I want to talk about faith.

To understand it. To hold it. To feel it so strong that it will hold me up. To be able to pick it up and put it in my pocket. To be able to rely on it. Text it when I need to.

But faith refuses.

It doesn't want to be talked about. Nor to be understood. It's not my Facebook friend. It's just a silent ever-present witness. A witness that I either allow or ignore. Just outside of my peripheral vision. And if I turn my head too quickly, I lose sight.

I have lost many things in my life. My mother. My business. My home. My marriage. My family. My friend.

But none compare with losing my faith.

Because losing faith means losing life, self, and the belief in love. Because losing faith means giving up.

And we can't give up.

Even when we want to.

Even if we have every right to.

So I want to talk about faith.

To bring it alive in my soul. To remember that everything really will be ok. And that all of this really does matter. And that we truly are loved. And that we can hand all of this over and just serve. 

And that this is enough.

My friend, Jarrod, says faith is like electricity. You can't touch it, taste it, see it or smell it. But you can see the effect of it.

Yes. Faith is like that.

And as I write this, I see two men across from me at the cafe.

Praying. 

Both of their heads are lowered toward their clasped hands. One is nodding. Wiping tears from his eyes.

This act of offering. Right here in a coffee shop. 

It humbles me.

Humans are beautiful.

And for just a moment, I see faith looking me straight in the eye.

With a smile and a wink.

Saturday's yoga class was the worst yoga class of my entire life. I hated it. (Actually, hate isn't strong enough.) I fucking hated it. (That's better.) It was 2 and half hours of grueling torture.

Here's what's weird, though: the poses weren't difficult. In fact, each pose would be considered Level 1. It was a slow-paced class, but I usally love slow classes. The breathing was controlled. That's no big woop. She had us focusing on one thought. I'm pretty good at that kinda thing. There were no arm balances, back bends, or any other exhausting acrobatics. It was a total mind-fuck. Nothing seemed like it should be hurting as bad as it was. But everything hurt. Really. BAD.

I wanted to quit. 

Leave.

Run.

Cry. (I did. Reasons Why Meadow is Crying #43: Child's Pose Hurts)

I wanted to yell at the teacher. Call her stupid. Start a revolution. Set all of us free.

I felt like I was in prison. Completely and utterly powerless. And in pain.

And soooooooo angryyyyyyy.

I love yoga.

But I hated this.

I talked to my teacher later about this class. I asked her if she just had some magical sequence of movements that make people angry?

She laughed. (Which kinda made me want to punch her.)

She said she took away everything that is kind and comfortable about yoga. She said her theme was 'discipline.' She controlled the pace of our breath, when we were allowed to exhale, how long we had to pause in between. She didn't allow any movement in postures. She had no music. She even made attempts to control our mind-focus (evil Jedi mind-tricks).

Basically - she put us in yoga prison for two and half hours on purpose - to show us how crazy our minds become when everything comfortable is taken away and we are still expected to keep our discipline with our mind, breath and body.

Of course, sweating my ass off there on the mat - I didn't see any of this. I wasn't Zen. I wasn't Rowdy. I thought I was the only one feeling this way. I chalked it up to being tired and burned out after so many hours of working on my latest book. I thought it was because I need a vacation. I never once considered that it might be on purpose - and that it was ok to be mad. And to just allow myself to be mad. And to try to bring myself back to peace.

Instead of relying on self-care and self-love and remembering that I have a choice of how I react (Novel idea, right?!) - I turned a million pounds of hate on her (AKA: What not to do).

And this is so good for me to see. For all of us to see.

I could have just laid down. I could have taken a non-painful Child's Pose. I could have taken care of myself. I could have refused to let myself be so angry. I could have set boundaries. I could have seen that the moment I wanted to rebel I was acting like an emotional child and had unknowingly changed her into my Mean Mommy. I could have seen myself as having a similar experience 'with' everyone in class (connection) rather than thinking I was the only one feeling that way (isolation, AKA: my typical I'm-unlovable-and-broken response).

In other words: I could have been disciplined. I could have practiced what I teach. 

But I didn't. 

As my friend Kira says: "It's so much easier to think great thoughts when you're sitting in a multi-million dollar house on the beach."

This is so true. Rowdy work doesn't show up when we're sittin' in paradise all nice and comfy with an umbrella in our drink.

Rowdy muscles aren't needed for that. 

Rowdy work begins when it starts to get uncomfortable. When we've lost our illusion of control. When we've forgotten that we have a choice. When we're scared. Or angry. When we don't want to forgive. When we feel like a victim.

