Tag Archives: kabbalah

Honesty is Friggin’ Hard



Honesty is a quality of the Light. If we want to be the Light in a relationship, we need to be ourselves. I’m not saying concealment isn’t appropriate at times, but hiding things out of fear and insecurity is not really a good idea.

Of course, honesty requires courage. When we hesitate to tell the truth, it is often because we are afraid of the consequences. And sometimes we may be afraid for good reasons! But even if the initial reaction to our honesty is messy, it is sometimes better to let the chips fall where they may. That way we allow room for something more solid and authentic to take hold. — Karen Berg.


Speaking Up is Hard To Do



Feeling invisible is not something that I often have to contend with. This changed when I was traveling recently.

I stood in the remarkably empty security line at the airport, waiting patiently to grab a grey tray. Those trays remind me of the cafeteria trays from school. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this coos walks up to the tray table, grabs one, cuts the line, and is now positioned in front of me.

Holy crap, this shit just got real, and it just became a high school cafeteria.

The way I saw it, I had several options; I could kick her in the teeth, while I hurled epithets, I could take the Zen approach, and let her be, because Karma is a she-bitch, or I can choose what’s behind door number three.

What was waiting for me behind door number three has not always revealed itself in obvious ways, but this was about to change, here at the airport, once and for all.

I smiled my pearly whites and I gently, but firmly, told her that I was also in line. I think I also motioned to the line with my hand, just in case she needed a visual.

She looked at me with a half-smile on her face, which I immediately interpreted as a condescending, “Oh, you’re adorable, but what are we really talking about here?” Her body language supported her unacceptable action.

She casually looked around and said, “Oh, so I’m after you? Okay.” I smiled again to acknowledge her genius conclusion. She stood behind me in line and then under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear said, “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

Uh, yeah, it does, you wench, because if everyone behaved the way that you just did, either completely oblivious to others around you, or seeing others around you but feeling entitled to cut airport security lines, and I’m sure you do the same on highways and byways, then where the f’ would we all be?

The attitude is the problem. What you do on your time; in your car, house, or boat, when you’re alone, is your business. However, if I’m in the car, house, or boat, and your actions directly affect me, don’t be a selfish ass.

I don’t always follow the rules, or the law, for that matter. I give you exhibit A, but at some point, one has to speak up and make people aware of their bad behavior and poor choices. Perhaps these people have their heads so far up their asses, that they don’t know they had cut the line.

Could I have let it go? Of course. Would it have made any difference to the time that I got to my gate? (which was delayed a half hour) No, but I don’t think that was the point.

Where do you draw the line? When do you speak up? I try to balance it out, and often going back and forth, weighing it out, often gives me a raging headache.

Sometimes, I’ll take a nice cleansing breath, and imagine that whatever annoyance has just happened, happened for a reason. Other times, I will want to kick the person in the teeth, DO YOU NOT SEE ME? GET TO THE BACK OF THE FRIGGIN’ LINE.

As Kabbalah and kind as I am, oh, and I am, it is also not an open invitation to be taken advantage of. Everyone has their limits.

Don’t push me cause I’m close to the edge, I’m trying not to lose my head ah huh-huh-huh.


Traveling With Teenagers For The First Time

PhotoCredit: EvolvedWorld

PhotoCredit: EvolvedWorld

This post originally appeared on Evolved World

My boyfriend and I are going to Europe, with his two teenage kids, for the first time this week. It’ll be our first family trip, that’s more than an extended weekend and I’m scared shitless. Why? Because I’ve never traveled with kids before in this capacity and although I’m quite familiar with being the kid traveling with their parents, I am in the dark about the reverse.

Others have told me that traveling with kids isn’t a vacation. Great. On the other hand, my father told me that I’ll have a terrific time. I’m not sure what he’s basing that on, considering the infighting, pouting, and debilitating boredom that accompanied some of my childhood trips with my family. My parents dragged us to friggin’ Colonial Williamsburg for crying out loud! Now I ask you, what ten-year old is interested in seeing how butter is made and then, as a special treat, churning it herself? Note to parents everywhere. Skip it. You’ll score extra points with your kids.

How Do I Travel In A Way That I’ve Never Traveled Before?

One step at a time. Look at each part of the trip, from pre-production to production, as its own adventure, and remember that it’ll be the first time for the rest of the group as well.

I Have Certain Expectations. What If They’re Not Met?

Don’t have any, this way you won’t be disappointed if something doesn’t work out. And rest assured, some things won’t work out. It’s just like real life. The key will be to take it in, let it out and move on.

I’m often the one keeping track of the kids while my boyfriend has his head up his own ass.

