It’s been over 35 years since I flew to Europe by myself in 1973. My travel legs are steadier now. My armor is thicker, my patience packed deeper. I’ve endured much since then. Rank smells, huge bugs in my bed, outdoor meat markets and hordes of flies. I’ve been smashed together with people and pigs on a Guatemalan bus for 12 hours, only to do it again the next day. I’ve been sick. I’ve been stranded. I’ve been robbed. I’ve been lost. But none of this stops me from starting to pack a month before I’m due to go to a place even more remote and unknown. I must love it.

And not for just the stories I glean from it, but what it does for me. I like the person I am when I travel.

If you strip away everything you are accustomed to – language, clothing, customs, landscape, the appearance of the money, the food, everything – you get a real close look at who’s left standing. You either like who you see, or you don’t. When you travel, get ready to know yourself a little better.

Recently, Tupelo and I were rumbling through Cambodia on a bus heading to Thailand’s border. As the bus shook over the bone-rattling road, the hard seat beneath me made it impossible to get comfortable, but I didn’t complain as I looked out my window as if it were a TV screen. Plowed fields were churned dark behind overworked oxen and sweating men. Naked children played in the mud. Fat pigs wallowed in shadows cast from thatched huts on stilts.

I felt removed from the scenes blurring by my window. The ancient bus quarantined me from their lives. I could never fathom their joys and sorrows, their deepest secrets. I was just skimming through their world like a dried leaf on moving water. And yet I felt my heart opening, exposing long held beliefs, questioning them, fleshing out new thoughts, surprising myself. Gratitude for my own life spiked with a tender barb.

When we booked the tickets the day before, the smiling travel agent pointed to the poster on the wall that showed a sparkling, luxury motorcoach. We laid our money down gladly, envisioning the comfort we’ll be floating in for the 150 dusty miles to the border. What showed up the following morning was nothing more than a repainted school bus. It was too late to make other arrangements so without a word we jumped on board. The promised air-conditioning was an opened window. Luggage stacked high on the seat in front of us threatened to fall with every curve and pothole. But we are used to it. This is just the way things work in the third world.

When you travel, you’ve got to leave behind the tendency to have everything the exactly way you want it to be. Instead bring along an endless supply of patience and a hefty dose of humor. Otherwise it’s going to drive you crazy.

You can’t travel stiff. Because of the immense differences in cultures and peoples, one has to bend to fit in, to make do, and hopefully enjoy the process. Travel tests our limits in nearly every way. We have to be willing to find out what they are, and then go beyond.

Travel shakes out the good, the bad, and the ugly. The good for me is the incredible sense of awe and fascination I feel when immersed in a new culture, and finding out how well I fare in varied or difficult situations. The bad is the heart breaking scenes of human conditions and the mistreatment of animals. The ugly, hum … I guess I haven’t found that yet, but to tell you the truth, I’m not really looking.

The unexpected brings us deeper and more meaningful travel experiences. Giving up our tendency for control stretches us, sometimes digging up traits or fears we thought were long buried. It can be unnerving, but eventually this can be a good thing. Like I said before, if you travel be willing to get to know yourself a little bit better.

Getting to know yourself better should be at the top of the list for reasons why you travel. Go ahead. Let go. Surprise yourself. You can thank yourself later.

Everyone loves to laugh (well, almost everyone) . . . so this message is a reminder that it’s good for us.

I wrote a song a while back to help me remember the wisdom of this favorite quote . . .

“Life is too important to be taken seriously.” – Oscar Wilde

Here’s a link to the song . . .

http://www.somemusicmatters.com/DescX.html#Anchor15

Here are a few great ideas about humor, and then an actual example of humor in action:

“Humor is by far the most significant activity of the human brain.” – Edward De Bono

“True humor is fun – it does not put down, kid, or mock. It makes people feel wonderful, not separate, different, and cut off. True humor has beneath it the understanding that we are all in this together.” – Hugh Prather

“A sense of humor is just common sense, dancing.” – Clive James

And now (drum roll please) an example of people wise enough to appreciate the humor in their everyday lives . . .

After every flight, UPS pilots fill out a form, called a ‘gripe sheet,’ which tells mechanics about problems with the aircraft. The mechanics correct the problems, document their repairs on the form, and then pilots review the gripe sheets before the next flight.

