This is one of my favourite New Age doozers. Puhleez. Like, getting hosed because you didn’t get it in writing wasn’t a major drag. And spilling your friend’s secret to the wrong person burnt that bridge to a crisp. Or not saying “yes!” to the one that got away – well, THAT sucked. There are such things as mistakes. Major screw-ups and human stupidity happen to the best of us. The rest of us are in denial.

And yes, yes, mistakes are positively divine, each one moves us forward – even the ones that flip your world upside down. I’ve never made a mistake that I didn’t learn to love. But before we spiritualize and varnish the error of our ways, it’s incredibly useful to put our faux pas under the microscope. It’s liberating. It’s grown up. It’s dignified. And best of all, once you see your mistakes for what they are – you are more certain to good and truly move on!

Give it a go: Admit to your mistakes. Just admit it. No one else is listening. Make a pathetic, grizzly list of all the “sooo should not have’s” in your life. Don’t resist it. Clean house! (I’ll go first: should not have done a 50/50 deal with X, should not have shared the news that G’s wife was having an affair with his…sister, should not have struck a “creative control” deal with last publisher, should not have gotten B’s name tattooed on my ass.)

I wager that rather than feeling grossed out, you might get kind of giddy – eventually. You could feel the rush of knowing better, the delight of being the wiser for your wear. A subtle sense of compassion may start wafting into your being. Okay, maybe you still feel like a total dork. But find solace in your maturity. Because it takes courage to look your life squarely in the eye and admit your humanity. Humility clears the path to higher knowing…or a good laugh.

I don’t know if it was the cigarette or my twisted mind that lead me to start reliving the long weekend, each piece of garbage at a time. “Is this all that is left of my life”, I thought, “a black garbage bag on a Monday morning, ready to be trashed again over the coming week?” The bag more or less represented my whole life, or the lack of it.

There were three envelopes that once carried the manuscripts of a book that I had sent to different publishers. All returned unopened, marked “return to sender” with a lousy sorry note attached which conveyed a tired, mocking “Yeah rrrright!”

There was a credit card receipt for fifteen hundred bucks that I pissed off at a pub on the Friday night with people, half of whom I didn’t even know and the remaining half, I wish I didn’t know. Still I went to spend the Friday night with them just for the want of human company and to feel alive. Staying alone gives me an overdose of privacy which I need to shake off every now and then. With no real friends around, beggars can’t be choosers; you go with whomever is ready to go with you.

Hiding under it was a movie ticket stub for The Hangover. While it was by far the funniest movie I saw in a very long time, I wished the whole time that there was someone beside me in that theatre with whom I could share my laughter. There are a bunch of people I could have gone to the movie with, but there wasn’t even one in that bunch whom I wanted to be with me. So even though it was a funny movie to watch on a Saturday afternoon, it was quite depressing getting out and knowing that it was Saturday and I had nowhere to go but home. So I decided to burn some fuel pointlessly and roam around the city of Hyderabad. Those oil reserves ain’t drying up for another half a century and I have bigger things to worry about. I went around the city, and realised even though it boasts of a rich history, there isn’t much in the city except malls. Malls of all shapes and sizes, big, small, cheap, costly but mostly pretentious.

Joining hands with the ticket stub was another credit card receipt for two thousand bucks, which I blew away on a pair of sneakers that I didn’t even want, if I must be honest. I bought it while I was browsing through one of the malls. God knows my credit was touching an all time high and the market did not look good enough to expect any kind of raise. These plastics are getting to me. No matter what I do to keep them inside my wallet, they keep coming back with a vengeance and accumulating charges bigger than the last time.

“Is this all that is left of my life”, I thought, “a black garbage bag on a Monday morning, ready to be trashed?” Credit card bills, lame trips to malls, lousy weekend get togethers and loneliness, is this all that I have accomplished over all these years?”

Rolled up in a paper ball was an airplane ticket of the round trip that I took to Calcutta on Sunday. My maternal grandmother had passed away and my mom was insistent that I show up personally to pay my respects. I never enjoyed these family gatherings, happy or sad; they were always full of gossips and hypocrites. I bid my farewell to granny and was sitting in a corner waiting for a couple of hours to pass so that I could be on my flight back home. My mother came and joined me, and even in that difficult time she managed to put on a smile for me which oozed love, affection and a genuine concern. We just sat there talking about nothing and everything for the next two hours, and even though she never asked, I don’t know how, but she knew exactly what was going on in my life. It is kinda spooky the way she always reads me. Just before leaving she gave me a hug and said, “I love you son, please come and visit us in the near future.” I felt a warm feeling envelop me and in my mother’s love I found the reason for my life.

I never understood how in the western culture moms become a thing of the past once you move out. For me, my mom will always be there. That one hug, drove away all my loneliness, made me feel wanted more than ever before, and probably gave me the will to keep up the fight. I know that when I make it big, she will be there to share it with me. Girlfriends may come and go but my mom is the constant in my equation.

I ashed my cigarette butt before taking one last drag and flicking it out of the window. I sealed the bag. I watched as down in went, through the chute, taking all my miseries with it. It was a new week, and I had bills to pay and expectations to meet… so off I went to work.

For fear of not being accepted, we tailor our personality, mince our words, and carve our opinions to fit in. It takes courage to be real – and it takes stamina because if you want the best out of life, it will demand the best of you time and time again.

When you choose to be real, there will likely be tough choices and 11th hour changes. There will be misunderstandings, uncomfortable silences, and sometimes, there will be isolation.

When do you feel like giving up? What discourages you, or tempts you to doubt that sweetness is on the way? Now, write down three remedies for discouragement….lunch with your best friend; a visit to church; dusting off your diplomas, re-reading a love letter, swimming twenty laps; warm soup eaten in silence.

My three most regularly practiced remedies for discouragement:

1. Call Candis. She will say something so country-wise and lovely that I’ll either laugh or cry, and either is great.
2. Rose hip clay face masks, preferably Eminence. Sometimes exfoliating your face also takes the slough off your spirit.
3. Review my body of work (go back to grade school stories if I have to) and remember that I have an agent who’s waiting for me to deliver.
4. Bonus remedy: I read some Abraham Hicks. It’s the ultimate woo woo that is usually bang on my cosmic sensibilities. The basic message: you are exactly where you are supposed to be and all is well. Have fun.

Now practice just one of your remedies this week to keep your stamina strong. A little preventive soul love is mighty strong.

