B-School 2016
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How to not give a shit (even though you really do) and be kind about it all.

I needed to respond to someone’s email. Someone who really wanted an answer from me. Actually, more than an answer. They wanted reasons, an explanation.

And there I was, in that place where I often find myself: It’s 11pm, I’m re-reading an email, I’m torn. I want to draw a hot bath, put on a folk-trippy playlist and end the day really grateful. Should I answer the email, thereby giving up a half hour of golden sleep? (I don’t make resolutions but if I did, it would be to stop staying up too late.) Should I try to be comforting whilst explaining myself — again? Should I backtrack to appease this good person (would that be the more loving thing to do?) And by appeasing them (because that’s loving, right?) then I might decrease the risk of being: a) disliked, and b) someone talking shit about me.

Or…should I face forward, which is where I prefer keep my life pointed, and take a Sandalwood bath — the pleasure of which makes me a better person on a regular basis.

I minimized my computer screen and rolled back from my desk. And I thought, “I don’t care what they think of me. Fuck it.” But I knew that wasn’t true. Because I’m a love nugget, really, and I care a lot about other people’s feelings. Because I have a healthy ego. Because I’m a serious boss lady and kindness is always good business.

I closed my eyes and brought the person to mind. And I said, “Look, it’s not that I don’t care about you. It’s that I already expressed my reasoning — very lovingly. I showed I cared. And now,

I have to care more about my own freedom and future than what you think of me.

Not easy. But really, totally necessary. What I know for sure is that my ability to be (relatively) okay with the discomfort of boundaries — of self respect — is why I have the life I want, which is about constant creativity and a circle of true friends to love on.

It’s easier to have boundaries if you’re a heartless asshole. When you’re an empathetic love bug, it’s a bit harder.

Just the way it is.

So here’s a mantra for the Kindness Crusaders who want to get stuff done in the world:

“It’s not that I don’t care. I do. It’s that I deeply care about my [   fill in the meaningful blank   ].”

Love from the inside outward. Some people will take offense to your healthy priorities. Others will take your loving example and love themselves even more.

Take a hot bath and call it another day to be grateful for your good life.

 

Always with Love,

danielle-signature1 copy

 

Instagram @2x

 

 

Perpetually cleansing? That’s about right. The 80/20 rule of living your life and cleaning it up.

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My friend and I were talking about “cleansing”. The juice cleansing, cleansing minds, cleaning up thought forms, cleansing your space…“Jeezus. When am I cleansed enough already?” he lamented. “Tell me about.” I sighed, sipping on my hot water…with lemon…because…cleansing.

Here’s what I figure:

80% of life is for creating, moving your dreams forward — LIVING. 20% of life is for cleansing and purifying.

We’re either making something, or letting something go. We’ve got to let stuff go in order to make more stuff. I could go on…in fact, I will:

A basic analogy: You spend most of your day clothed, put together, and consuming. You spend a relatively small amount of your day on hygiene, optimizing health, preening, and releasing — without doing so, you and your life would be very unpleasant. Like Pareto’s principle figured, it’s the 20% of purifying our lives that makes all the difference to our 80% of living.

Except we resist a lot of the necessary clean up because it requires restraint and focus. Supplements, hassle. “Clear-the-air conversations” with people, so uncomfortable. Knocking gluten out of your diet — but fresh bread, mmmm. The purification of our mind is where we hit serious resistance. Exfoliating negative thinking, detoxing our spirit of doubt, grief, fear — this is the root of the work to be done, and it can be the hardest to get to. But it’s so simple: Just like you bathe your body, you have to bathe your spirit. We declutter our spaces. We freshen up our bodies. We need to be still and flush out the debris (usually illusions) from our psyches.

Cleaning our minds, bodies, and spaces is essential — as in, a profoundly critical must must must. It fuels every kind of vitality and fulfillment. It’s the difference between held back and fully free, congested and clear, shuffling along and flying.

So fall in love the necessity of regular purification.

