The State of Independence

No one is an island.

I've been thinking a lot about independence, specifically the ability to choose within a free framework, and the illusion of freedom.

It bothers me that anyone thinks they are free - that they are independent. No one really is. The idea that anyone can function in a vacuum, completely devoid of outside influences (total freedom, a nearly Buddhist state) is impossible in the material world.

You are not free.

There are levels, a spectrum of freedom, on which we can claim more choice or less. There are independent thinkers (I count myself one) who are able to observe a situation and choose based on their established principles and ideas as opposed to being swayed by popular opinion or carefully crafted marketing materials.

There are people who are independently wealthy (a flawed term, but for the purposed of discussion...) and able to control their environments by throwing money at problems, people, or things.

There are people who choose to isolate themselves from society, taking to the wilderness, foraging and homesteading as requirements dictate.

But in all these cases, pure independence, even in these situations, is impossible.

The independent thinker is dependent on their faculties of observation, their socialized influences, their friends, and the news for input to come to conclusions.

The independently rich person is entirely dependent on markets and systems that nurture wealth creation in order to maintain their status.

The hermit is dependent on the knowledge accumulated by society from generations in order to actively choose and succeed in his lifestyle of isolation.

The independent cannot function without outside assistance. They are, fundamentally, in relationship with the rest of the world. There is, no such thing, as independence (Happy Fourth!).

I can't help thinking about these things in relation to the work I do daily. While I am an independent author (i.e. not associated with a publisher) I do not function in a vacuum. I require many systems in place in order to do the work I do. In fact, without these systems, technological innovation, and the democratization of information, my work would be impossible. I would cease to be.

Unlike a large publishing house, I am a leaf on the wind. I can be blown this way or that by circumstances outside of my control. I can be crushed easily if systems are removed. I am still dependent.

More than anything, I am dependent on your support. You are my most crucial system, my most cherished dependency - my reader. To do what I do, I am dependent on everything you do - buying, reading, sharing, gifting, patronizing, encouraging, reviewing, and rating. And I am comfortable with this "vulnerability." So this weekend when my American readers are eating hamburgers, hot dogs, and shooting off fireworks, remember those people on whom you depend, and those who depend on you. We are all connected. We are all dependent. And that is a good thing.

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As an indie author, I'm a bit like a local business and depend on the love and support of readers like you. Please check out my website where the "buy" links support me the most (and big business the least!). 

You can also support me through becoming a patron! Even $1 helps (but the more you support, the more rewards you get!)!

THRIVE Despite Loss: One Woman's Story

Yesterday an amazing person left this world. You may have met her, or maybe not. Anne was the kind of person who made friends everywhere because she did so much with every moment of her life. She did so much, helped so many, and was a model for living. She was a school nurse who was so important and irreplaceable, the school called her out of retirement. She volunteered at her church for her entire adult life, doing jobs no one else would do. She worked at a thrift store where all the proceeds went to people in need. She drove her shut-in friends around for errands. She made sure they had everything they needed, including love. She gave of her self and her resources to the community and also to her family. There was never too small an act. There was never too little material. There was never too little time.

She was and did all these things despite one major hole in her heart. She experienced the kind of loss from which it is impossible to ever really recover. In her prime of life, her family was halved. This loss, I knew, was never far from her mind and yet, she lived. She was a blessing everywhere she went. She was powerful and generous and gracious and good.

She was a superhero. Truly.

Everyone has those kinds of moments - of loss, abuse, poverty, emotional turmoil, spiritual crisis, or relational disconnect. They happen. They happen to everyone in one form or another. And when these moments happen, we can stay in that moment and stop living. We can wallow. We can spiral down. That is one choice.

The other option is to choose life. We can live fully, completely, every moment. We can give of ourselves. We can immerse ourselves in our communities. We can be a light in a difficult world. We can be superheroes.

While this process starts with a choice, sometimes it is hard to understand the next step. That is why I wrote THRIVE, not only so anyone would know the choice was theirs, but so they would have a model for how to transform their perspective, and therefore, their lives.

Do not let loss cloud your heart. Do not let an attack continue to hold power over you. Do not let walls prevent you from being who you were meant to be. You can be like Anne, the amazing woman who continues to leave her mark in the lives of those she touched. This is what I wish for you, to live fully no matter what you encounter in life. You can do it. You can thrive.

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There is still time to pre-order digital copies of THRIVE: HOW I BECAME A SUPERHERO and TRANSFORM TO THRIVE: 32 DAYS FROM VICTIM TO SUPERHERO! Order them today at the special pre-order price and save!

Or purchase them in paperback here! 

THRIVE Book Launch Week 6: Temping

Keep moving. It's all temporary.

Recently I had an epiphany, which is strangely related to THRIVE.

I realized even though I still get freaked out, depressed, or angry, even in the moment I see the experience of those feelings as temporary. Before, I felt bad and it made me feel like the whole world was awful and there was no light. Now I recognize I am reacting to a specific situation, which will pass, and it does nothing to hinder my progress.

Before I might have wallowed. Now I give myself the freedom to feel, accept the feeling, and then move on to do what has to be done.

My core situation is solid - I have my family. We love each other. Everything else is dressing. Everything else is a game. I move the pieces. I try different things. I experiment. I have fun. I get annoyed. And at the end of the day, I come back to my husband and son.

While I haven't been in war, I've been torn down enough to know that I have what really matters in life. I have family, friends, and an extensive support network who surround me with love. In this, I have been extraordinarily successful. And I am profoundly grateful for this situation, and for the epiphany that everything else in life is just fun and games.

Really.

That is not to say that my actions don't matter, or that I don't want to have a legacy for my son, or a positive impact on my community, country, and planet. I do want those things.But I am open to how they play out. I am detached from a specific result. I intend to enjoy the ride. I intend to enjoy helping as many people as I can with THRIVE. I intend to enjoy fulfilling the purpose given to me. I intend to enjoy every moment of life, even the angry, sad, or anxious ones. All of these things are gifts. All of them are part of the experience - part of the game.

And it's all good. Truly it is.

