One of my style sisters, inspiring me in her creativity of radical outfit combos, mentioned that she is watching out for what she wants the world to know and what she wants to keep “private.” I don’t even consider privacy anymore, I thought astonished, I’m an open book.
Private.
The word didn’t let me go. My I-phone rang. My friend Angelika, who I met in Santa Monica 25 years ago and immediately felt like a long lost sister, called me from Sicily. She is a writer, translates spiritual and self help books from English to German and travels the world while doing so. I hadn’t talked to her in a year.
“I love to follow your journey on FB and how far you have come,” she said. “You look so powerful and happy. How are you?”
“Not always happy,” I said, “I feel lonely some times…” “Me too,” my joyous life-loving friend answered.
“I told tell everybody”
“Me neither.”
I told Angelika, who is not into IG or posting personal stuff on FB about my Instagram journey; how many empowering women “mirrors” I have met, opening my heart and my eyes to who I really am and what I would like to give to the world. She told me about the people she meets every day who leave her adventurous stories recharged and inspired but that she is longing for a bigger goal of what she might be able to give to the world.
My intuition told me that she is missing a tribe to support her on her journey to discover her message. Her intuition told her that I need “real” people.
After an hour on the phone we split with resolutions; she would open herself up to my Instagram family and I would open up to “real” people and talk to them “just like that” in cafes. Making “Contact” reminded me of how Alien I often feel.
I too keep things private.
A poem I had written two years ago came to mind. It ended in me wanting to be brave enough “to walk the streets naked.” I don’t foresee ever doing that literally (insert fierce emoji). It is a metaphor to fearlessly show and tell all that I am.
Differently on different media.
I show who I am on IG and wrap images into ideas, I add a little more “flesh” to the story bones on FB, get real - and wordy -on my blogs and let it flow like a gorgeous waterfall into adventurous stories in my upcoming memoir.
“Confessional” writing is an art, so are brave posts on social media; the right dose of truth can be magical.
I put my self out there to feel it out; I might cause a yawn or excitement or even fall on my face. That’s how we learn, by being brave.
I got to be brave because of the women I met in the process; my mirrors and support.
I met women who vibe like me, my style sisters who uplift me to dance and dare “more”. I encountered women with different energies who make me think, feel new feelings and expand. I found compassion and the wish to give. I discovered clarity of what I want in women I fancy and feel sisterhood with. I saw who I am not in women I feel worried about or afraid of. I adore myself in baroque mirrors and wonder about my distortions in the broken ones.
I see myself in you.
The idea that our life is a creation of our mind, that we only see what our own set of rules and parameters, our beliefs let us see is scary but true. There is no objective “real”. When you read my words you interpret them from your point of view.
“We hear what we WANT to hear” is our demise but also our chance.
A business coach once fired the aggressive sounding question at me, “Are you coachable?”
“Yes”, I stuttered.
I wanted to be a life coach. The experience with my own therapy journey had been so rewarding that I needed to share all I had learned. I owned my intuition now and was confident that I’d be able to heal others. Let’s create a program, let’s create a course, yes, yes, yes.
“Your website is wrong,” the business coach went on, “you’re bad in writing copy. I can teach you how to write copy that convinces your readers to buy.”
I felt resistance. I did not want people “to buy into me.” I kinda hated copy as it felt so artificial and demanding. It felt like the old me who got what she wanted by manipulation. I owned my doubts and did not hire her.
I’m a bad marketer, it’s just not me. What now? I wanted to be worthy to be paid for my knowledge, love myself enough to be rewarded for who I am.
I really wanted to hear the word coachable. So I put out the mantra that I am. Coachable.
I did not get the immediate answer to my wants and needs but a play list; women and their vibes and stories. When we’re not immediately getting what we want it’s easy to give up on those cool slogans like “the universe has your back.” It freaking often feels it doesn’t. But darn and yay, it does. Just not as expected. In my case not in a fat paycheck or huge opportunity but in thousands of likes, feedback, comments and dialogues.
I listened.
Life is a movie.
On my journey to stepping into my power the director of my life (I call her my inner knowing) presented me with supporting actresses. They tossed stones to stumble over in my way, impressed the heck out of their me with treasures, shocked me with a little poison and gave me hope with beautiful bright vibes of personal power and fierce feminine fun.
I’m dramatic and react with feelings. They sometimes are physically expressed in my body; I shiver and cringe, smile or giggle and jump up and down with joy. You should see me going through my IG feed…
In the mirrors of others I saw where I was at; I did not want to make money being a life coach. It took me a while to get back to my true desire; to be a journalist and writer who can’t wait to finish the fantastic trilogy waiting on my shelf after my memoir has cleared the path.
All that to say; I paid 40,000 for my life coach but we are life coaches for each other; for free. It’s an amazing web of giving and receiving energies, lighting up each other hidden talents, fears or desires and expanding each other with who we are.
My “supporting actresses” were amazing side kicks and in return I swing my sword as Gabrielle to their Xena in their own amazing queendoms.
“I needed your energy right now,” a woman commented on one of my posts recently and that’s what we do; collecting energies of other women like pearls on a necklace until I have one that fits.
One day I will wear my necklace and be stylishly “naked”, wearing my soul on my skin. In public.
