Saying Goodbye to Peter Pan

Before the Internet, Netflix, and all forms of easily accessible entertainment, my generation depended on our VCR. My household ran a few tapes daily, with only the space between lasting long enough for a quick rewind. The movie I remember the most was “Hook”. It was a classic among my whole family, whose ages and genders greatly varied. Still, this movie brought us all together around the television, made us laugh, cry, and left our imaginations tickled.

On Monday night, I felt the unanimous jaw drop of the entire nation with the news that actor/comedian Robin Williams had passed away. I’ve seen most of his films including favorites like Patch Adams, What Dreams May Come, and Goodwill Hunting. In fact, just last week I enjoyed Dead Poets Society for the thousandths time, another reminder how special Robin was. But when I heard the news of his death and longtime battle with depression I could only think of Peter Pan.

The film Hook was truly the beginning of my love for Williams. Like many of us morning his death, I didn’t know him personally, but his films always brought thought provoking discussions to our family dinner table.

He had a way of choosing roles that added value and understanding around tough situations.

For example, as a child I related to the movie Mrs. Doubtfire and the tension divorce can bring into a home, not just for the kids but for the adults too. Another one that helped me through my childhood was The Bird Cage. In the 90’s, against popularity, Robin boldly took on a role as a gay man with children. My dad came out in 1996 just as this movie was released, allowing me to laugh, feeling less secluded from the outside world and providing me with a different perspective. A better one. 

I just wanted to take a moment today and use this platform to thank Robin Williams for his lovely contribution to our world. I imagine his last moments were the truest depiction of a great battle against depression, but maybe, wherever he sits now, he can see the outpouring of love throughout our country. I can only imagine a comedic genius like him arriving at the pearly gates and God saying,

“Two jews walk into a bar…” and the laughter rolls on.

Thank you Robin. Goodnight Peter.

Journeys.

Aboard an aircraft, after being seated, locked in, and conducting a brief introduction to the stranger next to you, one is lifted off the ground saying good-bye to the outside world. Quite literally, the earth disappears beneath you, giving you the opportunity to breathe, think, sleep, or reflect. I’ve taken this type of journey many times in the last few years. In fact, I would go as far as saying I am almost a professional. I know exactly what I need, what I like, where I should sit (never too close to the bathrooms or too far away) and what airline foods I prefer. These journeys never feel wasted, especially with my journal and favorite pen in hand. By now I’ve realized that each time the distant world shrinks, without the nuance of lingering distractions, quiet revelations are drawn out.

My latest taunts across the Atlantic were both experiences I took with hesitation. I say “hesitation” because to admit that I was scared sounds petty. The fact is, I’ve done so much traveling either alone or just with my husband, I didn’t feel adequately prepared to be in another country with my mom and my step-dad, let alone my teenage step-daughters. I felt an immense amount of pressure to make both trips flawless, as well as a deep sense of frustration that I may not get the alone time I crave. What can I say, except to admit that I am a selfish introvert. It takes more time for me to latch onto new ideas, feeling comfortable and content than the average Jane. Personally, I prefer to process things alone, with only the sound of my pen stroking private pages. These trips took me far away from my comfort zone (as new countries often do) by challenging my self-proclaimed introvert ways, and most importantly, expanding my capacity for love.

In Spain, I watched my mother get all dressed up in one of the many boutique shops. The sales woman paid special attention to her, wrapping her in extravagant clothing by famous French designers. She picked every detail to match my mothers taste, down to the earrings and necklace. I watched as the little girl in my mother immerged. I’d always seen her as “mom” but in that moment I saw the young woman inside her giggling, laughing, and spinning in the store window. I had lived with that young girl for most of my life, and yet, I was meeting her for the first time in a Spanish boutique. With that, my love for her grew.

In Paris with my step kids, we planned a day to take family pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower.  I walked down the steps of our hotel room expecting to find the spry teenage girls I’d known for 5 years, but they were gone. Standing in front of me, dressed in black, there seemed to be grown women. I watched as they carried themselves to the Eiffel Tower, much like Audrey Hepburn, with class and dignity.  Many stopped to admire them and how could I blame them? These three tall, beautiful women in black were something from a storybook.  Their smiles stole the hearts of many that day, including mine. I was getting a glimpse of the women they would eventually become; my heart soared.

