I was sitting on the subway feeling the dull, latent buzz of MTA commuter frustration, when a woman with a puppet entered the train. Her fuzzy companion closely resembled a puppet from Sesame Street.
And old friend and I sit crosslegged facing each other, the two of us in her childhood home. We have just prepared a ritual: The smoke of burned sage still lingers in the air, like suspended strands of grey silk. A candle flickers on the nightstand nearby, a glass of red wine on either side, and several crystals form a semi-circle in between us. As she shuffles her new deck of oracle cards, she tells me to silently think of a question— something in this life of mine for which I seek an answer.
People have become machines. We are expected to behave like robots in order to work unrealistic hours, juggle intricate calendars, excel in our fields, be good parents, good spouses, and somehow still find time to stay fit and look great.
Confidence is something all of us have struggled with at some point in our lives. Whether it's confidence in our looks, our abilities or our value, insecurity and self-doubt are bound to haunt us.
I’ve made the decision to leave NYC to volunteer on a farm in Costa Rica.
I’ll be spending the next month learning how to grow my own organic food in the gorgeous South Pacific region of Costa Rica. There will be no cable, no cell service and no wifi. And I can’t wait.
I’m stopping by a natural water spring about 20 miles outside of Ithaca, New York, when I meet a kind old man who teaches me the history of the water I’m drinking:
A couple days ago, I was sitting on the Brooklyn-bound R train, when I noticed an older man toting a food-filled wagon down the aisle of the subway. He started addressing the crowd, letting us know he’s part of a charity that feeds the hungry. At the mere sight of him, my fellow passengers clenched in anticipation of being asked for money. But what he said next made my whole day a little brighter:
For those who haven’t seen Finding Nemo, right before the movie cuts to credits, all of Nemo’s beloved fish friends have successfully escaped the dentist’s office. But as they float in their plastic baggies on the surface of the harbor, they realize they have absolutely no idea what comes next.
Because we speak to ourselves more than we will ever speak to any other person, it is crucial that we stay aware of how our internal voices actually sound. Without awareness, self-talk can carry on as background noise, going completely unnoticed.
“You think attention is love and that is why you suffer so deeply.”
My mindless Instagram scrolling suddenly comes to a screeching halt when these words pop up on my screen. When I read them again, I inhale them deeply and a bowling ball sinks in my stomach.
I am sitting at my gray cubicle in my Midtown Manhattan office, which (if you know New York) is just down the street from the Chrysler Building. I sit perpendicular to my manager Michael, who outside of work, is known to be the flashy, overconfident party-goer–the one who spends gobs of money on having a good time. Inside of work, he has quickly climbed the corporate ladder as one of the most successful salesmen in the company.