People like us....or the good news is: a post for my dad

My dad is turning 69 today so I wanted to dedicate a blog post to him.   Happy Birthday Dad – thanks for being such an amazing human being and for loving me unconditionally!

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I am sure all of us at one point in our lives have had something come out of our mouths that gave us the chills and made us say “oh my gosh, I sounded like my mother just then!”

The other day I realized that one of the things I say most often actually comes straight from my dad and not my mom.

My dad often says “well, the good news is…” during any conversation he is having.  He has an uncanny way of steering things toward the positive and being able to point out what is working in any situation. When I caught myself saying “the good news is…” the other day, it was like my dad speaking through me. I took a step back and realized that I say “the good news is…” quite a bit.

Why does he says that so much?  Why do I?

Maybe it’s because I am trying to help people see the positive.....or maybe it is because I am so uncomfortable with negativity.

A conversation with my dad yesterday during his birthday lunch shed some light on this for me.

Not only I am lucky to have such an amazing dad, I am also blessed to live in the same city as him and over lunch yesterday, I told him about my use of his phrase “the good news is…”

He laughed and smiled and said –“ yes, people like us say that a lot.”

I asked  “What do you mean by people like us?”

My dad said  “Like a 7 on the Enneagram, avoidance of pain.  We always want to look on the bright side and that’s not bad.  We just can’t let it be too limiting.”

DEEP THOUGHT.

(Side note: google the Enneagram if you need more info!)

Since re-starting this blog and getting back into writing, I feel like I have spent quite a bit of time on those negative emotions and my own personal sadness.

But my dad is right.  I don’t sit in those negative emotions for very long because it makes “people like us” feel so uncomfortable. 

Writing the blog has been scary but also really liberating and healing.  It is definitely the biggest dive I have taken into sadness for quite some time.

I knew I could not start writing again if I was not willing to tell my true story and talk about experiences that made me sad and mad and uncomfortable, even though part of me just wants to pretend that none of those emotions exist.

One of my thoughts as I chose “write 20 minutes a day” as my 30 Days of Hustle goal was --I could go through life posting inspirational quotes on my Instagram and Facebook every day or I could just get real. 

Or could it be "both/and" instead of "either/or"?

I started blogging and wouldn’t you know it – “people like us” are capable of "both/and" if we really force ourselves to tell our stories.

Once, I went with my parents to a talk at USD.  One of my very favorite spiritual teachers, the Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh, was speaking.  There were so many great moments during his talk but I remember one most clearly.  He said something like – “why do we treat our suffering the way that we do? I would suggest holding your suffering like you would a baby. Holding it close and really embracing it. Talking to it like you would a child. Taking care of it.”

Needless to say, I was crying so hard as he spoke given that my suffering was, in fact, the loss of a baby. Two for that matter.

This concept of really owning and embracing your suffering, holding it like a baby, is the last thing I wanted to do.  But I realized that is was only through feeling it completely, all of it, owning it and coming to terms with it, that I could eventually get over it and move past it.

During our infertility struggles, my mom once told me that my dad had pulled her aside and said these simple words:

"When she is sad, I’m sad."

Even though I felt so bad to be bringing sadness on him, those words meant so much.

"When she is sad, I’m sad."

“People like us” don’t want to be sad and we will do anything not to feel negative emotions.

“People like us” just want to say “the good news is…” and change the topic.

It’s my dad’s sadness for me and his support and his wisdom as well as the support of so many other people that has helped me not only be able to hold my suffering, but to embrace it and eventually heal from it.

My dad has taught me a lot and I am so grateful.  I am proud to be one of the “people like him”.

I love you Dad.

Being Different

When Matt and I started picking up the pieces after my second ectopic pregnancy, it took us quite a while to talk about what the next step in our journey would be.  To be honest, it was a relief not to talk about it. We had spent almost three years being totally consumed with infertility and it was time to start a new chapter.

We had a few options if we did want to have children: adoption, IVF, surrogacy.  Fact is: we did not have the money to do any of those things.  Furthermore, I am not sure we had the mental and emotional stamina either.

Eventually, we started talking about our options again and none of our conversations yielded a decision.  Finally, we agreed to take a few months to just think about it on our own. We promised to come to each other when we had made a decision in our own mind, in our own time.

I still remember the conversation quite clearly....

Matt came home from work one day and I was sitting on the couch.  He said:  "I think our life together is great and even though having kids would be awesome, I think we have each other and that is enough. You make me happy and I like our life. What do you think?"

