Great emotional labor leaves us as tired as great physical labor.
If we understand this, we get it.
If we don’t get it, we should be suspect of the attitude we carry around with us day in and day out.
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Guest Blogger Lorie Sheffer: Gray rebellion
Nothing I have ever said has caused more of a reaction than three little words I uttered last week: I’m going gray.
Seven years ago, I let my medium brown color grow out to its’ natural salt and pepper. Then after a few years I hit the bottle again. Fell right off the wagon and into Miss Clairol’s open arms. I got my state cosmetology license back in 1978, so I can dye in privacy if I like. I wasn’t even that upset when I accidentally dropped a glob of color on our new floor. (BTW, Magic Eraser will remove permanent hair dye from hardwood without removing the sheen!) Then last week I decided I was sick of my chin length, choppy bob. And so I got it cut short; very short. With that cut came the decision to go back to my natural color.
I got positive comments on the cut. The comments about the color decision have been interesting to say the least.
“I’m not ready for that!” was a popular reaction.
“You’re so brave!” Actually it was more brave (stupid) standing over that new floor with color glopped on my head.
My favorite, hands down? “You look like you’re about 35 on this picture. Let’s see how old you look when that color grows out.”
Well, I am going to be 55 in May. So maybe I will actually look -gasp, choke- FIFTY-FIVE!
I’m not able to understand what is so bad about looking one’s age. And even if I color my hair and that shaves a couple of years off of how I LOOK, that doesn’t change how old I AM. I think back to when I really was 35. The next year was one of the most difficult of my life. Not sure I would want to repeat that one. I happen to think gray is lovely, and I happen to think that it’s not such a bad thing to look my age. Most importantly, I stopped caring what other people think about how I look YEARS ago. Probably when I was about 35.
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Ever felt there was never any question about the response everyone else would question?
Ever felt there was never any question about the response everyone else would question?
The book has been blessed.
It was a no brainer, a slam dunk, a sure thing.
Bet everything? Bet your life?
Yes!
Why?
To kill it.
Doubt.
Questions.
Hard to explain, and this is just cathartic to write.
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You know what makes someone a writer, or anything really?
First trip as a published midlife author. Not a big deal.
Why?
Because.
Because when you’ve been publishing five daily, differently-themed blog posts for nearly five straight years, it’s who you are.
And you know what makes someone a writer, or anything really?
Belief.
Proof.
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Doing the same thing everyone else does, but better or differently
Pausing for a minute to give the book stuff a break. Late last night stumbled upon some beautiful art. Sean Quigley was 16 when he put this rendition of Little Drummer Boy together in 2011.
One boy, one song, he did it all, except the video (his sister did that). To honor a King. To honor his passion (music), to honor things he isn’t even aware he honors yet.
Art.
Doing the same thing everyone else does, but better or differently (and in rare cases, both):
Okay, so one little book thing. It’s art because among the many different applications people can use it for, perhaps none is more pronounced than balance.
Living with balance is art.
Mind • Body • Spirit • Money • HQ
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