Fear of Anticipated Suffering

“It is not death or pain that is to be dreaded, but the fear of pain or death.” Epictetus

Fear and I have been in relationship for as long as I can remember. A quarter of a century ago I had an experience that unveiled to me just how much Fear had been making the decisions in My life.

This week I had another head to heart epiphany around my old buddy Fear. Unfortunately there aren’t enough words to describe what went down, mainly because it was just a massive head conversation including offshoot thoughts about how I didn’t feel afraid of dying – but I was afraid of being in pain or being permanently impaired.

After MANYMANY twisting turns in that headchat, my head said, as it has so often before, “it’s a mindset, you are ANTICIPATING suffering… suffering that is probably not gonna happen.”  My heart finally got it.

My current BIGGIE Fears include a) one relationship in particular, b) money and c) my canine boys. When I shine the light of mindset on them, though, they are 98% “anticipation of suffering” fears. The K9s are fine, I can cover the bills that are due today, and the relationship isn’t physically hurting me. What IS hurting me is worrying about how I’m going feel or how I’m going to handle either of the K9s dying or getting hurt (neither of which is imminent). What HAS got my guts all topsy turvy is fretting about how I’ll pay next month’s bills (uhhh I’ve covered them for about 30 years). What I AM freaking out about in the relationship is how much I might suffer if I walk away from it.

The thing about the relationship – anticipating the pain of walking away – is that this particular relationship currently feels like it’s causing me quite a bit of real emotional suffering.  Simultaneously, I worry that walking away from this relationship might cause MORE suffering than I already feel.

The big shift this week was What If – What if, just for a moment, I stopped anticipating the pain of walking away from this relationship. What if – What if all this flurry around the possibility of suffering was just that – a possibility. What if – What if any suffering that happens from making a change is LESS than what I anticipate or, even better, LESS than what I’m currently experiencing???? See what I mean – MINDSET. Fear is all mindset. False Evidence Appearing Real.

In the spirit of transparency – I did NOT go right out and:

Set the dogs free in the street (so they could run and be dogs),

Charge up all my credit cards (like I don’t have financial obligations),

End the relationship.

What I did do is

1) begin to notice when I’m making a decision based on my anticipation of suffering,

2) reflect on past decisions, how many were fear based and where I might make different or new choices now, and

3) occasionally contemplate how much more FUN might happen in THIS moment if I stopped worrying about everything and anything that might cause me pain in the future.

It’s a journey.

How’s your journey?

big love and fear free hugs,
j

Please let me know how I might be of service. My passions include:
plant based nutrition (especially busting the myth of how much protein we really need ;),
TRX (it’s helping me move forward on my American Ninja Warrior dream),
reminding you of your awesomeness (cuz you are, you know),
the undisciplined girl’s guide to successful dog training (you just gotta play with purpose several times every day),
books on CD (my “capped” mebomian glands make it difficult to read paper books these days),
and connecting with optimists and optimist-wannabes.

feel free to email or find me on FB

 

I am a restaurant junkie

Hi

My name is Joy,

and I am addicted to eating out.

Can I please just blame this one on my mom…? Or my dad…? Of course not. Growing up we didn’t eat out that much as a family.  But in my defense, while I was forced to practice piano 15 minutes every day AND dust and vacuum every Saturday for my allowance, I was never forced to participate in the kitchen. I’m not sure I was ever even invited.  If I was invited it was with great speed and teenage angst that I declined.

I imagine that, at the end of her long, on her feet for 8+ hours, OR nursing day, my mother was more than happy to be free of distracting hands, a multitude of annoying questions and invariably occurring messes and spills as she was attempting to create a meal that no one would complain about.

Sometime in my 16th year, my dad took over the cooking (and everything else). It was 1979, four years before Michael Keaton would make Mr. Moming cool, and my dad rallied with homemade (not from a box) brownies after school, fresh baked (not from a machine) bread and cooked breakfasts.

When both my parents worked we ate at McDonald’s maybe once a week – as a treat. As a single income family, we ate out on the occasional birthday but mostly we celebrated with home cooked favorites:  chow mein, lime broiled chicken, lasagna, beef tips, and made from “scratch” Chef Boyardee pizza.

I made some forays into the culinary arts while living at home.  I did pretty well with the lasagna I adored.  Baking came easy to me and I made chocolate chip cookies as often as I had time and we had ingredients.  But if I ever had to feed myself on the fly, it was usually a sandwich or cereal.

