Do It Scared – Bloody Editors & Feedback Fears

On Monday, I woke up and decided today was the day to publish again on Elephant Journal, an online magazine that claims hundreds of thousands of eyeballs stop by and stare at words for a while.  

I’d published two pieces nearly a year ago on being good enough and navigating the holidays alone. 

How time flies… 

So Monday something shifted in me and I thought, it’s time. It’s time to simply submit and let her fly. 

And I did that Monday, times two. You may remember that some social platforms went dark that day … a day for the history books [wink] as Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp were down for the count not just for an hour or two but f-o-r-e-v-e-r.

And for some, it literally felt like a lifetime. 

So I wrote about it, in a tongue-in-cheek way – Calling all Therapists: Get them Coaches Ready! Facebook Went Down!, and published it live on Elephant Journal immediately. 

Tuesday morning I greeted the day to find that piece was chosen as an editor’s pick by the lovely, Elyane Youssef, and already seeing a bit of traction – readers. You can check it out here. 

But today I want to dive into the interesting phenomenon that happens so often when a writer submits his or her words for publication. 

They are loved and yet lacking. Or they are lacking and not yet loved. 

Either way, there is work to be done. 

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“In coaching writers, artists, creatives, I see so often that feedback is taken as a personal attack when in most cases it’s offered simply to make your writing, your art, better. ”

— Jill R. Stevens

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And this happened for me with that second piece, At 11, I Held Hands with Death, which I submitted on Monday. 

[By the way, not my original title but I like it!]

Pause for a moment and notice my intentional choice of words. 

I submitted work. 

A published author of numerous books, not known by this new-to-me Elephant Journal editor, the gracious Amy Vanheste, and she gave me feedback. 

She loved the piece yet found it lacking. 

Amy believed there was work to be done in order to publish and told me. 

So, I said above this happened for me not to me. 

In coaching writers, artists, creatives, I see so often that feedback is taken as a personal attack when in most cases it’s offered simply to make your writing, your art, better. 

Now, feedback for me, I once took without thought. 

I operated from a space, a place, of believing that everyone, anyone, knew better than me. A low-low-low self esteem. 

But now, I am a stronger-in-self bad-ass woman. A writer who knows what she desires to say, listens and absorbs feedback, and then chooses with love and JOY to say yay or nay. 

All is a choice. 

The feedback Amy shared with me was valid and I knew immediately it would make the piece stronger. 

To tie my own unique purple ribbon on a personal experience. 

Her way was all about sharing what a brush with death meant to me and not leaving the reader hanging, feeling there should be more said. Shared. 

I tend to let the reader make up his or her own mind, not feeling that my neat-little-bow-of-conclusions matter in one’s interpretation of my words. 

Yet, I saw her point and thought, perhaps my added perspective would make this piece better. 

So I wrote her a new ending immediately in the email thread she’d sent me and her response came less than 30 minutes later. 

Loved it. 

Amy shared it was a go and the piece would be published tomorrow. 

Which is today… and yes at 6:30AM it was live. You can read it here and I suggest you do before continuing on…

As this is where it gets good. 

What’s Written,
What’s Published – 
Not Always The Same

There is what I wrote and what she ended up publishing.

Two very different sets of words. 

Still mine, but minimized, tweaked, shifted, rearranged. 

And I could be mad. I could raise a stink. 

I could bemoan the fate of a creative forever misunderstood or I could say “cool” and move on with my day. 

I’ll leave it up to you to decide which way I JOYfully chose to roll. [wink]

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But after you give the published words a read, come on back here to see the original ending I wrote, it’s just below, and you be the judge. 

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We all need an editor and for this piece, I think this editor did my words justice and gave me an opportunity to stretch myself. 

Leave me a comment and share how you feel. 

Published ending or mine below..? 

Which one calls to you, oh reader, my dear…!?

And next time you hesitate out of fear
to send in a submission,
thinking some editor will tear your words to shreds,
do it scared. 

The next time you receive feedback on anything you do or write, take a deep breath and place your hand on your heart. 

Do I receive this? And wait for a beat. 

When you practice this you will get good at hearing the yes or no. It may be a feeling or an inner voice, simply tune in. 

The choice is always yours to make.
And then, this is key, make it and move on.

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Original Submitted Ending 

I have always known the power of words –

both spoken and written. 

I grew up in a generation where we still chanted

"Sticks and stones may break my bones

but words can never hurt me".

And even back then,

I knew that childhood sing-along

was nothing but

a lie. 

Words rattle us,

shift us,

empower us,

disempower us. 

Words move us to tears, laughter and can leave us swimming in fears. 

Words can lift one high 

or quickly plummet one low.

I felt that one word.

Mateo. 

Remembered yet again,

a whisper through my night.

A reminder of a time 

as a tune from a favored soundtrack

played loud. 

Having this man's name,

a name I did not know the meaning of,

left ringing in my ears...

yet again

Inspired curiosity in me to know more.

Because words do matter. 

This I have forever known.

And how fitting,

that his name literally means

God's Gift,

for he taught me so very much. 

About life, death, destiny, surrender. 

Which hell, haven't we all be marinating in –

deeply,

these last few unpredictable years. 

So now I am left to reflect, as some 32 years later,

as I finally write this piece

on first

journal pages... 

How this was the year I chose to focus on my own name.

To get to know myself – 

completely. 

Jill. Youthful. Child of the Gods.

That last I did not know until just now. 

As I did a quick – thank you Google,

search.

Child of the Gods. Me.

God's Gift. Mateo.

In looking at my name

these last ten months,

I have gotten to know myself – 

all the cracks and crevices, 

nooks and crannies...

All the light and shadows

beyond the skin and bones being

that you see. 

Just as Mateo gave me so much insight

in his passing 

and in the remembering

of the special moment I held hands with destiny. 

A name. A word. 

Now gives me – 

everything. 

---

When You’re Ready
to Let the Words Bubbling Within Out to Play

This is the safest, most JOYful place to step into and begin.
Absolutely free – right now.

---

Post Photo Credit: VJP

on writing a book …

If you want to write a book,

see your name in lights,

think THAT is the dream...

I feel you, hear you, see you and ask you to read this post.

So ... you write a book.

You find an agent.

You get a publishing deal.

You arrive.

The angels sing for you.

The NYT Bestseller list is within reach.

Your books are selling...

You receive a royalty check.

Happiness is yours.

Yet, is it?

If you base your happy on

awesome reviews,

royalty checks,

selling a book,

getting a deal,

finding an agent

I hate to break it to you but I feel I must.

Your happy will be fleeting.

Those nagging doubts will return.

The thought of "Oh shit, can I even do it again?"

may haunt you as it has tripped up so many "successful" writers before you.

I'm not saying don't order up a "deal" with a major house.

I'm not saying don't see your book title on a bestseller list.

I'm not saying your story won't be sold to Hollywood or Netflix.

I'm not saying that second book has to be a deep soak in doubt.

What I am saying is this.

The key to writing is loving the work, not the outcome.

The key to your happy is never outside of you.

The key to being a published author is not to give two shits about getting published, finding an agent, penning that deal, seeing your name in lights.

See it if it motivates you, then let it float away. Done deal.

Now write.

The key is know it is,

own it as done,

feel the JOY within

As you sit down and write, Writer, write.

That is when your talent is won.

It's the art,

the drudgery of

day in day out

hit that word count.

It's the rinse and repeat

The editing

The writing

The dedication

The process

You fall in love with.

You find fulfillment in.

For the rest is just cherries atop the ice cream cone of your word life.

To rely on another to keep your dream from melting...

Hard stop – no.

For after the first yes fades...

A writer's work is to go back solo.

No more accolades.

When the cheers fade, you are left with you.

An agent saying, "Yes, you."

A publishing house saying, "OMG, you're brilliant, sign here!"

A list saying, "We want you on our book team."

Fleeting

Wins.

But you loving the Journey Of You,

The writer.

Now that's damn delicious.

And there ain't no one who can take that away from you.

Today is about saying YES to you. Own your writing life. Own the title. Grant it to you, it is not bestowed upon you by another.

Today is about owning your own brilliance, not waiting for another to sing it.

Today is about picking you by writing to your word count, committing to one story you desire to tell and devoting yourself to daily words.

Today is your day to not just be happy, as that is forever-fleeting.

Today is about finding your JOY.

💜

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Photo Credit: Jaredd Craig @jaredd_craig

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When You’re Ready
to Let the Words Bubbling Within Out to Play

This is the safest, most JOYful place to step into and begin.
Absolutely free – right now.

When Resistance Leads To Big Wins

A bit of a Confession Time Moment.

Ripped from the pages of my very own diary. 

[Side note, when I lost this original word-share last night during a full-moon tech meltdown, I could have blown away, a shattered stone, turned to a spin of angry dust, but instead I settled, rooted. 

I went deep within my core, and kept my peace. 

Had a moment of damn it, of course, for I am after all human. 

Thought, Rewrite it now? Or let it go. 

I decided sleep was my answer and took my full moon witchy rest. So here I am back to reshare what disappeared last night into the ethers… And if you read to the very end, I’ll clue you in on exactly why I believe I lost those original delicious words.]

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Warning: I drop F-Bombs here.

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Less than two days ago, I “launched” a free FB group and met with so much fucking inner-resistance I all but turned to stone.

I put launched in quotes as all I did was put the group live…

I hadn't even invited a soul inside, yet, and already the steady march of bombarding thoughts hit again and again in crashing wave after dizzying wave of – let’s call a spade a spade…

I am not enough-ness. 

Those thoughts tumbled and rolled, tensing my shoulders, sinking my belly and making me want to pull my covers up and hibernate into sleep. 

I am an in-out girl.
I don’t wanna be responsible for this.
Oh my God, I don’t have the time for this.
Hell, what am I even doing?
I like working with people closely, not big groups.
I don’t even like being on social media!

Just no. This is silly.
Just no. I don’t wanna share. 

That chatter was a Beastie Boys,
You Gotta Fight For Your Right To Paarty! moment,
going on inside my head.

But instead of a bunch of rowdy boys,
singing and jumping around with their hats on backwards,
having a blast...

My song was series after spinning series of
limiting beliefs,
cray-cray thoughts

A bunch of screeching monkeys
having a mind-blowing-bash inside my head.

And so I dove in deep, despite the discomfort.
I refused to retreat…

Instead, I posted these words on my profile page. 

If someone writes a bestseller ...
Everyone knows about it.

If someone ghostwrites a bestseller ...
No one knows about it.
 

So far, 17 books I've ghostwritten have made the NYT Bestseller List.

Who wants to be number 18? Type ME in the comments and I'll invite you to my free Facebook group.

OMG, I even said out loud, I do not want to post this. 

This felt like bragging and made me want to throw up a bit in my mouth. 

And that’s why I said Fuck It, ENOUGH!
And posted the damn thing anyway. 

Talk about empowering. 

Not the action of posting these words to my FB profile page…
But to push through that No and do the uncomfortable thing anyway.

To witness the resistance.
To observe the chatter within.
To feel the discomfort, the itchy skin.

To be oh-so aware of my natural, unchecked desire to run far, far away.
To hide. 

To pull the plug
To toss in the towel

Before I’ve even begun.