Try to sit back. Let dad take charge of his children and make him responsible for pushing them aside, so as to avoid getting hit by a bus because they’re texting. Don’t be a control freak.

Carve Out Some Alone Time

Just because you’re traveling with the family, it doesn’t mean that you have to be attached at the proverbial boob, 24/7. Sneak away for a walk or get a massage. Happy Girlfriend Mom (step-mom, bio-mom, girlfriend, mom etc.), happy everybody else.

Getting Input From The Kids

This seems like it could be a wonderful kumbaya moment but it can lead to anarchy. If the input doesn’t yield a peaceful outcome within a reasonable amount of time, or a majority rule, pull out the, “I’m sorry, who’s paying for this vacation?” card and watch the kids shut their pie holes but quick and then follow you into the museum.

Who’s in charge of carrying the passports?

The parent that has misplaced their cell phone, keys or sunglasses the least in the current calendar year. I’m pretty sure this is going to be me.

The fear that I have, and that perhaps others in my situation have, is false evidence appearing real. I learned this from my Kabbalah studies. It’s true. How can I fear something that has never happened? Most of these worries are only in my head. And this can be a scary and unstable place.

I have no idea what this trip is going to look or feel like. I have zero practice, training, or skills that are likely to help me. And to this I say, bring it on. In the face of the unknown, I’ve decided to relax, release and let go. It’s not the trip that I had originally wanted to take with my boyfriend. However, since I’ve adjusted my way of thinking, coupled with some think talking with myself, I am probably more excited and jazz hands about this vacation than the rest of the clan.

I like to think that any new experience is good by the sheer fact of doing something that you’ve never done before. I’ll let you know if this is true after I return.




I Stand Alone… In a good way.

It’s difficult for me at times to celebrate my accomplishments, life experiences and the exciting journey’s that I’ve taken over the years. It’s always been, What’s next? What’s the new sparkly thing over there in the corner for me to try?

During such times, I write down my life in bullet points, just as a reminder. This proves especially germane when I’m feeling as if I have nothing worthwhile to show for myself.

My little bullet point exercise came in especially handy this morning, when I got an email from an old friend, and business partner. It was an announcement for her book launch. If one more friend or acquaintance publishes a book, I’m going to cut myself. There’s just so much a person can take. I know all the arguments. Their successes have nothing to do with mine. There’s room for everyone but, come on, sometimes it fuckin’ sucks. I don’t care how spiritual you are (several years of Kabbalah baby) I’m also human.

What I hated the most about the email were the self doubts that surfaced in me. Brief moments of insecurity in my abilities, and irrational questions like, Where’s my book? and What am I doing wrong? There’s something to be said for keeping your eyes on your own paper, burying your head in the sand and getting off of Facebook, so you don’t know what anyone else is doing or PUBLISHING.

There wasn’t a personal note in the email, just a xxoo with the invitation attached. Really? I’ve reached out to her in the past about one thing or another and she has never responded.

How does she ignore my emails and then have the balls to send me an invitation? The last time I heard from her, she invited me to a party promoting her television show. At the time, I was curious, less confident and also thought, you never know who you might meet, so I went.

I had a crazy conversation with Cyndi Lauper, so it wasn’t a complete waste, but when I got home, I took note of how the evening made me feel and I questioned my motives. Why did I go in the first place? Honestly.

I went because in the past, I lived vicariously through others’ successes. I felt important and like a somebody, just by being friends with or working with successful people. (Friend above included) Fucked up, I know. Instead of creating for myself, and taking a chance on my own talents, I stood in the wings, watching other people soak up their moment in the limelight, thinking that I was somehow a part of that light.

This is what I did with this old friend and business partner. When she hired me to write and develop a talk show for her, I was still quite green but excited about our partnership. I saw it as my entree into the world that I had dreamed about while watching, I Love Lucy, in our small two-bedroom apartment in Yonkers, NY.

I followed her around like a little puppy dog, hoping that her world would rub off on me. Bad idea and even worse for the ol’ self esteem.

After a couple of years, we ended our professional relationship. Our personality differences, and work styles, proved to be too frustrating. During one verbal exchange, she called me didactic*. I shouted back, “I don’t think that I am.” With no hard feelings, we went our separate ways. When I got home that night, I looked up didactic in the dictionary. Oops.

That was then and this is now.

After reading her email, I took out my list of bullet points, and got back to work. I stand on my own stage now, with my own spotlight. Needless to say, I won’t be going to the book party.

*DIDACTIC: intended to teach, particularly in having moral instruction as an ulterior motive: in the manner of a teacher, particularly so as to treat someone in a patronizing way.