In high school I took COE (Cooperative Office Education) instead of Home Ec.

My dad cooked almost all of my meals through my junior year in college, when I finally moved away.

First year away from home I lived on campus and had that fabulous Dining Card. Talk about college fast food heaven! Yep, I gained 25 pounds and never saw a pot or pan the whole year.

Moving off campus was the beginning of my culinary edification: mostly pasta with butter and steamed or boiled broccoli with Parmesan cheese (from that plastic shaker can). If there was extra money, I would eat out. And I was blessed to have a good friend who was a great cook and he invited me over fairly often.

All the men I ever dated could cook, seemed to enjoy it and never made any noise about me cooking for them.  Probably because I had served them all one of my home cooked meals and they realized the problem…

Once I began working full time, nearly every mid day meal was out with colleagues or lunch meetings where food was brought in. Breakfast was cereal and dinner was from the lunch doggie bag, or crap snacks, or often skipped altogether.

When I moved into my current home I made a conscious resolution to learn to cook. I now had a place of my own I could entertain in.  I asked friends who were great cooks if they would come to my house and let me watch and help them create a meal for us. They told me the menu and gave me an ingredients list. I bought the groceries, provided the kitchen and then cleaned up after.  It was great fun, I learned a few things and we split the leftovers.

Still, I didn’t cook.

That was eight years ago.

I still don’t cook.

Cooking isn’t my zone of genius, plus the end result, while edible, isn’t usually very palatable.  I have inadvertently created occasional meals that taste yumtastic to me so I believe there is hope for me yet.

I think there is a journey of healing in store for me if I can begin to honor myself by feeding myself with my own hands, my own service to me.

Sooooooo……..

I’m creating and DOING my own personal restaurant junkie rehab program. For 30 days I plan to eat at least three meals per day, nearly every one of them prepared by me in my kitchen. Ideally they will include something cooked in at least two of the meals each day… not just smoothies and salads with canned beans.  I am willing to make exceptions if other people would like to cook for me <hint hint>. And I’m willing to revive the “please come cook at my house” lessons.

FYI – I expect to fail a few times, especially since I am surrounded by dear ones who LOVE to eat out. However I am unwilling to quit or give up.  Here’s why:  In May of 2014 I had an awesome experience visiting a friend of mine out of state. Part of my desire to visit was based on all these recipes she shared (and actually cooked herself) on Facebook.  I wanted to hang out while she cooked and eat like she ate – vegetarian.  She let me know before I arrived that we would be having lunch with several different friends of hers during the course of my stay. To me, lunch with friends means restaurants. When I got there though, we ate every meal at her house or one of her friend’s homes. For 8 days I ate every single meal from pots and pans I could see and touch, ovens I could peer into and lids I could lift. It was fantastic… beyond nourishing for both my body and my soul. THAT’s what I’m interested in creating.

I could really use your support, especially in the form of veggie friendly, plant strong recipes that are light on oil, creatively yummy on seasonings, uncomplicated, quick and tasty. Hmmm… is that too much to ask? Be sure and post (or link) in the comments so everyone can share the home cookin’ love.  🙂

Also, let me know if you’d like to play along… I’m creating a FB page, Restaurant Junkie Rehab, where I’ll post every day on my progress and you can too (on your own progress or mine, lol).  First update Thursday, Feb 19.

I am giving myself a few days to plan and prepare – especially since the only “real” food I currently have in my house is left over white rice from a local Thai restaurant, two apples, a bag of frozen seasoned potatoes, seven cans of beans and five overripe bananas.

big love and immensely nourishing hugs,
j

Pleasure vs. Satisfaction

In 1997 I took a movement class who’s credo was the pleasure principle. The deal was if something felt good, keep doing it. If it was painful, make changes for more pleasure.  There was an added invitation to take what you learned in class and apply it to life.

As a long time “aerobics” teacher, I loved the idea of getting fit through pleasure and demolishing the idea of “no pain, no gain.”  I was also curious about this fitness thing I could apply to my life.

Years pass, I study, I choose pleasure – A LOT.

Guess what?   I weigh more than ever, I struggle financially, I’m barely able to organize my day and I’ve become a masterful procrastinator.  Additionally, I’ve been pretty depressed for a while.