Also in Paris, we met up with our Frenchy friend Brieuc who dropped his entire day and schedule to spend it with our family. He played paparazzi for us as we posed in front of the world’s most famous tower and knowing only a little English, tagged along all day, trying to keep up with our fast conversations. Towards the end of the evening we sat at the top of Montmartre as Brieuc played his guitar and sang.

 

Eventually the night dimmed and it was time for him to leave. He cried, expressing his sadness that he could not stay longer. Once we arrived back at the hotel, it was late and we were exhausted but we found a note on our door with a special message for each of us. He had spent a considerable amount of time driving to our hotel just to leave this note before heading out of the city. My heart expanded with each kind word and selfless thought.

I’ve heard it said, “Aboard an aircraft, one is not so much carried somewhere, as they are carried away”. My journeys across the Atlantic carried me far, not just physically but emotionally. They’ve allowed me to see the people I thought I already knew in a different light, bringing a new and adventurous spirit to my soul, and memories I will not soon forget. As my reality resurfaces and my routine sets in, I am reminded to keep close the times above the clouds and the moments of stepping onto new soil. Travel has changed me in a continuous, yet barely perceptible way, which is why I plan to continue a life of unexpected adventures at higher elevations, without hesitation. Truly, a journey is better felt than seen.

 

25.

It was 1996; The sky was bright blue, the clouds shifting in silence above the heads of 6 bright-eyed children. I was among them, bobbing my long blonde hair in the water, pretending that my legs were somehow connected, swinging them back and forth. I remember the elated feeling of being in the cold water on that warm day, my mom’s eyes closely watching as I played with a group of my friends in our backyard pool. In that moment I was overcome with life. I could be whatever my mind could imagine, whether it was a sleeping beauty, a ninja turtle, or a beautiful mermaid; I was totally unafraid.

Then I blinked.

I’m a freshman in high school, feeling pushed into the unknown and terrified. I had gained a little weight (okay a lot), suffered from low self-esteem, and shy. The sweat from one of my armpits was unforgiving as I prepared myself to meet my older counterparts and sit with classmates twice my size. It was horribly embarrassing, so I withdrew from hugging anyone and of course, never raised my hand in class. I was nervous almost all of the time, hiding it from others by over exaggerating my darker side. I dyed my hair brown, wore mostly black, and kept to myself; I was secluded.

Then I blinked.

Now I’m just 17, although, if I’m being completely honest, I don’t remember much. I had recently moved back from a short stint in California and was just trying to regain a sense of self. I tried alcohol. I tried drugs. I had sex. I forgot a lot and made plenty of mistakes. I was lost.

Then I blinked.

Nineteen years old and living on my own in downtown Salt Lake City. Fate had struck me with some luck and I scored a great job making decent money and I was young hearted for the first time in years. Sure, I was with the wrong boyfriend and had my ups and downs, but I was finally starting to gain my independence and learning to be responsible for my own actions. I stopped blaming my parents for my mishaps and began what would be a blossoming relationship with them both. I found a group of friends who were uplifting, self-encouraging, and free. I was excited.

Then I blinked.

Skip to 2010 and I’m madly in love. I would say this was the kind of love that happens in fairytales but I would be lying because it was much more than that. It was a real love, intense, and familiar yet compromising. It held a depth I couldn’t have dreamed up and with it came a whirlwind of new experiences. I was engaged to be a new wife and step-mom. My confidence was through the roof and life seemed to fly past me with certain rage. I couldn’t contain my hearts desires or my minds rapid thoughts. Nor could I decipher the two from each other. I was free.

Then I blinked and I’m sitting at my computer, right now, condensing my youth on the eve of my 25^th birthday. Thinking back on all of the moments of my past quarter of a century. I look and sometimes my heart sinks with pain. Oh the mistakes I’ve made. Just as quickly, I think of the shining moments, the adventures, and the growth. Oh, my heart soars.