That should have been the pinnacle of my success as an ads and promo manager in the multinational company where I worked. But even then, I was hiding a secret, a loneliness and depression so debilitating that I almost crumbled under its weight.

A few days before the event started, I had said goodbye to my sister who flew to Michigan to visit a friend. It was the last time I was to see her for quite a while. The reality of her absence never really hit me until I arrived in Dumaguete. I found myself alternating between tears and dread, sadness and depression. I felt like I did when my mother died death and it was left to my sister and I to hold the family together. With my sister gone, I felt bereft, abandoned and lonelier than I could ever explain.

It was an implosion of the heart, mind and body that followed. The glamorous job that used to bring me so much pleasure was losing its attraction for me. My mind began to wander. I began to lose the edge that made me so effective in my job. I started missing deadlines. I found myself beginning to distance myself from my colleagues mentally and physically because of this sudden and inexplicable feeling of insecurity and loneliness. Added to this, was the growing paranoia that my boss, who was planning to move to Australia, was looking at me with professional jealousy because I was in line for a promotion when she left.

Months passed and I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into the emotional and professional limbo. I was deeply unhappy.

I turned to the internet for solace. There I met a guy in one of the popular online social networks. He introduced himself to me as Vince. He was 27 years old and lived in Davao. Vince told me that he had a son with a woman whom he hasn’t gotten around to marrying just yet. He was unemployed but waiting for his visa so he could go to the Middle East to work at one of the US military bases there.

I met Vince during a holiday break in June 2009. He was a decent enough guy; kind of shy and well-educated but otherwise nothing spectacular about him stood out. We had lunch and saw a movie. Afterwards, we headed off to my hotel room where we had sex.

At age 44, I had managed to remain a virgin for God knows what reason. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had numerous boyfriends in the past but never slept with any of them. Many have tried to seduce me but I’ve always been rather shy and frightened of intimacy. I still believed in the purity of love and marriage, bless my silly little heart. But why was it different with Vince this time? I was not in love with him but I saw in him my one last chance to re-engineer and overhaul my old frightened self.

I’ve learnt that when you’re unhappy, the only way to fight it, is to immerse yourself completely in emotions that are unfamiliar and new.

Raw emotions challenge you to think out of the box and making love to a man for the first time was a life-changing choice I made without a tinge of reservation or regret.

That one-night stand, I shared with Vince was a milestone experience that left an indelible mark on me as a woman on the cusp of changing her life. Intimacy was nothing to be feared. A man’s kiss was meant to be enjoyed.

When I went back to Manila and resumed my life, I felt more alive than ever since my sister left. I left Davao without a parting farewell from him. No text messages, no calls. My cell phone was silent. Three or four days later, a text message arrived. It was from him. I read it with gratitude. I knew now that I had met one of life’s mysterious challenges head on when it presented itself to me. I was strong enough to embrace life and its surprises. I made a choice that will change the regular pattern of inhibition that used to define my relationships. But most of all, I made a choice knowing that something in me was going to change forever.

Casual sex or not, I will always think of Vince with gratitude. Because he held me in his arms in tenderness and understanding. Because he laughed at my feeble jokes. Because he shared something deep of himself in the short time we were together.

It was not love. We were simply two lonely people meeting at the right time to share some warmth and a connection. The world can be a lonely place and from time to time, we need a harbor where we can safely shelter with a kindred soul — at least until the rain stops and we go home once again to a life of quiet desperation.

Role models are useful. They are lighthouses when dream-chasing gets cloudy, they are proof of stamina and magic. But emulation is tricky terrain. I have a friend, an aspiring novelist and brilliant writer in her own right, who said to me once that she wanted to be the “Canadian Anne Lamott,” I said, “Why don’t you just be the global You?”

We must have the daring to be nothing but ourselves if we are to know what true power is.

Comparison is crazy-making. It stamps on potential and truth and all the good things you might already have going for you if you weren’t so busy shadow-boxing with the people whom you think have it better. Would you compare a snowflake to a snowflake to decide which was more beautiful and unique? No two snowflakes are the same.

Comparison is a slippery slop to envy and for the most part, envy wastes energy that could be put towards getting what you want or optimizing what you have. It’s a trap. I used to envy trust-fund babies and my friends with rich parents. “Poor me…no leg-up, born into an average family, gotta be self-made…” Yack. Whatta waste of mind space – space that could be filled with creativity and ingenuity.

So here’s the freedom-generating habit to stop comparing and to melt envy:
1. When you’re tempted to compare yourself to others, stave off the comparing by feeling your way into your dream. Rather than comparing, imagine. Imagine yourself feeling the way you want to feel – successful, brilliant, artistically free, earthy, healthy, connected. That’s it. You’re not making yourself less than or more than anyone else – you’re simply giving yourself permission to want what you want.
2. Bless the people you feel envious of – the rich, skinny, in-love, confident, powerful people. Quicker than you can say “I wish I had that…,” say to yourself, or even better, to them, “Way to go…you look great…I admire you.” With envy out of the way, you’ll have more space for your own greatness to step forward.

A well known painter friend of mine once said that having an art show is like “pulling down your pants in public.” My favourite mystery quote about acting is, “acting is like being naked on stage and turning around very very slowly.” People ask me if I get nervous before a big speaking gig. My answer, “If I’m not nervous, I’m in trouble.”

It’s not so much nervousness as it is delighted-but-anxious butterflies that are reminding me that: the stakes are high when you’re hanging your story out for all to hear; screwing up would suck severely; and that the universe is rooting for you…but don’t screw up. On the rare occasion when I have NOT felt some butterflies, when I’ve been smug {one of my least favourite human behaviors} and thought to myself, “slam dunk, I’ve got this in the bag,” then I was either less-than-amazing, or I didn’t really care and shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

HOW TO MAKE DOUBT WORK FOR YOU:

1. Smug is the enemy of excellence. If you’re not even slightly doubtful or anxious about your performance, talents, contributions, or big presentation, than you better generate yourself some positive doubt. Lance Armstrong doesn’t enter the race thinking it’s a done deal. He knows he could lose so he tries harder to win. No matter how many times you’ve performed the surgery, made the sale, or given the pitch, you’re not infallible. Play to your audience. Be present. Watch for cues. Refine your intentions.

