The Cabinet Liberators

It’s not ‘beautiful’ but it is useful!

For 3+ years, our old kitchen cabinets sat in the basement, gathering dust, taking up space.

Last week, I finally got around to removing all the stuff I’d piled inside them and moving them out into the middle of the floor so I could take photos and C.C. could put them on a social media market site.

Fifteen solid walnut kitchen cabinets. For Free.

The only caveat was, they had to take ALL of them.

And they needed to be able to carry them up from the basement and out the front door.

The first couple who arrived drove up in a big SUV trailing a small trailer. I was curious how a man and woman in their 60s, him with bad knees, her with a bad back (they told me) were going to navigate the physical labour part of the deal.

In the end, they chose not to.

The second cabinet liberators were two very fit, younger men undaunted by the prospect of carrying the cabinets up the stairs and out the door.

They filled their trailer with the first 6 cabinets and said, “We’ll have to come back for the rest.”

And they did.

Except, as they finished carrying up the 10th cabinet one of the men told me they needed to go pick up lumber and would be back. Tomorrow.

I needed to believe him so I smiled and said, “Great! See you in the morning.”

They never returned.

At first, I was ticked. I mean seriously? The deal was ALL the cabinets, not just 10 of them.

C.C. put the five remaining back up on the market site, but they were a disparate lot. There were no takers.

Finally, seeking to find value in all things, (and having no desire to rent a truck and haul them to the landfill to create more waste) I decided to make use of the remaining five.

And that’s when the true gift of The Cabinet Liberators deception became my reality.

After three days of sorting, moving, clearing out and shovelling out things that have been cluttering up the basement, I have a fabulous (albeit not beautiful) new work space where I can keep things like my big paper cutter, my Cricut, Big Shot and other paraphernalia I use occasionally. (but would probably use more often if they were more easily accessible). I also have wall space to hang some old paintings!

And here’s the thing, the man who said he was coming back for the rest of the cabinets and didn’t… I have a feeling he is carrying the guilt of lying. I could see it in his face when he told me they would be back the next day. His eyes looked down. He was flushed and gave me a nervous smile.

So… just in case he is feeling guilty, I forgive him and his partner ‘in crime’.

Ultimately, they did me a favour. Had they taken all 15, I’d be trying to figure out what to do with all the paraphernalia that needed a home.

Yes. It would have been nicer if he’d just told me the truth. But his deception only created a momentary pang of annoyance before I got to work making it work for me.

So… I set my pangs of annoyance free and embrace the feeling of gratitude and relief that comes with finding a solution that is a win/win for everyone involved.

And I say, Thank you Cabinet Liberators. May the cabinets you took be of great value to you. May they fill your home or whatever space you’re using them for, with a sense of joy in their usefulness. And, may you know peace.

And if he’s not carrying the guilt I suspect, that’s okay too. A little gratitude and forgiveness goes a long way to easing any burden I might be carrying!

Namaste.

You’re Not Welcome… Yet.

Does a tree say to leaves turning golden in July, “Stop! Go back to green! It’s not time to change seasons yet! It’s not time to bring out your autumn wardrobe of many colours.”

Or does it embrace nature’s ways with grace and ease? Accepting that all things happen in their own time. All things unfold as they are meant to unfold. Because, the trees know, they are not separate from nature. They are one with all of life on earth.

There are glimmers of gold in the trees this morning. Buffalo berries glow bright red in the bushes outside my window. And the sun glows red in a smoke clouded sky.

We are in the height of summer here on the leeward side of the Rocky Mountains. The forests are lush and green. The yet to turn golden green fronds of prairie grasses dance in the wind as if pulled by a puppeteer’s unseen hands.

And I want to yell at the leaves that continue to fade from green to golden, “Go back. Go back. You’re not welcome here… Yet.”

And I know my exhortations to retreat will be unheeded.

It is nature’s way.

To change. To flow. To be impervious to my demands as it struggles to meet the demands of a world where the very beings that make life on earth possible, the trees and rivers and oceans and air, are being continuously bombarded with our insensitive human ways.

Perhaps that is why the most recent spate of wildfires and floods and other natural disasters have felt so daunting. So incomprehensible. So sad.

Nature is responding in the only way it knows how to our continued demands it accept our garbage, our toxic waste, our extravagant assertions it act like a sponge to all we thoughtlessly deposit into the air and rivers and oceans and fields and forests and valley bottoms. It has reached the zenith of all it can contain. It is breaking open, breaking down and we, the humans of this world, are responsible.