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LAUNCH UPDATE

It's a bit of a mixed bag, and I feel like last week was a blur. Maybe the stress of the marathon involved with this process finally caught up to me. Whatever it was, I was exhausted all week and had trouble focusing on tasks. That said, I was able to finish the following:

• Patreon blog post
• Patreon art upload
• Regular blog posts
• Incorporated magicworkers' suggestions into press kit
• Scheduled a meeting with a "connector" who has a lot of similar interests and influential friends
• Finished west coast press kit contact database (in hopes of speaking engagements)
• Reached out to connected friends at several universities
• Finished revamping LOVERS & RIVALS
• Determined ideal camera set up for videos
• Recorded prelim/video tests (need to redo for the perfect ones)
• 43% revamped LILITH & AMMON
• 75% done with "influences" page on author website
• Created "author ambassador" contact form and solicited from friends and other connections.
• Downloaded fonts for new covers
• Downloaded grammar extension for word processor

And the plan for this week is:

• Finish LILITH & AMMON
• Finish formatting THRIVE
• Finalize revamped covers for KHLOE series
• Patreon EXCLUSIVE upload of a short story
• Blog posts
• Finalize "influences" page
• Finalize first video set (especially Patreon ones)
• Upload KHLOE books with revamped covers to all outlets
• Upload new covers to website & blog
• Finalize east coast contact database
• Have meeting with connector and follow up on any relevant brainstorming/ideas

I think that's it...but I'm a little scattered at the moment. I'm experiencing that temporary feeling of anxiety the closer I get to pre-order day (May 15). In the end, everything will be what it will be...BUT, I still don't want to get caught with my pants down. I know that everything could always get picked and prodded more, and that I just have to let that go. I can't know what people will get riled about, or what will speak to people. I can't worry about it. In the end, it was my life. You can't argue with experience. It was. It speaks for itself. And I can't control what others hear.

Don't Be a Writer

Note: This was written to advise those thinking about pursuing, or contemplating a more professional trajectory into writing. Because, you need to know, if you didn't already, what it is really like.

The early days of a starving artist...

My dear aspiring writer, don't. Don't be a writer. This is not a job you should choose. If there is anything else you would enjoy doing, do that. This is especially true if you have remotely thin skin because you will have to defend your choice at every turn. You will have to defend your craft and your creation. This is because from the very earliest part of a writing career, you are constantly attacked.

First, everyone will tell you it is impossible. They will say it a thousand times. They will say only the superstars make it. No one, however, knows what makes a superstar, and when you ask these people how superstars become superstars, they will name someone who already made it in another field with a ghostwritten book about said field. The other true writing stars? They paid whatever dues all writers must pay and that process remains a mystery to everyone, even the stars.

Everyone will say no one knows what makes a successful book. In fact, this is one thing everyone agrees on. Family and friends don't know how writing can be successful. Agents and writers don't know what books will be successful. No one in publishing understands people's tastes. Shitty writers can make millions of sales while pure genius prose can be used as drink coasters for Big Gulps. So if you can't handle that level of unknown, just don't bother writing.

If you're impatient, you really shouldn't write. The submission process involves a painful amount of waiting. You have to submit to a thousand agents to get a read through if you are anything like the other millions of people doing the same thing. And these agents will send you letters, time and again, saying it isn't quite right. They aren't interested in repping a book they aren't totally passionate about, and your book just doesn't do it for them. They send these notes anywhere from a week after receiving your query, to never. You might never get a response at all and will have to infer that your writing just wasn't good enough for them to be your advocate.

Some people will say you should get a few stories published and that will help your chances. Maybe having a few published pieces will convince agents it is worth taking a chance on you. But you have to find the right home for your stories. You might read a bunch of magazines and think you found the right one, but your opinion doesn't matter. It's the editor's opinion that matters. And so you get rejected. Again.

Others will say, write some articles! And the process repeats with the addition of some head banging against either a table top, a wall, or both.

Finally someone will say, why don't you self-publish? But of course, self-publishing is looked down upon by pretty much everyone. You can't be writing good work if you self-publish, even though a lot of “superstars” go on to self-publish, and a lot of self-published authors go on to be picked up by traditional publishers (only after they have sold thousands upon thousands of copies under their own steam). And so many other people have self-published and have nothing to show for it. Your chances are slim, even if you follow every book marketing guru's instructions for success. After all, they have no idea what makes for a successful book.

Determined, you read more writing blogs. You read about the successes and failures of your superstars. You try to fit into the molds of different agents and publishing houses. You try to fit into the molds of the market. You make a thousand mistakes. You try again. You make more mistakes. You try again. You open a bottle of whiskey and chug half of it. You write. You lay awake at night with terrible heartburn wishing you knew what to do, that someone would mentor you to success. You rewrite. You think if you could just figure out the magical formula that mixes lead and snake oil you could get gold.

You write every day for months on end. You blog. You comment on other writers' work. You read. You drink the other half of the whiskey bottle mixed with Ethiopian coffee brewed in your French press, because this is what you have in your kitchen to eat. You have become the epitome of the starving artist. It happened some time between the first set of agent queries and one of the rounds of rejections from literary zines. You lose weight. You wear thrift shop clothes that make Macklemore proud. You only buy generic food from the grocery store, and at some point you will finally break down and go to the food pantry when your last bit of pride is stripped away.

But then, you get an email back. It is unexpected. It is a single website where you thought your work would fit in perfectly. They want to print it. SUCCESS! You got an article posted on a website besides your free blog! You're going somewhere! You're a real writer!

That iota of affirmation is all you needed to get through another series of grueling rejections of another piece of your creative soul.

The dream isn't dead. It just got a fresh shock back to life. But never fear, you'll feel this again. And again. Always just on the brink of death, you'll get jolted, pulled back in by that horrible temptress hope.

So don't be a writer. It promises a lifetime of psychological masochism. Be an accountant, or a paralegal. Be a mid-level manager in a large corporation. You'll have a regular salary and so much less psychic pain.

But if there is nothing else that you can do – if it is impossible for you to stop writing – then you must write. You can never be happy doing anything else. You will never be fulfilled. You will never have solace. You will carry the burden of creation within you and without the pen and paper, the keys and screen, you will explode. Or worse, you will rot, the stories inside their womb, dead, festering, spreading their necrosis across your spirit. It will affect every relationship. It will affect every interaction. It will mark every second of your life – with that horrible longing ache that comes when words must be written, when ideas crave expression.

No one will think worse of you publicly for becoming a writer. They will praise your courage and bravery – your commitment to the craft. They will tell you time and again how they always wanted to write a book but never had the time, the energy, or a single coherent idea. If you have completed manuscripts they will fawn over you. If you have published anything, even independently, they will gush over you, amazed they met someone, anyone, with enough discipline and courage to not only finish, but share their vulnerable creation with the world. They will marvel at you, that despite all the reasons not to be a writer, you chose it, and continue to, not because you are a masochist, but the very opposite; because you hate pain.

