, and keep the change. - - - - - - You might also like: Community Service Hammer Time If you're happy, do you know it?

So what have we learned in the last week? Me, personally, I learned, probably for the thousandth time, that we can’t do every doggone thing at once. Nor should we want to. Last week, my already-full plate had swelled to bursting with to-do items and activity, which caused some of those tasks to fall from the plate, which knocked over my cup, which itself had been brimming with wish lists, action plans and obligation. By Friday, this overload of doing and getting-to had overflowed from my place at the table, spilled down the sides and splashed both my blouse and blue suede shoes! Metaphors aside, the end result is that I almost ran myself down to a nub last week. Granted, I was happily occupied by choice for the most part, but there’s a limit to how much we can actually—effectively—accomplish in any given period. We’d do well to pick and choose wisely. And even if we don’t get the ‘wisely’ part right, we’re still better off prioritizing and following through on what matters most. Like Gandhi said: "Action expresses priorities." So, to gauge your own situation, let me ask you this: How are you acting right about now, honey? Today, how about PRIORITIZING one small thing you can do—and do well—in the course of a few hours instead of scattering yourself across too many mini projects that only seem to sprawl and waste your precious time? How about making that phone call, reading another chapter of that book, tackling your receipts, or doing one piece of much needed research? They may not seem like dream-worthy achievements, but any step we take on the path to realizing the goal is never wasted. And the more we do, the more confident we become in our ability to do the bigger tasks ahead. I don’t know about you, but I feel like these Mondays come and go way too fast. And I don’t want another one to roll by without me having done at least something toward the big goal. That alone is reason enough to mind my business like I mean it. How about you? Today, let’s prioritize! - - - - - - - Your might also like: Good Energy Tip: Arrive Good Energy Tip: Hold Good Energy Tip: Share

Today's tip is twofold, because even though it's fine to have one without the other, when you put both into play at the same time, results are exponentially better. There's this thing we do—and by 'we' I mean people in general, and more specifically...

Every now and again, it's good to go back to basics, to do an inventory of all we've got. Particularly when we're feeling depleted or just plain 'over it.' Last weekend, I was talking with a dear friend who phrased it perfectly. He said, "Unlike lots of places in the world right now, I can walk down the street and feel like a king because I know that when I go home, I can flick a switch and lights will come on; I can turn a faucet and I'll get fresh running water; I can go to the grocery store at any time of day or night knowing it'll be filled with food enough to feed me for a lifetime. It's all in how you look at it." Yesterday, I took a great leap of faith on a huge project I've got cooking and it was all I could do to keep on breathing after putting my money down. Well, guess what? I made it through the night, honey! And I feel great. You know what helped me get there? Remembering what my friend said, that's what. I began to count my blessings, and it helped me see that abundance and prosperity take on many faces. That being said, what are some of the gifts and blessings you're grateful for right now? I'll begin by answering my own question: 1. I can see. Vision is precious. Even if I don't always like what I'm looking at, I've got healthy eyes to take it in. I can also change my vantage point whenever I like. At a garden art exhibit a few weeks ago, I was dazzled by the color combinations and creativity on a grand scale. Even after I left the venue, the bold images felt fresh in my mind's eye for days afterward. I've never known what it's like not to see, and I'm grateful. 2. I can hear. Even when I don't appear to be listening, or if I've engaged my powers of selective hearing (aka tuning out the riffraff), I can in fact hear, and I'm grateful for the ability. And I get why the hills are alive with the sound of music—just like Maria sang it—because, whenever I go hiking in the mountains, there's a special quality to the sounds there that can't be duplicated anywhere else. And how about listening to a song, a poem, or loving words that reach right past your ears and hit you straight in the heart? 3. I can read. When I was an adult literacy tutor, I was humbled at the shrewdness of my students as they navigated through the world without this precious skill. Imagine life without being able to read text messages, bills, or menus. Look around you right now and imagine for one moment how dramatically different your life would be without this ability. Frankly, I'm grateful you can read, because you'd have no business here on the internet if you couldn't! 4. I can think. Fortunately for all of us, mental illness is becoming less stigmatized, which means more people are being diagnosed and treated properly. It's easy to take for granted the fact that I have peace of mind, I can form my own thoughts and opinions, I can provide for myself, maintain my relationships, think clearly, and reach for brighter stars anytime I want to. I can also reach for the assistance of trained professionals if I need to, too. The gifts of a healthy mind aren't to be take for granted. They're also not easy to come by for those who struggle with debilitating depression, anxiety, and mental illness. 5. I am free. Granted, there are deeply troubling issues in the world that challenge this fact, but even while that's true, I needn't fear that showing a bit of ankle, showing up to vote, going in through front doors, dating outside my race, or hanging out in multi-cultural circles will get me stoned, jailed, or worse. I can come and go as I please, and if ever I feel those freedoms eroding, I can lift my voice to fight for my rights. And that's a great freedom in itself. How about you? What are some 'basics' you're grateful for right now? How many blessings can you count? - - - - - - - You might also like: False Awakenings How Much Space Do You Need? The Daily Meds Day 6 of 7 :: Vision