This is not a battle of wills, of ‘little man’ with just a slingshot looking to topple the behemoth of nature. Nature is our partner. We are one with it, part of all of it as it is part of all of us. And we are in a fight for our lives. Should we remain impervious to nature’s need for us to change our ways, no one, not nature, not humans, not sentient nor non-sentient beings who are all our co-inhabitants of this planet which gives us life will survive.

I spied a patch of golden leaves this morning. I want to tell them to turn back to green but cannot stop nature’s way.

I can stop getting in the way of nature’s calls for help. I can stop demanding nature keep giving me life and start honouring the life it gives me and the symbiotic nature of our relationship. And to do that, I must do more with less, create better with everything, and give to the earth and all its beings both the less and the best of me.

I can stop hoping someone else ‘fix it’ and start fixing what I have contributed to breaking.

Autumn leaves turning golden in July beneath a smoke laden sky reminded me this morning of my continued need to lessen my footprint, pay attention to each step I take upon this planet.

Autumn leaves are turning. And though it feels too soon, it is not too soon for us to change our ways. We’re already late.

Photosynthesis

The view from where I sit

This is a land of trees. Trees that march across valley bottoms, up rolling hills to merge, somewhere far off in the distance, with the horizon falling down towards earth.

“It’s easy to see how someone could get lost in the woods here,” I mention to my beloved as we drive east, across the TransCanada Highway that has only been a link from east to west and west to east since 1965.

The trees sprawl out in every direction stopping only at the shores of the mighty Lake Superior whose northern edge we traverse in our eastward drive.

Thirty-four hours and over 3500 kilometers later, we reach Georgian Bay glittering like a pale sapphire under the hot July sun. We spend two delightful days visiting with C.C.’s oldest brother and his wife and then move further east, through Algonquin Park to Barry’s Bay.

We are here now at the shore of Kamaniskeg Lake where we will visit with our dear friends U and A for the next week before flying home.

And I feel it all.

Permeating my skin.

Sinking deep into my bones.

Infusing my senses with its beauty.

The silence.

The quiet of the lake.

The birds twittering in the trees.

The stillness.

Soft. Sensuous. Sibilance.

There is no breeze caressing the leaves, stirring them into story-telling.

No tell-tale gusts of wind rippling the water’s surface.

There is only green. Miles and miles of green caressing the deep blue waters of the lake which the trees surround like lovers merging their bodies into one as they lay entwined on a bed of leaves beneath a hot summer sun.

And in the presence of the silence, in the depth of this stillness and the narrowing of the distance between my body and nature, I find myself breathing. Deep.

I am here. Present. Embodied in the stillness of it all.

Photosynthesis
by Louise Gallagher


The quiet enduring embrace
of nature
fills
   my spirit
calming
   my city-riddled nerves
easing
   my busy-minded thoughts
into the silence
  immersing me 
    like the trees
     conspiring  
with the sun
to transform carbon dioxide 
into life
   giving 
     birth
      to life
again and again.

In the presence of trees
silently standing sentinel
to nature’s ways
    I find 
      myself
         falling
with grace
   sliding softly
into nature’s 
    quiet 
       enduring
          embrace
again and again.

Before Words

Before Time – mixed media on canvas – 30 x 24″

Both on the canvas and on the page, immersed in colour and texture, tone and feelings, words and imagery, I find myself coming home to a place I didn’t know existed before I became immersed in it all.

And then…. I read the news and must find my way back to that place where I find myself grounded in the darkness and the light, the ugly and the beautiful, the intolerable and the harmony.

This morning, I read the news. Story after story of unease and confusion and injustice and racism and phobias too unbearable to name, deaths too heavy to endure, history to unbearable to uncover.

And the muse pushes me to write it out. To name it. Feel it. Know it. See it. Bear it. Even when the words are too dark to see or feel too heavy to bear in the dim light cast by the news. To write it out and bear witness to it all so that in all of it, the mystery, the awe, the ineffable beauty of life can shine through.

In keeping with the Before Time poem from yesterday, this morning’s poem is titled, “Before Words”. (and the painting is the finished version of yesterday’s share.)

Before Words
by Louise Gallagher

Before words
man had no name
for who he was
or who the others were
who shared this human 
state
without a name.