2. Bring YOU forward, along with your doubts. “Naked” and “artist” are often used in the same context because true self expression is a form of vulnerability. And it’s that exposure, that authenticity that makes all the difference. Whether you’re writing a report or teaching yoga class, sincerity is the winning formula.

3. Anxiety is healthy. A little bit of anxiety opens the doors to possibilities and strength…adrenaline, clarity. It’s a rush telling you that you’re alive and that you can do it – even if you need to put the doubts firmly in their place – you can do it.

Before almost every Fire Starter session or stage gig I have a mini moment of doubt and think to myself, “I really hope I can be of some use here,” Or, “If this crowd doesn’t laugh in the first three minutes, I’m cooked.” And then I take a deep breath and smile. And my butterflies and I head out to take flight.

Alfred Hitchcock movies have become a recent obsession of mine. However, while watching Vertigo for the first time a couple of days ago, I found myself thinking of the great re-make possibilities (evidence of the influence of the non-original; important to note that I am not a snob in this regard, just aware). Having heard about this movie for years before I actually sat down to watch it, I must admit that I found it slightly melodramatic – I realize that this melodrama is a bit of a Hitchcock hallmark – but I thought this particular story could be improved. Jimmy Stewart – one of my favorite actors of all time, and apparently one of Mr. Hitchcock’s – was, of course, good; but, especially toward the end, I found Kim Novak and the acting in general, to be a little, well, cheesy? Not to say Hitchcock wasn’t a genius. I would truly hesitate to recommend a remake of North by Northwest, Notorious or even Rear Window, but I think Vertigo is a possibility. And maybe The Birds. I don’t know. That movie’s melodrama and pre-digital filming may be part of what makes it so frightening, part of the essence. Well, others would likely say the same for Vertigo — just my opinion here, really.

Anyway, obsessing over Hitchcock movies and observations on originality are recent by-products of my current life circumstances. I like to refer to this time in my life as its ‘intermission’. When, at 45, you have (and I’ll summarize here) worked your way through college and are the first in your family to graduate, met and married the (very complex and challenging) love of your life, carried and are raising three children, built a home, adopted too many animals, and are working so hard that it seems ridiculous to have to count calories and fight a pesky 20 pounds, it can come as quite a shock when your career comes to a screeching halt as the economy takes a ‘should have been foreseen’ tumble and jobs are lost, careers de-railed and industry devastated – especially if you happen to live in the infamous Detroit area.

In summation: My husband’s company went under two years ago and I lost my job 10 months ago. We are both unemployed for the first time, ever (remember, 45 here). We’ve both worked our way up in our careers, and in recent years we’d started to make a little headway on pursuing those dreams we all hear about. Being optimistic-minded people, we were not prepared for derailment. In a nutshell, we are screwed. Hence, a self-preserving obsession with escapism.

Movies and books are my anti-depressant alternative. Now, I am not leading a non anti-depressant rally, although I do sometimes feel a sense of concern at what the long term effects may be – not that I have any idea. They are just so prevalent, like antacids, sleep aids and Viagra. It seems reasonable to believe that there may be some ‘not good’ consequence in the long-term.

Then again, I have been known to fortify my own psyche with liberal servings of red wine or various tequila-based drinks that pair nicely with a Marlboro Light (yes, I am a ‘two-drink-in’ smoker, especially when at a bar or outside) from time to time . . . so I most certainly must digress. Mood or anti-stress enhancements take many forms, and we all have an activity that calls to our awareness. You know that behavior you would prefer not be brought to your attention by your spouse or grown child,“Please don’t light up a cigarette, mom – you know how bad that is for you?”

My answer, “Yes. FOUR. – and – Yes I do, leave me alone.” I believe I have earned the right to make my own bad decisions from time to time. (The age card is great. I plan to play it for the rest of my life.)

Please note the ‘time to time’ caveat. If I begin to fall over the edge from ‘independent-minded adult’ to ‘really out of control mess’, it’s nice to know that those I love may actually try to stand between me and falling off a cliff. Even with recent circumstances – I’m still an independent-minded adult here. Until you see me with dirty hair and pajamas, sputtering and lying on the floor – I got it.

Birthdays are a big deal. Monumental. Sacred. What could be bigger in your life than the day you were born?! I always feel pouty for someone who thinks birthdays are no biggie. Sadness. Every birthday is an opportunity to celebrate, get mushy, root down into your essence and be reflective, to think highly of yourself, and party hearty. I mean really, if you can’t have fun on your birthday, you’re doomed for the next 355 days of the year.

FREE BIRTHDAY RITUALS
1. Chant your name twelve times. Do it in the shower if you’re worried about the neighbours listening in. It’s amazing how grounding and moving this exercise can be. Claim your space in the universe.
2. Look into the mirror. Beyond checking for new wrinkles or spots, look into your own eyes and give your love to the person you see. She may be glowing. He may be full of regret. She or he is all you’ve got. Pour kindness onto your image.
3. Make some outlandish wishes based on how you want to FEEL in the coming year. Desired. Free. Top of your game…
4. Call your parents and thank them for being your parents. No them, no you.
5. Cry if you need to.
6. Get drunk if you want to.
7. Wear something special.
8. If the previous year was a tough one, scribble out the reasons and burn the page.
9. If the previous year was an amazing one, scribble out the reasons and burn the page. I think every birthday needs to involve fire of some kind.
10. Tell everyone (the cab driver, the barista, your teacher) that it’s your birthday. You’ll get free stuff, lots of positive attention, and people will tolerate your “I’m a righteous babe” attitude.

Of course, with the exception of #10 – you can do all of these rituals any ol’ day, like tomorrow. Because life is short and there is no one alive who is Youer than You.

When we are frustrated we lose patience and the ability to be civil to others. This generation needs patience more than its predecessors. Those were the days when people received letters by the snail mail post, weeks after they were sent and they would welcome them with enthusiasm and excitement. Now we are complaining about our computer speed and how we can improve it by nanoseconds. We have taken our speedy information access and work beyond human levels with our man-made machines and now we have grown impatient with any activity that is slow and time-consuming. Thus, impatience has become a social disease.

How do we cultivate patience? One word: FAITH. We must learn to have faith in our fate and ourselves. Faith that, in the end, everything is meant to be fine, and if it’s not as we anticipated then it’s not the end. Order, rather than chaos is the ultimate goal of the universe. So whenever you look, look at the bigger picture, which is the more accurate one. Remember, “Our patience will achieve more than our force,” said Edmund Burke.

