2023andMe
Issue 64 is related to you
Dearest friends, family, and strangers—welcome!
I hope your holidays were delightful and your new year will be bright. I have no doubt. Yet, remember, life is 50/50. Good and bad, happy and sad, beautiful and wretched (did I take it too far?) Expect it. Prepare for it. Go with it.
Now on to this week’s gold…
That’s a bit of an overstatement.
Not Another Vision Board Gathering
Join me for a gathering on Thursday, January 26th from 5:30–8:00pm at an exquisite shop in Larkspur called Floramye.
After hours, we’ll take up residence on floor cushions amongst candles, craft materials, warm wishes, and good tidings. We’ll chat about the year ahead, craft our dreams, and incite momentum.
Joining ensures enjoyment. Trust me on the rest.
Please take the poll below. Then, if you’d like to snag a spot, hit reply on this newsletter. I’m on the other end awaiting your response.
The deets:
10 spots | $50/each | includes materials, plus a spot of tea and a crumpet | Thursday, January 26th from 5:30–8:00pm | at Floramye in Larkspur, CA.
This event is in real life. A virtual gathering is coming in the new year.
Give It to God
If you knew how out of character it was for me to use those words, you’d appreciate my boldness in putting them here. I did not grow up with religion. If anything, I grew up away from it. God, especially, had no place in our home. Jesus, not him, either.
I hope that caveat makes my recommendation even more enticing—if I can get behind God (in this book), anyone can. Outrageous Openness is about trusting in the divine order of things and letting go. You can do it. I am.
With 2023 around the corner, put down the boulders on your shoulders and trust.
Strings Attached
Do you know your attachment style? It’s not a long process of finding out. If you read a bit from Attached, you’ll recognize yourself quickly.
I have an anxious-avoidant attachment style. This special blend of non-commital humans is like a fine, rare roast of coffee—compelling, tastes great, not easy to locate, and hard to hold onto. That metaphor, which poorly describes me, just poured out.
If you put two people with anxious or anxious-avoidant attachment styles together in a relationship, eventually, disaster will ensue. Like whirling dervishes bouncing off and repelling one another, they’ll repeatedly trigger one another’s fear of abandonment. They want connection more than anything, but they don’t trust it to come. With two avoidants, it rarely does (at least for long).
In all lasting relationships, one person must be the stabilizer—the secure attacher. One person must hold down the fort. If two anxious-avoidant types want to be together (they’re drawn to one another), one must be conscious enough, stable enough, strong enough, and willing enough to be the rock. Anxious and avoidant types find secure types too dull. Hence, they feed off one another’s energy and unknowingly perpetuate precisely what they’re afraid of—abandonment.
Not surprisingly, the origin of these styles begins in childhood. Very early. I won’t go into it here, but you can read all about it in Attached—I recommend you do.
If you’ve heard my theory on divorce—when two people from divorced families are in a union, their likelihood of repeating the pattern exponentiates. They’re destined to repeat the practice unless a conscious effort is made to do it differently. By conscious, I mean acknowledging their likelihood of repeating divorce and putting practices in place to ensure they don’t blindly continue the pattern their parents did (and pass it on to their children).
It only takes one anchor. It would serve me to find one of those, and I just may have…
Rage Against The Man
I have a dear friend who lets me scream at him. I hope you have someone like that— but I fear you don’t. Not many do. I’m fortunate my friend Arthur and I speak the same language. We’ve made it safe and okay to release anger in the presence of one another. It’s bizarre and awesome. The other day it went like this:
I texted Arthur: “I’m rageful.”
He shot back, “Would you like to release it? I have four minutes.”
I dialed. For 240 seconds on Facetime, I threw up my distaste for what was disgusting me at the moment. Whatever I needed to say. No holds barred. No judgment.
The clock hit :00.
I thanked him. He thanked me. We signed off.
I’m not giving you the green light to scream at someone without their consent or scream at yourself loudly or silently. And, before you think I’m not talking to you, I am. I’m talking to you, me, and the mailperson. All of us have it. Anger. Not once or twice, but regularly, that must be let go.
If we don’t allow it to move through us—it sits, grows, scums over, and turns to pudding skin. Eventually, it morphs into something unrecognizable—there’s no resemblance between it and the original issue. It’s something new entirely, and that’s not good.
Move it. Let it go. Honor your feelings—just don’t do it to anyone. Release them independent of the person, place, or thing they pertain to.
If this concept is entirely new to you, you’re not alone. It’s new to just about everyone. We’re not taught to welcome anger. We’re taught to fear it, hide it, and hate it. No ma’am. It’s necessary and okay.
Google “rage room.” See what comes up in your area. It’s a thing—for a reason.
A less destructive idea, start with this Art of Accomplishment episode on anger. If you like learning the healthy side of an emotion we’re taught to hate, there’s a second one right after it.
Picture of the Night
Speaking of anger, allow your kids to feel it. If they’re full of piss and vinegar, like Emma was before dinner tonight, acknowledge their feelings and encourage their release.
It may sound like this, “I know you’re angry. That’s okay. I encourage you to feel all your feelings. So long as you don’t hurt yourself, someone’s property, or anyone else, you’re welcome to punch pillows, scream, stomp your feet, whatever you need to do to feel and release your anger—go for it.”
Happy 2023, beautiful souls. Thank you for spending time with me every week. I love you. ❤️
Never a dull edition. And I walk away with book recommendations. Now to find me an Arthur ...
Wishing you anchors for 2023, Simone.