Without a name
he could not name
the things he saw
that were the same
yet different
and lived within the mystery
of the world
for which he had no name.

And then words came
and labelled all that man was
all that man created
all that man did
as wanted/unwanted
beautiful/ugly
funny/sad
curious/dreaded
intriguing/frightening
right/wrong
us/them.

And in the naming of it all
man became black or white
dark/light
rich/poor
believer/nonbeliever
love/hate.


And in the names
man called 'them'
there were no words
to label the things he did not
understand
or know
and so he named them all
The Other.

There was no room
for the others
who did not fit into man’s tidy
labels
designed to keep the others
out
until fear grew 
wild
hatred flourished 
fierce
and man became
the one 
to fear the most.

About the artwork: When I began this painting it was an overpainting of an old piece that did not please me. It was going to be flowers and then, the evolution of time began to unfold and this is what appeared.

She Could Not Let The Gods Die

My mother was born in India of Euro-Asian descent. At the time, Pondicherry was a French Protectorate with a very vibrant and strong Catholic community.

Devoutly Catholic, she affixed crucifixes above doors and kept statues of the Virgin Mary and Jesus by her bed. She also ensured there were statues of Vishnu and Lakshmi and other gods all around the house, just in case.

The words of a prayer were never far from her lips, especially if one of us four children lost something or tested her patience (read mostly me). Where I was concerned, it didn’t take much provocation for her to quickly launch into a prayer to St. Jude, the Saint of Lost Causes.

I remember once, we were camping and my sister and I were using one of my father’s favourite camping pots as a bucket. We would scoop water out of the river and then throw the water back in as if it were raining. I was scooping and throwing and accidentally let the bucket go as I was throwing the water back in. I remember watching, aghast, as the bucket bobbed along the surface of the water, out of reach. My mother made me pray with her to St. Jude and a few minutes later, the pot was found safely tucked in between two rocks a bit further downstream. She was convinced it was St. Jude answering our prayers, just as she was convinced, God and St. Jude would never give up on me.

Yesterday, I read Agah Shahid Ali’s poem, “Lenox Hill” which arrived in my Inbox via The Poetry Foundation. Reading his powerful and provocative words, I was reminded of my mother and her many gods and goddesses and her deep abiding faith in the God of her faith.

This poem was born…

She Could Not Let The Gods Die
By Louise Gallagher

Tired now,
she prayed feverishly
to her Lord
God of her faith
committed 
to following His way
to the other side.

It was the way 
of the cross
she’d carried away
from the land of her birth
when she’d left
to follow the way
of a man
who appeared
like one of the gods
she could not let
die.

She carried her faith like a cross
but could not let the gods
of her land of birth
die
just in case.

You never know when you might need
a god of another colour
she whispered into the shroud
of mystery
that encircled her
in the dead of night.
You never know who will meet you
at the door
of Heaven or Hell or Svarga loka.

And when the time came
for her to pass over
through the gates
of an unseen world
she held tight
to the rosary she’d carried
with her from the land of her birth
as her lips silently moved,
praying feverishly for her soul
to achieve enlightenment.

I have never let you die,
she whispered with her dying breath
where karma met Moksha on the way
of the cross
releasing her from all earthly ties
free
to live in peace
forever 
on the other side.

Always Leave Heartprints

Before my mother met my father, she had every intention of becoming a nun. And then, this dark-haired fly-boy rode in on a southbound train and swept her off her feet.

Years later, when she was a couple of years older than I am now, I asked her if she had any regrets. “I regret leaving my mother and father in India,” she said. “I promised to always take care of them and I didn’t.”

She didn’t regret not taking her vows. Her life, while often difficult after leaving India, was full of her family. Though, after returning to Canada in the late 70s, she wished she still lived closer to her brothers and sisters, most of whom were in France.

But she was deeply devoted to her son and granddaughters and never wanted to be far from them. When my brother left this world in 1997, a year and a half after my father, she was shattered.

It is the one thing she struggled with for the rest of her life; to understand the tragedy of his death and the loss of all contact with her two eldest granddaughters which followed.

Yet, no matter how devastated she was by her losses, her faith never faltered and she never questioned God’s will.

I often admired my mother’s deep faith. It gave her such certitude and grace. There was no doubt in her mind that God would take care of her and in that certainty, she sometimes wondered about ‘the why’, she never questioned God’s Grand Design. She never felt alone because God was always with her.

