Action. The New To-Do.

Don’t just put stake in the ground, you got to stake your claim.

Stand up for what you believe in, act upon the decisions you make.

Seth Godin recently talked about Making Decisions.

As Seth said, “not make a decision is making a decision.” Same goes for not acting upon it.

It takes guts to not only have an opinion or make the decision but to act upon it. You’re putting yourself out there for skepticism, ridicule, failure. Or all three.

Learn from the mistakes. They happen whether you do anything or not.

Successful people make decisions and run with it. If it doesn’t work out of the gate, they make adjustments, fine tune their approach or revise their original position.

But  the one thing they all do?

They act.

(I totally wrote this after watching a very inspirational VH-1 Behind The Music on 50 Cents. That man is a true American Hustler. I wouldn’t step in the way of him and his next goal, that’s for sure. Then I read Seth’s post and was shamed into writing something less verbose than my usual fair. Could TheBetsy be succinct in a couple of sentences? Yes, I think she can. Cheers.)

Act Like You’ve Been There Before

A piece of sage advice.

You got to act like you’ve been there before. Play it cool baby.

New to the executive ranks? You got to act like you’ve been there before.

Huge success? You got to act like you’ve been there before.

Made an incredible save, scored the winning touchdown, won the Presidential Election?

You got to act like you’ve been there before.

Confidently cool. Touch of humble even.

This all hit home while watching an episode of MTV Cribs (before you pass judgement, I was just passing the time with the kind of crappy, questionable TV that makes me happy. So judge however you like.). I was struck by the obvious and painful bravado of the rapper Soulja Boy. Blinged out, chirping Gucci “dis an dat” (seriously this was the vernacular he used,) all he was missing was the requisite video vixens with thonged badonkadonks booty shaking and Cristal in his Pimp cup.

Honestly, I have no freakin’ clue who Soulja Boy is, nor do I care, he’s just represents a class of celebrity and personae proving my point.

Check out a snippet of Soulja Boy and you’ll get my drift:

Why?

He once said in an interview, when he first started he was pulled aside by one of his coaches after he ended a particularly brilliant catch with some in-your-face celebratory antics.  He was told to “act like you’ve been there before.” Bravado spoke rookie. When you’re superior, a touchdown is just that. A touchdown.

Originally attributed to Darrel K. Royal, the winningest coach at University of Texas Longhorn, I like to think it as truly sage advice that translates to all facets of life.  To act “like you’ve been there before” means to class up and move with scary confidence. Play it cool. It’s impressive when you meet someone who REALLY embodies this, it’s just a level of confidence that has been reinforced year over year by success.  They don’t need the trappings — a Maserati or a diamond-encrusted mouth “grill” –to show they’re important — they embody it in their demeanor and actions.  The multi-millionaire who drives himself to work and occasionally answers the phone himself. The film star who shows up consistently on time, ready to work and treats everyone with respect. The star athlete does charity work as much as he can, all without fanfare.

Now for the rest of us that are in the “fake it until you make it” category. The feint of “act like you’ve been there before” is sound advice. When success does bless us with it’s presence, it is exactly the time to play it cool. Inside you maybe go “Oh HELLL YEAH!” but channel your inner Barry Sanders for your outer demeanor. Act like you’ve been there before. They say dress for the job you want, I say act like you’re already there.

Sure there are times for celebrating: you made your first million, first billion, saved someone’s life, found the cure for cancer, after the birth of your first born (and second, and third…,) or just safely crash-landed an entire jet plane of people in the Hudson.

Until then, just play it cool.

Natural Law of the Jungle: Dirty Old Men & Gold-diggers.

You know I speak the truth. As I see and have seen it.

So here we go-

On topic with the whole David Letterman “Jeepers… I’ve Been Sleeping With Subordinates” speech (which got him crazy ratings, and millions of YouTube viewings, but that’s a whole other post.)

To think men sleep with younger women, and not only that, with younger, nubile things that work with and/or for them.

Shocking. Simply shocking!

Uhh. No, not really.

I’ve worked both in entertainment and in business,  and to say two over-the-age-of-consent co-workers having a relationship, even an affair, is soooo not shocking.

It’s boring.