This work is a practice. It's a practice of non-attachment. It's a practice of non-reacting. It's a practice of equanimity even when we're in physical or emotional pain. It's a commitment to self-care. It's a decision to choose self-love.

Because if I can't find peace on my mat, where-the-hell else am I going to find it?

  

No. 

I am not afraid.

I’m not afraid of what it means to live my life. To live as me. To speak my truth. To hold myself accountable. 

To have my heart seen. Unsheltered.

To share the stories of my wounds. And my mending.

To utter words of intimacy.  So thick. Only the strongest of souls will be left standing to witness them.

Because I have been to the bottom of the burning torch lake. I have lost my voice. My breath. My sight. My ability to move. And slowly sunk in complete surrender to what the mother would do with me.

And when I found rest. And opened my eyes to the cold light.  I was given the gift of vision. And instead of the eyes of another. I now only see the flicker of mine reflected.

I see what every person is dying to see. And I now know that I am not afraid to see it.

Because I have come face to face with Grendel’s mother. Only to find that the most ruthless of enemies, the one that nearly took my life, the monster who only the fiercest of warriors will ever meet. Shared my own face. Shared my own self. The self that wanted to lay hidden and unknown. The self that wanted to be secret and quiet. The self that had been buried, rejected, exiled.

The self that will ruin you if it remains unknown.

And then to whole-heartedly return to dry land. Beyond the bleached bones of the great-horned stags that refused to save their own life in that water. 

And I know a secret: 

They were never meant to aid my passage to the other side.

And this is a journey that only I can take.

Until, I see a traveler who sees their own flicker in mine.

And then I’ll know that I have found a true heart. Another who has stared into the mother's eyes. To find themselves.

Who is not afraid either.

I said a prayer for my heart tonight. 

I felt that cold seeping in.

The inky blackness that hides in my veins. Just waiting for a call to duty. To harden and cement a barrier so thick that I will be protected from this hurt. 

The white hot barbed-wire that courses from my gut. Twisting and turning a tangled rusted knot. Weaving itself a corset through my rib cage. Suffocating and stifling. Tighter. Till there were only two words.

Love me.

The two words that risk the most dangerous of dangers:

To love and to be rejected.

And I know rejection.

I know what it’s like to have your mother call you a pig. Rip off your clothes. And make your brother and sister watch while she whips you with the belt buckle. 

I know what it’s like to have your father fear you more than he can ever love you. 

I know what it’s like to have a man leave you. But not all at once because that would just be too kind. Instead, it’s in millimeters and moments. Till you don’t quite remember if he was ever there in the first place.

I know rejection.

And still. I hear the words.

Love me.

I want to obliterate them. Banish them from my memory. I want to shut them up. Gag them. I want to puke them out. And flush them away. I want to hide them somewhere safe. For some other night when I will know that I can trust.

And still. My soul will not be silenced. It craves connection. It speaks that moon language. 

It knows the truth. That love is never dangerous.

So I said a prayer for my heart tonight.

And my tears washed the blackness away. And the ocean wind broke through the weathered barbed-wire. 

And I remembered.

The two words that repair all wounds. 

And keep any heart from turning to stone.

I remembered the two words that obliterate all risk. All danger. 

The two words that make me willing to walk out into this dark night. Alone. And not afraid.

I love.

The two words that remind me that it’s not about what I get back. It’s not about being accepted, approved of, or included. It’s not about how well I can contort myself to fit your expectations. It’s about what I give. To you. To me. To all of us.

I love.

Because it’s not worth living life any other way. 

And even though the hardening and steel sing their siren song seducing me toward their fortressed prison.

I shut my eyes tight.

And say a prayer for my heart.

To help it choose to love.

Because this is the only direction to keep walking.

Listen.

We all have them.

Some of us have long ones. Some of us have short ones. Some of us have nice ones. Some of us have mean ones. Some of us pretend to not have them at all. And some of us just whip ‘em out at any old time, and use them as manipulative weapons of mass destruction.

No matter the size, the length or the age.

We always keep these hidden from sight. And we know the entire thing by heart.

On page 42 it might say, “If you see that I’m upset, you’re supposed to ask me what’s wrong.”

On page 128 it might say, “If it’s Christmas, you’re supposed to know what I want and get it for me.”

On page 387 it might say, “When you see a beautiful woman, you’re supposed to be struck blind momentarily and give me extra attention just because she walked by.”

On page 956 it might say, “When you’re upset, you’re supposed to talk to me and make me feel included.”

