This is an excerpt from the novel I'm writing called "Finding Grace Again." 

   “It’s like they are etched into my eyelids’” Regan told the therapist. “The only thing I see are these words,” Regan explained while grasping onto a drenched handful of tissues. “And then the sound of the metal, the screeching, the horns, the jolt,” she said crossing her arms. “I can’t see or hear anything else.”

   “I went through a red light at 40 miles per hour.” The police said she never slowed down. It was as if there was no intersection, no red light, and no danger whatsoever.  Just the words from the text.

   “Then what happens?” the therapist is gentle about the way she asks, probing Regan to continue, to purge herself of the details. She has recounted the story, factually, over and over to police officers, but this is the first time her tears don’t stop falling. It is as if they will never stop and she will drown in them.

   “The truck slams into the passenger side and I hear the crush, I feel the wave. It’s so fast and it stops all at once. It’s supersonic and it’s paused.” Regan adds, “I remember everything and nothing.”

   Regan is sobbing now, her eyes are red and swollen and watery, her shirt is wet from perspiration and she is shaking. “It’s important that you keep going,” the therapist pushes her to keep remembering.

   Regan continues, her voice cracking, she sounds almost-childlike herself. Her body is molding into a ball. Fetal position feels familiar to her. “I see Grace’s hair. It’s like a whip. It hits my cheek. She is being thrown from the backseat. I feel her skin and her arm, her delicate arm, as I reach for her with my hand. She slips out of my grasp.” Regan talks slowly, very slowly. She doesn’t leave out any details. Regan is quiet for a few moments, then she opens her mouth, “She’s gone,” is all that comes out. “Grace is gone.”

Finding Grace Again

Asking for help is hard to do. But I did it and an amazing editor, with 25 New York Times bestsellers under his belt, came to my rescue. Asking for (and getting) constructive criticism can be intimidating. Be careful what you wish for, Beth. I said this to myself many times during my recent writing journey.

The biggest lessons since asking an editor for help: be open to change and don't quit.

At one point my beloved editor (it can be a love/hate relationship if there is truth involved) told me, and I'll quote, "Sometimes being a good writer isn't enough." Ouch!

The story I wanted to tell in my novel "The Weekend at the Inn" all culminated during a weekend at an inn. But my editor had different ideas, and thankfully, I've listened.

Before throwing in the towel (which I have not yet done) I was open to his suggestions and more of a story began to unfold. He told me to find conflict for my main character, Regan, and to stop spinning around and around in thought and show her conflict through action.

What is beginning (and I stress beginning) to surface is a story with a beginning and a middle and an end, rather than one that was stuck (very stuck I must add). My new novel ideas look very little like my original ideas, which began several years ago.

This writer has evolved, the main character has changed and she encounters several conflicts with multiple layers - just like life.

My new novel is renamed and is now called "Finding Grace Again" and if I keep asking for help, keep telling the story, stay focused and face the fear, it may actually be a book one day.

I'm discovering that writing is a lot like life - if I'm willing to do the work, ask for help, listen with an open heart, not fight change - there is   g r a c e   to be found.

Stopping is a Simple Grace

This guest blog comes from motivational speaker, success coach and friend Walt Hampton  He is author of Journeys on the Edge: Living a Life That Matters (Aloha 2011). Visit his website at www.walthampton.com

Imagine peace. - Yoko Ono

I arrived in pretty rough shape.

I had committed to coming every three months.

It had been nearly ten since I had been back.

In the intervening time, I had run 1000 training miles and two ultra-marathons; I had launched a new book and traveled around the country on a speaking tour; I had ramped up my professional coaching practice; managed my law firm; climbed on the highest mountain in the Western Hemisphere; developed and launched a new product; and begun an intensive training program to hone and sharpen my coaching skills.

I was spanked. And not in a good way.

Yes, the guy who talks the game of groundedness was wrung out. Again.

They say we teach what we most need to know. So forgive me if I teach this one once again.

Regardless of whether we are introverts or extroverts, regardless of our religious or spiritual traditions, regardless of our roles, our professions, our commitments: every now and then we need to stop. Really stop. Completely stop.

Most of us have lives that are pretty crazy. And although busy has become a badge of honor, nearly 50% of us report feeling completely burned out at the end of every week.

We live for weekends and holidays. Thirsting for some down time.  But we’re addicted to our smartphones, tied to our computers, inundated with voicemails, deluged with emails; obsessed with status updates.

We are torn in a dozen different directions by the demands and expectations of our businesses and our professions often at the expense of our personal and family lives.

“Vacations,” when we take them, are often thinly veiled excuses for going back to work to “rest.”

We become like hamsters on a wheel that cannot stop.

We need to stop

- To renew our spirits
- To refresh our souls
- To listen to our hearts
- To hear the Still Small Voice that calls us to what truly matters
- To connect again with the ground, and the Ground of All Being.

We cannot be fully present to others if we do not nurture and care for ourselves. We cannot share our gifts with the world when we are fried. 

