R-E-S-P-E-C-T

This picture has nothing to do with this post...*smile*

If you don't respect yourself ain't nobody gonna give a good cahoot na na na na

-The Staple Singers

So as you all know in addition to being a Prada ogling, meditation sitting, self help book reading, Clueless quoting, miracle believing, crystal using, ya mama joke telling, spirit junkie, I am also a writer. I wasn't always a writer but I always wrote and from that intense desire to express myself through words and such I have carved a career path in journalism out of a BS in textiles and apparel merchandising. 

Following my passion from part time hobby blogger to real live writer has been a struggle, emotionally and financially. I know we're in the midst of a big fat R-word but that really has nothing to do with me struggling as a writer. Just yesterday I met a girl my age who went to a college I never heard of in Tennessee and has a job in the photo department at Vanity Fair, and the lovely girl who came from Theory's corporate office to help us shut down our store is only 2 yrs older than I am. So the recession doesn't have damn thing to do with me not having a job that fulfills my need to capitalize on being a natural born communicator and my bank account. It really only has to do with me knowing my worth and politely demanding that others acknowledge it as well. Or as Cartman would say, "Respect my authority!!"

Hair color & a Macbook cost $$$ so we know she's getting paid some way

Case in point, after finishing a great internship at a nationally circulated pregnancy mag based in Atlanta instead of only settling for another internship in publications or a job assisting a stylist, I went back to what I knew and got a job in retail. Fast forward a few more years, and every year I say "This is the last holiday I'll be spending in the mall," and every year I apply for shitty mall jobs while I write for fee ad nauseam. This past year I put my foot down and said hell to the no to picking up more free gigs only to pick up more free gigs because that is what I thought my writing was worth, $0. Really? I spend at least an hour or two a week researching blog posts, then another hour or three writing them only to have another clip to my name that does not fill my closet or my fridge. Do you think Carrie Bradshaw worked for free? She at least got paid in store credit with all of the French and Italian names chillaxing in her closet in her rent controlled apartment on the Upper West Side. I'm sure the thought never even occurred to her that she should NOT be paid for her work.  Actually, I don't know anyone who has any kind of job that thinks they should not get paid for what they do. Even interns think they should get paid for schlepping. So why the heck did I think I shouldn't get paid, well to be more accurate why did I behave as though I thought I shouldn't get paid? That grasshopper is quite simple; I didn't feel good enough.

I didn't feel like I could compete with the Poor Little It Girls of Atlanta and for damn sure New York because I didn't have daddy's money, scratch that their daddy's money, or the right degree or I wasn't a 5'2" blonde with an always sunny disposition and a pair of Louboutins. I was/am the perfect balance of Beyonce's sass, Carrie's fashion addiction, Zooey Deschanel's quirky girl behavior but less annoying, with Daria's love for books and sarcasm  balanced by J Lo's ass...oh and I carry a YSL downtown tote in charcoal. Basically, I'm not that different from those girls, I only thought I was. So as of today, no more of that! I deserve to be paid exactly what I'm worth and I won't settle for anything less than that. I also have decided to start dressing like I deserve to be paid exactly what I'm worth...I'm not really sure what that means but when I find out I'll tell you. 

As for writing, I've scaled back on the free work and will only be accepting PAID postions to build my shoe collection one check at a time : )

What Spiritual Looks Like

This blog post about my work with my spiritual gangster and clairvoyant healer Kindra Gans--bomb dot com girl-and getting through this crazy "break up" thingie. It was originally posted on HerFuture.com where it took on a life of it's own and became a Blog We Dig the week I posted. 

At the end of September/the beginning of October, I was becoming a little too well acquainted with the fibers that make up my carpet after one too many nights balled up on the floor crying myself sick. In my darkest moment I cried out for some kind of help, because I knew there had to be a better way and a few weeks later the universe answered my call when my co-worker gave me the info for a psychic she'd just met on the set of a photoshoot. Initially skeptical I took the information and was surprised when I found myself dialing her number during my lunch break the next day and setting up and appointment for the minute I got off of work. I needed healing and answers and as far as I knew she had them.

