Listening To My Life

I'm listening

Still here? Wouldn't exactly blame you if you weren't. I've not been here myself for more than three months, and in the blogging world, that's pretty crappy.

Realizing how long it had been since I posted, sitting with it, and really listening to my life, I realized that I've moved beyond this blog. And that's really ok--the deep knowing is good, peaceful, and, right.

In fact, what's been happening is I've been reinventing (as mentioned here). My work--in fact my whole entire life--has become focused on one thing: love, and all the ways that it manifests itself. To that end, some things have powerfully shifted in my world--whether having to do with how I charge for my coaching services (love offerings), that my work is my way of loving others in a business context, that I'm writing my first book--about conscious marriage, or that I'm doing a lot of blogging and thinking about love. It's really why I'm here...in fact, the whole of why I'm here.

So it's no surprise that my new(est) blog, Love Lavishly is all about things I find in the world that are loving in some way. If you'd like to join that party, I'd welcome you. It's hosted on Tumblr, which is a new journey in, and of, itself.

Yep...after three years, it's time to close this particular blogging chapter in my life. Thank you, every single one of you, who has stopped by to visit, offer support, follow my weight-loss journey (currently down 140 lbs!), laugh or cry with me. You're precious, I love you, and I'm grateful. Beyond grateful, really.

I'll leave you with this...if it resonates at all with you, come find me, somewhere, anywhere. 

 

The last of the 30 Day Projects

 
December's theme is 31 Days of Wishes. I'm excited and happy to be doing it. And although bittersweet, I'm happy to have decided that this, my 14th month of 30 Day Projects, will be the last. 

If you've played along with any of the themes, I thank you for joining in and adding to the goodness. And if you haven't, there's still time to do wishes!

Wondering how they do it

In the six-ish weeks since I last posted, lots has happened in my world to cause it to turn pretty much upside down--at least professionally. Personally, things couldn't be more serene, and I'm loving that.

But professionally, it's all akimbo. That's not a bad thing, exactly...but it is, for lack of a better adjective, disruptive to my otherwise serene life.

I'm reinventing again--something I've done several times before. It's not scary, it's not even especially difficult. It's just a lot of work, with most of that work being internal and exploratory in nature.

As I've been thinking about what I want to do, "multifarious entrepreneur" seems apt, as I want to do a variety of things. But I don't think that's something people buy.

I don't for a moment wonder why people become "The ______ (fill in the blank with a noun) diva," or "queen." It's far easier to promote yourself if you have one thing on which to hang your hat.

And I guess that, for the most part, for the past 14 years I've been some version of that with regard to Virtual Assistance. But it's never been the whole of me. At the very least I've also written and coached. Sometimes I've consulted, too. And led retreats. And taught. And this past year, I did all of that plus interviews, 30 Day Projects, and another five or ten things.

And why? Because I'd become mind-numbingly bored and lazy if I hung my hat on one thing and put all of my time, energy, and focus in that.

I read their blogs, those queens and divas, and I honestly don't know how they talk about their one thing, all day, every day, for years and years without growing tired of it, or simply running out of things to say. I run out of things to say all the time.

So, yeah, I wonder how they do it. And I wonder if I'd do it if I could. I'm not so sure I would. Would you?

Kim's 8. Tonight she'll be bought for sex--maybe 8X before the sun comes up.

A friend just asked me why child trafficking matters to me. Firstly, I don't know how it can NOT matter to any of us. But secondly, it matters because it doesn't just happen to kids in other countries. It could happen to a child I love, right here at home. And the key to making it stop is education.

Anyone who's read me for any time knows that I am the child of alcoholic narcissists. And there's been a TON of work to do to heal the wounds from what happened to me as a child. But when I think about being kidnapped and sold into sex slavery? I can't help but think that what happened to me was a cake walk.

I also believe, wholly, that the future of our world in in our children. So I'm pretty sappy when it comes to charities that help kids--and especially at-risk kids.

Born2Fly.org reminds me that, with regard to trafficking, ALL kids are at-risk. And so supporting them is absolutely something I very much want to put my time and energy and attention behind.

Their site starts by saying this:

"Most kids are lured into sex slavery because they don’t know the deceptive tactics of traffickers. Wherever awareness training takes place, the rate of trafficking plummets. There’s just not enough, nor is it available in the languages of most at-risk kids." -- Born2Fly.org

Today, 10.10.10, the amazing Diana Scimone is doing an incredibly big, lavishly loving thing by trying to get 10K people to donate $10 each to stop child trafficking. Just $10. Surely you have that. Or consider $10 for each of your children. Or $10 for every child you personally have a relationship with. Or just give everything you can. It's tax deductible (in case that matters to you).

More info is on born2fly.org. And you can give by clicking here.

Time flies

Since the last time I wrote, I've put on a retreat for a group of fabulous women biz owners, hosted a weekend community event for my company, AssistU, where there was more love per square inch of space than I've ever experienced anywhere else in my life.

Filled to the brim, I've spent the last week getting my ducks in order so that I could start my Q4 sabbatical today (as if Q4 isn't enough, I'm adding this week, dontchaknow).