Here are some actual maintenance complaints submitted by UPS’ pilots and the solutions recorded by the aircraft mechanics.

(By the way, UPS is the only major airline that has never, ever, had an accident.)

PILOT: Left inside main tire almost needs replacement.
MECHANIC: Almost replaced left inside main tire.
*
PILOT: Test flight OK, except auto-land very rough.
MECHANIC: Auto-land not installed on this aircraft.
*
PILOT: Something loose in cockpit
MECHANIC: Something tightened in cockpit
*
PILOT: Dead bugs on windshield.
MECHANIC: Live bugs on back-order.
*
PILOT: Auto pilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200 feet per minute descent…
MECHANIC: Cannot reproduce problem on ground.
*
PILOT: Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.
MECHANIC: Evidence removed.
*
PILOT: DME volume unbelievably loud.
MECHANIC: DME volume set to more believable level.
*
PILOT: Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.
MECHANIC: That’s what friction locks are for.
*
PILOT: IFF inoperative in OFF mode.
MECHANIC: IFF always inoperative in OFF mode.
*
PILOT: Suspected crack in windshield.
MECHANIC: Suspect you’re right.
*
PILOT: Number 3 engine missing.
MECHANIC: Engine found on right wing after brief search
*
PILOT: Aircraft handles funny.
MECHANIC: Aircraft warned to be serious, straighten up, and fly right.
*
PILOT: Target radar hums.
MECHANIC: Reprogrammed target radar with lyrics.
*
PILOT: Mouse in cockpit.
MECHANIC: Cat installed.
*
PILOT: Noise coming from under instrument panel. Sounds like a midget pounding on something with a hammer.
MECHANIC: Took hammer away from midget.

Life is Too Important to Be Taken Seriously This is just plain fun . . . an unlikely love song and reminder of the importance of making it a point to deliberately live life in joy, reverance, and with a light-hearted spirit. A good sence of humor always seems to come in handy too! http://www.somemusicmatters.com/DescX.html#Anchor15 Celebrate Life Create your own personal celebration of life by your choices, rather than allowing life to be something that merely happens to you, or around you. http://www.somemusicmatters.com/DescHB.html#Anchor2 Preacher and the Bear I always appreciated the refreshing attitude of faith coupled with a healthy attitude of self-reliance demonstrated by this adventurous preacher’s style of prayer. http://www.somemusicmatters.com/DescAnth.html#Anchor11 Stuff, Stuff, Stuff, Stuff, Stuff About all the stuff you’ve been keeping that’s not good enough to actually use, but it’s way too good to throw away. http://www.somemusicmatters.com/DescAnth.html#Anchor4 You Gotta Have Fun Our moments are fleeting . . . and finite. Too few to squander on “bad news”. We must steer our attention deliberately in order to attract the kind of life we were born to live. http://www.somemusicmatters.com/DescAnth.html#Anchor20 Songs by Tupelo
The Six Mistakes of Man We share the journey, even though each journey is unique. It’s encouraging to know others are also interested in the mysteries of life. It’s inspiring to see others dedicated to living life to the fullest, in spite of the fact that humanity has been making some of the same mistakes for centuries. Your Passion as Your Compass Allow your passions to stretch their wings and the direction of your life could surprise you – in a good way. Celebrate life with passion! Being Present through Sensuality The idea is to occasionally turn off the senses in order to better tune into the aliveness that lies beyond them. The realization that there is something beyond the world of the five senses can provide an “aha” experience, especially at first. With the senses turned off (or even turned down), there remains a vibrant sense of aliveness – the world of feeling and the realm of being. Articles by Tupelo
Why wait for inspiration to strike? Be proactive, and go get it. Better yet, this newsletter brings it to you. “Inspired on Purpose” newsletter by Tupelo Kenyon contains articles, reviews and resources to supercharge your personal development, inspiration, productivity, abundance and joy. FREE e-book Instant download – when you subscribe. Personal Development Supercharger 101 Tips and Techniques by Tupelo Kenyon It’s FREE. Subscribe now. Enter name and email address below: Name: Email:
Privacy policy: Your email address is secure. I will not sell, rent or trade your information to anyone for any reason. Period. – Tupelo Kenyon

Hi {!name},

We all make mistakes. Or do we?

In life, we have plenty of should-have-dones, and if-I-had-only-knowns, but do we really make mistakes? No, I don’t think so.

