Hey You! Yes You! You're a Hero! Now Get to Work!

You start off the New Year excited and motivated, ready to throw yourself into new projects or business, when BAM! Something completely unexpected stops you in your tracks and knocks you over. This was not in the plan you wrote out when planning your goals for 2014. In fact, this is such an obstacle that it's blocking out the light that you felt in your spirit when thinking about all the awesome things you planned to do.
So what now?
Well, in my case I panicked a little and called my mom and best friend. Vented. Cried. I'll admit it, I cried. And then, I dried my eyes and got to work.
This is when it's helpful to have read Joseph Campbell's work.

He taught me about the hero's journey.
We are the heroes of our own lives. We are the protagonist, the lead character, and everything we experience makes up our journey, good and bad.
And here's where it gets interesting and useful: the bad is what counts.
Every hero encounters tests. Challenges. Situations that derail him/her from following their bliss. Situations that seem hopeless.
Think the Odyssey: getting blown all over oblivion when all you really want is to go home to your long suffering wife.
Or Harry Potter: try being 15 and wanting a girlfriend but having to fight acne AND evil.
Or Luke Skywalker: guess what? That guy trying to kill you? It's your dad! "You're not my father!" Oh yes he is, Luke. Oh yes he is.
Being a hero kind of sucks. Each time you vanquish an enemy, another challenge appears.
And that is entirely the point.
Anything worth having won't be easy.
You've got to fight.
You've got to kick in your reserve tank and keep going.
You've got to say, I want this more than I do an easy and comfortable life. I want this more than I do maintaining the status quo.
In my case, I've been in several situations that seemed dire and horrible at the time, but I managed to get through it and now I look back and say, Wow, that wasn't so bad. Or I saw, wow, that really sucked but I'm glad I got through it.
So I see this latest "argh-I hate this-why-why-why did this happen?" situation as just one more challenge in my hero's journey.
It ain't gonna be easy.
It may be painful financially and emotionally.
But I KNOW the end result is worth it.
Following your bliss is always worth the fight.
-XO,
D

I'm not listening to you anymore.

I haven't blogged in a while because, well, I tend to get in my own head and talk myself out of it. These little voices say, "Who cares what you have to say? Do you really think you have useful stuff to impart?" Unfortunately I listen to them way too often. And I keep quiet.

It's scary to put yourself out there. Whether it's blogging, starting your own business, or ditching the corporate world to try something new, the mere fact that you are swimming against the tide is startling, both for you and those who know you.

And unless you're Kanye West who enjoys doing contrarian stuff (what I wouldn't do for some of that confidence!), it's tough to expose yourself to potential criticism.

The fact is: you will get criticized. If not by others, then believe me, you'll take of the job yourself. You'll feel small and scared and want to hide in some safe cubicle where no one will notice you, all the while hating yourself because you didn't try.

Which means…obviously…that you HAVE to try. You have to go for it. We weren't put on this earth to live small lives. We know this in our hearts. We are here to fulfill our magical, spectacular potential, whatever that may be.

In my case, I'm trying my hand at new things. Writing, trying to get my stories published, launching a media coaching business. Throw in a few charitable projects in Cambodia and other places and I have a full plate. That will REQUIRE me putting myself out there. That mere sentence just sent a chill through my heart.

And yet…I am surrounded by magnificent individuals who put themselves out there every day. They openly discuss their fears and the challenges they face and you know what happens? People rush to cheer them on and let them know they're on the right track because it's FRIGGIN INSPIRING to see people follow the map in their hearts toward the things that make them feel like they're squeezing life out of every second they're given on this planet.

That's who I want to be. I want to be brave. I want to believe enough in myself and the work I commit to do that it doesn't matter what the critics (including me) think. All that matters is that I am trying.

These are the conversations I have with myself every day. To admit this out loud in a blog seems nuts but…perhaps I'm not the only one. And if you know I'm struggling, then at least you'll know you're not alone.

So let's do this. Let's live.

-XO,
D

Choose Yourself. Love Yourself.

Recently I've had some beloved friends experience heartache and sadness. People they cared for deeply had broken their hearts, or treated them badly. And yet, there is much more to what they are going through than just a relationship on the rocks or ending.  My heart is troubled because I see a deeper issue, one with which I have personally struggled. The issue of self-worth.