The other thing we tend lose quickly is our head. The familiar demons of temper outbursts and long-abiding anger keep haunting us. This happens because either we try to control situations according to our rules or we believe that we haven’t been given enough control by others. Let us get one thing as clear. For whatever reason we might be here, it has nothing to do with controlling anything. So why stretch?

Now, how do you keep a cool head? Again, one word: AVOID. Try to reduce your passion for the things that arouse your anger. Try not to belong to the things that hurt you. The only thing you belong to is your spirit. Everything else is meant to distract or destroy you – but only if you allow it to happen. If there’s a particular person, reason, or passion that test your temper then remove it from your life or get yourself out of the situation. Escape it or avoid it.

The only unavoidable thing in life is death.

Finally to sign it off….Life’s real wisdom lies in taking serious things lightly and light things seriously.

Naturally, we want try to get as far away from anxiety as possible – which usually just results in us being anxious about being anxious. You resist and so it persists. But what if rather than pushing it away, we actually welcomed anxiety when it showed up? What if, rather than dreading the discomfort it brings, we looked at anxiety as a delivery service of inner truth and other such soul goodies? Because every time anxiety shows up, it’s our psyche’s way of saying, “Knock knock, I’ve got something to show you about yourself that you really should see.”

Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard explained anxiety is a natural condition. (How liberating!) He believed that anxiety is “a cognitive emotion that reveals truths that we would prefer to hide but that we need for our greater health.”

And that it’s a valuable to for shaping our ideal lives. Think of it this way, beneath the butterflies in your stomach, behind the clouds in your mind – is your greater truth, and it’s trying to break on through.

TURNING ANXIETY INTO POWER

STEP 1: Face reality. “I’m anxious.”
Simply notice your anxiety. Firstly, you need to be aware of your actual indicators of anxiety – they can be different for everyone. A lot of the times anxiety is trying to talk to us and we’re just not picking up on the physical or mental cues. For me, anxiety manifests in what I call, priority confusion. If I wander from room to room in the house, unsure if I should tidy, check my email, walk the dog, or write a novel, then I know something is up. I’m typically very laid back and laser-like decisive so if I can’t figure out what’s first on the to-do list, I know that anxiety has come callin’.

When you see the signs of it, all you need to do is simply state it. “I’m feeling anxious.” There. You said it. You probably feel better already. Getting real is always the best first step.

STEP 2: Inquiry. “So, why am I anxious?”
This is the step that requires real work. It’s the kind of inquiry that calls for both concentration and compassion – a tricky combo. Having an “inquiry image” might be helpful. I often see dilemmas as layers of soft, earthy sediment within myself, and each question is a drilling down through the silt. “So why am I anxious?” I ask myself. “Because I don’t want to be late.” Not quite, that doesn’t feel true. “So why am I anxious?” I repeat. “Because I’ve got so much to do.” Nope, that’s not it either, it’s not making sense to my heart. “So why am I anxious?” I drill down. “Because I’m afraid that when I show up I’ll be rejected.” Bingo.

When you get to the true reason for your anxiousness, and there may be more than one explanation, then there’s usually a softening that occurs when you come across it.

So you called it like you see it. That’s powerful. And you’ve identified the reason – even more powerful. Now you’re ready to rise above it.

STEP 3: Take responsibility.
This is where your real power comes in. This is the fun bit, where you get to be a creative grown up, the master of your own domain. Once you’ve discovered why you’re feeling anxious – whether it’s fear of failure, or a memory of past hurt or humiliation, then you need to counter the fear and negativity with courage and optimism. It’s that simple – and that challenging.

Whatever you want to call it, positive thinking, re-framing, self-encouragement, ra-ra-rah, this is where you need to step up to the plate, look at your fear head on and confront it with your truth. The truth being, that you manage to get through everyday whether with grace or grit; that fear will not kill you; that your God, or your friends, or your grandma in heaven will have your back; that you have risen above before, and that you will rise above again; that, it’s only life after all.

Anxiety doesn’t come bearing the solution. It’s just there to direct your attention to the problem. It’s like a headache that signals to you that you’re hungry. The headache reminds you that your body needs nourishment, and then it’s up to you to feed yourself. Self-care is a divine responsibility. To befriend anxiety is to choose your deepest strength. It’s turning brain fuzz into brilliance, and the jitters into vital fuel to help you shine brighter than ever.

Each of us has a different model of reality which is constructed with the words we use—these are called mental maps. Different languages represent concepts in different ways and the structural differences in languages impose unavoidable differences on our mental models of reality.

Even when we speak the same language we have different meanings for the same words. Meanings are not in the words but in our minds. I go one step further — the words we use to describe something, will influence our thinking about that subject without us being consciously aware of this influence.

We may believe that we think before we use a word but in reality the words we use determine our thinking—this is one of life’s many paradoxes. .

This last point was brought home to me when at a round table discussion in Washington DC, someone made the remark, “How can anyone condone gay marriages? This relationship is unnatural.” I requested the speaker to clarify what she meant by ‘unnatural.’
“Against nature,” she said.
I persisted, “Who determines what is for or against nature, and how does one determine what is against nature? Why should ‘unnatural’ mean ‘bad’? ”
‘”Look,” she said, “Most marriages from time immemorial have been between man and women. So gay marriage is unnatural.”
I continued, “Ninety three percent of people on the earth are right handed. Are the remaining seven percent left handers unnatural and therefore wrong?”
There was silence.

I am not taking any stand on gay marriages but merely drawing your attention to how the words we use, in this case the word ‘unnatural’, influence our thought processes. If she had said that gay marriages are uncommon as of now, then it would have been a cold statistical fact and the discussion might have been less emotional.

Recently some Hindus represented to Muslim leaders to consider not using the term ‘kafir’ to describe Hindus. This word immediately conjures up in the minds of many Muslims, negative stereotypes and emotions that cause conflict. I believe this is another instance of a word influencing the thinking process.

I have observed that the mainstream English language media in India such as the Mumbai/Delhi magazines, newspapers and television channels use the word ‘conservative’ in all references to Chennai. In my personal experience I have seen that there is hardly any consensus on the definition of the word ‘conservative.’ The definitions range from the disparaging to the appreciative! This is a classic case of a concept existing not in a dictionary but in the minds of people.

According Alfred Korzybski: “No two brains contain exactly the same ‘meaning’ for any word, expression, or concept and therefore there can be no universal true-for-everybody meaning of any verbal map.”