So, I heard today was National Poetry Day. Now, I'm not sure if it's just the in the UK or if it's here in the US, too. I've decided to honor the day anyway. Besides, it's never not a good time for poetry, honey. For the past three years, a fellow writer and friend of mine write and share one poem a day throughout the entire month of April, which is, you probably guessed it, National Poetry Month. It's not that I'm a poet by any stretch, but I've always loved the lyrical nature and musicality of poetry. One day, in a graduate writing course, I asked the professor what poetry actually was. At the time, I knew enough about poetry to know that I didn't really understand the genre. So, who better to ask than a poetry professor, I figured. He looked at me indcredulous. What? he snickered. No one ever told you what poetry is? It took me a while to shake the embarrassed feeling of being singled out in class like that. Afterward, I asked a classmate in confidence whether she thought I was dense because I didn't seem to process things the way everyone else did. She reassured me I wasn't and confided that she didn't get it, either. I guess that's why Poetry Day and Poetry Month have special meaning for me: they remind me I get to love what I love without the need to explain the joy out of it or run it past someone else's definition of what's good or not. With that, allow me to share two poems that have captured my attention all over again. ∞   ∞   ∞ Homage to my Hips by Lucille Clifton these hips are big hips. they need space to 
move around in. they don't fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don't like to be held back. these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go 
they do what they want to do. these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips. i have known them
to put a spell on a man and 
spin him like a top   ∞   ∞   ∞ Wild Geese by Mary Oliver You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves. Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over announcing your place
in the family of things. - - - - - - - You might also like: Good Energy Tip: Arrive! Give Me Body! The Undoing: A Cautionary Tale

Safety first: It's a huge rule at any stage of development. The law requires established safety zones, hard hats, protective glasses, fenced boundaries, even special belts and boots on the job, and they're easy to spot. On a construction site, every wo...

There's a moment between sleep and waking when anything's possible. I was reminded of that earlier this week. I was lying in bed, eyes still thick with sleep, when it occurred to me that I didn’t know where I was. I looked around my room and had to pause a moment to recall my surroundings before letting myself stir. My disorientation lasted all of five seconds, but the impressions from that moment still linger. In that tiny slice of time, I was, in a manner of speaking, out of my mind, a character in search of her story. Once I awoke fully—my eyes adjusted and feet set firmly on the bedroom floor—I felt exhilarated, like I’d been let in on an important secret that had been hidden in plain sight all along. In the world of lucid dreaming, this experience is referred to as a false awakening. In more extreme examples, it might involve getting up, having breakfast, putting your clothes on, heading out for work and doing all the things you do every day on autopilot. It all seems real until the moment you do something o ut of the ordinary that jolts you into the awareness that you weren’t fully awake or living your ‘real’ life at all. This is the difference between living consciously and sleepwalking through life. The American neurologist, Dr. Oliver Sacks tells us, waking consciousness is dreaming – but dreaming constrained by external reality. What fascinates me about this overlap between sleeping and waking consciousness is our ability to choose in either reality. If we’re all living the dream as Dr. Sacks puts it, then my question would be, Is this the dream I/we always dreamed of? That morning when I woke up—more or less—I was reminded that I have a choice in every detail of my reality. I can think, do, and be as new or different as I want to be, though I overlook this gift way too often. We are free to dream for ourselves, to wake up to a new reality as we see fit. And there is tremendous power in that. What kind of dreams are you waking up to, honey? - - - - - - - You might also like: Reflections Dummies and the Real Deal The Power of 'Not Now' and Synchronicity

Space. We know so little about it: we need it, we crave it, we hate it, we attempt to fill it, we pore and puzzle over it while we wait for impossible answers. It’s a welcomed guest and bogeyman at the same time. Yet no matter what we do to manipulate ...