I breathed a sigh of relief and said "I am happy too and one of the things I am not ready for and don't want to do is get to that sad, rock bottom place again. I am so glad that both of us are in the same place and we can move forward and be happy together."

We hugged and for the first time in a long time, I felt a real smile spread across my face.

That moment is one I will never forget because we turned the page together.

What I did not expect was some of the feelings I struggled with afterwards.

I was ready to embrace a life without children and to make the most of what we did have instead of focusing on what we did not have.

What I was not ready for was feeling so different than all of my friends.  As time went on and we settled into this new chapter of our life,  these differences became more and more apparent.

While our friends had play dates and milestones and Disneyland vacations -- we planned nights out and trips to Las Vegas.  While their holidays revolved around toys and Santa, we spent Christmas morning quietly sipping Starbucks and playing with our cats.

I've never been good at being different.  I am not a follower necessarily but I like to fit in. I crave acceptance and at a certain level, sameness.  I am a twin after all.

Being different felt different.  I was (and still am) one of the only 42 year old women I know that can not claim the title "mother".  Sometimes it's tough to be the odd woman out and it's a feeling that took me a long time to embrace.

Even though the decision Matt and I made was good for us, it still made us different and I did not expect that to feel so strange. It took me a while to feel ok with being different and to see that it could be good. 

Most of all, being different has taught me a very important lesson -- your path is your path and my path is my path.

One of the best things we can do is live our own lives the best way we know how while allowing others to do the same.

So many people have helped me embrace my path, accept that it's different, and help me celebrate that difference.

Thank you all for letting me be different, letting me mother you every now and then (I can't help it) and for letting me share your path with you.

Thanks for following....
xo
Margaret

Still Alive

I missed my chance to write yesterday so longer post here....this is another one of my stories that I have not shared with many people but that I feel compelled to write about....thanks for joining me on this journey.

If you did not read the blog post "take it from the top...or start at the bottom" - it might be helpful to read that first.

Back story:

Matt and I took a break after my September 2006 ectopic pregnancy to move past the loss and decide what we would do now that there was an actual reason for my infertility.  Having one functioning fallopian tube typically means that a pregnancy can only happen every other month so we stepped back to re-assess our next steps.

At the beginning of 2007, I started on a pretty aggressive, but natural treatment plan including chiropractic, acupuncture and Chinese herbs, and some guidance from Randine Lewis' book The Infertility Cure. 

Although I was the one who sometimes hated all the well meaning advice I was given during my time as a fertility patient - the three treatment options above are amazing (for fertility and well-being in general) and I have been known to tell people that in a very "well meaning" way.

Deja vu all over again when March came and I woke up one morning.  I remember it so clearly. I sat up in bed and just felt different. I said to myself "when have I ever felt like this before?" and it all came flooding back.

I sprang out of bed, grabbed a pregnancy test out from under my sink (still had quite a few) and sure enough -- the word "pregnant" appeared for the 2nd time in my long, crazy, exhausting fertility journey.  Matt's reaction was exactly the same - "how did that happen?" -- and we were thrust back into the feelings we had just a few months before when the stick said pregnant -- nervous, excited, surprised, and maybe even relieved.  All the hard work, the money, the strategizing, the planning (makes trying to conceive sound so romantic, right?) had paid off.

As before, we wanted to schedule a sonogram right away and we went into fertility patient mode all over again -- but this time, I was not under the care of my fertility doctors as we had been "taking a break" from all of that.

In fact, at the beginning of 2007, I had changed insurance plans thinking that the new one would be better for the more advanced treatment we might need after my ectopic pregnancy.

Fast forward a week or so and I finally convinced the OB/GYN who had seen me and my mom for years to do an earlier than 8 week sonogram for me.  He is an amazing man and I was so lucky that he said yes to my request.

Same as before, Matt and I met at his office and prepared ourselves for the sonogram.  In the back of our minds, we were hopeful but also scared.  As before, we sat holding hands and trying to be calm.  When the doctor called us back and we got started, it was eerily quiet and I looked at Matt's face very intently.  I could just see it in his eyes and feel it in the room.  Deja vu all over again.

Of course, my doctor knew about my first ectopic pregnancy which is why he agreed to this early sonogram. I turned to look at him and braced myself for what he was going to say.  It all felt like it was in slow motion.  The familiar, awful, sinking feeling washed back over both Matt and me.

