In the shop

My computer is in the shop. I felt like I parted with a dear pet when I left it with the good people there. When did I become so attached?

Stay tuned for the life lessons I'll be getting from this one. So far, I can tell you that even though I miss it terribly, there's a certain liberation that comes with not being able to access your email or the internet any old time. We really do become prisoners of sorts to our technology. Please don't read this as me giving it up any time soon. But it is an illuminating exercise, especially when it feels foisted upon you.

Already my closet is cleaner, I've read more in my spare time and there's less clutter around. Not bad for 36 hours. And counting ...

Paper Clips

I just heard a film called Paper Clips will be hitting the theatres soon. I had the opportunity to preview it last month and found myself fascinated with how it lines up with the concepts I try to teach my life coaching clients.

First of all, a synopsis fresh from Miramax: Students from the tiny town of Whitwell, Tennessee embark on a school project launched out of their principal's desire to open her students' eyes to the diversity that exists beyond their insulated valley. In an effort to learn about the Holocaust, they decide to collect paper clips, one to represent each person exterminated by the Nazis. What ensues is an amazing series of events that involves the community and way beyond and results in a permanent memorial in their schoolyard.

What struck me most was how the baby steps those students took led them to such a satisfying place. It culminated in an accomplishment that went way beyond the scope of what any of them -- students, teachers, parents -- thought was possible.

If only we could all get that lesson every single day. One action per day or two actions per week might very well get us exactly what it is we've been dreaming of. You want to write a book? Imagine a chapter a week or a chapter a month. By the end of three months or six months or a year, you'll have that book. I'm currently working with a client who wants to show his photography at a gallery. Each week we have him doing something that will lead him there. Research galleries. Find out when they welcome new portfolios. Prep the portfolio. Write a bio. Get prints made. Have them matted and framed. Gather your courage. You get the idea, right?

Set the goal. Start making the plan. Then execute it. One paper clip at a time.

Point of contention

There once existed with a close friend of mine such a point of contention that I could almost feel my blood pressure elevate every time the topic came up. It caused me such strife, and the more I tried to analyze why, the more frustrated I became. What did this represent? Why did I have such a strong reaction to this? It was meaningless and absurd in the big picture.

So I finally decided it was time to get rid of all angst around the subject. It took a concentrated effort, but I managed to talk myself into a very restful place with it. And then the realization hit me. Sometimes the only true way to know you've released and let go of something is to be put to the test.

Tonight I was put to the test. The topic came up in full force. There was no stopping it. It was time to find out if I was just giving it lip service or if I was embodying the "release and let go" mantra. I'm proud to say I passed the test. Some minor annoyance seeped in, but no boiling blood, no gritted teeth, no real emotion.

Point of contention, be gone.

A doll's life

I got my Barbie holiday gift guide in the mail today. OK, I'm out of the closet (or out of the black patent leather case, so to speak). I am absolutely fascinated with Barbie. You're thinking, "A feminist who digs Barbie?" Yes. Big boobs, high heels and all.

I don't want to get overly sociological here. But as I page through this catalog I am curious about my own reaction to a black, snug-fitting t-shirt with a picture of classic ponytail Barbie on the chest. Why do I want that shirt? It would look great with jeans. But it's a ludicrous $42! What's my deal?

On some level, I think it has something to do with always wanting to have Barbie's life. Aside from sporting the latest styles, Barbie was anything you wanted her to be. When I was a little girl, my Barbie traveled, dated, shopped and had coffee with her friends. If I assigned her an occupation, it was usually teacher. Not a bad existence, right? Well, if you change teacher to life coach, I am sort of living it.

How's that for making fantasy into reality?

Hmmmmm. I could swear my Barbie also wrote a few books and made a ton of money ...

Class in session

I teach a class called Discovering Writing for the adult education program at Hoboken High School. The assignment for last night's class called for each student to bring in the beginning of a short story, novel or article that appealed to her. One woman read the first two paragraphs of a James Joyce short story.

I smiled and had one of those moments where you think about the books on your shelf that you haven't picked up in ages. And about how one of the best things about Joyce was that he decided the rules of literature as previously written didn't apply to him, so he created a whole new set for himself. This all prompted me to pull down Ulysses and give it a look tonight. No, I'm not so masochistic that I set out to read it again. But I have favorite passages marked and decided to revisit them.

On a woman's perfume:

"It's like a fine veil or web they have all over the skin, fine like what do you call it gossamer, and they're always spinning it out of them, fine as anything, like rainbow colours without knowing it."

Now that's attraction:

"She could almost see the swift answering flash of admiration in his eyes that set her tingling in every nerve. She put on her hat so that she could see from underneath the brim and swung her buckled shoe faster for her breath caught as she caught the expression in his eyes. He was eying her as a snake eyes its prey."