I go to Weston Priory nestled on a hill in the Green Mountains of Vermont with a centuries-old Benedictine tradition of hospitality and refuge. I go there to feel the ancient rhythms. I go there to soak in the silence, the stillness, the peace.  I go there to read and to write and reflect. I go there to walk the quiet roads, to sit in the Stone Chapel, to watch the afternoon light play on the hillsides, and to gaze at the stars in the inky blackness of the nights.

You don’t need to go to a monastery though. You can walk on a beach, hike in the mountains, sit by a brook, lay in a field.  You can nail plywood to your windows, pull your computer cord out of the wall, turn off your phone and sit on your sofa.

The point is to STOP.  Get quiet. Be still.

What my coaching clients seem to cry out for most is time management. Time, of course, can’t be managed. Time just is. We must manage ourselves. We are the only ones who can stop the wheel and step off.

Or you can crash and burn.

Stopping is a simple grace we give ourselves. We get to choose.

The problem with killing two birds with one stone

Need permission to waste some time today? You'll get it right here. I'm pleased to have writer Ann Hampton in the blog spotlight! Enjoy her work and feel free to view her blog.

My mother used to complain whenever I trotted up to my bedroom without taking the items she’d left for me on the stairs.  She’d complain again if I came back down without bringing the trash can she’d asked for, or the jacket I needed for school. Two trips were a waste.  Why not combine tasks to minimize the effort?  Inefficiency, in her mind,was a sin on par with smearing chocolate sauce on the new white couch, or punching the family dog.

So, I grew up believing that a well-lived life, the kind my mother would approve of, hinged on my ability to kill multiple birds with one stone.

I think about my arch nemisis–efficiency– a lot when I’m on a mountain.  Day in and day out, carrying one load up to a higher camp, going back down for another.  Breaking camp in the morning, setting it back up all over again at night.  Going up an unpleasantly steep slope, only to discover that we’re on the wrong route and we need go back down and  find another. The whole exercise seems wasteful.  A very poor use of time. A prime example of inadequate planning.

The problem with trying to be  efficient all the time is that it causes paralysis.  A simple action requires us to think about the other three or four things that could be done at the same time, which makes everything daunting,  Not good.  Especially for things like writing. It’s awfully hard to write a simple sentence when we’re considering all the jobs it should be accomplishing. And it’s awfully hard to feel like we’re worth the salt when we’ve tossed out two drafts already, and the third isn’t looking very good.  Do the job right the first time,  my mother always liked to say. ( I don’t suppose I need to mention here that my mother never wrote.)

I love Richard Bausch.  He’s a writer I follow on Facebook who I think should publish his status updates.   He says:

Just keep going. Say it all out and let it be wrong if it’s going to be wrong for awhile–take the blind alleys and the wrong turns that seem promising and then seem to wilt as you get into the third paragraph of them. That’s utterly normal and healthy and good. Down one of those blind alleys is a door that opens on the technicolor world of the novel you were born to write–and it’s why I’ve always loved that moment in THE WIZARD OF OZ when Dorothy opens that door on Munchkin Land. Seriously. Get the film and look at that: that’s us writers coming to the opening door, the one that gives forth the world of the book in brightness and color and, DAMN, one isn’t in Kansas anymore!

Bausch is inspiring because he gives us writer folks permission to take off with an idea and see where it goes.  To improvise, even when it takes us down a dead end.  Because eventually, eventually, we find where we’re supposed to be.  We say what we’ve always wanted to say.  It’s ok with Richard, I would guess, if we forget our jacket in the bedroom and have to go back to get it.

And this concept isn’t just freeing for writers.  It means that all of us humans get to waste our time on crappy jobs and reaalllllyyyy bad relationships. And we get to change our majors twelve times in college and even drop out for a year to hitch-hike across Europe.  Because nothing is really a waste.  Our mistakes–the ones that seem to have soaked up our precious time–are  just necessary steps in a long line of steps that get us to where we’re  meant to be. Mistakes mean we are trying new things.  We need to embrace mistakes because we learn from them.

So here’s a concept.  Forget efficiency, nasty bastard that it is. Go out and waste some energy and time.  In the end, it will all come out right.

Feel free to contact Ann directly. Or add her on Facebook. She is available for one-on-one mentoring.
Ann Hampton
46 Gildersleeve Ave.
Collinsville, CT 06022
860-559-8051

 To see more of Ann's work please visit  http://annsheybani.com

Living Life with Purpose

Today two writer friends, Ann Hampton and Walt Hampton, reminded me how hard it is to write a book. Life is difficult, as M. Scott Peck claims in the first sentence of his bestseller. It's true. Sometimes life simply gets in the way of our "to do" list. Many people say they are going to do something and then don't. Or they tell you why they haven't gotten around to it.

I actually did write a book - several books. But I stopped "self-promoting" because I got sick of hearing myself talk. There is a fine line between narcissism and ego and self-promotion. I didn't want any part of it anymore. Writers like to write. Writers (at least this one) do not want to worry about branding and public relations and book promotion. Blah! Barf! But I was reminded today it is a necessary evil of what we do.

My Blogger friend said, "You can build it but they won't necessarily come" unless you tell them about it. Readers need to know your book it out there, she said. And she is right. This is the world we live in. Writing a book is hard. It takes courage to explore Truth. It takes time and passion and commitment. Many people say a lot of things. They are going to do this or that. They talk the talk rather than walk the walk.