I have experienced more joy than I deserve and more heartache than I would have ever expected, although I recognize I’ve become a better woman for it all. Still, as I reminisce, there is this part of me that wishes I could have changed some things. I wish I could have told my 7 year old self in 1996 to keep her imagination alive. To stay unafraid of the world and what people thought. I wish I could have told her to stay out of hiding in high-school, to shine, and raise both hands. I would have promised her that once she was out of that building and on her own, she’d realize that everyone was just as scared as she was all of those years. After all, we are all human beings battling our own demons.

If I had the chance, I would have changed nothing about being 17. I wouldn’t have even given advice because there is no way she would have taken it. In fact, I have let that part of my life go. It’s forgiven.

At 19 I would have asked her to stay proud of what she believe’s and to keep reaching for her highest potential. Dream big and keep smiling. I also would have mentioned a few boyfriends that were no good and a scary neighbor who I nicknamed “Bucktooth Billy Joe Hansen”… yeah, stay far away from him 19, he’s up to no good.

As for 21, I would have asked her to slow down. Take in the moments without planning your next event. Cherish your friendships because the next few years will test them. I’d suggest that she watches her back in the coming years because people change and so will she. Lastly, 21 deserves a round of applause for making me realize that good exists in everything; you just have to look a little deeper.

Right now as I sit alone, those are just a few things I am promising to remember as I move forward. The rest would be to love unconditionally but don’t make the mistake of being walked on. Set solid boundaries. Be more aware of life’s process, knowing that everything is temporary. This means you better learn to love yourself and gain a sense of independence. Keep laughing, and making crazy videos. Dress up, apply lipstick and throw on your favorite pair of shoes. Nothing is ever guaranteed except your attitude and the way you carry yourself.

Honestly, I have no predictions for the next 25 years because I know better than that. The only thing I know for certain is that I won’t let it pass me by without a few quiet moments to take it in…

Blink.

Dear”S”.

I think it’s time we break up. I know, I’m sorry.

Actually, if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sorry at all. I’ve been wanting to this for a while and I’ve known for a few months that it wasn’t working between us. When I met you in Miami last year, our relationship felt full of promise, love and excitement. But I must say, it’s been a bit tough around the edges.

Some people called you The Year of The Snake and in true form you were majestic but sneaky. At times your approach was more than I could bear, and at other times, it was perfectly centered for my soul. I couldn’t wrap my mind around all of the changes in color, shape, and size you took. Truly Snake, you swept me off my feet many times. I want to thank you for those experiences but respectfully ask you to let me go.

Call it a “love-hate” thing or whatever you wish as long as you don’t wish for an apology from me. I was in over my head when I made many decisions over the past 12 months. I’ll admit that much, but I do so with the knowledge that I did my very best. You’ve changed me unlike anything ever has by forcing me to face my fears. You tested boundaries I never knew existed and opened doors I thought were merely windows. I will miss those exhilarating parts of you.

In return for your kindnesses, I won’t ask for an apology from you either. This is because you’ve continually taught me that sometimes our human need for an apology is unnecessary. It becomes crippling. You’ve also taught me that I’m stronger than any “I’m sorry” anyone could offer.

I also wanted to clarify my gratitude to you for keeping my family safe throughout our time together. You’ve warmed my heart, taught me the value of the people I love most, and what it means to find a quiet moment alone to embrace the stillness. Recently you pointed out that I must face my negative emotions head on, instead of covering them up with all my positivity bullsh*t. Admittedly, you were passive-aggressive from the start, but your technique was heard loud and clear. Maybe it was exactly what I needed. From the winter coffee shop sessions, to the balconies of Barcelona, and the many new faces along the way, it was a wild ride.

Maybe if you aren’t too heartbroken by our recent demise (and I’m assuming you aren’t because you are a year and not a human), you can put in a good word to your friend “The Horse”.  I hear he’s tall, mature, strong on his feet, and unpredictable. Sounds like another crazy adventure starts soon and because of you, if I’m being completely honest, I am ready.