Let me explain: A very close sister-friend of mine has had marriages that ended in nasty divorces. Obviously, this saddens her, and unfortunately, she feels unlovable and a failure because of them. We have had many conversations over the years where she bemoans the huge mistakes of marrying these men. I listen because she needs me to, but I don’t agree that they were mistakes.

I look at it like this: There are no mistakes, just hard lessons.

When our choices turn out to be less than what we wanted, it was no mistake we brought these tough experiences onto ourselves. It happened because we were meant to learn that lesson.

Make no mistake, I’m not saying that some choices don’t knock us on our butt. These are the ones that scratch the diamond who we are, but eventually, after the hurt subsides, we are polished because of them. The experience fine-tunes us, and hopefully, makes us smarter. Tall order sometimes, I know. But if we grasp the true meaning behind the raw emotions, hopefully we don’t have to repeat what isn’t for our greater good.

The harder the lesson the more we can glean from it. It may take awhile to lose the heavy emotions and gain a new perspective, but if we’re patient, there will come a time when we can grasp the enormous gift hidden inside. This is key.

But the first step is to believe we never make mistakes. Instead, we can look at it like this: Hard lessons catapult us to being the best we can be. We’re not perfect, don’t claim to be, but we’re expanding our perception to try and see the good in our choices – whatever that may be.

It’s New Year’s Day and we’ve parked Bailey, our RV, out here in the desert. There are a few other road warriors scattered like dice across the cactus and brittlebush but they are far enough away to make it feel like we are here in this arid vastness by ourselves. I’ve found a good spot to write in my journal this morning, out in the kind sun but sheltered from the cruel wind. Yesterday, on New Year’s Eve, I filled my latest journal with one last entry, and then put it away. Today, my journal is a new one. I write #60 in the top corner of the inside cover and turn to the first page, all crisp and new like a freshly picked apple.

The page glows white in the glaring desert sun, blank of thoughts, ideas and aspirations. It looks like a magic page – as if I could write anything I want and it will come true. I try to focus, but I’m dizzy from all the possibilities as my imagination runs wild. I’m an unsupervised kid in an amusement park. I take up my pen and smooth the paper down with my other hand. I am literally turning a new page for the coming year.

Chances are you’re not reading this on the new year. But let’s pretend for a moment, it is. A new year can start at any time, like right now. Especially right now.

Okay, so right now is the first day of the year, agreed? If so, hopefully interest and introspection spike and we immediately evaluate our life. Are we happy? Do we like the direction our life is heading? What can we do to better ourselves? We assess where we stand and look to see if our next step is moving forward, is stagnant, or trying to step backward.

It’s a good day of the year to be completely honest with ourselves – tough to do but important if we are going to realize the changes that need to be made.

Today we bask in possibilities. Standing on the rim of this coming year, we dream of the best possible outcomes. We dream our dreams coming true. If the past year was difficult, hope dances on the horizon.

Today’s the day that we can consciously turn the light on to illuminate what we want most. Light it up from the inside. Everything seems alive, all rushing toward us as fast as the speed of thought.

I write on my magic page, my heart pumping. I’m thrilled to know everything I write is coming into my life at exactly the right time. It’s like writing a letter to Santa and he is nodding kindly and taking notes.

I suggest you do the same. The universe is listening. Happy New Year.

Tupelo and I are in Mexico on a second-class train streaking down through the Copper Canyon. But we’re not inside the stifling passenger car, sitting on torn seats with our shoes sticking to the grimy floor and looking out a smudged window. No. By a very quick series of events, we have found ourselves outside, clinging to a skinny rail at the very front of the train, directly above the cow-catcher. Jagged rocks slice by inches from my cheek. The deep canyon is a breath away from my precarious footing. Knuckles white, hair plastered back, my screams are sucked away as if freefalling into the valley below.

I’m having the best time of my life! My situation is dangerous beyond description. But here we are, Tupelo and I, standing on the edge. We’re ecstatic.

We’re in Costa Rica, barreling down a white water river. Untamed, unpredictable, the water is impassioned as it boils its way to the ocean. Class 4 rapids tumble and churn. Our guide speaks quickly and succinctly, giving us instructions as to what we need to do to get our tiny raft through the giant turbulence. There’s no time to lose. With cascading water on each side, boulders the size of small houses, our tiny helmet and life jacket are a joke. I’m not screaming this time because my heart is lodged in my throat.