Well, I wrote about a topic that lights a fire within me - living life with purpose. I was told that I should be screaming this from the mountain top. And that is true. I should. Instead, I am on to the next project and I hardly look back.

I saw this gorgeous paperweight in a gift store today. It says: "The purpose of life is a life of purpose." For me, living a life of purpose is being a writer and telling stories, telling truths. I've been in some aspect of the field of communication since 1992. That's two decades! It is what I love to do - communicate! It is what I love to think about, teach about, speak about, write about and live.

Simple Grace book series by Beth Jannery

It should be no surprise that my second book was titled Simple Grace - Living a Meaningful Life. This book is all about living a life with purpose. Here's a snapshot of the book cover. Click the link if you want to buy it.

Living life with purpose and meaning IS something I know well and I do well and I should shout it from the mountain top. Back in my twenties my first book was titled Shut the Hell Up! I didn't shrink then to make people comfortable and I shouldn't hide my successes today. Neither should you. If you've worked hard for something, let your light shine.

Today I'll claim it and own it and shout it out.

What are you holding onto that you dare to claim? What passion is within you? Is there a book you've always wanted to write? Or a career move you've always wanted to make? Or a love interest you've always wanted to pursue? What is holding you back?

My writer friends, Ann and Walt, are also high-altitude mountain climbers. They motivate me in so many ways. Today they reminded me to own what I've worked so hard for all these years.

Climb up that mountain, walk that walk, shout it out. Don't let anything hold you back. And if you have some accomplishment that you are shy about sharing with the world, don't be. You've earned your seat. You've done the work. Share it with the world, perhaps there is someone who can benefit from your expertise.

Here's a link to my most recent book Simple Grace Simple Miracles if you are in the buying mood. How's that for self-promotion?! :)

So Long, Sweet Summer!

Kind of sad to see summer go. Summer romances begin for all kinds of reasons, but when all is said and done, they have one thing in common. They’re shooting stars, a spectacular moment of light in the heavens, fleeting glimpse of eternity, and in a flash they’re gone.
— The Notebook

Lazy Summer Days

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."
~ Anais Nin

Life is a State of Consciousness

And the Truth turns out to be nothing less than the amazing but undeniable fact that the whole outer world -whether it be the physical body, the common things of life, the winds and the rain, the clouds, the earth itself -is amenable to man's thought, and that he had dominion over it when he knows it.

...As thy days, so shall thy strength be which, in modern language, may be translated as thy thoughts so shall thy life be.

...If you could only love enough, you could be the most powerful person in the world.

...It is the food which you furnish to your mind that determines the whole character of your life.

...Life is a state of consciousness.

...Supply yourself with a mental equivalent, and the thing must come to you.

...You must not under any pretense allow your mind to dwell on any thought that is not positive, constructive, optimistic, kind.

 

source: Emmet Fox

While You Are Here...What Kind of Person Do You Want To Be?

Things Mama Never Taught Me is a March 2011 guest blog written by Ann Sheybani Hampton. Ann studied Creative Writing at Harvard University but she has one of those rare brains that understands Chemistry too (undergraduate degree). To stalk Ann, you can track her down at http://site.annsheybani.com and http://www.easthillwriters.com

“He’s hypnotized you,” Mom said when I told her I was going to marry the Iranian and move to his country. “Do you have any idea how they treat women in Islamic countries?”

I regarded her through narrowed eyes because my mother, who considered Raman noodles foreign, had zero understanding of different cultures. She wasn’t as vocal as Dad with her prejudice, but she wasn’t far behind him on the redneck spectrum.

The heels of her miniature pumps clicked angrily across the linoleum as she cleared away the last half-eaten plate of beans and franks left on the counter, then shoved a loaf of WonderBread around like a pint-sized bully. “You just have to be different, don’t you? You just have to be a rebel.” Reaching under the sink, she took out a can of Lysol, sprayed the area in front of her with a misty burst of pine, and then slammed the can down.

It was right there, I suppose, as she drew her can of air freshener at the OK Corral, that I decided there was no going back on my position: the Iranian and his country were going to be the best things for me since the invention of air.

Contrary to what my mother believed, I wasn’t by nature audacious. If anything I was an aimless thing fueled by anger. A blind girl with a cane frothing at the mouth. Like so many young people, my sole driving force was to be unique, to be different from my folks.

Mom, the quintessential Good Girl from Kathryn, North Dakota. The rule follower. Who watched life safely from the sidelines. Who felt vindicated each time someone stuck his or her neck out and got slammed.

Dad, the angry farm boy. Who railed against the Coons, Kikes, and Slant Eyes. Who pined incessantly for the small town where he was from. Who, like his father before him, ate meat and potatoes, drank Schlitz, and smoked unfiltered Camels cigarettes.

The Iranian, a graduate student then, appeared to be everything my parents were not: exotic, adventurous, confident, and sophisticated. What I refused to see— thanks to my standoff with Mom, thanks to my insistence that I follow any path that my parents would not— was that he promised to be a lot of other things as well. It didn’t occur to me that someone who’d been raised in a tiny Iranian village might not be the best match for me. It didn’t dawn on me that a country famous for a hostage crisis, and an Islamic Revolution, and a dour Ayatollah, and an 8-year war with Iraq might offer “interesting” challenges.

