I saw a dear friend yesterday (one that I do not see nearly enough) and a quick, four word sentence from her has completely changed my life. That is quite a bold statement but I dare say it is true. We were discussing the future, what we may have in store now that the kids are in school more.

“I really want to make this writing thing work.” I said.

“It already is working,” was her reply.

Those four words stopped me in my tracks. It already is working. Yeah, it is.  It is working. I think I have a genetic defect that only allows me to see what I have yet to accomplish and block out all that I have already created. Those four words made me realize I have had the wrong perspective when it comes to myself, my goals, my job well done. Somewhere in the back of my belief system, I held a strong one that my creations somehow miss the mark. How unbelievably erroneous. The thing is, we all hold these beliefs within ourselves. Who doesn’t feel unworthy, incapable, unsuitable, unqualified, the list goes on. The sad thing is, these feelings couldn’t be farther from the truth. I come in contact with dozens of amazing women all day long. I see them at dropoff at my son’s preschool. I see them at the grocery store. I see them at my Women’s League meetings. I see the amazing light that shines in each one of them, yet I find it so hard to acknowledge the light in myself. After my awakening from my friend’s words, I vow to change that. We think it is a bad thing to love ourselves or appreciate our own contribution to our families and the world. If we didn’t think it was bad, we wouldn’t hate our waistlines, or hairlines, or panty lines.  We would celebrate it all.

Sewa Singh Khalsa, a Kundalini Yoga Master Teacher was once quoted as saying “If a man sees you and doesn’t immediately want to serve you and devote his life to you then he’s not worth your time!” Let’s think about that for one minute. Do any of us walk around for any hour of the day, let alone EVERY hour of the day feeling this way about ourselves? I have to say, it sounds pretty good. It is now added to my list of goals.

This started as a blog post about my book but it is way more than that. In fact, it just may be the topic of my next book, StaceyLu’s Guide to Loving Ourselves. People with think they can find it in the sex manual section. That idea probably needs some work but there is definitely more to come on this topic. I give you food for thought. How hard are you on you? And maybe, think just for a minute, that those thoughts you tell yourself are wrong. Maybe they come from your mother, who was wrong. Or they come from your ex-boyfriend, who was wrong. Or they come from your fifth grade social studies teacher who was so wrong he was later fired for inappropriate conduct. The point is, once we hear these opinions about ourselves from people who are so screwed up themselves, they wedge in our belief system causing all sorts of crap and at the very worst, self-doubt. That is the biggest killer of dreams right there.

So I salute you, wonderful woman and Ed, (the only man I know who reads my posts!) reading this right now and I say go out and be the radiant light that you are and join me in kicking self-doubt in the ass and say “Yeah, It’s working!”

“Uuuugggghhhhh!” Being sneezed on any time of the day is the pits but first thing in the morning? I’ll let you fill in the rest. I had to cut the snuggle short to run screaming from the bed to the bathroom to get this smell off of me. I washed my face, neck, behind my ears. I still smell.  I can’t find the smell. Where is it coming from? The only cure for this is a shower and I have no time before the sprint of preschool prep and drop off and zoom to yoga. I debate skipping yoga, I can’t practice so close to all the ladies smelling like sneeze! But I have to go. My holiday hiatus has made me in dire need of some zen. Ok, I will go and sit in the back of class, hopefully it wont be too crowded…

I, of course, walk into the most crowded class ever with a minute before start.

“Hi Stacey. Take the last spot up front between Sheila and Christopher… Christopher? Who the hell is Christopher and why is he in this class? (It turns out Christopher is the perfectly chiseled son of a longtime yogi who is home from college for the holidays and he is in this class because God thought it would be funny.) I can’t believe it.  I smell like sneeze and have to practice six inches away from this Adonis of a young man.  I am a happily married woman but I do have the wherewithal to appreciate God’s handiwork.

My practice goes ok for a while but I get a whiff of the sneeze now and then and now I am convinced everyone around me smells the sneeze too. My only reprieve is the smell of garlic from someone else’s dinner last night.  Although now does everyone think I smell like sneeze and garlic? Yikes. I just want to get through this class and go through my day checking off my to-do list as the enlightened soul I think I am.