Basically, we carry around encyclopedia-set-sized invisible instruction manuals titled “How You Should Make Me Happy; Volumes I - Infinity.”

The problem is that these manuals are an ongoing project. There are undefinable loop holes. And horribly irrational penalties. There are blatant contradictions everywhere. Constant edits and ceaseless reprints. Written and re-written to offer an endless supply of hoops for the people in our lives to jump through. 

And our people?
They always fail.

Because no matter how much we love someone.
No matter how kind we are.
How smart we are. 
How cunning we are.

It’s impossible to follow all of the rules. All of the time.
Because it’s impossible to be in charge of making someone else happy.

Joy. Happiness. Peace. Love. Gratitude.
These are not states of being that can be created for another human being. 

We’ve been seriously duped into thinking that someone else can make us feel. We’ve been taught to believe: You followed my rule = I am happy. You didn’t follow my rule = I am mad/sad/jealous.

But here’s the truth: happiness can’t land on you. It can’t get painted on you. You can’t borrow it and wear it. It’s not a hand-me-down. It can’t be given to you by anything other than you.

We are happy when we choose to believe happy things. When we choose to focus on the positive. When we choose to love.

And this has nothing to do with whether or not someone followed your rule.

People break rules. They screw up. They check out a girl’s ass. Or forget your birthday. They text too much. Or not enough. They ignore you when you’re sad. Or forget to pick up toilet paper at the store.

And if we’ve set ourselves up to make our emotional state dependent on another person’s ability to follow our invisible manuals.

Then we lose. Every time.

And what about boundaries? Right? That’s what every student asks after they learn that they’ve gotta burn their manuals. They mistakenly believed that their manuals were boundaries. They think that by burning their manuals - they will become doormats of epic proportions. And that’s not the case. We’ve just been really confused about the difference between manuals and boundaries.

If manuals are titled “How You Should Make Me Happy.”

Boundaries would be titled “How I Make Me Happy.”

Boundaries are invisible manuals written exclusively for ourselves. They aren’t instructions for another person. They are only instructions for ourselves. They are never written out of anger. Or resent. Or manipulation. They are never written to make someone else behave. They are only written with the full acknowledgment that people do what they do. And we get to feel how we feel. And we get to choose to follow through with our own consequences. 

On page 2 it might say, “When I don’t get a call back. I will send an email instead.” 

On page 5 it might say, “If you are drunk, I will not have a charged discussion with you. I will leave and come back later.”

On page 6 it might say, “When I don’t want to do something, I will tell the truth.”

On page 11 it might say, “When I am upset, I will take responsibility to bring myself back to calm.”

On page 15 it might say, “If I want something for Christmas, I will ask for it. And if I don’t get it as a gift, I will make sure to get it for myself.”

On page 19 it might say, “When someone is late, I will still hold to my own time frame.” 

Boundaries are tough. They require a ton of self-awareness, rationality and emotional maturity. They require vulnerability, willingness to uphold consequences, and often they risk the very thing we’re trying to protect: the relationship itself.

They prevent us from becoming doormats. And hold us solely responsible for our inner state of being. 

Boundaries are about self love. And love of others. They are about caring for yourself and others. They give us new guidelines for inner peace. 

And most of importantly.
They work.

I live in one of the most beautiful places on earth. A little piece of heaven surrounded by ranches, farms and ocean in the middle of the California coast line.

This morning, I took advantage of an unusually-blank weekday morning and jumped in my car to go to one my favorite running trails about 20 minutes from my house.

Mornings can be utterly gorgeous in this valley. For the short time that California is green - it’s almost arrogant with its vibrancy. Showing off for the sky.

But not today.

Nope. Just grey. Subdued. 

Rounding the bend into the valley, to the left you can see all the way into wine country. And the hills beyond. To the right, you look up the valley to the ocean. Beyond the ranches.

And today there was a single horse in the middle of the field.

Surrounded by vultures. In an equidistant circle.

There had be at least 30 of them. Sitting there. Ring-around-the-rosie all facing the horse.

My heart sank. Something is wrong.

I got to my trail but couldn’t shake the thought of that horse and those vultures.

Should I have done something? Was something really wrong? What do those vultures know? Why were they there? If the horse ran away - would they follow her? Is the horse sick?

And I got to thinking...

Does this happen to us?

Is this happening to us?

When we are sick, or too tired, or too exhausted... do invisible vultures circle us? (Woo-woo, yes I know. But go with me on this one.) Are they just waiting for us to abandon ourselves? 