On the philosophical side:

"The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring."

"The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant's heart on the hillside. For them the earth is not an exploitable ground but the living mother."

"A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery."

Joyce has spoken. Class dismissed.

Diamond diatribe

I'm on the PATH train this morning going into Manhattan (for those of you living outside of this area, it's a subway linking New Jersey and New York) when I see an advertisement poster next to me with the following message:

Make your single friends LIVE vicariously through you.

A diamond is forever.

(This goes with a large photo of diamond earrings.)

Now, granted, those are beautiful earrings. It's a no-brainer. But what of this marketing ploy? It reminds me of the weight loss brand that has a commercial where the nice svelte woman imagines healthy food like fish and vegetables and in the next frame imagines all the handsome men admiring her and in the next frame sees all these women frowning and shooting her daggers. I don't know what's more disturbing, that advertising companies perpetuate this competitive women stereotype or that it might actually work.

Think about it. Why is it that dogs are man's best friend but diamonds are a girl's best friend? From what I've seen and heard, there are plenty of women who fit the stereotype perfectly. I know women who will only date men in a certain salary range, who have unwavering "checklist" standards and who are constantly trying to keep up with the Joneses in their swanky suburban neighborhoods. It makes me shudder.

Am I an anomaly? The people I'd want to live through vicariously are not necessarily married nor are they necessarily sporting diamond earrings. I respect and admire a number of people in that category, but it's because of other qualities they have. It has nothing to do with high wattage coming from their ears or the ring finger on their left hand.

Were I to embrace the concept of living vicariously through someone, he or she would have to be living true to their passions and have a certain peace about them on a daily basis. When I think of how to live, I don't think of square feet or credit cards or jewels. Those are wonderful bonuses, to be sure, but what good are they without peace? Have you ever seen those stories of people whose lives have been ruined by winning the lottery? This isn't rocket science. True contentment comes from inside, not outside, the self.

Maybe this is a lot to read into an advertisement. Maybe this means the poster actually worked because here I am railing on about it and isn't the idea of advertising to make the product or service stick in our minds?

Perhaps. But it felt good anyway.

Weird science

Back in grade school, science was the one subject that often challenged my honor roll status. In high school, once I realized I had all the credits in place to get into my college of choice, I dropped chemistry pronto. I suffered through the science requirements in college. The common theme in all of this was simple: What relevance does this have for me in my life? The way I saw it, the answer was "none."

Lately, though, science has been making its way into my consciousness. Today it came at me in the form of a movie called What The Bleep Do We Know!? You know it's time to see a movie when people from three different areas of your life recommend it. So I heeded the call and was glad I did. What The Bleep is part documentary, part story and part visual effects and animation, all overlapping and interwoven in an engaging and entertaining way.

The film spoke to me as a life coach, as a person on a spiritual quest, and as an artist. I am aligned with the idea of personal responsibility, of asking deep and probing questions of oneself, and of challenging societal norms around religion. There are 14 scientists and mystics interviewed in the film and together they espouse a powerful message -- the interconnectedness of all things. It was a lot to wrap my head around -- what with all the quantum physics, neurology and molecular biology -- but it pushed me to think about my beliefs and my mettle, especially when it posed this question: How far down the rabbit hole do you want to go?

Far. Very far. To be honest, I'm not one to do something halfway once I've ventured in. And rest assured, I have ventured in. All doors are open, all channels are free, the whole wide world says "yes" to me.

All this from cells? Maybe science is relevant after all.

Room to grow

I had a burst of energy this afternoon and decided to do some cleaning and clearing of space in my home. As I'm prone to do, I turned up the volume on some classic rock and went about my business of dusting and cleaning closets. A short time into it, I felt like I wanted to change the vibe, so I switched off the radio and put in an inspirational tape. It was the voice of a woman who has the power to make me think so deeply and so clearly that I'm still in awe every time I hear her.

So I'm doing my thing -- ah, the glamour of scrubbing the bathroom -- and she's talking about how we don't hesitate to take a plant and put it in a bigger pot when it needs it. Yet we have trouble doing that for ourselves, enlarging our own "pot" so we can grow without being "contained." And it hits me.

A friend gave me a loving gift over a week ago. It sits in water and expands and the way it grows and changes reveals things about the energy around it. One night I put it in one of my favorite bowls and by the time I woke up in the morning it was beginning to cascade over the side. My friend saw it 24 hours later and marveled at its rich color. The following night he remarked on its growth.

"If it was in a bigger bowl, it would really grow," he said casually. I heard him, but knew it was in the biggest bowl I had.