On the 10 minute drive from work to her office I felt my heart racing. I kept replaying the last and only time I'd ever seen a "psychic" in my life and knew that if this went anything like that did, I would be wasting my time and money. You see the last time I saw a "psychic" was almost ten years ago when i was a freshman in college and someone brought in palm readers for a program on campus. These dark haired, vaguely middle eastern women had rings on every finger, layers of necklaces, dark chiffon tops, and basically looked like Kim Kardashian meets Stevie Nicks with a thick accent. They didn't tell me anything worthwhile and one tried to get my friend to pay her $300 to remove a dead fetus from her or something like that. Anyway, I was completely prepared for this girl to be a bit full of it when I went to see her but a tiny voice kept pushing me--a tiny calm voice and my intense desire to never let anyone down.

I parked my car in the lot in front of her offices and was surprised to see a very beautiful, normal, well adjusted 20 something meet me at the door and walk me back to her room. This girl was NOT the psychic I was used to. her office was devoid of spooky strange stuff, like beaded curtains and scarves over the lamps, and was super normal. There was a desk, office chairs, a few pictures on the wall, her degree and certificates for completing training as a clairvoyant healer. I sat across from her and without telling her too much she read my soul and saw me broken and weeping on the floor. She also saw a lot of  other things and told me everything I needed to know to begin taking the right steps to heal myself. I left feeling uplifted and knew that this situation would not kill me but that it would make me stronger.

From there I did what any normal person would do, I went home and Googled this "healer" and was a little surprised at what I saw. This super spiritually connected girl who radiated love from the inside out was talking about drinking beers at night, had pictures of her and her pals out on the town on facebook and even outed her fears of recently moving to Atlanta from San Diego and how difficult it can be to introduce yourself as an energy healer to people at networking events and one first dates. In short she was your typical 20 something, scared shitless by somethings and super confident about pretty much everything else sometimes. She was for sure was no fortune teller, nor an angel, and was far from the blissed out spiritual gurus that I thought would be hooked up to a higher power. She was a girl just like me trying to keep her shit together and using her extraordinary gift to support herself. Hmmm... The judgmental ego voice inside me whispered "You cannot trust this girl or anything she said. She's too normal and has fears and doubts and isn't any more enlightened than you are." Then a strange thing I happened, I ran into a former client turned friend of mine at the mall and we began to talk about spirituality and I told her about my healer and how she reminded me of Kendra Wilkinson (yes that Kendra from E!). She told me that just because someone has a life and a past does not discount their gift or mean that they do not have a message for you. I sat with that for a while. Then in the next few weeks I sat back and watched several things unfold pretty much exactly the way she told me they would. Soon, I made another appointment, and another, and one for my friend, and one for my mom and gave her info to my coworkers who went to see her and a former coworker who broke down in her office after she read her from head to toe in one meeting.

 Just because she has fears, says FFFF, meets guys at bars, has a hard time answering the question "What do you do?", drinks green tea for breakfast and beer for dinner and lives like every other girl under 30 that I know, does not discount any of the guidance she has given me--which has been spot on--nor does it mean that she is not spiritually hook up. Not every spiritual person is a monk and not every hot girl you meet is vapid and shallow. Sometimes your best spiritual running buddies are spiritual gangstas who read Deepak and listen to Jay Z while they do it.

 The added moral of this story is never ever judge a book by its cover, or better yet never ever judge.

 If you want more info on Kindra, check out her blog. It's funny, cute, full of advice on debunking the myths that swirl around psychics and info on how to connect with her. Although she's based in Atlanta, she does readings over the phone as well.

