Affirmations for Workaholics

I made it. To work, that is. Today was my first day back in the office after four months of time away. It was fine. I don't feel like the same person who left on stress leave back in February. I still have plenty of things to figure out about how to "be" at work, but I know with absolute certainty, that my attitude towards work is very, very different today. I like the people I work with a great deal, so it was great to see them all and chat or check in briefly with each of them. An office move during my absence has me moving into a "new" office. A clean slate. A pleasant irony for me, my new office used to belong to a dear friend and colleague who has since moved out of our organization. I miss her, always. (We really "got" each other). Over two years ago, she gave me a copy of the following book:

I thanked her for it, admitted that I probably did indeed have a problem with workaholism, read the first few pages in bed the night she gave me the book, and put it under my bed. It stayed there until quite recently. It is an amazing book, it's not just about workaholism, but would be useful for anyone who, like me, never really knew how to turn off being busy.

At this point in the game, I'm mining the book for pieces that will help me stay on track as I return to work. I'm quite loving a lot of the "affirmations" that are provided in the book. I think a lot of people might relate to some of them, not just us workaholics. So here they are, take what you like and leave the rest:

1. The less I struggle, the more open I am to inspiration. The more I take it easy, the more I accomplish.
2. My Higher Power wants me to realize my vision of joyful work and a balanced life and gives me whatever I need to achieve it at the right time.
3. I do everything easily and effortlessly.
4. My life is full and underscheduled.
5. I now receive full assistance and cooperation from all persons necessary for realizing my work vision. I attract only loving people.
6. The more I risk, the safer I am.
7. I am more effective by being more selective.
8. The more I play, the more God works.
9. I have time to spare and time to share. Time is my friend. When I take time, I make time.
10. My top priority is doing my being. Before I do anything, I first do nothing.
11. I draw to myself everything I need for a joyful balanced life.
12. My doing my right work strengthens all my relationships. My work brings me closer to those I love.
13. When I take time, I make time. The more I take my time, the more time I have to take. I don't have time not to have time.
14. I am entitled to my right work and deserve the enjoyment, recognition, and health that right work brings.
15. I live by divine appointment with broad margins.
16. I am still in the midst of activity and vibrantly alive in repose. I take an emergency leisurely.
17. The slower I go, the faster I grow.
18. Even when offered the best, I say no if I need rest. Rest is the best reward I can give myself.
19. My body is my friend and my temple. I bless and thank it daily and obey its signals.
20. Emotions are information. I honor their important messages.
21. I love myself no matter what. I'm perfect just the way I am. I am enough. I have enough. I do enough.
22. People bring me important messages (angels in my life) when I listen or meditate carefully.
23. I work to live, not live to work.

(Workaholics Anonymous Book of Recovery, pages 182, 183)

Aren't these awesome affirmations? I love them.

Peace and Plenty (Sounds Like a Good Concept)

I am rather excited to be working diligently on the various challenges and issues in my life, but some days I just wish there weren't so darned many of them. I'm doing well on the self-care front, for the most part. Not "overworking" is easy while I am still off on stress leave, but the true test will come in a few weeks when I head back to the office. I've leant a lot and am pretty positive that I have found a new way to live and can create a new relationship with work. One that won't kill me. I am eating relatively properly but still tend to make one bad food decision per day. But I am okay with that, for now. 

I've been thinking a lot lately about my relationship with money, and although I have made some great strides by cutting back on major purchases that I can't afford, I still tend to treat myself to...well, too many little things.

I blogged a few days ago about earning a credit at a used book store, so I have no business cruising the book stores where there are no credits, no free books. Not for me, or anybody. But I do. In a somewhat ironic life moment, yesterday I found myself drawn to and quickly obsessed with a book display that showcased Sara Ban Breathnach's latest book.

It's a bit difficult to read on this image, but the title of the book is Peace and Plenty: Finding Your Path to Financial Serenity. How could I resist? I bought the damned book.

I just started reading it last night, so can't provide much of a summary, but I found an excellent synthesis of Sarah's main ideas on a website called Second Act. That website appears to be for people who are older than fifty. It still surprises me to realize or remember that I am one of those people. More specifically, the site is for people who would like to make career changes at midlife.

In any case, like Oprah, I was quite affected by this author's book Simple Abundance when it came out in the 1990s. I, like millions of others, started keeping a gratitude journal around that time, thanks to the book. So I figure I will give this new book a shot too. I realize that Ban Breathnach is not a financial expert, but this book looks to be more about our emotional relationship with money, which is intriguing to me.

