Not Barbie, Not Married to Ken...

But Something Much Better: ME

It was something Monique Marvez, author of Not Skinny, Not Blonde, said that got me going on this Not Barbie: Not Married to Ken kick.

It was so true. Just like Monique, I always wanted to be skinny. I always wanted to be blonde.

The real truth: I always wanted to be Barbie! Barbie had it all. She was beautiful, skinny, blonde and rich. She had a great house, great clothes, great car and always attended fabulous parties—at the beach, at the hotel.

And I’m sure I’m not the ONLY girl who had this dream.

But even better…Barbie had Ken. Ken. Ken the most handsome doll in all the land. I can’t tell you how many times Ken and I walked down the aisle in my imagination. I spent hours envisioning life with a perfect husband like Ken. There had to be a picket fence and 2.5 kids somewhere in that picture.

And then it happened. Being Barbie and Ken didn’t seem idyllic anymore. Barbie and Ken broke up. The break-up happened right before Valentine’s Day (can you imagine) in 2004. Supposedly Barbie—the most admired doll in the world—did the dumping (at least according to the AP wire). The two had been a pair for 43 years and without warning they were kaput, splitsville, finished.

A Mattel spokesperson told reporters, “They had grown apart." "Needed some time alone." "Were going their separate ways." "They would remain friends."

I couldn’t believe the news. Barbie. Ken. The end. But those two had ridden off into the sunset in their pink convertible. Not Barbie and Ken. No.

To make matters worse within a few months Barbie hooked up with a boy-toy surfer dude named Blaine.

I’m not sure who started the gay rumor. Poor Ken.

But reportedly, Ken took it like a doll—er man.

Instead of lashing out or seeking revenge, he sought to improve himself.

In 2006 (again I totally missed this announcement) the new Ken stepped out at a Manhattan news conference. The AP wire buzzed again, “The new and improved Ken sported a more rugged jaw line, wore cargo pants and listened to Norah Jones.”

Some reporter mentioned Barbie’s ex now rode a motorcycle while another claimed that Ken “dabbles in Buddhism.” Yet another reporter told her viewers the doll had taken cooking lessons and might help in the kitchen. But there was more. Ken, no longer content with being perfect, regularly worked out. Ken Doll returned to the scene buffed. Ken was now toting a six-pack.

Yet Barbie still hasn’t taken him back. She even tweated about it. “For the hundredth time, I promise I'm not with Ken! I'm very much single and actually talking to a new boy right now...”

What appeared to be a match made in heaven—two perfect people living two perfect lives—is all pretend. Finally I have seen the light.

Forget it Barbie. You may be beautiful, skinny, blonde and rich, but now I see who you really are—fake, fickle and hungry. No thank you. And Ken, sweet adorable Ken. I no longer pine for you, for what women in her right mind wants to be with a doll more beautiful than she? Oh yes. I now regularly shout my new mantra, “I am not Barbie and not married to Ken.”

Allyn Evans
Email me!
www.liveapowerfullife.com

My Favorite Dress

“Homer, I was born for this."

In the movie October Sky when Homer expresses a desire to do something else, his Dad discourages him.

He then says, “It shouldn’t surprise you that you were born for it too.”

As the scene unfolded, Homer returned to his job at the coal mine. With his face covered in black soot, the son joined the other lifers in the elevator as they headed to work.

As I continued watching a replaying of October Sky, the story made me think about my own life.

No, I never ended up shoveling coal, but I listened to all the opinions of others about my life and how I should live it. So caught up in what others believed, I ignored my own desires and intuition—my own guidance system…my own feelings. I grew into an unsure adolescent taking my clues about how I should behave from others. Without a clear direction of my own, I lost myself.

In October Sky, Homer lost his way too. The analytical, scientific-minded son was different from his family. Homer didn’t quite fit.

Turns out, I didn’t fit either. I changed myself to fit the pre-cut pattern—the one purchased for me at the fabric store before I was born.