I don't remember exactly what he said but he was so kind and so sweet and so sad for us too. I guess there is not good way to hear that news for the second time, but it was definitely a bit better coming from someone who really cared for me and felt so sad too.

We were sent off to another imaging center right away where they were going to take a more sophisticated sonogram in order to help plan the next course of action: drugs so that they could preserve my one fallopian tube or surgery.

After the imaging center and my doctor consulted, we were sent to the hospital by my doctor who called and set up all of our care in advance.  Ironically, it was the hospital where my mom works.  We had not told anyone this time around and we could not avoid that any longer.  Matt called her and told her that we were on our way.

It was a surreal few hours and thank God that my mom was there - she got Matt a parking pass, got him something to eat and was all around awesome like she always is.  There was one point in the procedure where Matt was asked to step out and my mom got to stay and my mom said something funny like "I think he has seen her ass just as many times as I have!" -- I laughed in spite of the awful circumstances.

By the time we left the hospital with very strict instructions of what I could and could not do for the next few weeks, I had been given methotrexate and told (long story short) that I would still have one fallopian tube.  Good news out of very bad news, we thought.

Fast forward a few weeks...

All of my blood tests showed that the pregnancy hormones in my body were declining and that the drug had worked.  We went to Las Vegas for a few days and spent some time away just to escape the sadness of the last couple weeks.  Life was going to get back to normal and then we would decide what to do next.

On Sunday April 15, 2007 - I went to church for the first time in a while.  My parents had started going to a church in Mission Hills with a female priest and I thought it was awesome.  They were out of town in Sacramento as my youngest niece had just been born a few days earlier.  I sat down next to one of their friends and as the service was about to start, I felt the worst pain I have ever felt.

I was not sure what it was but I knew something was wrong. I told their friend that I was leaving and literally hobbled out of church.  I made it as far as the hallway and into the bathroom.

When I had been discharged weeks prior, they had told me -- if you have fever, chills, abdominal pain etc...take it seriously. 

I had all three.

I had been feeling fine for a few weeks so this sudden turnaround was scary.

I had left my cell phone in the car but wanted to call Matt right away and ask him what I should do.

I could barely walk to my car but had to in order to get my phone.

I was wearing a dress and heels and I remember kicking my shoes off so at least I could hobble a little faster to my car.

I called Matt and then my mom and they both said -- drive to the hospital now. 

Thankfully, the church was only blocks from the hospital and I walked into the emergency room barefoot in a church dress, trying to remain calm.  I was not as calm after the admitting staff took one look at me and buzzed me through to a different waiting area right away.

The minute I said "ectopic pregnancy", they sprang into action.

Matt arrived and a quick sonogram and consultation followed.  Before I knew it, I was signing papers to have surgery again, his parents were on their way and they were soon wheeling me off to the OR.

I did not even really have much time to process what was happening.  What I did know is that me being so close to the hospital and not hesitating to go there were two very lucky and smart decisions.

I woke up later that night hooked up to a bunch of stuff with Matt laying in the hospital bed next to mine.  I looked down and what looked like a crazy, crooked metal zipper was across my bikini line.
Staples -- I would find out later -- but I was too drugged up at this point to know that.
All I remember doing is shutting my eyes, letting the tears come, and falling back to sleep.

Monday April 16, 2007

I woke up the next morning and got to hear the whole story -- ruptured fallopian tube, internal bleeding, lucky she came when she did....

Matt was there by my side and we spent the day in my hospital room, watching TV and just holding hands.  So surreal.

As we watched TV, the news of the Virginia Tech shootings came on and we watched in horror as they reported 33 dead. 

Even though I was laying there, preoccupied by my own sadness and loss -- two words hit me right away:  still alive.

I am still alive. 

These 2 words come to mind on a daily basis still, 7 years later.  Any time I have something to complain about, anything that is bothering me, anything making me unhappy -- I try to take a deep breath and think "still alive". 

No matter what I have gone through, what I have lost, what sadness I have experienced - I am alive and that is the gift.

Matt by my side, friends who called or visited me, all of the people who supported us for the next few weeks that I was off of work -- I was still alive to share my life with them.

A profound and life changing moment -- in a hospital bed, still alive.

What a tough time those next few weeks were for us but we were sustained by the love of our incredible family and friends.  My doctor (the one who did the sonogram) even came to the hospital one morning and sat with me.  All of Costco arrived in our kitchen the morning I came home.
My mother came over and laid in bed with me a few times like I was still a little kid. I loved it.