A repeat pattern,
threaded through my strands of DNA,
like pearls creating their own iridescent light. 

A habit, ritual woven through
lifetimes, timelines

Not right
Not wrong
Simply a part of how I be.

Until now. 

For yesterday, today, I chose a new way. 

With that one send,
one press of a button,
one little itty meaningless post on my FB wall…

I cinched that flow of one step in and two steps out,
and tied it in a sweet, knotted bow.

No more depleting flow. 

Today I grab the mic of my own life,
step into my warm slice of sunlight and give a battle cry. 

Welcome to my house!
Where I am free to be me. 

Thus you are free to be you. 

Me shining bright does not steal from you, you or you. 

And that right there is why I am pushing through. 

Why this group,
whether a long-term thing or a POP UP experience,
is just where I need to be. 

This is my Full Frontal Living moment.
Again

Damn. They just keep on a-coming. 

The lessons I need.
The lessons I may not want.

And man, does it suck.
If I say it does.

To be out there as me.
To be no longer hiding
in the doing zone
of second-fiddle
to another’s belted out lead. 

Why even though this group might be a “bad” idea,
a time suck,
a “waste” – 

Although how can it be
if even one person is served,
then by my own motto,

I have won! 

Damn, all I need do
is be the me
who just gets out of
my own old ass
(way of being)
way.

Are you hearing this?
Are you ready to do the same..?

The message received with an open heart – 
through all the resistance
is simple. 

I am no better than another.
I am not less than another.
I am.

The end.

No more monkey chatter,
No more drunk on depleting self talk parties 

In my head.

Same goes for you.

You are you. Perfectly imperfect and so worthy of no longer pushing against the pull door of your own life. 

If my words, my work, even my group
shares that message,
while helping others find their voice…

Write their words.
Tell their stories.

Just wow. 

How selfish would I be
to not allow that free-rein
to come out and play, JOYfully. 

If my actions allow someone to 

Grab the mic
Publish their words
Own their spotlight
Find a dash more JOY
Sink into fucking deliciousness

Hot damn. 
All this struggle, well-deserved, well-received 

So I’m hitting POST here and now – again. 

---

[Remember my side note comment at the start? The loss of my original words? 

Well, you made it this far in your read, so let me tell you the secret I woke up to and already knew last night when those words – poof – disappear into full moon-soaked, tropical night air.  

And no, I don’t blame the moon, although – powerful force! Snap! 

But let’s not digress... and use up my daily word count. Ha! As if I have a limit… Now that’s fucking funny. 

Okay, the reason I lost my words,
the lesson for me,
was so not about keeping my cool,
about not tossing my MacBook Pro,
cursing the tech Gods nor turning to stone and staying

Screw this, I knew I wasn’t meant to start a damn FB group anyway. I’m out. I quit. Peace, bitches!

Nope, the reason those words vanished was simple. 

Expectation. 

I planned to share those words in a few groups, on my Page, profile and go to sleep with a cat-ate-the-canary smile. Because I knew I’d wake up with a flood of people wanting into my kingdom. Wanting to tour my FB group and learn, engage with little old me. 

I placed my order, with delight. Nothing wrong with that… 

And then I started to count my requests in my head… before they even arrived.

So instead, I was forced – nix that, chose –  to go count sheep and get my zzzs. To leave my expectations at the foot of my bed and be grateful for the words written and sprinkled aimlessly out into the night. 

Never to land nor impact nor add to me me me. 

Those words written had somehow become about ME and not those I was writing to inspire, share, serve. 

A big-honking pill to swallow… but it didn’t hurt going down. 

It didn’t hurt to be so self-aware
that I can quickly call bullshit on my own fine self. 

I’m a work in progress... obviously. 

And I’m JOYfully delighted by the fact that I didn’t blame me, shame me, step into poor me, the fucking world is always out to get me – negativity.  

I once rolled that way…
A slippery slope of shit, happiness is forever out of sight. 

But now my happiness, my JOY, is so much more important to me. 

So I ground there and allow myself to simply observe, without a care. Without judgement. 

Without digging bloody trenches in my own be-freckled skin.

And how utterly delicious it is to simply choose JOY,
to choose loving me – 
happily.]

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If you wanna know what all the fuss is about
Come And See,
Join the Private FB Group Today

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A Flying ‘Shiny Object’ - Staying on Course

I'm in a swarm of words, editing them and flies... they are a'flying. We have these things called fair weather flies. You can smell them a mile or two away. And I did last night.

When they come, its – all hands on deck, turn off the bloody lights – which yes, I did scream internally that is, thankfully, for the neighbors, I’m sure, as it was just me here, in paradise, last night.

It’s a moment of, done, the end, pull the covers up and go to sleep.

These creatures come in a black swarm-cloud at sundown-ish. And when I call them a swarm, I’m serious as hell.

They are attracted to the light and for all accounts and purposes they come to the light to fly about and die.

They aren’t big. They don’t buzz like a fly individually but together, wings a flutter, they sing their own song. And multiply and multiply and land on any service they see.

Even me. Skin-crawl shiver. Ick.

Hence, bed, covers, lights out. Night-night.

Even if the lights are off, like mine were last night, if windows are open, which mine were as it’s hotter than the hottest of hots here, they come on in.

An uninvited guest to take up space on countertops, piled on the floor, leaving you to waken to a mess.

So after feeding the five baby goats, I swept.
And swept.
And swept.

Some still wiggling and writhing in their early morning graveyard pile.
Some gone. Eaten by the lizards during a most delicious night.

And as I now sit at my desk, a fan blowing on one side of me. Citronella moving freely all around me – Did I mention there are monster mosquitoes right now too? Sometimes flying together, two-by-two.

Mid-flight mating, or what?
(Nature is so insane!)

Anyhoo, I sit at my desk to edit the day away and notice I missed a few bodies on my sweep this morning.

And just the thought of grabbing my broom
has an idea tumbling round and round
inside me.

Has this ever happened to you?

You’ve got things to do,
but damn something shiny and new pops up.

And you’re off to the races…

I call foul, game over
before you even stepped up
to the plate of you.

This right here is the pandemic that kept me stuck (in the past) forever and ever, amen.

If you feel me, give me a hell yeah, sunshine.

Leave me a comment after this read if you can relate. I want to hear from you, just how this way of showing up has impacted you in creating your most delicious life.

Because seriously.

This right there, is the root cause of all that has ailed me...
and perhaps you too.

From lack of worth,
lack of self confidence,
not feeling good enough,
not loving me…
completely.

Thankfully that shit is in the past, but seriously,
how can one love themselves
when they jump faster than a rabbit
from thang to thang..?

Never following through,
never following up,
never being true.

To their word.
To themselves.

Ah, bloody hell – this thing called integrity.

So even though simply the thought
of a fresh sweeping up
a mount of new
fair weather fly dead bodies
brought forth a flood of ideas…

It was on me to act or not.

And one such idea, so delicious I had to jot down three lines, so I’d remember makes me smile and want to dive in with utter delight.

This one in particular I’ll call F*cking Salad,
also an essay in my upcoming book…
one of four I’m currently writing, because prolific is me.

And now, thanks to this need
to sweep up the dead bodies
littered around me,
may also become it’s own
living, word-breathing reality.

I will not go down the F*cking Salad rabbit hole right now though.
I will not stop my flow.

I have committed to editing,
to staying on task,
to releasing this (first - gasp) book as me
and I will not allow myself to stop me…

Can you say that same?

Focus. Such a delicious word.

Don it today and see how radically it reshapes your life.

💜

And if you feel daring…
Share in a comment how you plan to stay focused on what’s most important and will build forward movement for you.

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Wanna read an excerpt from my new book? 
Become a JOY-Subscriber today and access Word Magic…
an essay that might be in or might be on the cutting room floor
with those leftover fair weather fly bodies.

To be swept up again at noon.

(shiver)

Yep, it is a bit gross. But it’s part of life.
Just like cleaning up the mess and starting fresh –
staying focused, no judgement.

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Read Excerpts From My New Book

For Less Than 191 Pennies A Week
Access All My JOYful Words

For the detailed soul, click here for more.

Photo Credit: Mathew Schwartz @cadop

Excerpt: Creating A New Story

If you have awareness of a story, you can now change it.

Do you even want to?
That is the only question.

As it may feel uncomfortable to shed that thing you’ve been attached to

for a day,
a year,
a decade,
gasp,
more.

And we tend to bury our heads in the known-sands when in discomfort, even when it’s the very thing irritating our delicate, thin skin.

At least, that was big-time me, me, me.

And this is where the work is.
It’s what I’ve chosen to write about in a new book.
And the working title (at this time) starts with a verb

Create

To create something new action is required.

The old proverb of when you pray, move your feet, comes to mind. I love that as so many think

If I just pray…
If I just meditate…
If I just ‘om’…
If I just think about it...

No! This is your life, and life is meant to be lived.
Another delicious verb.

You must, and yes, I say must as it’s #truth, show up and do your part.

You must move the needle of what you say you want.
Delicious life? Cool.

Get moving and create it.

It’s no longer enough just to sit and think about it
Humming or not.

You can live in the comfortable-discomfort
of a now-known story –
no judgement here

Or you can do the work and change your story –
with ease, JOY, delight.

Or with a flat attitude of
Another damn story, good God, I swear!

Your most delicious life is created your way…
And it begins with

Do you make it easy? or

Do you make it oh-so-hard?

Take a beat and dive into this idea today...

💜

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Photo Credit:

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What’s More JOY Worth To You?

For Less Than 191 Pennies A Week
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For the detailed soul, click here for more.

Damn Chapter 3

If you get my weekly emails,
read my words
you know by now
I’m a writer.

Shocker,
I know.

And a JOYful one at that.
Typically.

I’ve been writing for nearly three decades –
Professionally.

Crazy,
I also know.

I must have climbed from the womb
clutching my purple pen…

But just recently,
I wanted to chuck that and

My MacBook Pro
out my cottage window.

And that’s just not normal for me.

I was stuck on Chapter 3.
And it was telling,

As this is me writing as me.

Not behind one of eight
alter egos, pseudonyms,
or Ghosting another’s words

In secret delight.

But stepping out
me being me.

Sometimes even one’s art can feel hard.
This is what I shared with two of my clients
recently.

A behind the scenes peek
Into the ups and downs

Of creativity.

And it was the simple acknowledgement
that I was making it difficult
that finally freed me.

I set down chapter 3.
Decided to circle back around –
Later.

And instead of procrastinating,
doing nothing more than
bemoaning my stuck-fate

I dove into chapter 4
with a solid,
rock-steady beat.

It’s only hard when I say it is.

But it doesn’t have to be.

It’s a choice to stare at a blank page,

Or write something,
anything
you please.

Or in my case edit
something,
anything,
pretty please.

Where in your life are you choosing stuck?

Choosing,
that word is key.

I can’t tell you how long I stewed in my stuckness
of Chapter 3.

Of other stories throughout my lifetime.

And that’s not what matters.
At least not to me.

It’s not about the sharing of the drama,
that was me.

But the freedom
that unfolds when you let go...

And start again.

---

Photo Credit: Patrick Tomasso @impatrickt

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What’s More JOY Worth To You?

