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Gratitude

Self Helplessness

Today is one of those days where nothing is really working. And when that happens, I generally go to my impressive (or actually obscenely large) collection of self help books, CDs, downloads, widgets, gadgets and cards and pluck something that I think is going to help this self of mine get to feeling better.

So, what’s it gonna be?  The charms-and-trinkets route?  Put all my dreams in the manifestation bowl and wait for them to come true?  Write all my grievances on a piece of paper and burn it to a crisp to release them to the heavens for perfect resolution?  Meditate until all the wisdom of the Universe downloads into my head?

Not today.

Right now, I feel like I’ve been drunk on so many different flavors of self help koolaid that I need to send myself to rehab.  No more gurus, gadgets or therapies both mystical and practical.  Cold turkey, baby.  

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Where Are They Now?

I confess, I am a sucker for talent shows.  Okay, so they’re cheesy, overproduced and hosted by vapid mannequins with serious self tanning issues.  But I can’t help it.  Every time I see one of the hopeful contestants take the stage, I am drawn in.  Not just by their stunning voices, but the bravery and backstories that got them there.  As I listen, I am praying that they don’t have to go back to anything that involves a cubicle or wearing a giant rat costume for a herd of screaming five year olds eating pizza.  Considering my own shower-and-car-only voice, I believe each and every one of them should be the next world dominating superstar.

But then they’re eliminated.  And I fall prey to the same insta-thought that nearly everyone else does:

“Well, they didn’t make it.  Back to obscurity.”

But really…says who?

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