On Friday, I attended the funeral of my friend Bev, Tamara’s mother.

It is in such heart-breaking moments that I wonder if I had faith such as my mother’s would my heart ache so much. Yet, I know it would because loss is not about faith. It’s about sorrow. And the only thing to ease sorrow, is Love.

Because of Covid, there were only 10 of us at the service. Tamara, her aunt, cousin and seven friends. We were seated far apart from each other, masks on, no opportunity to hug, to support one another, to share our love, stories and strength with her beautiful daughter.

I am so deeply grateful for the gift of being able to be there for Tamara and to wish Bev a safe passage in this, her final adventure. But, the restrictions of Covid felt so heavy and binding and so very uncomfortable.

What struck me most was the realization of how important ‘gathering’ is when someone’s physical body leaves this world. How being there to say one last good-bye is vital. As is being able to walk alongside their loved ones in close community, to support them and to love on them.

With Covid there, it made the loving on them more distant and remote.

When my cousin Linda succumbed to Covid April 30th of 2020, my cousins in France could not gather. I was saddened by how difficult those days were for them, but didn’t fully comprehend just how tragic it would have felt until Friday, when I left the gathering, got in my car and drove towards home.

It was a beautiful, warm spring day. The leaves were budding. People were out and about. The sky was crystal blue clear.

My eyes were cloudy. My heart heavy.

Not just for Tamara’s loss and pain. But also because, as we sat in the sanctuary and bid Bev good-bye, Covid was present in our midst simply because of its restrictions and we were unable to give the one thing I know we all seven friends wanted to give Tamara and her family. A hug.

And so, this morning, I know in my heart, I must chose to seek the value in all things. To find the beauty amidst the aches that cloud my heartfelt view of the world on this beautiful spring morning.

This ache is a reminder to savour the moment and to treasure those I love and let them know how very, very deeply I love them and their beautiful gift in my life.

To live life with passion, purpose and presence.

To give. Love. Laughter. Compassion. Hope. Kindness.

Freely. Completely. Always.

And… to have faith… In Love. Always.

I do not share my mother’s deep faith in a God I never came to love as she did. It is not my way.

My way is to Love. Always. Completely. Freely.

And so I shall.

Love all things. Including this ache that reminds me that life is a precious gift to be savoured, tended to and cherished in every moment. Just the way it is. Just the way I am. And to be shared, freely and completely, with those I love.

I love you all and am grateful for your presence here, and in my life.

Namaste

.

The Choice.

The Choice — mixed media page — Learning to Fly art journal

Yesterday, I took a risk.

I’m glad I did.

The affirmation, confirmation and support I received filled my heart with gratitude and joy. I felt alive.

Which got me wondering… Do I take enough risks?

Oh, not the jump out of an airplane or ski down virgin terrain on a steep backcountry mountain kind of risk but the emotional, spiritual, deeply personal risk of vulnerability.

Sadly, I think the answer may be… not often enough.

Which is why I write here.

To teach myself to live life wide open. My heart unlocked. My psyche unsheathed. My entire being unarmoured-up.

To stretch my vulnerability muscles, to expand my willingness to be real, authentic, known. To increase my capacity to live outside my comfort zone – I must choose vulnerability.

‘Cause in many instances, that’s what living ‘sheltered’ behind our protective walls and habitual nature of hiding our ‘true nature’ is – A fear response to dangers unknown about which we are constantly negative fortune-telling in order to protect ourselves from hurts we experienced in the past and fear will happen again.

It is such a convoluted story we tell ourselves about what could happen. And because we don’t want it to happen, we tell ourselves we have to armour-up when in reality, disposing of our armour and allowing ourselves to be wholly present and vulnerable is what keeps us safe.

I remember when, after being released from a relationship that was killing me, I received a call one morning telling me that the man who wanted me gone had escaped from jail. “We don’t know where he is,” the detective told me on the phone, “but we figure he’s probably going to try to find you.”

In one instant all my hard won peace of mind evaporated and I was catapulted into a raging storm of fear engulfing every cell of my being. I remember taking Ellie, my Golden Retriever who had gone through much of that journey with me and been my ballast and comfort for so much of it, for a walk in the forest where we had walked every day since his arrest.

Suddenly, every rustle of leaf, every crack of twig, every shadow was ‘him’ waiting to leap out of the bushes and drag me back into the past.

