A dog is wiser than a woman; it does not bark at its master. – Russian Proverb
If you want to be grotesquely fascinated, check out this book of relationship advice that is on bestseller lists across Europe:
Get Married….And Be Submissive
This is not the kind of submissive involving handcuffs and paddles and black silk wrapped round your eyes. The author – who is a woman – states that
“we are not equal to men and to not recognise this is a guaranteed source of suffering”.
“you must submit to him. When you have to choose between what he likes and what you like, choose in his favour.”
And don’t forget that
“when your husband tells you something, you should listen as if it were God speaking”. click here
I once heard one person say about another:
She had a capacity for deep joy.
That struck me. In fact, I thought it was goddamn beautiful.
Could somebody say that about me, I wondered, and a thought rose in response:
Maybe not so much.
I wasn’t an unhappy person. But even back then, I sensed a difference between happiness and joy.
Happiness is related to your circumstances. It ebbs and flows with the external forces of your life.
Joy goes deeper.
Joy is when you’re tapped in to something that threatens to blow up your heart. click here
My favorite thing in my Facebook feed today was a text image from Madonna’s page:
(I want that on a t-shirt.)
When we talk about finding your voice, we’re talking about your ability to own it. Your voice is not just what you say and how you say it, but who you are.
Which is maybe why we’re so quick to imitate other people’s voices. If it worked for them, so our reasoning goes, then it should work for us, right? We can hide who we are behind who we think we’re supposed to be.
When you own it, you drop the act.
You come out of hiding. click here
I would rather be whole than good. — Jung
My son was five years old. He liked colors and textures and shine. He told me one morning, with a shy, sweet smile, that he would like to make drawings with glitter pens.
Soon I was cruising the aisles of a local toy store, checking out the kiddie arts and crafts.
Which were mostly packaged in pink.
My son was old enough to feel self-conscious about liking something girly, and I worried that his brothers would poke fun at him. I kept scanning the rows of merchandise, the jewelry-making kits and boxes of markers and crayons: where the hell were the boy glitter pens? Or, at the least, glitter pens in a unisex packaging?
And as I failed to find them – because they didn’t seem to exist – another question lifted its head from the corner of my brain: click here
You have to see it to be it. — Billie Jean King
In the upcoming book, What Will It Take To Make a Woman President?, Maya Angelou says this:
If you have a person enslaved, the first thing you must do is to convince yourself that the person is subhuman and won’t mind the enslavement.
The second thing you must do is convince your allies that the person is subhuman, so that you have some support.
But the third and the unkindest cut of all is to convince that person that he or she is not quite a first-class citizen. When the complete job has been done, the initiator can go back years later and ask, “Why don’t you people like yourselves more?”
How we see ourselves reflected in our environment shapes our sense of who we are — and by extension, what we’re worth.
In 1981, a Harvard psychologist named Ellen Langer performed a study on two groups of men. click here
Let go before it poisons you
+ turns your blood to bitters
(you have swallowed the enemy)
let go before it skewers your heart
+ takes it apart
(nothing in the chambers but dust)
let go before you’re stuck
in the rewind
raising your hands to push against nothing
contorting your mouth to speak
let go because the marks
they stamped into your body
will fade to scars + stories
(the things they said were never true anyway)
let go before the green life
gets bored + wanders off
(it can’t enter you unless you’re empty)
let go because that ledge
it’s time to learn
what waits to deliver you
when you fall.
Stop the presses. Kim Kardashian lost the baby weight and has her hot body back!
Give a typical teenage girl the choice between learning about Kim’s dramatic weight loss, or the new female CEO of General Motors, I think I know which story she would pick.
Girls aren’t stupid. They know what’s relevant to how they themselves get judged everyday. Mary Barra’s rise to power is all very well, but does she look good in a bikini?
There’s an anecdote that another female corporate giant, Sheryl Sandberg, likes to tell. She was doing a Q+A with Facebook employees and informed them that she would take two more questions.
Later, a young woman informed her: “After you took those two final questions, I put my hand down and all the other women put their hands down. A bunch of men kept their hands up and then you took more questions.”
Sandberg admits that she hadn’t even noticed.
This reminds me of a teacher in a classroom who favors the boys without realizing. Boys feel entitled to the teacher’s attention. They call out the answers. They raise their hands even when they’re wrong because they know the teacher will correct them and they will learn the answer anyway. The girls raise their hands only when they are one hundred percent convinced that their answer is the right answer. For them, there is no room for error. The risk of social humiliation – the deep brutal wrongness of being wrong – is too great. click here
(On Dec 5, I spoke at one of the 220 independent TEDXWomen events that were organized around the world. I plan to blog about the day — it was an amazing day! — but in the meantime, here is the transcript of my talk.)
I have a confession to make.
When I was a little girl I would write obnoxious things in my diary.
Things like: “Life is so exciting when you’re someone like me, good at school and writing and sports!!!!”
Or: “When I grow up I’m going to be a world-famous novelist.”
Or: “One day I’ll rule the world.”
Actually I never wrote down that I wanted to “rule the world.”
But I thought it. I was that kind of kid.
I wanted to be great.
(Or a career as a soap opera actress. But I would settle for greatness.)
Then, a few years later – when I was maybe 12 – I came across that same diary when I was cleaning out the drawers beneath my waterbed. (This was the era of waterbeds.) I saw those scrawled words of my younger self, and felt…
…mortified. click here
There is a Santa Monica neighborhood that is amazing on Hallowe’en night.
It comes complete with a haunted mansion on the corner. The owner hands out little stuffed animals to kids before sending them through a shrieking flickering maze where hands reach for you in the dark.
(And I, the oh-so-jaded adult, emerged from the gate, and assumed I was free and clear, when one of the characters jumped out from behind me and yelled “Boo!”.
Basic, yet effective.)
It’s become such a popular trick-or-treating destination that police block off the streets for safety purposes. By the end of the night, the people pouring from door to door have numbered in the thousands.
(And parking becomes hella difficult.)
“Think how much this night must suck,” said my manny, “if you live here and you’re totally not into Halloween.”
My manny is a ripped, playful, twentysomething Crossfit addict who shaved off his purple mohawk when he interviewed for the job. I hired him on the condition that he grow it back.
“Isn’t that Ben Affleck?” he asked, as the kids bounced around and compared their growing bounty. I was watching a chainsaw-wielding maniac lumber down the middle of the street. (I myself was decked out as Cleopatra, although the top of my headpiece had snapped off against the roof of my car when I got in without remembering to remove it. My asp no longer possessed a head. This was sad, but I forged on regardless.)
For a moment I thought he meant someone had dressed up as Ben Affleck, but no. He was talking about the man himself. Ben and Jennifer, dressed in normal gear, were taking their kids from door to door like any other nuclear family. That was wealthy and famous and supernaturally attractive. That people – obeying the unspoken LA protocol of How To Deal With Famous Folk – were discreetly stealing glances at while giving them their space and pretending not to care. click here
Every goal has four dimensions.
Mind, heart, body, soul.
They’re all interconnected. Although one dimension is usually dominant – maybe you’re trying to solve a problem or come up with a plan (mental), or find a mate or bond with your teenager (emotional), or run a marathon or declutter your house (physical), or ascend to a higher state of mind or connect to some cause or movement bigger than yourself (spiritual) – the achievement of this goal involves the other dimensions as well.
I am preparing a talk to give at TEDXWomen in Los Angeles on Dec 5 – which is coming up maybe faster than I would like.
I want to crush it.
The big goal (crushing it) chunks up into smaller goals, each involving one of the dimensions. click here