Because if you are a writer by birth, and do not write, your existence is sheer agony. In this case, it is much better to write, much better to subject yourself to that Promethean submission process. Then at least, there is some chance of relief. This is the curse of the writer, the burden you must bear if you are a writer. If there is no choice.

But, if you can choose, by all means, choose something else. This vocation is not for the weak of heart.

We Don't Know What We're Doing

Can we all admit we have no idea what we're doing?

I read a ton of articles about pretty much every kind of topic in a day. I read about writing, of course, but mostly I read about everything else.

I read about politicians who play out their boyhood (because they're primarily male) wet dreams in the world stage because they can, not caring who they hurt. I read about non profits trudging on, making a difference in kids' lives while chaos swirls around them. I read about the sordid lives of celebrities. I read about climate change being proven over and over again across the world. I read about the latest style trends. I read about scientific theories and discoveries and arguments over all manner of things. I read about alcohol consumption. I read about art movements and documentary films showcasing all kinds of things from the very disturbing to the utterly mundane.

I've been doing this for several weeks straight, courtesy of the ease of access to such articles through Facebook.

I've even noticed how the viral videos spread - who are early adopters and complete social media addicts while others are slow to find these things (or maybe this is a result of having certain types of friends?).

And my conclusion to all this observation?

We humans have no frickin' clue what we're doing. We're just groping around in the dark.

At first I thought it was just in publishing. I thought my own stumbling path was an isolated incident. I thought my lack of know-how with utilizing social media, my lack of resources to outsource things like editing and artwork was holding me back. I thought if I digested enough material I could figure out something and somehow cobble together the great "Alexis Solution," but I am still searching (Note: I am still holding out hope and when I do discover it, I will absolutely put it into an information product for fun and profit!).

Now I realize it isn't about publishing, but about being human. We grab on to whatever bit of truth or limited fact supports our thoughts and hold on with everything we've got. Sometimes we use correct logic. Sometimes not. Sometimes we get hyper emotional one direction or another. Occasionally this is to our detriment. Other times this makes the world a better place. Always, we stumble forward, trying to make sense of the world around us, about other people, and finally, ourselves.

This lends some truth to the idea, the very ancient idea, that we are each an expression of the Universe housed in our limited bodies. This little piece of the greater whole, reaching out, attempting to experience itself through whatever natural laws will allow. It is play. It is horror. It is glory. It is everything and nothing.

That is the nature of the universe.

Somewhere a Hindu is reading this and thinking, welcome to Brahman and Atman. Somewhere a physicist is reading this and thinking, yes. The consciousness of everyone, dumped back into that great mystery of space.

Maybe they're sitting next to one another. They look up, smile, and shake hands. I imagine the conversation starts something like this:

"Hello, fellow traveler. Tell me about your groping, stumbling, adventure through the dark."

Rejection, Grief, and the Search for Direction

I am in a place where the eye does not see.

That line from Avatar keeps floating around my head. It keeps floating because it feels like I have been abandoned, by dreams and hope. It feels like I've been abandoned by light itself.

On Friday I got an email from one of the doctoral programs saying I was rejected. To be fair, it was kindly done. It was as compassionate as such an email can be. They had only so many spots. It was very competitive. I had a very strong essay. They were very sorry and looked forward to watching my contributions to the field from afar.

After I read it I was in shock. I couldn't hear my son asking for me. I couldn't think. I didn't know what I was seeing. I put on Sesame Street and sat down. I needed to talk it out - figure out how I felt about this.

"I can't believe it." That was my first thought.

"What am I going to do?" That was the second.

"They're going to regret this later." The third.

"Who can I call?"

But it was the middle of the afternoon. No one was around. People were working. I was alone with my son and my heart was breaking. I was barely functional. I didn't want to scare him. I couldn't let myself feel. I couldn't yell. I couldn't scream. I wouldn't allow myself to cry. And I wanted all that. I wanted to pour out every inch of my heart to get rid of that awful, horrible, poisonous feeling inside.

Because it wasn't just about the school. It wasn't just about rejection. It was about what the hell I am supposed to do next fall. 

I can't keep living at my parents' house in a tiny bedroom in one of the most expensive counties in the country. I can't keep subsisting - just making loan payments, and just writing my reclusive heart into ones and zeros. I have to do something. I have to be someone. I have to live up to some standard of myself that has remained out of reach for approaching a decade. I have to make the world a better place. I have to charge down the path of legacy, making my mark with more than sand or ink. I need to ossify that shit so it is impossible to remove - so it is carved into the bigger psyche of America. So I know I am more than shouting in the dark. It is so time.

Eight years is too long to put yourself on hold. It is too long to pretend everything is okay. It is just too long to maintain a lie, a lie that became my glass cage, letting me look out watching as others, my equals in socialization and education, mastered their own successes and left me behind.

If I was lucky they would look past me, forgetting my existence, just a figment of their past life. "I wonder what happened to Alexis?" "Oh, I don't know. She's probably changing the world or something. You know how she is." And then they would move on with their day, satisfied they solved their question. 

If I was unlucky, they would look down and see my glass box, see me struggling against uncontrollable forces and bounded choices that kept me contained. They would frown, ask me how I was doing, how they could help, all the while congratulating themselves for not being in my place.

"How lucky I am! I never took out that many loans!"

"How good it was that I could live in X city where the labor market was good when I needed a job!"

"How wonderful it is that I happened to study this while in school, and met such and such person, who put me on the fast track to upper middle class comfort!"

Everyone doesn't think this way. Some, I know from their big hugs and flowing tears, genuinely grieved at my rejection, at the closing of a door we thought was the right one. They thought, like I did, this would be a way for my family - a cold, harsh change, but at least a path to success.

Many remind me that I have other options still yet to get back to me. And if I'm honest with myself, I still have at least three books intended for publication this year. I have a bunch of articles I intend to pitch to various online magazines about various things. It isn't really the end. I know that. My mind knows that. But my heart? My heart is still in total freak out mode.

I still haven't answered that fundamental question, "What am I going to do?"

And the reality is, I can't. I don't know what I will do because it isn't clear. The path hasn't been determined because all the pieces are not yet moved. All the tactics are not tested. Everything hasn't been tried. There are things that just haven't come full circle yet.

So even as I freak out, and grieve, and rage, and wallow, I am digging in my heels. I am reading. I am thinking. I am researching. I am trying and testing and moving. This is all I can do, now that the shock is gone and my tears have dried. I grope my way through the darkness, hoping to be seen, hoping to see, always seeking more light.

The Waiting Game

Watching time go by...