Reckless use of emotionally charged language can lead to wars, riots and ethnic conflict.

Use of words like ‘Untouchable’, for example can lead one down the path of degrading behaviour. The word ‘kafir’ can and does lead to another emotionally charged word ‘jehad’, and this leads to war.

The ongoing economic crisis in the US and other countries has led to a verbal skirmish. There was serious resistance to using the word “Depression” and every attempt was made to bring the word “Recession” into currency. Even the latter was used hesitatingly with subtle references to the ‘R’ word! It was as if using a word could in fact usher in a severe economic crisis. That is really an acknowledgement of the power of a word to influence thinking and behaviour.

Korzybski believes that language expresses our thoughts and also creates our thoughts.

The phenomenon of some cities in India changing their names: Madras to Chennai, Calcutta to Kolkatta, Bombay to Mumbai etc, is an attempt to assert local identity .

The power of words to attract or repel people can be seen in another phenomenon. Who would care to see a movie that had as its hero, a man named Thomas Mapother? But when he changed his name to Tom Cruise, it made a difference. Another unknown actor born as Goswami, when rechristened as Manoj Kumar was welcomed with open arms.

Whenever I hear someone referring disparagingly to a member of another community as ‘idiotic’ or ‘stupid’ – which is common in India, I suggest that he use the word ‘different.’ Often, this has the effect of changing the nature of the conversation to less emotional terms.

A wise man suggested that we treat life not as a ‘puzzle’ to be solved but as a ‘mystery’ to be lived. What he meant was that puzzles have a solution, perhaps only one solution. Life offers mysteries that can sometimes have no solution. Our desperate search for the answer to many of our dilemmas may in fact add to our miseries. Such is the hidden power of words.

My friend Ali, suggests that some mullahs need to use the term ‘Galatpheimi’ rather than ‘blasphemy’ when dealing with supposed insults to Islam. That way mullahs may actually present Islam as a religion of compassion – as it is usually viewed from their perspective. Again the power of a word.

There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed, healed and done with.

When you’ve finally hit the lowest point, you know that the only thing that can happen is an upswing, leading to the road of recovery. You know and understand that it is going to be a very slow process, but you are happy anyway because you know that you are going back up to the light – your recovery. The healing has begun.

November, 2008 – May, 2009

I have taken charge of my life. I am healing slowly but surely in small baby steps. From outside, the cracks don’t show because I manage my emotions quite well. I am a social butterfly again. I feel stronger and I laugh a lot. And yes, I am enjoying the “Dostana” songs again, even dancing to the tunes. I am not fully back yet but the red carpet is in place to welcome the old me.

Meanwhile people tell me they like the “changes” in me. I talk more openly and forgive more easily. I am calmer now and more compassionate towards others. I am not so tough on myself anymore. Everyone loves this change in me. What about me? I am still struggling like a stubborn child. I still feel as if I were changed by force and it hurts. I feel as if I have been defeated – brought to my knees and changed.

But somewhere in my heart I know that the day I accept this change my suffering will be over. The healing will be complete. Meanwhile, I have decided to go back to my old passions: pottery and poetry. I am more spiritual and prayers have a different meaning now.

These are the “therapies” among others which I have incorporated in my life to help me in my recovery.

A) Affirmations

1) I am just going through a phase and it’s not permanent.
2) A man is but the product of his thoughts, what he thinks is what he becomes.
3) I am going to wake up in the morning bursting with energy and joy to discover what the day holds for me.

B) By choosing to be with positive people. I am making new friends and reconnecting with old ones.

C) By eating healthy, exercising and meditating.

D) By reading and opening my mind to new thoughts.

E) By going back to doing things I haven’t done in a while.

I have always taken pride in my energy and my ability to make my dreams come true. To me, healing does not mean that the damage never existed. It means the effects of the damage no longer control our lives.

No one enjoys suffering though great men tell us suffering has a purpose: “If you have not suffered as you have, there would be no depth to you as a human being, no humility, no compassion. Suffering cracks open the shell of ego, and there comes a point when it has served its purpose. Suffering is necessary until you realize it is unnecessary. Suffering comes to make one realize something. True suffering does bring change and when that is done it leaves quietly the way it came.”

12th September (Night)

I was told to collect my results after two days since it was a special test which takes time. The next 48 hours were the worst in my life. I had never felt so scared. The feeling of despair was so new and unexpected – so raw and so real. I could feel it physically gripping at my throat. How does one deal with such a situation? I tried my best to contain it but I couldn’t keep it to myself. After a while I accepted defeat and gave in – I just surrendered to fear and went down – so far down that even today I am still clawing my way up.

I asked my husband to take the day off and the 24 hours passed. I did not sleep. I could not sleep. Every half an hour I would wake up in a cold sweat. By mid afternoon I was like a restless, caged animal. In the end I felt I could not contain my feelings anymore. I didn’t want to scare my family and didn’t want my husband and kids to see me that way. I called my best friend and she came to meet me. I put my head on her shoulders and cried my eyes out for hours. I told her how scared I felt and clung to her like a baby. When I had no more tears to shed I called the pathology lab, only to be told that they were not going to give me the results on the phone. I however insisted and eventually they gave in and told me my results were negative.

I started crying all over again – this time with relief. I thought I would feel better now. But I did not because the feeling of dread refused to leave me. I was told to wait until December and go for another scan. The long waiting game began.

September – Early October, 2008

Days went by and I sank lower and lower. I imagined all kinds of terrible things happening to me. My brain told me there was nothing to worry about; a lot of people had cysts and complex ones at that. No big deal. But my heart kept doubting my brain. It kept on planting awful thoughts in my mind and for the first time in my life I didn’t fight back. I just let the sadness wash over me.

I had stopped eating. For days I would roll myself into a ball and cry for hours. Managing my emotions outside was getting impossible. I had no idea when I would burst into tears. Someone had to simply ask about how I was feeling and while replying I would burst into tears. To avoid further embarrassment, I stopped going out and no longer met with people. I would look at my kids and feel pity for myself because I couldn’t enjoy them. I felt cursed, as if someone had cast a spell on me or given me the evil eye.

Mid October, 2008

By mid September, I decided to meet my doctor and tell her how I was “decaying.” Yes, that is what I felt happening to me. Slowly I was losing myself and I did not know the woman I had become. I felt hollow. A woman who would once wake up in the morning with the thought, “And what shall I conquer today?” Now I couldn’t even visit the doctor by myself. I had to call my friend and we made the trip together.