So here's the summary with thanks to Kerry Hannon, who interviewed Sarah Ban Breathnach and wrote this great article for Second Act in January of this year. Thank you, Kerry!

Here is what Kerry gleaned from the interview:

1. Be calm and carry on.

"My heroine is Mrs. Miniver from the 1942 wartime movie," Ban Breathnach says. "She showed grace under pressure during World War II. Nothing in her daily round was too insignificant to become an uplifting source of reflection, revelation, reconnection and renewal, even money worries. She reminded us how to be grateful for the small particulars of our everyday epiphanies." Those might include unread library books to look forward to and choosing beer over wine if you are on a budget.

(Note from Dawn: For those of us in recovery, doesn't matter how cheap that beer is - we can't have it. Replace above with - "look forward to and choosing Tim Horton's over Starbucks." And - we should all be on a budget.)

2. At the end of every day, write down the five things that brought moments of peace or a feeling of plenty.

Sometimes it's when a friend treats you to lunch or the repair bill is less than you imagined.

3. Don't cry over the spilled milk or the spent pennies.

This is especially important if you have overspent around the holidays. "Just wipe it up," she says. "Forgive yourself. Get back on track."

4. Monitor the money you spend daily.

Keep a little pad and write down what you spend each day. If there isn't money for going out to the movies, stay in. Know exactly how much money you have and how much you owe. "The amount of money currently in your bank account is a fact," she says. "The amount you spend today is a choice. And the way you reconcile both is through clarity."

5. Bring back grandmother's envelope system.

Allocate cash for all spending. It's old-fashioned, but Ban Breathnach says this system really works to get you back on the path to solvency. "Go get a new envelope and mark it, ‛Just for Me,'" she recommends. Take your loose cash and change, put it in the envelope and hold it in your hand. "For those of us learning the way to financial serenity and solvency, the envelope system teaches prudence, patience and perseverance. You can only spend what you have. The tangible feel of those envelopes keeps our impulses in check."

6. Adopt the "Million Dollar Baby" rule.

Protect yourself at all times. That's the advice Clint Eastwood doles out in the Academy Award-winning movie Million Dollar Baby in his role as a trainer for Hillary Swank's character, a thirtysomething waitress who dreams of being a professional boxer. Ban Breathnach advises keeping a separate bank account in your own name. "Have a pin money stash at home," she says. "Pin money stashes grow quickly and will reward you with a growing sense of financial serenity."

7. Seek well-spent moments.

Money can't buy a truly well-spent moment. "Keep track of your well-spent moments every day with gratitude," she says, "and you will accumulate a private numbered account of wealth and wisdom the world cannot take away from you."

8. Keep a contentment chest.

Cover an ordinary lidded gift box with beautiful fabric and collect what makes you happy, one clipping at a time. "Our sacred passions and wants become secretive and shameful because we believe we can't afford our dreams now," she says. "So create a holding place. Inside mine is a travel promotion on cardboard about great train journeys I hope to go on someday (for example, the Art Deco Orient Express from London to Venice), letters I've saved, matches from wonderful bars and restaurants."

9. Take a day and don't spend.

See how it feels. You might start to feel itchy. "Thrift is a thrill -- an art to be enjoyed today, making possible contented tomorrows."

10. Learn to live by your own purse.

"There is nothing that I ever bought -- not art or designer clothing -- that feels as good as solvency and having the money for the unexpected," Ban Breathnach says. "Winter does come. We need a coat. It does rain. We need an umbrella."      

Happy Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day, and I really wanted to write something in memorial for my Mom. Yet, I can't seem to find the words that would adequately relay the great love that I feel for this woman, even now, eleven years after her death. Rather fortuitously, I remembered a letter that I wrote to Mom on Mother's Day in 1999. I didn't know at the time that it would be her last Mother's Day with us. The letter captures everything of what I felt at the time, and much of what I still feel for her today. I miss her terribly, but remain ever grateful to have had her for as long as I did.

I hope everybody has a lovely Mother's Day. I am going to a matinee with my own two lovely daughters, who love me just as much as I love my Mom. Life is good, and goes around and around. 

9 May 1999

Dear Mom,

There aren’t many hours that pass in a day without my thinking of you. And so, I thought that I might share some of the thoughts that have come to me. But first I want you to know that a lot of what I have to say is not new, it is stuff that I have known for a long time but have never shared with you. It just seems as though I have this opportunity to tell you how important you are to me, and I think that I should grab the moment. Besides, I’m running out of things to buy you.