A little more time and a few more poses pass when words are uttered few want to hear:

“Stick your butt out.” For some reason, in yoga to get the proper alignment of form and function in so many standing poses, one must “stick your butt out.” That is usually no big deal when you are among friends and fellow yogis but today was not that day. I did what I could to follow direction but apparently not enough because I soon heard:

“Stick your butt out even more!” from our teacher who is either so enlightened that she doesn’t see the embarrassment of it all or does see it and agrees this is the stuff blog posts are made of.

So now I have this perfectly sculpted college kid with his perfectly coiffed head four inches from my nether yea and my teacher wants me to stick my butt out more? Kill me now! I did what any other happily married woman smelling like her son’s morning sneeze would do…I collapsed into the safety of Child’s Pose.  All I have to do is breath…Seriously where is that smell coming from? It has to be my hair.

Shavasana doesn’t come soon enough. I Namaste myself out of there and hightail it home to hit the showers and get put back together before pickup.

I can always count on yoga to be a practice in so many wonderful experiences, one of which being humility. That is a really great thing because we all need humility to keep us grounded, especially after the craziness of the holiday season. To be able to laugh at yourself in the face of truly awkward situations with better-looking, younger people than you, that is a gift that keeps on giving!

Happy New Year All! ~StaceyLu

It is only hours later as the empty bowl sits on my counter waiting to be washed that I see the hardened butter caked to the bottom and think “Gee that is somewhere caked to the bottom of my digestive system. Maybe I shouldn’t eat that anymore.” That worked for a few days, but then J didn’t finish his meal and you know what happens next.

I also love to drink wine and cosmos (fortunately for my liver, not on the same night).

We had friends over last night. It was great fun but boy I sure don’t feel like myself today. Maybe I am coming down with the flu.

“Maybe it’s a hangover,” my husband says.

“No, can’t be. I didn’t drink that much wine. Two glasses maybe. I didn’t feel tipsy last night.”

I brood for an hour dwelling on the fact that my husband is right AGAIN. I give in and take two Advil after my egg and cheese breakfast. I feel better. Sh%^&t, it was a hangover.

That’s it, I am giving up alcohol. It inflames my whole body, makes my insides hurt and I finally realize I am voluntarily contributing to my own death. That sounds extreme but not really. If you think about it for more than a minute, alcohol is not on the food pyramid. It dehydrates and depletes a human body like nothing else can. Yes, I am sure of it, I am giving up alcohol.

Two days later, I can’t take it; I really miss my glass of wine. Why? Am I an alcoholic? No. Just a mother of a four-year-old mountain of peppiness and look forward to my unwinding time at 7pm. I really feel I am depriving myself of something not having my nightly glass.

I went into Whole Foods a few weeks ago determined to stock my fridge and pantry with natural delectables to nourish myself and my family. I was in there for almost an hour and left in almost tears. I was so overwhelmed by all of the “wholeness.”  I left with one bundle of kale and lavender moisturizer.

I seriously needed a guide that day to show me what to buy, what tastes good, and what tastes like the burlap it is packaged in. I could spend thousands of dollars in that store and throw most of it out because it tastes like roof shingles.

Today is a new day. My nagging feeling for better eating is getting louder. A hangover with no wild night to show for it will do that to a person. Juicing is all the buzz these days, I will try that. If I can’t remove all the crap from my diet, maybe I can offset some of it with healthy additions. The thought of buying a juicer to use once and sit in the back of my closet with my Thighmaster doesn’t appeal to me so I will return to Whole Foods and have them make it for me.

I have to say, the first time you go to a juice bar, it feels like the first time at Starbucks or Victoria’s Secret. There are soooo many choices, all with foreign words like spirulina, chlorella and ginger root. I recognized parsley and carrots. I stepped up to the counter and all eyes were on me. I ordered an Earth Goddess because in contains beets. I love beets. There are other ingredients in there, one of which is wheat grass. It was so incredibly fascinating to see them extract juice from a blade of grass. I was then going to drink this. So I did. It wasn’t terrible. I didn’t love it either. But I could get it down and I was doing something amazing for my health so who cares that it tastes like lawn.

Almost instantly, it gave a rich rosy hue to my cheeks that I only thought existed after an orgasm. This is it! The fountain of youth, I have found my new way of living. I am juicing every day. Well, still not buying a juicer so trekking to Whole Foods and paying a whopping nine dollars for 24oz of liquid love.

You know what, today I will get two 24oz containers. It stays good for 48 hours in the fridge so I can suck one down today and have one for tomorrow and save myself a trip to WF.