The pattern was perfect. The pieces were carefully sewn.

And then I was asked to wear it—a pastel dress with pink flowers and lace collar.

But, I yearned for a different dress, one made out of velvet and covered in dark, vibrant purples, gold and black hues.

Turns out, I ended up wearing the pastel dress for most of my life. By the time I gave myself permission to wear the dress I desired, it no longer fit.

My five-year-old self recognized a problem. At least my subconscious mind did and tried to warn me in my dreams. Nightly, my reoccurring nightmare frightened me. Walking down a narrow shrinking hallway, I found myself trapped. At the end of the hall I discovered a locked door. Banging frantically on the door, I screamed: “Let me out! Please, let me out.”

The dream told the story. With each passing day I would shrink becoming less of the person I was destined to be. Locked out, I would remain small, contained and not myself. With each step, I hid the shadow parts and became someone that I was not.

For survival purposes, those parts had to disappear. It was more important to be a good little girl than to be myself.

And, who I was, by my very nature and the place I found myself, wasn’t quite right. My parents, family and friends were victims too. They all bought into the cultural belief that I had to be trained in order to fit, just as they themselves had been trained.

I remember several years ago watching the latest winner of American Idol sing on the Ellen DeGeneris Show. Fantasia Barrino, a talented performer and singer, shared her self doubts. During her appearance on the show, Fantasia shared, “I’m happy that people like me being me!” And, that’s when I finally got it. The most important thing for us to do is to be ourselves while having the courage to live an authentic life. That’s the key that unravels everything—peace, joy, abundance, health.

With each passing year, I have moved towards myself.

Sappy movies always have a happy ending and the one featuring Homer was no different. The young man held on to his beliefs and took a stand.

Homer eventually said to his Dad, “The coal mine is your life. It’s not mine.”

And so now I, too, know the truth. My favorite dress will be made of velvet--with beautiful hues of purple and gold. I’ve been making it for a long time now. It’s almost ready to be worn.

May you find joy, peace and prosperity in 2010.

Allyn Evans
www.allynevans.com
email me!

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A Box Too Small

Over the last few weeks, I have been editing my first book. Yes, the book is getting a face lift! And hopefully will come out error free. Well...at least we'll make a really good go at it.

Below is an excerpt that is in keeping with our current theme.

I wanted to share with you because I thought it might be helpful for those of you still struggling with the "next" step.

Dream Excerpted from My Journal

As I was finishing up the duties assigned to me in my old life, I had a very revealing dream. A former boss opened his office door and asked me to look at the small box in the corner.

His office was completely empty except for this box that resembled a standard mailbox. He said, “Allyn, I want you to fit yourself in that box while I’m gone.” I agreed and said that I would do it for him. He closed the door and left.

I tried for a long time to fit myself in that small box but couldn’t do it. No matter how hard I tried the box just wasn’t big enough.

Marsha Sinetar, well-known career consultant and author once said, “Maybe this narrowing of life—the eroding of interests and hope—could be likened to being cooped up in a room that’s too small…The only thing that’s stopping you is you.”

How true both her thoughts and my dream turned out to be. My final breaking point was at the pinnacle of my professional life. Three months after being named in the "dream job" position, I declared, “No more!”

The pay was fabulous and the position was definitely good for my ego, but the job was choking the life right out of me. Adding to the pressure, I now had a two-year-old daughter that I suddenly had no energy to care for. It was all too much and with deep regret, I realized I had just eaten the wrong carrot.

The journey to finding what I was really looking for wasn’t over yet, but I was sure the heavens rejoiced—I finally got some of the message. Immediately I took back a part-time job I had at the college while I regrouped and rested.

Within fourteen months, I had started a home-based business and was making almost as much as I had made with my former job minus headaches, stress and fatigue. The business, a résumé writing and career consulting startup, was a perfect match.

