Woman.

Don’t buy me a drink, I make my money
Don’t touch my weave, don’t call me “honey”
‘Cause I run my shit, baby

I’ve been thinking about what it means to be a girl or a woman or female. I am one, so it’s never far from my brain.

I think about it when I wake up and I fight my sports bra onto my body (which should count as a work out by the way!),to looking at myself in the mirror and realizing one day I look like I ate all the things; to the next day thinking I can pull off a magazine cover. My body is never the same day to day or week to week.

I would like to thank hormones. We are blessed with them. Aunt Flo comes for a visit and our bodies are thrown into hormone blender. We really don’t know what we want. We know we like chocolate and we are fat. That’s it.

Tell me one more time you gotta get you some of that
Sure I’ll slide on over, but you’re gonna get slapped. 

Are we nuts? We might be. On any given day we are prone to break downs. We may cry when we are pissed, frustrated, or happy.

The constant comparison to each other or the women we were ten years ago is never far from our thoughts. When we find that tribe where we feel safe; we are still prone to jealousy and mistrust. Or are we?

We still hold just a little back from even our bestest friends for fear of being judged. That some how she is the better person with the better life. The best thing is finding the women in your life you can trust with the mess. The women who gets it and realize we are all just trying to make it in this world. Even then, there are going to be disagreements and moments of not talking.

I don’t know you well but I know that look
And I can judge the cover ’cause I wrote the book
On losing sleep and gaining weight
On pain and shame and crazy trains

I am so lucky I have found some honest, fun, truth-telling women in my life. My friendships have grown and shifted over the years. I am fortunate they call me out, pick me up and love me when I’m not being very lovable.

And that’s the fiercest thing about being a woman. Our capacity to love is so big. We want to save all the animals, adopt all the children and create small villages.

If you piss us off; we will burn it all to the ground while chewing gum and twirling our hair.

Teenage me had so much rage and no where to put it. I had no idea what to do with all the emotions. Grown ass me still isn’t sure; I have just learned some things. The first thing I learned is not everyone or everything deserves a reaction. The second thing I learned is okay to have a reaction.

We are taught from a young age to be nice.

You need to be nice to her.”

No, I don’t need to be nice. Not when she’s being a raging bitch to me. Not all of us are going to be friends. And that’s okay.

I like being a girl. I like painting my nails. I also love my snap backs and my boots. I like pink fuzzy slippers and the sound of Boss 302. I also love the Hallmark channel, and I will watch Kill Bill over and over.

It’s complicated, messy and beautiful. And I wouldn’t change a thing.

So raise your glass….

Here’s to strong women. May we know them. May we be them. May we raise them.” – Unknown

Habit.

Every single morning the first thing I do when I get up is I pee….with an audience of pets….and then I brush my teeth.  That little tiny habit is important because it sets me up for the rest of my day.

Once I brush my teeth there is no going back to bed for five more minutes. I am up for the rest of the day.

I never really thought about that before. I never really thought about how that one little tiny step in my day is what sets me up for success.

The rest of my morning goes by in blur. It’s such a set routine that if it varies: I am cranky. Brush teeth, let dogs out, feed dogs, let dogs back in, make coffee, make tea, mix my pre-work out and then thirty minutes of me time. And then…the rush of getting everyone in the house going and getting ready for the day.  I often feel like once I brush my teeth , I am on the hamster wheel and there is no getting off.

My habits have changed over the years. I love the snooze button but the annoying sound of the it going off every seven minutes get me moving out of bed. That and my dog needs to do her routine. She is actually the true motivator.

If I leave one step out; the whole day feels like something is missing. I may be boarder line obsessed and the fear of not getting it right gets in the way. I have to give myself permission to miss a step and tell myself that it isn’t the end of the world.

Even though it feels like it.

Habits.

Oddly enough, I don’t have any habits I consider “bad.” I don’t chew on my nails. I don’t pick my nose and I don’t shut off a light switch one hundred times before I can leave a room.  I do pick up my phone. A lot.  Nine times in an hour. I simply pick up my phone. That may be one I need to work on.

There are probably other habits. The ones that I need to work on, however they are getting smaller and  smaller as I accept myself.

I don’t put myself down as much. I remember that I am only human. That has taken a habit of self talk, many podcasts, God, and lots of personal development. I also surround myself with people who lift me up. I  listen to how I speak to my daughter. I fill her up with all the good things about herself because I believe in her that much, so shouldn’t I take the same advice?