It was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. Exactly one year back, the same doctor had looked me in the eye and had told my sister that I was a very brave woman. Now here I was standing right in front of her eyes in a mess – nothing but a broken woman. But to her credit, she did not show disappointment in me. Instead she listened patiently and told me I was having a breakdown which is very normal in a woman after delivery – I just happened to have my meltdown a little later than usual. She told me I would be fine and that she had full faith in me. Faith? How could anybody have faith in me when I had none in myself?

I went home and decided that I had to break free of this circle of doom. I called up my sister to let her know that I was coming over to spend Diwali with her. I also told her what was happening to me. Then I called up my parents and it was their turn to be supportive. Then I sat down and had a full meal. It had been ages since I had eaten anything substantial. I was ready to take charge of my life again.

Late October, 2008

My sister came to receive me and we went home with a wan smile from me and an open hug from her. Her family including her mother-in-law, treated me like a flower and even took my kids under her wings. My sister and I spent time doing things we hadn’t done in a while. We would go for outings and my sister and daughter would sway to “Dostana” songs. I recall looking at them while praying, “Dear God, can you make only that much happy so I can enjoy a good song and not feel sad for a while? Can you please give me a small gap in between, when I am not trembling with fear?”

We went for a scan which my sister insisted on, so I could put my at rest. The scan showed that the cyst was no longer there! Yes it had disappeared. It went the way it came—quietly! We went out to celebrate and all evening, I pretended to be happy. I couldn’t understand why I still felt so sad after such good news. I had no answers. From there I went over to my parents’ place and again, everyone rallied around me and treated me like a princess. Later on when my husband picked us up, I decided that I had to crawl out of that dark place where I had fallen. I was missing the real me like hell.

November, 2008

I gave a name to my dark moods. I called them “waves” and actually began to talk about them, first with my family, then with my friends and finally with my online community group. It was only then I realized that the old me wasn’t dead. She was still breathing somewhere inside of me and I had to dig her out the darkness. One night when I couldn’t sleep, I took an oath to seduce my soul back into my body.

Don’t miss “Descent Into Darkness” Part 3

(The author has chosen not to reveal her identity)

No one can tell what goes on between the person you were and the person you become. No one charts that anguish of descending into a private hell.

There are no maps of the changes.You just come out on the other side a different person.

This is my effort to chart my descent into hell. I am still on that journey and experiencing the changes. I don’t know what I will be in the end, but right now, all I know is I am not who I used to be: a strong, confident, assertive, happy and self-assured woman who had faith in herself.

Among the attributes that I have lost is faith – and faith is what I miss most.

Maybe because faith is the one quality to which all others were anchored. Or maybe because faith was something I was born with and everything else came later. Whatever the reason, I miss having faith and I hate the emptiness that is left in me.

Here is a diarized account of how I lost my faith.

31st December, 2005

We attended an amazing New Year’s bash at a beachside bungalow with friends and had a good time playing cricket on beach, making sand castles and doing things I haven’t done in years. We partied all night and I had so much fun.

January, 2006

The first week of this month was full of activities with many visits from good friends and close relatives and I enjoyed my time with them. By the beginning of the second week, I began to suspect that something was wrong with my body. I didn’t realize I was having a miscarriage because I did not know that I was pregnant in first place. I went for a blood test and misread it, only to be told later on that they could have saved baby if I had not misinterpreted the test results.
Did I lose my faith? Not then. Life went on and I had things to do. Did I grieve? No, I didn’t. I moved on, or at least I thought I did.

February-December, 2006

The remainder of year 2006 was spend taking care of my body. Doctors advised me to give myself a few months’ rest before we tried for another child. I was told to keep my weight down and to eat and exercise properly. As the year unfolded, I questioned myself about whether I really wanted to get pregnant again.

January, 2007

Another year began and soon I realized I was pregnant again. My mother was with me when the news came. I was happy but concerned at the same time. “Will everything be alright this time?” I kept asking myself. But I had so much faith in myself and in my body that eventually I convinced myself that nothing could go wrong. I was invincible.

June, 2007

All my medical reports were positive and promising and by June I began preparing for the new baby. By this time, my eldest daughter was emotionally ready to concede the throne to her yet-to-come sibling. We both secretly wanted a girl but my dear husband, like the sweetheart that he is, just wanted a healthy baby. Gender didn’t matter to him.

July, 2008

In July, I discovered I had CTS, carpel tunnel syndrome. In a few days it became so bad that I could not make the simplest move without wincing in pain. This was difficult for me to accept because I have been healthy all of my life. Never had even those stress headaches that plague most people. Now suddenly I was experiencing excruciating pain. The simplest of chores like lifting a cup or combing my daughter’s hair became a herculean task for me. In the months that followed, the situation deteriorated. I was told that some women get CTS during their pregnancy and it disappears after delivery. All I could do was bear the pain and wait for it to eventually go away.
Did I lose faith? No, I didn’t! Life went on because I had a home to run, a family to look after and dreams to fulfill. I had no time to feel sorry for myself so I bore it all well with smiles when possible and hope for the future.

1st – 4th September, 2008

I went in for my final sonography. I was told to go for the ‘colour doppler’ as it was the most accurate one. I obliged and discovered that the umbilical cord was wrapped around my baby’s face. I was advised not to be too concerned because this happens fairly often in pregnancies. Again my faith came to my rescue. I discussed all possible scenarios – the best and worst possible outcomes and how to handle any situation. I believed that I could deal with any situation. But things went horribly wrong. I went through long hours of labour pain only to be rushed to the emergency operation theatre with the umbilical cord tightly wrapped around my unborn child’s throat….he was being choked.
Did I lose my faith? No, I didn’t! I had full faith in God and my doctor and together they managed to save both mother and child.

5th September, 2008

It was evening when the doctor came rushing to me. I was half delirious and weak after giving birth. He told me that he would have to rush my newborn son to the ICU (intensive care unit) because his breathing was too rapid and his sugar levels were falling. My husband had gone to pick up my sister at the airport. There was no one with the baby so I had to call my mother and she went with the ambulance.
Did I lose my faith? No, I didn’t!