If we give into despair, or hopelessness or depression - does that give them the signal to feed? 

I’ve found that it only takes one step in the direction of choosing to live. One little action. One tiny decision. And the vultures are vaporized. 

They crave helplessness. Apathy. Indifference. And call all their friends and relatives for that feast.

They are repelled by vitality. By life force. By saying yes. By doing something.

As I ran the shore cliff - I patted myself on the back. First, for doing something (running) and keeping the invisible vultures away. And secondly, for coming up with such a nifty little blog post (yeah me).

A short-lived celebration.

On my way home, I turned left and leaned forward over the steering wheel to see if I could see the horse. Silently praying that neither the horse nor the vultures were there anymore.

Between the trees, I could see a truck. 

Oh good, someone is helping her.

Driving closer, I saw the horse. And two ranch women. Mud boots up to their knees. The horse running panicked arcs around the back of the truck. One woman with her arms out wide -  guarding the other woman who was holding a tiny stillborn foal. 

The size of a toddler across her arms.

Absolutely overcome with compassion. Love. Sadness. I stopped my car in tears. Watching the women work. Heart-broken, yet grateful for the lesson.

Knowing now what the vultures knew.

And what the horse-mama knew.

And what every woman who has ever lost a baby knows.

And I realized that the horse was keeping vigil.

And those vultures had no hope of getting to that baby.

And that maybe.

Just maybe.

Someone is also watching over me.

And watching over you.

And that the vultures don’t have a chance.

Against a love like that.

I am not a fan of New Year's Resolutions.

There.

I said it.

And, this declaration might get me kicked out of the Life Coach Club. But hear me out.

New Years is a rite of passage. It's a time where we reflect on where we've been. Where we are. And where we are going. It is an incredibly important time for self-awareness. For self-development. For creativity.

But unfortunately, New Years has become synonomous with resolutions. And most of us don't set actual resolutions. We, instead, create laundry lists of grievances toward ourselves and think that this list will have the magical power to change us.

It doesn't.

A true resolution isn't: I hope.

It's: I will.

It's a definite decision. Deciding that we want something enough to follow through with the actions to get it. 

So instead of creating something to measure our self-loathing,  Rowdies skipped New Years Resolutions and had a little fun instead. 

We created Rowdy Boards. 13 things for 2013. 

Here are the 13 things and my answers.

1. Choose one word that symbolizes where you have been, the quality that you are most proud of. A word that embodies your journey to this moment. 

Hero. This word speaks to me as a symbol for self-responsibility. For my journey with money and with my life. Along with the Joan of Arc quote: "I am not afraid. I was born to do this."

2. Choose one word that symbolizes what you are currently practicing or working on. A quality that you are reaching for right now.

Team. This word symbolizes my desire to belong, love, trust and serve others.

3. Choose one word that symbolizes who you will become this year. The quality that embodies your journey forward. The word for your future.

Clean. Symbolizing healing from the inside out. Clean heart, soul, mind, breath and body.

4. Pick one location that you will actually visit this year. This place can symbolize the places that your journey this year.

Charleston, SC. For our East Coast Rowdy Retreat. So excited.

5. Pick one activity that symbolizes the actions that you will take this year. The things that you will do.

I picked two: Running and Yoga.

6. Pick one person you admire.

I picked one of the Rowdies, Tara. She is an amazing human being and a constant reminder to me to follow love, to be strong and that this is the work that I was born to do.

7. Pick something/somewhere that you belong.

Rowdies. They are my community. My people. My friends.

8. Pick one food/drink that symbolizes physical health.

Green smoothie.

9. Pick one word/image that symbolizes emotional/spiritual health.

Namaste. Hands together in prayer.

10. Pick one thing that you most want/need to offer or give. One way that you need to be more generous.

My ideas.

11. Pick one quote that speaks to you for the upcoming year.

For I have learned that every heart gets what it prays for. ~Hafiz

12. Pick one theme song for the upcoming year.

Give a Little Bit by Supertramp

13. Pick one thing/image that symbolizes open-heartedness, practicing calm, thought work, Rowdy work, or any type of self-development work.

My yoga mat.

Now take your 13 things and find some inspiring pictures and create a collage. Have fun with this.  

The Rowdies have been sharing their work on our forum - their boards are so beautiful. So inspiring. And I want to hear from you too! Please share your 13 things in the comments below. Join us today and receive the audio download for this workshop as a free bonus.

The self-help field seems to be a magnet for weirdos. 
Seriously. And I’m not talking about the clients.

