This post almost didn’t get written. It’s not because I didn’t want to write it. If there is one thing you may know about me, I’m always writing. Always. But even though I had the concept of this post for some days now, divine mind took her ever loving time in sharing with me what was to be shared with you (that would also fall in direct line with my editorial schedule). Add to that, this week has been off the chain busy. I literally just walked in the house from a full day of work/travel. Plus, it’s St. Valentine’s Day. My body is telling me noooooooooo! But spirit now wants to talk about yeeeeeeees!. O__O. A nap would be nice…
So. I met a girl. I did, I swear! But it’s not what you think. I was sitting on a bench via the Suburban Station (in Philly) train platform (waiting for my train) with probably THEE biggest, giddiest smile on my face. Why? Because I had just left the most validatingly awesome meeting in my young old life. It is truly something to feel aligned with your purpose and confident with your gifts and talents. It’s the kind of feeling that happens when you realize your work is worthy and somebody other than you realizes it too. It’s like this flush of awesome that filters through your cells. You start to glow bright, without even trying. You want to hug random people. I swear. I did today and it was awesome. It was L.O.V.E. What Valentine’s Day is designed to represent. LOVE. Not necessarily that gooey that we all get caught up in. But L.O.V.E. This concept I’ve concocted of Living Our Vision Everyday. The trick here is that you can’t live your L.O.V.E. until you know what it is. But when you do, and it clicks on, everything non-aligned moves out of your path and you connect in a deep and amazing way with everyone around you. It’s magical. You feel like walking, breathing pixie dust. Plus, it’s contagious! People just can’t help but smile by being 10 paces from you. Living your purpose, is a one way ticket to freedom that fills the air around you with joy enough to share. If you don’t know this feeling, I want you to have it. And its possible for everyone. EVERY. ONE. It starts with two simple words. I. CAN. Promise. I’ll tell you about the girl I met in a minute.
Yesterday was a snow day. Snow days for me typically require some sort of cooking or craft with my mini me. Aubrei wanted me to make pancakes. As soon as the word “pan” filtered out of Aubrei’s face, something in my body shrunk a little. In the 8 years I’ve known my child, you would think she worshiped the gawd of pancakes only. She can eat them every single day, without even flinching, and it makes me hate even the idea of a pan and a cake in the same room. It’s not that I don’t like pancakes. It’s just that I’ve been telling myself since I first learned to cook them that I don’t make them right. They taste fine, but they always look awkward and un cute. Like, uck. I’m an aesthetics girl. Particularly when I cook. Presentation is just as important to me as taste and if it don’t look picture worthy, I’m probably over it. And I’ve tried. OMG for years I’ve tried to make a half pretty pancake. One that isn’t half burnt looking on one side and/or without all the Aztec temple art on the other. Cooking is science in my head, but it isn’t rocket science. How is it possible to craft (improv style) a chocolate and candied orange bread pudding with Envy’s Special Champagne Sauce… … … and not taint tant tont not (fock!) be able to put some batter in a flipping pan and get a decent round out of it that will go great drowned in syrup?! How does this happen? Do I have an anti-pancake making affliction? Is this some sort of Karmic reward for an offense against pancakes I have lingering from another life? WWJD?
So when Aubrei came up to my room a second time, after her initial ask (and my initial stall) with 3 tiny pink post-it notes with the recipe for pancakes written neatly in her tiniest print, I truly wanted to gag. Something in my spirit had just given up. I wanted so desperately to say out loud “But I Can… …(n’t)”. But I can. I CAN. If you think you’re magic, like I do, you honestly don’t believe there is anything you can’t do. You understand that the onliest difference between a CAN and a CAN’T is that ‘N’T’ at the end. That’s me about everything, but pancakes and fried chicken. But why is that? Turns out, many years before Aubrei was even a thought– I don’t know why or how or for what reason, I told myself out loud and often that I wasn’t good at those two things. “Oh”, I would say in my classic self-deprecating faux humor– “I can make anything but a decent pancake and fry chicken”. I have been saying it for years. I don’t know why, it was just something to say, I guess. And I would prove myself right every time I tried.