For Less Than 191 Pennies A Week
Access All My JOYful Words

For the detailed soul, click here for more.

Cutting Back - The Tree And Me

Yes, I murdered the tree.

At least, at first look, that’s what you might see and thus the story you may just spin. Even as you, perhaps, curse me.

It was, after all, a beautiful 100+ year old sea grape tree.

A tree whose leaves spanned from golds and oranges
to lime green, evergreen
and would often sprout up purple.

Yes, purple. My delicious color.

Imagine that... more than 100 feet of blooming, iridescent purple!

Now that’s magical for me.

And yet, as I type, there are no more leaves.

Just solitary stalks
shooting upward
into the sky
for all to see
on their morning drive-by.

And they most certainly do see and ask me
why
why
why?

Internally whispering, Tree Murderer!
with a side of stink-eye.

But here’s what I know that perhaps you do not…

Sometimes we must prune to allow for regrowth.
Sometimes we must cut way back what’s no longer needed.
Sometimes we must butcher that b*tch so what’s dis-eased can go.

And for my lone sea-side tree, that’s what took place.

No leaf left standing.

And it hurt me deeply to do…
Both the stewing in should I?
and the deed, the undoing.

Yet, what I know is that I have allowed space for possibility to now grow.
Within me and for this tree.

Because to do nothing would have meant a slow, painful, diseased death.

To do nothing would have meant more indecisive hemming and hawing for me.

A most horrible place to be.

And what now exists is a rebirthing of something fresh, something new.

For that tree,
For me,

Perhaps for you, too.

Where in your life do you need to trim back a bit?

Or cut it all down to the ground?

Like the branches that were hacked back and fell,

My own words are littering the proverbial floor around my sole-s.

While my edits for this new book are not words that can kill,
Lack of clarity in life, in a good read, sure will.

So as I sit, overlooking the glass-coated, summer sea,
And my bare-bark tree…

There have been moments of

Should I,
Should I not
cut this or that back?

It’s okay to doubt,
Natural to question.

But to spin in that web,
now that’s sure-fire depressing.

What you do next is all that truly matters.

Look at what you may need to edit in your life today,
When you do, you allow room for new growth

And magic to unfold.

Moo Baah internally saying – Maaah! What did you do?!

What, in your life, are you neglecting that needs pruning, editing?

Share below in a comment for it’s time to get those shears out with ease and delight,

Even a slight murderous gleam in your eye.

But just know,
a tear or two may fall as you
trim what needs cutting back.

But in the end,
Delicious freedom
For expansion, possibility will open within.

---

One Hour Does Have The Power To
Open Doors & Transform Your Life

Everyone Needs An Editor

It's time to share what goes bump in my day-light
And night.

But first...

As a writer, there comes a time
when editing is the weapon of choice
not purple penning more words.

Editing is not my strong suit
As I tend to add more.

Yet, even as I type those words,
I know they are a lie.

I am a solid editor, not awesome, but solid.

Why?

Because I’ve practiced.

I’ve chopped wood, carried water – as my coach likes to say.

I’ve done it over and over
And yep, over again.

So, I am damn good at editing.

Whether you’re writing a book
or simply creating and living your most delicious life
a good edit is like a deep spring cleaning,
a Marie Kondo-ing of your inner
or outer
or digital
self.

So, why that natural inclination to put myself down
for shaking the cobwebs from my very soul?

To talk about my perceived lack...
Instead of my skills..?

I went straight to not being enough in my own eyes
because of one thing – fear.

See, the words I am about to edit have been written by me,
like so many words these last nearly thirty years…

But the difference?

These words will be released as me.

My name, front and center, on the cover.

For most, that would be a moment to celebrate, would it not?

I mean, who doesn’t want to write and publish a book.
See their name in lights…

I have people asking me all the time,

“OMG, Jill, can you help me write a book?”

And wanting to work with me
To do just that.

From famous peeps
For whom I’m their ghost(writer).

To clients who hire me to support their most delicious dream of learning how to purple pen their own words as they please.

Yet, for me, still I cringe at that thought.

Me,
center stage?
I think not.

So, it’s time to talk about it.

To bring it into the light and stop hiding-in-plain sight.

A skill I know I have perfected
Along with my word-chops
And editing-flops.

There I want to go again, downplaying all that I am.

Making you laugh
Taking the heat off what frightens me.

All those eyes
Off little old me.

I even thought about not speaking of this book.

A silent release,
In the dead of a cold, winter night.

No one need know… Right?

And then my coach, my editor,
Oh, she’ll so love being called that…

Determined to help me see that hiding-in-plain sight no longer serves me, held me accountable to stepping into my slice of sunlight.

So here I be,
At your mercy.

Face upturned into the tropical sunlight,
Sharing that today I begin a five-day marathon of editing me – 
My words.

Words that will bare my name.

Words that will grace your shelf
(perhaps)
And introduce you to a new me.

One who is

Oh-so visible, brave,
JOYfully Bold

And no longer downplaying
All that she is

In her heart
And her soul.

And instead allowing all the pages of she
To be read oh-so-deliciously.

Where do you put yourself down,
beat yourself up,
believe you are not good enough?

Food for spicy thought right there.

Comment and share below when you are ready to let that old-tired-ass way of being go.

And if you’re ready to journey with me as I release these words as me, join the waitlist and perhaps become a first-look reader of little-old-me.

enJOY your slice of sunlight, there’s enough for all.

---

Photo Credit:

---

One Hour Does Have The Power To
Open Doors & Transform Your Life

Being the Punchline: A Tale of an Ant or Two

A friend of mine threw me right under the proverbial bus when she posed a question, a riddle of sorts, as she poured more wine around the table of 8, plus me. 

“If you’re Jill and your adorable white Jeep Wrangler is infested with ants, what do you do?”

Round and round the conversation went with no one guessing my true punchline. And me, well, I just turned beet red and sipped my sparkling water.

Yes, a former designated-everything was me.

From care-giver
To people-pleasing
To safety-first, not sure about fun.

Responsible-for-all
That was so me.

You’ll have to wait for that punchline for just a bit as I share with you what brought this decade old tale to my mind today. 

Why I share it with you now… 

Something that just makes me shrug, yes, a bit sheepishly. 

But hey, live and learn. You’ll understand that old me soon but first the current me. 

In the early-dark hours,
Lost in my writer’s web
I raised my mug of half-full green tea toward my lips,
bag forever set to seep within. 

I know tea-guru!
Shame shame on me but that’s also not the point of this share.

Instead, what matters was the dude just inches from his Moby-Dick moment with me.

In the soft MacBook Pro light
I happened to see
a medium-sized black ant
Struggling to swim
To find tea-bag ground
Or drown. 

Now, the old me would have squashed him perhaps
or at least had the heebeegeebees the rest of the day. 

Looking frantically around,
scratching a mind-f*ck itch,
waiting for more multi-legged creatures to descend. 

This me simply offered a hello,
moving the liquid a tilt out of his way
helping him on the tea bag
In that most subtle way.

When he’d climbed on board that green-tea train,
I took a break and stepped outside
Into a light, misty pre-dawn rain.

With a slow hand and a grin,
I placed both ant and bag
gently in my garden bed
Near my cherry tomatoes
And sprouting kale. 

I watched briefly as the ant crawled onto a bright green leaf and moved on with his day. 

Not attached to his near drowning,
not upset by his change of scene,
not considering, bemoaning, worried over –
At least in my human mind,
the displacement from his family. 

I had to laugh softly at my writer’s imagination
Something I enJOY with my baby goats all the time. 

 
This is how animated classics
like Finding Nemo
are born. 

And a children’s book even, one I am working on. 

Giving human qualities to a fish, an ant, a goat, you name it.
That is what we human beings do…

Toss in a heck of a lot of overthinking, suffering and questioning – 
Why me?
And Voilà!
A dramatic storyline, 

Can’t you see? 

My life used to be so full of drama,
over-analyzing every little thing
and wondering why I was constantly being punished just for being me. 

Oh hello, victim mentality. 

But the real tragedy in this story, is not the little green tea dude.
He lived to see the sun rise on this day…

No, the tragedy I write today is darker,
And involved a party of ants, 

Not just one.

Plus, me and my cute white Jeep Wrangler.
The very Jeep my girlfriend so cleverly made into a punchline. 

Or was it I,
The actually brunt of that joke?

Hmm… read on to find out more. 

Years back now, I parked on a Coral Gables street.

Metered parking along a rather busy two-lane downtown road where a sensible driver knows to access the parking from one side of the street due to the angle of the spots. 

Well, I was supposed to go to a light,
Take a left
Then a right.
And another,

And another
To do a square-dance around we go.

Only to pray there’d actually be space upon the conclusion of my do-si-do. 

But that day, well, I was running late,
Saw a space free up
And pulled a left into a right-angled spot
Because why not?! 

That was how I lived – 
dangerously…

Wielding my purple pen
And taking a spot some-what inappropriately. 

Like in writing, some rules are simply meant to bend. 

I know a dangerous game I play but on this day it served me after my hour long drive in my fun little ride. 

Until I jumped out,
slammed the door closed
And had to press pause on my haste
as I sure as sh*t saw a flash of movement within.

But what?

I reopened the Wrangler's door
I admit – carefully.

And stared shocked, horrified,
as the cloth seat that had cradled my ass just seconds ago,
lined with a marching row of big-ass black ants along one visible side.

Oh hell, to the no. 

My body did a revolting shiver-move in the sticky Florida heat. 

Heebeegeebees doesn’t even begin to cover the creepy-crawls coating my skin thicker than SPF50 lotion on a hot, humid day. 

I’d been perched on top of a line of ants that looked disgustingly-impressive to me.

But not just ants a-marching,
As I squinted,
Hell no, not leaning in – 
to see what I truly did not wish to witness. 

Worker ants were busy as can be
carrying white things that – 
Oh, I kid you not – 
Where their Queen’s  – eww
eggs. 

I slammed the door closed with force and thought
gross, gross, gross

Stomping and storming and
shivering my way to my appointment.

I had not another choice.
Not in that moment,
Not in my line of sight.

All I could see were ants-marching

Not a pretty sight. 

In daylight

In my now emblazoned memory. 

I wasn’t a bug girl.
Camping? Ah please!
So not for me.

I’d been fishing just once
And swore I could hear the worm
Screaming bloody murder
So no, that was just not me. 

I preferred creature comforts

Not creatures crawling

If you please.

And as I entered my first stop, a hair salon,
where typically I relaxed,
chatted with Dee
and flipping enJOYed myself

All I could do was brush my skin,

Itch my knee
And think,
No one to rescue me!


Today, my appointment inched by
As my overthinking mind
Processed the indisputable fact

I had to get back on that bloody seat.

And that was a feat
I had to wrap my head around –

tightly.

Not to mention my rebelling body.

All I could contemplate,
as my longtime hairdresser styled me,
was how the hell I’d get rid of the all those ants
And how many were there that I couldn’t even see?! 

My next appointment,

A doctor who did not tolerate tardiness – 
I know, how completely apropo
Dictated I had to figure this sh*t out  

And mighty fast. 

So halfway through my blow out,
the answer came.

Carwash. 

Suck those bastards out. 

I had no shame. 