I’m blissed out.

I saw a woman wearing a T-shirt that read: I want to be used up when I die.

I couldn’t agree with her more.

Playing it safe is not written in my genetic code. I’m not saying I’m never terrified. Quite the opposite. Massive heights tend to freeze my heart, like the tallest and longest zip line in the world, but still, I jumped. Birds scattered and monkeys took cover for miles around because of my scream.

Sitting numbly at home, watching other people having an adventurous life on my TV screen is something I don’t chose to do. Why should they have all the fun? Why should they get all the friends with the witty dialogue? Why do they get to go on all the great adventures? Where’s the good in that?

I say we must get our own life and then use it up. If we don’t spend it, no one else will. Can’t reuse it. Can’t recycle it. Can’t cash it in for a refund. What a cosmic waste.

Life is a complex tapestry. Each small fiber holds the promise of love and fear, hope and despair, angst and elation, sorrow, beauty, but most of all, joy. We have the choice to twist and turn our tapestry to the light or to the shade. We either cower under it or we wear it upon our shoulders like wings.

You can probably guess the condition of my wings by now.

I know of many others. Like the only blind man in history to hike the entire Appalachian Trail by himself with just the help of his dog. And the man who broke his back in a severe car accident and was told he would never walk again, who we met in Guatemala, as he was bicycling his way from Seattle to Chili. And the blind-since-birth, 24-year-old woman who sings like an angel and plays the piano, performing all over the country to hundreds of very appreciative audiences. Each one is not afraid to wear their tapestry like wings.

I have to ask, have you looked at your life’s tapestry lately? It’s never too late to take it out of the box, let it fly, and use it up!

Recently, we were at a holiday gathering. The house was immaculate. The food superb. The guest list fascinating. The hostess was gracious and beautiful with everything under control and apparently running smoothly.

After dinner I found myself relaxing at a table with a few women, the hostess included. While a band of musicians were tuning up for an impromptu jam, a close friend of hers leaned over, put her hand on the hostess’s arm and commented what a wonderful party it was.
“I had a lot of help,” she said, deflecting the compliment with practiced ease.

This was not the first time I had heard her do this. Remembering the guided tour through the newly built house earlier, Tupelo commented how tasteful it was.
“We still have quite a bit to do,” she said, waving his impression away and turning to go up the stairs.

Later I heard someone congratulate her on receiving a major award in her profession.
“Oh, it wasn’t any big deal.”
But it was. She got major publicity and recognition, and rightly so. It proved she was exceptional in her profession and was honored for it.

I wondered why a talented woman like her was not able to accept a well-meaning compliment. What made her so uncomfortable? Did she think she would come off boastful or egotistical?

Another experience taught me how giving and receiving compliments could be perceived differently. While attending a good friend’s birthday party, the guests gathered in a circle, arm in arm. In a spontaneous gesture, one of the guests told her how much he appreciated her and how grateful he was that she was his friend. One by one, each in turn, told my friend the difference she had made in their life, myself included.
I was amazed and amused watching her accepting each comment, each heartfelt admission, every extremely personal confession. I thought she would crumble from so much gratitude and love, or try to dodge, duck and tumble out of the way of all the intense attention. But she didn’t.
Somehow she accepted each person’s love and radiated it back to them. There was no ego involved. It was beautiful to witness.

Here is the basic difference between these two women: My friend didn’t deflect any of the personal comments made to her, and by doing so, she honored the giver.

For many, it takes quite a bit of fortitude to voice an opinion, express their true feelings, or tell someone how much they care. Deflecting these admissions, for whatever reason, dishonors the giver and leaves the compliment hanging, useless and impotent.

So here is what I suggest if you are like the talented hostess: Next time someone gives you a compliment, smile a heartfelt smile and say a simple, “Thank you.” That’s all you have to do. You will honor the giver by doing this and you will both feel better for it.

Open yourself up to hear what others have to say about you and love will shine through everything you do.

Thank you.

I’m seven and it’s the summer between 1st and 2nd grade. I’m standing in line for my chance to try out for the swim team. The only trouble is, I don’t know how to swim. Minor detail. The only prerequisite at that moment was my desire to be on the swim team.

A giant man stands beside the pool with a whistle around his neck, telling us what to do. When our turn comes, we’re to dive into the shallow end and then swim to the far end of the long pool. He warns us not to touch the bottom at any time or grab onto the side. We have to go the distance without stopping if we want to make the team.