Vince brought me a card that said: When life gives you lemons, just add vodka.

Cupcakes and flowers and phone calls. Matt's work gave him a week off to take care of me. 
So many amazing people took care of me and Matt during this time.

But I kept going back to those two words -- still alive.

I had a choice to make -- lay in bed for weeks in my pj's eating grilled cheese, candy, and drinking fruit punch juice boxes (true story) or get up and get back to being alive.  Being fully alive.

Enjoying life on a whole new level -- because I can, because I should, because I am alive to do it.

Nothing seemed more important to me than to use the gift I still had -- life -- and make it matter.
Live it with a purpose and make it mean something.

This awful, sad, scary experience could either define my life or transform it.

Still alive.

Still alive to be transformed, to be open to life, to say yes, to be positive, to be hopeful, to love.

Still alive.

Light out of the darkness, life out of loss, hope out of despair.

Still alive.

And grateful for that.

Thanks for following....
xo
Margaret

Addicted

Many of you already know that on May 30th, 2014 I made a bold pledge on my Facebook page:
no shopping for new clothes, shoes or accessories (hello Holy Trinity) until my 42nd birthday on September 6th, 2014.

Are you crazy?

Why would you do that?

You...of all people?

I give you one week!

These are a handful of the responses I got -- none of them surprising.

It is widely known that I love shopping and approach it with the commitment of an elite athlete. After 8 years at Nordstrom, it's almost expected but I have loved shopping since a young age.

I vividly remember shopping not only at Nordstrom Fashion Valley with my mom and sisters (think first bra, first pair of shoes in the women's department moments) but also Bullock's in Mission Valley -- the building that is now Macy's Home Store.

My mom still has one of my all time favorite childhood dresses in her ceder chest -- none other than a YSL blue pin-dot sailor dress with white cotton and lace collar and red grosgrain bow.  Heaven.  I'll have to dig up a picture of me in it for TBT.  It's a wonder Jennifer pledged Delta Gamma and not me in college given the nautical flair I fell in love with back then...

As an adult, for many years now, shopping is what I do to escape, to relax, to feel creative, to feel attractive.

Shopping is what I am do when I am happy, when I am sad, when I am bored, when I am home or when I am on the road.

It fills my time and when I am not shopping, likely I am planning my next trip or making my next list or on my phone making my Nordstrom Wish List even longer.

When I recently found an Old Navy bag with 6 new items in at just sitting in my closet -- it gave me a moment of pause.  Wow -- I guess I shop so much, I don't even know what I have.

Then -- that thought got a little deeper -- can I stop if I want to or am I addicted?

This "shop my own closet" challenge will certainly be a way to get in touch with that possibility.

Have I been tempted this week? Yes!

Have I shopped?  No!

Admitting it is the first step.

It's going to a long 90+ more days but I think I can do it.  What I know for sure is that I will learn a lot about myself during the process.

Want to join me and not shop too?  Supporters welcome!  God knows you could come shop my closet and find WAY more than you could ever need!

Thanks for following and thanks for your support!
xo
Margaret

Everyday Miracles

After writing yesterday's post, I felt drained, but in a good way.  Being so open and honest was very tough but, at the same time, quite exhilarating.  Like peeling off your cover up and letting your skin feel the sun after a long winter...like I had literally stripped down a layer and uncovered what was hiding underneath.

They say that God (the universe, whatever) only gives you what you can handle....and today was proof of that.

One of the very first questions I was asked today (by a 23 year old man who later told me his mom is a year YOUNGER than me) was -- "Margaret, do you have any kids?"

I used to dread that question and believe me, it was asked of me over and over by family, friends and perfect strangers the entire time we were struggling with infertility.  I winch just thinking about how hard that question used to be not only to hear, but to answer.

Today, I just smiled and laughed a little at the perfect timing of it and with true peace in my heart, I said to Juan:

"It was never in the cards for my husband and I. We are surrounded by lots of great kids but none of them are ours! Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I have my first on the way, due in November, and I'm so excited about it!"

For almost 15 more minutes, I got to feel Juan's joy, nervousness and excitement as he shared his story with me.

It was an honor to listen to him and to see such happiness on his face. 

His story not only made me marvel at the miracle of life but also the miracle of healing.

It is amazing what time and love and the support of so many can do to heal a heart (mine) that once was filled with so much sadness.

Back in 2006 or 2007 (more to come on the challenges of that year in a future post) -- I would have done anything to avoid answering that dreaded question.

Today, I felt such joy for Juan and so much peace in my own heart.  It truly is a miracle.

There is a card on my dresser that says: I don't think we know our own strength until we have seen how strong love makes us.

I am so lucky and so blessed that the love of so many healed me and gave me the chance to move on and return to a life full of hope, full of strength.

A miracle? Maybe not....but I think it might be.

take it from the top....or start from the bottom?

I am so grateful for the kind words of support and encouragement on Facebook last night.  It was humbling to know that you are joining me on this 30 day journey.  Thank you. 

All day long, I have been pondering the question that became the title of today's post.  In other words, do I stay negative or go positive?  My default is "look on the bright side" but I am not sure that the bright side can adquetely explain why I want to share some of my sadder, darker stories here.  More importantly, it is that very darkness and sadness that has shaped me into who I am now.

All day long, it's been nagging me and even though I wish it was not -- the answer became clear. Start at the bottom and work your way up.  Here's a story that might help shed some light on that darkness..

2004

Like so many couples in their early 30's, Matt and I were newly married and ready to start a family. We did what everyone told us to do -- "wait a year and just enjoy being married".  When it came time to start "trying" (I really, really hate that word) we took a lot of other well meaning advice as well.
"Take your temperature", "use this website to chart it", "don't worry for six months to a year, it's normal not to get pregnant at first".  My favorite piece of advice was "all it takes is a few too many beers at the Padre Game!"

So six months passed and then almost a year and after all of that well meaning advice, there we were.  Not pregnant.  I'd hear that phrase over and over again for at least another year.

We did what most couples in our situation do -- consulted our doctors and eventually took all of their well meaning advice:  "wear boxers", "take Clomid", "inject yourself with crazy hormones", "spend every morning at the lab and then the clinic following other infertile women around on a sad sort of field trip", "stop drinking caffeine"....you get the picture.

2004, 2005 and into 2006 was like a blur of fertility drugs (which SUCK by the way), appointments, consultations, poking, prodding, and replacing sex (at times) with interuterine inseminations (IUI).  Romantic. I once wanted to ask the doctor "was it good for you?" but I couldn't do it.  Least she could have done was make me breakfast after...

Diagnosis: unexplained infertility.  No reason or explanation of why it was not working for us despite all of the "trying" we were doing -- medically or otherwise.

At one low point of our journey, we got the news of another failed IUI in the Costco parking lot on the way to a 4th of July BBQ.  I still hate that parking lot and I still kind of hate the 4th of July.

It was after that sad news that Matt and I decided to take a break and re-evaluate what our next step would be....and wouldn't you know it, all of that well meaning advice to just keep "trying" paid off.

A few days before September 6th, 2006 -- my 34th birthday, I walked downstairs at 6am and while Matt sat, eating his yogurt and banana, I thrust a plastic stick in front of his face that said "pregnant".  His mouth dropped open and he said "how did that happen?" Looking back, it was both a sweet and sad comment.

To be pregnant "just because" was such a thrill and such a shock after all we had gone through.  We hugged and maybe cried and really just stood there holding each other.  Later that morning, I called our doctors and they insisted on a 6 week sonogram since I had been a fertility patient.

Fast forward to the day of the sonogram....

I had the day off and Matt was going to meet me at the doctor's office.  I had lunch plans with a girlfriend after and if all went well, I was going to share the news with her and celebrate.  We sat in the waiting room together, holding hands and smiling nervously.  The doctor called us back and we were so anxious.  The sonogram started and in a few quick moments, we knew it was not good news.

Nothing was there. Nothing.

I'm not sure how much time passed really and I can't remember what was said and how it was explained.  What I can remember is the crushing feeling in the air, the sadness on Matt's face and the words "ectopic pregnancy".

Instead of Matt going back to school and me going out to lunch, we were sent straight to the hospital. A few hours later, I was in surgery and Matt was in the waiting room with all of the parents.

When I woke up, I was feisty and pissed off.  I ripped the oxygen mask off my face and demanded to see Matt.  The two staff members in the recovery room calmed me down and told me he was on his way.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally got to see him and I demanded that we leave right away.
Instead, it was apple juice and graham crackers and finally, a humiliating ride to the car in a wheelchair like I was an old woman who could not walk.

I remember Matt getting in the driver's seat as I slumped into the door on my side and just closed my eyes. I remember waking up the next morning with some bandages on my stomach (laproscopic surgery -- thankfully) and a crushing sadness in my heart.

Someone told me once -- losing a pregnancy is not only losing a child, but the dreams of what that child might have meant.  Ten years later, I can still say that is some of the best "advice" I got during our infertility journey.

Until this experience, I had never in my life known such deep sadness and I did not know how to handle it.

For quite some time, I became that girl that was slouched against the car door with her eyes closed.  Just going through the motions while silently suffering this loss and coming to terms with what this dream ending meant.

Eventually, I went back to work and stopped slouching and opened my eyes to the world again....but that deep sadness still remained.  I cried, I was angry, I asked why over and over.

At some point, I learned the answer to why -- that answer is "unexplained".  I will never ever know why and ten years later, I have created a life out of not knowing, of accepting, of being happy with what I do have instead of what I don't have.

This bottom for me is always going to be part of my story.  Believe me, I wish it never happened.
But it did and when I look back, I see how this experience changed my life -- eventually for the better.

Sharing this story for the first time publicly ten years later feels scary, good, healthy and above all, necessary.

Thanks for letting me start at the bottom....

xo
Margaret

The hustle is sold separately....

Ladies and Gentlemen,
You are stuck with me -- at least for the next 30 days!
I made a pledge to write for 20 minutes a day and this seems like the most obvious place to do it.
It's been quite a while and I am excited to be back -- as long as excited means scared as hell, that is!

It's time to get real and share some things that are on my mind and in my heart and I hope some of my blog posts will inspire you to do the same.  The motivation behind this "20 minutes of writing" is the WHAT I choose when I joined the "30 Days of Hustle" that Jon Acuff (look him up, awesome) put out on Facebook.

If you know me, you know I love a challenge but I also love a swift kick in the ass to get started. 30
Days of Hustle came along and I said yes before I knew what I was saying yes to (another talent I have perfected) and here I am. Here you are.

The WHY came next....why did we chose the WHAT (writing).  Now we are getting deep....WHY writing? Some of you might know that I attended the Storyline conference in January here in San Diego.  On a beautiful sun dreached weekend (read: pouring down rain) at the gorgeous PLNU campus, I first encountered Jon Acuff and a bunch of other amazing people who all had one thing in common:  a story to tell.

I have been stuck in a little bit (read: a lot) of fear about telling my story and putting some of it out there for other people so the 30 Days of Hustle seemed like the perfect time to get unstuck and just force myself to do it.

If the fact that I am "cheating" and writing for 40 minutes today since I "skipped" yesterday (didn't know where to start, how to start, if I could start) gives you any indication as to why joining a group to keep me accountable to this task is so important -- then, well you get me.

WHY am I writing? This simple question....ironically taken from the mug I bought myself at Storyline that is now on my desk where I am typing now.  Here's the question:  WHAT WOULD THE WORLD MISS IF YOU DON'T TELL YOUR STORY?

Indeed...

Most of you know me as the girl who posts an inspirational quote every day, who is always smiling, who you might call if you want advice about love, fashion, or where to eat in a new city.

The girl who has and is so grateful for a happy and easy life.

All of these things are true and I am so blessed. Don't get me wrong.

But it's the dark moments, the sadness, the rock bottom of my life (yes, I've had one, maybe two) that actually make me this happy go lucky, fly by the seat of my pants kind of person you might know and love.

As these 30 days go by, I will share my story with you -- some happy, some sad.  All of it makes me who I am and also who I am not.

All of it true, all of it real.

For a while, a friend has been having "Truthful Tuesday" on Facebook.  I have never posted because I thought I had nothing to say. 

Well, maybe I was just too afraid to say it but now -- here's the hustle.

The dream is free, the hustle is sold separately.

I'm grateful for this 30 days of hustle because it helped me (a la Carrie Bradshaw in Sex And The City) set up my laptop, start typing and see where the big questions take me.

Will you join me as I hustle?  Do you have a dream that you want to make real?  Join me....or just read along as I get real.

Either way -- ask yourself the question:  WHAT WILL THE WORLD MISS IF YOU DON'T TELL YOUR STORY?

I wish you the courage to tell it.

A co-worker told me the other day: use your talent for good.  I hope these next 30 days is a step in the right direction -- using my talent for good.

As a friend says at the end of his blog, thanks for following.....

xo,
Margaret