I’m not proud of my lack of ant-respect,
But that was then
And this is a different me you see

And well, this tale has only just begun to unravel
And reveal
What happened next...

---

Become a JOY-Subscriber
to discover the fate of all those ants
and the punchline my friend shared at my expense.

For the detailed soul, click here for more.

---

Photo Credit: Vlad Tchompalov @tchompalov

---

The Hyndi, Two Boys, A B*tch

Life gives such lessons when we are open to seeing with fresh eyes.
Eyes that don’t judge
Nor criticize.

Such a moment happened for me recently
And well… have a read

I watched two boys,
Top of my hill,
Thumbing a ride
As I took my trash outside.

As hitchhiking your way around,
Is how all safely roll
In this time-warped village
Overlooking the sea.

A car passed them by.

B*tch I heard one yell
At she,
For not doing as he
pleased.

What is it we teach these In-betweens?

Not yet men,
Not really boys.

To readily call a woman b*tch
For little reason at all

What do they do call the woman
Who does what they want?

My Queen.

Are they taught to bow down
When respected
And given what they desire?

Are they taught to toss words out
When they don’t get their way?

Are they taught to cast
Blame
Shame

Or perhaps they simply model
What they see
What they hear

On this here floating paradise.

Me.
I said
Hi Guys
When we caught eyes.

They say
Hi Ma’am.

And I thought
Ah ha, manners, oh my.

They know to respect
When it suits

They know to show off
When in groups

So I went out on a limb
And casually asked,

The woman in the
Hyundai,
The one who passed you by.
I'm curious...
Why was she a b*tch?
Why am I ma’am?

One stuttered and stumbled.
One looked away.

They could see
I held no mad,
even from 15 feet away.

I did not shout,
Nor stomp their way.

There was no finger pointing,
No adult-ing by me.

Just curiosity.

Both hung their heads,
And that was enough.

For my roll, Not here to shame,
But to shine a light
So bright possibly they see a new path
In their once dark-soul night.

I continued as though thinking out loud

When someone passes you by,
Doesn’t do what you want,

In that moment,
What if you smiled and waved
Instead of tossing down a slur,
a name?

I caught one’s eyes
And I could possibly
an ear.

Perhaps my words
Would do more than slip through
And disappear.

You may not look so cool
To a friend
To an enemy.
But if you give it a go
I know you’ll feel better
End of day
When you look you in the eye.

That I promise ye.

Of course, the last,
I did not say,
Just whispered
internally.

Poet, is me.

Who am I
To them but that
Perhaps Interesting
Maybe Crazy
Goat Lady…

Maah-ther of Moo Baah
The big-ass goat
forever standing on a wall
Who looks like a cow
But sounds like a baah
Who all the kids know

On this 5 square mile
slice of heaven…

Who am I
To guarantee anything
to these young men.

Yet, what a damn good bit of advice
If I do admit it felt nice.

So Mirror mirror on your wall

Who is it you want to see
Oh, so tall
Staring back at thee
At the end of your day?

An ass,
Calling others names
Bad-mouthing
when you don’t get your way?

Or A man,
A woman,
Proud to step out of that
Toxic way of reacting
Of being?

Choice.
We all have it.

Responsibility.
Most never own it.

So what will you do?

I say take out the trash of you…
And smile
Even when another lays garbage
At your proverbial feet.

Voice.
Find yours today

Your words have power.

---

When you’re ready to find your voice and use it with intention and purpose, book a one-on-one Clarity Call.

---

What’s More JOY Worth To You?

If you want more goat, my words and
delicious JOY, join the family today.

For the detailed soul, click here for more.

A venti chai latte vs unlimited JOY

I was in Florida recently,
All masked up
​
Ready for my drop-shock moment
Upon going from 5 square miles
To Miami International crowds
​
Upon crowds
Upon so many
crowds...
​
Nothing fazed me...
Not when on the Turnpike
In the middle of an false-start Indie 500
No trophy in sight.
​
Not the multi-layered precautions,
The temp-gun to forehead at every turn
​
The double masking
upon entering
The Miami Cancer Institute
​
Not a request​
But a given.
​
I took it all in stride and even made time to say hi to a pink cow.
​
[photo below]
​
And considered how I could smuggle her home
As I’ve always wanted one.
​
And then it hit me.
When I entered the local Starbucks.
​
I don’t recall
when last
I was at the place
of my once addiction.
​
Maybe three years now.
And here I was ordering...
​
Giving up my chip​
A one-off moment
Because I so got this thing.​
​
No longer am led by my emotional
Eating
Ways of
Once being me.
​
​But 6.50 USD?
​​
For a Venti Almond Milk Chai Latte seemed
Well, high​
Even to me.
​
And I can afford it
And first class to Italy...
So this isn’t a cheap-is-me
Convo.
​
​No, siree.​
​
I love nice things.
From Tumi luggage…
​We be rolling
with style
​
To my former Audi TT,
​Loved her fancy, red-leather ass
Fast as f- b*tch​
As she all but belted Ludacris

Move B-
Get out my way!
Get out my way!
​
​Even as she purred down
all those
Highways,
Bi-ways.
​
​No, siree.
Cheap be not me. ​
​
To my souped up MacBook Pro
Whose RAM and dual processing speeds
Keep up with my time-warp
Flying fingers
Across backlight
keys.
​
But this 6.50
For a Venti Almond Milk Chai Latte
Seemed just plain high.
​
And I’d left the grass-guy behind
So I couldn’t even pretend
​Hallucinations
My friend.

[only my JOY-Subscribers will get that grass-guy reference]

And it has nothing to do with lighting one up,
As some tend to do
And everything to do with goats.
So consider joining the JOY herd
To read those hilarious tales
​
But I digress.
As only writer’s tend to do.
With flare
Style

And dare I say, a few
Too many words…
A time or two.
​
I shelled out my 6.50 one time in the 12 days and thought
​Will I ever again?
​Taking my first sip-ity-sip.
​
I think not,
For it didn’t fill me
With anything more than sugar,
Way more than I’m now used to
​
And, yes delicious warmth
But just for a bit.
​
​Was it worth it?​
I think not.
​
Not when there are other things for 6.50
That can fill my soul
With JOY.

Like a good book you can’t put down.
​
Granted, I am a word-nerd,
No doubt about it.
​
So a book, to me, a divine delicious treat.
One that lasts,
That says with me,
Quite possibly.
​
I eat words up,
​Ravenously.​
​
And I spit out my own
With my purple pen
With grace
When in flow.
​
With the intention to
Entertain
Inspire
Educate
Even Dictate
Divine JOYful desire.
​
To make one laugh
Out loud
With delight
​
Or shed a tear
No longer holding it all in
So tight.
​
Words are powerful
​Empowering​
​
But that Venti Almond Milk Chai Latte,
enJOYed but once
​Sip after sip ​
As I mentally pondered
​Wow, 7 with tip

And felt later,
With a sugar crash and burn…
That all I invest in should
empower me
leave me feeling
powerful.

Not depleted
Not strung out
​
I literally sell
​word-JOY on a stick ​
that leaves people feeling
​Something.
​
Something more than bloated at the end of their rather long day.
​
So if you’re looking for more than a quick fix,
A hit to numb the pain
​
And want to truly feel your way
​
Then join me
For some word-JOY
And baby goat photos.
​
It’s definitely more costly,
An investment of $1.75 USD more....
But lasts a life-time,
As JOY tends to do...
​
Unlike that one-time
Sugary hit.
​
Personally, I find JOY so much more rewarding
Than a tempt surge of liquid-okay-deliciously
But that wasn't always the case...

So I feel you, friend​
If you are wobbling to and fro
There's no best way to go.
​
Just do you. Be you.
And enJOY this wild ride
Called life.

With me by your side.

A Timeless Quote to Ponder ​
​
​“Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.”
― Thich Nhat Hanh

As a Zen Master, global spiritual leader, poet, peace activist, Nobel Peace Prize Nominee by Dr Martin Luther King, Jr. this native Vietnamese Buddhist monk was a bestselling writer on mindfulness and peace.
​
A fellow word-nerd I oh-so-love.
​
What I get from this quote,
From Hanh’s delicious words, is rather simple.
​
​F*uck it and smile. ​
​
Try it next time something crashes and burns,
An argument begins to stir
You awaken not feeling so great

You find yourself running late.
​
Just smile.
It changes all.
For you.
For another.
​
A smile can make a day.
I dare you to practice

💜

---

Part of the JOY...

It’s rather simple.
​​
Like my words. My vib. What I have to say.
​
Or simply curious about the goats
Which will put a smile on your face
And that has been linked to better heart-health,
Seriously.

Become part of the JOY-herd today for $99/year.

JOIN THE JOY HERD FOR A YEAR

You'll get inside access to insights,
my words, my island paradise,
how I write, make bank and
why the heck I was even at The Miami Cancer Institute in the first place.
​
Plus, so much more I’m busting out of my word-seams to give it to ya.
​
But first, enJOY that pink cow.

---

---

What’s More JOY Worth To You?
Access All My JOYful Words
And Find Your Own Voice

For the detailed soul, click here for more.

Are you doing life your way?

I’ve decided something 

And it feels divine. 

I’m no longer in the market

To worry

Over-analyze... 

To people-please. 

To ponder what this one wants, 

What will suit that one’s needs, 

What will make him smile

Allow her to be happy,

if you please. 

No, to the double-decker, red London tour-bus, no. 

This is my time for me. 

To say what I want to say.

To write the words that flow freely from me. 

To be uncensored 

If it pleases little old me. 

Sound selfish? 

Perhaps.

Sound arrogant? 

Maybe.

Do I give two f---s!?

Ah, no. 

Sound like something you’d love to be able to jump into..?

Like the most refreshing pool 

of translucent blue-green, 

Bathwater-warm

Healing waters…

A waterfall of words,

Feed by a rumbling, tumbling wave 

that sings your own personal song

As it trickles and slaps, 

Crashes and mists 

Against the timeless, 

smoothed 

stones

Of you. 

See, I’m a poet.

Who knew!?

It’s rather new.

I’m a woman.

A dreamer.

A spinner of webs.

A writer,

A professional

For nearly three decades.

And that used to produce a snort.

Professional.

Ah, the tiresomeness of not

Loving me!

So over that,

can't you see?!

I am an

An animal lover

A goat maaah

To nine crazy creatures.

And now a faerie godmother…

[my JOY Family can read all about that]

With no time left 

To hem or haw

To ponder this or that

To worry 

To prolong the impact

I am here to have

By sharing 

a part of me 

that was gifted,

Bestowed,

Blessed 

Upon 

me. 

See… if you don’t know

Words are my SuperPower. 

And it’s time I let them 

Free
Flow. 

As me. 

No more shade.

No more spin.

No more what-if-ing.

Letting oh-so-go of all the

Wishing

Waiting

Wanting

Things to be

This way 

That way

Perfect

Aligned

My way.

No more

Nada. 

I’m just a girl
who once had
what was simply
a childhood dream
after reading
a most delicious book.

[rubbing my hands together with glee at that memory]

A little cottage,

On a hill,

Surrounded by secret gardens,

Overlooking the sea 

Where I’d sit all day and write. 

Guess what, Fabulous?