Yours truly,

H

The.Company.You.Keep.

The lights dim, the guitar player starts strumming, hands clap in perfect rhythm and the voice of a Spanish singer guides the movement of a single flamenco dancer who has taken the stage. The dancer is dressed in a beautiful black gown covered in bright sequin embellishments. Her feet follow the singer’s voice, gracefully tracing the movement of the room. The music builds and the singer becomes more passionate. In exactly the perfect moment, the dancer raises her poised hands and takes her dress for a spin while the rest of the group cheers her on. They use words of admiration and encouragement;

“Vale!”

“Ole!”

Everyone on the stage forms a circle so they can watch her, listening, and praising her every move. The audience sits silent. This is her moment and they let her have it.

I saw this stunning flamenco show in Spain while I was there with my husband this past week. The show itself provoked a lot of thought and inspiration for me. I could tell the dancer, guitar players, and singers weren’t just stage performers, they were more than that. They were friends, complimenting each other’s talents. I noticed this once again when the singer took the stage to pour his heart through song and they all stood quiet, adding to the reflection that the he was pulling out of his lungs. The guitar players consistently looked towards the others to add their smiles and excitement to the equation. They never took center stage, although it was apparent that their talents were the unsung hero’s throughout.

The whole performance was magic. It was perfectly in sync.

Since that evening I’ve thought a lot about how the show not only represents beauty and culture, but also carries a deeper meaning; the stage we all dance on in life, and the circle of people who surround us. I’ve contemplated my circle of friends and even provoked some heartwarming conversations with some of my dearest. The symbolism of the flamenco show has surprised me, inspiring me to ask a few new questions.

Do I perfectly sync together with my friends, clapping for them when they achieve greatness?

Do I stand silent, listening patiently and allow them to pour their soul without interfering?

Do I shout encouragements to friends who are under pressure to do their best?

Do I exude my love and smile towards them even when they are outshining me, knowing that at one point or another, I can rely on them to do the same?

The answer is no. I am not in perfect sync with my circle, nor do I expect myself to be. In fact, I believe I am far from it. I’ve had a lot of moments lately that I’ve wondered why some of my friendships blossom, while others slowly dissolve, taking  years and several attempts of repair only to disappear.

I have to remind myself that being a human being means I am selfish, jealous and competitive at times. But as I watched the beautiful woman in black perform with her circle of friends cheering her on, I realized that there are ways to improve my friendships and create optimal (notice I didn’t say “perfect”) rhythm within them. Here are three of the recent “light bulb” moments I’ve had:

First, you must know that there is enough room for everyone in your circle to succeed. Let your competitive side down and allow yourself to be happy for those who are having their moment. You will have your turn to spin in a beautiful dress or sing your heart felt song but until then, be patient and kind.

Second, quit comparing yourself. You have just as many gifts, talents, and beautiful parts of your soul than does anyone else on this planet. Use them, and be sure to cheer on those who have learned to use theirs.

Third, stop talking so much. Learn to listen to the rhythm of others and genuinely hear their voice. Let them guide you for once. Whether they are songs of sadness, frustration, or joy, learn to listen.

If we can all be encouraged to do this within our circles, it would create a very powerful message collectively. It has the potential to create a legacy that exudes acceptance, love, and gratitude in a world that is lacking in all of those departments. Creating an ending we can all stand for, bow, and be proud of when the lights come up and the show is over.

OLE!

The.Porch.

When I was a kid, my summers meant the beginning of a new adventure beneath the Henry Mountains of Southern Utah. The town was called Hanksville and it was here that I hid from the outside world. There wasn’t really anything spectacular in this town. In fact, most people would drive through it and wonder, “why would anyone live here?” Indeed, it was in the middle of the red covered desert, only had one gas station, two small burger shacks, a bed and breakfast, and a grocery store that was the size of the local trailers. Not only this, but the place was known for it’s constant change in population due to the fact that no one stayed long. Most drifters were just looking for a little work before moving on to the next city, but as unlikely as it sounds, I found a sense of self, purpose, and home here.