Initially I “blamed” all these problems on Post Traumatic Stress from a few months I spent in a war zone – I’ve been deprived, I deserve pleasurable experiences, foods, things.

Next I blamed this condition on doing work I didn’t like and that didn’t bring me pleasure – My job sucks, let me engage in pleasurable mindless movies, TV, internet surfing

My friends perimenopause and menopause took their turns as scapegoat – My body’s going through second puberty, I’ll nap the days away.

Lately I’ve blamed everything on feeling purposeless – I have no reason to get up in the morning, think I’ll have some ice cream.

A few weeks ago, I made a list, got some uncomfortable, sometimes unpleasant shit done. To my surprise and delight I felt  satisfaction. I did this a few days in a row – if it works keep doin’ it – and, in one of my favorite “revelation” locations – the shower, I got it that satisfaction is waaaaaaay better for me than simply pleasure. That actually having some frustration and challenge made the accomplishment even more satisfying. I’ve know this my whole life, but conveniently forgot when I tried on this pleasure thing 17 years ago.

For many there is a real need to make choices for more pleasure.  I’m not denying or judging that.

For me, though, pursuing satisfaction feels like a healthier journey.

I can have a pleasurable bite of chocolate, or I can feel incredibly satisfied about 20 minutes on the elliptical. I can enjoy a favorite movie or I can feel great accomplishment in building, maintaining and regularly updating my own website. I can take pleasure in watching my dogs run and play in the backyard or I can beam in satisfaction that my dogs behave wherever we go from the training we’ve done every day.

For some of you maybe this is all basic life stuff or maybe pleasure and satisfaction are the same.  For me the difference feels revolutionary.  Today – second blog post since February – I feel a boat load of satisfaction.  While pleasure is yummy, I’d choose satisfaction every time.

 

big love and immensely satisfying hugs,
j

Please let me know how I might be of service.  My passions include plant based nutrition (especially busting the myth of how much protein we really need ;), MELT (live free from chronic pain without drugs), TRX (it’s helping become my own version of an American Ninja Warrior), reminding you of your awesomeness (you are, you know), the undisciplined girl’s guide to successful dog training (you just gotta play with purpose several times every day), books on CD (my “capped” mebomian glands make it difficult to read paper books these days), and connecting with optimists and optimist-wannabes.

I’d love to hear about your relationships with pleasure & satisfaction in the comments, via email or on FB.

Winning

I bought a couple of lottery tickets this week.  I play the lottery for two reasons:

1)  A part of me still wants some sort of prince charming to show up and take care of me (sorry mom).
2)  I believe in giving the Universe all manner of opportunities to stream income my direction :).

I don’t like to play the lottery very often.  I get too wrapped up in the fantasy of winning and how I would spend the dollars and the rest of my life.  Then, inevitably when I don’t win the jackpot, I  crash.

This time, though, as I was buying the tickets, I had an inspired idea, “what if I choose to FEEL as if I’ve already won?”  To be clear, I mean FEEL, not ACT.  I did not go on a buying binge, window shop or internet surfing as part of my FEELING like I won the lottery.  Instead I tapped into HOW I would feel if I won.  My number one, hands down FEELING is security, followed closely behind by relief – whew!  For most of my adult life I’ve equated more money with increased security and I don’t think I’m bad, wrong, irrational or alone in this.  I imagine many people might associate a certain dollar figure with security.

But…  Is that where security comes from?

I’ve read and viewed countless real life stories of people that I’d consider in abject poverty, who see themselves blessed, abundant, rich, and happy.  I, myself, have been near six figures and at less than zero.  No matter how much money I’ve had I’ve experienced  happiness and fear, exhilaration and pain, calm and anxiety.

Even more fascinating:  I might have slightly less money now that I did, say, five years ago.  But I still have waaaaaayyyyyy MORE assets than I did 10, 15, and 20 years ago.  Yet many times I feel waaay more anxiety now than I ever remember feeling back then.  WTFudge?!?

Here’s what I’m learning – I can choose to feel secure no matter what my bank account says.  I can choose to feel happy no matter my circumstances.  I can choose to feel panicked regardless of my net worth.  I can choose to feel sad no matter what is happening.