7th September, 2008

Only mothers are allowed in the ICU so I was really excited to visit my son for the first time, on the third day after my operation. The nurses guided me to the room. As I stood there, I found myself dumbstruck for a few minutes. I was choking with emotions because I realised that I couldn’t recognize my own baby from among the five in the room. After I explained my situation to a nurse, I was taken to the table-like bed where my son was sleeping – with a big needle stuck in his tiny arm supported by a small block of thermacol to keep his arm straight. Two ominous looking wires were stuck to his chest by tape; one small tube was down his tiny nose and a soother was taped – yes taped – to his mouth.

I just stood there in horror, unable to believe what I was seeing. The tears were rolling down my cheeks as I walked out and asked my sister to take me back to the hospital.

Back in the hospital, I went straight to bed and slept for a while. I woke up screaming and crying hysterically. I felt as if I were being choked. I was breathless and in between sobs, I told my worried sister what I saw in the ICU and how I went numb with shock. I told her that I wanted my baby. My doctor was called and I asked her why they had chosen to tape a soother to my son’s mouth. I was very upset. She explained that some babies become cranky and it affects others who are in serious condition so it had to be done. I was told that it happened only rarely and they would try not to do it again.

I steeled myself and began visiting the ICU everyday. Most of the times, I found my baby asleep but I talked to him anyway telling him how much we were looking forward to taking him home. I told him about the name we had chosen for him and introduced him to his family.
Did I lose my faith? No I didn’t. My baby was alive and healthy and I was thankful. The rest was my karma. I reasoned that I had to experience this ordeal. I was ready to move on. At least I thought so. Did I or didn’t I move on? I am still hoarding that pink soother that was taped to my son’s mouth. Whenever, I am irritated or frustrated, all I have to do is look at that soother and my resolve to give all I have to protect him becomes stronger.

October, 2007

I visited to my doctor for a checkup and before I left, she hugged me and told my sister, “You know something? Your didi …she is a very brave woman.”

December, 2007 – June, 2008

I make friends with caution and care because when I consider someone a friend, I give that person the right to hurt me. My dear friend R, whom I considered as the baby brother I never had, took advantage of that right one day. He told me that he had that dreaded ‘C’ word – cancer. I was devastated. In the next few months, I spent time counselling and supporting him while taking care of my kids.

During this time, I also suffered the passing away of an uncle. There are times in life, when family members choose to leave your circle of loved ones. Our families were not on speaking terms but that did not mean that I stopped caring about him. When I got news of my uncle’s sudden death, I felt very sad. I said a silent prayer for him asking God to give strength to his wife and daughters.

Before I had my son, I had a very social life. There was time for pottery, music, movies and partying. Now here I was dealing with post-delivery issues and the fact that my dear friend R, was losing his battle with cancer. One day I got a call from another friend, who told me me that my friend R, had finally lost his brave battle against cancer. I grieved deeply. I missed our chats and I missed him like hell.
Did I lose my faith? No I didn’t. Life goes on. I reasoned that he must be in a better place. I moved on. Did I? I don’t know.

5th September, 2008

I dreamt, I planned and executed my son’s first birthday party. It was such a success that people still recall the fun and excitement. After ages, I felt at peace again. I was truly happy.

11th September, 2008

I decided to go for my annual medical checkup. I always went in for checkups feeling confident. Nothing major came up except a complex cyst….a complex cyst? Come again? What’s that? I had no idea so I went home and googled it. I felt myself growing cold. The word that came up again and again was….cancer.
Did I lose my faith. No I didn’t. Life goes on.

12th September, 2008 (morning)

I went to see my doctor and she looked at my report. She assured me that there was nothing to worry about and asked me to go for a CA 125 test. We both pretended that it was a simple test and there was nothing to worry about. After leaving the clinic, I told my husband to go home to the kids while I went in for the test. He left me at the local pathology lab and went home. I then went in for the simple blood test to rule out cancer.
Did I lose my faith. No I didn’t.

12th September, 2008 (late evening)

I came out of the pathology lab and stood waiting for a cab or auto to take me home. I was on the road for 20 minutes when the reality of it all finally hit me. I had actually gone in for a test, the results of which could change my life forever. I began to feel cold and apprehensive. I was shaking. I slowly got out of the auto knowing I was going home as a different woman from the one who had walked out of the house that morning.
Did I lose my faith? Yes, I think it was at that moment I finally realised that my faith was beginning to wither away. I was growing disillusioned.

Don’t miss “Descent Into Darkness” Parts 2 & 3

(The author has chosen not to reveal her identity)

I’ve never been through pregnancy depression like Christina, I don’t think I’ve ever been “clinically” depressed.  Well, maybe I have, but it certainly didn’t feel clinical. It felt morbid, cosmic, and unavoidably essential. When I was thirteen, my parents split for the umpteenth and final time and a few months later, my dad brought it to my attention that I’d been wearing the same hockey jersey for weeks and that I needed to start doing the dishes again. I was definitely depressed.

And there was the dark night after Magic Man flew back to London and the apartment felt like a keyless heartbreak hotel with barred windows. But my last extended dark night was about ten years ago. It was a new depth of crushing aloneness. Another break up, this time with Hot-but-Needy Actor Man in LA (I was equally needy) which triggered an exorcism of self doubt and psychic bile that, being thirty-something and ambitious, I just needed to get out of my system. (Note that it’s often not the actual loss that causes the depression – it’s all the crap that’s tied up in it that you needed to deal with anyway).

In that spell of depression I wore the same pair of butt-ripped Levi’s for weeks. I would lie in my backyard at two in the morning in nowhere New Mexico, smoking Marlboro’s, looking up at the stars, wondering about the fatality of scorpion bites, and praying for aliens to abduct me. (Not joking in any way). I cried every single day, sometimes twice a day, for weeks. I felt profoundly unheard….empty. As I’d fall asleep I felt as though chunks of my being were decomposing into the bed. It was a brutal ordeal of the psyche, but I knew I was being reborn. I did have faith that whatever new face was emerging, she would eventually smile back at me.

I learned a thousand subtle and mighty things about Life from those existential passages, but what I learned about depression itself is that, the more you resist it, the longer it lasts.

When depressed, I find it’s best to just be…depressed.

Happiness returns more quickly when you give yourself permission to be blue or any shade of black you need to be.