Hanksville is where my Grandma Joy lived, along with a few other relatives. They were country folk, didn’t ask for much, and worked their tails off among the sage brush. My aunt owned the local eatery called “Blondies” where I earned a little extra cash making shakes for the weary travelers and motorcycle gangs reeving through. I also worked along my grandma’s side selling indian jewelry and making beds at her 3 bedroom bed and breakfast.

As a teen I was able to do far more in this small town than the big city. Here I could drive a four-wheeler, help passerby’s, ride horses, and even drive the car (shh I was 12) to the grocery store to get our favorite snack; 2 ‘Big Hunks’, and a Crème Soda. It literally took about 30 minutes to walk from one end of town to the other, 15 minutes by tractor, 5 minutes by horse. I remember sitting on my grandmother’s porch every night, counting the vast amount of stars in the sky and listening to the coyotes howl in the distance.

As a teen, I felt my busy life at school and in the city had me focusing more on what I wanted to “have” or “do” to prove myself. But here amongst the stairs, I could just be whatever I wanted, a cowgirl, an Indian, or just an awesome burger chief. It didn’t matter. In Hanksville, I was my truest self. I was Haley.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this place and what it meant to me since my grandma’s passing last October. I think about how those quiet moments on her porch shaped who I am and how I view the world.  Many times I thought about how Hanksville contradicted my normal day to day life and what I was being taught to value. Back at home, it seemed we focused more on two things:

1. Increasing your material wealth (what you have)

2. Improving your skills (what you do)

But on that porch and with my Grandmother rocking beside me, there was only one lesson that was emphasized:

3. Developing your “being” (who you are)

As an adult, I have witnessed many people live for the first two. Don’t get me wrong, these are great goals to have, but I believe the most fundamental goal is to develop a good sense of WHO you are during the process. For me, it took travelling to a deserted town every summer to discover who I was over and over again. It gave me an opportunity to accept myself without distraction or expectation. All the things that bothered me back home seemed to disappear, making it easy to live fully in the present. Since then I’ve had to learn how to do this without the stillness of grandma’s porch, but rather, with the added distractions of adulthood.

I feel grateful every day that I have those memories. They encouraged me to push the pressures of adulthood aside and live in the present, leading with the curiosity of my teenage heart. I would encourage anyone reading to take yourself to your quiet place; the ocean, atop a mountain, in a tree, or on the porch. Take yourself anywhere that you can Be Silent, Be Present, Be Conscious, and most importantly, Be You….

(Last year I was able to bring my step-children and husband to Hanksville and show them my country roots, telling them stories of my adventures along the way.)

Certain.About.UnCertainty

“It’s extremely immature to post things like this on the web… Don’t be like the teenage girls who ruin their relationships online.”

“I’m a reader of yours and I wasn’t pleased with this. One thing you don’t want floating around is all your problems. You look desprate..”

These are just a few of the comments I’ve received on my blog lately. Obviously, you can see that they are not very encouraging. I am sharing them with my public audience because I’d like to talk about the uncertainty I stepped into before I began my journey of writing. I’ve been writing since I was a child. Most of it can be found hidden away in my private journal, waiting for someone to stumble upon after I’ve died. Some of it, including much of my experience as a stepparent, newlywed, sister, and friend has been shared publicly on my blog and on the website www.livethroughtheheart.com (LTTH).

When I agreed to allow my writing to be shared with over 1200 subscribers, I was scared to death to share my stories. Scared to be honest. Scared to try. But every time I pushed the opportunity away, something inside me pushed back. Something encouraged me to step out of my comfort zone and start being real. At times I still feel scared and vulnerable but it has been one of the most rewarding and challenging experiences of my whole life. I’ve struggled with the knowledge that not everyone will see my journey in a positive way and sometimes makes me want to close my heart completely.