So then one day, I decided I wanted to make hammered and breaded chicken parm with fresh tomatoes, spinach, ricotta, and the most perfect buffalo mozzarella known to (wo)man. Which required me to *gasp* fry chicken. I saw the outcome in my head, plain as day. And just as one would presume Michael Jordan goes about making his legendary slam dunks, I went with my inspiration to create this dish that was happening in my head. Without even flinching, I knew everything to do. It was like my grandmother was channeling me in the kitchen that day. I had my pan thermometer in the oil to tell me when it was at the perfect temperature for the perfect fry. I hammered and then seasoned those chicken breasts to the perfect widths and seasonings. I then dredged them in buttermilk and flour and then buttermilk and this amazing mix of panko and Italian bread crumbs. And when the oil was right and hot, there was a poetry that happened when the chicken and the oil met for their dance in the pan. Every single piece of chicken was cooked the way I saw it in my head. Golden and gorgeous and no blood on the inside. Every. single. piece. The rest of my recipe was easy peasy after that. It hadn’t even dawned on me until the conversation I had with my dad afterward, that long ago I had decided I couldn’t fry chicken. When my dish was served and raved over, to even mention such a thing out loud, just sounded dumb. I did it didn’t I?
So it was with this attitude I went into the kitchen yesterday around brunch time, to make my daughter some pretty pancakes. I simply decided that I could do without the “N’T” on the end of I CAN. The batter turned out divine… I will say, the first pancake was a touch suspect, but I wasn’t discouraged. I just adjusted the heat and the amount of batter I put in the pan. Less, was definitely more. And wouldn’t you know, every pancake after that first one showed up in the realm of gorgeousness. Sexier than IHOP. I was giddy. Once I figured out my formula, I rocked out and made all different sizes. Hon.Tee. It turns out, the formula was my attitude. By simply switching out two letters and an apostrophe, I conquered a powerful life lesson through food. I CAN is powerful. Just as powerful as I CAN’T.
It turns out that when you decide you are capable, even if you aren’t sure HOW, the universe sets you up to succeed at whatever it is. It’s called the sacred yes. See, what happens with us is that we’ve grown up with hearing so many no’s in our lives that we tell ourselves no before anyone else can say so. We say no to our talents and our gifts and our dreams and desires, just so we can meet the no before we think we’ll hear it. I know, it sounds trivial. Pancakes Envy? Fried chicken tho? Like, really?
And yet, if you can figure out what you actually CAN do when you say I CAN… What can’t you do?
Which leads us to the girl I met today. Her name is Beth and she is probably one of the most brilliant artists I’ve ever met. I was sitting on that bench, waiting for my train and Beth sat down next to me. I told you I was already in a giddy mood, so she and I immediately started talking and laughing together for no good reason other than we were sitting there together. Turns out we’re both from Yardley and both graduated from the same High School. Turns out she’s an artist and illustrator with a love for Rembrandt and his work sketching animals. She’s brilliant at sketching animals. Turns out, she’s had a dream to write a children’s book for years. She has all these gorgeous pictures and a vision of how the book should be, but no one to write the story and no idea how she would even start creating such a book. And then coincidentally, she sits next me–a (published) author–on a random train platform. Coincidence? I’ll also mention it was such a L.O.V.E. fest around us that gravitated so many others to us and we included them in our conversation. It was that beautiful hippie dippy stuff I live for man. I could go on, but I’m sure now you get the point.
You don’t just live your dreams, your dreams get to live through you too. Boo.
At one point during our train ride together (which included most of the corner of the car we were sitting in) Beth was talking about her affinity for Rembrandt’s work and she said, “I love his work so much, he’s so amazing. But I could never be that. I could never be him.” And I said, “because you aren’t here to be him. You’re here to be you. Who’s to say that 20 years from now people won’t be oggling over your work the way you do his? You’re so amazing. Is it possible you’re here surpass what Rembrandt was able too?” She started to say but I CAN… … (N’T). But then, after all we had experienced in the course of an hour together, we both agreed that she could. There is so much power in I CAN. Practice saying it daily, yes?
Question for you: What thing have you always wanted to do–big or small–but you told yourself you just can’t do? Name it now.
I can’t do ____________. Doesn’t matter why btw.
Now take the ‘N’T’ off the end of that can and name it again.
I CAN do_____________. How does that feel? Scary? Yes! Perfect! Now go do it. Don’t worry about how, just take a step toward it and watch what steps toward you. K? Happy L.O.V.E. Day!
Osho Lovianhal (light the LOVE in ALL) friends,
-e-
P.S. I know “Can’t” doesn’t have an extra “n” at the end. Creative license. K.