It took awhile to recognize that moving to Iran had been a tactical error.

I'd disregarded the posted travel advisory at the entrance of the passport office:a big, yellow warning sign that said, in effect: Do not expect the U.S. State Department to rescue you if you are stupid enough to travel to Libya, Iran, or Syria. And the bearded customs official who relieved me of my American passport when I entered the country. I was, from that point on, officially an extension of my Iranian husband. I couldn’t get a job, leave the country, or God knows what else without receiving his written permission.

But then I spent the next five years wrestling with an army of invasive in-laws, a husband trapped between two worlds, and the requirements of an infamously restrictive culture. Instead of leading that promised life of high adventure—camping with Bedouins, exploring the tombs of Alexander the Great and Darius III— I spent my days alone, in a dumpy dorm room, with a baby and Frank, a six-inch cockroach that crawled out of my toilet.

I came to recognize the undeniable precariousness of the life I had chosen. I witnessed a whole host of women lose so much of what they loved—their homes, their kids, and their sanity. I spotted the setup for disaster in my own married life. What, I wondered, had ever allowed me to think, even for a minute, that trouble couldn’t befall me? My demise, I sensed, would come from out of nowhere, totally unpredictable. Like a rogue wave, a titanic force I’d be powerless to control.

A little wiser, a little worse for the wear, I eventually came home.

But what do you know when you’re young and dumb?

I was listening to a speech on TED recently in which JK Rowling , in a commencement address, said, “It is impossible to live and not fail unless you live so cautiously that you might as well have not lived at all. Then you fail by default.”

Of course I thought of my mother, who I judge to have failed at life by default. So afraid to make a mistake, she’d played it safe. Home alone watching reruns of Scrubs. Sewing on quilts. Playing dominos once a week. Wringing her hands as acquaintances buy the farm.

But I also thought of my daughter. Freshly graduated from college. Venturing out into the great big world. On her own. Making critical choices. Despite her having far more aim, far more purpose then I ever did at that stage in life, some of her plans don’t seem sensible from a mother's perspective. Living in Cairo on a grant, for instance, despite the Middle East implosion.

A chip off the old block, my daughter will wind up suffering because, as Rowling notes, it’s impossible to avoid. Being young and dumb, she has no way of measuring what she stands to lose. She has no idea what questions she ought to ask. There are some things she wasn't raised to understand.

And yes, now that I’m walking in my mother's moccasins, I empathize with her.

I often wonder if I’m still the same reckless girl of my youth. Not so much angry, now, as oblivious to consequence. Not so much experience-hungry, as blindly trusting. Willing to trot after my man into the unknown just because he sells it as a grand adventure, like it’s really no big deal. Willing to dismiss the evidence of danger—the best-selling books, the movies, the documentaries, the photo-spreads—that give pause to rational people.

Like finding myself on Mt. McKinley with Walt. Balanced on a knife’s edge. 3000-foot drops on either side. The wind whipping. Clothes snapping like a superhero’s cape. The burden of an 80-pound pack. Body quaking. Viscerally aware that, with one false move, I could plunge to my death. Wondering how the hell I got talked into doing something so downright dangerous.

Or taking scuba diving lessons instead of lying on the beach. Jumping into the ocean, way off shore, with a 25-year-old, French-speaking dive master. So laid back he probably eats marijuana for breakfast. Face to face with my biggest fear—a shark. Not only staying in the water, Jaws’ theme music playing, but swimming after the thing.

Who does shit like that?

It was on this beach, in between diving with hammerheads and questioning my motivation for doing so, that I opened up the book I’d brought, Little Bee . A gorgeous novel written by a Brit named Chris Cleave. The story of two women—a young African and an Englishwoman— whose lives collide on a Nigerian beach one fateful day.

I marveled at the book from a writer’s perspective— its structure, use of metaphor, spot on dialogue, and building of tension. (I just love the opening line: “Most days I wish I was a British pound coin instead of an African girl.”) Yet it was the English character that got me thinking some more about recklessness, motivation, failure, and the price of our mistakes.

Sarah has found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Married to a man she’s not sure she loves, dissatisfied with suburban life, questioning her career, armed with a pair of free airline tickets, she’d been too busy running from her troubles to consider the wisdom of her holiday destination. Too interested in escaping the mundane, and seeking the novel.

It should never have happened, of course, in the ordinary run of things. There are countries of the world, and regions of one’s own mind, where it is unwise to travel. I have always thought so, and I have always struck myself as a sensible woman. Independent of mind, but not recklessly so….Clever me, I went on holiday somewhere different. That season in Nigeria there was an oil war.

And like I had in Iran, it is only when Sarah faces a situation outside of her normal purview—coming face to face with two young African girls and the soldiers who want to kill them— that she recognizes how ill equipped she is to help herself, let alone anybody else. She is designed to handle the challenges of her home environment, not the incomprehensible circumstances she finds on some third-world beach.