That dream

It’s my f-ing reality. 

If you want in on that,

What I write,

And making those dreams of yours

Your JOYful waking day-to-day

Life…

Simply subscribe to JOYnotes 

It’s free.

A Fav Quote of Week:
Clarity is Kindness.  - Brené Brown

With that in mind, let me just say I’m about to offer you an invitation
which technically is a call to action. 

And that means an exchange of money for the value I bring to your proverbial word-table. 

Ah, teaching moments abound, as a former educator, it can not be helped. 

So, this is your moment of choice.
Keep simmering in the deliciousness of my weekly free content

This free newsletter.

[subscribe here if you’re just visiting] 

Or dive in deeper with me. 

The JOY-Subscription is just that

A ride into the world of a writer, 

One who walks-the-walk and thus 

Can talk-the-talk. 

A writer, who is living the dream

Earning bank

Publishing words

Loving life

All from a cottage overlooking the sea. 

And don’t forget the goats.
For there will be many goats.

And so it begins…

If you want a no-holding back on topics that float-my boat,

And could lift yours above high tide

While offering a refreshing spray

with with a tropical deliciousness delight…

You want in!

---

For the detailed soul, click here for more.

---

Photo Credit:

A Closeted-Creative’s Doodling to Published Story

Imagine for a moment if you stopped getting ready to get ready to do that thing that you say you want to do in your life.

Have you done that on some small or large scale..?

Held yourself back, done all the other stuff in order to finally, one day, do that thing you feel called to do?

I know I sure have.

From busy work to overthink, it’s a pandemic more vicious than the one we are currently surrounded by. The claws of this dis-ease come from within… from how we see life, think about ourselves, feel about our situation.

And that reminds me of Sally, an absolute dream of a coaching client of mine.

Sally loved to doodle.

Maybe you did too, back in school, when we actually went to school, sat at one of those uncomfortable contraptions called a desk and had our pad and pen at the ready to take notes.

Or doodled in the margins as you stifled a yawn of utter boredom.

Some teachers… death by monotone… and I can say that as a former teacher!

In fact, I remember this time I took out my teacher voice while in a high-end mastermind of Russell Brunson’s, co-founder of a lot of amazing things, and a successful author of three books now…

I scared the heebie-jeebies out of him and everyone in the room, apparently.

He told me so! Oops! But that’s a tale for another time.

Let’s go back to Sally and her doodling.

Sally became an amazing girl-Friday, or right-hand to a CEO of a Fortune 500 company. She never thought of herself as a creative.

She wore snazzy clothes, red-bottomed heels – you know the brand! And had a divine condo with a view of the cityscape while acting as the gatekeeper to a very powerful man.

And part of her loved it.

The constant pressure of being an Executive Assistant to a man who was on-the-go constantly. She all but ran his professional and personal life, from keeping his schedule, filtering calls and emails, to buying the birthday presents for his three daughters – one of whom called her Auntie Sal.

She was a fixture in this life, in the lives of his employees, associates, and family.

A real-life Donna, you know the redhead from the TV Show Suits… OMG, If you’ve never watched it, do. It’s binge-worthy and delicious.

But Donna, I mean Sally! She found herself missing the doodles of her past and wondering why she felt so empty all of a sudden. When her mom passed, she found boxes of journals and notebooks…

And all her doodling. And some of it was actually really good.

But what had her stopping in her tracks were the stories she’d penned beside those doodles. Tales she’d totally forgotten about. Words of overcoming pain, loss, a misstep and spreading cheer.

The stories she’d written for children but had never shared with a soul.

Today, Sally’s stories line the bookcases of families around the world and can be found on in bookstores prominently displayed.

Today, Sally’s doodles bring smiles, giggles and delight to children, to families, because she tapped back into a passion she’s put on hold thinking she needed to get ready to do such a thing as write, before she could actually do it for real.

Like so many, Sally took a path she was supposed to take because creatives, well, can they even make bank?

Sally is a client I simply adore and she recently shared with me words I’ll remember for life…

"To regret is a waste of time. To start, when hit, that takes true grit."

I love those words and that Sally is impacting children with this kind of message.
Be still my former-teacher heart.

Being able to do my own form of doodling, that I love…

Write my words and enable others to do just that through coaching is what has allowed me to create a most delicious life of my own.

And I want that for you.

If it’s time you stop getting ready to get ready and do the thing you feel so called to do, reach out and book a JOYful Clarity Coaching Call with me today.

Imagine what you may gain by getting crystal clear on what brings you JOY today.

---

Photo Credit: David Pennington @dtpennington

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One Hour Does Have The Power To
Open Doors & Transform Your Life

Holding Hands With Destiny

My first brush with death was not my own. 

Not this time, at 11 years young. 

No, my personal rub came a bit later... 

down a different lane. 

Not this dirt path I currently found myself traversing.

Happily kicking up dust bowls, 

scattering small rocks 

and breathing deeply 

what would soon be a sticky September day. 

Central Florida, take it or leave it, 

did funky things with my hair 

making me wonder if my pale, freckled skin 

didn't hide a richer, dare-I-whisper-

darker

blood deep within.

Pondering that and the soundtrack to Footloose

in my ever-whirling brain, 

I shifted the weight of my backpack 

And brushed at a fly who played games with my slightly upturned nose. 

That's when I heard it.

The rustle. 

A faint crunch 

of dried leaves.

Sadie! 

She's been missing for days, 

the black mixed-mutt of grandma's.

The dog I loved-to-love 

each time I visited 

this far-away space. 

Only now wasn't a vaca, 

but a home, 

dare I say.

And Sadie,

the only one 

who could truly make it 

feel that way.

Gone missing. 

Like I often desired to do.

I halted. 

Dust coating my already filthy 

Converse tennis-shoes. 

Ears perked, 

Tuning into the sound.

Any sound.

Even as I tuned out 

the racing of my own thumping heart. 

A flood of feels hit me hard. 

JOY, 

Elation. 

Found her!

Dismay

As she wasn't running my way.

"Sadie," I whispered, a little-girl shout. 

And it came again, 

Distinct

Yet, slight.

A rustling of, 

no, not leaves.

Wrong side of these here metaphoric tracks.  

I creeped out from under the canopy 

of moss-dripping branches. 

Arching under the weight 

in picturesque splendor 

over the country dirt lane. 

The field. 

"Sadie!" I moved forward,

single-minded intent.

Uncaring of the passing of time,

I tore through the crushed row of corn. 

Refusing to suck into the vortex 

Of nerves and excitement, 

The extra pounding in my heart,

I raced chest-first, 

my steps masking any other sounds.

"Sadie!"

I tripped, hard. 

Eating bone-dry dirt. 

Hands gripping fallen husks, 

battered ears of what would soon be bi-colored corn,

I took a beat to adjust…

To suddenly being prone.

The weight of books on my back, 

Crushing my spine,
Pressed me deep

Into that no-moisture-in-sight 

ground. 

Feeling the tentacle of pain radiate up my foot, 

I drew in a shuddering breath.

The sting of tears hit, 

A burning fire one palm, 

I sucked in another

shaky inhale of –

Insert full-body scream 

even as my brain yelled, 

Fuck!

Don't think at 11, I didn't yet know that word. 

Come on now.

I'd screamed it at The Mother that winter,

Or was it summer,

I was 9. 

I knew it intimately. 

I saw the buttons it pushed. 

I loved it completely

Those four little letters

That could get a reaction

Quicker than a match can catch fire.

Words,
I discovered early on

Had power.

And in this second, 

eyes no longer capable of blinking,

Frozen wide,

it's what came to mind 

Yet again...

As I took in the black mound before me.

Fuck.

The blood, 

There was blood.

Not a puddle, 

But enough that I instinctively knew 

So not good. 

But even as I felt this was bad, 

Very-very-bad, 

I felt bone-crushing relief flood me gut-deep. 

This black leather-skin was not my Sadie... 

But a human being... 

And by the looks of things, 

he, she, it

Was quite possibly dead. 

Favoring my right foot, 

I crawled to my knees, 

One dirty hand smearing the tears 

I couldn’t stop from streaming unchecked 

down my baby-fat cheeks...

Should I stay or should I go now?

I'd heard that anthem somewhere.

A tune now played on red-alert in my mind. 

The beat of my heart keeping dedicated time. 

Shock wearing off, 

Like I'd stripped out of a too-tight shirt,

I leaned back....  

And took it all in. 

A man. 

Had to be. 

He was long.

Laying on his back, 

As though stargazing, 

But the stars had long been chased by a coming dawn. 

I heard the engine and didn't even bother to make a run for that bus. 

This was better than a ride to school.

Better than a day in a classroom. 

Even if the sight before me 

scared me 

more than my recent 

first day at a brand new 

black vs white school. 

I shrugged out of my backpack

And pulled down my shirt, 

Wondering if I should run back to grandma's 

And scream out 911.

I slowly crawled to my feet, 

Thinking it time to bolt.
Looking anywhere but down I saw it then.

The bike.

A big beast of metal laying on it’s side. 

The helmet just behind me. 

The thing that had tripped me

Clearly in plain sight. 

Well, that ain't good. 

Yes, an 11 year old's inner voice can be downright sarcastic. 

Give it not another thought because the only thing that mattered was what came next.

Is he even breathing?

Should I check or should I go now? 

My mind hummed as I switched out words to accommodate.

I inched closer, 

Wincing at the pain in my foot 

But sucked it up as what he'd be feeling…

Had he still been breathing– 

That's when I heard the unforgettable sound...

A rattle. 

Not that from a baby 

or a snake.. 

This came from a-deep... 

Raising all the little hairs... 

And causing my breath to catch on a sucked-up intake. 

Hold it.

Don't move. 

Deer in headlights moment if ever there was one. 

Oh poor doe, I now know how you feel. 

Glad to not be in a spotlight, 

I inched my self back.

Slowly.

Carefully.

So as not to disturb the,

shit, 

non-dead.

Stepping that throbbing right foot over the fire-engine red 

Plastic, was it? 

Thinking how stupid a color. 

I couldn't stop the pained inhale as I put my weight down. 

Starting to turn. 

"Don't... 

go..."

Never, as long as I live, 

Would I forget those barely-there words... 

The rasp, 

Imagined or real,

I know not, 

All I know is that I stopped. 

And took in all of him... 

Never ending legs, a simple gash on one thigh... 

The jacket, all black 

Zippers, now gleaming, 

Catching the sun's eye. 

His face was next... 

Of course, 

as that's how the body unfolds... 

But I admit I wasn't keen on seeing anything mangled... 

So gasped when all I saw was a simple red scratch,

a thick beard and startlingly thunder-cloud eyes. 

Those eyes seared through me,

Lightning bolt quick,

Called me, 

even as his hand moved.

Two of his four 

Fingers that is... 

They gave an inch-worm wiggle.

And I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt 

that that there gesture 

was a beckoning. 

A calling. 

His final shout out.

And I obeyed,

no thought.

Real inch-worms freaked me the f*ck out.

But him..?

I stumbled forward. 

Sank to my already-skinned knees

And grabbed those two fingers 

As though they were my lifeline,

Not I, his. 

That rattle shook

And I didn't back away. 

I felt it deep within and knew I had to simply 

stay. 

