All’s Well that Ends Well

Beautiful. That was New York, in a word. I didn’t expect that to be the word I would use to describe New York. I thought it would be ‘throbbing’ or ‘face-paced’ or ‘turgid’ and it was all of those things, which is what made it so beautiful. I spent 4 days in awe of all the beauty. Beautiful clothes, beautiful people, beautiful sights, beautiful scenery. 4 days in awe, 4 days being present, 4 days in gratitude, feeling loved and supported and lucky.

4 days of beauty.

The trip wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. I thought it was going to be about my weight and my body issues. It wasn’t at all. It was about love. Giving myself permission to love myself and finally see my money for what it really is: a nurturing supportive and loving conduit to help me reach my goals and desires. It wasn’t about the shopping. It was about claiming my place in this world, about not postponing my life until I have more money or lose more weight; it’s about throwing my hat in the ring, about earning the satisfaction of knowing that I jumped into the game.

Life is not meant to be lived on the sidelines.

I am ready to make peace with my money. I am ready to stop punishing myself. I am ready to stop denying myself love. I am ready to treat it well, to nurture and love it, and ask that it do the same with me.

So many years I have spent hatinghatinghating and using money to punish and deprive myself, giving it so much power. I am ready to disarm and disable its power. I am ready to frame my choices in a positive way and continue to be present and grateful in all areas of my life (and least endeavour to.) And most importantly, I am ready to take the action steps needs to make sure that happens!

I am ready to live my life.

Have I said all of this before? Yes. Will I say it again? Maybe, but the trip was a great reminder of my place in the world. Today I feel centred, grounded and focused, more than I have in a really long time. I let money have this power over me; I let my identity be defined by it. Money keeps me off-kilter. If I have it, it feels wrong; if I don’t, I feel entitled. It’s fucked-up shit.

Here’s what I feel today, after 4 glorious days in New York – an overwhelming sense of relief, and the reminder that I am a fucking colossus.

Everything you’ve ever heard about New York is true. It is a state of mind, a feeling. For me, it was about enjoying where I was at when I was at it. Doing all the stuff I love; it was about balance and appreciation and gob-smacking adulation.

Really, New York. Thank you.

My Life is a Grenade

I am leaving for New York City in 2 days. Less than 48 hours and I'll be on a plane with 7 other women to go on a shopping trip.

How do I feel?

Like a bloody, selfish fool.

My whole life is upside-down. I'm robbing Peter to pay Paul, I'm back where I started, I'm in no-man's land, I'm someplace new, I'm where I've always been.

I am frustrated, I am angry, I am raging.

My life makes me uncomfortable.

Is that a good thing? I don't know any more. I believe that in order to change results and create something new in life, you gotta live outside your comfort zone a little. I don't want to activate what I already know because that will get me what I already have. I don't want what I already have, do you?

But at what point does that tolerance for risk reach its breaking point? When is enough enough?

I have never felt lonelier in my life. I feel like my old friends don't get my new life and I feel like my new friends don't get my old life. I don't feel like I can trust anyone, and those that I can trust, I am afraid of their judgement.

So where am I? Nowhere.

So I talk to no one and I sit and stew and things get worse.

My life is a grenade.

I am 2 days from a trip to NYC and instead of feeling pride, joy, elation and worth, I feel selfish, scared, audacious, and mad as hell. I am frustrated and furious. And I need to be honest about it. Everyone is walking around asking, 'Are you so excited?' and the truth is, I'm not. And that makes me sad. Oh woe is me. How dare I make this into something other than what it is. Why can't I enjoy it? Why do I feel like I don't deserve it? I thought it was about the weight. It's not. It's about the money. Which is the same difference. It all boils down to love. And this being just another way for me to be hard on myself, beat myself up, get a hate on...and then feel guilty for not feeling grateful. And then I feel spoiled that this is my problem in life. And there are starving children in Africa...and in Canada who WISH that there biggest problem was coming to terms with a trip to New York. And then I feel like I 'should' be feeling a certain way and I stuff the feelings down even more and bend and twist and contort all of my feelings. Try to mold them into something they're not. Mad at everyone else for not understanding; mad at myself for not being honest. Mad at myself for not being able to enjoy.

I am leaving for New York City in 2 days and I am miserable.