Sabbatical, for me, isn't a removal of myself from work, but a removal of myself from the day-to-day biz responsibilities that call my attention, so that I have the space and time to focus on creating new things. In this case, I'll be focused on the direction of AssistU for 2011, and writing my book--at least the bulk of it. There will also be plenty of time for rest and rejeuvenation, as well as the ability to be and go wherever I like and wherever calls to me.

I look forward to seeing how my life and work speaks to me. I promise, I'm listening closely!

 

Saying goodbye to the dress

It's taken me a week to really process this and be able to write about it, and still I'm not sure that I'm especially clear-thoughted enough to be doing it. You can let me know.

Last weekend brought with it a rearranging of our bedroom closet. In doing that, I decided to decide what to do with my wedding dress.

I'd put it there nearly 20 years ago, thinking, as most new brides probably do, that maybe I'd wear it again (vow renewal?), or a child might want to wear it (not my own, certainly, as I never planned for those). And there it's sat--or rather, hung--in the dark, in the back corner, still as could be, with no real energy emanating from it at all, despite it's beautiful design, and amazing hand beadedness.

It was even still when I pulled it out of the corner, and into the light of our bedroom. I held it at eye level, looking at it as if it would suddenly tell me what to do. I finally decided to put it on, and that's where the stillness ended.

What flooded back to me were intense and vivid memories of our wedding, and of our reception. Of how I'd flubbed my vows. Of the love that filled the space that night. Of people who were there who are no longer alive. And then, the juxtaposed memories of my first dance as a married woman with Dominic, and the last dance I ever shared with my father--who died two months later.

At the time, of course, I didn't know that it would be our last dance. If I had, I might have paid closer attention to the details of it. Of how his tux felt under my cheek as I rested it against his shoulder, or of how his lips felt as he kissed my head.

I shuffled in to D's office, like a little girl playing dress-up, holding the dress together at the back because it's now way too big for me. He loved me up as he saw me standing there, tears streaming down my cheeks. He didn't say much--he didn't need to.

Back in our bedroom, I slowly decided what to do with the dress. As I hung it back on its hanger, I did up all the buttons on the back. There were 19, I noticed... and a twentieth if I counted the button for the bustle. I found it odd that I didn't know that, then realized that the only times I'd been near the buttons were when the dress was on me and someone else was tending to them. Still.

I put it back in plastic, and hung if off D's top dresser drawer. I slowly sunk into our bed, where I looked and looked at it.

The decision? To give it to Good Will.

The hope? That some beautiful fat girl who couldn't afford such a dress would buy it and love it, and maybe she would have children to give it to. 

It felt right, that decision. And when I'd had my fill of the dress, I put it in another bag, and sat that by the front door.

Later that afternoon, D and I drove the dress and some other gently used items to the donation center. I couldn't bring myself to do anything but stand by the car and let D take it all over to the platform. I watched as the attendant picked up the bag I'd put the dress in, and carried it out of sight to deposit it in the trailer. For a moment, I wanted to run over, tell the man I'd made an awful mistake and get it back--for what, I haven't a clue. But I didn't. Instead, I took a deep breath, turned and got into the car, and drove away, whispering a silly thing that I used to say as a little girl, anytime I left behind a place or person I'd loved..."Goodbye, dress... I'll miss you."

Anew: What I got from taking the easy way

Sitting in a cold exam room, I scanned the numbers on the printout lying on the sheet-covered table. Seeing that my A1C was below 5, I asked my endocrinologist when, if ever, I could actually say I’d beaten diabetes and am no longer diabetic. She smiled and said, “Now.”

This is why I had surgery. This is why I took the path of ease (and that some called a radical path). I’d eaten my way into diabetes, and I was determined to eat my way back out. I did it to save my life. I did it to be healthy. I did it because I didn't want this disease to render me blind, or numb, or without a digit or an appendage. I did it because of all the things that I absolutely can't do anything about, I had a way to do something about this. And I took that easy way. Beating diabetes was always the end game--my audacious goal.

And I’ve done what I set out to do. I can’t even begin to tell you what this feels like. It’s absolutely on par with learning, last summer, that I have a super-healthy heart. This news today was so big and I was so very giddy, that I almost missed the fact that all my other labs were wonderfully normal, too.

As for why I asked that question, it was because I’d heard this--that one actually never beats it. I’d heard that it’s always just over there somewhere, waiting to come back. I’d heard that it’s much the same as the belief (held by many people in the world of addiction), that addicts can never be free of the addiction—but will always be "in recovery."

I know it can come back, the diabetes. But in the same way that I can get a cold, get well, and not spend the rest of my life calling myself a “recovering cold-haver,” I can get on with my life and only call myself diabetic if I get the disease again.

If. Not when. A lovely distinction, that.

For now, and possibly the rest of my life*, I’m free.

*I'm thinking uber positively about this!

On still being a girl who hates to have her picture taken

If I could, I'd show you the picture of myself I carry in my head and that immediately makes itself visible when I think about having my picture taken.

