Many very good things have been happening lately--the result of a great deal of very hard work--to me and, by extension, the business, and I realized that a lot of the good things were the direct result of how I was raised. I was extremely fortunate to be raised by parents who wanted me to say, "yes," to life; to know that as long as I was willing to work hard, I could make my (ego-centric) dreams come true and that wanting to grow up and be a writer or poet or plumber/ballerina was fine and totally realistic. They're good people, Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman. Despite the whole not getting me a pony thing. #maturity

I used to take their attitude for granted--didn't all parents want their children to succeed and live fully...?--until I kept meeting more and more people whose parents seemingly went out of their way to specify for their children all the many, many things they couldn't or shouldn't do.  I can't even tell you how many friends/clients I have, who can remember exactly when and where they were, when their parents first dismissed their dreams. That may sound melodramatic...but people never forget the first time they're told that something they believe in, something which makes them excited to be alive, is foolish or unrealistic. It leaves rather a grim scar. I was lucky; I was raised by parents committed to giving me opportunities...but many people are raised to be hyper-aware of all the restrictions they face. No me gusta!

Therefore, dear hearts, since the world is full of pathetic, cruel, idiots who will take a malicious glee in detailing for you, chapter and verse, all the reasons why your dreams are stupid...well, how about you be the first person to say to yourself that nope, your dreams are extremely worthwhile, thanks. How about you remind yourself that you can be whatever you want when you grow up, as long as you're willing to work hard and commit. After all, it's never too late to be what you might have been. Hard work aside, sounds more fun to me than a lifetime of excuses and feeling crappy.

Want some help with those dreams? I know a hot girl you should email: carlotazee@gmail.com.

I was promised a pony.

I have a big thing for clients who grit their teeth and keep attacking, in their own way, problems that have previously stymied them. These clients are determined to master these problems. These clients make me happy happy joy joy. I would say that they put me in my happy place, but there's a cat there, who has sunk her claws into the chair and refuses to be pushed aside, so anyway. I love those kind of clients, and people in general--the people who never give up--because, last time I checked, that's pretty much what life is: failing, brushing yourself off, and trying again...and again...and again till somehow it all clicks.
It reminds me of when I was learning to ride horses--For brevity's sake, we shall not get started on the fact that for years, I was promised a pony. And that every Christmas/Channukah/Three Kings Day, my parents failed to deliver on said pony. No, I'm not bitter, why do you ask? I shall rise above that, on my broomstick.--at Claremont Riding Academy http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claremont_Riding_Academy, when I was about 6. So, there I was, learning to canter on a horse which could have probably eaten me and not noticed, and eventually I was thrown from the horse. Thrown, while the horse was focused on going at great speed. My mother, understandably a bit anxious by the situation, a wee bit horrified at the possibility of losing her only off-spring, rushed forward to rescue me and my trainer, physically stopped her, screaming at me to get up and get back on that damn horse! I did, the horse being far less terrifying than my trainer. Then, the trainer glared at my poor mother and said, "Mothers should not attend riding lessons." That trainer was probably on loan from a WW2 cultural exchange program.
However,  I did become an excellent rider, and I loved it. [Get your mind out of the gutter. Seriously.] So good that at one point, Paul, the stable-owner, seriously advised my parents to allow me to audition for the U.S. Olympic Equestrian team. (PS: Paul, the owner, agreed with my pressing need to have a pony. *Deep breath.* I'm fine. I'm over it. I didn't get a pony. Who cares right? There's children starving in Brooklyn.)
My point being: 1) I got thrown, I got a little bruised, it was a little scary but I got back in the saddle. I kept trying and eventually mastered it. Such is life right?
Point number 2) I was promised a pony.