My turn. I step up to the ledge. “Dive” he had said. I don’t know how to dive, so I basically fling myself at the water, arms wide, belly first. When I hit, water gorges my nose and mouth. Coughing, my feet hit bottom. Dismayed, I look up at the giant man. He gives me a second chance and motions for me to keep going.

Like I said, I don’t know how to swim, so I basically flail my way to the far end while he walks along side, holding a pole in front of me should I need it. I don’t need it.

He helps me out of the pool. “Did I make the swim team?” I ask, breathlessly. He smiles, “Yes,” he said. “But first we need to teach you how to swim.” I’m thrilled. I made the team! All I need to do is learn how to swim. How hard could it be?

I never missed a practice that summer because I lived right across the street from the pool. I not only learned to swim, but was on a competitive swim team until I graduated from high school. The tenacity born on that first day served me well.

Now I’m older, but this trait of flinging myself into the unknown, with little knowledge of how to get myself out of it, hasn’t left me. I wasn’t afraid then, why should I be afraid now?

I believe it serves us well to jump into the deep end before we know how to swim. Arms held wide, heart open, flinging ourselves into situations before the outcome is known gives us the thrill of unpredictability, opens us up to surprises, and brings us life experiences we are desperately needing. It places us on the edge where we learn who we really are.

Predictability is boring. I, for one, didn’t come here to live a boring life. How about you? When the time comes, I urge you to step to the edge. Be courageous. Keep your sense of humor. And then jump. Flail yourself to the other end if you must. Perhaps spitting and coughing on the other side, you will be amazed at the person who rises out of the water triumphant. Only at that moment will you realize it was all worth it.

But first you have to jump.

At a personal development retreat, a hundred people put their name in a basket in the hope of asking a spiritual leader a question. It could be spiritual, personal, or physical – there were no limits placed on the kinds of questions one could ask. I wrote my name on a small piece of paper, but hesitated before putting it in. I was surprised to realize that I didn’t have a burning question to ask, and thought by putting my name in the pot, it would add to the odds against someone else who did.

My friend was one. She had many questions to ask and struggled to find just one should her name be called. But it wasn’t called. That evening, away from the others, we talked about her question: “When you ask for guidance, how do you know if it comes from ego or true insight?”

Good question.

I have had the opportunity many times to speak on the topic of how to recognize our inner voice – how to tap into our well of wellbeing and find guidance from our true source. You could say that it is a pet subject of mine. It’s not because I have the answer, it’s because I’m fascinated by the question.

Simply put, this is how I know the difference when it is my ego shouting to be heard or it is my true self offering a guiding hand: I ask myself these questions.

1) Does the answer serve just myself or is it for the good of the whole? Ego is selfish, having a very limited perspective, trapped inside the mind. Our inner self is not selfish and small-minded because its perspective is from a higher plane of existence – unlimited and vast. Be honest with yourself. Ego hates it when you are.

2) When I think of acting on this guidance, what emotions does it provoke? Am I terrified or elated? Overwhelmed or excited? Resigned or exuberant? Is my heart closed or open? Our emotions are true mileposts of where our actions are taking us. We should notice and listen to them more often. True insight would never ask us to do something against our better good. Ego would.

It’s important to recognize whether it is ego or true insight when we ask for guidance.

But above all, we must remember to keep asking.

I’m in Greece. I’ve just turned 20, and I’m about to have my fortune read. I didn’t go willingly. I had no interest what-so-ever of knowing my future because I was having a great time traveling the world on a backpack and a prayer, and I didn’t need some gypsy telling me where my path was taking me. I wanted to find out for myself. It’s like Christmas morning – Why would I want to know what was in my gifts and spoil the surprise?

I also innately knew that our momentum into future events can change at any moment because of free will. I was flexing my free will muscles on a daily basis. They were becoming resilient and strong.

But I have to admit, I was a tiny bit intrigued. A fortune teller in Greece … how could I pass up this experience? And like I said, I was up for surprises.

My first surprise came when we didn’t walk down a creepy path to find a secluded hut in the dark hills, but took a bus to a middle class suburb of Athens. No bead curtains. No crystal balls and candles. No scarves and long skirts, heavy make-up or enchantment. She was a housewife. A plainly-dressed, American woman living off-base with her Army husband.