Now fast forward to the woman on the tape talking about enlarging the pot. I just knew I had to find a bigger vessel for my gift. I looked around my kitchen and my eyes came to a large decorative bowl on the table. It's square and ceramic and painted turquoise with splashes of purple and blue daisies all around. Fabulous and perfect!

I made the switch. It can now grow beyond its wildest dreams. There is nothing to stop it.

And I am grateful I have surrounded myself with wise people.

Walk this way

My new shoes are sublime. I don't mean to go all Carrie Bradshaw on the topic, but honestly there is nothing quite like the experience of an exquisite shoe purchase.

I was shopping with my sister today, a pro in the stores if there ever was one. She came to New York for the day to tackle some of our favorite haunts. I knew I'd be coming home with a pair of shoes. You see, last weekend while strolling through Chelsea with friends I spotted a shoe in a boutique window that made me gasp. Soft to the touch. Pointy front. A tiny sculpted heel. A thin, delicate buckle across the top of the foot. This is the kind of shoe that elevates an outfit to another place.

I didn't make the purchase last weekend, knowing my sister was coming to town in less than a week. I wanted to make sure I didn't find a pair I liked better. But they loomed large in my mind and became the standard by which all else was measured today. Only one item came close -- a pair of Pucci boots at a steep discount in New York's best bargain store. They, too, were gasp-worthy. I mean, I all but salute when I walk by the new Pucci boutique on Fifth Avenue with all of those bold colors and swirling geometric patterns. But something kept pulling me back to the original pair.

So it was with heightened desire that I entered that Chelsea store and asked to try them on. They were as comfortable as slippers. Ahhhhhhh. My sister nodded, now understanding what all my fuss was about.

"They are so you," she said.

Yes, they are. And they are so mine.

In the stars

About a month ago, a friend emailed me this horoscope:

You and the stars are not quite in the same frame of mind. This is tricky, but you can pull this off. Pretend you're surfing, and learn to ride the waves that come your way.

He knew it would particularly speak to me that day and it did. I printed it out and hung it up near my computer so I could read it regularly. It caught my eye today because I've been having one of those weeks where sooooo many things seem to be lining up. Me and the stars are starting to read each other very, very well.

I've been spending a lot of time this week trying to take my life coaching business to the next level. This involves nurturing existing relationships, rekindling old ones, getting creative in marketing and being outgoing and forthcoming about the benefits of coaching. There has been a palpable shift in the energy around my practice and it is resulting in more appointments in my daily planner, more referrals coming my way and a lot of fun synchronicity around innovative marketing ideas.

Simultaneously, I am more immersed in my writing than I've been in a long time. There's the blogging. There's a freelance essay I've begun. There's a short story I've recently submitted to a literary contest. There are two ideas I've been pitching to magazines. And that doesn't even include my daily (well, almost) written meditation ritual. As a former journalist who reveled in writing daily, all of this feels almost like coming home. The last five years I had been spending so much time editing, producing, managing and teaching -- all productive, rewarding endeavors -- that my true craft had nearly fallen by the wayside.

How is it that we sometimes deviate from that right path? I believe it's to ultimately give us the larger lesson, but that doesn't explain why we stray in the first place. Could it be to simply give us perspective? Or even to allow us time to experience other things that will fill the creative well? It feels that way this week.

And, frankly, I'm thanking my lucky stars.

Soup, salad and altruism

I had lunch with someone delightful today and the subject of volunteerism came up. I've decided to give some of my time and I'm in the process of choosing what and where. She and her husband are wonderfully altruistic, so it became clear to me that she had crossed my path this week for good reason.

She gave me the name of an organization I hadn't heard of, so I took a look at its website and I must say I'm intrigued. I immediately penciled into my daily planner an information evening it holds in Manhattan for potential volunteers and I'm excited at having taken that first step.

Volunteerism is a little bit tricky, isn't it? While the purpose is clearly to give, there are so many questions to ask oneself. How much time can you realistically give? Do you want to interact with people or stay behind the scenes? Do you have the kind of strength it takes to be around deeply under-privileged or sick people? Which skills do you want to utilize and/or share?

It's refreshing to pause and assess oneself in this way. It takes you out of the swirl of work and errands and day-to-day banality and puts you squarely in a pure place.

A big, fat thank you to the universe for showing this to me right now.

Baby steps

I received an exuberant email from a life coaching client today. What a fabulous feeling.

Back in July when we started working together, she had an idea for a book that she mentioned as an afterthought during our consultation. I zeroed in on it and we brought it to life in the form of a goal. She has been doing diligent work on it using baby steps each week and suddenly doors are opening for her. How marvelous.

Sometimes -- who am I kidding -- oftentimes, people look at me quizzically when I say I'm a life coach. What is it? Why do you do it?