I’m talking about the teachers.

There are teachers who talk to animals.
To tea leaves.
To dreams, clouds.
Stars.

I’ve always been more from the practical side of the self-help genre.
Maybe it’s because of my degree in science.
Or my early disillusionment with organized religion.

I tend to have an irreverent take on the woo-woo bullshit. (That said - I majorly contradict myself with my open and loyal love of a woman who channels alien entities known under a collective name of Abraham. But that’s a different story.)

Years ago, one of my early teachers was on stage speaking about the angels that were on stage near her. Relaying their message to the crowd. 

My heart sank. Give me a break. Is it that hard to come up with material? Is it that difficult to stand behind your own teachings? Why blame it on the angels? 

I leaned over to my friend and whispered with a snarky eye-roll, “If I ever say that I see an angel. It’s because I really see a fuckin’ angel. So either lock me up - or frickin listen to that angel has to say.”

Which brings me to today.
I saw a fuckin’ angel.

Not only did a see one.
I talked to him.
And he gave me a gift.

Let me back up a bit.

I’ve been working intently on some new tools for my December classes. Typically, I design my classes ahead of time, implement the tools into my own life. Then, tweak and fine-tune them as needed before I teach them to the Rowdies. December’s theme is Grace vs. Force (Click here to see December's class line-up). It’s about creating more results with less effort. And tomorrow’s class applies these tools to money and earning. Specifically how to earn more with less effort.

This morning, I took the tools with me on my run. Mulling them over in my head. Poking holes anywhere I could find them. The latest Rowdy Playlist blasting in my ears.

My legs were sore this morning right from the start. Stiff. I was working through the tools in my mind and applying them to my sore muscles. Watching my mind want to stop running and walk instead. Watching my mind question whether I should be running in the first place. Is this Grace? Is this Force? 

Up ahead, I see a very old man walking toward me on the sidewalk. (A common site outside the local assisted living complex. Not your typical indication-of-an-angel-sighting.) 

Getting closer, I could see his eyes get really big. Eyebrows raised. As I ran past him he started to beat his chest with his right arm. Desperately. Eyes even bigger. His mouth was moving. Saying something. 

Shit. 
He’s having a heart attack.

I tear my earphones out of my ear and freeze. Heart beating from my run and from the fear that something bad is happening to him. And that I am supposed to help him. Feeling completely ill-equipped and amazed that this would be happening.

To him. 
With me.
Right now. 

I hear the last part of his sentence.

“Too.”

“What?!” I say. Trying to convey how completely deaf I was due to the earphones - pointing to them dangling. 

“I’m a runner, too.” Fist beating his heart. And I see the round patch beneath his fist. Yellow and black. Looks like it’s been hand-sewn onto the chest of many-a-jacket. 

Boston Marathon Finalist. 1979. 

“This was way before you were born, though. I used to be really fast. Then not so fast. But I did 13 marathons after I was 58. Loved to run.” 

The impact of his words. “I’m a runner, too.” He thinks I’m a runner. It felt like a guilty punch in the gut. Something that I couldn’t take credit for. 

“Oh gosh. I’m not a runner. I’m just picking it back up.” 

“Yes you are. I saw you running. You were smiling. You’re a runner. How old are you?”

I told him. He very sweetly said he would have never guessed. He said he thought I was one of the college kids. (God bless him.)

“You should do a marathon sometime. 
Here. This is for you.”

He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a coin. Just like a grandpa would. Giving a kid a coin to go buy a lollipop.

“This is for luck. And to remind you to keep running.”

I wrapped my fingers around it and closed my eyes in gratitude.

“What’s your name?” I told him. 

“Well, that’s an interesting name. Never heard that one before.” 
“Get back to it. I’ll see you out there sometime.”

I said goodbye and clutched my gold coin. 

And I ran.

Grateful that I could.
Knowing that he was watching and happy for me.
Grateful that I can do this thing with my body right now. 
And not only that I *can* do it - but that I *am* doing it. 

Feeling the beautiful responsibility of going out and actually doing the things that I can do. 
Not only physically.
Mentally. Spiritually. Emotionally. Financially.
With my career.
With my heart.
With my life.

And even though my muscles were still sore.
I could feel the Grace.
The lightness.
The sense of joy.
The careful idea of allowing myself to think I’m a runner.
Or anything else that I want to be.
And that it’s ok to want it. To be it. 

Grateful that I saw a fuckin’ angel.
And that he answered my questions.
And that he gave me a gift.