During this morning's run, I was talking with my friend about the fear and frustration we'd both been feeling about St. Louis, among other places. What can we do? we asked each other. If it came down to it, would we be able to stand against the 'authorities' armed with tear gas, guns, and hoses? I told my friend about the only time I'd come close to anything like that. My college friends may remember: The KKK was marching in a little town a few miles away, and we organized ourselves in protest. We brought in advisors to teach us how to remain calm in the crisis. We were afraid, but not responding wasn't an option to us then. We boarded the bus in silence and when we got there, we linked arms and lined the street quietly, waiting for the hate group to come streaming up the road. We were surprised to find a pathetic bunch of ragtag malcontents—the odd skinhead, the old guys and bored teen goths sprinkled in—all spewing tired epithets we'd heard before: "____ go home... ." After the march, back to campus we went. Once safely returned to familiar surroundings, we'd talk about how sad they looked. Their outfits didn't even match. we'd laugh. They weren't even marching in step together! But this morning, we weren't laughing. Every time events like these go down, I wonder what there is to do about it. Up to this point, I've signed petitions, I've written posts and articles, made calls, protested, volunteered, minded my business, went back to bed, wrung my hands, pumped my fists, prayed, held my loved ones close, sent letters, fundraised, danced, run, sung, sweated, cried, fretted, and did it all again. Just like now. I wish I could tell you of the tremendous love and worry I feel for my brothers, for my beautiful nephews, especially, and for the precious children of my friends. Today, I'm open to new ideas—to whatever will help me keep my heart open and my love alive. Here's a great suggestion in the form of a poem titled Here's what to do during war. It comes from the poet activist Maxine Hong-Kingston. She writes: Children, everybody, here's what to do during war: In a time of destruction, create something. A poem. A parade. A community. A school. A vow. A moral principle. One peaceful moment. - - - - - - - You might also like: Show Me Your Hands Community Service P.S. I Love You  

  Earlier this year I received a letter of congratulations from the company that hosts my website. The subject line went something like Happy Fourth Birthday to Honey Help YourSelf! They wanted to salute my efforts by offering me a handful of special discounts and services to mark the occasion. The message seemed odd to me at first, and then it got me thinking: When, exactly, did I start all of this? And more important: Why? If you had to pin me down on a date, I’d probably tell you Honey began in the form of an earlier blog of the same name more than seven years ago. Back then I thought it might be fun to document my daily experience with a new feng shui book that promised to guide me through a 28-day journey to my authentic self by way of cleaning out the literal and figurative stuff in my living space. I’d been looking for a way to hold myself accountable to staying with the process of change, and I knew that, left to my own devices and flimsy willpower, I’d wind up stuck in the familiar cycle of sabotage that I’d experienced so often. I needed to make the process real by committing to it in a highly visible way, and, as I announced to my then boyfriend, Kevin, doing this book would be just the thing. Did I mention that Kevin was The One? I  hoped he was, anyway. He was handsome, funny, smart, and just crunchy enough not to be afraid of the constant training I’d been doing in the healing arts. He was a willing participant when I needed a guinea pig or sounding board for the new metaphysical world of energy I’d plunged myself into. As he and I both discovered, the more I applied the skills I acquired, to my own life, the more everything shifted—my perspective, my relationship, me. You know what it’s like when you meet that special person and everything’s starts to click—the birds sing louder, the sun shines brighter, the wheel of your anxiety slows to nearly nothing—only to realize a few months in that the clicking was actually the rumble of your rickety foundation signaling collapse? It took me a while to notice the shift, but I had begun to bloom. The relationship, however, not so much. He wasn’t a bad guy, but the problem was, Kevin was every guy I’d ever dated—not to mention most of the men I'd known—up to that point: friendly, funny, nice enough, and he was also aloof, noncommittal, discontented, and absolutely not interested in building a future with me. I knew it, and even as I denied the truth in my waking hours, the knowledge pierced its way past my denial, crept into my subconscious dreaming and wouldn’t let me rest until I finally addressed it. Frankly, I didn’t want to end it, but if I intended to grow like I wanted to, then the choice was obvious. There’s this rule I have about honoring the truth once I know it, even when it’s inconvenient to my agenda. When you seek it, the truth with reveal itself clear as traffic signs on a highway, and if we decide to ignore them, we so at a huge toll to ourselves. Eventually, I broke up with my boyfriend. Then, I took him back. And within a few short weeks of our vigorous reunion, he disappeared faster than a sugar high. Thankfully, those early days of Honey and  accountability helped me realize how many of the choices I'd been making were, in large part, responses to old information I'd been given as a young girl about who I was and how much happiness I deserved. As I continued sharing my experiences online, I realized I wasn’t the only one interested in ditching old scripts and growing in new directions. In fact, I learned, plenty of us are. When I consider it in terms of how long I’ve held the desire to be the best version myself possible, and to express myself without apology, I’d have to say Honey Help YourSelf is as old as I am. I’m convinced that the lives we lead are the real mirrors to what we believe about ourselves. That bit about Kevin is no exception: the fact that he was friendly, funny, nice enough, and also aloof,