There are many occurrences in life that we face uncertainty and judgment for the decisions we make. Whether you are a mother, CEO, sister, student, or employee, we all face uncertainty in our actions. What I’ve learned from others and through my experience is that it is our uncertainty in life that sets us free. It was best written by Cort Davies on his new blog An Inspiring Existence when he said, “Without uncertainty and the unknown, life is mediocre and uneventful.  It limits anyones ability to achieve greatness.  It becomes an existence of quiet desperation.” I couldn’t agree more. We are born into an uncertain world, so it’s no surprise that we scramble for security and make ourselves miserable in the process. We weren’t meant to be secure, we are meant to take risks.

Because I jumped into this journey without the knowledge of where it might take me, I started receiving emails and comments that are encouraging, reaffirming my intentions.

“Haley, I just read your post and loved it. It was like you were a fly on my wall… Thank you.”

“Your blog post today was really touching! You are a beautiful writer and I really appreciated what you wrote today… I think what you are feeling is what most people feel and most people don’t have the courage to allow it to be as real as the written words you shared!”

To those of you who are currently uncertain about what you are doing, scared to jump into a new challenge, or just scared. Period. I encourage you to do the thing you are most afraid of. It may be a struggle because change always is, but it is worth every ounce of strength. Don’t let others deter your dreams. Keep reaching for freedom from mediocrity.  Be different and don’t be sorry.

Thank you to my loving husband, stepkids, and family for always supporting me.

Find more on Cort Davies’ blog http://www.aninspiringexistence.com

.Happiness.

He sat grinning ear to ear in a jail cell among a purse thief, a teen who “should have known better”, and an alcoholic who didn’t know where she was yet. The man smiling had innocently cut down a few trees near his property line and it landed him in this cell with the others, facing a hefty fine. A guard walked up and knocked on the bars, fixing his gaze on the cheerful man.

“Why are you smiling?! I wouldn’t be smiling if I were you!” the guard sputtered.

“You can try to make my life hell sir, but you can’t take my happiness. You can’t take my smile.” he politely responded.

Xavier is a friend of mine who lives with his beautiful wife in Spain. I was delighted when he shared this story with me because it truly fits his personality in every way. While he was telling it, he was giddy, laughing about the ridiculous amount of money those trees cost him. You’d think most people would tell a story like this and be upset, holding a grudge and frustrated with the law itself. But not Xavier, he just laughs.

Lately I’ve thought a lot about this story and the many people I know who have gone through the process of divorce. I see how easily individuals get lost in what lawyers, judges, or even friends tell them. It makes it increasingly difficult to listen to your heart when all of those opinions are surrounding you. Personally, I’ve watched my mom, dad, husband, and many others endure great suffering due to this and I’ve been inspired lately to share Xavier’s example of pure happiness.

Whenever someone tries to push you around or manipulate you, smile.

Whenever life throws you a new curve ball, laugh.

The truth is, it works. It has been proved by social scientist Amy Cuddy and her colleagues that your mind follows your body language. In one of her speeches, she explains how our minds react to the position of our bodies. Observe your body right now, are you slumped, legs crossed, head down? Or are your shoulders pushed out, hands on your hips, and head up? Are you smiling, frowning, or straight faced? Either way, it directly affects your mood and your confidence.

As I said, it has been a bit rocky lately trying to push aside the past and rebuild the future but I take relief in knowing that I have control over my own happiness. No one owns it but me. So the next time circumstances test your limits, trying lifting your head, smiling and saying, “you can try to make my life hell, but you can’t take my happiness. You can’t take my smile.”

.Amenamaste.

She woke up quietly, tip toed to the end of her bed, and things went silent. The cool ocean breeze from the bedroom window brushed across my face as I pretended to sleep. I kept anticipating her next move; the shower turning on, steps around the house, breakfast being made, but I heard nothing. Silence. It was just a few moments later that I heard a slight shift near the end of the bed and I understood. My girlfriend Jen was meditating.