Lately all I do is wait. I'm just waiting. My own version of purgatory.

"A 34? Proceed to window 7. A 34? Proceed to window 7."

That is what I may as well hear. Because I'm waiting.

I'm waiting for responses to my doctoral applications. I'm waiting for those responses because I cannot make any choices without that information. Honestly, I haven't determined the choices I would make in hypothetical scenarios. So I snap at those closest to me. I curl in a ball on the couch. I hold on to the present as best as I can, as best as I ca wait.

I'm waiting for feedback on my nonfiction book. Waiting to respond to all those social media posts that clearly don't have experience in the things I do. That don't seem to understand what they are saying to people who share my secret life. Waiting to reveal myself, my history, for all its horrors and glory. Waiting to make a splash even as the waters are dark, filled with sharks and blood. Biting my nails. Donning my armor. Watching. Sharpening my sword. Waiting.

I'm waiting for someone to read book 4 in Khloe. Waiting to be ready to reread it. To rewrite it. To draw the cover that it is meant to have. To be inspired into that art. Waiting to publish it, for those fans loyal to the series. Waiting to push it against all those science deniers...waiting to connect it to the stories of the extreme things that should only be the stuff of fantasy, but are real. The drought...the storms...the insane snow...are real...and where do they come from? Waiting.

I'm waiting to get that mentor promised me. Waiting to hear back from websites. Waiting to get help recording videos - recording audio - creating platforms. Waiting to have enough time to work out. Waiting to decide what I want to do with my life. Waiting to pay off my debt. Waiting to change the world. Waiting to have people understand my deepest depths. Waiting to get a job. Waiting to be independent. Waiting to have the benefits I so desperately need - the rewards I so richly desire. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

I am not a patient person. I have done all that I can do to prepare. I have done all I can do to hold on to this vision in my head of a future, of a more wonderful life. I just can't wait any more. I can't stand another day. I can't stand another hour - another minute - another second. It is crushing my spirit - my mind - my heart.

I just want to hear...

"Alexis? Proceed to window 1. Alexis? Proceed to window 1."

Ignoring the News

Sunflowers to brighten the day...

I seriously need to stop reading the news. Just completely. I need a news detox. I need fluffy cats, fuzzy bunnies, and baby videos. Lots of silly baby videos. And Saturday Night Live. Some Tina Fey.

Part of the reason is I get so pissed off when I read it. Part of it is I get so depressed. I lose faith in humanity and the world generally. I just get this awful aching feeling in my gut and that small voice in my head says,

"See. We are going to Hell in a hand basket. Soda and peanuts for a charge..."

I wonder if the world will be okay for my son. What will happen to him? I wonder if I will continue to see the blue sky and green grass, or if we are doomed to super winters in some places and legendary droughts in others...forever. For the rest of my life. For the rest of his.

I wonder why leaders think it is a good idea to go to war when we aren't taking care of our recent vets, let alone civilians at home.

I wonder why people intentionally want to hurt others while couching it in terms of "personal choice" or "maintaining national identity."

Looking at pictures of new babies on my social media feed and I think, what do they have to look forward to? Is it enough to be fed, be loved, and have a place to sleep? Is that enough? Because it feels like nothing else is certain.

Despite these feelings of desperation and depression, I cling to my one true solace - my one true love - my words. Precious, perfect, wonderful words. At least I write the light as well as the dark. That is some solace. And maybe someone reading it will be impacted in a positive way. I can't know. I can only hope. But the hope is what keeps me going.

My most consuming project is not Khloe, though I love that series and gives me hope. No. My most consuming project is dark, difficult, and real. It really happened. That is what makes it so painful, so awful. And I relive it as I write. I relive every second. Anyone who has experienced what I have knows this. When you write, when you talk, it is being back there. And I don't do it because I hate myself, or I want to beat myself up. I relive every second in hopes the lessons I learned, my experiences, were not a simple personal thing, but something that others can grab on to. I want someone else to read about me and know, in her heart of hearts, "I am more than this," and "I am not alone."

We are never alone. I hold on to this thought every day.

There is my husband, who can make me laugh at the drop of a hat. He has this magical ability to crack my mother into hysterics, which makes everyone laugh, because its such a strange full body thing, she gives herself over to the experience so completely. It is such a joy to see someone else enjoying life. It is infectious and I can't help but crack into hysterics along with her.

I look at my son, who both relieves and creates stress. He relieves it because he is full of smiles and laughs, and play. He is full of wonder and life and love and I can't get enough of it. He is a source of stress, not because of the tantrums and the buttons he pushes. He is a source of stress because I know the evil in the world, and I wish he will never experience it...but he will. We all do at some point. We all know evil. There is no avoiding it. And that stresses me the hell out, because I know, even if I do everything right, I cannot protect him from the world.

So I need to avoid the news. I need to forget about Brian Williams and other talking head lies. I need to avoid the fact that police and civilians alike shoot and kill each other over the most mundane and preposterous awful things. I need to forget that women still fight for a voice, and alternative genders struggle to have even the space straight women have. I need to forget that war rages, and violence stains hands and dirt. I need to ignore the fact that we may have killed our species through some Icarus type hubris.

So please, send me your best cat videos. Send me your fuzzy bunny memes and your witty sketch and improv comedy. Recommend a good guided meditation and a fantastic quantum physics article about how small and pointless this human experience is in the vastness of space. I need a break.

The American Slave State or The Delusion of Freedom

Recently I got into a discussion with my husband over ideology. The question was, does personal ideology - or the way we think about our personal lives - impact political or public ideology - our behavior in the public sphere?

I would argue yes. Always.

This was a problem for Christian because he finds libertarian thought very attractive. And it is attractive, especially to Americans. The idea of being free, of being able to choose every aspect of life is a nice dream. But if a person believes this should govern their personal choices, it will impact their political ones.

Having freedom to choose whether to breastfeed, smoke, carry firearms, eat meat, or hunt are not personal choices. They are also political ones. Breastfeeding, for example, has long term health and psychological benefits to both the mother and child. It necessarily costs taxpayers less if mothers breastfeed. This is not just a personal choice any more because it impacts society at large.

Smoking has been linked to any number of health ailments. The potential cost to taxpayers is enormous. Again, it is no longer a personal choice, but a public and therefore political one.

Carrying firearms is not a question of being able to defend one's self, or even the pleasure of going to the range. In the face of children being shot daily or the mass shootings so regularly committed, it is a question of public safety. It necessarily becomes a public issues, and therefore, highly politicized.