Just for today I am going to sip my coffee, while it’s still hot, and think about all the good habits in my life. I like to look for the bright side in everything and everyone, and I don’t think that’s a bad habit.  Maybe today you do the same.

Slump.

My motto was always to keep swinging. Whether I was in a slump or feeling badly or having trouble off the field, the only thing to do was keep swinging.            Hank Aaron

The baseball game played on in the background and I flipped through a magazine. This is my normal routine when watching baseball. I love it. I could listen to a game on the radio or on TV anytime and anywhere. There is something about the slight inflection of the broadcaster’s voice that let’s you know just when to look up. It’s the end of the season for the Boys of Summer and this is what everyone looks forward too. Playoffs.

The end of slumps.

The crack of the bat causes me to glance up. Everyone moves around the bases. This is what I love. The movement and the darting of the eyes. Everyone up on their toes waiting for the next pitch.

You don’t? I can’t understand. No really. I don’t understand anyone who doesn’t like to watch baseball or find it boring. It all changes in an instance.  A no hitter to a slump. Hitting every ball thrown to a slump. And then when that moment comes and that one player comes through….we go wild. The hit. The catch. The throw! It all makes sitting through YEARS of not winning a game to that maybe we have a chance worth while!

Meanwhile, I am in a slump. I have been for awhile. I think. I feel unmotivated by everything and anything. I am still in my routine. I work on my passion. I move my body for 30 minutes a day because my mind and my body deserve it. Sigh.

I am in a slump. I am waiting for that next pitch to jolt me into action.  I flip through the magazine. It’s telling me how I can do this full body move for 30 minutes 3 days a week to get the toned legs I so deserve. I browse it. I consider it. And I turn the page.

The baseball game carries on in the background.

I realize these guys also have their slumps. Their moments when it’s the end of summer for them and all they want is to keep playing. They don’t let the mundane of the routine get to them. They can’t get lazy. If they get lazy in their game, they miss a pitch or the guy looking to steal.
The repetition of their daily routine helps them get through the days when they feel like they are in a slump.

Every day isn’t the same. It’s a new chance for me to work on my swing.  I can’t simply let the slump take over. I have to think back on what gets me out of my slumps.

Routine.

So I put down the magazine and I pick up my planner. I start writing in my most mundane days until it becomes a routine. It comes back to basics. I work on myself: I read my personal development and I fill my brain up with the knowledge it needs to pull me through any future slumps. I set my alarm to  move my body every single day.

My routine is now set. I feel like that’s half the battle, but I know I am more of a motion than action when it comes to life; so I know only action will help me set it into a habit.

I turn off the baseball game and pull on my headphones. I find my station and the game starts again in my ears.  I  put on my shoes and I step up to the figurative plate.

I begin where I am. I begin with a plan and I let my heart lead me. I trust myself to know that a slump is just a place to re-evaluate and re-think my routine.

Every new beginning makes my brain pause and look for easiest way out. It doesn’t want to do anything that it has to, so I begin small. I begin working from the inside out until all the steps become a habit. I can’t do one without that other. The sleep I need, the alarm that goes off at the same time, the meal planning, the goal setting, and my need for fierce friendships that help build me up to keep me going.

Even in a slump.

I re-adjust my headphones and decide. I keep swinging.

 

In the past, my success has come with sticking to one plan. That usually works. Obviously it’s going to falter, and I’m going to go into slumps here and there, but stick with the plan, and hopefully it will come out successful more times than not. Freddie Freeman

Bubbles.

The bubble bath felt like I was cheating on all my responsibilities. It was warm, inviting, and with just a push of a button I could have my very own Jacuzzi  experience.  That was too loud and not at all relaxing, so I turn it off and sink a little further into my bath.

Insistent meowing at the door followed by a light scratch of a paw trying to get in brought me out of my day dream.

“Go away. No. Stop it.” I said at least three times before getting my bubble covered body out of the water and drip all over the floor to open the door.

I am not sure why I bother to close it. I sink back in the tub. My furry family members gather and find their seats. I sigh.

There is no such thing as alone time for me. Does it sound like a pity party? It is. I am forever being torn in four different directions while being told I do have alone time.
Fall means school and activities. I love it. I enjoy being social. I don’t like to sit in my head and be alone all the time. We were made to be social and supportive. Not to sit on the end of a sofa and stare into our phones; checking all the social media and left feeling more isolated.

