Just one valentine?! Oh, no, no. I could make them all day long. I posted a cartoon Valentine a bit ago, but thought, what's to stop me from sending ANOTHER one?
When I posted this one on our site, I introduced it with the following:
Every so often, we remember to stay as quiet as the stars & just love the path our friends are on & every time, every so often, we hardly know how to say thank you for the moment, it's that romantic. Thank you.
That could NOT be more true here among Braveheart Women.
Here's a little animation from my new 'Tell Me How the Story Ends' series. Always and everywhere, stories have appeared to me (you, too?) and although I could have, in theory, written them myself, I was always a MUCH bigger fan of someone ELSE writing them. Ha.
Stories let us in, let us test things out, discover truths, resolve and repair and heal. Stories are our way of helping each other. I thought that, at the very least, I could record the idea.
That's what these are. I do wish I'd started with one or two of my favorite stories; I was a little afraid to make a total mess of them. That was probably a mistake, but ... I like mistakes. (Convenient, no?)
They're going to be there, no matter what. Fears. It seems so strange to me to suffer them twice - be afraid of fears? Are you KIDDING? No way.
Here's episode 4 as proof. (Sort of. Two minutes hardly constitutes proof, does it? )
This video was probably mistitled. (Spell check's telling me that needs a little something. A hyphen? Mis-titled. Misstitled. Badly titled. Ha.)
It implies that I long for more time and this is not true. I have plenty. I just want to live big and beautifully with it and hand out lots of love. I need more practice. ANYWAY ... here's the video.
I watched this cartoon I animated a few years ago and was reminded why I like the story so much. I'm the sister who likes shiny stuff, twinkly stuff.
I don't know if we judge each other by our clothes (okay - fashionista police do), but we definitely use them to sort of ... sort and signal. This is useful for a particularly fun parlor trick. I'm fond of casually chic dressing. My wardrobe has many subdued, elegant pieces - easy to look conservative in. Which is huge, huge fun since what goes on in my head is the polar opposite.
As much as I like Italian and German designers and fine cashmere and Hermes scarves, I like cowboy boots and Chucks and old jeans and tattoos and t-shirts. Easy to look earthy in, like you'd never brush elbows with refinement.
It's all a great game, made even more great because someone went and invent twinkly stuff. Oh, yes, I like twinkles. I do because I can. Whatever anyone else thinks.
Intuition is a woman's gift, I've heard (not that men don't own their fair share). But that gift can be - well, maybe not squandered - but ... squashed. Silenced.
Mine was. I did it to myself. I gave into just about every impulse (no, really. Every one.) and unapologetically and was rewarded with the kind of experiences that show up in movies.
And then I succumbed to convention. At my age, wasn't it only proper that I start reining myself in? If I wanted to play with the big boys - the high risk project managers, the successful - shouldn't I embrace the big boys' methods and values?
My life became much more luxurious. It looked enviable.
I know many aspire to that lifestyle and I'd deny NO ONE the luxuries. If prosperity means the power to purchase high ends goods, then it all works out.
But I sacrificed my intuition. It just disappeared while I focused on the external things and nurturing connections that, frankly, felt artificial.
The good news is my intuition's coming back. It doesn't entirely trust me, having been so rudely abandoned, but it's still back. It doesn't seem to have any problem at all with me caring about prosperity, but it wants that prosperity to be grounded in what I - ME!! - really truly want and what I truly believe my purpose to be.
So. In honor of what I know to be true, that not every one knows where their intuition rests or how to call it up: this animation.
I post it with love.
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