Even eating meat is a political choice. By eating meat raised in large farms where animals are in close quarters and extreme amounts of waste are produced and dumped, sometimes to the detriment of the local environment, this becomes a political issue. This is not to mention the treatment of the workers, which necessarily impacts their physical and psychological health as well as their family structure.

Hunting, of course is a political issue as well. It is not just personal, especially when certain hunters pay to shoot from helicopters as herds try frantically to escape the rain of bullets. This is not a question of personal freedom, but necessarily impacts the environment, and therefore impacts future generations.

These are the same kinds of questions that come into play over the vaccine debate. It is quite clear the personal choice of a few have life and death consequences for the many...therefore the personal choice is not personal at all.

There is no such thing as as a strictly personal choice. All choices have far reaching impacts. All choices impact the communities in which we live. For this reason, extreme freedom is extremely dangerous.

It is often said that freedom is the cornerstone of American society. Freedom of expression and freedom of religion are often cited as benefits of living in the US. And they are. They are wonderful gifts that French and English philosophers inspired American leaders to codify into law. And I am grateful for that every day. However these are not personal freedoms. These are political ones. To think for one second that our freedom to be Baptist or Buddhist is a personal choice is delusional. The moralities associated with such a choice are inherently political - inherently impacting public life.

If this is true, then we cannot allow extreme freedom. We must control the amount of freedom people have, not as punishment  or in an effort to prevent people from being free, but to protect the rights of the weak and marginalized in our society. In short, we must limit the extreme freedom of the few in order to protect the freedom of all. These who benefit from such limitations are the victims of extreme freedom. These are the voices who are silenced by moneyed interests. These are the people who are shot, who get cancer, who suffer environmental degradation because some are given the extreme freedom to.

A society cannot be healthy when the rights of some necessarily hurt others. A country cannot hope to successfully continue when its foundation requires the subjugation of some to allow for the freedom of a few. This is not freedom. This is enslavement of the many by the few.

Legislating extreme freedom to, therefore, is a legitimation of the slave state. It is perpetuating the consolidation of power and freedom in the hands of a select few privileged members.

How does this happen? By those select privileged members spreading lies and spinning half truths to the masses. By letting us think we have freedom, by successfully deluding the many into believing we all have freedom to, we continue to allow our enslavement. We are, in short, handing our power over to our masters.

This is not a question of small or big government. This is not a question of assuring everyone has "personal" freedoms. This is a question of everyone getting their basic humanity respected and protected. This is a question of assuring that everyone has their basic needs met. This is a question of life and death.

So I remind you, the personal is by its nature political. I remind you, extreme freedom is no freedom at all. The rights of a few are not worth more than the rights of the many.

Total Equality: A Feminist Manifesto

Recently Obama called for the American legislature to require equal pay for equal work. There have been a lot of conversations about that.

I would argue his call is premature, not because I don't want that. I do. I absolutely completely do. I just think the problem is bigger than that.

You can't eradicate a symptom if you don't cure the disease. The disease, in this case, is sexism, and it is pandemic. The body politic is infested with this horrible, debilitating illness. And we need a cure. We can treat the symptoms, but they will keep coming back in one way or another, until we address the illness as a whole.

It is for this reason I wrote and published TOTAL EQUALITY. I don't think people realize how pervasive sexism is in America. I don't think people realize how damaging it is, how painful it is, as a woman, to be systematically disregarded over and over again (my brown skinned friends know this very well, and I empathize with that hot mess because there is a lot of overlap). I wrote this because I wanted it to be absolutely clear, in one place, easily understood, just what is required for women to be equal to men.

Obama is right. It should happen now. It has been a long time. But let's be clear - this is still a big task, especially when America won't admit there is a problem in the first place.

The Farce Revealed

There is always a breaking point. There is always a point in the tour of life where you just cannot go on - where whatever show you put on is seen as the farce it is.

It might not be outsiders who see it clearly. Maybe you are a consummate actress and so they think you're doing just swell. However you no longer fool yourself. The feigned strength is just a system of pulleys and rope you concocted out of the scrap of your life. But the rope is thin now. The pulleys stick.

You look out over the play and see the story just repeats itself. How many excuses can you make for this? How many rationalizations? You are such a rhetorician you can argue any point from any angle, but it's not enough. Smoke and mirrors are illusion, and reality must be addressed.

No make up. No witty one liners. No song. No dance. No flowing costumes or well designed sets.

This is life baby. This is where you cannot ignore your breaking heart, your festering wounds, your empty accounts. This is where the best plans are laid waste by an anxious fool too myopic to see how his actions impact those around him. This is where you cannot wait around for someone else to do the hard thing.

There is no one else.

There is only you.

You do the hard thing.

You fix yourself.

Shake It Off? Courtesy on the Internet

I started writing a different post...but then someone mentioned something that got me thinking.

Just because this is the internet and you do not have to face a person does not give you the right to be harsh. It actually doesn't. I don't care who your comment or post is directed towards - it is still directed to a person.

It does not matter how famous or not the person is. It does not matter how awful the person is. It does not matter if you disagree with them on a fundamental level.

Even if you are prepubescent, a certain level of decorum is essential. Courtesy is a part of what makes humans human.

You may be thinking to yourself that you are courteous. You are sensitive to other people, you think. But your language choice must be perfect. You cannot be flippant about word choice. You cannot afford to use harsh words or sarcastic phrases. Once you do, your words become cruel.

I know it is easy to disregard people behind words on the internet. I know it is easy to disregard people when they become famous - it is easy to think of them as objects. I know it is easy to think your words have no effect - that they do nothing and fall on deaf or uncaring ears.

As a courteous person, pretend they don't. Don't assume all people are like Taylor Swift. Everyone doesn't just shake it off.

Optimism Maintenance

Negativity is a cancer - crowding out all the good in life. It is leprosy. It will eat you up until there is nothing left. It can turn the bright sun into the dullest overcast cloud cover.

I know. It does that to me. It took me a while to figure out how to manage the negative tendencies in my environment, but I did it and you can too.

So what can we do to bring back the sun? What can we do to keep the good things in life?

There are a few things.

First, there is thankfulness. For anything and everything. This makes you feel positively about everything in your life.

Second is your words. Complaining makes you stupider (really) and focuses on the bad things in life. Instead, talk about the things that are good or talk about ways to improve situations you don't like.

Third is your activity. When you sit in front of a screen all day filled with violent or negative images, it affects your thinking. Exercise and movement release endorphins. Dance releases serotonin. Moving around should be a part of the majority of your day. Think: take the stairs.