I push the button and the whirling starts once again. My cat looks down in fascination with the bubbles.

“Hey mom.”  she calls from the end of the hall, ” I want to…. ” And she begins to tell me about her big birthday plans. That is two months away.

“How’s your bath?” he stand at the door way before coming in and pushing the button. “we need to get you one of those bath pillows.” He’s being helpful.

I love my little puzzle pieced together family. I really do. But they need to leave me the hell alone for fifteen minutes. I am pretty sure it can all wait. The big ideas and plans. I push the button  and sink. Letting the rush of water fill my ears and not hear anything. Not feel the guilt pull me back to the surface.

The door closes and I feel bad. I feel bad for wanting silence of a bath. I feel bad for not wanting to listen or engage in  their ponderings right at this very minute.

It can all wait. They can all wait. All of it. The cleaning I know I should be doing, the folding of laundry I know I need to do, the text messages I feel I need to respond too and the things I know that still need finished. Boxes need unpacked. Bills that need to be paid.

I sigh and hit the drain on the bath watching the water immediately beginning it’s descent. I watch it wistfully. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I am trying to schedule it in for longer than fifteen minutes every other week. I take a deep breath, dry myself and open the door.

My muscles are a little more relaxed and my mind a little less cluttered. The animals greet me. All wanting attention. And most likely food.

“Mom can I have ice cream?”

“Hey Tess? when you come down can you bring some gelato?”

I open the freezer and smile.

“yep. Be right there.”

Alone time.

Courage.

Craig was glaring at me over the island counter that separated us.

I covered my mouth and giggle snorted.

“You’re an asshole.” He said

I tipped my head back and laughed.

“You’re not wrong.” It was all I could get out. I continued to laugh. I couldn’t help it.

We had just come back from a date night. Live music and a good time should have lead us to a nice evening.

But not us. Nope. We hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, which when we lived in separate states was nothing. This separation had caused a lot of stress. Outside factors we tried to control wreaked havoc on our system and now here we found ourselves.

12:30 in the morning knee deep in conversation. About us.

He has a need to be closer and I have a need to bolt. It’s a very interesting dynamic that often has us at what seems to be at odds, but really we are after the same goal.

Courage.

We had just eaten tacos and his OCD began to kick into overdrive as we spoke.

I had been watching him. He always cleans up after me. His compulsion to be neat and mine to be a mess are forever at odds.

This night is no exception.

Courage.

He had been asking me why I always seem to be closed off and I had been saying he’s too intense.

I watched him gather my wrappers and toss them in the bag. His stress response kicking into over drive and I just wanted to go to bed.

He asked questions while he began sweeping imaginary crumbs with a napkin across the counter and into his hand.

He repeated the sweeping motion as we worked through the issue. Me responding as I watched him grab a napkin and wipe the counter.

He looked around for more to do. Mumbling to himself a bit before spying a Pepto bottle and unscrewing the cap and took a pull.

Which leads me to my break down in laughter.

I mean I couldn’t help it and that’s what makes me the asshole.

I wasn’t making fun of him. As he thought, but rather at the situation as a whole.

We are two people who have been single a rather long period of our adult lives. I now understood why second marriages get the bad rap they do. The complete and utter mind bend you have to do to be brave enough to work out all your shit is a trip. You either learn and grow or you decide to sit alone on your throne of bullshit you keep telling yourself as to why it didn’t work.

The best thing about us is we tend to realize we might in fact be full of shit and we get out of our own way to figure it out, but that might come with a trip into the ditch every once in awhile.

So after a night of music, late night talk over fast food wrappers, and being way too stubborn for our own good; we come back to why we click in the first place.

Courage.

We are brave in our lives separately and together we are stronger.

We just are learning to navigate when not to be the asshole.

Perfect.

It is a beautiful sunshine filled day in the Big Sky state. At least at my end of the state it is. It’s one of those days where the bright August sun decided to not be so…well the sun. Not that I am complaining, I am soaking up every single minute of the heat and sun.

It’s perfect.

It’s also one of those rare August evening where the bugs aren’t threatening to carry me off and I am not dosed in bug spray; so I decide I can sit outside on our patio set. All those things that are waiting to be done inside the house can wait.

I sit myself down and begin to organize the four books, one journal, my phone and kindle on the small table. Oh yeah and my drink. So after all of the trouble of getting it perfect, I spend time listening to everything around me. I realize the hum of the engines going down the interstate is a lot louder and birds chatter a lot noisier while getting ready to go to bed for the night.