I remember standing amidst the towering pines and crying, trying to force myself to keep walking further along the path. I couldn’t do it. I turned and ran back to my apartment, slamming the door shut and lying on my bed sobbing.

And then… it struck me.

He had absolutely no idea where I was and had no way of finding out. We had had zero contact since his arrest months before.

While he was a danger, he was not a real and present danger. It was my thoughts playing havoc with reality.

I had a choice. Live behind locked doors or go out into the sunshine. I unlocked the door and Ellie and I went for our walk.

Sure, there were niggles of fear wafting around me but I chose to risk facing them rather than armour-up against them.

It has been a constant learning in my life. To un-armour myself when my mind is screaming at me to raise the drawbridge, man the ramparts and take cover.

And the only way I know to do that is to face what I fear and risk — being vulnerable, real, authentic — and… to love myself, all of me, warts and wisdom, darkness and light, beauty and the beast.

And so… I write it out.

What about you? Are you willing to take a risk today?

Art Journal Entry, August 26, 2014

In a burst of exuberance, the wind swept down from the mountains 
whispering stories of faraway places.

“Runaway with me and I will show you the world!” the wind called out.

And Coyote laughed. “Here is where I run free,” he told the wind.

And the wind blew on and Coyote ran free.

https://dareboldly.com/2014/08/27/a-gift-from-the-quiet-hours-before-the-dawn

There was a time when she believed if she could just be somewhere else other than where she was, everything would be okay.

There was a time when she wished for nothing more than to be someone else other than who she was.

What she couldn’t see in looking for another way of being is that no matter what she wished for, she could never be anyone else other than who she was.

What she couldn’t see was that the parts of her that didn’t fit her well in this place, would not fit her any better in another.

Fearful that she would never find her way, she attempted to jettison her past, extricate herself from being herself to become someone she thought others wanted her to be. “Perhaps if you change directions, or even just your clothes, you’ll find yourself another way,” her nimble mind whispered like the wind blowing down from the mountains, calling her to run away.

And she ran, and ran and still she found herself where ever she was at, trying to run away from the one she could never leave behind, herself.

“Perhaps if you simply stand true to who you are, stay present to what is here in this moment, you’ll find yourself right where you’re at,” her loving heart whispered into the howling of the wind.

Frightened by her heart’s calling and tired of constantly running away, she fell to the ground and rested right where she was at. And in her sleep, her heart beat strong, and her mind grew restful as the truth of who she is set her free to run wild like the wind through her dreams.

“There is nothing to fear in being you,” her heart whispered. “Who you are is who you’ve always been. Perfectly human in all your human imperfections. Beauty and the beast. Loving and loved. A child of the universe, seeking her way into the light of her own brilliance shining brightly on the path of her creation.”

Like coyote and the wind, there is always a calling to venture into another space, some distant place where what is here will not be there. It isn’t until we quit searching for somewhere else to be that we discover, everything we need to be free is here right now, because, no matter where we go, we are where ever we go.

__________________________

This piece originally appeared on my blog August 27, 2014. There is more to it if you want to read the rest — CLICK HERE

My original plan was not to write about body image this morning. But, a facetime call with my eldest daughter this morning where I shared part of a conversation I had yesterday with a beautiful friend who dropped to pick something up redirected my thinking.

My friend and I were talking about body image (why do I feel compelled to ensure you know we did it ‘safely’?) I was telling my friend how I had found some photos of me with my eldest daughter when she was born and I mentioned how I was surprised to see I wasn’t ‘fat’!

“Why did I always think I was fat?” I asked my friend. Now let me caveat that statement — I am not fond of that word ‘fat’. It is not a loving way to describe or to view myself but, honesty and speaking truth is vital to change. I can’t think of a time in my life when I didn’t think I was fat.

Now, I should also mention that much of my life I always thought of myself as very fit — which I was — but it didn’t matter how much I ran or swam or skied or climbed or worked out — I always thought I was fat!

My social and psychological conditioning as well as media representations of ‘beauty’ have instilled some really dysfunctional ideas around body image that I continue to work on unravelling — it is a huge challenge. These ideas and attitudes are deeply embedded in my psyche.

My friend replied that she too shares the same issues. She is a good 8 inches taller than me and has always been beautiful in my eyes. In her own, not so much.