That exuberant email is why I do it. So many people are walking around with golden ideas and postponed dreams. I delight in connecting them with what has been elusive for them so far.

Imagine that.

In the gutter

I was walking with a friend in Manhattan yesterday. He offered to carry my bag.

"I want to give," I told him amidst the bustle. "I'm in a place right now where I have a strong urge to give to others in a meaningful way."

He smiled the kind of smile that has a gentleness to it. He can be almost childlike pure in his expression when something resonates with him. He stopped to feed some pigeons.

"That's the lesson," he said.

I knew what he meant. I've been feeling abundant. The result is a persistent desire to do unto others. It's like a natural flow. He sensed it, being a healer and all.

Suddenly he stopped and bent over to pick up something by the curb. It was a gritty street, so I wondered what had captured his attention. As he stood and turned he held in his hand a gorgeous, intact red rose. The petals were large and untainted.

"Sometimes you can find a rose in the gutter," he said. This time he flashed the high-octane version of the smile. Then he handed it to me.

Now it sits in a bone-colored dish in my home, stark and silky. The petals have separated. Even as it comes apart, its form is breathtaking and vivid.

More abundance has come my way. Lucky me.

Wisteria Lane

Oh, those Desperate Housewives. How does one resist a primetime show on a major network that begins with a perfectly lovely housewife in an affluent suburb shooting herself in the head? Thank you, Alan Ball, for paving the way for all that is macabre. We've actually developed a taste for this.

The life coach in me is just itching to set up shop in the middle of Wisteria Lane and sit these women down one at a time. Where oh where to begin?

Let's start with Bree. She's perfect and in control. She wears pearls. She feeds her husband onions when he's allergic and puts him in the hospital. She tells a table full of guests that he cries when he ejaculates. He leaves. All the while, she continues to keep up the peachy family facade. Bree, honey, put on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, turn on Jerry Springer and eat some Bon Bons. Then let's talk about getting you out of the house for some volunteer work or Spanish classes or something, OK?

Now to Susan. Her husband left her for his young blonde secretary. She's already accidentally burned down a house angling for a man's attention. She put gravy behind her ears to attract said man's dog and was mortified when the dog ate her earring and had to be rushed to the vet. No slouch in the looks department, Susan could have any man she wants if she'd relax, see the life lessons in her nasty divorce and keep wearing those tight shirts. I'd have her write affirmations reflecting all of the above.

As for Lynette, this former business executive has four unmanageable boys and a husband who travels a lot for work. She has gone into a pool fully clothed to discipline them. She has been pulled over by a cop because they were all so unruly she couldn't get them to keep their seatbelts buckled. Lynette, please, I beg you, find yourself a babysitter and get out of the house. Go to Starbucks and sip a strawberry frappuccino. Take a yoga class. This isn't rocket science, honey. You need a break.

And then there's Gabrielle. She's a trophy wife that went for the material life. She has everything she could ever want except attention, so she has a steamy affair with the hunky young gardener. The little girl next door sees her undressing the gardener and is now blackmailing her for things like a bicycle. This one's kind of tricky (have you seen the gardener?). But I digress. Gabrielle needs to dig deep and figure out what's most important to her, inner peace or jewels from Cartier? We could begin by exploring some creative outlets like writing or photography or painting.

From Desperate Housewives to Balanced, Sane Housewives?

How very dull.

It's got legs

I'm going to begin with a centipede.

I opened my eyes at 7 a.m. the other day and the little bugger was splayed in all its glory on the wall next to my bed. I sat up quickly and went to the kitchen for the can of Raid, all the while hoping it wouldn't move from its spot. It was still there when I returned, so I began to spray. Immediately it fell to the floor between the wall and the bed. Oh no. It was nowhere to be found.

Let's backtrack for a moment. I am petrified of anything that crawls. The fear is irrational. I know it. People who love me know it. So, of course, what else could I, the fearful one, do? I'd have to take the bed apart until I found it, dead or alive. Otherwise, could I sleep peacefully in the bed? No way. Funny thing is, I started to move the bed from the wall and I stopped. Suddenly, I thought, no more! Get a hold of yourself. What is that little bug going to do to you, Nancy? Truly, what is the worst thing that can happen?

In my written meditation a short time later, it all started to make sense. I had been blocked on several things in my life, blocks that revolved around debilitating fear. As I wrote, insights came pouring out. It blew my mind, really. The centipede had spurred me into action in a matter of hours. This blog is one result.

Later that day, a trusted friend noted the centipede is symbolic. So I looked it up and found some centipede "wisdom" on a website about the shamanism of animal spirits. It listed four things -- balance, coordination, ability to survive stress, beauty of movement.

Now that's my kind of bug.