The lady in line with me at the juice bar admired my gusto.

“Its best on an empty stomach you know. Best for absorption,” she says.

“Great,” I say. “Maximum absorption is what I am after.” I collected my to-go cups and headed to the food bar. This too is almost too much to take. The beautifully presented pizzas and salads and perfectly fried potato latkes look camera ready. I stay to my agenda and walk up to the roasted veggies.

Who knew Brussels sprouts could be so amazing. Roasted in oil and lots of salt. I am in love. Yes, I am eating in my car but how many car eaters can fess up to eating roasted Brussels sprouts!! Very few I am sure. I have about six. Don’t judge me they are Brussels sprouts for goodness sake! I am so healthy.

So it’s about 45 minutes after I got home from WF and I am racing to the bathroom. Holy Sh#$@!, literally! What did I do? Did I overdo the healthiness? I am renaming WF, W the F? I totally overdid it and now, there is no way I am drinking that stuff tomorrow or ever again! Well, at least not tomorrow, i have to let my ass recover. But I spent almost twenty bucks on all that Earth Goddess and now I can’t drink it?!? I am in Health Food Hell. Where’s my box of mac and cheese? Where’s my pinot noir?

This is getting too long so I will say To Be Continued…

Eat, Drink and Remarry…StaceyLu’s Guide to Planning the Second Time Around has hit the virtual shelves on www.amazon.com. I am so happy to get this book done before paper is obsolete. Although for you e-reader enthusiasts, the Kindle version is available November 20^th just in time for some light Thanksgiving reading.

Follow this link to get your copy today:

http://www.amazon.com/Eat-Drink-ReMarry-StaceyLus-Planning/dp/1461106346/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1320429029&sr=1-3

The flame of this shining moment was slightly diminished by a snowstorm in October and subsequent seventy-two hour power outage but you can’t keep me down for long!

If you are one of the few people left on the planet that I have not told about my book, here is a synopsis:

I was twenty-eight when I got divorced and thirty when I walked down the aisle for the second time. I didn’t know one person who was divorced at my age, let alone remarrying. At the time, I didn’t feel like I had the right to ask for help with anything. Friends and family helped me plan the first wedding (bridal showers, engagement parties, gifts) and they supported me through my divorce. How could I ask for anything now?

After I got married (round two), I began to see more woman going through the same process – getting married way too young, getting divorced and remarrying around thirty. I felt compelled to write this book. I saw myself as a pioneer, and not in a good way, but at least maybe I could help others going through the same thing.

Almost everything went wrong when I was planning my second wedding. The only right part about the whole experience was my husband-to-be. But even though I was marrying Mr. Right, the Universe kept sending every wrong circumstance my way. I soon realized that I was the source of my own misery. My frame of mind attracted these circumstances. I was engaged less than one year after my divorce was final.  That isn’t much time, especially because once I received those papers I never looked back — never thought about it, never talked about it…nothing. So, I never dealt with all of the emotions surrounding my divorce.

The pages of Eat, Drink and Remarry are chock-full of love and gratitude for the stories they tell. This is my story and the stories of other brave women who were honest about the struggles surrounding their encore weddings. There were plenty of happy moments, but for some reason the low points are much funnier. Most of it was a rollercoaster of emotions and one big logistical nightmare.

This tale is told with honesty and humor and contains some tips for women who find themselves on the same sinking ship I was on, planning a second wedding.  It only took seven years to complete so I am feeling right on schedule. For those of you not planning a second wedding, buy it anyway, its funny!

The bad news is I am not pregnant. (I just look like I am.)

I have gained ten pounds in two months. That is very ambitious eating. For the past two months I have been either eating food or shopping for food to eat later.

Did you know that there is a well researched piece of documentation in the world entitled The Life Events Inventory? I was unaware of this. I was also unaware that moving is on that list. It ranks only slightly lower than death of a family member or being incarcerated. Well, maybe quite a bit lower than those two but it ranks right above sexual difficulties. That makes sense.

The last day of summer camp callously coincided with our move out of our wonderful house of eight years into a temporary apartment. In the time between camp ending (August 12^th) and school starting (September 8^th), I have lost a few things and I have gained a few things.