But I didn’t understand. Three days earlier, just before we left for Heathrow, I had been standing on a bare concrete slab in our garden, asking Andrew exactly when the hell he planned to build his bloody glasshouse there. That was the biggest issue in my life—that glass house, or the lack of it…I was a modern woman and disappointment was something I understood better than fear.

The problem is, and this is what you don’t get when you’re young, or reckless, some mistakes have too big a price tag associated with them. Some mistakes just can’t be taken back. Some mistakes change everything. And generally not for the good. Half naked on a beach before a band of murderers, a hair’s breadth from being gang raped, Sarah considers, for the first time, the precariousness of the position she’s placed herself in.

I was wearing a very small green bikini. I will say that again and maybe I will begin to understand it myself. In the contested area of an African country in the middle of a three-way oil war, because there was a beach next to the war, because the state tourist board had mail-merged tickets for that beach…I was wearing a very small green bandeau biking from Hermes. It occurred to me, as I stood there with my arms crossed over my tits, that I had freeloaded myself to annihilation.

I was talking about these ideas, what point I wanted to make, on my morning run with Walt. The notion of recklessness versus adventurousness, of playing it safe versus being plain dumb, of failure by default versus failure by experiment. About the stupid mistakes that have damaged us the most. And we agreed that the thing about life is that none of us gets away unscathed. We all suffer loss. We all fail. We all get betrayed. We all betray. We all die.

Some of us plummet from a mountaintop.

Or get eaten by a shark.

Some of us die in a car accident, like one of Walt’s friends, out on Route 44.

It comes down to this one question: While you’re here, what kind of person do you want to be? Knowing that no matter what you do, no matter how well you hide, you’re eventually going to get nailed?

Sara is changed by her horrific encounter in Africa. The woman who flew off on holiday is not the same one who returns. Such is the way with all good novels. Such is the way of life.

My experience in Iran, as troubling as much of it was, provided me a priceless education. It changed who I was. I grew up. I made life-long friends. I discovered my strengths. I faced my weaknesses. I found the courage to take the car keys of my life back, to take charge of my self.

Not so different from climbing mountains, and diving in the ocean. Lots of discomfort mixed with incredible beauty. Had I stayed home where it was “safe,” I wouldn’t be this woman I am today. To not evolve into someone different by the time I'm sixty will mean I have failed.

What would I choose for my own identity-seeking daughter? A life of safety like her Grandmother? To never learn who she is by trial?

Or one in which she takes on the Arab world half-cocked? To risk God knows what?

The answer is obvious for someone like me.

We shall not cease from exploration.
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time. - T.S. Eliot

12 Signs of a Spiritual Awakening

1. An increased tendency to let things happen rather than make them happen.

2. Frequent attacks of smiling.

3. Feelings of being connected with others and nature.

4. Frequent overwhelming episodes of appreciation.

5. A tendency to think and act spontaneously rather than from fears based on past experience.

6. An unmistakable ability to enjoy each moment.

7. A loss of ability to worry.

8. A loss of interest in conflict.

9. A loss of interest in interpreting the actions of others.

10. A loss of interest in judging others.

11. A loss of interest in judging self.

12. Gaining the ability to love

without expecting anything in return.

New Year, New You?

I dislike when people try to reinvent themselves at the new year. My suggestion is to throw out the big resolutions list and forget trying to turn yourself into someone new.

My advice is to be the best that you already are - be your best self.

It's a new year, which means this is a great time to reflect about the all aspects of your life.

Here's one way: divide your life into different aspects and then create the whole. This is how I like to break it down: physical, intellectual, spiritual, emotional and social. Simple, right? I think so. Maybe it'll work for you.

This is how it works for me. Maybe it'll help you to take your fragmented self and shift things around to create a better whole. I believe if we focus our thought and intention, then we are able to focus our action and outcome. Take care of all the little details, focus positive thought and watch the grace that takes place.

Physical - the obvious. Exercise and well-being. Your health. I like Yoga and walks. I like the water and the beach and the sounds of waves. Balance and health. Fresh air and taking care of my body. This means eating real food - not sugar or processed food. This is the intention, knowing we will fail and pick ourselves back up and do the very best we can, taking it a day at a time.

Intellectual - doing the work I love. It is my belief that we must do work we are passionate about and the money will come. We are always cared for. Do the work you feel called to do. I need to be involved in projects that I believe in. What fuels your desires? For me it is writing and books and communication and media. I also want to profit from my work and I embrace the financial aspect of my work. Ask for what you are worth. Don't be afraid to set your standards high. If you are willing to do the work you will make a difference. If you have ten years or more experience in a field then you are considered an expert in that area; someone needs your expertise. Get paid for your intellectual endeavors. Stop giving away your time for free. You've worked hard - reap the rewards.

Spiritual - Meditation and prayer. Quieting the mind. For me this means a daily practice with a dose of nature. Reading is a big part of my spiritual life. Conversations with friends. Deep and rigorous honesty. Listening. If I am in a good place, I always hear what I need to hear. Helping another. Find your place of grace. Try to do it daily.

Emotional - Making sure your needs get met. Getting off balance happens quickly. Be what you need first - take care of yourself first - then there is room for more. Don't look to others to fill emotional needs....take care of yourself. Love yourself first. No one else is going to complete you.