Gossip Folks

In the grand tradition of shining light on my not so illuminated parts--not those parts, it's too cold to shine light on them in December--I have decided to out my guiltiest pleasure and probably one of my most shadiest traits; I'm a gossip. I love talking mad shit about people. Not because I think I'm better than them or anything, actually I'm not making any kind of judgement on them when I gossip, I do it because I can. When I don't have anything nice to say, I ramble and babble and eventually mad amounts of shit comes out about everyone around me.

Usually the stuff I say is so superficial that the person I'm talking about could laugh at it--I don't consider that gossiping--but every now and then I say stuff that might upset the person if they heard it, like saying a former co-worker smells like a cat or that another former co-worker has issues with her family therefore she'll always have relationship issues. While 80% of the stuff I say is as true as saying "the sun rises in the east" who the hell am I to go around spouting my version of the truth about other people to other people?

This has been the case since I could talk, and it is pretty much best summed up by a conversation I've had with my mom way too many times to count:
Mom: "You say things that can be mean and vicious sometimes."
Me: "I'm only telling the truth."
Mom: "Who asked you?"
Hmm....good question. No one ever asks you to speak the truth all the time about everything. How rude is it to just go around with verbal diarrhea spewing your version of the truth to whomever may listen? Very, but no matter how much at-one-ment I feel with others and how much I know that everything I say about others is a judgement about myself, even if it is just an observation, I still can't break the habit. I mean I've been gossiping since I was a wee one, now I'm old enough to have my own wee ones and for sure I don't want my unborn daughters to pick up that habit.

Gossipping does not feel good, actually it does not feel any way to me. The only reason I do it is to make small talk/entertain people/ exercise my jaws....guess I should read more so that I have more interesting things to say or do as the old adage says and keep my mouth shut when I don't have anything nice, or anything at all, to say. But how boring would that be? I'll figure out soon, because starting tonight, NO MORE GOSSIP and SMALL TALK....Ummm actually starting tomorrow.

Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

I am Queen of Comparison, or at least I used to be and sometimes still am but increasingly less often than I used to be. (Whew!) Why wouldn't I be? Comparison and competition are the American way. We keep up with the Joneses and the Kardashians, speak in terms of haves and have nots and are constantly on the hunt to be good, better, and the best in every field. After years of living the American dream of being better than my neighbors, I am sooo over it!

All my life I've compared myself to someone in an effort to be deemed stringer, better, faster, smarter, prettier, and more worthwhile. I compared my past with that of girls who were living my dream of marrying their soul mate, "They're really religious that's why they're getting married," "They both have amazing jobs and me, not so much, so we can't get married until I get a great job," and my favorite, "We're way cooler than they are." I compared my resume that the resumes of other people who had jobs I dreamed of, "She went to a better/worse school than I did," "He was super involved on campus," or the best most irrelevant one, "Their parents obviously were connected and have money so that's how they got a job that someone like me deserves." I had no idea how insane I sounded comparing my life to that of total strangers.  Until I did, and trust me it wasn't hearing someone else tell me how trapped in insanity I was that let me know how things were, it was finally opening my eyes to the truth that got me right. 

There was no big "Aha!!" moment that broke my cycle of comparing every aspect about myself to everyone around me, including my friends who in the grand tradition of girls were my favorite people to compare myself to. Actually I stopped comparing myself to others when I realized that there was nothing to compare essentially. I mean, I am not any of those people and I do not need their qualifications to get anything I need in MY life. They may need their qualifications for THEIR life but the ones I need for my success are unique to me. Hence the term MY life. Seriously, you cannot measure your life against someone else's because not only is their life path completely different from yours but their soul has a totally different purpose and they probably have a different set of goals to fulfill. So if you can't compare your life to someone else's what should you compare it to? Nothing. Your life isn't good or bad, right or wrong, it just is and every experience you have shapes it into something that you could have never imagined in your wildest dreams. Even your past experiences are a poor measuring stick because you are not your past. Perhaps you were your past but you are not your past. Just live the life you have and enjoy every minute of it. That's really all you can do.