What I have lost:

I lost my beloved cat of fourteen years due to the circle of life, whom we put to sleep three days before we moved. I lost my dog, who is vacationing in Vermont while we are in the apartment. I was not about to walk an untrained eighty pound Labrador on a leash. I lost my yard to keep my high octane son busy. I lost the ability to know if the sun is shining unless I step outside. Our pad is practically in the basement. I lost my routine (yoga who?) and basically every ounce of who I was while J was in school. For one month, I neglected to listen to my music, exercise with any regularity, or have any fun whatsoever. I became a full-time butler-on-duty (my son’s current favorite phrase because he gets to say “butt” and “doodie”). For the last month, I lost just about everything that made me, me.

What I have gained:

I have gained ten pounds, all in my middle, from the emotional eating and drinking that got me through our move and started to take up residency in our apartment while my husband was traveling. I had to finally kick the oreos and mojitos to the curb when it was starting to become a habit.

I have gained perspective. After some settling in, I got back to experiencing joy in our new surroundings and in our new routine. We are playing soccer in the road of the development and it’s fun. I feel like we are street kids from the seventies yelling “car!” to move to the side to let the cars pass. My sheltered four-year-old is learning how to navigate around cars and not walk and look backward or he will plow into one.

I have gained the knowledge that home really is where your heart is. This little apartment is where my husband comes home to and is where my son sleeps so peacefully and is where I am filled with the appreciation for the love we carry with us as a family wherever we live.

Today was the first day of school. We stepped out our door this morning to be greeted by three fire trucks and a Channel 12 news van. There was a major gas leak in the next building over and apparently that is serious stuff. I drove J to school then headed back to the development. I was on a mission to exercise guilt-free for the first time in many weeks.

I got on my exercise sneakers and headed to the gym across the driveway. I stopped to ask about the two giant flames shooting out of the gas lines a hundred yards away.

“It is currently contained” the fireman told me. Good enough for me! Having been reassured by authorities, I headed for that mill.

“Aren’t you concerned right now?” a fellow apartment occupant asked me in the hallway as I started toward the gym.

“Are you kidding me? Today is the first day of pre-school and nothing is getting in between me and my treadmill. And that includes an impending gas explosion.” She didn’t look the part of a mom with kids in school. She just didn’t understand.

Running again, listening to my music was a freedom worth the wait. The struggle of the last month melted and all I could feel was the joy of the present moment. This tiny slice of my life was so unbelievably perfect, gas flames in full view and all. I could only throw my head back and laugh. God bless the first day of school.

What I hear: “You are doing it wrong.”

What he says: “Be careful not to overstuff that box, your vases will crack.”

What I hear: “You are doing it wrong.”

What he says: “Did you tape the bottom of the box securely? Let me check for you.”

What I hear: “You are doing it wrong.”

A wise friend recently told me moving is a test to any marriage. “Thanks for the head’s up.” I replied. In my head I thought, “Not my marriage. R and I are always in sync and sensitive to each other’s feelings.” Today is day four of packing up the house and I am already digging out the crisis hotline phone number. I feel like the woman in labor screaming at her husband, “You did this to me!”

Our moving process couldn’t be going any better. It has all been flowing nicely. So why the Prozac-deprived behavior? I can only blame it on my inner child who hates change and is throwing a fit that I have no control over. No, that’s probably not it. In the past four days, I have become this cranky puppy-kicker and R is the puppy. My husband can not do or say anything right. Only the clarity of a car ride this morning made me see I am not myself and he deserves an apology. Good thing he is #1 in my favorites. I have a feeling I will be making this call a lot.

Then I realized the source of my crankiness is the mess that this house has become. We are in the worst stage of the whole process – the weeding out and tag sale stage. No room is without piles of items to be boxed, donated or thrown away. That’s the other upsetting issue. Our carbon foot print is a size 15EEE with the amount of trash we are generating. I see old humidifiers and broken dressers that are destined for the dump to sit for eternity and it makes me sick. It makes me never want to purchase another item ever again. Not sure I can stick to that one though, a new house to decorate awaits.

I realize to save my sanity I need to get comfortable with living with temporary chaos. I am not sure how to do that. I like order and neatness. I struggle when my son’s toys are everywhere and now it’s like the house is one big heap of toys. I find wine has helped me get comfortable. Wine is my new best friend.

Now that I think about it, to save my sanity, I must first find it in this house of crazy. Excuse me while I go do that, I think it I hear it screaming from under a pile of sh#t on the living room floor.