Look it’s pretty much the law of nature. Men of power/wealth/stature/fame (or some combo of all of the above) can pretty much sleep with anyone and, frankly, most the time… they do. Same goes in the wild kingdom- just watch Animal Planet and a few shows about Lions and Tigers and Bears.

Alphas get the chicks.

Oh my!

We humans have our own jungle and jungle laws. Affairs like the ones David Letterman have their own currency system. Just as the man may have some combo of power/fame/or fortune, the woman usually has a similar mix of youth and beauty. Each can draw off the other so to speak.

For fun, let’s just scan a few of the more May-December couplings. A few are from work.

Clinton and Lewinsky, Trump and Maples (& now Knauss,) Clooney and [just insert model/actress], Hugh Hefner and any “blond,” a male Kennedy and etc. etc. etc.

And the girls? Let’s face it, to sleep with one’s boss for personal gain– whether it’s for their career or bling or a “Mrs.” title– is such a cliché people just assume “gold-digger” first and “wide-eyed innocent” a real distant third or fourth.

Now, sure there are some that are seduced, or fall prey to the idea that what’s actually going on isn’t just an ordinary, vanilla-type affair, but the gosh-darn real thing. Some know an affair is just that- an affair. It has a beginning, a middle and it ends. Both parties walk away friends.

I hate to point out that, as long as both parties are at least 18, no matter how smarmy the deets may be, as long as both parties truly consent it’s fair game.

And none of our business.

Let’s move on.

And it works both ways. If it didn’t,  a Mae West, an Elizabeth Taylor Hilton Wilding Todd Fischer Burton Burton Warner Fortensky or the lyrical Barbara Hutton Mdviani von Haugwitz-Reventlow Grant (as in Cary) Troubetsky Rubirosa Gottfried von Cramm Doan wouldn’t exist.

Courtesy of The New York Observer

As for this sudden uproar over David Letterman’s confession, let’s put some perspective on the situation.

David Letterman likes young women. Roman Polanski likes young girls. David Letterman probably didn’t drug any of them have sex. Roman… did.  David had affairs with adults- if it was any more, believe me we probably would have heard about it either from his arrest or via The Star. News like that is just too juicy, worth too much (hence the $2 million blackmail.) Roman Polanski, on the other hand, is a convicted criminal.

Now there’s always the possibility there’s more there than him just having affairs. The crisis PR pro in me says if there were more “there” there, the public mea culpas he did on October 1 and October 6 were brilliant. Text book. Basically “I did wrong, I’m sorry, and I will try to make amends to those I’ve hurt.” But it could also be nipping any leaks of further information or exposure by 1) arresting the blackmailer 2) turning the story focus on the who, what, where and why of the affairs not “the terrible things I’ve done” 3) He ends the mea culpa by firmly announcing he won’t talk about it again, though he does only to apologize to his wife and staff. There is always the gamble that the story could grow bigger, but the immediate to longer-term focus will be on the affairs with his female coworkers. But this is just me being my nasty cynical self.

As for public outcry for him to be “fired”… this Puritanical view that people in position of power or fame should be perfect is ridiculous. It only adds increases the likelihood of extortion- which, for someone like David Letterman would probably be monetary, but for public figure, say a Senator or President, could be of a much more serious nature, such as compromising military or state secrets or influencing public policy.

But for Letterman? As he said, “I have my work cut out for me” with respect to making amends to his wife. Not only am I sure he wants to heal the emotional rift his transgression have caused to his marriage, but I’m pretty sure that, given his the demise of his first marriage happened after similar circumstances, there’s motivation both financially and legally not to trip any prenuptial “cheat” clauses, should this marriage end as well.

‘Cause in our jungle, there’s only one thing that trumps an alpha male, it’s a killer divorce lawyer wielding an iron-clad prenup.

But again, that’s really between him, his wife, his God, and their lawyers… and  none of my damn business.

And the take-away,  just because I’ve been humming it since I typed the title…

Make Me Giddy

Picture of courtesy of Casper College

I am telling you a secret.

What makes me stupidly giddy.

I love to connect people.

I love to help.

Now I know you’re thinking…

Everyone wants to help. (Uhhh help themselves Betsy...)

Being Authentic and helpful is so “IN” right now.

Your company (Inquisix) preaches “Give to Get” in business networking.

Ohhhh Bets, you’ve drunk the Kool-Aide and now practice what you preach.