It’s perfect.

My dog sighing loudly beside me bring me out of my daydream and I realize I am brought all these things out here with me so I could get more done.  So that after a long day of working and peopling, I could work on something for me. I shouldn’t call it work. I should call it my passion.

I flip open my journal. It’s not your typical Dear Me journal. It’s a goal setting I AM journal. I set my gratitude and my goals as if they have already happen. I set my intention. I am reminding myself that it isn’t about perfection it’s about progress.

It’s funny how life sets us up to think that everyone and everything has to be perfect right out of the gate. We tend to forget we need the failure factor to push us forward. Otherwise, why practice? We practice so that when we fail, we know how to get up and take another run at it.

Getting my dog to fetch was easy. She was a natural fetcher. It was in her to go after the object being hurled through the air. Her ears would perk up and she would fly after it…before she knew where it was going. She was jumping the gun, as they say. It took a lot of her turning around to look at me to understand she had to wait. She had to see with her eyes and use her nose to see where it went. She still isn’t perfect, but she knows to sit and wait beside me most of the time.

If I expected her to be perfect from the beginning, it would have ruined the whole fetching thing for her. She would have hated that game because I wouldn’t have allowed us both to fail and to learn.

The breeze is barely moving the leaves on the trees now. Days like this are getting shorter. I didn’t do everything I wanted to do this summer, but I did enough. I have to let go of my idea of perfection and enjoy the little moments.

Like sitting in our backyard, watching the birds fly over head and my dogs barking at nothing.

It’s perfect.

Lost.

I lost my first set of keys to my pick up. I had walked into the house with my hands full of groceries and  set everything down. I didn’t hang my keys up or throw them into my purse. So when I went to look for them the next day, they were gone. I searched my purse. I dumped the contents onto the table, I looked in pockets, I searched my pick up, and finally a bag of garbage. They were gone.

A simple set of pick up keys lost.

My grandma passed away from cancer a decade or more ago. It doesn’t seem that long ago when I stop to think about her. It seems like she was just here one day and gone the next. For my mom and her siblings, I am sure that’s not the case.  My grandma was a bright, straight forward, sarcastic source of light that loved fiercely and you knew it. Every once in a great while, I search her out because I need sage advice. Then I remember I can’t crawl into the top of camper and go with her any more.

Lost.

My ex had a Chocolate Labrador named Grizzly when we met. Grizzly was the smartest dog .  He was well behaved and could learn a new trick in minutes. Army crawl, sit, stay, wait, the list would go on….and he would help carry in groceries. His list and his personality were both impressive. I had also gotten a black and white kitten who we called Oreo. Grizzly and Oreo became inseparable. They slept, ate and played together.  I only panicked once when Grizz came into the living room packing Oreo in his mouth. We told him to drop it and out came a spit soaked fur ball who only seemed annoyed at being on the ground. From then on we just let them do what they wanted together.

The problem with having a dog with that much smarts is they need to be stimulated most of the time or they get themselves into trouble. Grizz figured out how to open the side gate one day and disappeared. We searched for him but he was lost. I still think about him and hope he was well loved and I hope he chewed the corners out of  their books.

Lost.

I have lost a lot of things along this road of life. I once lost all of my worldly possessions in a move. Nothing will make you miss what you can’t remember you had and nothing will set you more free.  Except people. There is something about the loss of a person that makes you stop short some days and hold your breath. You say their name and it’s like they never left.

I found my keys in a box while packing for a move; and my grandma leaves me pennies to find when I need her most.

 

Adjust.

I recently moved in with my man, my guy, my main squeeze, my dude, my boo thing…okay so I cringed at that one.

Y’all.

I live with a man. I don’t know if you are with someone and they have been living with you for awhile but I haven’t lived with a man or anyone for about 8 years. 8 years everyone. Yes I have a daughter who lives with me, but she allowed me to be lazy mom and hang out in my chonies and make popcorn for dinner.

But a man.

Y’all. (Yes I have an accent right now, just go with it. )

He moved 1800 miles west to be with me. That’s brave. He moved knowing full well what he was getting himself into.

He keeps saying things like, “it’s an adjustment.”

An adjustment.

Yes.

Girl.

He doesn’t nap. Who the eff doesn’t nap? A lazy Sunday afternoon and I want to read, watch Veronica Mars on Hulu and sleep. Nah. He is mowing the yard, thinking about dinner plans, and wondering outloud what else we can do.