To be continued…

Even though I had apologized to him before dropping him at camp, I was still feeling down about the whole thing. While having some lunch I turned on a taped Oprah (I have a backlog of the countdown shows that I still haven’t seen) and picked one at random (Oh how nothing is random.) It was the show about divorce and the two children who’s mother abandoned them and they are still ripped apart from it six years later. I immediately burst into tears. Then I sobbed, and sobbed some more. I felt so bad for these children who only wanted their mother back, more than anything in the whole world. This mother who walked out on them six years ago, never to be heard from again, they want back. Two thoughts came to mind. One, that after everything she put them through, they would want her to come home is an amazing testament to the love and forgiveness of a child. And two, I just wanted to hug my son so tight and give him all of the love I feel for him every second of every day, but that gets slapped or kicked or poked into oblivion, and becomes a lost opportunity to express.

I see this mini life lesson as a wake up call to not be so uptight when it comes to my boy. He is, in fact, a boy. I am still learning what a boy is. I don’t know from boys. Up until age four, I had a sweet, sweet mush of baby that loved love.  Once four hit, my sweet mush now rations his hugs, wipes off all my kisses and has the ability to be mean just for the fun of it. A stalemate often ensues over who will pick up the trail of whatever is all over the floor. “No, You” is his standard answer. Lately, he has started using fake tears like emotional terrorism. If I give in just once, it sets a precedent for all future negotiations. Daily requests include “smell my feet, pick this up, get me this” and the aforementioned “hold my penis while I pee.” I take great comfort on a regular basis knowing I am not alone. As I write this, millions of mothers of little (and not so little) boys are having this same experience.

I can lament about why things are so different since J turned four, or I can Accept What Is. The latter is better. And I try to do it with a laugh and an acknowledgement that this too shall pass. Someday his favorite word won’t be “poop.” Someday, in the far distant future, he won’t try to burb in public because it’s funny (maybe.)

For now, I can relish the fact that I am still his favorite person. I don’t know when that will change. Please don’t tell me. I want to enjoy our date this afternoon to play mini-golf in the rain. Our conversation after the morning meltdown went something like this:

J: “I want to go play miniature golf today, Mama.”

Me: “that’s something we should save for when Daddy is home, or the kids. Or do you want to go with just me?”

J: “Just you, Mama.”

Ahh, how sweet four is.

So how the hell did I end up in Disney World??

Oh yeah, J’s 4^th birthday. Whose idea was this anyway? Oh yeah, mine. It sounded so good back in December when we booked the trip. 4 years old is the perfect age for your first trip to Disney. “J will love it,” I thought…

Fast forward 5 months. It is still freakishly cold in the northeast in May, so an escape to central Florida will be nice. Those folks at Disney sure know how to treat their guests- courtesy bus to and from airport; busses to and from everywhere you go; trams and boats and trains to and from everywhere else. What could be better? We don’t have to do much – except stand in line, and wait on benches, and stand in line, and wait on benches and give up on waiting and take taxis.

Day #1 We are refreshed from a good night sleep so waiting in line isn’t so bad, the air is still cool and I still have my shell on.  There are companies in Orlando that rent strollers to all of the theme parks, how convenient. Let’s do that. J sees the stroller and doesn’t want to walk another step. That’s ok; this is a lot of walking, and standing and waiting. We quickly learn that stroller parking in Disney is like parking your car in Manhattan.  Droves of people walk through narrow pathways created from droves of parked strollers. Most of the rides for the 4 year old contingent have at least 30 minute waits. J isn’t going to stand in line for 30 minutes. So we skip Dumbo’s ride and Aladdin’s Magic Carpet. We have already used up our fast pass for the hour with Peter Pan.

Day #2 It has been a nice morning but now it is 1pm, 97 degrees and J is withering in the sun like a hot noodle. Time to head back to the hotel. Gee the bus line is enormous. What’s going on? Turns out our hotel bus has been MIA for almost an hour. This doesn’t bode well for our chances of getting on when it shows.  We meander through the queue forming contraption that puts us about 50 people back from the front. People come up behind us but wait, the chain isn’t across this part of the line generator so they may try to cut us. But wait again, my father hooks that chain up just in time…Just in time to see the look on this scary, heavily tattooed man’s face as he feels “cut off” by my father. Oh my god, we are going to die. How are the Disney people going to cover this up? We are a party of 4, one being a small child. There is no way they can cover this up. I avert his menacing gaze and that of his wife of equal tattooed scariness until the bus finally comes. All 75 of us manage to get on this bus that seats 50. My husband is in charge of the “folded up” stroller that takes up its own seat, for which there is no room. Ahh, the cursing commences about the @#!!$%*# stroller. Somehow, he muscles it on there amongst too many people on too small a bus. We made it. The ride is ok but boy is it getting warm in here. All of these bodies heat up a bus really fast. About half way through the ten minute ride I glance over my right shoulder and wouldn’t you know, scary tattooed man is 5 inches away. We manage to escape the ride unscathed.