And I say to you Mes Amis, “Non.”

I Am What I AM! (Old School Pop-eye style)

I am what I am. And I’m a Connector.

You know, admitting you have a problem is the first step so sayeth AA. But if helping people get want they need to succeed, because it makes me feel good. Then hold an intervention peeps, because I am not about to stop.

Sure the theory of “Giver’s Gain” is that by helping or “connecting” people to the solutions they need I am putting myself in a position of connector or a “go-t0″ person. It is also said that by “giving” I am healthier both physically and mentally. But that isn’t why I do it.

I am a news and trend junkie. Call it leveraging my ADD but I love to find new things. And share what I find. Another reason why Theliquidbetsy exists. I am happiest when I share what I find to the world immediately. Another reason why I Tweet. And if I can actively connect people to new ideas and solutions they need for themselves personally or for their businesses- and they thrive as a result? I am in HEAVEN. Again why I am a part of Inquisix. (Ok maybe I am in it for the high!)

So use me. Tweet me. Email me. Comment your needs. If I can help, I will.

Believe me. I get more out of it than you will.

Privacy, Internet & The Kids. Oh My!

Yesterday I posted about my eldest son. Deeply personal. Cathartic. Almost necessary. The words wrote themselves. After hitting “Publish” I told my husband about the latest LiquidBetsy.

And he gasped.

You see, I married a technologist. With a certain expertise in online security. As his wife, I’ve been completely scared straight on identity theft, online stalking, and cyber-pedophilia to name a few.

So, with respect to my children, I normally don’t:

• Post their real names. Hence, the twins have been dubbed “The Toaster”  & “Mr. Man,” and their younger sibling is  ”Baby Lug”- together I often refer to them as “The Wild Bunch.” But never by their Christian names.
• Make references about my home town or activities done around there.
• Mentioning my children on places like Twitter, or and I hardly ever make them the focus of posts.
• Use my married name, I go by my maiden name for business.
• Mix my social media and my family. I have a definite separation of Church and State for things for business (LinkedIn, Twitter, Friendfeed) and straight-up personal (Facebook), the latter where pictures of myself, my family are posted or can be posted by other members of the family, friends and past cohorts.

As my readers may have guessed I’m a pretty much an open-book. I don’t have the patience for being guarded (or the self-discipline really) but there are boundaries. My family is one of them. I tread cautiously, and although yesterday’s post followed the above guidelines for the most part, truth be told I was on the fence whether to post it.

Ethically speaking, was it the right thing to do? Or am I exposing his life, his personal private experiences for my benefit?

What my wise husband (really the man is my touchstone of restraint) pointed out that Mr. Man’s condition was private. Mr. Man’s private. And now that it was posted, tweeted and Facebook’d it was out there for all to double-click on. Even after I offered to delete it I was informed, “On the Internet Hon, there are no do-overs.”

Oh crap.

I re-read the piece. I agonized over what I did. Eventually I stood by the post. I celebrated my son’s amazing spirit , the resiliency of a child and further exposed the imperfect existence of being a parent. I felt like it focused less on his physical condition than exposing his metaphysical. I could live with that.

But of course dear readers, it made me ponder the delimma. What rights do a child have to privacy on the Internet? I am no lawyer. Nor profess to be in anyway knowledgeable about the law outside of a few classes on business law I survived in B-School and a few current experiences and best friends that practice. Which essentially means I know nothing. But I always thought children under the age of 18 were pretty much at the mercy of their parent’ss socio-political-economic bent as long as physically they were in no danger. Traipsing around Timbuktu? Sailing the Seven Seas? Home-schooled? Vegan dinners? Subjected to a commune? Catholic school? An Osmond? All fair game.

But are we but a few years away from a lawsuit in which a parent’s Internet post (“Oh… Baby Bobby naked on the bear rug!”) ruins little Bobby’s life? People do stupid things. On the Internet they last forever. So where Mom’s once whipped out humiliation pictures previously, she now posts them on Facebook. Or Gawd forbid Mom does a blog.

What is a child’s right to privacy on the Internet?

What should it be?

P.S. My husband emailed me later today. BTW he loved the post. Meant the world to me.

In Awe. Progeny Blows Mind. Again.