After she was finished and walked out of the room I dragged myself out of the covers behind her and started asking questions. I wanted to know how she achieved such a state of mind, how long she had been doing this, where she bought the soft pillow to sit on and the cool metal emblems she held in her hands while she meditated. The feeling in her room that morning was so peaceful, I wanted to know how to relive it. She gave me all the basics, but struck me with a comment that I’ve since thought a lot about.  Jen told me that before she starts mediating, she prays.

“Like, to God?”

“Yeah, to God, the Universe, whatever you believe in.”

Childhood memories of my mother immediately came to my mind. Waking up before school and peeking into her room, observing her on her knees whispering to God. To this day I love that sound, the stillness and peace coming from those quiet whispers. I’ve experienced prayer and meditation in different ways, but never incorporated them together. Call me naive, stubborn even, but I stopped praying when I left my church as a teen. Prayer has been a bit taboo for me since then. Why do it if I’m not religiously affiliated and who should I “whisper” to? All of that was answered this past weekend as I witnessed my good friend praying and meditating at the same time.

This morning I tried it. Before trudging over to the coffee pot like I would normally do, I sat in front of a big window looking out into the world. Crossing my legs, closed my eyes, and with my hands in a meditative position, I prayed. I gave gratitude for the world in front of me; my friends, family and husband. I expressed my appreciation for the guidance I’ve been given throughout my journey, then asked for an open heart and a quiet mind. I whispered, “Amen” and began meditating, ending it with a reverent bow towards the ground and a quiet, “Namaste”.

The experience was uplifting, soothing, energizing and fulfilling all at the same time. I laugh a little when I think about my  failed attempts at meditation in the past. I was missing prayer. I went back to the many years I prayed as a child, feeling disconnected from what I was saying, not knowing the intention behind it. I was missing meditation. I smile as I recognized this new revolution of thought, that religious or not, prayer and meditation make a beautiful couple.

Tomorrow morning, I plan on starting my day the same way and I challenge anyone reading to join me. Before settling into your normal routine, find a quiet place in your home, away from the kids or distractions. Start with a prayer and ask for silence of the mind. Then meditate and observe.

I’d like to thank my friend Jen for our “girls weekend” and opening my eyes to this new idea. Amenamaste.

.beautiful.

This weekend I’ve been surrounded by spit up, diapers, Disney movie marathons, and plenty of Aunt kisses. Yep, I have been babysitting my sisters four kids and my brothers two kids (for un unbelievable total of six children under 12 years old) so they can have some much needed “adult time”. There has been a lot of fun going on but one specific thing has really stuck out over the course of the last 24 hours that I would like to share with my readers.

My niece Shiloh is five years old and quite the blue-eyed chunk of sweetness. She smiles a lot, bats her long lashes, and longs to know the answer to every question. To be around her is like being spritzed with Vitamin C… she just makes you feel good. So last night as I cleaned she tapped my hip to get my attention. It startled me at first, but as I looked down at those big puppy dog eyes she simply said, “Hi Haley.”

“Hi Shi Shi,” I responded, “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

“Yes. I know.“ She said as she lifted her hands to be held.

I picked her up laughing, “Do you look at yourself in the mirror every day and see your beauty, inside and out?”

“Yes. Don’t you aunt Haley?”

I paused. “I guess I should, shouldn’t I.”

I set her down and she ran off to play, but this simple conversation left me thinking… when was the last time I told MYSELF I was beautiful? I couldn’t think of it, although, I could count many times that I had been critical on myself in the last week or so. With that, I walked over to the nearest mirror and looked at myself, pushing the flaws and judgment away and whispered, “you are beautiful.”

In today’s world, every one, especially women are entirely too critical of themselves. Instead of seeing our beauty, our minds immediately see our flaws. Shiloh reminded me that it wasn’t always this way and as adults, we seem to flock like sheep towards negativity. This can completely ruin your outlook on life, love, and ultimately, happiness. I challenge you to walk over to a mirror, and find the beauty in front of you. Make it a goal for the next week or so to start your day like this. I can’t make any guarantees of a life changing experience, but just try it, because it’s better than looking down on yourself. It’s better than being overly critical and it’s better than forgetting your true worth. Try it, because you are beautiful.