As you know, I hate that you have leukemia. It scares me, maddens me, and very often saddens me. But I am so amazed at how you deal with it, at your strength and courage and all-around attitude. I know that you probably have moments, or days, when your strength falters and I really need you to know that you can share those times with me. Phone me or send me an e-mail, or save it up until you see me, but please don’t keep your worries to yourself. We are able to share so much, I think, and I really want to be able to talk to you about anything. You don’t need to protect me from your pain. You see, I have strength too and I am certain that I got it from you. Anyway, the rest of this letter isn’t about the fact that you got sick and scared me into realizing how much I love you. I am writing because there seems to be no better time than now, to share with you a piece of my heart.

I think I’ve told you about the warmest and most precious memories that I have from when I was little. You know we all go on like we were so hard done by, and I’ve done my fair share of criticizing you and Dad about how you raised us, etc. etc. But I have always known that you both did your very best, and in recent years I have come to realize just how good it really was. I think of what it must have taken for you to arrange our holidays in the summer, to get us a pool, to fix my room up so beautifully, to always make our home warm and safe. I know now how much energy and money that must have taken and as kids, we likely never really appreciated it the way we should have. But the times that are most precious to me are still the times that we sat in the living room, on the couch, probably of a Sunday afternoon, with you reading at one end while I read my Nancy Drew book at the other. Dad and the boys were not usually around, and I guess Deb was either not invented or napping, but I recall sitting, listening to the fat from the roast spitting in the oven. It was just very special. After Debra was born, and you were still at home, after-school time was incredibly wonderful. I suppose it was because you were there (rather than at work) and the boys and I didn’t have the opportunity to scrap but whatever it was, I loved coming home and having you there. And even to this day, I love to watch or feel or hear you, humming or singing while you are puttering in the kitchen or tidying up something. Well, I could go on and on about these silly little childhood memories but most of all what I want to say is that I think it is kind of a shame that we only really know what our parents did for us, when we start getting old enough to wonder why our own children don’t appreciate what we do for them.

I don’t want to get into my teenage years, because they weren’t very good times for you, and hey, this is a present not a punishment. I don’t have any real explanation for why I was such a screw-up, but I am grateful that I lived to see the end of it. There were times when my behaviour was really self-destructive, and I am certain that I was also destroying you and Dad. All I can say is that I am sorry, and I would do anything I could to change things so that we had only happy memories of my teen years, but we can’t so let’s just be grateful that they are long over. And from my perspective, I believe that I learned a lot from those times, and in some ways, that stuff made me who I am today.

I spend a lot of time counting my blessings, and being grateful for all that I have in my life. And I am so glad that I moved back here to be closer to you eleven years ago and that I have gotten to spend so much time with you and Dad this past decade. I want to spend the next decade with you both, and I know that we will do everything we can to make that happen. But I also realize that a lot can happen, to any of us, at any time. And so when I think in terms of time, I realize that I have had the most and best of times with my mother, certainly better than anybody I know. I don’t know another woman who I am close to, except for Debra, who has what we have. And I am so grateful for that. If a person’s success in life is measured by how much they are loved by their children, then I would say that you and Dad are likely the most successful people in the world.

Well, my darling Mother, I guess I should stop this shameless display of emotion. I wanted to write you something that would be entirely beautiful and eloquent and touch you right in the center of your soul. But that will have to come later, this letter seems to be more about saying some things that I should have said a long time ago. And yet, I believe that you know these things already, that you know me, and that you know my heart. And so you already know how very much I love you. I could not love you more, but I sure can love you for a lot longer. So we will just continue along, as we have been doing. Even though we have been changed so much by the past few months, I think that when it comes to matters of our hearts, all of our family has shown how much we mean to each other. Not all of us can speak or write about our love for one another, but we all know it. And that is everything.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Love,

Dawn

(Blog Note: I wrote this letter before our own kids learned to appreciate us, but now they do.)

Everyone Deserves a Life

Every year, as I start getting closer to celebrating my recovery clean date, I find myself wishing deeply that every woman who needs help to get clean, will get that help. Here is my message for each and every one of them.

Dear Newcomer,

One day you will look in the mirror and cry to yourself, “I just can’t do this anymore.” And you will put down your drink, your drug, your hell. You will stop the behaviour.

That’s Step One.

One day you will realize that against all odds, you have made it through a day (or through a “thing”) without using anything or getting loaded, and you will think to yourself, “Maybe there is something to this new way of life, maybe I can do this.”