I have a question that I'd love for you to answer.

Try not to read ahead quite yet.

I want you to articulate your own answer to this.

What makes a person extraordinary?

Pause. Don't read on. Answer the question first.

Really think about it. Think about the people who you think are amazing or extraordinary.

What is it that makes up that extraordinary-ness?

What is your definition of a truly amazing human being? 

I posted this question in Rowdyville (read their answers below) - and have been contemplating my own answer all week.

And what I found was there is actually a very simple 2-step concept that sets apart Mother Teresa. Martin Luther King. Oprah. Or any other amazing person that you know.

1. They know who they are.

2. They live the life they truly want to live.

I am shocked at how utterly simple and crazy-difficult it is to be an amazing human being. 

Step Number One is a doozy of a step. I tried to avoid this step for years. I knew(ish) who everyone around me was ... and I thought that just might be enough.

It's not.

Step Number One is intensely spiritual, soul-wrenching, life-opening work. 

You can't rush it.

You don't really arrive at it. There are no "Know Yourself" flash cards or study guides. And you can't cheat off of someone else's test. 

But at some point in your life you will be given the opportunity to find out who you truly are.

If you want to be an amazing human being - you must take this class.

Again and again.

Until you know all the answers by heart.

Maybe it's just me, but there's something about getting a divorce, losing all your money and sitting in a little room alone for months-on-end that kinda bangs this lesson into your head. (Maybe your road was easier than this - but you're probably not an ultra-stubborn-red-head. Lucky you.)

So when you figure yourself out and finally know who the hell you are... awesome things start happening, right?

Not.

No angels come down to sing to you.

No waters part from the sea.

No double rainbows all the way.

Nope, now it's time to do the real work.

The work of going out and truly living the life you want to be living.

The work of your life.

And this doesn't mean "do whatever you want" in a reckless, passive or stupid way. It doesn't mean start boozin', sexin', druggin', spending money, living-like-a-rock-star-with-a-death-wish.

It means to deliberately go out and do the thing that you want to do. 

That thing that you know you need to do.

It means to go take those pictures in Morocco. Or learn to sail.

It means to start that nonprofit.

Or to have that baby.

Or get that divorce.

It means to quit that job. And start to really tell the truth.

It means to do those things. Those things that seem so "un-amazing" that they almost seem scary. Or boring. Or risky.

Over and over again this week, I recognized areas of my life that I'm not *quite* living the life I truly want to live. Maybe I go to yoga a little less often than I want. Or drink a little too much on Friday night. Maybe I lose my cool and shout at someone I love. (Sorry.) Or get lost in my to-do list.

Step Number Two is a work in progress for me. But this idea has been an insightful tool. It a compass pointing true north. And it guides me toward my most-amazing-self-ness.

There are a lot of ordinary people out there.

There are people who refuse to learn themselves.

There are people who are afraid to live the life they want to live. (If you call that living.)

And there are too many people who will die without having made the brave step toward their own amazing-ness.

I know that you're not one of these people.

Get to know who you are.

And then do the fucking work to live that life.

It's time.

---

What makes a person extraordinary?

I posted this question in Rowdyville and here's what they had to say: 

She realizes she has a choice to stand out. She who knows that every single day she is making choices in her life that defines who she is.  

She makes hard choices, even when she knows others won't agree.

She chooses to love, above all else, even when it's hard.

She chooses to be real, rather than to pretend.

She chooses to believe that she deserves an amazing life. 

She has an unbounded love of life and people. 

She tells the truth about who she is and what she wants.

She commits to something she values as her life work.

She keeps trying even when she gets it wrong (and she's willing to be wrong).

She takes very good care of the life she's been given.

She uses up all her space.  She doesn't see limits, only possibilities.

She is in love with the process of life. 

She totally accepts herself and accepts others the same way. 

She leads with love and only sees love in others.

She loves her light and her darkness

She knows she is creating her own life and strives to create the best.

She is Rowdy. 

She allows her specific traits to shine especially brightly. 

She allows herself to be refined by the consistency of her choices, neither fighting, engaging or avoiding the consequences. 

Big-heartedness. Eyes wide open. Curious mind. The ability to take things lightly. The courage to fail. And succeed. Consistent connection to self/essence/soul. A sense of humour. Kindness. A ruthless honesty. An ability to agree with reality. And then change it.

She embraces the ordinary in this life with such complete love and compassion that she transforms her ordinary life into an extraordinary life.

Love and compassion are like breathing to her. Forgiveness too. Forgiveness toward herself.