Social - Have fun. Make time for friends. Create space for those you love (or could love). Throw a little romance and spice into your life. For me I want something real. Casual conversations are fine, but I have no desire to waste time, so small talk has no place in my life. As for dating and romance - I want it all - the courting, the romance, the sparks, the passion. Won't settle for less.

What does your new year look like? This isn't a new you, but a new year and in this new year you can ask for what you deserve. You can create the life you want. Or, focus your thoughts and allow a positive life to create you.

We Always Get What We Need

Faith and grace and gratitude are beautiful themes of the holiday. I am always moved by meeting people who overcome struggle...their stories inspire. I love reading and writing and retelling stories of people helping people.....stories of beating adversity.....miracle stories....they make for good holiday reading because they force us to stop and think about faith, to feel grace and to embrace gratitude. Here is a story that has been passed down through the years and is included in Simple Miracles.
I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just seventy-five cents in my pocket. Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two.
   Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds. He did manage to leave fifteen dollars a week to buy groceries. Since he left, there were  no more beatings, but there was no food either. If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.
   I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress. I loaded them into the rusty old '51 Chevy and drove off to find a job. The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck. The kids stayed, crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I attempted to convince whomever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job.
Still no luck.
The last place we went was several miles out of town. It  was an old root beer barrel drive-in that had been converted into a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel.
   A lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed someone to work on the graveyard shift, which was 11 p.m. until 7 a.m.  She paid sixty-five cents an hour and said I could start that night.
   I raced home and called the teenager down the street that babysat for people. I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.
   That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel.
   When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money.  I averaged $2 in tips each graveyard shift. I'm not complaining; I was deeply grateful to have a job to buy food for my children.
   As the weeks went by, heating bills began to add another strain to my meager wage. The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again on the way home.
   One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana?
   I made a deal with the owner of the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office.
   I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough. Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids. I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
   On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe. A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up. When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning I hurried to the car. I was hoping the kids wouldn't wake up before I managed to get home and get the presents from the basement and place them under the tree.
   It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there appeared to be some dark shadows in the car - or was that just a trick of the night? Something certainly looked different, but it was hard to tell what. When I reached the car I peered warily into one of the side windows. Then my jaw dropped in amazement. My old battered Chevy was full with boxes of all shapes and sizes.
   I quickly opened the driver's side door, scrambled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat. Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was a whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes: There were candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was a whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.
   And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll. As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.
   Yes, there were small miracles in Indiana that long-ago December. They hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.

Simple Miracle:  No matter how low your bottom, a way out is always revealed. Unexpected miracles happen all the time. Keep doing the right thing and you'll begin to see your own daily miracles.

My Daily List

I've been practicing Yoga for two decades. It is something I must do. I can do 99% of the poses - minus the handstand and extended back bend. No thanks. I'll never have that hot little tight Yoga bod either - or the trendy, organic, expensive clothes to match. But I've been doing it for years and I do it to center and stretch and breathe. I do it alone. It's free and it makes me feel good.

There are things we all must do each day. If I don't practice - or at least do some basic stretches - I feel off. I like to feel good - here are a few other things I must do in a given day to feel good. I call it my daily list.

Do you have a daily list? In other words, if you don't do the things on your list you feel off (like my last blog post...I realized two things that day....I hadn't done my morning Yoga and I hadn't expressed gratitude). It's a fast downward spiral. To avoid going to that place, to avoid negative space, I must hit my daily list.

1. Make my bed (don't drink, don't smoke, try to do the next right thing....try....)...

2. Grind coffee beans & make (strong) coffee in my French press. I'm old school. I know, I should drink more green tea...oh well. Last night I had authentic Korean hot detox tea so that counts!

3. Pray. Meditate. Reflect. Be quiet.

4. Express Gratitude.

5. Help others. Even if I help only one other person it gets me outside of self.

6. Hug, kiss and snuggle with my daughters. This really should be number one. It's pretty much the thread that weaves my day, week, month, year....life.

7. Laugh. When was the last time you laughed so hard you had to pee!? I love to laugh.

8. Write. Something. Just write. Lately it's been a novel I'm working on called The Weekend at the Inn. It's getting quite erotic....who knew? Write....see what comes out.

9. Pick up clutter. I hate clutter. Call it a touch of OCD.

10. Nature. Something outdoors. Even a walk. Fresh air. Breathe deeply.

Pet Peeves

Today I am not feeling the love. So, you get a taste of my mean and nasty side. I work really hard not to let little annoyances rule my life, but once in a while I dip into the dark side.

Here is a brief blog post about what is driving me crazy today.

Tomorrow it will be something new, hopefully you’ll catch me on my sunny side.

5. Liars – Just tell the truth. Keep life simple.

4. Toilet Cell Phone Users – Lately I’ve been in the bathroom (on campus, at an airport, a restaurant, etc….) and the woman in the stall next to me has been chatting away on her cell phone. Shut the *&%( up.  FLUSH! Next time her cell is going down the toilet!