Back at the hotel pool, it’s all fun in the sun. You know what would make this day better? Alcohol. They have such amazing drinks at the poolside bar. They all look so yummy. Maybe I will get one…

“Ohh, that looks so good. What is that?” I ask a man literally bellied up to the bar getting a frozen something with whipped cream and fruit.

“Headache in a cup with a pineapple garnish,” says the large round man wearing a Speedo. He surprises me with the proper use of the word garnish.

I laugh and order a margarita. Now when one is overheated and tired, alcohol and sugar is not the way to go. I should have been reaching for the Aquafina. But I’m on vacation! Fun drinks please and keep ‘em coming.

Day #3…why the hell did I have those margaritas? I feel like crap. My calves have never been so tight. It is all the walking and not enough hydration. Even J the early riser needs a wake up call this morning. I don’t think I have ever woken him up in the morning, ever.

Day #4 two days have gone by and I am not sure how that happened, it is all a blur. The days seem to run into each other down here. It’s like Vegas with no windows or clocks, just lines of people and lines of strollers.

I have to say, Disney is not a place for the faint hearted. You have to be in shape and ready to go to blows with people in wheelchairs with their own oxygen supply at any minute. People here are on their last nerve. It’s hot, the lines are long, the kids are crying, the mothers are screaming, the fathers are suggesting extra suntan lotion on little what’s-her-name only to be back-handed with a glare from his wife that says “don’t question my mothering skills.” You know that look I am referring to, we’ve all been there.

Day #5 We are heading home this morn. Getting on another bus. The last bus. Everyone here looks a bit weary with much less enthusiasm than the bus ride that first day. The bus driver wants us to cheer or clap our hands or something but no one is participating. People are borderline grumpy. By people, I mean me.

As I reflect on the week behind us, we did make some wonderful memories. J loved his trip. I loved seeing the look on his face when he saw Mickey and Donald and Goofy all stroll in the night of his birthday. He spent great quality time with his dad and grandpa and fell in love with being a pirate. All of the chaos and crabbiness and dehydration was worth his smile and his little voice saying “thank you for taking me on my birthday trip,” our last night here.

You know as I think about it, this was a really great trip. Maybe I will look into coming back. Do you think they are busy here during the Holidays?

My pants are a bit tighter than they were last week due to all the french fries and ice cream I have consumed, not to mention all that aforementioned alcohol. I seem to need two cups of coffee in the morning instead of my usual one cup. Two of my toes have giant blisters from walking and I was wearing sneakers. The cramp in my neck that I had last week is still in my neck. Boy, I could sure use a vacation.

That being said, aside from the occasional hop onto the stationary bike, yoga has been the only form of exercise I have done the last 8 months. It has tightened the saggy ass I thought I was stuck with forever and whittled the waddle on my triceps to a very acceptable size, so why would I ever “bother” to do any other form of exercise? So often over these 8 months my husband asked if I had done any cardio. I would reply that I had and that was the truth, but riding the stationary bike for 11 minutes once a week really doesn’t burn many calories. My forehead was so stuck to my mat that I would get irritated at the idea that I needed anything else but yoga. How wrong I was.

About two weeks ago, an old feeling started creeping up my neck. I couldn’t shake it. It was an extreme tightness and pain that started from the back of my shoulders all the way up into my head and it was almost unbearable.

“I have to get to yoga.” I would say daily and I would go and feel great for the 75 minutes on my mat but as soon as I got back into my car, the tension would return.

“What the hell is this?” I asked myself for two weeks. “With all of the yoga and meditation I do I am so zen, I don’t have anxiety damn it!”