In it, I'm about ten. We were having a long summer vacation in Quebec, and on that day, we were visiting the Montmorency Falls.

The picture if of me alone, with the falls as my backdrop. I look tired. I look cranky. I'm squinting (I'm super-photophobic) into the sun. I'm standing in such a way as to say, "Hurry up, already." I'm clearly not having a good time.

That's me--the girl who hates to have her picture taken. And I know that I have to. They've told me to stand there while they snap. It's not ok to refuse. That's not going to make them happy, and they must be happy, even if it means I'm miserable.

Fast forward 37-ish years, and I'm still that girl. I know this because in social settings I avoid cameras like the plague. I can, now, you know. I'm the Queen of My Own Life. I get to say no. And my first inclination, always, when a camera is pointing in my direction, is to protest loudly, and put my hand up as if the Queen is blocking the paparazzi.

What that's garnered me is a LOT of really awful pictures of myself. Pictures, I imagine, that might have been quite nice if only I'd been someone other than that girl.

So this past weekend, I took a deep breath, and had a photo shoot with the amazing Alina Kogan--a young, talented photographer here in Baltimore. The plan was to get some creative head shots that I could use in my business. We decided to shoot outside, in the lovely, lovely garden behind my friend Laura's house. 

But the day was grey, and it rained on and off. And then although the rain stopped and the sun attempted to peek out from behind the clouds, the glare outside was so bad that I couldn't look at the camera without squinting and blinking.

Inside we went, where I couldn't deal with the camera's flash without blinking. I wasn't having a good time. It was obvious Alina felt that--and it was causing creative challenges for her. I could see myself in my head... ten, the falls behind me, cranky. I'm sure that's what Alina was seeing, too--at least metaphorically.

And then the sun came out. Such a mechaya it was. And we went back outside--but under a covered porch where there thankfully was no sun and no glare to get in my way, and absolutely no need for Alina's flash.

And there, for what might be the first time ever, I started to have a good time with a camera pointed directly at me. No threats for non-compliance. No one making me do it. Alina clearly felt the shift, and came more alive creatively, and a short time later, we were finished.

I don't know how to stop being that girl in every day situations. Maybe I never will. But on Sunday, for a brief time, I saw myself very differently in my head.

And Alina captured it.

 

Have I been ignoring, or listening, to my life?

When I started this blog, it was with the intention of having a place to more fully and transparently share myself than I tend to do on my strictly biz blog. The stated purpose?

"My exploration of bringing what matters more fully into my every day, walkabout life."

And I've done that, even if I've not blogged it. My life is rich, and full, and I couldn't ask for more.

But I was realizing tonight that with all the varied places I post about myself on a regular basis (Twitter, Facebook, and now, a new blog), it feels like there's not much left to say over here.

That may not be true, but I'm exploring that possibility.

Whatever the truth, I haven't posted here much. And I'm guessing that it's time to step it back up, or back it on down.

More as I know it... and maybe there'll even be a post or two along the way :)

my exploration of bringing what matters more fully and richly into my everyday, walkabout life.

The name's been changed...

It's been a year. Actually--it's been a year and three days since my surgery. I'm 110 lbs lighter in weight, and 1000 lbs lighter in outlook. My life has changed in so many wonderful ways, and happiness has been the absolute order of the day, with one noticeable exception.

My first name.

In case you don't know, my name is Anastacia. I've been called Stacy since time began, though, and that was always a-ok with me. In fact, I never gave it much thought. And then one day, maybe about seven years ago, I started realizing that Stacy just didn't fit me so well anymore. Maybe it was ending the relationship with my mother that did it. Who knows. All I'm sure of is that as time passed, Anastacia fit me more and Stacy fit me less.

Two years ago, I started talking with experts about the possibility of using Anastacia in business. "No," they cried, "You can't do that because 'Stacy Brice' is a brand and you'll ruin the brand." They also said I'd lose mondo amounts of web traffic, and risked alienating my customer base, who could think Anastacia was a snooty name, and might suddenly see me as unaccessible.

Lord knows I didn't want that, so I didn't change a thing in business. But I started using Anastacia with new friends. And as they used what I've grown to think of as the name of my heart, I wanted more people to use it with me. But the experts kept playing in my head.

A few weeks ago, I reached out to an entrepreneur--the only person I knew of who had changed her first name, and changed it to something more unique than what was her then current name.

She reminded me of many things, including that there was no way for me to live my truth and live authentically if I continued to straddle the Anastacia/Stacy fence. I hadn't seen it that way--but the moment she mentioned it, I knew she was spot on. AND I knew that that straddling was more the cause of my small unrest than anything else.

So I decided to go on and change it. Everywhere. And to tell everyone who interacts with me in whatever way(s) they interact with me. So now you know. :)

If you're out and about online you may continue to see traces of Stacy Brice from time to time--it's a HUGE job trying to figure out where all the mentions of the name are and to get them changed. But here, and every other major place in my life, I'll be Anastacia in fairly short order.

Thanks for listening :)