3. Excuses – If you didn’t do the work you didn’t do the work. It’s that simple.

2. Complainers – I will make the argument that complainers are the same people who are full of excuses.

1. Dating at 40 sucks! I either get the men who want to marry me after the first day or they want to have an affair. Somewhere in the middle would be really nice. A little romance even…..

Remember Thelma and Louise? You get what you settle for. If I surround myself with liars, toilet cell-phone users, excuse-makers, haters, complainers and cheaters….well then….if nothing changes nothing changes.

Little Traditions

   Thanksgiving is the perfect time to reflect. It is the one time of year where the entire country is geared toward appreciation and gratitude. What simple miracles are in your life today? What do you do to celebrate these miracles? Many people talk about keeping gratitude lists, but what else can you do?
     One of the ways I try to build family bonds is through traditions. Wonderful memories are created through traditions. What better time to talk about traditions than the holidays?  

Small, simple traditions are, in in fact, little miracles. Traditions bring people closer. Here is an excerpt from my new book Simple Miracles.

   Once in a while, at midnight, Tess will wake me up -- or I'll wake her up -- and we'll go do our thing together. We call it our "midnight snack." We'll run to the kitchen in our t-shirts and sweats and raid the fridge. We huddle together in bed spilling crumbs and sometimes bottles of water. She asks me to wake her up every night for midnight snack and once in a while I do.
   This tradition reminds me of a sweet coffee shoppe Skye and I walked to while on vacation one summer in Martha's Vineyard. We'd walk to the cafe' to get our morning croissant. It was called Espresso Love. What makes this memory sweet? Skye couldn't pronounce espresso so she says  "special" instead. Each day she'd ask, "special love Mama? special love?"
   Even after we left the Vineyard and said goodbye to the morning walks to Espresso Love, I still carry those "Special Love" memories. Part of our traditions include talking about stories like this one. Children love to hear stories about themselves told and retold. It helps create their living history. I love sharing these little moments with my daughters - these little moments add up to this big thing called life!

Simple Miracle: What miracle moments do you share? We have midnight snacks and special love.

New Book Release: Simple Miracles

Simple Grace by Beth Jannery | Make Your Own Book

Pay it Forward

My college students at George Mason University did something amazing this week. For an experiment in interpersonal communication, we broke into small groups and came up with ways to express gratitude. First, I read a story to the class from my new book Simple Miracles (to be released in two weeks). The story, in a nutshell, was about the concept pay it forward.

All it takes is for one person to do something nice (say something, make something, help with something, the ideas are endless) to create a positive reaction.

The students then put it to the test. The results were beautiful.

All morning I heard story after story about little one-on-one scenarios that played out through the week on and off campus and in the lives of my students. Each group of students (in 3-4 clusters) came up with a different approach, but all had the same result - they passed on love, friendship, gratitude and smiles (one group literally made construction paper smiles). Part of their assignment was to track the results and present their findings.

We all left the classroom smiling. We have more findings to report, but our project is already a success. I find the concept of creating a positive chain reaction to be an amazing thing. It was wonderful to watch it build from an idea into a tangible action.

But where did it start? The origin of "pay it forward" actually goes back to a play from ancient Athens from 317 BC, but the concept wasn't rediscovered until much later. One stunning example comes from a letter written by Ben Franklin in 1784:

I do not pretend to give such a Sum; I only lend it to you. When you meet with another honest Man in similar Distress, you must pay me by lending this Sum to him; enjoining him to discharge the Debt by a like operation, when he shall be able, and shall meet with another opportunity. I hope it may thus go thro' many hands, before it meets with a Knave that will stop its Progress. This is a trick of mine for doing a deal of good with a little money.

A trick indeed. This trick, concept or expression we refer to as pay it forward is meant to benefit another person, ideally a stranger. It is a form of alternative giving.

The expression, pay it forward, is used to describe the concept of asking that a good turn be repaid by having it done to others instead. In contract, typically there are two parties but there is the concept of third party beneficiaries. Pay it forward merely applies this contract law concept so that third party beneficiary be a stranger to the creditor (or obligee). More specifically, the creditor (obligee) offers the debtor (obligor) the option of "paying" the debt forward by lending it to a third person instead of paying it back to the original creditor. This, according to a clear definition I borrowed from Wikipedia.

In the end, pay it forward is nothing new. In fact, we can find examples of this alternative giving in literature. In Emerson's 1841 essay Compensation:
"In the order of nature we cannot render benefits to those from whom we receive them, or only seldom. But the benefit we receive must be rendered again, line for line, deed for deed, cent for cent, to somebody."

Then this, "You don't pay love back; you pay it forward," from Lily Hammond in 1916.

And now, a handful of new examples of pay it forward can be added to history from an energetic collection of college students in Virginia. What have you done today to make someone else smile?

Let Life Happen Miraculously

Today I had a gift. An encounter with someone who reminded me to Let Go. I hold on too tightly.

The suggestion was, "Try to let the universe and God let things happen as they should. Life is far more interesting and better by letting go and enjoying the moment."

As a result it can be incredible to "see how things can happen miraculously."

Miraculously? How could I forget?! That's right, I'm supposed to be living a life full of grace. I'm even writing a book about Simple Miracles. Yet I need these daily reminders.