"Thank–"

A single tear raced a hot path down my cheek matching the one pooling in his. 

His eyes were stormy-clear.

His gaze, laser-focused. 

I found my voice. As that’s what you do. Introduce me to you. 

"I'm..."

"...angel."

At any other time, a snort would have been my reply,

but who was I to deny.

So I sat and held hands with death... 

On a muggy start of a brand-new-day. 

I shared a story, 

long after the light faded 

not from the sky

but from those burned-into-my-memory eyes... 

I sang to him, 

Amazing Grace... 

Figuring a Footloose soundtrack hit

not the best choice... 

Suddenly thankful the music, at least,

made those hard pews,

Fire and brimstone preaching

Plus, all the hoop-la

worth my Sundays…

And Wednesday nights.

But later, when humming... 

"Holding on for a hero till the morning light…”

I knew he'd always be my hero,

as he showed me no fear... 

in the face of 

His demise. 

And even as the last breath left him,

he remained. 

Watching over me

Watching over him. 

I heard it.

A whisper of wind. 

I felt it... 

The rustle of air on the back of my neck 

In the stillness of the dead-less-air day... 

"Mateo..."

His parting gift... 

A name? 

His name? 

It mattered not... 

For his true gift was showing me

his light, 

his essence 

him... 

As he emerged, tall 

In a kaleidoscope of all the colors

A song of all the sounds

And smiled. 

I stayed... 

he faded.

I stayed,

holding his solid fingers in mine

even as they grew cool... 

And felt the warm of him radiate  

down

over

through

all 

of

me.

They found me.

Farmers.

They wanted to move me.

I bared my teeth.

An image of poor-missing Sadie, 

my guide. 

One stayed. 

Watching.

Watchful.

One left. 

Nervous.

Then came the lights.

Red and blue. 

All

the

noise.

Disturbing what was.

Pulled away, I was.

He, taken away. 

Wrapped in a hug. 

A blanket. I was.

Him, not so much. 

But I held on...

To the truth within. 

I knew something profound 

Had shaken loose

A part of me. 

As I was led away, 

I heard a man say, 

"Mateo..."

And I turned,

Smiled. 

His name...

Years later, 

that word rung in my head...

Over and over and over again…

Holding on for a hero
played through my radio 

one too many times. 

And I knew.

I must have been 16 at the time.

Google not yet a thing, 

but I was resourceful...

And found a way…

Mateo, 

God's Gift. 

The power of a signal word

Whispered from beyond

Time.

Space.

Place. 

💜

---

One Hour Does Have The Power To
Open Doors & Transform Your Life

---

Photo Credit: Zach Reiner @_zachreiner_

What the F*ck am I Writing Today: How To Be Committed

Today reminds me that even though I am a writer 

A published author. 
A sought-after collaborator. 


A ghostwriter for those who can’t string words together to save their messaging lives. 

And even an award-winning wordsmith... 
Okay, I’m done tooting my own damn horn… 

I can still write sh*t. 

Even after more than 20,000,000 morning words written.  

To think every-single-word I write will be magical is snort-worthy. 

And I know this, 
even as it pains me on a day like today, 
but do you?

Do you know this?

Or do you understand it as a concept that perhaps doesn’t apply to you?
Or shouldn’t?
Oh hello, lovely Ego… there you are. 

Do you honestly think, feel, believe
that everything you do in life, 
every step taken 
is a touchdown, home-run, praise-worthy endeavor? 

For it is and it isn’t.
Ah, the lovely in between.

When you sink into this sweet spot, 
So much is possible.  

Yet, if you keep searching 
for that moment 
where it all comes together 
into happily-ever-after perfection, 
think again. 

As I don’t mean to be a downer 
but that is a Hollywood, 
or is it a Disney, 
ending that is but a dream. 

A falsehood 
that keeps people 
unhappy, stuck, 
expecting life 
to be different 
then it is. 

To finally get better 
when they get there, 
when they get it, 
when they are worthy 
of that happy ending. 

Instead of seeing life as simply a series of steps each and every day, 
there is this misconception of a finish line, 
a destination where someone yells BINGO, 
the golden buzzer sounds 
and glitter (along with cold-hard-cash) falls from the proverbial sky. 

Plus that guy, or gal, 
sweeps you off your feet 
and plants a kiss on you 
that you feel 
as a full-body shiver 
all-the-way up and down 
to your toes... 

As they curl… 
Hmmm, delicious. 

Well, I call bullshit. 

And nope, 
I don’t apologize 
for that bucket of arctic water 
tossed on the fantasy-land-of-you 
because when you get this message, 
when you embody this, 
all changes. 

When you too call bullsh*t on those fantasy beliefs 
that may look divine 
through a looking-glass 
of rose-colored glasses
but are actually a lie…

Your path forward will become crystal clear. 

Just like today is a bullsh*t writing day for me. 

And I’m good with it. 

See life is about all the mis-steps, 
not only the #wins. 

It’s being solid, grounded, planted, 
rooted firm in you,
in those messy moments in-between.

Being okay with the stumbles, 
The words that don’t ring quite right.
Don’t jump off my page in utter delight. 

Knowing that you are f*cking enough anyway 
and not retreating 
not giving it meaning 
not reverting back to stories 
that have whispered dialogue 
in your head 
that goes something like... 

Loser. 
See, can’t get anything right?
What the hell is wrong with you?
What are you? Stupid! 
OMG, why can’t I get this.
What am I doing wrong? 
Life is out to get me. 
I’m so broken. 
I hate this. 
I suck. 
This blows.
I hate my life. 
What the hell is wrong with me? 

Words that resound on a cellular level and pull a being down, down, down. 

Into a quicksand of fear, procrastination, perfectionism, self sabotage, imposture-is-me syndrome… 

Ah, I remember those days for they taught me much. 

That spiral into the darkest despair. 
That oh-so-popular dance, done solo.

You know the one, 
Two steps in, rock that beat, 
Five steps back, scurry back you rat-tat-tat.

I could have gone this route today, 
Dropped this beat,
One as known to me as the passing of time.

And the old me would have, 
but hell-to-the-no, 
I took a rock-steady beat,
gave it no meaning other than

Hmm, curious, is it not? 

When I am curious, I step out of judgement, as the two can not live hand-in-hand. 

Being curious, brings me JOY and if you know me at all, you know this is my highest value. 

When JOY goes, I topple like Humpty Dumpty who sat on the wall, watching the world go bye-bye-bye, before he took a great fall. 

Know thyself and what unplugs your spark and you will solve the riddle of you.

For knowledge of this nature gives you power to never again extinguish your light.

And allows you to understand, 
without question or doubt, 
that a step forward, 
each and every day, 
even on those days you want to pull up the covers 
or stomp your foot and shout hell-to-the-no-no-no!

Is what rights your very world. 

When you catch the fact that the Journey Of You 
is actually what brings J.O.Y. into your life 

And not from some guru-spouted, 
Netflix Original created destination, 
you find freedom so luscious, so sweet 
you’ll be on fire to hop, skip and jump your way forward, 
even on a day such as this. 

A day where my first typed words were...

I don’t want to write today. 
What an interesting thought, is it not? 
Because literally, I AM A WRITER. 

And each day, I have a morning routine that sees me pounding out 2,500 words before I even begin my work day. I will write more on this soon.

And writing to me, is so not work. 

Yet, today, for some strange twist of fate, I sit before my MacBook Pro and begin to type out words of Know Thyself, a post I was considering, and nothing feels quite right. 

I simply don’t want to write. 
New. 
Strange. 
As I can never remember feeling this way. 
Ever. 

I did not ask why? 

I did not bemoan my fate. 

I simply kept on typing until these here words came out… For what you read today is what came to me today, on this day of publication. 

As yes, I am still a work in progress and love-to-hate the last-minute rush. 

And isn’t it delicious that it happens right when I rebranded my site from my name to The JOYful Writer?

Let’s speak to that right there, for suddenly I know myself so well, that to call myself The JOYful Writer, is like Cinderella slipping on the glass slipper made specifically for her delicate foot.

It fits. It works. It’s done. 

And that is the magic of making quick, know thyself decisions. 

I didn’t stop in judgement and question myself around why retreat from using my own name. 

I didn’t make it mean anything. 

Instead, I made a choice. 
A decision. 
Done.

My decisions are based on answering one of two questions
Does this feel light? or Does this feel heavy?
Period. 

And this one felt so light.
So free.
So delicious even. 

Whereas just 15 months ago, it was such a reach to publish anything in my name. 

Just one year ago, this idea would have tormented me with all the meaning I would have given it, all the weight, all it said about me slipping backward – again. 

Ah, the angst of it all. 
For there was much hemming and hawing, tantrums and … 

And now? 
Now, it’s just ease. 
Flow. 
Alignment. 
Meant to be. 

When something feels right, how can it be wrong?

Now that’s a loaded question if I ever did ask one.

Ah, deep thought for not feeling a desire to write. 

And yet, here I sit, writing anything. 
Allowing what comes to flow through me. 

Because I AM A WRITER. 

Period. 

And writers write.
Full. Stop.

Crap or brilliance, you be the judge, jury and executioner or one in a crowd of standing-o-s.

See my job is to put words on virtual paper and hit publish… 
My work is then done. 

If I impact one, I have won. 

This is a fun sing-along line I literally live, work, play and coach by. 

Just as when a decision is made, my work is done. 

There is no need to analyze or question or ponder or step back in doubt. 

What if your way of being was to simply step forward day-after-day after day. 

Not about getting to the destination first, 
for the destination is never clear. 

Not even when you are aligned and committed to placing one foot in front of the other. 

Clarity comes in the forward momentum of you.
Focus sharpens in the committed actions you bring to the table of your life.

The destination may be a thought, vision, dream or goal but it rarely ends up being the exact thing we aspired to.

Our idea of a destination, goal, end-point is actually so incredibly limited, it’s laughable. And yet, we get so stuck on wanting it at all costs. 

When you discover a path to releasing what that destination will look like, that’s where you allow room for magic, for possibility, for play, for JOY. 

Focusing on the end point as a curtain-call to happy is a fundamental human mistake…

So human, most get caught in this trap and then spend decades untangling the woven web of self loathing, and all-the-feelings of deep defeat. 

When you reach an understanding, an awareness, that really the destination you seek is a wrap, a full-circle journey of you

And actually lies, resides, within, then you will know true freedom. 

When you end that cycle of stepping up, stepping out or retreating in 

And simply go within…

Well, bells will ring on the cellular level of you and welcome you home. 

So imagine for one hot sec, if I’d put down my fingertips, closed my MacBook Pro and decided today just not to write. 

Not to honor my commitment to the word count, for that’s what writing is all about. 

What would that have cost me? To break my own vow…
What would that have cost you, dear reader, not receiving this message… 

Where in your life are you considering not showing up?
Have you once considered the ripple effect of that choice?

If these words have impacted you, leave me a comment and do give them a share so we may spread the message loud and clear. 

The message is simple.

Take a step today with grace, with JOY, with ease and simple allow. 

I could have easily called it a day and chosen to listen to the voice within of you suck, you have nothing to say.

