31Ways2GetItStarted™!: January 12, 2013

Day 12: Don't Censor Yourself

Oh, I know, I know: you're not angry, you're just disappointed in me. Here it is, Saturday evening, you're ready to get your drink/frolic/generalized bad behavior on...and instead, you've had to wait,with baited breath, for me to give you Day 12 of my 31Ways2GetItStarted™! I've let you down. Listen, times are tough all over...have a drink, make your significant other rub your feet...that's what you pay them for!

But seriously. Let's get back to you not censoring yourself. In a sense, today's hint is really aimed at some very special people: people who thrive on tough love. I, for example, in case you somehow haven't guessed, really do very well with tough love. I was the kind of kid who, at age 6, when thrown from my out-of-control cantering horse--which could have eaten me, without noticing...much--immediately hopped back on said horse, as soon as my enraged riding instructor screamed at me to do so. It was safer than arguing with her. (By the way: She was angry with me for falling...not the horse, for throwing me. Of course she was!)

Had my instructor, instead, asked me if I wanted to continue my riding lesson that day, with a foaming-at-the-mouth horse, as I was covered in mud, straw and some poop...well. Probably not so much, right? But, luckily, she didn't ask me and I became an excellent equestrienne.

I know that some of you delicate flowers think I'm unpleasant. Aww. I haz a sad. (This is what I think of delicate flowers who think I'm mean: http://hark.com/clips/tqlhwcmylw-wicked-witch-laugh)* These are the same people who seem to confuse accepting oneself with wallowing in one's "faults." They are incorrect. Yes, you absolutely MUST love yourself because if you don't love yourself, you will not fight for yourself. That is 100% true. But, true story: back in 2006, when my engagement ended and I weighed 165 lbs at 5'6", I 1)changed my diet, 2) thus shedding 50 lbs in approximately 4 months, and 3) most importantly said to myself" "This is not my life; I will not allow this to be my life." So you can love yourself and NOT betray yourself and accept a crappy relationship...or mediocre job...or {fill-in-the-blank}. Breaking news, right?

My point being that if you, Gentle Reader, have made it this far, you're probably a wee bit enamored of the tough love yourself. (Or, I don't know...maybe my blog is one of the few that makes it through the prison's firewall?) So I can tell you not to censor yourself, to allow yourself to dream as big as you want...and it's not scary. Maybe it's even a little bit liberating? Maybe you start seeing yourself in the future doing something which now would just be a (wonderful) fantasy? And look, Ma: no screaming instructors or hysterical horses involved. And they said it couldn't be done...ha!   

Want some help not censoring yourself? Email me @carlotazee@gmail.com, or visit me on Facebook, "Carlotaworldwide Creativity Yenta," for a free session...or hit me up in the comments! You know what to do...

*That noise made my youngest cat, sleeping sweetly, jump up with this look of concern, concern that someone was going to make him into a roast. Which is just wrong. I'd marinate him first!

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.