Fourth, eat good food. It sounds strange that such a thing would impact your mood, but it does. Bad food makes you feel bad. Sometimes it makes you physically sick. Being hungry makes you angry or lethargic. Good food really makes a difference in your optimism.

Fifth, good sleep cannot be underestimated. When you wake up refreshed, you are better able to tackle whatever comes your way with an optimistic attitude.

Sixth, laugh. It really is the best medicine. People have laughed themselves well. Certainly this can keep the dementors away.

These are so simple and yet for many people, they are next to impossible. However, when you start to do one, it is much easier to do more. Like negativity, positivity can take on a life of its own.

Yes, sometimes a negative thought may intrude. Sometimes bad things will happen. But you can always return to the comfort of your positive habits. You can always find something to be grateful for. There is always something to laugh about. Tomorrow is always another day. How great is that? We always get another chance. I'm definitely grateful for that.

The Most Powerful Force

Love.

This is the thing that holds us together and sets us apart. This is the thing that makes us scale mountains and cross oceans.

Love.

More powerful than greed or apathy or fear - love can turn an enemy to a friend. Love can turn an object into a real human being. Love is the most powerful force - more powerful than gravity. It is the ultimate variable - more important than time.

It is the ultimate choice - transcending Schrodinger's cat, particles and rays, life and death.

Love.

And what comes from this ultimate power? This force before all forces? When we use this, when we allow this force to direct our hearts and minds, only the best things come into being. Only our best dreams are realized at the hands of love. Only our best intentions are made manifest - made into only, exactly, the best thing needed at that exact time.

Anger, jealousy, sadness...these are products of the broken heart. They are symptoms of love lost, or betrayed. Do not allow such things to direct your actions. Twisted plants grow from seeds sown with these hands.

Instead, turn your heart toward love. Turn it to forgiveness and let go those broken things. Let your heart be healed through the creative, restorative power of love. Focus instead on new tomorrows, better days filled with peace, friendship, hope, and joy. These are the fruits of a vibrant heart focused on love. These are our yearnings. Let us set our sights on them.

This is my earnest wish for all - that your hearts be filled with love.

The Platinum Child Returns

Truth is stranger than science fiction. It is more amazing than fantasy. Life is full of mystery, and I don't mean the "who dun it" variety.

It is truly remarkable what a few small changes can do for a person.

For example, let's say a person decides he or she will go to college. They decide this will be, no matter what. Because they have decided it will happen no matter what, it is impossible for anything less. We, innocent bystanders, watch as they overcome all obstacles easily because they are so committed to the idea that it is already done.

The result? Not only does this person attend college, but they acquire all the other lessons and confidence each obstacle afforded them. How cool is that? But that isn't so outside the realm of the ordinary. We hear about people doing things like this all the time. It is rather normal...right?

With my recent reframing of life, I began to notice where I need a little more development in order to reach my own goals. I noticed how previous habits were not really serving me. It's no wonder that I am working on growing and strengthen areas that need it. It makes perfect sense that I would change my habits.

Of course this takes some practice. The more practice,the easier it gets. All of a sudden one day I will wake up and I will be a completely different person - the person I willed myself to be.

That's pretty exciting.

But the remarkable thing is how I know this is in process. I know it because I have already noticed so many things, not only how I think about the world and my place in it, but reality seems to be working more the way I want it to.

It feels like I got my quantum mechanics powers back, bit by bit. It feels hesitant thus far, like little flickers of control in the smallest moments of kismet. However, the affirmation I get from even these small things is marvelous.

Now you're sitting there wondering how I went off to crazy land. I'm perfectly sane, I assure you.

In my family I was called "The Platinum Child." My father was "The Golden Boy." He was lucky, and I was...well...on another level. Then my luck disappeared. Reality felt like it crashed down and I lost whatever control I had over my fate. It was...a dark time. That dark time has ended.

I know this is true because my "luck" has returned. It started unobtrusively - getting a check for my birthday. Getting flowers. Getting headphones as a gift when I desperately needed them. Then it moved on to other things, like finding the exactly perfect baskets for my son's Christmas present at a price that was laughably low. And then duckies (he loves duckies). And then I found a felt pumpkin (he loves pumpkins too) - the last one from previous holiday decor display. I paid a stupidly low amount for his Christmas presents and got more than I expected I would be able to find.

In a strange twist, my horoscope in the paper is literally talking about the exact same things I am reading on my own time. It is insane. I'm not talking about reading into stuff - I mean the words are the same...all telling me how to change my thought patterns.

The more I look around, the more things I see like this.It has been going like this for the past several weeks. I am so incredibly grateful for this growing trend and I can't wait to see what shows up next. I'm pretty sure it's going to be awesome.

The moral? Thoughts are more important than you realize. Choose them carefully.

Have A New Better Life

This past year has been a huge opportunity for me. Fortunately I recognized it and took advantage of the time I was given.

As I continue in the second year of opportunity, I have begun to seriously transform my thought patterns and through this, my actions. It is an exciting process and while I am in the beginning stages, I am already experiencing results.

I have found my focus to be sharper. I am much more centered on completing tasks and doing them completely and successfully.

My relationships have improved. I am more present and appreciate the people in my life so much more.

I take advantage of opportunities as they present themselves.

I forgive myself for past mistakes and instead focus on my present situation, always with my goals in mind.

I am celebrating the beauty and joy around me, in others' lives and in the world. I have learned to focus on everything wonderful. It is a great thing.

I know this is where I was meant to be, doing the things I was meant to do. I know there is only more and I am so excited about the new opportunities that come to me daily. How can I not be? Just writing this put a smile on my face!

Everyone has this capacity. Anyone can transform their thoughts and begin to see a different, better world - a different and better life. And when one sees different and better, one gets different and better. It is impossible to continue acting as you did in the past if you see the world differently. It is impossible to stay where you were. You must change. You must do more and be more because that is what your vision requires.

It's a great feeling. It's not magic. It's just you, thinking.

Have a vision - see your new better world, your new better life. Appreciate all the beauty and wonder working to bring it about. Stay focused. Thoughts turn to actions. Actions change reality.

Misandry, Misogyny, and The Third Way

I am a feminist and... I love men.

WHAAAAAT?!?! I can hear some misandrist somewhere shaking her fist and shouting obscenities.

Blasphemer!

Heretic!

Except it isn't. I think it's safe to say that most women love men. They love their fathers. They love their brothers. They love their sons, partners, husbands, and friends. There are quite a lot of men in our lives that we love.

I think it's pretty safe to say that most women also want respect, because we're people and people want respect. We want the ability to control our lives and have our choices, feelings, and values honored.

These things should not be controversial, news, or rocket science. They are common sense.

That all said, I understand why there are women out there who hate men. I get that. I get the personal experience that is so incredibly hurtful it shades your perspective on every person to the point of essentialism. I can understand why an abused woman would hate her abuser, or anyone with qualities reminding her of that person. I understand why someone would hate her attacker, and anyone with similar qualities. It makes sense to me, but it also is something that I believe everyone needs to move past.

I am not someone saying "just get over your hurt." That is not what I mean at all. I mean to say we need to be different. We cannot act like oppressors pointing to a whole group of people and claim they are all exactly alike. That is preposterous. I would be angry if someone said all women were X or Y (hee hee) so how can I do the same thing to another group?

I also recognize there are still a lot of insecure men out there who continue to perpetuate sexual inequality and that situation isn't something we as women can just "get over." That said, we cannot make choices based out of fear, anger, or hatred. This is the way down a spiral of pain and despair.

Instead, let us honor ourselves and our fellow humans by acting out of compassion, wisdom, and justice. Whatever feminist actions we take, let them be informed by these three values, for if we do not, then we are no better than misogynists.

It is time for us to reclaim feminism from hatred and reassert it's original purpose - equality for all. This is neo-feminism - one that transcends misandry and allows for men supportive of the women in their lives to rejoin the movement. As a woman married to a man, who bore a son, I'd like feminism to welcome them with open arms, so they can work beside the women they love for a brighter tomorrow.

Until All Are Equal - Feminism

The internet is full of fail. It allows idiocy to multiply like a virus and collect into little pools of festering infection. First, let me remind everyone: USE YOUR CRITICAL THINKING SKILLS. It is always a good idea to consider arguments thoughtfully especially if they are well structured and supported by sufficient evidence, regardless of your own opinion.  This is how we learn and grow and that is always a good thing.

Always consider a situation and the definition of the words being applied. Does the situation actually fit the words being applied? Or is the person making statement after statement with malapropisms? In other words, does this person actually know what he or she is talking about?

Just saying.

Now to brass tacks.

Let's remind one another, ladies and gentlemen, why FEMINISM is not the "F word." Feminism is not MAN-HATING or "Feminazism." That is female chauvinism and NOT the same thing (I think we all agree chauvinism is bad...equality is good). Let's also remind one another that FEMINISM is about a set of ideals - a philosophy and a movement. It is about EQUALITY in PUBLIC and PRIVATE spaces for EVERYONE.

If a woman has NOT experienced discrimination or violence because she is a woman, I can only attribute this to one of three things: sheer luck, lack of life experience and/or exposure to the world (i.e. too young), or obliviousness to her own situation and those of women around her.

If a man has not witnessed or met a woman who was discriminated against or attacked because of her vagina, then he can only be too young or oblivious (not asking the right questions or "calling a spade a spade" as it were).

Women, you need feminism because

1. You like being able to vote.
2. You like being able to drive.
3. You like being able to have your opinion weigh the same as someone who has a penis.
4. You like being able to choose if and when you want to be a mother.
5. You like government protected parental leave.
6. You enjoy being able to work...in any industry and any organization.
7. You enjoy making it to upper management (or at least having the possibility to).
8. You like being able to go to college and study whatever you want to achieve whatever goals you have.
9. You want to be able to get the same wage for the same work as someone with a penis.
10. You enjoy being able to wear pants, shorts, skirts, and pretty much anything you want at any time ANYWHERE - seriously... think Saudi Arabia people.
11. You enjoy being taken seriously. Seriously.
12. You want to be seen as a person, as opposed to a walking vagina to be possessed or used.
13. There are still women in this world who do not have access to all the  the above mentioned things.
14. Daycare is still not provided by all employers.
15. Women who take themselves out of the workforce during childbearing years have a difficult time being hired after. 
16. Women are still not trusted to know how to give birth in the US and around the world.
17. Women are still not allowed control over their reproduction in the US and globally.
18. Women are more likely to be the victims of sexual abuse (3 in 10) than  men (1 in 10).
19. Women are much more likely to experience violence at the hands of their partners than men.
20. Women worry about being physically safe with men. Men don't feel that way about women.
21. When saying that someone abused you sexually, society is predisposed to call you a liar and an opportunist unless there is physical proof.
22. "Cunt" is still worse than "dick."
23. "Whore" is a slur. "Pimp" is a compliment.
24. Women are less likely to vote for a female candidate to office.
25. We have been so conditioned by the idea that we can't do certain things that WOMEN REINFORCE the status quo.

Men need feminism because

1. Men can't stay home if they want to (without worrying about societal pressure and stigma).
2. Men like parental leave.
3. Daycare is still not provided by employers.
4. Imbalanced power dynamics foster resentment and subversion by the less powerful.
5. Men (and women) want whole, supported partners.
6. Having an empowered partner means a happier relationship (Ever met someone who had control over their own life who was upset about it? Really?).
7. Men need to know how to be male without being violent or aggressive towards women (read: television, video games, movies, and popular music).
8. Men need to be able to explore their own identities and roles (son, husband, father etc).
9. Diversity of perspective leads to innovation which can lead to better solutions (i.e. dialectics).
10. Everyone is more productive when they are supported and empowered (Think of your sisters, wives, mothers, and daughters here.).

All feminists are not the same, but saying that we don't need feminism is like saying we don't need to worry about racial equality. Sorry, but there is still a whole lot of racism in the US and the world, and there is STILL a lot of sexism in the world.

We definitely need feminism.

Strange Power

Strange things happen when you're open. I don't mean opening your front door - although strange things can happen then too - rather I mean, being open to life. I mean, living - really living.

I am the last person to deny anxiety. I am a queen of anxiety. I have an app in which I record my moods daily (of which there are many) and I frequently check the anxious face, along with the worried face, and the stressed one, and the tense one...

Keep in mind this is when I am meditating and doing physical activity of some kind...which makes me think I could probably stand a few anxiety hypnosis sessions, if not mood altering substances.

I feel anxious every day. Literally - every day - at least once a day, if not sixty-three times daily I am anxious. I don't mean just a little uncomfortable - I mean gut-twisting, nausea-wrangling, lip-biting, nail-drumming anxious.

I carry it in my shoulders. This means they are super tight, up to my ears, and often hunched when I'm going through a particular spell of high stress.

You may have surmised my life is a little stressful these days. Truthfully I am probably more anxious now than I have been since junior high (another story for another time). Then it was a daily battle with the self - a struggle to decide status, acceptance, and place. It's been almost twenty years and while certain elements were released and resolved, new ones grew to take their place. That's crazy.