I was resorting to tons of advil and nightly cocktails to relax my muscles but even drugs and alcohol didn’t cut it. Then, a few days ago I headed down to our exercise room to try and get some relief from the agonizing pain. I got on that bike and started playing my tunes. After my standard 11 minutes was up, I hopped off the bike. Just then, “On the Floor” by Jennifer Lopez came on. The beat was exactly what I needed to help slip into my zone- a zone I so often forget I have and I don’t get into nearly enough. I started to move. Not just a polite little school dance move but a let loose, Willow Smith Whip My Hair and everything else move that felt so good and joyful that it went on for quite a few songs and I worked up quite a sweat. In that movement I was able to free myself from the crap that was locked in the muscles of my back and neck. And with the release came a tear or two. I realized then that whether the tears come on the treadmill, on the dance floor or after a big fat orgasm, it is all the same thing: an emotional release from physical action. I need more of that, we all need more of that.

I have always loved to dance. Most women do. As I have gotten older I have seriously forgotten how much. Once you hit your thirties and children come into your life, going out dancing goes by the wayside. I now understand the surge in popularity of Zumba. I have never tried it but I looked on-line for a class near me. There were 50+ places within a 15 mile radius. They teach that class all over the place. It’s a good thing too. Ladies everywhere can now get their groove on at gyms, YMCA’s, church basements, and even down at the Lodge of the Loyal Order of Water Buffaloes (when they let wives in.) I am trying a class on Thursday.

This die-hard yogi isn’t hanging up her mat by any means. I am just now grasping the meaning of balance and the importance of mixing it up “on the floor” or in my basement. There is plenty of room in life for the stillness and the movement.  In fact, they are both required.

So if you are feeling blue or stressed or can’t sleep for the myriad of reasons in our crazy lives, heed the call of that other lyrical sage Lady Gaga…and Just Dance!

is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are

powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness,

that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant,

gorgeous, talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small doesn’t serve this world.

There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking

so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God

that is within us;

It is not just in some of us – it’s in everyone!

As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people

permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,

our presence automatically liberates others!”

Nelson Mandela – Inaugural Speech 1994

The preceding speech showed up in exact form twice on my desk in a span of 24 hours. God was telling me something, so I am listening…

A beautiful new yogi called me “powerful” in yoga class today. I thought that was the best compliment ever although at first, I shied away from it but did manage a thank you. This same yogi said she loved her first class. Her goal had been to feel “wrung out” and mission accomplished. My goals for yoga class are strength, flexibility, balance and stamina, all important for my physical and mental health. Then I thought about it, my ultimate goal isn’t to be powerful but to know my own power.

I am often reminded of Pink’s appearance at last year’s Grammy Awards. It is one of my favorite performances of all time. She brought the entire music industry to its feet with her song Glitter in the Air. If you missed it, please watch it on You Tube. It made me stop breathing and brought tears to my eyes. I was so proud to be a woman watching her command the entire audience with her voice and body. She was so confident in her abilities, in her gifts, in the power that is her divine right.  It was one of those times I thought to myself, ‘God I want to do that.’ I am not a singer but wish I were. I haven’t discovered another medium other than music that can express what there are no words for. We all have this power inside us, waiting for us to remember it is there. For those of us that are not musicians, how can we release it? Maybe I have to write a screenplay. Movies are a great medium as well, when accompanied by an amazing soundtrack mind you.

When I received that compliment in class, I first thought of all the yogi’s that can stand on their heads or hover on their forearms for an hour and thought of how far I have to go. Then I thought, ‘hey stac, why don’t you acknowledge how far you’ve come’ (for just a sec).  So, yes I have come a long way. I am at least done with unconscious living and  unconscious behavior. It wasn’t that long ago that you could find me eating out of a tub of something, fridge doors still open, before I even realized I had gotten out of my chair. Food was always my great miracle stuffer. Things that are working for me on my road to higher consciousness are: Hatha Yoga courtesy of the wonderful environment at Blackbird Yoga, Kundalini Yoga taught by the radiant Jackie Tepper, meditation and reading a lot of books.

So I whole-heartedly agree with that new yogi and I too want to be wrung out. Not in the beaten down by life sort of way, but in the used to my fullest capacity by the glorious grace running through me sort of way. I want to be used up by God’s divine plan for me.

With all of the goal setting that seems to go on this time of year, here are mine as it pertains to this topic: to know my own power, to connect to the abundant stream of energy at my source and that which connects us all, to expand my consciousness, see our world in a fresh new way and to quote Susan Boyle, “be who I was born to be.”

Happy 2011!!