Photo courtesy of Kristin Uhrich

Today I went to Children’s Hospital Boston with my eldest son, “Mr. Man.”

He’s had chronic constipation from birth, which manifested itself in leaky bladder when he started nursery school. Basically he looks like he’s wet his pants.  Kids can be cruel. In nursery school everyone has wet pants. In 4th grade, not so much. So I’ve gone full “Mommy-Lioness protecting cubs” mode, we’re getting to the bottom of this issue ASAP.

So,  now Mr. Man is going into the 1st grade, we’ve moved from pediatrician to world-class urology specialist and multiple catheter tests.

You heard me. Multiple. Catheters.

This meant for today’s partial flow dynamics and trip to radiology  necessitated Mr. Man to be tubed for almost 3 hours straight. And he was tubed everywhere. I don’t even think I was tubed that much when delivering the twins. And my friends, that’s saying a lot.

What says more is that he didn’t even complain. Not once. In fact, while writing this I  think I am complaining for him because I feel that SOMEONE should bitch. Because, dammit, it sucked. Completely and totally.

I should make a HUGE caveat that it was the actual procedures that we’re talking about. Nothing could stop that. What didn’t suck was Children’s Hospital Boston. I can’t wax on enough about Children’s. They do an amazing job. At every turn. Even during a dreaded episode a special “Child Life Specialist” Mary Poppins parachuted in laden with stickers, coloring books, and stuffed animals that made Mr. Man’s twin sister “The Toaster” green with envy.

That’s not all, in past visits we’ve been willingly mugged by roaming band of clowns from Big Apple Circus, or the staff tolerated Mr. Man getting his excess energy out by hopping, jumping, skipping and jumping-jack’d he way around radiology. They have art everywhere. Fish tanks. Videos and DVD’s for every procedure. A giant ball machine/art installation in the lobby that can mesmerize the toughest of customer. And I am barely scratching the surface. Then, of course, there is the world-class facilities and staff.

So back to today. We knew this “test” day was coming. We’ve done quite a few in the past 2 1/2 years at Children’s, including one that is now know as “The Blood Test” in family lore (see “Child Life Specialist” above.) Or at least in Mommy Lore. Since then, I’m prepared to have every other test become a Battle Royal. So with this in mind I prepare. I read the literature, I prep him both physically (they wanted his system cleaned out… enough said.) and mentally by having a heart-to-heart about the procedures. I also am a big believer in “The Carrot” theory of parenting for times like this. Mr. Man loves Star Wars. He loves LEGO. Nothing beats Star Wars LEGO. NOTHING. So off I took Mr. Man on a scouting trip to the local LEGO store.  Still I was preparing for the worst. My husband reminded me to think positive and be supportive. Yet, I think I still expected the worst.

And I was shamed at every turn by this amazing little boy.

As the bar is raised, my son raises the bar. In a previous test, he couldn’t be sedated (a mix-up) for the planned 40+ min MRI, yet he was managed to be still as a statue for what ended up being an hour procedure. And this is a kid that runs not walks, whose fearless, zippy zest for life forces lifeguards to pick up and relocate next to him (us) at the beach. So for him to sit still, quiet, barely breathing for almost an hour is like saying he sleeps in. Which he never does. Ever. And after the MRI was over, he hopped off with an “It ain’t no big thang Mama” attitude,  loping by his gobsmacked Mom.

Mind Blown. Totally impressed by my 5 year old.

Today was the second time. Visibly uncomfortable, he was stoic. It was so very hard to see my little boy in pain, though necessary for his own long-term benefit. He was beautiful. He was grace under pressure. He cloaked himself in grown-up courage and stiff-upper lipped his way through what fine friend said “what no child should have to go through,” sailing way passed my pre-conceived notions what probably was going to happen.

I was never prouder. Nor in more awe.

Today that little boy was a breathing strawberry-blond haired embodiment of awesomeness clasping two stuffed Border Collie Pups and watching Star Wars II.

And that, my friends, was how my mind was blown a second time by my very own progeny.

What’s Next, Entreprenuer?

I’ve been chatting with a few of my friends lately. Mostly women but a few of my better guy friends. As we approach, encroach and blow past 40, we are all hitting a wall of “Is this my life?”  Or more specifically, “Is the “Life” I envisioned 10 years ago? 15? 5?