I knew everything about preparing marketing materials, interviewing and convincing an employer to hire me. My knowledge came from my own experiences, numerous interviews and books. I emerged from all those seemingly dead-end paths as a career consultant. I had a tried and proven means to make money that was very practical and inexpensive to launch.

Besides that, I enjoyed the work and relished the opportunity to stay at home with my daughter.
After two years, though, the thought of writing another résumé from scratch was nauseating. To change things up a little, I added grant writing—finding a fairly easy way to add more money to my bottom line. That decision prolonged my home-based business for another six months, but by the time my daughter was scheduled to go to school full-time, I knew I had to change things.

Not interested in returning to a traditional job or a boss, I sought consulting jobs—short-term contracts and commitments.

As luck would have it, a nonprofit company needed an Interim Executive Director to fill in for nine months. I had the skills and was hired.

A deal was quickly sealed. The contract was part-time, but still provided the share that I needed to contribute to the family income. With income covered, I dropped all my other contracts with résumé and grant writers. I focused on myself. Finally, I was ready to follow my heart. But first, I had to figure out what my heart wanted.

It's my hope that you too can find a way to listen to your heart. Next post, I'll give suggestions on how to do just that.

Allyn Evans
email me!

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Whether you’re going on a business trip or a get-away with friends, unraveling yourself is hard if you are a caregiver. You must make arrangements for everything from who’s picking up Johnny or who’s dropping off Suzie, to planning what Johnny and Suzie are going to eat.

When I was trying to pull the pieces together for a March trip, I almost threw in the towel. I almost cancelled.

I went, but separation drama continued even after I reached my destination. Adding to my stress, my dogs had become escape artists soon after I left. My husband was out of town and I had to resolve the “dog break” incident from afar, all the time wondering, “What was I thinking?”

I am lucky. I have lots of support. My long-time friend with three kids under 13, a pressure-filled job and not-so-supportive husband emailed me a week before our scheduled departure, saying, “It’s not going to work. Too much to sort out. Better go without me.”

I understood. I questioned my own ability to go.

At just the right time, I read something written by a young mother. “Picture a white horse, mane in the breeze, splashing through rivers. Now imagine that same horse curled up in a ball in the corner of a shadowy stall. That horse is me,” she said.

She wrote she loved her current life and understood the role she was playing, but still she pined for the woman she had been: “I used to be the girl who spent midnights dancing around my car at red lights. I can’t remember the last time I was in a car without kids. I used to be outgoing and fun. Now I'm just settled and quiet. I used to help autistic kids. Now I barely see my own sister.”Her essay reminded me of myself only a decade ago. There were moments when it felt like I would be a mother of an infant forever.

Horse Lady said more: “I've been tamed, like a wild horse stuck in a muddy stall. Tamed by life. Routine. I'm not a routine person. I like change and messy spontaneity. I like the freedom to run when I want to, and not be held back by so many to-do's. I miss writing poetry and stories every day with enough passion to cover the globe. Too much to do. Work. Cleaning. Cooking. Babies. Maintaining our business.”

I had been there, slap dab in the middle of life as a caregiver. Though I still am, I’m no longer so deeply entrenched. I wanted to tell her that she could find herself again. I wanted to tell her with each passing birthday it does get easier and less labor intensive. I also wanted to encourage her to put “life” and “dreams” back into the formula—even if on a very small scale. The mistake caregivers make is giving up all desires and dreams while giving everything to duty, routine. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, though it might be less of “own life” and “dreams” than at other times.

Reading this article helped me stick to my guns. I went on the trip despite the headaches and mixed feelings. Though it took some effort, it was time for me to step out on my own.

And it was well worth the effort.

We must remember our children aren’t just looking to us for transportation and meals. They are learning life is more than a to-do list, that there are times even for grown-ups to leave the stable and run on their own.

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Dumpy, Frumpy and Downright Lumpy

“What is it about this place?” I said to my sister who was visiting too.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Do you feel as frumpy as I do?”

She nodded.

Just a few weeks previously I had been in New York City visiting her. I had even worn the same outfit I was wearing at the moment, except in New York I had dumbed it down a bit. I had added clunky jogging shoes, which I never do unless walking from here to kingdom come.

Also on that particular day I had added a top layer shorter than the under layer. It was colder than I had anticipated and my layering attempts were of a practical nature. Let’s just say that my “look” was interesting.

Not once while parading around the streets of Manhattan, whether in Madison Square, Midtown, SoHo, Chelsea or Greenwich Village did I feel frumpy or out of place or even worse…out of style. As a real test only the Universe can provide, I had proudly walked right past Clinton Kelly of “What Not to Wear” fame. Yes, the addition of the tennis shoes did give me pause as I strutted past him.

But not for one New York minute did I ever feel less than.

Sitting in the mecca of my youth, I felt dowdy, old-fashioned, outdated, oh yes and plain.

In my defense, these are feelings I typically don’t feel anymore. Normally, I don’t find myself sinking into the self-bashing place. As recently as a month ago, I believed I had made significant progress when it came to this self-love, self-acceptance issue. I still think there has been a shift. But obviously, there’s a little more transforming required to put these awful feelings to rest. Of course realizing I still had work to do was most irritating.

An hour later, I found myself in one of the boutiques purchasing new tops. Well, I could easily solve part of the problem.

The next day, members of my family all returned to the offending location. This time we were going to eat lunch. I felt much better. I had on the new top from the “right” store. Ahhhh. The frumps had disappeared. I still berated myself for weighing too much, but that’s a completely different story.

I hadn’t even noticed one of my cousins was wearing a tee-shirt—you know the kind of tee-shirt you wear to sleep in or wear to your child’s baseball game.

She complimented me on what I was wearing and then apologized for her outfit. “I can’t believe I forgot to pack something nice,” she said to me. “But thank goodness this is one of those places where it really doesn’t matter what you wear.”

My sister and I looked at each other. Okay, so we almost choked. Then we laughed.

My cousin. Well, she really meant it. She felt perfectly at home wearing a tee-shirt and jeans. And she also “looked” perfectly fine wearing her tee-shirt and jeans. We got it. Point made. High five the Universe that made it happen.

Turns out we were the fools. We were the ones that allowed our self-doubts and negative chatter to tell us we were somehow less than the “others” around us.

Allyn Evans
http://www.allynevans.com/

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Not a Weed, But a Flower

Suppose you'd known for a long time that you were a weed.

When you were just a little sprout, before anyone had told you you were a weed, you'd known something of what flowers feel like; and as you grew, you felt you'd like it better if you were a flower.

But you learned to be satisfied living as a weed nonetheless—most of the time. You learned to bend a little so as not to take too much sun, and to eat and drink and breathe, not quite so much nourishment from the flowers around you.

It's only in spring when the flowers start to bloom, that it's hard to be weedlike; then, when the warm breeze comes, you feel a stirring of hope, a wish for just a taste of blooming. But you can't of course, you're a weed.

Now suppose that one day a lovely creature walks into your field looking for flowers, and suppose she walks straight up to you and says: "What a strange and lovely flower this is hidden from the light!"

For a moment you would not believe her. But oh, you would want to. So you might begin softly, to look and feel around yourself. And what if you discovered that this had all been a silly mistake—that you were not a weed, but a flower after all.

Well, that's what it feels like. A little sad that I spent so much time as a weed when I didn't have to. A little in shock. A little exposed. Excited, in a quiet way, to discover what I'm all about. I don't know much about being a flower, yet. But it's me, and I love it, and I'm giving it all I've got."

Author Unknown

Allyn Evans
www.allynevans.com
info at allynevans.com

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What's Stopping You?

Maybe a little self-sabotage. A few years back, I started asking myself why I seemed to always get in my own way.

The other day, I found a journal entry I wrote some years ago and thought it might benefit some of you out there struggling with the same issues and questions.

Entry: December 2006

I have finally figured out why I continue to sabotage myself. It hit me in a series of epiphanies over the weekend and even spilled into a Monday.

About three years ago, I was given a blessing. I figured out, after much self-study, what I needed to be doing on this earth. I gained insight. You’d think after finally figuring out what I am here to do that I would be elated and find contentment and joy. Instead I found an entirely new way to torture myself. Everything I had done and experienced seemed to meet and finally a direction was mapped out for me to follow. I knew that I was going to research and write a book
about women, specifically women in the south.

I started immediately on my project only to be thwarted at each turn. It was so frustrating that a year after my discovery I was actually no closer to my goal than when I started. I told myself that it just wasn’t the right time and that things would work according to a bigger plan, but I wasn’t really convincing myself. Actually, I was mad.

I was mad that I didn’t have more money. I was mad that I had to continue to hold a job I no longer enjoyed. I was mad that this job interferred with my ability to write. I was still in the same place with the same troubles and well, it just pissed me off. I would watch my cherished weekend pass me by only to be faced with a blue Monday and a list of things to do. Things to do that I had no interest in doing.

Someone finally confronted me and asked me what was going on in my life...They were concerned and sensed that I was running off course. Initially, I didn’t get it. “Everything is fine,” I commented. I was even a little perturbed by the question. What did they mean asking me how I was? I was perfect, thank you. But, I wasn’t and their concern started me on a completely different path. The path I am on today, actually.

Fast Forward...back to 2009

As I looked back on that time in my life, I know that I continually got in my own way. My anger and lack of focus, primarily, thwarted by abilities to move forward. I created my own obstacles. Yes, everyone of them were self-made. And on top of that my delayed reaction to finally coming to grips with what I was here to do caused me more pain and confusion—every bit of my angst was self imposed.

Very recently, I was talking to a friend. She ranted about all the problems in her life and provided reasons she had for doing certain activities. She also talked about how all these activities inferred with her ability to move forward. We continued to talk and then finally she had a revelation. The revelation was that all her anxiety and worries were self imposed. She had created made-up deadlines to get projects and tasks completed and the stress of it all had her in a tizzy. Not only that, but the deadlines and long list of things-to-do meant she was detracted from her primary goals and aspirations. Soon after she "got it," she set her priorities straight, pledged to move away from unintentional self-sabotage and found more opportunities for herself . I am sure, she'd report that she is finally moving in a forward direction again without the tizzies.

Today, I am hoping that if you identify with what is written here, that you will take some time to evaluate where you are and where you'd like to be. I also hope you will think about how you are stopping yourself. And if you feel unprepared to "name" your direction or goals, then take a little longer to figure it out and then to create a plan of action so that you can focus.

In later posts (coming soon), we will revisit something I have written tons about and that is figuring out what to do with yourself (if you don't know). Also, we'll talk about how to untangle yourself from over-commitment (another self-sabotaging tactic) and much, much more.

Happy March! We had snow today. Ready for summer! :)

Allyn Evans
info at allynevans.com

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Dare to Be

Someone shared the following thoughts with me. I wanted to share with you.

"I can't identify when, but I know it happened.

At some point, I stopped thinking about how I'd do all these things later...you know, after I had the perfect life...I stopped pining away for the future, or the better life I thought I didn't have. And instead I began doing things, little things, that I thought the perfect life would include.

And now I have more of my perfect life than I ever did before. It feels good-empowering and affirming."

Allyn Evans
www.allynevans.com
info at allynevans.com

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Do You Find It Hard to Say No?

Excerpted from Grab the Queen Power

No—the pearl in a woman’s mouth that would shake the very foundations of the Kingdom. A word that for many of us sounds rude and uncaring and dangerous. Most of us can’t get that word out of our mouths. If patience is a virtue, and other people’s opinions are more valid than ours, what right do we have to say no? When your job is to take care of people, and their needs come first, saying no can threaten your identity.

Many of the women I interviewed felt taking care of other people’s needs was simply part of the duties of a mother and a wife. One woman said, “I think it’s learned behavior. I know that my mother did it. It’s almost like if you put yourself first, then you feel guilty. There is a lot of guilt in being a woman.” Another took the responsibility of others first even further. “It’s really dumb. If I have something that someone wants, I might as well give it to them because I can’t enjoy it anymore.” She said, “It’s not saying no that’s hard.”

The inability to say no is driven by our desire for approval from others. Saying no is selfish. If you are selfish, you are guilty. And worse than that, nobody will love you. “I would transport the computer to and from work so that I could work on my writing at home,” one interviewee reported. “My husband would end up playing games on it. He didn’t understand why I would get so crazy. He always told me that he’d get off of it if I wanted him to. Once I’d get him off, my mind was so agitated, as well as guilt-filled, I couldn’t settle back down to work—telling him he couldn’t use it or asking him to get off of it felt like an act of violence.”

A forty-year-old subject shared a similar story, “Yes, I do this with everybody. For example, I stopped by to say hello to someone that was going to be a guest lecturer. I didn’t have a babysitter for my son, but wanted to say hello and explain why I couldn’t attend. I ended up staying (with my son in tow) even though I had dinner in the oven! By the time I got home, my supper was burned, my son was starving and it was all because I couldn’t say no to this person.”

As I entered my teen years, “No” was my mantra. The trouble was I had no middle ground. If I wasn’t going to agree with a lady-like compliance, then saying no became an act of rebellion. A selfish act. I truly believed when I said “no,” I was bad, a selfish person, and I went out of my way to prove it. I wouldn’t give a guest the best seat. I would grab the largest slice of cake—and even, oh horrors—take the very last piece on the tray. I knew that being selfish was almost a criminal act, but saying “no” was even worse. Not giving my time or myself made me a criminal of the heart.

Men are taught that it is okay to be more direct. Women are more concerned about hurting feelings or not wanting people mad at you. Even though I knew how to say no, I didn’t know how to deal with the aftermath and found myself often fretting about the reaction of others.
Our inability to say no means we take on countless tasks we don’t wish to do, or even need to do. It means we dismiss our own needs as frivolous. Or when we are determined to put ourselves first, we often feel as if we have gone beyond the pale, we see ourselves as outlaws. For whatever reason, the truth is saying no feels wrong to us.

Too bad. Saying and meaning the word “no” potentially brings us the most peace.

But over time, with enough pressure from those who surrounded you who seemed convinced that their practiced way was more valid than your way (and, therefore, ultimately better), you gradually begin to release your determination to guide your own life.
—Esther Hicks

Allyn Evans
http://www.allynevans.com/
info at allynevans.com

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Shoot for the Moon

After reading my post about attempting to live happily in the moment, my friend Carolyn Howard-Johnson asked me to talk about regrets. Okay, so some Elvis Presley lyrics come to mind..."Regrets, I've had a few."

Interestingly, I can't think of specifics at this writing. But I can talk in generalities. I regret that for so many years I allowed fear to stop me or slow down my progress.

I used to be afraid of much—mostly the opinions of others. Oh and yes, speaking in public was another one, which included articulating my opinions or ideas. My body had an intense reaction to being in front of others (uncontrollable shaking, rapid heart beat, wobbly voice, scrambled brain) and so I avoided it.

Today, I encourage you to think about what stops you from shooting for your moon. In 2000, I took care of one of my fears and joined Toastmasters. Since then, many of my other fears—the debilitating ones...the ones that stopped me from being proactive—have melted away.

Start with one. I think you'll be surprised how far the first step takes you!

Allyn Evans
http://www.allynevans.com/
allyn at suddenlink.net

Try Living in the Moment!

New Year’s Resolutions, anyone?

This year I decided on the perfect resolution: to live happily in the moment no matter the circumstances.

The resolution was so perfect I had already begun speaking about it in presentations. Living in the moment can be hard to do—think holiday travelers stranded at airports and train stations. Most of us relive the past or pine for a better future. I didn’t even understand the concept until I was in my 40s, and I was going to make sure 2009 was going to be the year when I focused on the present.

That is, until my daughter Addy took the dog-sitting job, which required me to be the designated driver.

“Let’s sit in the hot tub tonight,” Addy said. The doggy momma owns a fancy hot tub, which she had offered to us.

“Good idea!” I said. It was blustery and cold. Soaking in the hot tub sounded like fun.

We arrived at 6:30 p.m., checked on the dog, put our belongings on the kitchen counter and then went outside to the tub. As I was about to step in, I realized I still had the thank-you-for-my-Christmas-present note I had meant to leave inside.

Addy jumped into the hot tub as I headed for the backdoor. I turned the knob. It didn’t turn. The door was locked. “It’s still 2008,” I yelped at the intractable door. I wasn’t ready to face my new resolution yet, but what choice did I have. Plus, I had an impressionable witness.

And there I stood clad only in my swimming suit in 28-degree weather with our shoes, coats and my car keys locked securely in the house.

Fortunately I also had my cell phone. I could have called someone to pick us up, but I had left my spare house key in my own house. My friends who did have a key to my house were out of town.

I tried calling my hot tub friend, but I knew her plane wasn’t arriving until 8:20 p.m., if it did arrive on time in this time of many travel delays. I called my husband who was on his way home from an out-of-town trip. He wouldn’t make it for three more frigid hours.

Don’t tell my friend, but I thought about breaking down her door, but that solution didn’t appeal to Addy or me. We couldn’t think of anyone else to call. Who wants to be at someone else’s house in their swimming suits for three hours, even when the temperature is more favorable?

There was only one thing we could do. We threw up our hands.

At this point Addy said. “Okay, Mom. Let’s just enjoy the moment.” We had been talking about this lesson for some time now, and in the cold, in the dark, part of me was thrilled to know Addy had been listening to our discussions.

“You’re right, Addy,” I said, trying to set a good example while the idea of not knowing how long the hot tub ordeal would last unnerved me.

It was 8:20 when doggy friend texted me the number of the next-door-neighbor, who did have a spare key and after a good laugh came to our rescue. We had plenty of hot tub time, a good story for the retelling, and lots of practice of living happily in the moment. I have to admit I need lots more practice, which makes this 2009 resolution just right for me.

allyn at suddenlink.net

http://www.allynevans.com/

Power of Choice

Have you ever heard of the "Daffodil Principle?" I love this story and use it often when talking to young girls about pursuing their goals.

The story of "The Daffodil Principle" originally appeared nearly ten years ago in Jaroldeen Edwards' book Celebration!

Here's how it goes...

The daughter kept pestering the mother, "Mom, come visit us. We'll go see the Daffodil Garden."

Eventually, the mother made time and visited her daughter's home one Tuesday morning.

The day turned out to be cold and rainy, but the mother made the trip anyway. Before arriving she had already decided she would tell her daughter they would go see the daffodils another day. The roads had been slippery and the fog had set in.

But her daughter wasn't so easily swayed. "No mom. We're going. You must see the daffodils."

The mother, daughter and grandchildren all piled in the car. "It's only a few blocks from here," the daughter said.

After a twenty minute drive they turned down a gravel road. They stopped beside a small church. Posted on the wall of the church read a sign, "Daffodil Garden". They parked and headed in the direction the sign indicated.

As they turned the corner, the mother looked up.

She saw thousands of daffodils. The colors varied: deep orange, creamy white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, and saffron and butter yellow. The daffodils covered five acres.

The mother asked her daughter who planted the flowers. Her daughter said, "One woman." She pointed out the house where the woman lived. They made their way to the house. On the front porch they found a sign that read:

"Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking".

The first statement answered the question of how many. It read "50,000 bulbs." The second statement explained how the daffodils were planted: "One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and one brain." And the last statement answered the question of when the lady started. "1958."

The mother walked away from the Daffodil Garden forever changed. She couldn't stop thinking about the woman who had planted one bulb at a time.

The visit changed the mother's life. She understood the lesson. She realized that it only takes small steps to move forward towards your goals and desires. The mother learned: "When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. "

We too will find that we can write a book, build a business, make new friends, reach our financial goals. Yes, we can change our world one small step at a time.

There's a little more to the story...
In 1999 Gene Bauer's ranch house burned down. The daffodils survived.

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Watching Hummingbirds Fight

While enjoying our backyard the other day, I watched six hummingbirds fight over our hummingbird feeder. This amused me. You see, I was “seeing” from a higher perspective.



I could see how absurd it was to fight over something so plentiful. There was enough nectar for any hummingbird that could possibly find our little feeder. I knew because I was the hummingbird feeder filler. I had access to an infinite supply of nectar and I would be diligent in keeping it full for my little friends.



It occurred to me … we are like the hummingbirds.

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Never Made It to Chicago

It wasn't without trying. I happen to head out on the day that snow covered all the
midwestern states. And ended up having flights cancelled on me until I decided to cut my losses and return home. Yes, I could have eventually made it, but...the decision was made because I needed to arrive by a certain time to not miss too much of the conference I was attending.

So, where was I going?

I was going to a CMED training delivered by my favorite author, teacher Caroline Myss.

What's interesting is that even though I never made it to the workshop, I experienced an epiphany. And I thought I needed a workshop for that!

If you've read my book (Grab the Queen Power: http://www.allynevans.com/), you know that I have experienced my share of self-loathing. The book was about my need to figure out why. Working through the process of writing the book, I did figure it out. This figuring out helped me drop much of the self-bashing, but...and here's the hard thing for me to admit...I have not given up all of it.

I still regularly beat myself up. (You know, monkey mind chatter.) A recent dream brought this message home to me. The dream: I was carrying myself up a stairway upside down and with every step I took my head banged against each step. In another round of dreams one night, a bully followed me around and constantly hit me and yelled at me.

Oh dear. And okay, I get it. But I was confused about how to solve this long-lived problem.

I thought the "cure" was to try to love myself as I am. Don't get me wrong...that is part of it. But, I was missing a key piece and it hit me while people-watching at the Kansas City Airport. My loathing has much more to do with my inability to keep promises to myself.

Aha! The cure for me is to keep the promises I make to myself. This means, I need to make promises I can keep...that I am willing to go the distance to keep. For example, if I am going to lose weight, then I must vow to stick to the program until I reached my goal. If I can't do this, then I need to stop making weak promises and forgive myself. The self-love process starts there. "This is who I am and this is where I'll stay by choice."

My choice (after lots of thought) is to make a promise to myself that I will not break. I have made a vow, which in my mind is more than a promise. From this moment until the next thirty days pass, I will repeat the mantra: "Nothing outside of myself controls me," and I will keep my word to myself.

My inner child (do I really have one of those) is throwing a fit. And I'm certain it's the inner child who always helps me break those promises. "I want. I deserve. Wah!" And it's the same voice I will fight for the next thirty days.

Why are the profound answers always simple? Of course, simple doesn't mean easy.

I have no illusions about that. But, I believe in my heart of hearts that I have finally reached a place where I will be able to keep my promises to myself. I'm tired of the old way. The old way has never worked.

Although I had a hard time enjoying my failed trip to Chicago, sitting in airports for hours is not my idea of fun, I celebrate what the "alone-time" delivered to me.

I am optimistic about this next phase of my life. Stay tuned.

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