This anxiety I carry around is crazy. It has been a personal obstacle in more than one situation. It has stopped me from so many things, which seems strange because if you know my history, you know I've done a lot. I mean, I lived in India for six months and it didn't stop me then!

Now you're wondering what it did stop me from doing.

Maybe pursing a doctorate earlier? Trying a crazy entrepreneurial idea to the fullest extent? Calling a long-lost and well-loved friend on the phone to confess life moments? I don't know if it was just the anxiety. I know that was a part of it. I know there was a part of me when I was younger that just couldn't handle the idea of settling down into any kind of set structure. I know there was a part of me that couldn't handle the idea of failing at anything because I've lived under the crippling shadow of perfectionism from more than one quarter. There were expectations and there was always the thought in the back of my mind that I would be imposing - that I couldn't afford it - that I wasn't good enough - that they had other friends in person who were closer or more important - that I wasn't worth the time. These were the words that repeated over and over again.

It doesn't matter how successful or brilliant or amazing a person is - they are still vulnerable. There are still pieces deep in the bowels of a person's soul that are hidden, protected by layer upon layer of acquired emotional armor. But I heard someone say, it isn't the protected who have power. Those with mech-warrior battlements are more brittle than shale, weaker than mica. The armored cannot expose themselves. They cannot become close. They cannot grow outside their protective shell.

The world belongs to the vulnerable - the weak - those willing to expose their soft underbellies to the light of day. Those who hand their hearts and minds to others - despite the risk of betrayal, ridicule, and destruction - own all social power. They are the ones who risk everything, and like a good stock broker, they could lose it all. But they could also win the day. Their rewards could be richer than their wildest dreams, all because they risk everything.

Shed your anxiety. Be vulnerable. It pays better.

Come Out, Come Out, Whoever You Are!

Some paths are scary...

Lately there have been several recurring themes in my life and therefore, my writing: coincidence, fate, purpose, choice, self-acceptance, and "coming out."

But worth it.

First of all, I don't believe in coincidence. I'm a person of faith and I've had too many strange things happen in my life to believe in "coincidence." I believe that everything happens for a reason, so you could say I believe in a kind of fate and that things - and people - have related purposes.

That said, I also believe you can choose to ignore or follow your purpose. In order to actively make that choice, many times a person must engage in self-exploration. This often leads to the discovery of both pleasant and unpleasant elements of the self (history, talents, preferences, personality traits, etc). This also leads to the possibility of self-acceptance (or not).

The process of discovery and acceptance in turn leads to the possibility of "coming out."

When encountering the phrase "coming out" most people think of an LGBT person openly declaring their gender/orientation, however "coming out" is not exclusively an LGBT act. Any part of the self that has been hidden, dormant, or laying in a deep recess can be brought to the light of day and shared with others. The process, and often the implications, are the same.

It is the implications of "coming out" - of a change in identity - that piques my interest. It also keeps me up at night.

Coming out is hard. It isn't like going from the identity of coupled woman to mother. That identity is clear and easy to see. It is one most people encounter on a regular basis, and for most people, there are no loose ends or questions raised by such an identity change.

The nature of coming out means the hidden identity or issue being brought into the open is uncomfortable, otherwise it wouldn't have been hidden. There is something shameful or uncomfortable, or difficult about this identity or issue, usually for both the self and others. It calls some fundamental thing into question - roles, relationships, actions, all shift to a new and strange place with this new identification.

Sometimes such identifications become the person. Literally, these difficult identities are so hard to get past for most other people, the self becomes two-dimensional. Suddenly the self is only lesbian, is only an addict, is only poor, is only an abuser, is only a victim, is only a criminal according to the other. Pigeon-holing abounds when the new issue comes to light. In order to overcome this shallowing process, the self must work extra hard to show up this new identity: I am green, progressive, Christian, athletic, multi-racial, multi-lingual, educated etc. These other identities are forced into competition with the "shameful" and marginalized new identity.

Some people choose to embrace their marginalized identity and center their lives around these things, for example a once battered woman turned activist who works with battered women. Another example would be a recovering alcoholic choosing to support others in their quest for sobriety. The centering of this identity surpasses a volunteer level, but moves to paid work as well as possible volunteering. Literally, life in these situations is entirely focused on this "shameful" identity.

The other possibility is to downplay such identities and to focus on something else. I think of the case of Maya Angelou who could have focused much of her writing and energy on the fact that she was molested and raped as a child. She could have written much of her work about - and championed victims of - sexual abuse and assault, however she did not. She chose a wider platform that included socio-economic, race, gender, and orientation identities rather than a single pigeon-holed identity of "victim."

Of course no one is a single thing. Each person has multiple facets, each informing the other. Experiences, preferences, and inherent abilities all contribute to the people we are. Often, however, one aspect or set of aspects stands out. One or a set of identities speaks to us more. We identify with a given set more strongly, and there are reasons for this (our experiences and preferences, for example).

This is where a given person's purpose lies - surrounding those identities of utmost importance.

However there is tension in balancing a person's purpose with the potential of pigeon-holing. There is tension surrounding that question of pigeon-holing and acceptance by others. Will I be stereotyped if I come out? Will I always be only this one thing? Will my identity overshadow my purpose? Will it interfere with achieving my life purpose? - asks the self.

Inevitably, the answer is: I don't know. We cannot know. The other is the one who answers these questions by their actions - their acceptance and rejection. It is only when the self is made vulnerable by coming out that the answer can be given and received. Until then, there is only anxious speculation.

We all have secrets. We all have hidden parts of ourselves. With every hidden piece, there is a debate regarding with whom we render ourselves vulnerable. For those who live more public lives - bloggers, writers, pastors, politicians, celebrities - the debate is more intense. The revelation of a secret self has more lasting and difficult implications. Will my brand be impacted? Will my image be impacted positively or negatively (because it will be impacted one way or another)? Is it worth it? Is it more important to be honest and authentic than to worry about the potential fallout? How strongly do I identify with this part of myself? If I decide to come out, how should I do it? Will it be quiet? Will it be for maximum impact? If so, what would create maximum impact?

These are the questions we ask ourselves. These are the questions that keep us up at night because there are no easy answers. There are no right answers. There are only answers that align with a person's purpose and those that do not. So it comes down to choice: what is your purpose? Who is your secret self? Will sharing your secret self with others further your purpose in this world? If the answer is yes, then it's time. It's time to come out.