So… I’m having all these thoughts and practicing FEELING secure, happy, and excited to write my mortgage check:  “Yipee!  I get to pay my mortgage,” rather than “Gall dang!  I have to pay my mortgage.”  And I’m super productive:  handling tasks, doing some previously procrastinated business marketing, spending more time training my dogs, MELTing regularly, excitedly preparing for Nia & Pilates classes and clients (interesting how FEELING secure frees up more of my time and fills me with energy to DO my life  🙂 ).

The morning after the lottery drawing arrives.  Instead of playing my normal waiting game for days and days to delay the deflation of my fantasy, today I happily check.

I’ve WON!   The Universe, in its predictably hilarious way however, has sent me a message:

My quick pick numbers:  10   14   30   38   42  –  01

The winning numbers:        9   15   24   39   41  –  01

I’ve been laughing ever since and FEEL grateful that the Universe has shown me I am closing in on winning it ALL.

I’ve felt so good during this experience that I plan to continue FEELING secure, abundant, philanthropic, happy, and excited to write my mortgage check even though I only won $1.

I’m becoming my own Princess Charming.

Best lesson ever.

big love and lottery sized hugs,
j

Please let me know how I might be of service.  My passions include plant based nutrition (especially busting the myth of how much protein we really need ;), MELT (live free from chronic pain without drugs), TRX (it’s helping become my own version of an American Ninja Warrior), reminding you of your awesomeness (you are, you know), the undisciplined girl’s guide to successful dog training (you just gotta play with purpose several times every day), books on CD (my “capped” mebomian glands make it difficult to read paper books these days), and connecting with optimists and optimist-wannabes.

Would love to hear from you in the comments, via email or FB

No Thinking

I blame it on the stars. I’m a Gemini, so I’m verbally chatty and, unsurprisingly, I have a constant dialogue going in my head as well.  If not dialogue then a song or a prayer – never silence, never nothing.

It seems like I’ve known about the word “meditation” for all of my life.  In the last few years I have had experiences of moving meditation which I now think of more as a mantra (cutting the grass with my human powered mower is always effective).  But it was in Nia that I heard for the first time the concept of “no thinking.”  When we played with it in the experience, I couldn’t do it – AT. ALL.  In fact, I’m pretty sure the chatter volume in my head increased by 10 fold.  And I didn’t care, really.  I didn’t get how “no thinking” could possibly be useful to me.

Occasionally, over the ensuing years, I’d play with “no thinking” to see if I’d gotten any better at it (no).  And always there was, “what’s the point of not thinking?  It’s my thinking that is moving me forward to where I want to go.”  My  journey has been quite pleasant, fun and sometimes extraordinary.  “Thinking” = “success.”

Enter perimenopause and complete loss of connection to my purpose in life [for years].  It was (and sometimes still is) the most debilitating experience I’ve ever worked through.  I can rehab, rest, eat right, connect with friends and all the other “stuff” <aka actions> to feel better or get through or heal my body.  But not knowing why I was getting up in the morning was (and sometimes still is) my dark night.

I’d experienced this “why am I here?” dilemma before, but never to the menopausal level.  I was completely passionless, literally more interested in the couch, chocolates and TV than anything else.  In fact not really even interested in those, but it was an easy default.

Near the end of the monumental hormonal swings, a dear friend told me the one thing that she felt like had made the  most difference for her over the last year.  It was sitting quietly every day, even if it was only five minutes.  She was specific – not lying down or  walking – sitting quietly.  So I started to practice sitting quietly every day a couple of weeks ago.  I have to say, my life has been feeling easier.  The biggest relief is that I feel WAY calmer about not knowing “why I’m here” at the moment.  Now whether this is hormones balancing or quieter mind – I’m not sure.  Probably quieter hormones helped give space to explore quiet mind.  And most times, chatter mind is still ON and LOUD, but I simply notice my inhale, notice my exhale and whisper a mental “not now” to any thoughts that begin to enter.  (Just writing it out for you makes me feel better – thanks!)  I’ll let you know how it goes.