It is said that “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”.

When we look in the mirror, we are beholding ourselves.

How beautiful do you see yourself?

Do you see your natural beauty or do you compare yourself to some media instilled measurement of beauty and find yourself less than, other than, an artificial construct of beauty?

Twiggy was the standard-bearer of my age, I told my daughter this morning. She defined beauty when I was in my teens.

Kate Moss was mine, she replied.

We are both under 5’3″ tall. Supermodel status was never in our genes. Yet, through the power of media and peer pressure and social conditioning, (and air-brushing) we, like millions of our peers, wanted desperately to emulate a way of ‘looking’ that was/is unachievable.

And there’s the catch. ‘Looking’ like someone else’s definition of beauty is not sustainable nor loving.

Being who I am, being myself as I am and loving myself from the inside out without judging how I ‘look’ and finding myself wanting – that’s the measurement of success and beauty I want to live by.

What about you?

Who/what defines beauty for you?

Do you love yourself completely, just the way you are?

It’s a tall order. To love yourself completely, just the way you are. I’m still working on it.

Namaste

Love Makes It So

I don’t often share a link to another person’s post without first writing about whatever is awoken within me by what another has written.

This morning. I’m changing it up. Mostly because… Brian Pearson’s lastest post, “Justice on the Journey” rings so deeply true within me, I feel compelled to offer it up for everyone else to read.

I hope you read it and come back to comment — I’d love to know how it resonates with you.

His opening paragraph grabbed me and just kept pulling me inward to the bare truth of his final statement,

"The spiritual journey requires us to be as engaged with the wounds of the world as with our own wounds. Justice, in other words, is part of the journey. And love makes it so."

Please do go have a read – CLICK HERE.

_____________________

About the photos — The top photo was taken when my daughters were 3 and 4ish. We were on the way to a wedding and the girls were so excited to see the bride! I share it because ultimately, it is only Love that protected and carried us through out lives to this day where my relationship with my daughters is the one I’ve always dreamed of – and as this is our anniversary week… here is one from our wedding where I was the bride and my daughters walked me down the aisle and C.C.s son and daughter did the same for him. (Photo by Ross Tabalada)

She whispered to the sun and the moon and the sea and the trees, “Yes I can!” and the sun and the moon and the sea and the trees gave her wings courage.

And with every whispered, “Yes I can!” her dreams grew brighter and her wings grew stronger.

Heeding the call of her hart’s yarning for companionship on the way, she joined hands with her sisters and together, they created a better world for everyone.

While I do not think that ‘time’ is the healer, I do believe it makes space for healing. As in, my head is feeling better after getting bonked by a mirror a week ago.

I find this part of any healing journey fascinating. Each day there’s an incremental difference until one morning, like today, I wake up and feel like I’ve fallen over the side of ‘will this ever end’ and am now floating in a vast pool of sunlight where ‘this’ is no longer swimming right in front of my face but drifting off with the river’s flow. And though the bruising and cut are still visible, inside, where it matters most, I feel the sunshine bathing my face in its golden glory, the wind whispering sweet nothings through my hair and the cool crisp air of the morning dancing on sparkling rainbows of light on the river of life flowing freely all around me.

It’s a brand new day!

And I feel all new and shiny again.

Yeah!

Which also means, my postponed trip to help my daughter and son-in-love is back on. I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, bright and early.

I am grateful.

It’s funny how tables, and life, turn. When my daughters were young, my mother was the last person I wanted to come and help me as there was too much angst, too much drama in our relationship to make her ‘help’ a welcome gift.

With my daughter, we have created a relationship where my help is welcome, where my presence is a gift for both of us. My mother’s heart flows full of gratitude for my daughter’s welcome embrace and willingness to constantly grow our relationship in Love.

I am blessed. Grateful and feeling full of the grace of life and love.

I won’t be online much for the next couple of weeks. I wish you a beautiful spring sojourn.

____________________

About the Artwork

This is spread 6 & 7 in my Learning to Fly art journal – as with all the pages, it is in response to my 20 Attitudes and Actions on living the life of your dreams — These pages are a response to Attitudes and Actions No.s 10 &11 –

10. Write down all the reasons you can. Post your list on the mirror, the fridge, somewhere you will see it every day—read it often—and add to it everyday.

11. Tell a friend/mentor what you plan on doing. Ask your friend/mentor to be your accountability buddy.