I need people in my life to gently (or boldly) shake me to help me remember that I am not in control. Let Go. Beth, just let go. Have faith.

This advice brings my thoughts to Emmanuel: As your faith is strengthened you will find that there is no longer the need to have a sense of control, that things will flow as they will, and that you will flow with them, to your great delight and benefit.

Now the Fall is Here Again

Listen to Norah Jones sing Shoot the Moon. Breathtaking.

Everything has its own place and function. That applies to people, although many don't seem to realize it, stuck as they are in the wrong job,the wrong marriage, or the wrong house. When you know and respect your Inner Nature, you know where you belong. You also know where you don't belong.

LIVE BY THE CURRENTS

"At the beach, life is different. Time doesn't move hour to hour but mood to moment. We live by the currents, plan by the tides, and follow the sun."

 Every man dies. Not every man really lives.  William Wallace

I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see. John Burroughs

 If you hear a voice within you say "you cannot paint," then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced. Van Gogh

 Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.
Louisa May Alcott

My Dreamgirls

The delusion is a kind of prison

A human being is part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from the prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty… The true value of a human being is determined primarily by the measure and the sense in which they have obtained liberation from the self.

We shall require a substantially new manner of thinking if humanity is to survive. (Albert Einstein, 1954)

Opening the Gate

Can you stand at the gate and risk it being opened. Will you step forward and let the gate swing wide? On the other side, there you are, discovering yourself for the first time.

"Love is the master key that opens the gates of happiness." - Oliver Wendell Holmes 

Come into the garden,  For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden,  I am here at the gate alone; the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky. -Tennyson                               

Leave a few layers at the gate. Grasp the old and cold and black iron gate. Make it your own. Discover new layers.

Walk in with me.

Dear Summer, Please Don't End

Summer is meant to be spent in the sand

Summer Shabby Chic Simplicity

Beach Cottage - One day I'll live here year round

“Even the upper end of the river

believes in the ocean.”

-William Stafford


“The waves of the sea

Help me get back to me.”

-Jill Davis

“One cannot collect all the beautiful shells on the beach; one can collect only a few, 

and they are more beautiful if they are few”

-Anne Morrow Lindbergh

All Good Things Will Be Yours

I like to keep it simple. I love this advice that comes from an old proverb. It goes something like this. 

 

Fear less, hope more; eat less, chew more; whine less, breathe more; talk less, say more; love more, and all good things will be yours. 

 

Don't you just love it. 

Let me hear from you today.

Truth Is Ever Present

"Truth is perfect and complete in itself. It is not something newly discovered; it has always existed. Truth is not far away; it is ever present. It is not something to be attained....learn to listen to the voice within you...you will realize the unity of all things."
- Teachings of Buddha

Forty...Really?

This photo shows models forty and older. The article claims "forty is the new twenty." I believe it.  I was born in 1970. Translation = this summer I'm turning 40.

Forty? Really? Seriously? When did that happen? I feel 22. You know that feeling from your twenties when you felt anything was possible. I still have it. I didn't get the memo that I'm aging.

But I did get an invitation to celebrate this brilliant age. A girlfriend from high school is having a 40th birthday bash at a Malibu beach home. I'm flying out to join her for the long Memorial Day weekend. It'll be my first time in LA. I'm an east coast girl at heart.

But I was told the change of scenery will do me good. To be in a different world - to be with an old friend - to put the year behind me (as amazing as it has been) - to let some old wounds heal - to come back feeling, perhaps, less raw from the divorce.

This is a time of change. What better way to bring in a new year!

My thoughts about turning 40 and embracing this year of change? I'll break down what is important to me:

1. 40 = sexier than ever.
2. Savoring and appreciating my new home.
3. Grateful for healthy, smart and fun daughters.
4. 139 days of no refined sugar - it's a miracle!
5. Embracing change. It's all good.
6. Love my new positions (an intelligence firm & teaching communication at a university).
7. Letting go of financial fears.
8. Finding a new level of acceptance.
9. Strengthening relationships with people I love (my sister, a handful of good friends beats a roster of acquaintances any day).
10. Practicing Yoga, meditation, prayer and mindfulness.
11. Writing "Simple Grace Simple Miracles" for a fall release. And enjoying the process.
12. Living simply. Less is more.
13. Seeking Truth. Understanding, finally, what that really means.
14. Walking around the lake once a day keeps the doctors away.
15. Still dreaming about my (when the kids are grown) beachfront cottage. Always researching where this will be. Hoping to discover the perfect state, town and beach to call home. Doing this while living in today.
16. Exploring the eastern culture, incorporating further chakra work into daily living. This means a balance of the vital energy centers within the body. These chakras (for anyone interested) are - root, sacral, navel solar plexus, heart, throat, third eye and crown.
17. Identifying character defects, apologizing for past wrongs and letting go of resentments. In other words, keeping my side of the street clean and doing the next right thing.
18. Allowing grace to enter all facets of life.
19. Facing fears.
20. Reading on a daily basis - learning something new.

I'd love to hear your list. What's important to you?
Happy birthday to my 40-year-old friends.