That’s Step Two.

One day you will experiment with letting go of control of something that you have been hanging on to so tightly that it is killing you, and everything will turn out okay.

That’s Step Three.

One day you will look back over your past and start figuring out what you did wrong, and what you did right, and in so doing you will identify the patterns that ruled and (probably) still rule your life.

That’s Step Four.

One day you will share your past and your pain with another woman who has been where you have been, and through her understanding and acceptance, you will come to know that those things you can’t forgive yourself for are only things that you did, they are not who you are.

That’s Step Five.

One day you will finally become willing to change those patterns that still keep you from being your highest self, and once again you will come to believe that you can, if you choose to, change your life for the better. But it’s going to take some more work.

That’s Step Six.

One day you will try to replace just one of your character defects with its spiritual opposite, and the relief you will feel when you succeed will compel you to try to replace another one.

That’s Step Seven.

One day you will realize or remember that something you once said or did to another human being caused that person extreme pain, and you will find yourself wishing you could take it back, or make things right.

That’s Step Eight.

One day you will go to that person and say, “I am sorry, I have changed.” He or she may or may not be ready or willing to forgive you, but you will feel a great burden lift, just for having made the effort.

That’s Step Nine.

One day you will look back over your day before you close your eyes and recognize the moments in your day where you absolutely got something right, and reflect upon areas where you know you want to do better tomorrow.

That’s Step Ten.

One day you will realize that a few days have passed since you felt unworthy of the grace and the gifts that you are experiencing in your life, and you will start to wonder what else a higher power might have in mind for you.  

That’s Step Eleven.

One day you will recognize the same pain in another woman, that you once felt yourself. Perhaps you will see it in her eyes, or read it in her words. You will reach out to that woman with all that you are, all that you have learned and all that you know to be true. You will tell her that one day she will look in the mirror and realize that she can’t do it anymore. You will tell her that when that day comes, you will be there for her, just as others were here for you.

This is Step Twelve.

Chasing Authenticity

I've been trying to live by the Dr. Seuss quote, above.

I don't think that it is a coincidence that I keep coming across Brené Brown's work and words. I'm certain that some of the bloggers who I follow have mentioned her in their posts recently, and last night after watching the first instalment of The Kennedys, I came across a PBS special showcasing Brown and her research.

Today, I spent a bit of time researching her, including listening to this provocative TED talk that she gave on "The Power of Vulnerability."

I desperately want to speak, write and live my truth. But I feel like I've got a hell of a long way to go to get there.

Maybe Brené can help. I don't know her very well yet, but I already really like her. A lot.

Happy Birthday

Mom, you would have turned 79 today. As has been the case for each of your birthdays this past nearly eleven years, it's been a bit of a rough week for me. I'm trying for a lighter touch today because, well to be quite frank, I've been on kind of a downer lately and it's getting pretty old. If you were here, you would be getting impatient with me and saying things like "enough already, snap out of it, move on." I'd be tempted to listen to you, but then my therapist would be irritated with me.

So for today at least, on your birthday, I'd like to catch you up on a few things I would tell you if you were here, things that I think would make you smile. If you were here, I think that you would laugh as I fill you in on things and sometimes you would say, "You silly arse." I loved it when you called us kids silly arses. Do you know that you almost always said it with a smile on your face?

Yes, I think that you would be quite surprised to learn what's been going on with me since you left. For example:

• I'm still not much of a cook, and I still have no interest in baking;
• I still haven't had a drink and it's been nearly 24 years (I helped myself to some of your medication a week after you died though, so I changed my "clean" date to May 11, 2000);
• I finished my PhD, but don't really give a shit about it because I think the main reason I did it was to make you proud of me, and I realized half-way into it that you were probably proud of me anyway. I finished it anyway, have a huge student loan.
• An interesting piece of that is that I defended my PhD thesis in the hospital one week after they removed my cancerous colon, which is kind of a hoot of a story to tell people;
• I have a garden now and it's quite lovely, but I still kill houseplants on a regular basis;
• I wear long johns all winter long, fancy ones with lace at the bottom (under my jeans and dress pants);
• Soul Mate started drinking black tea in your memory after you died, and now he is addicted to it. We don't just drink your favourite (Red Rose) anymore, in fact we buy loose tea now, at a cost of about $25 a pound. It would freak you out to know that we go through a pound about every two weeks.
• First Born has inherited yours and my voracious appetite for reading and collecting books. She still loves ribs for dinner more than anything, especially her Poppa's;
• Yoga Kid still reads mostly non-fiction. She is now a vegetarian, so she's not into anything we ever cook around here anymore, but eats a lot of quinoa (I know, you have no idea what that is, do you?);
• I now hate the colour forest green because I overdosed on it so so much in the 90s;
• I drive a Nissan Cube now, you would laugh at it and tell me it's funny looking (because it is) but I love it;
• My favourite thing in the world to do is sit by the ocean and think and drink tea or coffee, and I often think of you and how much I miss you, while I am there;
• We are no longer landlocked, but moved to an island so the ocean is only about a 7.5 minute drive away in my funny looking Cube;
• I still can't carry a tune or draw, but I am learning to knit a wicked slipper;
• I still miss you so much sometimes that I cry until my face is red and blotchy and snot drops drip onto my chest or into my ears if I am lying down;
• I eat crumpets with jam (in memory of you) even when I am trying not to eat wheat or flour;
• I sometimes amaze myself by not crying when I am thinking or writing about missing you. Like right now.