This may have come to a point sooner, more bluntly, because of the economy. Jobs are tenuous, 401K’s halved, future hazy. If we of an earlier generation, lulled in by job security, a pension or stock-options actually worth something, this introspection might have happened later. But it didn’t. Some of us have or have had the “big job,” perhaps we could even go get the even bigger job. Our careers assured. Then some don’t. We just got downsized. Or it perhaps it just made sense to stay home raising the babies, and we opted out of the workforce for a while. (Uh, that would be TheBetsy.)

End of a day– we all seem to be hitting a wall. Tired of commuting. Business travel.  Tired of tenuous jobs that take a pound of our flesh. Coming home too late  Weekends of errands. Sunday evening coming too soon.

Also factoring in this is that most of us have children. Young children. They seem to grow in the hours we fret, worry, commute and sleep-in recovering from the week.

When I first started out I wanted to work in Film. In Hollywood. A year or two and I knew I wasn’t made for entertainment when a friend pointed out that the few successful women in Film were generally very unhappy people. Most working off multiple marriages, or coming face-to-face with harsher realities of success, like having your sweet baby call the Nanny was “Mommy.” Of course there are few that make is work, but they are few and very far, far between. Or lying.

A few of us are ready to slow down. Down-size. Work at home for much less. Sell and move into smaller. Take the road lesser travelled. Start our own business, and work harder, but with a goal in mind. Freedom and what can only be described as “Fuck You Money.”

Hell, I’m with Leo and his Zen Habits. Simplify and savor the moments. With my husband, My children. Myself. That’s the goal with TheLiquidBetsy and by working at Inquisix. I’ve decided being if I could be my own boss was the solution to my need for independence and time. Of course both have to be successful. Of course dahling. In fact Leo posted a fabulous piece on “The Get Started-Now Guide to Being Self-Employed.” Read it. It has loads of links to good articles by really great people:

(and that’s why I totally did a cut and pasted job straight from his site.)

• Seth Godin: Lessons from very tiny businesses
• Jonathan Fields: Firefly Manifesto Remixed (How to become a career renegade)
• Pamela Slim: Free chapter from Escape From Cubicle Nation
• Chris Guillebeau: Why You Should Quit Your Day Job and Travel Around the World
• Etsy: Quit Your Day Job (true story)
• Wisebread: 6 Reasons to Become Self-Employed
• Get Rich Slowly: Employee or Entrepreneur? The Pros and Cons of Self-Employment

I draw inspiration from various sources, some I wish I read 10 years ago. Though perhaps if I had I wouldn’t have appreciated it as I wasn’t evolved. The philosopher Albert Camus teaches one must die, before you live– basically I had to know what I don’t want, before I know (and appreciate) what I do.

I’m still on the journey, but I’ve run across some great book that I highly recommend them if you’re at all thinking along the same lines as me.  I’ve really enjoyed the following two books:

First is ONO, Options Not Obligations: Enrich Your Personal Life by Rethinking Your Financial Life By Mark Warnke.  Ono, is “Delicious” in Hawaiian, and what Mark does a really good job is putting your desires in clear, sharp focus– basically “too many financial obligations make the juicy things in life harder to have.” You can see more on his site, as the book line to Amazon doesn’t have too much in the way of information.

What I like about Mark is that he is a very accessible, authentic writer. He wants you to do well. He wants you to be happy. You like him because of this earnestness.

The second is  The 4-Hour Workweek: Escape 9-5, Live Anywhere, and Join the New Rich. You may have heard about Timothy Ferris. He’s a character.  Tango champion (and Guinness World Recorder Holder), Lecturer, Horseback Archer in Japan, MTV break-dancer in Taiwan, National Chinese Kickboxing Champion, to name a few. I kid you not. This guy not only sucks the marrow out of life, he teaches others how to do it as well. In The 4-Hour Workweek: Escape 9-5, Live Anywhere, and Join the New Rich, Ferris show you how to set up your life to work for you. With minimal input from you. His writing is very real, very funny and above all inspiring. Nice.