  • Have the conversation so you no longer have to carry the burden. Lighter.
  • Kick the fake food so your body can re-set to optimal. Lighter.
  • Bathe your body with complete sensual respect — because it’s YOUR BODY. Lighter.
  • Sit your beautiful self down and be still so that you can feel life pulsing through you. Stay there just a minute longer because that’s the place where the heavy thoughts give way to the healing truth. Let light pour through you — it’s the most powerful tool in the universe — cleansing, revealing, life-giving. Lighter.

Proactive and preventative purification — you know that’s where it’s at. Because we want to steer clear of things like backed up GI tracts, or long term depression or anxiety, or your friends sending the Hoarders TV crew to your place. Clean it up and and keep it clean before your system backs up with any number of things — self doubt, memories of shitty resentments on replay, or too much cholesterol. Get in front of yourself.

Deep living is dirty, sweaty, gorgeous work. We will accumulate things. But your Soul wants to be mobile, unencumbered — in touch with all the parts of your life.

Purify as you go so your Soul has room to grow.

 

Only ever Love,

danielle-signature1 copy
Perpetually cleansing? That’s about right. The 80/20 rule of living your life and cleaning it up

 

Instagram @2x

All the things that softly kill me.

Inside out:

You will find me one day, delirious on my living room floor. I won’t have eaten all week but my bones will be pulsing light so your eyes will need to adjust. You will rush to bend to me, to inquire, and I will hold your face in my hands and whisper, “The gratitude is killing me.” I’ll smile and consider dying in your arms.

Outside in:

Last week, life almost softly killed me, more specifically, the sweet man on the corner. It was perfect that he didn’t have all of his teeth and his head wobbled, because love-beams shot out of his smile like light through a pinhole camera. Standing in front of him felt like a darshan blessing. He was selling wall calendars for $20, photographs of the local neighbourhood. He got to keep $10 of every sale. The entrepreneur in me approved.

After my son and I walked away with our calendar, we stood at the corner waiting for the light to change. Hot tears rolled into my favourite scarf. I was grateful that I had $20 to spend without a second thought; that I had a warm house nearby; that we were having salmon for dinner with friends; and that my kid was holding my hand at that moment, even though he doesn’t let me do that on the way to school anymore.

My boy looked up at me, with pride, his eyes saying to me, “Oh mom, I love that you feel things.” He did not say, “It’s okay, the man will be okay.” Because we both knew he may not be very okay. And he did not say, “You’ll be fine, don’t cry,” because he knows that I am much more than fine and that I cry all the time on street corners because of all the things that softly kill me.

Next was the mom struggling to open the door to the fish shop with her baby strapped to her chest and plastic grocery bags twisting in the dog’s leash. We held the door for her. Ecstasy. Back at home there was that video, again, of the Syrian toddler’s dead body washing up on shore. This is hell. And then came the $1 million dollars raised in just two days for those refugees, because some writers with healthy Facebook pages thought, “Enough. We can do something.” So they did. Ecstasy.

Then I was talking to a friend about the shut-ins, the people dying of white bread consumption and loneliness. My friend spent all of the holidays delivering meals because everyone else was busy eating with their families. Agony. Relief. Not easy. Hope.

The hate. All the hate. It makes me fume and spin.

The light. Oh the light! The light that is powerful enough to transmute hate into Love. “T’was blind, now I see.” That kind of light.

Pain/joy. Helplessness/so very helpful. Crisis/calm beauty…It softly kills me to openness. And I think that because I am willing to be slayed in that way, then the gratitude floods in. The gratitude for all I have — for what I can do. From day to day, to day.

Inside out:

You will find me one day, delirious in my painting studio. I will be caked with fuchsia and burnt sienna. I will not have washed in days but roses will be growing from behind my ears. You will rush to bend to me, to inquire, and I will hold your face in my hands and whisper, “It’s my heart. Do you feel it too?”

 

danielle-signature1 copy

“It’s my heart. Do you feel it too?” The latest from @DanielleLaPorte. Yes, I feel it too.

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