I understand that for some people, depression can be so severe as to be life threatening. It can grip a soul for decades. The kind of depression I’m addressing here falls somewhere within the category of disparaging life passages to profound melancholy, which is to say, likely manageable without drugs and positively surmountable. But I will go on record to say that, while I think medication for depression can be a viable option to break a cycle and regain one’s footing, I think we’re a culture overly prone to numbing out. And in doing so, we not only deny our own power, we carry our demons with us far longer than we have to.

How To Be Depressed So That Happiness Has a Better Chance of Returning — Sooner Rather Than Later

1. Give yourself full permission to be pathetic for a short period of time. In fact, relish the pathetic-ness. Enthusiastically wallow in self pity. If people let themselves have downer days more often, there might be fewer heart attacks and road rage. Being a total loser for a morning or a weekend isn’t the slippery slope to despair. It’s a direct route to what your emotions are trying to tell you: feel, heal, know thyself. And move on, more empowered than before.

2. Watch or read something depressing. Rent a some heart wrenching documentaries like, God Grew Tired of Us or War Dance and ball your eyes out. Chances are that your life will be looking pretty damn good in comparison.

3. Be incredibly, sublimely gentle with yourself, like you might be with a child or dear friend whom you deeply adore.

4. If someone who loves you asks how you are, admit to being blue. When a girl friend calls, let her know that it’s a dog day afternoon and that you’re happily in despair.

5. When the novelty of being depressed is starting to wear off, shake your arms above your head like you’re being saved by the Almighty Holy Spirit itself, turn on some loud opera music, and shout, “I’m depressed! I’m sooo depressed!” It is almost guaranteed that you will start laughing smirky giggles to deep belly laughs and you will decide to listen to the rhythm of your blues and keep on walking – more empowered than before.

6. Break your happiness fast with a treat. Write a kind note to yourself about how brave you are for being still in the dark, for standing down a monster or two. Dress up even if you work from home. Bring a plant to work and water it. Freshen up. And give yourself full permission to just be …. deeply happy.

What is particularly disorientating is that these emotions can fluctuate, sometimes wildly, and it is hard to know what they mean and how to handle them.

As I write, many countries are experiencing the worst economic crisis in living memory. This triggers many different emotions. Here in the UK, I have felt sadness, hopefulness, anger, confusion, excitement, resignation, optimism and anxiety. Many friends and colleagues have a similar experience, maybe you too?

We can begin to make sense of all this emotion using a model first developed by Dr Elizabeth Kubler Ross. She found that when a person experiences significant change there are five stages they go through in order to come to terms with it.

Let’s look at the five stages using, as an example, my emotions about the recession (though remember it applies to any significant change).

1.Denial – I try to convince myself that the recession is a media invention, a make-believe to attract attention to earn extra revenue. Or I deny that the recession will affect me as an individual even though it may impact others.

2.Anger – I look to lay blame: the banks, the government, the ‘system’, spend-thrifts, human greed. I even blame myself for not seeing it coming and taking some avoiding action. It’s just not fair that those who played by the ‘rules’ are penalized while those with unethical behavior have benefitted.

3.Bargaining – I look to do a deal. I will give up aspirations to change my 8 year old car if I am granted enough new clients to work with. I promise to work even harder if new opportunities are revealed to me to replace those that are lost.

4.Depression – what’s the point in struggling against the odds? A single individual has no influence. The problem is too big. Admit defeat, there’s no hope etc

5.Acceptance – I am where I am. Although I wouldn’t have chosen it to be this way, the world is as it is. I am alive and I’m part of this world. There is no need or use in playing the victim. As an autonomous human being, I can make my own decisions about what I’m going to do.

There are a couple of general points to notice.

First, although the progression is from step 1 to step 5, you may find sometimes that you move back and forwards a bit between stages. For example, I have dipped back into the anger stage more than once.

Second, the natural end-point is acceptance. The question is how long it takes you to get there. The sooner you do, then the sooner you will be empowered and proactive in creating your own way forward.

Recognising where you are within the five steps is the start of moving forwards and coming to a healthy and creative relationship with the change around you.

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Trevor Hill works with people who long for more energy, focus and fulfilment in their working lives. He believes that as we spend a major part of our lives at work, we should aim to get the most from it. Get your FREE copy of Trevor’s e-book ‘Passport To Inspiration’  at

http://www.inspiration-at-work.co.uk

It is essential to whole living that you get to the source of your pain and screwed up choices. What happened in your childhood or another life informs patterns in your current reality. But sooner or later, you’ve simply got to get over using yesterday to explain today’s behavior.

Decide to just get over it. Let it be that simple.

For most of us who had normally dysfunctional upbringings (I’m not talking about suffering exceptional atrocities or repetitive abuses) our past is no excuse to continue being a flake, a tyrant, obnoxiously needy, or a rage-babe. Look, we’re all terrific for going to therapy, for having past life insights, and reading Wayne Dyer. Yeah for the New Age. Really. But knowing why you’re so screwed up is only half the journey.

“My father never told me I’m pretty, so now I’m fat.”
“I was a pilgrim burned at the stake in my past life so now I’m afraid to voice my opinions.”
“My mother was overly emotional so I suppress my feelings for fear of being like her.”

Choose to let it be done.

I once dated a guy who thought he was Jack Evolved because he’d done enough time in therapy to know that his parents’ affair-riddled marriage rendered him commitment-phobic. “Babe,” he’d start to explain, “I’m just repeating my father’s behavior, it’s like, deep stuff.” Uh-huh. Like I care why you’re a two timing narcissist. Maybe a few more hours of therapy would have unearthed the courage in him to be a good boyfriend. I’ll take faithful over self-helped any day.

Therapy, yes. Strategy, yes.

It is immensely, undeniably valuable to excavate the origin of your fear and your pain. It’s down right essential. But when you start using that awareness as an excuse to stay stuck, you become the worst kind of victim. This is one of the potential problems with talk therapy. The rehashing of who-done-you-wrong and how it screwed you up could be better spent on making a plan to take full responsibility for creating a future that does right by your tremendous potential. I think after some incredible therapy, most people could do with a kick-butt life coach that helps them strategize and be accountable to their dreams.

An acquaintance and I were talking about her relationship with her step dad. It was no secret that they’d had a rough ride and there had been plenty said and done to make them both bitter. She was now working for him. I saw them laughing together, being affectionate, respectful.

“So…what changed?” I asked her. “You two were barely speaking at one point.”
“We just decided to get over it,” she shrugged. “You know, just let it go. So we did.”

Maybe enlightenment is a decision that has little to do with the past.