Hey but don’t take my word for it, here’s a what a few others said about him:

“It’s about time this book was written. It is a long-overdue manifesto for the mobile lifestyle, and Tim Ferriss is the ideal ambassador. This will be huge.”
–Jack Canfield
Co-creator of Chicken Soup for the Soul®, 100+ million copies sold

“This is a whole new ball game.  Highly recommended.”
–Dr. Stewart D. Friedman
Adviser to Jack Welch and Former Vice President Al Gore on Work/Family Issues
Director of the Work/Life Integration Project, The Wharton School, University of Pennsylvania

“Timothy has packed more lives into his 29 years than Steve Jobs has in his 51.”
–Tom Foremski
Journalist and Publisher of SiliconValleyWatcher.com

“If you want to live life on your own terms, this is your blueprint.”
–Mike Maples
Co-founder of Motive Communications (IPO to $260M market cap), Founding Executive of Tivoli (sold to IBM for $750M)

“Tim is Indiana Jones for the digital age. I’ve already used his advice to go spearfishing on remote islands and ski the best hidden slopes of Argentina. Simply put, do what he says and you can live like a millionaire.”
–Albert Pope
Derivatives Trading, UBS World Headquarters

Goodbye Auntie Mame

“Life’s a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!” – Auntie Mame

This is a personal post.

You’ve been warned.

A year ago my very own personal Auntie Mame passed. Carmela Speroni.

It wasn’t a surprise but still shocked me to my core. I, being one of  the youngest, born when my parents were older than most, my grandparents passed early. Most gone by 16, all by 22, and the latter not after a long bout of debilitating senility. Throughout all Carmela Speroni, best friends of my paternal grandparents, godmother to both my father and me, became my default surrogate grandmother.

For me,  she was the best kind.

She was a character.

She wasn’t really Auntie Mame, but she wasn’t traditional either. She was chic, smart, cultured, loved good food, fine fashion and a really great glass of wine. And she liked to talk. She was pretty damn close to perfect for me.

Raised in San Francisco, she graduated high school at 16, UC Berkeley at 20 all in order to marry my Uncle Charles, her Italian tutor. This was in 1939. As my Uncle Charles (an true character in his own right, the man reminds me of the The Most Interesting Man in The World–  you couldn’t help but be drawn in by his charisma) rose to be the Fine Arts chair at UCLA, Carmela was responsible to entertain, fund raise for school. My Aunt Carmela and Uncle Charles was a love affair that lasted until his death in the 80′s. They never had children, and being beloved by many, they accepted guardianship of their friends’ babies and the babies’ babies and watched over these lucky godchildren as if they were their own.  I was their only god-daughter.

As I said, Carmela was a character. A Catholic, she was also on the board of Los Angeles’ Planned Parenthood (this in and of itself made her a great god-mother.) She wasn’t afraid to ask pointed questions, she religiously read the New York Times each and every Sunday. Well versed in both culture and pop culture, as well as politics, one had better bone up on current events before they visit. She always managed to surround herself with interesting people: artists, CEO’s. designers and chefs to name a few. Some of my fondest memories (and probably my love of food) comes from going out to eat with her. As I got older we would have boozy nights of great wine, fantastic food and fabulous conversation. She was my one of my first encounters with honest-to-goodness inherent chicness. She bought me my first “grown-up” purse, my first OMG boots and probably my first drink. Always remembered my birthday, usually with a bauble she found on her travels or, even better, a piece of jewelry that was hers (that Charles gave her) that she wanted to pass on to me. Most shop owners knew her by name, and since she didn’t drive (this in LA folks, where everybody drives) the cab company had standing times to pick her up, or called to see if she needed anything.

I was about 8 before I realized that she didn’t own the Bel-Air Hotel (#10 on the Betsy’s top 50- probably because of her.) To this day I would walk over GLASS for a piece of their coconut cake (Paula Deen could have easily stolen the recipe from them. The pictures the same. Really.) She once tried to convince me, while eating luncheon my grandmother, and after finding out that Jane Fonda was dining with her agents at the next room over, to crash and “get discovered.” I didn’t. I totally should have.

She passed away last year around this time. I’ve been slowly going through some of her personal affects that I inherited (most went to UCLA not surprisingly) reminiscing.  Hence this post. This past March I stopped by in Westwood, for a graveside chat and some limoncello, a favorite of hers.

My Aunt Carmela wasn’t perfect. By far. No one is.

But, she was perfect for me.

Carmela at UCLA library benefit. 90+ and still working the room.