I'm going to keep trying to celebrate a "happy" birthday for you today, Mom. I know you would like that, for both of us. Before I go, I want to share a picture that your sweet nephew created and sent to Baby Sister and I. To be honest, it kind of creeped me out a bit at first, but I love the idea of it. That you are there, watching over me and all of your loved ones, from somewhere just beyond the ocean's horizon, is a comfort.

I love you, Mom.

Serenity at the Shore

It's Saturday, and it's really warm out. The sun is shining. Soul Mate and I wander along the beach. He's like a little kid at the side of the sea. 

He meanders along, poking at the sand with a stick, picking up rocks and gnarled lengths of driftwood. He climbs high upon the storm strewn logs and smiles. Yes, I think. You can be the "king of the castle" for today. Eventually, he joins me in my ongoing life quest to find the perfect piece of sea glass. I find one or two gems, but none as magnificent as "Hearty," the one I found last month when I combed the beach with Yoga Kid.

Gratitude washes over me as I sit and ponder the beauty of our shore, our island. I say a prayer for the people suffering so deeply on the other side of this ocean, the ocean that I love so much. God bless them all.

Lost Dreams Reawakened

As part of my healing process (you'd need to read another post or two below to catch up), Soul Mate and I took a four day weekend up island from where we live. We spent the weekend driving, hiking, and savouring gourmet meals at several world renowned restaurants, including the Wickanninish Inn, where we dunked toast into the most expensive eggs on the island. More than anything, each day we took great pleasure in  each other's company and relaxing in nature. I hadn't chilled like that for a really long time. Although I have been "'taking it easy" for the three weeks that I've been home off of work, acupuncture, therapy and doctor's appointments take a lot of energy. Especially the therapy. 

Getting away from "it all" was an excellent idea. The drive up was not entirely relaxing because we hit a snowstorm going over the mountain pass that we had to conquer before descending into Pacific Rim National Park in order to reach our final destination, Tofino. It was a good thing that we brought the four wheel drive truck, and not my Nissan Cube.

I can't think of a more stunningly beautiful and outrageously laid back place in March. Within just a few hours of walking the beaches and hiking the trails, peacefulness and serenity began to replace (my) anxiety and depression. Thankfully, Soul Mate doesn't get depressed, and is seldom anxious, although as of late, he has expressed some anxiety about my mental state. He thinks that how I feel, matters. Which says a lot about why I believe he is my soul mate. He is not a worrier, just a pretty happy go lucky guy who is rarely ever heavy hearted. I'm guessing that seeing me lighten up so soon into our trip was a good sign for him. Neither of us knew when we set off on our adventure if I was going to be able to pull off a good time.

In addition to lifting my droopy spirits, nature's healing power and the slower pace quickly did wonders for my creativity too. That, and a strong Americano at dinner Thursday night kept me up late thinking through and excitedly solving some screenplay storyline problems that I'd had no cure for previously. By the time that dawn broke on Friday, I had remembered that once upon a time or two, in my past, I had been convinced that I was meant to live in a small but beautiful, laid back town, like Tofino. I don't think at this point in my life that we will be moving to a teeny tiny town. I have a life, a home, family, and career in the small city where I live. But it was fascinating for me to reflect upon the fact that 25 years ago, when my dream of becoming a writer first surfaced, I had just moved to a house on the ocean in another very small, coastal community with First Born, Yoga Kid and That Other Husband.

Of course, Yoga Kid wasn't doing yoga at nine months old, but she could have used it, she was shaping up to be a terror of a toddler. Kind of odd considering how they both turned out, but First Born was a completelly mellow five year old back in those days. She's the lively one now, but still just as cute as ever. They both turned out very well, luckily for all of us. That Other Husband (he turned out okay too, but only years after I divorced him) did not really suit laid back life on the edge of the ocean at the time. Let's just say he was used to living on the edge, but not of the ocean. In any case, I wasn't paying too much attention to what he was all about in those days anyway.

My family didn't know anything about my writing dreams way back then. When I announced to our potential ocean dwelling landlord that "I am a writer," my mother, who was visiting at the time, tried not to laugh out loud and give my "lie" away. That Other Husband ignored my remark altogether, which says a lot. We got the house, and I had the opportunity to explain more fully to my Mom about my heart's desire to write. I honestly don't really remember what she told me, but I like to think that she would have said, "you can do it, of course you can." Mostly what I remember is that Mom was amazed at my gumption to declare myself a writer, when I hadn't written a word, for all we knew. She and my Dad always did like my gumption, I think. I remember when I decided to go into treatment just over a year later, my Dad said that I would do great in recovery, that it was going to take hard work but that I had the balls to do it. Thanks, Dad. That one has always stuck with me.

Well I bought myself a typewriter (god, who remembers typewriters) and I do recall sitting at my bedroom window, looking over the ocean while I pecked away and first learned that writing does not come easily. Who knew? I remember that First Born would sometimes sit behind me on my bed and write (it came easily to her) and draw quietly, while Yoga Kid napped across the hall. I think I have some of that early writing somewhere around here, I'll dig it up one day, when I have the courage. I can almost sense the feeling that I had, sitting struggling over word choice, trying to get down on paper what I was experiencing at the time. I felt so much joy thanks to my beautiful little girls and the inspiring setting, but there was a fair bit of confusion and pain too. Some would call it insanity. Hell, even I would have to call it insanity.

In any event, life took a few interesting and time consuming turns in the year after I landed on that beach and raised my writer's flag. In 1987 I raised the most important flag, the white flag of surrender to addiction. Some of my current writing (even here, in this blog) is about the years in between that time and place, and now. I'll keep filling in the blanks, I am sure. It's been an interesting life, this life of mine. I remember when I got into recovery, I worried that life would be boring. That I would be boring. Hasn't happened, yet.

Where I am trying to get to here, the point of today's narrative is, that as I stood overlooking the ocean in Tofino this weekend, things felt different and yet oddly familiar. I am not certain that it was the place that entirely made the difference, because I already do spend a lot of reflection time by the ocean where I live. No, I think it was moving at a slower pace that started to draw out memories, creativity, and a stronger sense of faith in my self. I have come to believe, again, that I have the balls to take care of myself right now, and I know that I am going to be okay. I don't think it's just gumption anymore, but gumption plays a part.

Gumption or god's grace, it doesn't really matter how I got here again. But I am a writer. No lie.

"We ask ourselves when we stopped believing in ourselves and when we stopped believing in anything outside ourselves. Through this process, our lost dreams may reawaken."

(It Works, How and Why, 46)

I Forgot to Mention

In addition to wanting to figure out my real purpose in life, I want desperately to be a writer. I write a lot in my professional and academic lives (no, they are not one and the same, but that is a story for another day) but I want to write, and only write, for my living. For now, writing is the newest of my three ongoing careers, and the one that pays the least. Well, okay. It pays nothing. But I believe people when they say "do what you love, and the money will come." I am not in a panic.

It does occur to me as I sit here at 7:30 in the morning that there is a very good likelihood that the money never will come, if I don't finish my writing projects. This space could be a journal of self discovery, and nothing more, if nobody ever follows me. In the same way that I really want people to like me, I really want people to like my writing. On a point of practicality, I know that I need to figure out how to tag my posts to attract people to this blog. But to start, I am fine with talking to myself.

My morning ritual looks something like this, minus the personal toiletry activities: check my work Blackberry, make a cup of tea (creamed earl grey, if you haven't tried it, you are robbing yourself), start worrying about what to wear to the office, and flip open a book of daily meditations or pull a card from an inspirational deck of something or other. Lately I like to pull from a beautifully illustrated deck of Grace cards created by self-care expert Cheryl Richardson. So, here goes.

The card I just picked is "Chance", and it reads:

"Take the leap. Divine protection is always by our side."

Which is kind of fitting. This blog is my leap.