What about you?  I’d love to hear how you are taming the conversation in your head.  Or – how it feels when it’s empty up there. 😉  Please tell us your story below.

big hugs and quiet love,

j

The Power of Fractures

Last post I was in a yucky mucky mood.  I have to acknowledge how grateful I am that I don’t go to that place very often.  However, hanging out occasionally in the yucky muck definitely ups my gratitude factor for the “Glass FULL” moments.  Yay for gratitude and yay for optimism 🙂

I found out a couple of days ago that I have another broken bone.  When I broke the first one back in 2012, I was in SO. MUCH. FEAR. I was actually in more fear than I was pain.  I could barely function in my fear paralysis.  In hindsight, I think I made good decisions in a timely manner, but I continue to have a keen appreciation for how life changes in a heartbeat – one minute you think your life is going one way and ONE SECOND LATER it’s going a completely different direction.  One of the many, many gifts of the first bone break is how much better of a dog trainer I became to manage my 2 year old, frenzied Boxer/Bull Mastiff mix, especially since his exuberance was the partial cause of the fracture.

This time the fear was very little.  The initial pain was LOUD enough that it occurred to me I might have broken a bone.  But the pain receded so much each day, I trusted that my body was healing.  One month after the original injury I still limp and have sharp, jabbing pain.  This is a clear and direct communication to get more information – so I did.  Of the breaks that can occur in the feet, this is a good one, just a little bit of the proximal tip of the fifth metatarsal.  A nice tight boot and the bone is likely to find its way back to complete healing. Yay.  Even so, the direction I thought my life was going still has a lane change.  I feel grateful there is no paralyzing fear.  I feel grateful for the outpouring of support I have already received and I look forward to the many gifts this fracture will bring into my life.

big love and fractured gift filled hugs, j

Yucky Mucky

One of my early posts was all googlyboogly about telling the truth, like it was No. Big. Deal.  In Nia we talk of the 5 levels of truth telling…

Truth –

To myself about myself

To myself about another

To another about myself

To that other about another

To everyone about anything

                                          Lazaris

Today’s truth to another about myself is difficult for me to share.  I am feeling depressed, unmotivated and like nothing will ever change.  Even as I write these feelings, I feel absurdly self absorbed and immediately want to say all my gratitudes in machinegun fashion.  But no matter what I’ve done this morning – dance breaks (the one/two punch of music AND movement), connections with others, walk in nature, hydration, inspirational readings, play with the dogs – I still feel stuck, depressed and like why in the world should I even attempt to write anything for you today.

So I decided to write about exactly where I am – feeling totally f**ked.

I don’t do well with physical injury.  Or cold.  Or sugar.  Or inactivity.  And I’ve had a longer than normal and “other” induced exposure to all of the above (well, the sugar was self induced, truth be told).  And by writing the truth to you, I feel a slight obligation to take action to see if I can move out of this emotional muck.  Which only makes me start crying – poor me, guilt that I can’t walk the dogs properly, guilt about the mac and cheese when I can’t burn it off with my regular form of exercise, guilt that I can’t be a happy role model in this moment or just fake it ‘til I make it… blah, blah, blah – boring infinitum pity party.

I was slightly inspired by one of last week’s DailyGood.com – Animator for Pixar, Bernard Haux talks to Leo Babauta about 8 habits of creatives.  One of them is tenacity – he talks about a friend who drew a picture everyday for three years.  Tenacity, perseverance, practice – whatever you want to call it – that’s what helps us become expert.  Haux shared “Looney Toons legendary animator Chuck Jones’ assertion that you have to draw 100,000 bad drawings before you have a good drawing.”

Ok, so another week in a row I’ve put words in space.

Thank you for your patience while I deliver a less than stellar post on my journey of tenacity and truth.  I’d love to read about how you flex your tenacity muscles especially when you find yourself off your peak.

murky love and stagnant hugs,
j

The Desire Map

Super sexy badass Canadian, Danielle LaPorte has been on the periphery of my radar for a while.  With all the email, self-discovery, gotta get better, gotta have new ideas melee that happens in my world, I’ve resisted signing up for any of her stuff and trusted that my intimates that are signed up will send me what calls to them.

Un. til. now.

I downloaded a freebie excerpt from her book The Desire Map earlier this year – I thought the concept was groundbreaking.  LaPorte’s Desire Map is a whole new (to me anyway) concept in “goal setting.”  I heard her say something this morning (:50 mark) – “the journey has to feel the way you want the destination to feel.”   Well, of course!

The plot of Desire Mapping is to set goals based on how you want to feel, more than on how much you want to have/be/do.  Then make decisions, every day, moment to moment, that align you with what LaPorte calls your “Core Desired Feelings.”