And in my research I found this “gem” — the original “Auntie Mame” trailer. To say it’s a hoot is an understatement… Ohhh to live in the days when Ads were Ads, as unsubtle as a drag-queen’s Sunday Best.

Path to bliss: Attack THAT thing.

BONZAI! (Japanese translation "Let's go CRAZY!")

I want to you attack something.

Yes, I am usually a “go with the metaphysical” flow kind of gal, but this time. This one little time. I want to you to kick some serious ass.

It is the road to bliss. Your bliss. Not mine (unless you tell me, and  please do, on the comment section.)

Not just anything or anyone that happens to pop their head in your office/cubical/kitchen/front door or evil lair. I want you to attack something specific.

Look around. Find it. You know what I’m talking about THAT thing. The one that thing you look at every fucking day with dread, embarrassment. The one you… sigh… will get around to when you have a moment.

THAT thing.

Get up. Go over and deal with it. Deal with it like a crazy person. It either gets filed, fired, thrown out, sent, delivered (NOW!) to the neighbor who passive-aggressively “ignores” you ’cause you been so lax in returning their stupid report/bundt pan/folding table/calculator/weed-whacker. (I love the word “weed-whacker,” just so you know.)

Snap on the crazed “oh lawdy… they’re gonna blow” look of determination and just deal with the mother-effin thing. You’re going to be shocked how easy it was to get done. And how freakin’ happy and … even BLISSful you’re going to be once it is done.

Accomplishment. Whew. Satisfaction with job well done.

Bliss.

(Repeat process tomorrow.)

The Busy Persons Guide to Having it ALL….

Oprah: the definition of "having it all" (w/o kids)

I am overwhelmed.

You?

Mom, Wife, Start-up maven, Blogger, Foodie-on-Parole, Fashionista-ish, Executive Assistant & Social Dir. for Chatty Twins, a Charismatic Two year Old, and an Adopted Mommy to an Aggressively Affectionate Golden Retriever.

Me? Yes, I am.

The problem is I WANT it all: the doting mom, Wonderful Wife, Organic & locally-sourced Recreational Chef, Execu-babe, Athlete, Style and Design Aficionado, to name a choice few; and I WANT to do it all RIGHT. Not half-assed, not “just in time” but thoughtful, consistent and on point every time.

Well I can. Have it all. And I’m not insane.

Here’s the secret: You can have it all, just not all at the SAME TIME.

Seriously. And seriously lame. But the truth hurts.

One of my chicas, Cat, came up with the theory — you can have it all, just at different times in your life. She’s doctor that probably would be practicing emergency room medicine (she loves the high) but works part-time at a bucolic (that be rural folks) hospital in CT so she can be there for her children and husband. She eeks out time for the familuy, lives near some of the best ice cream in the world (cows out back,) but isn’t knee deep in the gun-shot wounds, punctured lungs and flatlines that make her swoon for all the right reasons. Nor is she taking the gourmet cooking classes or traveling to Skye with her fabulous travel compadre BETSY.

Now if you were a person of simple tastes, congrats you probably do have it all.

So, depending upon what you want out of life- you have to pick and choose your roles and hobbies. For example : young children and major careers, designer clothes, intricate Martha Stewart style dinner parties, and white carpeting just, I repeat, just do not mix. In fact it’s toxic. I can guaranteed from personal experience the express train to an overwhelmed freak-out.

So once I thought about scheduling “me” into slots into my life , rather than slots of time during the week I relaxed. So I deal. I’m a foodie-0n-parole. So my house will be fabulously decorated after my kids learn to use a napkin & stop ricocheting off the furniture. Scuba will be after the last child learns to swim and the nanny can travel. My career will be close to home and with flexible hours and limited travel so I can be there for most of my babies boo-boos, beach outings, girl scouts meetings, story hours, and movie nights.

As the babes get older (and as I do) I’ll add more, do more. Do less of others.

Look I am the first to admit I want it all, now. Patience is not an inherent virtue of mine. Though I am trying to learn. But with patience I can have the time to give all of me, all the facets of me, my due. I have to think of the present, what I can accomplish now. And that means prioritizing.

As I said the truth hurts, Priorities suck.

But they are just that… priorities.

And because it struck me as particularly perfect, a little Queen & Bowie: