The Road You’re On

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When Shawn and I got married, we went on a spectacular honeymoon.  I’ll always remember how splendidly glorious it felt on our wedding night to walk into our honeymoon suite after the reception—me channeling my inner queen, donning a gorgeous, ivory satin gown with a heavy bouquet of calla lilies in hand—and settle into the reality that I would be doing zero lawyering for two weeks in favor of wine tasting for five days in Napa Valley, followed by seven days of utter relaxation in Maui, Hawaii.  

Mmmm, Maui.  It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.  Truly, with its exotic flowers, native traditions and awe-inspiring landscapes, it’s like being in a different country—only like, super comfortable because of the whole dollar-accepting, English-speaking, U.S. Constitution-abiding thing.  

Leading up to our visit, we repeatedly heard from folks at home and in Napa alike, “You have to take the road to Hana when you get to Maui.”  So when we checked in at the Grand Wailea a few days later and our concierge made the same recommendation, we knew we had to do it.  

We rented a Jeep, got a map and some bottled water, and set out on the trek to Hana, just two excited newlyweds up for an adventure.  We were told to set aside an entire day for the trip and had been given places to stop along the way.  

We visited Kuau Cove to watch powerful blue-green waves crash over and over again on the shore.  We hiked in flip flops through thigh-deep water to reach a breathtaking waterfall and swam in the freezing cold lagoon it poured into.  We walked barefoot along the beach at the Waianapanapa Caves, letting our toes sink into the black sand, dark from volcanic sediment and ash.  We explored a real lava tube in pitch black darkness with only the flashlights in our hands to guide us.

And then, at long last, we reached our destination.  

Hana, as it turned out, was fairly nondescript.  I sort of don’t even remember it. There was a visitor center, I think.  And maybe a koi pond? I’m sure in isolation it’s beautiful, perhaps even breathtaking.  I mean, it’s in Maui, after all. But after the absolutely incredible journey we’d just experienced, arriving at our destination was sort of, well . . . meh. 

That was almost 10 years ago.  It’s not often that I think about our honeymoon now with the day-to-day bustle of raising two kids, running a household, lawyering, aspiring to be an amateurish tennis champion and building an online business to consume my being and doing.  But the other day I was reading something that mentioned the road to Hana and I thought, Hey, I’ve done that!  

The author described the many sites along the famous route and warned that if you simply drove straight through them in an effort to get to Hana quickly, you would actually miss the whole point of taking the road to Hana in the first place. I nodded in agreement as I read.  After all, people don’t tell you to visit Hana. They tell you to take the road to Hana.  I smiled at the memory, and then it struck me for the first time ever:  

I understand—physically, experientially—what it means when people say “it’s about the journey, not the destination.” 

I’ve literally done it.

Yet it doesn’t register when I’m in Target wrangling my kids, stopping them from trying to murder each other by threatening to murder them myself, and an older woman smiles knowingly at me and says, “Enjoy the journey, honey.”  Always, I smile back politely and shake my head internally thinking, Enjoy this?! You cray, lady!  

It doesn’t register when my tennis coach, after witnessing me hit ball after ball into the net and then over the fence—whilst groaning and stifling blood-curdling screams—encourages me to “enjoy the process” of improving my tennis game.  Enjoy sucking?! I think, before demanding out loud to know when I’m going to start seeing results.  

And it definitely does not register when I’m enduring each phase of growing my business, bawling my eyes out because I can’t figure out a new plug-in or how to make WordPress do what I want it to do, gosh darn it! I don’t truly hear my blogging mentor when she tells me that this is the hardest but most exciting time of my business, when I’m throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what will stick, learning what to do and what not to do for my unique niche.  

No.  I’m too focused on getting to a time when my kids are bigger and better behaved, when my forehands skid off the baseline and don’t come back, when my blog has 10,000 subscribers.  

I’m focused on getting to Hana.  

Oops.  (Cue palm smacking into forehead now).  Man, oh man!  What have I been missing out on?  Did I already drive by the black sand beach and the lava tube?  Did I miss the waterfall?  

Talk about a total paradigm shift.  Seeing the process in that light turns it into something else entirely. It isn’t something to complain about. It’s something to be enjoyed. Photographed, memorialized, scrapbooked, even!

I’d venture to say the same is true for you, girlfriend.  Where do you find yourself squandering the journey in favor of the destination? On your way to becoming debt-free?  Or losing 25 pounds? Or earning a promotion at work? Perhaps it’s surviving this time of being home with two kids under two (or even three under three!). 

Whatever it is, don’t be so focused on getting to where you’re going that you miss experiencing the unthinkable miracles and opportunities surrounding you along the way. 

Enjoy the road you’re on, girlfriend. It’s beautiful. And so is who you’re becoming in the process.   


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Why Every Girl Needs a Celebration Circle

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Katie, Amy, Me and Steph

Did you know you are the average of the five people you hang around the most?  It’s a potent truth. It means you essentially share the behaviors and beliefs of the five people you spend the most time with.   That’s great news if you hang around five people who live intentionally and are generous, confident and kind. If, on the other hand, you spend most of your time with people who don’t believe they create their realities, complain, are lazy and settle for mediocrity then, well  . . . you know. So will you. 

Take a sec’ to let that sink in.

Acknowledging how much your Five influence you is one of the most powerful things you can do.  Think about any goal you’ve been trying to achieve. Depending on the quality of your Five, achieving that goal may be much more difficult than it could be, your great intentions notwithstanding.  

Let’s take losing weight as an example.  If you want to lose weight and get healthier, but you’re spending most of your time with people who don’t make healthy food choices and don’t exercise, it’s exponentially less likely that you’ll achieve your goal.  Makes sense right? But what if your Five was comprised of like-minded women who choose health and movement, who cheer you on and call you out and welcome you to do the same for them? Do you think your results would be better? 

No doubt, girlfriend.  

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I’m proud to say that, along with my husband and my friend Lara, my Five includes three very special women who started as business accountability partners but who are now my very best friends.  I call these women my Celebration Circle, and I am utterly convinced that you need one, too.  

I met Steph, Katie and Amy when we were all Team Leaders with a now defunct direct sales company called Wildtree.  Steph lives in Montana and Katie and Amy are in Wisconsin, so at first we only ever got together at company meetings.  Our friendship began with regular check-ins by phone during which we would share business goals and hold each other accountable for completing the commitments we had made on the call before.  Eventually we started communicating more regularly using recorded audio messages on Facebook Messenger. It wasn’t long before we began turning to each other for more than just business ideas and accountability.  We started to lean on each other, confide in each other and support each other as mothers, wives and friends.  

Today, I talk to Steph, Katie and Amy every single day, thanks to an awesome walkie-talkie app called Voxer.  I share everything with them, from mom fails to arguments with my husband to things you can only ever talk about with girlfriends.  I tell them my biggest dreams and my deepest fears. And because empowered women empower women, they encourage me to be my highest and best.   They challenge me. They give me ideas. They listen to me. They take my side. They openly disagree with me. They defend me. They call me out.  They love me fiercely.  

They celebrate me.  And I do the same for each of them.  

Having my Celebration Circle is a huge part of the fullness of my life.  But here’s the unexpected kicker: having them is also part of my success.   Experiencing the profound effect of a friendship like this makes me want it for everyone, including you, friend. If you don’t have a group of women who celebrate and comfort you, who lift you up when you’re down and push you to be your best, you need one. 

The big question, of course, is how do you create a Celebration Circle?  Well, this is where the rubber meets the road. Your Circle will come together as a result of upgrading your Five.  And I’ll be the first to tell you that upgrading your Five will probably be uncomfortable. The process requires you to take a long, hard look at some of your existing relationships.  But that’s the point.

Living your ideal life means surrounding yourself with people whose energy is serving you and the person you want to be.  

One of my Mary Kay mentors taught me a great exercise for examining the quality of your Five.  Are you ready to get real with your bad self? Grab a paper and pen and write down the five people you currently hang around the most.  Go on. I’ll wait.  

Once you have your list, write a plus sign (+) next to the people who are adding to the fullness of your life.  These are the people who embody what you want more of in your space. Perhaps that’s excellence, boldness, intentionality, confidence, positivity or accountability.  Maybe it’s mindfulness or creativity or just plain love. There are no wrong answers here. If they’re adding to your life, they get a plus sign.

Next, write a zero (0) next to the people who are not necessarily adding to your life, but aren’t taking away from it either.  These people are Switzerland—they’re neutral.  

Finally, write a minus sign (-) next to the people who are taking away from the fullness of your life.  These are the people who behave like crabs in a bucket. If you’ve never witnessed this phenomenon, suffice it to say they don’t hoist each other up in a, “I got you, girl!” kind of way.  It’s quite the opposite, in fact. If one of them tries to get out of the bucket, the others will pull her down. Literally. Relentlessly. They will keep her from rising up.  

I’ve seen human women behave this way as well.  Poisoned by a scarcity mindset, they believe that if they help another woman succeed, there won’t be enough success left for them.  God didn’t make the Universe abundant enough for us all to be successful at the same time, they tell themselves.  And so they pull others down, secretly hoping those women will fail so they can feel better about not excelling.  These are the people who drain your energy. They complain, nitpick or nag and, despite that you may love them, they make your space toxic.  

Now, once you’ve been raw and honest and designated each person as a positive, a negative or a neutral, take a look at what you’ve uncovered.  If you don’t see five plus signs, you’ve got some work to do if you want to create a true Celebration Circle. (And duh, of course you want that).  

Although it may seem harsh, that means eliminating the Bucket Crabs from your Five.  Now before you freak out, I’m not suggesting you eliminate them from your life (although with certain people, like my ex-husband, that will indeed be the case).   You’re just removing them from your inner circle. And yes, that’s true even if a Bucket Crab in your Five is someone you’re related to, which can make this endeavor extra sticky.  

There is no cookie cutter solution here, and I won’t pretend I have one.  We’re all navigating different dynamics with our Bucket Crabs. But, as with any goal, although you’re thinking big your actions must be small.  So instead of completely axing someone from your Five cold turkey, maybe you start with something as simple as not engaging when she calls to do her usual unloading of complaints and negativity.  Instead of trying to fix things or make suggestions and getting totally sucked in, just let her talk and empty her cup while you remain neutral.   

Once your Five is comprised of plus signs, creating a Celebration Circle is easy.  

I don’t think there’s any right or wrong way to do it, although I will say the beauty of mine is that we are completely balanced.  If you want to think of it in terms of “biologies,” I am the Control, Katie is the Influence, Amy is the Power and Steph is the Authority.  Or if we were witches, I guess Amy would be Earth, Steph would be Wind, Katie would be Water and I would be Fire. Whatever—the point is, we form a completely balanced circle, which means we each bring different perspectives to goal crushing and problem solving (as well as choosing restaurants, shoes and wine).  

Having a Celebration Circle is fun.  Having a quality Five is essential. Having both is a blessing.  Choose both, girlfriend. It will change your life.


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How to Start Something New (Even if It Terrifies You)

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Like the phoenix that bursts into flames, burns to ash and rises to begin life again, I have started over a lot.  That’s sort of the whole theme of this blog (Phoenix Diaries—get it?)  Going down in flames and pulling myself up to start again from ash has taught me the greatest lessons of my life.  In my short 39 years, I’ve left an entire life behind on one continent and started anew on another.  I’ve ended a marriage that wasn’t working and stepped into pain and uncertainty to find true love and compatibility on the other side.  I’ve walked away from a lucrative legal career to be a stay-at-home mom, created a kickass home-based business as a direct seller and then moved on to become a blogger extraordinaire.  I’ve let go of perfectionism to embrace raw, vulnerable beingness.  (That one is an ongoing lesson, I’ll be the first to admit).  

People ask me all the time how I’m able to begin again and again and continually see success.   

The answer came to me one day when I was kayaking, something I only do once a year. I had stopped paddling so that Emma and I could enjoy the view for a moment.  It was a beautiful day in Sanibel and, despite the light breeze, the water was totally flat, like glass. After a few minutes, Emma turned back to look at me.  

“Can we try to catch up with Daddy and Ryan now, Mommy?”

“Sure,” I said, dipping my paddle into the water.  The nose of our kayak had slowly drifted off course while we had been still and I now needed to turn us.  But, to my surprise, it was like rowing through mud. I couldn’t believe how strenuous it was to change directions.  

Eventually, though, thanks to my super duper strong shoulder muscles, we got going.  Once we were gliding again, turning the kayak was a breeze. That’s when it hit me:  

It’s much easier to change directions when you’re moving than it is from a dead stop.  

And that, my friends, is the reason I’m able to see success each time I’ve started over.  Quite simply, it’s because I’m willing to dig in and start moving.  Most of us are so scared of what could happen if we start something new that we remain stationary, paddle poised over the water but never breaking the surface.  The uncertainty is paralyzing.

As time passes, the thought of moving gets scarier and scarier. We worry that we won’t be able to go in the direction we want to.  We fear that we won’t know what the second step should be.   

But here’s the thing, girlfriend.

You don’t need to know what the second step will be to make the first one.  Once you start, the next step will reveal itself.  

If it turns out you take a “wrong” step along the way, just change directions.  Likely, the reason you created the experience of the “wrong” step anyway is so you could reveal to yourself in no uncertain terms what you need to shift.  And, like my experience in the kayak, because you’re already moving, changing directions will be a lot easier than it was to begin in the first place.  

I know, I know.  Time for a You-Can’t Monster check, because right now yours is making a nasty face and saying, “Easier said than done!”  Well, as my friend Chris Ruden would say, “Done is better than said.” As Chris points out, and you have to agree, everything that requires action—literally everything—is easier said than done.   Is it easier to say you’re going to wash your hair than it is to actually wash it?  Yep. Just like it was easier to say I wanted to be in a healthy, loving relationship than it was to pack my things, move out and file for divorce.  

So, as Phoenixes, let’s stop using that phrase as a crutch. Just because it’s easier to say something than it is to do it doesn’t mean it can’t be done.  

And guess what?  It will probably be hard at first, like my first drags of the paddle through the water that day.  Starting over has been exactly like that for me—every time, it’s hard. But I keep going. And every time, the next step reveals itself.

Now, here’s where stuff gets real.  

The reason I’m writing this post is because I need a little smack on the tush. I myself want to start something new—my podcast—and I am absolutely terrified about taking the first step.  TERRIFIED

I’m afraid I won’t know what I’m doing. I’m afraid no one will tune in. I’m afraid it won’t be good. You know, the usual.

In an effort to get myself going, I’ve socialized my goal and told the world about it on social media.  I’ve interviewed other podcasters to get advice on hosting platforms, which microphone to use and how to get on iTunes. In other words, I actually know what the first few steps are in this instance!  And yet I find myself sitting here, stationary, months later. 

So trust me, you’re not alone if you feel like you’ve been standing at the precipice for awhile, wanting to jump into your dream yet holding yourself back in sheer terror of what will happen next.  But what you and I both need to remember right now is that great things never came from comfort zones. The magic happens out there, beyond the precipice.

Jen Sincero, author of You are a Badass, once said,

“You are the only you there is and ever will be. Do not deny the world its one and only chance to bask in your brilliance.”

Words to live by, don’t you think? Truly, where would we all be if our heroes who came before us never took that first step? You and I might not even have an iPhone or an iPad on which to read this post!

Wherever you’re holding yourself back, the way I’m holding myself back from launching the podcast, just start.  Drag your paddle through that water. You cannot forget that you are destined for greatness, even when it’s terrifying and hard.

Because you know what, girlfriend?  You can do hard things. (And yes, I’m talking to myself, too).

Mark my words: the Phoenix Diaries podcast will be up and streaming within 60 days of this blog post because I am taking the first step today! Wanna take our first steps together? Give me a shout and let me know what you’re working on.


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How to Have It All without Doing It All

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Mom's Ultimate Guide to Outsourcing:  5 Ways to Take Back Your Time

One of the most valuable lessons I ever learned about success and womanhood came to me at a breakfast I attended for the Women’s Initiative when I was just a young whipper snapper toiling away for Big Law.   The keynote speaker was a woman, of course, and as the global head of a department of one of the most powerful banks on the planet, her success on paper was quite impressive. Plus she was a wife and mother of two, which gave her some street cred.

After discussing the hair and makeup syndrome, which alone was a nugget worth my undivided attention, she took a question from the audience.  The inquirer, who appeared to be a teacher accompanied by female students from a local high school, asked her, “How do you achieve balance?” 

The speaker literally snorted, and I immediately perked up.  

Balance?” she repeated, almost choking on her laughter.  “I don’t have balance! I mean, I love my husband and my kids but I don’t have time to cook them dinner every night.”  She practically smirked. “Ladies, you do not get to this level in business by having balance. You have to be all in. I focus on what’s most important and pay someone else to take care of the rest.”

I was so impressed, I had almost whistled, and not because I want to be the head of some global conglomerate (yet—ha).  In fact, the business acumen of this woman is the least relevant part of the story. What struck me was her unapologetic honesty in conceding what it actually takes for her to be great at what she does.  

And what I learned from her that day applies to all of us who are raising humans:

There are literally hundreds of things that must be done in your life each day, but they need not all be done by you.

When you’re a mom, it’s easy to forget that truth.  On a daily basis, we tend to put our own needs last, reacting first to what’s “urgent” (though not necessarily important), and getting mired down in everything that needs to be done without regard to whether we need to be the one doing it.  

Let’s not forget: you, mama, were made for greatness.   

How, though, do you actually step into your greatness and use the precious moments God has given you to harness your gifts without getting distracted by those pesky, urgent tasks that keep you from tending to the truly important ones?  

The answer, of course, is outsourcing.  Outsourcing is your friend. It’s ok to ask for help.

To do great things, you must allow someone else to do the tasks on your list that you don’t absolutely love doing or aren’t contributing to your life’s purpose.  

And let’s be clear: your life’s purpose includes making romantic, alone time for you and your spouse and for playing with your kids.  It also most definitely includes time for yourself, to care for the one and only body God gave you, to meditate, journal, pray, indulge in a mani/pedi, and whatever else makes you feel warm and happy—even if it’s one of the items on my Outsourcing List.  Doing things we love is a form of self-care, and self-care is always time well spent. (Side note: if your plate feels so full that even making time for self-care seems overwhelming, check out these 7 awesome tips from the iNLP Center).

As a married mother of two and a woman on a mission to change the world one heart at a time, I never have an empty plate.  That choice forces me to remember I need not personally perform every task on my list. I need only do what will support me in creating and living out my God-given purpose in life.  And living this way helps to maintain sanity, which is generally a good thing.

These are the ways I outsource to create and live my ideal mom life (and you can too):

1. Stop Doing Your Own Grocery Shopping and Target Runs.

Unless you absolutely love performing these tasks (which would put them in the “self-care” category), you must outsource them.  Although they must be done and sometimes urgently, you and I both know they aren’t contributing to your life’s purpose.  

The solution?  Instacart and Shipt. (Cue the angels singing!) Shipt is pure genius, and you can use it to shop at your favorite stores, like Target.  You can’t buy alcohol at Target using this service, but you can buy almost everything else, from perishable goods to toothpaste and shampoo to granola bars and boxed mac ‘n cheese.  If you have a Target Red Card, the pot is even sweeter. You’ll get your standard 5% off the entire purchase plus free shipping. Holla!  

But here’s the best part:  it keeps you out of Target.  Don’t get me wrong—I flipping love Target, but every time I set foot in there I end up spending $50 more than I intended to.  Every. Time. By using Shipt instead, I remove all temptation. It’s glorious.  

When I need to do traditional grocery shopping, Instacart and Shipt are my besties—especially because of the pandemic, which doesn’t have me excited about going to the grocery store in person anyway.  Both services are available in my area so I use them interchangeably but you may only have access to one or the other. 

For a nominal fee, your personal grocery shopper will buy your groceries for you.  All you need to do is sign up for Instacart or Shipt and select which groceries you want to purchase.  You can even include special instructions with your grocery list for those times when you want your chicken breast cubed or your shrimp peeled.  If you’re using Shipt, your shopper will call or text you if he or she has questions. Mine have even texted me photos of comparable replacement items when the product I wanted wasn’t in stock.  On Instacart, if what you want isn’t available, they’ll simply refund you. 

And now, be still my heart! Whole Foods delivers through the Prime Now app.  I happen to love shopping at Whole Foods because they have so many fantastic options for eating organic. The closest one to my house, however, isn’t close at all. When I tell you I squealed like a piglet when I discovered that I could select my groceries through this app, I am only slightly exaggerating. (Actually, I’m not. I did squeal. Just like a piglet).

No matter which app you’re using, once you’ve got everything in your cart, just select when you want your groceries to be delivered and, like magic, they will show up at your door at that time.  And if you meet the free-delivery minimum, they’ll show up sans the delivery fee (but of course, I always tip my shopper).   Similar services like Walmart Curbside Pickup, which still requires you to drive to the store but allows you to skip the up-and-down aisle roaming, are also awesome, and since the world was turned upside down by COVID-19, more and more stores are offering this option. 

There certainly is a premium for shopping this way, but let’s think about what you get in return:  your time! Sure, I would spend less if I was clipping coupons and shopping myself—and believe me, I spent years doing that—but the money I saved was negligible compared to the return I’m getting now on using that time to crush my goals.  Same goes for you and your audacious dreams. Remember, to have it all, you cannot possibly do it all. There are people out there—like your neighborhood Instacart and Shipt shoppers—who are eager to help you. Let them.

2. Immediately Cease and Desist from Cleaning Your House, Doing Your Laundry and Washing Your Dishes.

Unless, of course, you absolutely love doing that stuff (and if you do, I want to meet you).  If you don’t, stop. These tasks are so easily outsourced. Plus, if your family is anything like mine, they won’t give a hoot who folded their socks and hung up their shirts.  They’ll just be happy to have clean clothes at the ready. Same goes for the spotless toilet and crumb-free floor.  

My dishwashing, laundry-doing ninja comes every Monday.  I strategically asked her to come on that day so I can start my week off in peace.  My house is cleaned every other week, which leaves me with only some touching up to do here and there between cleanings.  Does everything get done perfectly? Nope. But done is better than perfect. I write those checks each week with pleasure.  

It’s just as honorable to employ as it is to be employed.  Hiring someone to help you around the house gives that person the opportunity to earn a living and fund their life’s purpose while freeing you up to live yours.  See how that works so beautifully?

3. Don’t You Dare Wash Your Own Car!

I never ever wash my own car because I don’t love doing it.  I don’t even love driving to a car-washing place to get it done.  But as a mother of two littles, you better believe that my car gets filthy.   My solution? Washé, “the app that cleans your car.” It’s like Uber for mobile car detailers.  It’s not available in every state yet, but if it’s in your area, you must check it out.     

Here’s how it works.  I open the app and select the type of wash I want.  They range from $25 to $160, and they even have a “sanitize” option now to address COVID-19 concerns. Then voila!  A Washér in the area will take the job and head to my location.  And while my Washér is in my driveway washing, waxing and vacuuming cheddar bunnies from my car, I sit in my house being productive in the air conditioning.  When my car has been restored to her shiny, litter-free self, I get a ping and pay the Washér through the app (no contact!). Best. Thing. Ever.  

If you don’t have Washé in your area, ask around for a trusted mobile car detailer.   I’m telling you, it’s life changing. It’s like doing two things at once, only you’re doing the thing you want to do and the car detailer is washing your car.  Magic! Oh wait, no, that’s just outsourcing.

4. A Virtual Assistant Could Change Your Life.

If you have a home-based business, this one is a game changer. I recently hired my first V.A. (that’s short for “virtual assistant”) and I. Am. In. Love.  My friend Julie Cabezas over at Copy Crimes recently wrote about hiring a V.A. and girlfriend, she is on to something.  As she says, and I wholeheartedly agree, “If you want to make a lot of money–and make a big impact in the world–you can’t be stuck in the details.”  

Julie highly recommends Maria Carras, who has dedicated her life’s work to the virtual assistant industry.  For free (that’s right, I said free), Maria will help you find the perfect virtual assistant.  [Side note:  Julie and I are not affiliates for this program].  Obviously you still have to pay an hourly wage for the services your assistant provides, but you get to name your price.

I’m not gonna lie.  I hesitated when I read Julie’s message about hiring a V.A.  I thought, I’m not sure I have enough on my plate to justify the cost of hiring an assistant.  But, as if she could read my mind, Julie advised in the next sentence that “[t]his is exactly the wrong type of belief to have.”  If you find yourself doing penny jobs at the expense of earning dollars, your plate isn’t just full, it’s maxed out. Being open to the abundance that can come from hiring a personal assistant requires a paradigm shift, but Julie swears it’s worth it.  

She inspired me to examine my plate more closely. Here’s what it looks like: 

  • Believer 
  • Mother of two young, adorable, rascally, infuriating, amazing, beautiful kids
  • Happy wife to an incredible man who loves and wants to spend time with me
  • Student of the self-discovery life mastery process
  • Blogger extraordinaire (you like that one?) 
  • Podcaster
  • Author
  • Lawyer
  • Adjunct professor of law (Woot!  That’s a new one. More on that in a later post)
  • Tennis player on a “competitive” moms league
  • Executive Committee Member of the Board of Directors for JDRF’s Greater Palm Beach Chapter
  • Executive Board Member of the PTA and member of the School Advisory Council at my kiddos’ elementary school

I’ll leave you to imagine all of the tasks that accompany those items, not the least of which are eating, bathing and sleeping.  My V.A. relieves me of the tasks I’m not good at, like creating the beautiful visuals for my digital products and my Pinterest boards, which frees me up for countless other things at which I’m much more effective, like writing and creating content.  I’m psyched about Maria’s service and highly recommend you check it out.  

My takeaway? Heed Julie’s advice:  “Promote yourself to LEADER—and stop doing everything alone.”    

5. Let Someone Else Cook Dinner for You. 

On the two days each week that I leave the house to lawyer, I am way too beat when we walk back through the door to cook anything, let alone a meal that resembles something wholesome and healthy. So naturally, I outsource this task instead. Allowing someone else to cook dinner for me and the three other humans I love most in the world is one of the most powerful ways I take back my time.

My solution is a local South Florida chef, known simply as Chef B, who prepares meals you select from a weekly menu he creates. He even has a kids’ menu! I peruse, click and order what we need for the week from his website and he delivers it all to my doorstep on Sunday, each meal packaged in its own container, cooked and ready to be re-heated when we’re ready to eat. It’s absolutely divine. There have been evenings when I’ve whispered out loud as I’m setting the table, “This totally saved me tonight.”

But if a private chef just isn’t in your budget, consider using tools you may already have stuffed in a cupboard somewhere, like a pressure or slow cooker. My slow cooker is an absolute lifesaver. It has Wemo technology, which means that I can set it remotely using an app on my phone. My go-to is this crockpot taco recipe. Google and Pinterest got your back, girlfriend. There is no shortage of recipes you can lean on that don’t require you to chop, dice or saute.

Hark! You can enjoy a wholesome meal with your family and you don’t have to cook it!

Oh Yes, You Can Too Afford It! 

Listen, I understand that all of these outsourcing methods cost money. And no, I don’t have piles of it laying around. So trust me, I understand if your You-Can’t Monster is getting all snarky with you right now, glaring at you over her glasses and spewing some nonsense about you not being able to afford to pay someone else to do your chores and run your errands.

But let’s get real. Time invested in one area is time away from another. And yeah, maybe it means less runs through the Starbucks drive-thru, but freeing yourself up to do the dollar jobs and fund your ideal life simply makes sense. For me, that means using the time I get back by outsourcing to work on my dream (writing the book that will soon be published) or to fund my dream by performing legal work, which I bill for by the hour. For you, it might mean taking on more classes as a substitute teacher. Maybe it means you can accommodate more orders for your incredible, custom cookies and cakes.  Whatever the pay off, remember that every time you choose to use your gifts instead of wasting time doing things others can do for you, you’re creating your ideal mom life.

Now, I’ll openly admit that despite my intellectual command of this topic, by no means do I have it all together.  I still get mired down in tasks that are urgent but not important. I still find myself wasting precious moments doing things that don’t support my ideal life, like running to the grocery store and refolding towels.  The reason I write posts like this is because I need to be reminded too. 

But when I get sucked into the details, I remember this quote from Jamie Gilbert, which I’ve written on my bathroom mirror:

“Greatness isn’t for the chosen few. 

Greatness is for the few who choose.”

Choose greatness, girlfriend.  And start outsourcing.


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A Phoenix’s Spirit Animal Is the Butterfly: Part 3

Although we had been to Santiago countless times before (for my aunt’s wedding, family reunions and numerous vacations), this time everything seemed strange and unfamiliar.  Because we were living in the opposite hemisphere, February meant the end of summer. The school year began in March, which felt absurd, like an alternate universe.   

In what was undoubtedly an effort at creating normalcy, my father insisted we go shopping for school supplies as a family.  It was a sweltering day and the shop we were in didn’t have air conditioning. Everything about the outing annoyed me, including the name of the shop, Mon Amie.  What a stupid name for a store that sells pencils, I thought scornfully.  And p.s., you’re not my friend

I was angry and I wanted to fight with someone.  I chose my father.  

“I hate you,” I spat.  I willed my heart to turn to stone as I watched the saline pool in his eyes, making the blue of his irises a sad, watery gray. 

He swallowed hard and looked at me, miserable and defeated.  “I know you do.” 

I crossed my arms over my chest and turned away, pretending that I couldn’t stand to look at him.  The truth was that it broke my heart to see the hurt in his eyes. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt worse than I did that day I made my father cry.  


I think the hardest adjustment was attending Dunalastair, the private school my father had picked out for me and Monica.  He had some ridiculous idea that by putting us into a Chilean school, we might learn the language quicker and thereby blend into the culture more easily.  He called it immersion; I called it cruel and unusual punishment.

My Dunalastair uniform. Meh.

Monica and I lasted six months at Dunalastair.  It was, in a word, grueling. Even their grading system was different.  An “A” was a “7;” an “F” a “1.” And of course, it couldn’t be that simple.  Teachers were apt to give you a “6.7” or a “4.5.” It meant nothing to me.  

So, after spending my days at “school” doing nothing but writing letters home, wallowing in my misery and having an emotional breakdown of sorts, my father and I ultimately worked out a compromise.  He abandoned his original idea of immersing Monica and me in the culture and transferred us to an international school. All of the teachers there were either American or Canadian and—hallelujah!—speaking any language on campus other than English was forbidden.  

I swear these letters were shiny and brass
when I was there.

I remember climbing the hill to the massive school’s entrance in our newly-acquired Toyota 4Runner the day we decided to enroll.  Nido de Aguilas, I read.  The shiny brass letters leapt out at me from the concrete wall bordering the front gate.  An American flag danced in the breeze alongside a Chilean one in the courtyard. I realized in that moment that both are red, white and blue.  I smiled as a guard tipped his hat at us and my family and I drove in.  

“Nido de aguilas” means “eagles’ nest.”  In this “nest,” Monica and I met other teenagers who had already experienced and conquered the disorientation we were currently suffering through.  It was warm and welcoming, like a hot shower after standing in the rain.


As the months passed and my time in Santiago grew less and less painful, I let myself succumb to its offerings.  Everything became easier. School, which at Dunalstair had been a waste of eight hours each day, became a priority again.  I became grateful for things I had naturally taken for granted in Florida, like being able to comprehend my teachers’ sentences.  Even having homework assignments put a smile on my face. I had regained a sense of purpose.  

“I understand this!” I exclaimed one day, poring over a textbook.  It made me giddy. I felt accomplished, and when I would bring home test scores of “90%” or “94%,” it meant something.  I was proud of myself again, and Daddy was the first person I wanted to share my success with.  

With my education finally under control, I decided my next goal was to take back my power and my personality, which I had left somewhere on the wretched journey from Miami to Santiago.  [Looking back, that probably should have been my first goal]. While I still felt like an outgoing person, I didn’t actually converse with anyone at school except for my sister.  I definitely need friends, I thought to myself one day as I walked alone from first period to second. 

I immediately ran into a problem, however.  I didn’t know the first thing about meeting girls.  I’d had my friends in Coral Springs nearly all my life.  They were practically built in. Luckily, my classmate, Nina, eventually took pity on me.  She and her five-gal clan were quick to befriend me.  

“Do you want to eat lunch with us?” Nina asked me one day after our English class.  Her thick South-African accent and warm brown eyes helped me to trust her immediately.  After all, eating lunch alone in high school can be brutal.  

I had smiled at her, grateful for the invitation.  “Sure.”  

That night at dinner Mommy and Daddy asked us the usual question of how our days had gone.  

“I met a bunch of girls,” I piped up. 

Daddy’s eyes lit up.  “That’s great, Niks! I’m so glad.”  He grinned, and I felt a sense of peace knowing he was happy for me.  

As it turned out, however, Nina and Company were not exactly my crowd.  They were nice enough, but they laughed about things I found more stupid than funny.  I realized quickly that I didn’t fit in with them. Even the way we dressed was noticeably different.  Being “fresh” out of the United States meant I knew what was still “in” and what wasn’t, and for the love of God, my belt always matched my shoes.  

I was also older than they were, because leaving my high school back home in the middle of the semester and the mess with Dunalastair had set me back a grade.  I didn’t think our age difference would matter, but it eventually began to grate on my nerves. And while I was grateful to them for taking me in and trying to show me a good time, I was often un-amused or bored when I was with them. I found myself wishing they at least had some cute guy friends.  

I was fervently taking notes one day during Environmental Systems when my lab partner leaned over and asked, quite disdainfully, “Why do you hang out with those girls?  You don’t fit in with them.” 

I looked at my Swedish classmate and shrugged.  “They’re nice,” I said lamely. I narrowed my eyes at him.  “Why, Pontus? Who do you think I should be hanging out with?”  

He gave me a sly, cocky smile, one I would soon become affectionately familiar with.  “Me and my crew.”  

And so began the introductions.  I politely—well, as politely as I could, anyway—stopped hanging out with Nina and Company and met Pontus’ “crew.”  When I began spending more time with them, Monica, who was a freshman, could hardly believe it. 

“In Nido,” my sister explained to me, “there is the ‘cool’ group, and the ‘super cool’ group.”  She looked admirably at me. “Nicole, you and your friends are in the ‘super cool’ group.” I could only laugh.  Looking back, I suppose we were. 

There were the sisters, Georgina and Estefa, two Mexican beauties I eventually became very close with.  We had a Californian, a New Yorker, a Japanese, a Colombian, two Chileans, and of course, Pontus from Sweden and his best friend, Mark from Toronto.  And then there was Katie from Ontario, who became my new best friend.  

A blurry selfie of me and Katie before selfies were a thing.

She had been absent from school for the first four weeks with a bad case of mono, which is why I hadn’t met her before.  She was a year younger than I was and in Nina’s class, but we had a sincere, authentic connection from the very start.  

My parents loved her.  She soon became a familiar face around our house, and now I know part of the reason my parents adored her so much was because of the positive change she stirred in me.  I understand now that Daddy never wanted to hurt me, and seeing me laughing with Katie and going out again must have been a huge relief. We were even able to share clothes, which he knew was very important to me.


With Katie and Pontus at one of Genevieve’s parties.

One of the Chileans in our crew, Genevieve, was infamous for throwing big parties every year.  Her yard was ginormous and she successfully filled it with kids from Nido every time. My first ever experience at one of her extravaganzas had been with Nina and Company when I knew hardly anyone.  By the time Genevieve’s next party rolled around, I was helping her pass out flyers and was there two hours early with Katie and the rest of the girls, helping her set up. When the last guests had gone for the night, I stayed at her house with Katie and everyone else in our crew and slept over.  It wasn’t long before I felt completely comfortable with the crew, enough to call them mine, and I owed it to Katie.  I had created a new normal. I was, dare I say it, happy. Comfortable, even. 

Me and Katie before Nido prom

I slowly loosened my white-knuckled grip on my old life and began to relax into my new one.  Although I still kept in very close contact with my friends in Florida, and no one could ever take Marin’s place—not even Katie — I took that old life off its pedestal. Going back to Florida became something that put a smile on my face without a pang of longing in my throat. 

Eventually, as gritty, resilient humans tend to do, I healed my heart and ultimately, I grew to love Chile. 


Growth is impossible without change.  Turning our lives upside down and starting over in Chile taught me that.  Looking back, I think it was hard for all of us, even Daddy, but I can only say with certainty how deeply it changed me.  I remember my time in Chile as a battle and a renewal—at times between my father and I; at others, between my old self and the one who emerged. 

After spending a year and a half in a place I had never truly known but that had always been part of my heritage, I realize the impact of my experience.  I am no longer unworldly, nor do I view life from within a bubble in which the most important thing is whether my shoes match my belt. I have a new appreciation for people of other cultures and countries.  I speak a second language, a tie that binds my father and I in a way we never were before.  

These things are precious to me.  My experiences in Chile were had at the expense of those I could have had with my childhood friends, yes, but I would never trade them. The lessons I learned in that year and a half made me who I am.


So that’s my origin story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed publishing it. It was an absolute treat for me to relive these moments, even the ones that still make me cry. I guess I was gritty before I knew what grit was.

I thought it would be fun to put some faces with all of those names. These photos are from our most recent trip to Chile. It was also the first time my kids had ever been. Coming full circle in that way was so beautiful, at times, it took my breath away.

A Phoenix’s Spirit Animal Is the Butterfly: Part 2

I realized with jolting reality that the world was not, in fact, revolving around me and my teenage delusions when Jeremy dropped me off at my house one day after school.  There it was, standing malevolently from where it had been rooted into the green of my lawn, its white, wooden arm bearing the venomous news. 

I gasped as if I’d been slapped brutally across the face.  

“What?” Jeremy asked.  “Nikki, what’s wrong?”

I lifted a weak finger and pointed at the For-Sale sign.  So it was real this time.  

I looked miserably at him.  “I have to go,” I said, shakily climbing out of his car.

“Alright,” he agreed.  The concern was thick in his voice as he asked me to call him later.  

I nodded and shut the door.  As he pulled out of the driveway I walked slowly up the walkway toward my house, glaring at the sign with pure hatred, as if it alone were responsible for what was going to happen to me.  


Even then I did not entirely believe that my father was going to go through with such a severe uprooting.  I refused to panic when the movers came one Monday morning and began to put our lives into boxes, labeling each with a general description of its contents.  “Nicole’s Room Misc.,” read one box. I actually laughed months later in Santiago when I opened that box, which contained my garbage can with the garbage still in it.  

When it finally got to the point that our home had become simply a house, I began to worry, but only slightly. “Something is going to happen,” I insisted stubbornly, desperate to convince myself if no one else.  “God won’t let Daddy move us to Chile. Something is going to keep us here.” 

The last time I ever visited Marin at lunch
(we ate at different times).

After deciding finally that God was taking too long to intervene, I committed to making something happen on my own.  I worked out living arrangements with Marin’s mother. I swore up and down that I would get a job to support myself. Each day, as if a sales executive pitching to a client, I presented a different proposal to my father. 

“Just let me finish eleventh grade,” I pleaded.  “I’ll move down there and meet you when the summer comes.  Just please let me finish my junior year.”  

But he had shaken his head sternly, his own stubbornness matching mine.  “No. We are a family. We go as a family. End of discussion.” 

The frustration began to pour from my eyes in wet droplets.  If sobs were tangible objects I would have hurled mine at his face.


I began to do anything I possibly could to make him realize he was ruining my life.  I pushed further away from him in a childish attempt to make him feel guilty. One of his golden rules was to eat breakfast at the start of each day.  As if to punish him, I began refusing the meal. I failed my Chemistry class on purpose, praying with each act of destruction that he would begin to see the severity of the move’s effect on me. 

As the date of my impending doom neared, my friends began to take action.  Jeremy threw the For-Sale sign into the canal behind our house. Brianne, a former Wild Cat, actually yelled at my father in a tearful fit and begged him to let me stay. 

“She’s going to be fine,” my father had replied calmly.  

“But I need her here,” Brianne had sobbed.  She told me later that he had just shrugged.  Now I wonder, what did she expect him to say? 

“Something is going to happen,” I promised. 

But nothing did.  On Sunday, February 23, 1997, we left just as planned, without any obligations, ties or unfinished business.  Even the For-Sale sign had been fished begrudgingly out of the canal and re-positioned in the yard.  

My father had rented a limousine to take us to Miami International Airport.  To my dismay, Marin wasn’t able to see us off at the airport. As I was hugging her good-bye in my driveway, he placed his hand on my shoulder.  “It’s time to go.”  

“Don’t touch me,” I growled.  I vowed then that I would never speak to him again. 

My bereavement was real as I stepped through those metal detectors at the airport.  I’ve lost my life, I thought.  This was the final separation; only ticketed passengers were permitted beyond that point, and all I had to look forward to now was the path to Chile that lay before me.  I will never forget turning back one last time and seeing my closest friends standing in one, supportive huddle, the boys solemn and the girls crying openly. It was almost as if they were leaning one on another in a delicate pattern, and if a single person stepped away they would all come crashing to the floor.  

I blew them a kiss and my hand shook violently as the tears dripped freely down my face and off my chin.  My father had decided to send us to Santiago ahead of him. Today I thank God it had just been me, Monica and Mommy on the flight.  I don’t know what I would have said to him had he been there.  

Mommy kept yelling at me to please hurry, that our flight was being called and we weren’t even at the gate yet, but I ignored her.  Would it be such a bad thing if we missed our flight? I began walking slower and prayed with all I had within me for God to send American Airlines flight 911 off without us.  

Of course, that didn’t happen.  Our departure time came and went, taking my mother, my sister and me to my father’s native country.  For eight hours we flew, stretching from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific, from the Northern Hemisphere to the Southern.  I kicked and screamed the whole way there.


Read how this origin story ends in A Phoenix’s Spirit Animal Is the Butterfly: Part 3.

A Phoenix’s Spirit Animal Is the Butterfly

The actual, typed story. That paper is from 1999!

Every now and then, if you’re lucky enough, you’ll have a crazy, painful, amazing life experience. 

I had one of those when I was 16 and my father decided emphatically to seize his life journey.  He declared that he didn’t want to live in South Florida anymore and, with my mother by his side, yanked my sister and I out of our worlds and moved us to his native Santiago, Chile.  Starting over was gut wrenching and difficult, but God, as He often does, works in mysterious ways.

Moving to Santiago was the catalyst for the first of my many re-births.  It shaped me in a fundamental, immutable way. I guess you could say that it did for me what the tiny hole in a cocoon does for a new butterfly, the struggle designed intentionally to equip and strengthen the creature that eventually emerges.

I recently stumbled upon a short story I wrote about this very topic when I was just 19 years old and majoring in Creative Writing at Florida State.  It’s raw and vulnerable and real, and publishing it here scares the crap out of me. So of course, I knew I had to do it.  

It is la-la-la-la-long, so I broke it into three parts.  I hope you enjoy it.  

This, my friends, is the story of how this phoenix was born. 

When Life Throws You a Storm: The Moana Principle

Photo by JOHN TOWNER on Unsplash

Do you remember that part in Moana when she’s out on the ocean, lost and alone, searching for Maui?  (Well, even if you don’t, or you have no idea who I’m talking about because you aren’t forced by young humans to repeatedly watch Disney movies, stay with me.  This is good stuff).  

Maui, of course, is a demi-god no one has seen in like, hundreds of years.  Moana has absolutely no idea how she’s going to complete such a monumental task, having essentially set sail with only a seashell necklace and an idiot chicken to guide her.  And so, in a moment of desperate faith, she calls on the ocean for help.  

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The ensuing result is a tumultuous storm that tosses her and her tiny raft from wave to giant wave while she hangs on for her life in terror.  The next morning, she finds herself shipwrecked on an island, frazzled and disoriented and seemingly no closer to finding Maui. Furious, she curses the ocean for toying with her, adding at the end of her assault, “Fish pee in you!  All day!”

But in the next moment, who does she discover just happens to be stranded on that island too? 

Maui.  

The ocean delivered after all.  

Wow.  Did anyone else feel that two-by-four smack upside the head?  The metaphor struck me immediately and left me covered in goosebumps, blinking back tears.  It’s a powerful illustration of real life, dontcha think? 

Sometimes the fastest way to get from where you are to where you need to be is through a total sh*tstorm.  

A profound truth, if I do say so myself.  An epiphany, even. Haven’t you ever been through an awful situation, only to realize months or years later that it was “a blessing in disguise?”  (That’s obviously a rhetorical question because, duh, of course you have).  

Reflecting on my own life, I can see clearly—years and years later—that my divorce from my first husband was one of those blessed storms, intended to take me from a toxic relationship into an ideal one.  One in which fairytale romance is real.  One in which passion does not wane.  One in which God is ever-present. One that produced two children who are living, breathing manifestations of our intense love for one another.  

And more recently, it has also become clear that I asked for the storm, just like Moana did.  I didn’t realize it at the time, of course (who ever does?).  Nonetheless, it was indeed my own, unconscious creation. I like to think of it as my true self reaching out her hand and saying, Come on, girlfriend.  I know a shortcut. Just don’t let go of my hand because this is gonna get ugly.  

So don’t.  Don’t let go of her hand.  Settle in and relax into the storm you’ve created by staying present with every single wave.  Don’t resist it, don’t curse it. Don’t shut your eyes and wish it wasn’t happening. Obviously, you need to experience it.  After all, it’s taking you exactly where you want to go.  

With the benefit of hindsight and some self-discovery training, I’m able to see that it was silly to wish my ex-husband and I had never met, as I once used to.  There was a time when I was desperate to erase us, wishing I could have avoided the pain and humiliation of making what seemed like such a grave mistake.  

But now I know all that wishing was a disservice to my highest and best self.   The pain and humiliation I experienced had immense value. I learned who I am and what I can give myself.  I learned what I can take from life. 

And from that place, I appreciate the good I took from the relationship.  My ex-husband encouraged me to put myself through law school. The raw and simple truth is that I would never have gone if it weren’t for him. At 23 years old, I believed my parents would pay for my tuition, and when they told me they couldn’t, I thought that was simply the end of that.  But not him. He helped me see I could do it myself, and that decision changed the trajectory of my entire life.  

I’m grateful for the storms in my life now.  They have each made me that much more powerful.  (Oh, and speaking of power, did you ever notice how every superhero there ever was had to overcome some kind of adversity on their way to becoming great?  Dead parents, lost love, kidnapped children, terrorism, war—the list of tragedies is endless. You never read about a superhero who had a cushy life filled with love and devoid of problems and then, poof!  They became a superhero! Nope, and you never will. They must endure the storm first. But alas, I digress).  

Listen, I’m not saying your life should be some constant, painful grind.  You should strive to create freedom, flow and joy, always. But when you hit your stuff along the way, remember The Moana Principle.  

And while you’re intentionally riding out the storm, remember that you got this, girlfriend.  

Betcha never knew a Disney movie could be so deep, huh?  

3 Things a Disney Cruise Will Teach You

“All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.”

These words, once uttered by the incomparable Walt Disney, send shivers of excitement down my spine.  They are not words I take lightly. I’m a phoenix, after all, and a core belief of a phoenix is that anyone can do anything.  (Why not you? Indeed, why not me?)

I have never seen a clearer manifestation of this principle than when I was aboard the Fantasy, a floating mass of opulence in Disney Cruise Line’s fleet. Walt Disney is absolute proof that anyone can do anything.  With a dream in his heart and a mouse on his mind, Walt created an empire. And because he had the courage to pursue that dream so long ago, I recently found myself lounging on a luxurious ship in the Caribbean for seven days, sipping Moet Chandon and soaking up the sweetness of simply being still.

Amidst the imbibing, open-mouthed face stuffing, reading for fun, floating around and, yeah, I’ll admit it—napping—I learned a few things.  I wrote them down, as I tend to do, and am publishing them here because I daresay you may want to learn them too. Plus, it gives me great joy to share my bestest nuggets with you.  

But before I get into what a Disney cruise will teach you, let’s get into some deets.  If you’ve never been on a Disney cruise before, there are a few things to know.  

  • First,  it’s not “all-inclusive.”  Food in the various dining rooms is, of course, included and unlimited, along with water, soda, tea and coffee.  Alcoholic beverages, however, are additional and charged to your stateroom. Same goes for the two specialty restaurants, Palo and Remy.  Remy, a French restaurant aptly named after the star of Disney’s Ratatouille, is seriously one of the best restaurants I have ever been to in my life.  No joke. It’s so good and the service so impeccable that I would venture to say if it were on solid land, it would have a Michelin star.  
  • Second, there’s no gambling aboard the Fantasy (or any ship in the DCL fleet).  At least, not in the traditional sense.  If you’re looking for slot machines or craps, roulette or poker tables, you will come up empty-handed.  There is, however, a very competitive game of Bingo at which you can win cash prizes! On our most recent trip, the pot got up to $6,000 by the time all was said and done.  Shawn and I aren’t gamblers so the lack of opportunity to lose money, albeit while having fun, isn’t a big deal to us. And besides, you may not even miss the casino. You could instead go to a wine, champagne, bourbon or beer tasting; get totally pampered in the spa; ride an inner tube down the Fantasy’s onboard water slide, the Aquaduck; or float in one of the ship’s three adult pools with a glass of Moet Ice in your hand.
  • Finally, to truly enjoy the “couples” feel of the trip (which I’ll explain in a moment), your kiddos need to be potty-trained and old enough to want to go to the Oceaneer’s Club (also known in my house as “Kids’ Club!  Kids’ Club!”).

Now, having painted that backdrop for you, let’s dig into the three things a Disney cruise will teach you:

1. It is indeed possible to go on a family vacation and a couple’s vacation all rolled into one, and have real fun. Because there is something for everyone to do, and because you can trust that your kids are safe in the Kids’ Club, you can be a couple when you want to and come back together as a family when you want to. We achieved total harmony.  

My youngest couldn’t get into the Kids’ Club fast enough every morning.  The Youth Team staff is incredible—I swear they must not have kids themselves.  They have so much patience and energy. The footprint of the Club is enormous (ironically, it’s probably where the casino would be if they had one).  There is truly something for every kid to do. I’m not exaggerating. They have dance parties, face painting, Marvel hero work, Star Wars missions, arts and crafts and cookie-making, to name a few things I witnessed. They even have video games you can play with your feet on a ginormous screen built into the floor. And, because Disney just gets it, they make the kids wash their hands before they enter.  It’s a class act.  

There were days when my son chose to skip the pool all together in favor of the Kids’ Club. My daughter, little fish that she is, would spend the morning with Shawn and I at the pool.  She’d traipse around deck, alternating between watching whichever Disney film was playing on the big screen and traversing down the Mickey slide over and over and over again. By lunch time, she was ready to go to Kids’ Club too, so we’d drop her off and have the rest of the day to ourselves.  It. Was. Glorious. 

We are blessed to be very dear friends with another couple who also happen to have two kids, so the eight of us went together (in separate staterooms, of course).   Some nights we ate dinner with the kids in the main dining room and then went for drinks upstairs at Meridian when the kids had once again skipped off to Kids’ Club; other nights we sat with the kids while they ate and then parted ways to enjoy an exquisite adults-only dining experience at Remy.  

And that’s just the way we chose to do things.  There are any number of other possibilities. You could go on a mystery-solving expedition as a member of Mickey’s Midship Detective Agency.  Or take a class on animation. Perhaps you’d like to take a stroll through Tiffany and ogle some diamonds. And did I mention there’s a full-blown theater on board? Like, with a stage and a red curtain and stadium seating and live shows every night?  They even have a movie theater. With popcorn.  

Harmony, I tell you.  Total harmony.  

Sporting my complimentary poncho.

2. Incredible service is not a thing of the past.  It is alive and well on a Disney cruise. After all, it’s Disney.  And “Disney” is synonymous with “excellence.” From servers who will cut your kids’ food for them and make princess crowns and pirate hats out of napkins, to footstools in Remy just for your handbag, to chocolates on your pillow and immaculate public restrooms, it is a guest experience like none other.  These people take your satisfaction very seriously. 

Case in point: we had an excursion booked the day we were in Grand Cayman, and as we were heading off the ship, we noticed it had begun to rain. So what did Disney do? They had Cast Members already lined up on the gangway handing out ponchos—hundreds and hundreds of them—so we didn’t get wet. I mean, come on! Need I say more?

3. You, too, can do anything. And I do mean anything.  It’s highly unlikely that Walt Disney could have fathomed in the beginning what Mickey Mouse would become, and all that would eventually be born from his cartoon creation.  Do you think he was planning for cruise ships and restaurants and hotels in those first days? Doubtful. You don’t need to be either, even if your dream is huge.  You only have to begin. Each step will reveal itself as you continue to move forward, so long as you continue your pursuit.  

Take my dream, for instance.  It’s big, hairy and audacious.  I dream of becoming a best-selling author and changing the world through my light, my leadership and my love.  In my wildest dreams, my book becomes a major motion picture.  

Far fetched?  Maybe. Terrifying?  Mos’ def. But so freaking what!  I’m not thinking of anything but the first step which, of course, is to write the dang book already.  So I’m writing it. The next step will reveal itself when I get there. I don’t need to know what that step is right now.  I’m committed to the process and I’ve released the result. I am holding on to my courage as I continue in my pursuit.  

Just like Walt said.  

As I sat in the Cove Cafe aboard the Fantasy, sipping Chardonnay and listening to the music floating through the speakers, I stared in awe at the photos of him on the walls, each one a reflection of what he accomplished.  I tried to imagine what he was thinking in each of those moments that had been captured on film; what he was feeling; if he had any idea the impact he would make on the world for generations to come.  

Being on that cruise was a great reminder to me of the power we each hold.  It’s within all of us. We have only to harness it.  

Such life lessons from a Disney Cruise!  Who woulda thunk it?

Now, don’t be surprised if your kids experience DCW (Disney Cruise Withdrawal) when it’s time to pack it in. Our kids had so much fun that leaving the ship was #dramatic.  It went down something like this: 

“Bye, Disney Cruise,” I called to the towering vessel, waving at it through the windshield of our parked car.  I could hear Shawn intently performing a real-life game of Tetris as he stacked our bags into the trunk.  

“Bye, Liezel,” Emma said softly, as if her favorite Youth Team counselor could hear her from aboard the ship.  

“Bye, Vanessa,” Ryan whispered, joining Emma in her tribute. A solitary tear spilled from his eye, his lower lip trembling.  

“Awww, Buddy,” I said, my heart twisting.  

He pouted more dramatically under my gaze and glanced down at the floor, where he immediately spotted his backpack (or as Shawn and I affectionately call it, his Portable Distraction Kit).  “iPad!” he exclaimed, all trace of sadness at having to leave the ship suddenly gone.  

I rolled my eyes and stifled a smile.  “It seems you will survive until our next cruise,” I said wryly.  

Indeed, there will be a next cruise.  We booked it aboard the ship before this last one was even over.  (That move got us ten percent off, by the way. Holla!) Because of one man and one mouse, I know will willingly pay a small fortune every year to return to that cruise ship.  Thousands of other humans will do the same. All because Walt Disney had the courage to pursue a dream that became a reality and changed the world. 

Let that sink in.  Your dream could change the world.  What have you been dreaming of but not allowed yourself the courage to pursue? 

Get on it, girlfriend.  And if you need some inspiration, I’m tellin’ you, get on a Disney Cruise.  


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Unleashed


Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash

Why do anything—seriously, anything—if you aren’t going to give yourself the full experience?  Feel into that question. And yes, you read it right. You give to yourself fully or you hold yourself back.   No one else is involved, my friend, and that is the #wholetruth.  

I’m fresh off of a four-day self-discovery course and I’ve been feeling into this question since the moment it was over.  The concept reminds me of that old instruction to “dance like no one is watching.”  You’ve heard of it, surely. Perhaps you’ve told someone else to live that way in a heartfelt moment of giving advice. Heck, you may even have that saying on a placard on your wall somewhere.

It seems we all understand that saying.  But do we feel it?

I know I hadn’t until very recently.  I have an identity that is fiercely attached to following rules.  That part of me enjoys being accurate. Correct. Doing things the way they’re “supposed” to be done.  It enjoys being told, “Yes! You did it right!” That’s the part of me that graduated first in her class from law school.  Literally no one in Class of 2006 did better than I did.  Not. A. One. I know what it means to execute impeccably.  It’s a safe, comfortable place for me to be.

On the flip side of that identity is a gut-wrenching, hysterical fear of making a mistake.  What if people are indeed watching me dance? What if I’m not doing it right? What if I fall?  What if I screw up?

That fear has existed within me my entire life and, despite my success on paper, it has stifled me.  For every A+ there is a tantrum during which I’ve ripped to shreds the coloring book page evidencing my crayon marks outside the lines.  Behind every award there’s hair that I ripped from my own head strewn on the floor. Getting it right is all that has ever mattered. The result, ironically, is that I don’t turn up the dial and fully use my gifts. Except for a few stand-alone moments, I don’t play full out.  I don’t allow myself to simply be one with the experience. I have always had one eye on the result.

That’s why I rip unreturnable tennis balls with graceful, deliberate power in practice but shrink into myself and merely dink balls over the net during a real match.  It’s why I belt out tunes in my car but only hum at church. It’s why I married my ex-husband, who I knew wasn’t in love with me. It’s why I stayed after even he told me to leave.  It’s why I went through with a wedding that should never have been.

I couldn’t admit the mistake.  I couldn’t stand the thought of failing.

What I didn’t realize until now is that admitting the mistake and walking into the unknown to find real love—even at the risk of failure— still would have allowed me to claim a win.  Even if I was single for awhile; even if balls go flying off my racquet into the fence; even if I sing off key, I can still win at giving myself the full experience, of never wondering what could have been if I had played full out instead of holding back for fear of doing it wrong.

Allowing yourself to feel it all is the win, girlfriend.

The most hilarious part about all of this is that when you’re playing full out instead of playing not to lose, you’re much more likely to get what you wanted (and were so fearful of losing) in the first place.  Your results are 100 times better than you could have imagined.

I gave myself this experience the other night.  I let myself be totally immersed in conversations without wondering who else might be at the party or what I might be missing out on by giving one person at a time my clear, neutral attention.  I got up on a stage and danced my heart out, indeed, as if no one was watching. I didn’t care at all if I was “doing it right” or if I looked stupid.

As it turns out, people were watching.  My adoring husband, for one. And you know what?  I didn’t look stupid. I looked amazing. It was awesome.  I had fun. A blast, really.

My new anthem is Capital Letters by Hailee Steinfeld.  I can listen to it over and over and over again.  It accelerates this feeling I’ve harnessed—this feeling of having been unleashed.  (It also reminds me of Fifty Shades Freed, which is always quite enjoyable in a steamy, quivering kind of way).  When I hear the chorus I hear my higher and true self singing to me.  I hear myself signing back to her, “our heart a little clearer.” I’m done with not giving myself the full experience.  I’m going to live my life emphatically. In capital letters, so to speak.

If I lose the match, so be it.  I’ll win at playing full out, at being all in with the process—result be damned, at not leaving anything bottled inside of me. I am a bold, unapologetic badass.  Imma let that girl out.

No more tiptoeing for me. I’m blowing out speakers.  I am alive. You with me, girlfriend?