It’s a quiet voice now, but still there upon a rare occasion… 

So consider what you may want to give into today simply because it feels hard or doesn’t feel quite right… 

Honor your commitment, if it’s in your highest and greatest good, and you will know when it is, my friend, and when you are just making an excuse. 

Those are two very different energies… and all is energy, is it not? 

Because in honoring your commitment, that thing you said you would do above all else, you make that internal sh*thead voice smaller and less likely to mess with you in the future. 

It’s in these moments of resistance your truth, brilliance, and you can shine out. 

When your impact will be truly felt. 

---

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Live Your Most Delicious Life Now, Here’s How (Part 3)

Last week, I shared Part 1 and Part 2 of this series on what I believe is a true pandemic in the lives of so many.

Getting ready to get ready 

You know, that way of being where you don’t do that thing you want to do, feel called to do or love to do.

Instead you wait, maybe for permission.
Or maybe to learn that next thing you know will get you there.

Where exactly...I bet you’d be hard pressed to define. 

And heck, maybe you’ve been stuck in this way of being for so very long that you have forgotten any other way of showing up…

Have lost touch with your truth
Your default setting. 
Your JOY.

So let’s dive into the finale of this series and start with a short recap…

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JOY-Subscriber, login in now to access your audio recording.

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PART 3

Imagine if you could be childlike in your daily life. 
Not afraid to fail. 
Not worried about succeeding.
Not seeking approval. 
Not concerned with what others may think. 
Not looking to and fro wanting to know if this or that move is okay. 

That, lovely, is called freedom and is the path to you discovering, creating and living Your Most Delicious Life. 

Grab life by the reins and ride the hell out of it,
Boldly,
Beautifully, 
Unapologetically. 

Because when you do, that’s when you are fully alive.

When you get back to your truth,
Your baby-like roots of JOY,
Of fearlessness,
Of curiosity,
Of all…

Life works.

You may not remember when you took that first step, as a wee-one, but let me just clue you in…

It wasn’t pretty.
It wasn’t perfect.
I was wobbly as hell.

Complete with giggles,
And perhaps a clap of delight.

It wasn’t born out of a need to get it right
It wasn’t done because another told you, you may
Hell to the double no, no no.

It was your birthright.
So you dared
To go big
To play full out.

You didn’t get all up in your head.
You didn’t judge
You didn’t bemoan
You didn’t have a story of why you can’t – yet.
You didn’t have a tale of not enough - yet.

Instead, you screwed it up.
Royally.
Again
And again.
And again.  

Until one day, you did it for-real, 
rock-steady like, 
Confident.

Suddenly you got some Bob Fosse, 
All That Jazz, 
moves happening
Along with curtain calls
And standing-O-s.

See one day 
a leg moved, 
independent from the other. 
Not planned. 
Just happened,
in a moment of absolute flow. 

As all good things do, yo.

OMG, if you don’t catch that,
I may have to come to your word-screen
and give you a shake to and fro.

When you allowed 
this limb to go that way 
that hand to reach out this way, 
there was movement 
other than rock-a-bye-baby 
on the blanketed floor. 

And from that space, place, grace… 
a rock became a crawl, 
a crawl became an unsteady balancing act 
upon the balls of tiny feet,
Fat toes curled in 
and one day a step forward 
and a crash and burn, 
bum-to-floor. 

Priceless. Brilliant. Beautiful. 

There was no looking around for solutions
There was no class to enroll in.
No certification required. 

There was no self-critiquing
No feels of failure.

There was a mom or a dad or another, 
slightly larger being
there to inspire, model, motivate… 

As we naturally learn by modeling, 
do we not?

By listening and watching 
when we are so equipped
But never judging.

At least, not until we get too-smart for our britches.
And then game over on that #true way of being. 

Never first asking
May I pretty please try?

Nope, we go for it. 
No holding back. 
When the time is right. 

It’s not a set time. 
This exact moment. 
That exact second. 
For all baby boys and baby girls. 

It’s not choreographed or mapped out.
There is no flowchart 
Syllabus 
Outline 
Ten step – ha! – plan 
To follow.

There is a knowing within.
A push as old as time. 
And it’s still within you. 

To think it is not is the very definition of domestication. 
Something we think, 
in the West, 
is only put upon animals –
by humans. 

Simply sink into the fact that you lost touch with your natural knowing just as a dog lost touch with its once-natural desire to hunt, kill, run wild. 

But that’s a convo for another time.

As in this moment, 
it’s all about the fact 
that as a tiny human, 
You were once tuned into your #truth. 

No, “Oops, you missed it. Times up. You, little one, don’t get to crawl, as you’re late to your mark!” 

Nope. It’s so unique,
The path we are meant to take,
to each and every little, slobbering baby... 
the perfect time to do that thing, 
a beat instinctually known…

And yet as we stop slobbering 
and often lose the cute factor
We receive less praise
And more critiques. 

We create walls to protect ourselves as
We learn others are watching
And they aren’t always giving Standing-O-s.

As we look around, 
With more false-awareness, 
We see a reality 
That has a harsh judging bite. 

And for some we ache
to return to the giggles.

The claps
The praise
The feel good vibes
And so we strive.

We also tend to forget
That the answers are within. 

Just as those before forgot 
And thus pass down 
the teachings they too were taught. 

Not out of spite
But from a lack of true-awareness. 

That it matters not what another thinks.

That there is no perfect time 
to take that first step.

That it matters not if we fall face down
As long as we get back up,
Brush ourself the f-off 
And call it a TouchDown. 

A TouchDown on the scoreboard of your life. 

What if you saw each stumble, 
each yard traveled
As a mark, a point
On an invisible board of you.

Not good. Not bad. 
A simple dash will do.

For that’s all it is. 

Points that can serve you, 
Teach you, 
Honor you. 

Or a mark that deducts
from who you are being
In the eyes of another. 
Because you care that they see you fall. 

Here’s a secret.
We all do.
Fall flat, on repeat. 

We all 
Stumble. 
Fall. 
And more than anyone knows.

And the true grit, message, test is in
How you react.
What you make it mean.
What weight you give that fall, 
in the moment, and beyond.

How you allow it to have your back
As you step forward with data, 
those points on the scoreboard of you, 
as your guide...

Or weight your ass down, 
a ball-and-chain,
A mistake, 
Error…

OMG, catastrophe of epic proportions that grows and grows and becomes one of many eyes in the storm that is your life. 

If you’re ready to let that old-tired, former way of being go, be sure to check out Part 4, the finale of this series, a section that was first published on Elephant Journal on February 9, 2021. 

It’s where you can discover just how rewarding is it to...

What follows was first published on Elephant Journal On February 9, 2021. 

Take a play from the playbook of your infancy and stop giving what was a moment’s thought. 

Take a rule 
from the manual of life 
we never receive in writing 
that literally shouts, 
the answers are within.

And run down the field of your life, free. 
Play on the stage of your life, with JOY. 
Dance as though no one is watching, 
and mean it. 

As you get one damn shot, 
and to waste it, well…
That too is a choice.

To keep getting ready to live it, well…
That now seems silly, does it not? 

When my clients ask me, What should I do? 
My first thought and response, 
Who am I to say?

If you do nothing else this crazy-year,
consider asking yourself
and only yourself
what should I do? 

And then do what you hear? 

And when you hear nothing, 
don’t judge it, 
just ask again tomorrow. 

Just like you didn’t learn to roll over in one day, crawl in an hour or walk your fine self out of the womb on un-shaky legs…

Now wouldn’t that be one for the medical journals! 

You can’t expect that inner voice of you to wake up and shout answers at you like a preacher on the pulpit of your life overnight. 

What would be possible if you dropped the need for instant gratification? 

What would happen
If you gave yourself grace, space 
and spent your time 
listening for the answers within, 
not condemning 
or looking outside yourself?

If you are feeling me right now, I’d invite you to keep reading because this is a pandemic more depressing than the one forcing us to stand 6-feet apart and mask-up. 

The choices we make 
to play small, stay safe, 
to do the thing that will pay the bills first, 
learn the skill another thinks is the best path…

That may just be what’s keeping you stuck, unhappy and lost. 

And I’m here to say it doesn’t have to be that way. 

When I stopped getting ready and instead owned up to what I’m meant to do, the flood gates opened. 

I often tell my clients to stop pushing on the pull door of life. 

Meaning, if your dream is to write a book the only way that will happen is to sit down and write. 

Meaning, if your dharma is to help animals heal, then start today for those needy little furballs are everywhere.

Meaning, if your dream is to make money, then own it and end the talk, the thoughts of poverty and debt, lack and but how?...

All starts with a thought. 

For a baby, it wasn’t planned but instinctual. Tap back into that. 

No, don’t think about it. 
No, don’t ponder it.
No, don’t put it off.
No, don’t sink into those self-defeating thoughts of 
who am I to talk about that? 
write that?
do that thing? 

Imagine if you show up in life
with a little baby-drool
on your chinny-chin-chin
and know with ga-ga-grace
that you are perfectly imperfect just as you are. 

I created a video of my own perfectly imperfect journey over the last two years that may just inspire you and show you what’s possible when you simply choose to stop getting ready and instead simply choose to do that thing you so want to do in this life. 

What if you had enough confidence to say f-it? 
To just stand up
Take that first step, 
Or heck, bloody crawl, if need be. 

The only thing holding you back is you… 
Harsh, but true.

Your thoughts. 
You. 

Change your thoughts and you change your life. 

If you want to see this in action, press play on this video share. It encompasses a now-version and a past-version of me.

See even though I am a writer, 
I was afraid to share my words as me. 

So many stories of low self-worth, 
lack of confidence, 
not believing I was worthy enough 
to take up space 
let alone speaking… 

I mean seriously, who was I anyway?!

And then something shifted… 
Because I am me. 
The only one on this planet. 
In this moment. 
One of a kind. 
And no one can tell me that is an accident. 

So, I took a step forward, 
and another and another…

And man, have I stumbled 
over the past two years 
of stepping into the spotlight of me.

And guess what?

It’s been fabulous… 
Because in doing so I am creating 
My Most Delicious Life. 

Can you say the same for yourself? 

Leave me a comment and share. I want to know.

And be sure to get on my JOYnotes email list if you liked these words, as I send more of them out weekly. 

If this read inspired you, moved you, encouraged you, do consider giving it a heart and a share on your social media channels and tag your friends. 

You never know who these words may impact because you allowed them to be seen. 

A section of this piece was first published on Elephant Journal and can be found right here. 

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Photo Credit: Ahmad Odeh @aoddeh

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Discover Your Most Delicious Life Now, Here’s How (Part 2)

Last week, I posted on social and wrote about getting ready to get ready.

Yesterday, I posted on this topic and how it can hold one back from creating a most delicious life and today I want to pull the thread a bit harder and call attention to the three things that might be sticking points in your life…

If you’re anything like I was just two short years ago…
If you’re anything like the amazing creatives I work with on a daily basis. 

You’ll wanna dive in fully.

Missed the first words in this series? Go get your 5 minute read on here. It’s worth starting this word-share at the beginning. 

Discover Your Most Delicious Life,
Here’s How – Part 2

It’s time to dive into what I first spoke of last week… a pandemic more vicious than the one we are currently surrounded by. 