We sat around her Formica table under florescent lights and drank dense Greek coffee in little cups. When we were done, the thick grounds settled to the bottom. She flipped the cups upside down on each of the saucers and then talked about the latest presidential election.

My friend, Laura, a worldly woman from California and who has seen it all at the rip old age of 22, was first. The fortune teller looked at the mass of coffee grounds in her cup and talked in generalities. I don’t remember one thing she said to her. I just remember what she said to me.

She flipped over my cup, looked inside, gasped and turned it back over. She looked to her husband for guidance, her hand over her mouth. I stood up abruptly, my chair falling behind me. I pushed my hands out to her as if to stop an ill wind from forming.

“I don’t want to know!” I said.

Laura reached up and touched my arm.

“Janey,” she said in a soft tone, “This is just bullshit.”

She knew me well. She knew how much I trusted her. I took a deep breath and sat back down.

“I see death,” the woman said softly. “And soon.”

My mind quickly scanned the faces of my family back in the States. My heart clenched. Laura put her hand on my arm again. She squeezed. I got the message, and took another deep breath to calm down. I began to chant silently, this-is-bullshit, this-is-bullshit.

“It’s major, and it’s close.” The woman acted as if her words were rebelling to come out. I didn’t want to know specifics, but she didn’t let on that she knew any. I was relieved when we finally got out of there.

I wish I could say I believed Laura and not the fortune-telling woman, but my mind replayed her words over and over. Until one day, insight hit, and I laughed in the face of death.

This fortune telling episode happened during the first year of traveling when I had escaped the conventions of being a predictable hometown girl to find my own way. I was learning everyday about myself. It was shocking and thrilling and scary. I was exploring my freedom, my emotions, my inner voice. It was a brand new world. The old me had died. This death was major and it was close.

How about that? The old gal was right after all. What a nice surprise.

I’m a big fan of Oprah. She has a tremendous influence on people around the world, and I admire how she wields her power in a positive way. She is honest, insightful and human, and I like that in a person.

I don’t watch TV, so I’ve only seen a handful of her shows, but I’ve subscribed to her O magazine for years. I flip past all the glitz and glamour, $500 shoes and perfume to get to the bones. I laugh with Lisa Kogan, enjoy Martha Beck, and agree with Dr. Katz (most of the time.)

On the very last page is Oprah herself, writing her monthly insight for us. It’s called “What I know for sure.” She’s a great writer and it’s always fascinating to read what her life is like and how she rides the tidal wave of fame to stay sane. It makes me like her even more.

I thought it would be fun to do this myself; sit down and write out my long list of “what I know for sure.” I got out a pen and big piece of paper. But I sat there for a long time. Every thought I “thought” I knew for sure, I immediately countered with “but what if…?”

For example, I know for sure the law of attraction works. It has happened time and time and time again. If our thoughts create the life we are living then I have had some great thoughts – full of joy and gratitude and love. When it comes to the best my life has to offer me, then, yes, I will gladly take credit and say yeah! for the law of attraction.

And then I got breast cancer. To say it came out of the blue is not quite right. It came out of the black. To my conscious mind, I never once put those two words together where it concerned me. The doctors shook their head and called my case “so unusual.” I didn’t fit the profile in any way shape or form. My friends got worried, “If you can get it, then anyone can get it.”

How could I have possibly brought this on? The physical experience is behind me now, and to be honest, the experience impacted my life in a very positive way. But, once was enough, thank you very much. I will live with the residue the rest of my life. Those two words, “breast cancer” and “me” are definitely residing together in my ethers. How will the law of attraction play out now? I’m hoping I have the ability to turn it off and on at will. Bring me what will do me the most good, but keep the rest at bay, if you please.

Back to my list. The same goes for believing in karma and reincarnation. I believed strongly in them at one time and felt these concepts answered quite a few questions when I was younger. But for many years now, I have given them little thought. They are barely hanging on the sidelines of what I know for sure. I have moved beyond the fascination of past lives and the role they play in this one. That goes for karma too. They are the glitz and glamour I skip over to get to the bones of who I really am.

The writing exercise that didn’t happen brought me to this conclusion: We don’t have to believe in any one thing forever. Spiritual concepts, life experiences, and our own evolution morphs as we travel through life. What we know for sure should morph too.

What I know for sure is that I don’t know anything for sure. And that’s okay.