This makes SO much sense to me (even though I haven’t read the book).  She claims what we are really chasing is the feelings we want, not the stuff we want.  While I haven’t been practicing this consciously, I think it’s a concisely mapped description of how I’d prefer to be living my life.  For example:  I hurt my foot at Wai‘anapanapa State Park last week and it is still very tender.  Last night I was interested in a holiday party a friend throws every year.  About an hour before the party, I realized that I really wanted to continue to help my foot feel better and sent my regrets.   While this seems like a physical feeling (which i normally label sensation), I also felt calmer and proud of myself for having my own back on my personal self care.  I trusted my gut, I chose healing as a priority and my foot feels even better this morning.

For the first time in years I’m actually quite excited to play with wants/resolutions/goals/intention.  LaPorte calls them Goals with Soul – maybe my word for 2014 will be “feel.”

I’d love to read about your experience with how you get what you want from your life. 🙂  Please share in the comments or feel free to email mail me directly.

big hugs and heart felt love,
j

Mastery – Simplicity

I read a piece of a post from a Pilates teacher that I follow and admire.  She said something to the effect of “if you can’t explain in three short sentences or less, you don’t really know what you’re talking about.” This was so intriguing to me – a MASSIVE talker – that I stopped reading that moment and began to contemplate how I instruct, how I answer questions and how much can I respond fully in three sentences or less.  I haven’t reread the post in case I misunderstood her meaning – I’m enjoying the intrigue too much.

I process verbally (though I learn through multiple modalities – primarily reading, watching, practicing).  As early as first or second grade I was getting conduct letters that I talked too much in school.  Every job (until I got into the people business) was the same, performance reviews stating I was distracting other workers by chatting (and that I got all of my work done ahead of schedule… I can’t help it if I over achieve in order to socialize).

If you do a session with me, many times before I make a correction I’ll be asking you to make some small adjustments.  Pilates is already a thousand things happening at once, then I want you to have the most benefit, so I’ll ask you for even more.

Can I express my expertise in three sentences or less?  Her example was about the Pilates “Hundred.”  If anyone asks me why we pump the arms, I might give an answer specific to why that person has come for sessions.  I will also likely ramble, repeating some phrases until I express, verbally, the most succinct yet fully formed answer.  Her answer was this:  The rapid, big movement of the arms challenges your ability to stabilize your torso and outstretched legs and revs up your cardio-vascular system.  You can read the whole post here.  Simple, elegant, efficient and right on.

I look forward to evolving.

Big hugs and three short sentences of love,
j

Travel Anxiety

We are traveling this week to Maui, Hawaii.  It’s the first time for me and it feels exotic – I have to keep reminding myself that we will still be in the US.  On the other hand, it also makes me slightly sick to my stomach.  Everyone who knows we are going keeps asking “are you excited?” or saying how jealous they are.  But honestly, traveling makes me anxious.

In the spirit of transparency anticipating a trip makes me anxious.  Doesn’t matter what kind of travel it is (family, work or pleasure), just the thought of leaving my home overnight seems to amp up my anxiety meter.  Doesn’t matter that I’ve had remarkable experiences sleeping over somewhere else for a weekend or a year, I always have moments of “I’d rather stay home.”

What the heck is that about?

Besides the obvious answer (the unknown), “sleep overs” also seem like a lot of work – figuring out the dogs, the mail, the substitute teachers for my classes, rearranging clients (when possible), making reservations, choosing the “right” excursions and so on and so forth ad nauseum.

I have way less anxiety if someone else is making most of the decisions and I can simply be the great travel companion – because once we are underway, I’m ALL. OVER. IT.

Once I fill the gas tank, stow my carry on, hit the gangway – THAT’s when I start to get excited.  But the prep needed to make it to the transport is ALWAYS filled with some level of anxiety – even when I’ve made a trip hundreds of times.

The good news is – somehow I get through the anxiety.  This week my coping mechanisms have been overindulging in leftover Holiday fare, playing a few too many computer games and listening to Jack Reacher novels on CD almost non-stop.  Oh, and making a list and checking things off (like this post).  🙂  Once I start checking things off – I feel better, more capable, less stressed.  Then the door of excitement has a chance to open.

I’d love to read about your lead up to travel – are you excited beyond measure? Do you have slight anxiety?  Are you the person so laid back that maybe you almost miss your flight? Or so busy you can’t even think, you just go go go?  Please share 😀

Mahalo

Big love and anxiety-free hugs, j