I don’t know fool!

We have a garage now; go there.

He also has a remote job; which loosely translates to he works from home. He’s a senior project manager. Don’t ask me what he does, I don’t know. I just know he’s home.

Girl. He’s home.

Which means I am spoiled. My coffee is made for me by the time I drag my running late ass to the kitchen, my snack is packed so I don’t get hangry around 11:30 ish. And get this? He usually has lunch ready for me during the week. Say what?

But…he’s home. Asking me why I have Real Housewives on the DVR. Mind your business.

It’s been an adjustment.

Did I mention he does the cooking for most of our meals? He keeps it healthy but every once in awhile let’s me slide a little. Pasta carbonara anyone?!

An adjustment.

Lucky for him he gets to live with 45 year old me not 25 year old me. We are the same girl with a little more, what’s the word? Oh yeah don’t give a fuck attitude.

Which is an adjustment for me.

Could I be just a little more thoughtful? Most likely. Could I pause and think before I tell him to get bent? Probably should. I don’t always.

We are still learning and navigating our issues. Past and present. We are trying daily to let go of things that no longer serve us. Is it easy? No. It takes work. It takes talking to each other. Even on days the other is being a giant pain in the ass.

Younger me was such a people pleaser. She would have been tripping over herself to make sure he was happy or making sure he could do things that he enjoyed.

Or oh my god the tears if we had an argument.

Someone really needed to kick her in the ass.

Fast forward in my life and I learned some shit. Life lessons that I had to go through in order to grow through.

Bless and release.

I was single for a long time. I learned to love me. I learned to do things, find things, and not give a fuck about things.

Every once in awhile doubt clouds my judgement or perfectionist shows up, but I am still learning to say fuck it.

Because I worked on me I was able to figure out what I wanted, needed, desired in another human. In my partner and my best friend, and when I did; The universe said here. I am thankful for Craig and his strong heart and his caring person. He matches me pretty well. He is also able to put me in a time out when needed. Because I am pretty much full on all the time. I’m either hangry or tired. Or I am moody because my routine got thrown off. He handles as best he can.

That’s all I can ask.

It’s been an adjustment.

If he says that one more time, I’m gonna stab him.

Push.

I’m in the air again. I’m headed off to a Summit. A meeting of great minds bursting with creativity about how to run a business, be your own boss and get healthy doing it.

Did I just hear you roll your eyes at me? You probably said “oh she’s one of those.”

Quietly working on my health and my fitness.

Ha. No I take selfies like I’m famous. I pose and flex. I am no where near where I want to be. I work at it daily. Mostly because the eating less part doesn’t always click. (And I have a man in my life that cooks amazing food.)

I struggled with finding a work out that I enjoyed. Walking? I got bored. Running? Um no thank you. Elliptical? Okay I can do that. Am I going to push myself? Ha! No. I get tired and it hurts.

So there I was. Refusing to do anything that made me grow or be better version of me. How pathetic! I was spending all my time making sure everyone else was okay but not one moment did I take care of me.

I needed structure. I needed a coach. I needed a trainer.

I had been in sports growing up so I know me. I won’t push myself without completion or someone coaching me. I’m a little high maintenance.

I was introduced to Beach Body by my friend Cara.

( I can still hear the eye roll, but just hear me out.)

I was given access to hundreds work outs I could do in my home. I didn’t need to get dressed or figure in travel time or find my nearest gym. I had access to a healthy shake and recipes to help me not get bored with it. But most of all, I was plugged in, cheered on, encouraged by an amazing community I had access too.

Questions answered. Resources.

But first I had to answer a big question.

I had to know my why. Why was I doing this? To get healthy? Okay. That’s everyone’s goal. You ask someone about goals and they say “to be healthy.”

I needed to get real for this all to work.

My why use to be the same as every mom, “ I want to be healthy for my daughter. “

Nope didn’t motivate me. I still sat still and put in a half ass effort.

When I changed my why to me. To do something for me I became motivated. I went all in on me.

The most amazing thing has happened since I plugged in. I learned to like, no love, working out again. It’s my alone time. Good motivating music that I sing off key too, mess up words to songs and a work out I have stuck too because it fit my schedule and improved my attitude. Not to mention I am able to go on and encourage others to just do it. Get it in and get out.

I have gained so much knowledge on food, gut health and what exercises I love ( weights with HIIT) and what exercises I loathe ( all cardio all the time).

I have cried during a work out because it felt that hard and it made me that emotional. I have celebrated going up in weights and being humble enough to say when it’s too much.

I learned to not take the easy way out ( there’s a pill for that right?); and to turn to healthy food first. I went to school with Chalene Johnson and her 131 Method where she takes you on a journey of studying self and science while keeping you sane.

Stool school and gut health? Yes please. Big eye opener for me? I don’t need to eat breakfast nor do I need to rules by a clock to eat.

I dropped weight and kept it off because I studied my body. I know what it needs to run the best. I went from 185 lbs and fluffy and tugging on shirt because I felt uncomfortable; to now 170 lbs and strong AF. Not that a scale rules my life any more. In fact the less I can step on it, the happier I am. I look for things like : how do my jeans fit, what did I eat last night that’s going to cause me to feel bloated and nothing to fit right. How much water have I been drinking today?

And when I started to do all of that an amazing thing happened; I started to feel better and I started thinking everyone should feel this good. Everyone should get to work out at home with other people doing the same one. Everyone should get to read and learn about their gut health and how to eliminate what doesn’t work for their body. Everyone.

Does this qualify me as a “coach”? Hell yes it does! Do you need someone to push you? Inspire you? Get accountable too? Tell me your tired and you don’t feel like it. I’ll tell you I don’t care about your feelings. I will also tell you to go push play and just do it for one more rep.

You need help with food and having a plan ? Okay let’s start there. I know saying no to eating that last bite when you’re full or get out of the fast food line will have your body saying thank you. I will also tell you to go push play and just do it for one more rep.

You want someone to ask you what your goals are for the week? I can do that too.

I will meet you in the season your in.

Life Is meant to be lived. When you feel better, you glow differently and live more.

Take a step, then a couple more and I’ll help you through it because someone helped me.

*you can follow me and my journey on all the social media.

FB: https://m.facebook.com/hashtagmess/

Twitter: @orion_07

IG: @orion_07

Snap: @orion_07 #Mess

For more information on Beachbody and their products: contact me at burmantessa@gmail.com

Self.

I read this sentence today: Women are afraid of themselves.

Am I afraid to be myself?

I have to stop and think about it. I want to answer with: it depends.

I would like to answer a resounding hell no. I am always me, but that wasn’t always the case. I stumbled a few times down the path to me before I found my footing.

Judgement from the general public stops us from being ourselves most of the time right? Certain public places or people ask us to blend in a little and keep it down. There are a few of you out there that still are a bright yellow dot in a field of black; and you will not be stopped. Many have tried but it only makes you brighter. To that I say kudos.

But me.

I was a loud child. I was a talker and I still am. For those of you that know me, stop laughing. I am quiet sometimes. When I am sleeping or reading a really good book, I am introspective. It use to make me quite self-conscious. My greatest strength was being pointed out as a flaw.
I was told to be quiet. I was told I talk too much. Okay some of that was warranted because let’s face it, I like to talk.

In an age of people starring down at their screens and walking into poles, I like to talk to people.

In my primary school years I was separated from my fellow classmates because of the rule to be quiet and I couldn’t , it wasn’t really my fault. I didn’t want to be rude.

Being told I talk too much hasn’t slowed me down much in life. I don’t think a God given gift can be squashed. It keeps nagging at me. Even if I think maybe I shouldn’t say a word, I can’t help myself. In most situations, it’s almost a push. I say hello. I ask how their day is going. My natural curiosity in the human condition.

So is my talking too much a flaw or strength? Is it something I should shrink back from or is something I should fully step into?

I’m unabashedly talkative. It has gotten me to know people in a variety of different ways. I have watched through my experiences of working in public places where being a smiling and thoughtful conversationalist is a talent that not everyone has.

After I stripped away everyone’s thoughts about my ability to create conversations; I stepped fully into my creative side. My talent. My gift.

Just as I watched my daughter at age 2 become enthralled with colors, crayons, and the shape of eyes; I wasn’t going to squash that flame. She loved to doing anything with art. She would sit and draw and scribble at that very young age that I looked up and found anything I could help water that artist flower in her. I had books, I bought her more art drawing pens then a 2 year old should ever own, but here she is 11 years later; drawing. Studying eye shapes. How to make a hand look real.  If the universe calls her to that craft, who I am to squash it.

We are all have a God given gift that calls on us. Most of the time we need to quiet other voices finding our flaws before we fully step into who were are.

Self.