The claws of this dis-ease come from within… from how we see life, think about ourselves, feel about our situation.


Let’s chat on those three things for a hot second. To sum them up in headlines, they are:


Waiting for Permission, Fear of Judgement and Believing Failure is Bad


Let’s dish on that permission one first. Because it might just be holding you back like it once did me and so many others I know. 


Travel back a moment. Way back and imagine yourself…

---

Sorry To Interrupt, Fabulous…

As It Was Just Warming Into Delicious…

I want to keep this short and sweet as I know you were about to get your read on with my words. And I appreciate that, your time and your interest, which is why I have to press pause for a second. 

Already A JOY-Subscriber and want to keep reading? Login Here, Sexy
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And So Much More JOY-Vault Content Today!

Plus, gain access to what everyone is talking about…word-JOY!

If, In 2019, You Told Me…

I’d suddenly be writing, as me, after hiding my skills behind ghost-projects, collaborations and numerous pseudonyms, I would have snort-laughed (in your face) and walked away. 

Not because I’m that rude, but simply because to write, as me, has been so far out of my reality of what is possible that it would never have even computed.

See, I’ve spent a good 30 years perfecting the art of hiding in plain sight and I share this because maybe you can relate. 

Maybe you too have not stepped fully into your own slice of sunlight, taken complete control of penning your own life-design, perhaps done what others have expected and you’ve landed here seeking something. 

Answers… Clarity… More JOY…
Or simply to be entertained by some uplifting words.

Whatever brought you here, thank you for taking the time.

I want you to read my words. All of them... and that’s a new feeling for me.
And dare I say uncomfortable. 

Yet, when we are uncomfortable, we grow…
When we find JOY, we expand…
When we laugh, we absorb… 

Which leads me to why I’m interrupting your read just when you were sinking into your flow.

Hey there, I’m Jill

And Words Are My SuperPower

I didn’t learn to read words till I was nine… And once I did, and found something delicious to sink into, it was on…

When I discovered my first purple pen… And that I could write words, create stories and share anything I desired…

Well, it was so on that I wrote my first 100-page story in 6th grade, making the teacher wait until I finished the very last line of that very-last-page.

Her words, when she handed the pile of pages back to me a week later… “Never stop.”

Some people say I’m woo woo. Other people say my words changed their life. Read on and decide for yourself.

But hey, don’t take me too seriously…

The Only Question Is
Are You Ready
To Receive More JOY In Your Life?

If The Answer Is Yes,
Join The JOY-Family Right Now. 

And when you do, please leave me a comment below so I can say hello!

Joining Takes Less Than 90 Seconds

---

Discover Your Most Delicious Life Now, Here’s How (Part 2)

Last week, I posted on social and wrote about getting ready to get ready.

Yesterday, I posted on this topic and how it can hold one back from creating a most delicious life and today I want to pull the thread a bit harder and call attention to the three things that might be sticking points in your life…

If you’re anything like I was just two short years ago…
If you’re anything like the amazing creatives I work with on a daily basis. 

You’ll wanna dive in fully.

Missed the first words in this series? Go get your 5 minute read on here. It’s worth starting this word-share at the beginning. 

Discover Your Most Delicious Life,
Here’s How – Part 2

It’s time to dive into what I first spoke of last week… a pandemic more vicious than the one we are currently surrounded by. 


The claws of this dis-ease come from within… from how we see life, think about ourselves, feel about our situation.


Let’s chat on those three things for a hot second. To sum them up in headlines, they are:


Waiting for Permission, Fear of Judgement and Believing Failure is Bad


Let’s dish on that permission one first. Because it might just be holding you back like it once did me and so many others I know. 


Travel back a moment. Way back and imagine yourself as a tiny, little baby… 


No one magically granted you the rights to first roll over onto your tummy, then one day push yourself up as you wiggled, rocked and swayed to your own unsteady beat.


You didn’t raise a little hand in the air and wave it like you just did care, internally begging pretty please, may I.


You didn’t wait for a crystal-ball moment from someone outside yourself to say, “Okay son, now’s your time. One-two-three, roll. And all will be well.”


Heck to the no-no-no. You listened to nothing other than a knowing within that now was the time.


Did you catch that?


I sincerely hope so because we have become a people so held hostage by an educational system that may mean well, but fails us on so many levels. 


A system that teaches the student to wait for permission before taking a step, going potty, starting an exam, entering a door, even speaking up and having an original opinion until suddenly we are so conditioned to wait, that we grow up waiting for some unknown force to wave us forward in life. 


Here’s the dilemma. 


Just like no one gave you permission to roll, 
then crawl 
then walk... 
No one is going to deem 
now is your time to succeed.


To do that thing you feel called to do. 
To say, you got this! 
To give you a gold star after taking your first step.
To wave a reward for achieving the next step forward. 


Go back to that moment.

You were untrained in the ways of life,
of society.

Un-educated in how life is supposed to work…


Go back, just for a beat. 
Even if you can’t quite remember your adorable self... 


Feet in the air, 
palms cupping soles, 
rocking and coo-ing 
in your own happy zone. 


You can picture it, if not your own self, can you not? 


See as a baby...
you simply found your rhythm.

No struggle. No striving.


First rocking on your back 
until suddenly you gained enough momentum.


But never by asking for permission.


And suddenly 
you were on your belly.
A new view. 
A new balancing act. 
Because you dared to follow your own gut.


An endless stretch of moments of you in play.
In JOY.
In exploration. 


Listening to no one other than your own self. 
Your inner knowing to rock, 
To laugh
To raise your head or arch your back.
To inch in a knee.
To check out your own fingers 
with glee. 


Soon it became 
bum in the air, 
uncaring of the spectacle-of-you 
and not worried in the least 
what the larger-than-life people 
all around you were doing. 


How often can you say you care nothing of what another thinks of you in the now?


When you care about another
over your inner instinct,
you have now entered the danger zone…

Fear of Judgement, number two on our most debilitating list. 


I mean, could you see yourself, 
as an adult, 
not a cute-as-pie baby, 
laying on the floor– 
in public 
for ten minutes straight..?


Uncaring of what others might say... 
Or God forbid, 
Think. 


Unafraid of the judgy looks and whispered words, the points, the stares, the spectacle of you?


I recently did this and it was mind-blowing on so many levels. Read all about it here.


As a child,
you never thought about judging another,
Or another judging you,
until suddenly it was brought to your attention
that you should care. 


That burden that comes with a Fear of Judgement can stop us in our tracks.


Allows you to sabotage yourself over and over again until you’re so exhausted you may actually believe you’re a failure. 


Sound familiar? 


To rediscover the child-like-wonder of not caring what others will think should be the goal…


Not a focus on another tool, service, certificate or guru to listen to. 


A rekindling of not caring about the masses, even as the use of social media climbs and influencer status is the dream for so many. 


Influencer of what? When you care what others think of you... 

Hmm….
Now that’s a shaky foundation upon which to build. More tentative than the pudgy, oh-so-cute, legs that once supported you in your sole desire to roll over, to crawl. 


Where is your focus, your attention?


If on what others will say, 
that is a sure path to Misery Way.


If on your dream, on you, hmm, 
Delicious Drive comes to mind. 


There is such freedom in no longer caring what another will think of you because your focus is on your target. 


Just as it was as an intuitive, little diaper-clad drooler. 


A plan, a mission, a vision and even when you slipped, you got up and did it again… 


Because you naturally believed in 100% possible 100% of the time. 


When you failed, 
To roll. 
You hoisted yourself up...
inched your small self forward.


Maybe it was with a giggle of delight.
Perhaps with a scream of frustration.

Possibly even with a look 
to the right, 
to left, 
Waiting for your spotlight moment to shine… 
Searching for another to model…


The point is you never stopped… 
Hell to the no. 


Instead, you did the thing on repeat. 


Over and over again.
No blame
No shame
No self criticism of sucky baby.


You didn’t wait for a Monday. 
The first of a calendar month. 
A new year to start.
And what? 
Wash the slate of failure clean.


You had no concept of failure.
Only your ability to do, do again. 


To feel happy, 
To sink into mad,
To experience frustration,
To play in amused.
To be entertained
To entertain.


The key is you didn’t spend time getting ready to do that crawl, 
thinking about the possibility of succeeding 
or, gasp, failing. 


You never allowed yourself to get sucked into the trap of over-thinking, over-analyzing, looking outside yourself for the path forward.


You took a step, 
or a quarter inch in this case 
and called it a #win.


Because it was. 


All steps are just that,
Wins to celebrate.
To think differently is asinine. 
A lie.


And yet Fear of Failure is the third thing we are taught and choose to buy into that keeps us trapped, miserable, less-than. 


You simply stopped your cute, quivering lip,
Sucked in a breath,
Pushed your arms up 
in a delightful frog-pose 
again and again and again. 


Until your knees inched in 
and your weight balanced 
with an imperfect sway
A mini child’s pose, 
hence the yogi name.


Sometimes you’d miss the mark 
and end up nearly downward doggy-dogging it, 
arms outstretched, 
slipping slipping… 
ahhh, splat. 


Can we not call that a cobra, dear one? 


Not a yogi? 
No matter. 


You recognize the baby-moves, 
do you not? 


Even if you do not remember them in your own first goes of movement, they are as natural to each and all as breathing in and out.


And the rewards 
of simply doing the thing 
a baby is called to do...
Brought the laughter, 
The clapping of big hands,
And made your spotlight of failure a delight 
not a harsh judging bite. 


Imagine if you turned failure into your b*tch.
Stopped giving it your power 
but made it your own personal rope course of life. 


Fall and simply call it a touchdown. 
No judging. 
No bemoaning. 
No thinking life is out to get you.


Simply one dash,
A bit of data,  
Recorded in one column 
Of many 
That make up the seasons of your life. 


You did this as an infant… 
That first attempt to stand–
Utter failure.


Yet, you gave it not a second thought.


You gave it a go again and again.
For some it was two attempts to stand…not.
For another it was forty attempts before it took.


What follows next was the same. 
A step. 
And then a fall. 


And for each accomplishment
and splat there is but one dash. 
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
No weight, power, belief but what you give it. 

And as a wee-one,
You gave it nothing more than a JOYful snort.

A giggling laugh.
A clap of delight.
A cry of achievement.

A scream of rage, just for a beat.
A roar of frustration, but only for a quick second.

Then back to your default setting –
JOY.

Imagine if you could be childlike in your daily life. 
Now.

Not afraid to fail. 
Not worried about succeeding.
Not seeking approval. 
Not concerned with what others may think. 
Not looking to and fro wanting to know if this or that move is okay. 


That, lovely, is called freedom and is the path to you discovering, creating and living Your Most Delicious Life. 


And next week I want to share more on just what a most delicious life truly is and how to grab it by the reins and ride the hell out of it. 


Because when you do, that’s when you are fully alive.

It’s a Wednesday Words share, Part 3, so book a date with your fine self because after 24-hours, that read will be locked down for the JOY-Family to read. 

Or simply invest in your natural setting and add more JOY into your life today. Become a JOY-Subscriber now and access all the words. 

It takes 90 seconds and is less than 191 pennies a week. Seriously, what’s more JOY worth in your world? 

Photo Credit: Isaac Quesada @isaacquesada