I've dated men who did not treat me well. I've put up with emotional unavailability or infidelity or outright disrespect. I'd make excuses for them, explain it all away, look at my phone anxiously hoping they'd call or text. I put up with less than what I deserved because, I'm ashamed to say, I did not feel I deserved better. Now, this isn't a conscious thing. You don't go around saying that you deserve to be treated like crap. But when this is how you feel inside, it colors everything you do. You don't love yourself and so you're desperate to be loved by someone. It's a hole you try to fill with other people, until you realize the only person who can fill it…is you.

I see this happen to so many amazing women (and men, too). They're smart, funny, caring, successful, and yet they shortchange themselves when it comes to the potential partners they meet. They are willing to overlook red flags and behavior that is inconsistent with what the other person says. They settle for crumbs and scraps instead of the full, authentic experience of love. And then it all goes to pieces and they're heartbroken once again.

I was that woman. Until I finally learned my lesson. That Prince Charming ain't coming. We have to save ourselves. And it starts with loving ourselves AS WE ARE. Not when we lose 10 pounds. Not when we find the right job. Not when we make X amount of money. I continue to struggle with this, at least the appearance stuff, but I know now that I really do love and value myself. That is progress and it's reflected in the life I lead today.

A beautiful thing happens when you begin to not only accept yourself the way you are, but love yourself. You attract a much higher quality pool of potential partners. The more selective you are, the more likely you are to find a person who actually deserves you. And you are willing to take your time getting there.

I look back sometimes at the people I dated in the past (and not so distant past), and realize if I'd met them today, most would never have made it past the first or second date. I did have at least one wonderful relationship in my late twenties and I still respect, love and value him for the good man he is. However, most of the other guys? I just wouldn't be interested today because I know who I am, I love who I am and I know what I deserve.

I want the women in my life to feel this, too. I want them to see themselves through my eyes, to see how lovely and intelligent and interesting they are, how much they are loved and deserve to be loved. That any person who does not treat them well does not deserve their affection or loyalty.

That they should choose themselves.

It took me a while, but I finally got it. That single realization has added richness and joy and sparkle to my life that it did not have before. I am happy. As I am. Some days are easier than others to feel that way, and on the yuckier days, I just think of all the things that make me grateful.

I don't *need* to be with someone. I can choose to share my life with someone, and that is infinitely more powerful for both of us.

-XO,
D

Who is your Daily Saint?

Mikaela is second from left

The idea was brilliant in its simplicity: 

Stake out a spot in one of the most popular shopping areas in the Los Angeles area and give people the opportunity to write down the things that make them thankful. 

The event was created by my beautiful, big hearted friend Mikaela. She and I met at ABC News. We bonded over our love of literature, writing and our shared tendency to tear up easily and often over things that made us happy or sad. We are both optimists and believe people are mostly good, despite the news we used to report on a daily basis. 

Thankfully, Mikaela took her convictions to the next level, and created a place online, The Daily Saint, that feeds your soul and restores your faith in humanity. Good deeds. Good people. Good news. 

A fervent Vonnegut fan, Mikaela chose a beautiful quote to help her name the site: "By saints I mean people who behaved decently and honorably in societies which were so often obscene. Perhaps some of you are or will be saints for her child to meet."

Those saints people the online community of the Daily Saint:

The vet who created a tiny wheelchair for a piglet born without use of his hind legs.

The Division 1 athlete who gave up the rest of his season to donate his bone marrow to a leukemia patient.

The little girl who asked to give roses to strangers to celebrate her 5th birthday.   

Young, old, furry, 2 feet, 4 feet, these daily saints are all perpetrators of random acts of kindness that range from the smallest good deed to saving lives. Why? Because it was the right thing to do.

There are hundreds of stories on her site. HUNDREDS. Stories that will give you a lump in the throat

Our Daily Saint Mikaela!

and that warm, full feeling in your heart. It's a great reminder of the power we all hold within us, the power to make a difference in someone's life. It's also a wonderful way of cultivating gratitude for the daily saints that make our lives worth living. 

With 3,400+ likes on her accompanying Facebook page, it's clear Mikaela has tapped into a universal hunger, a hunger for stories that connect us. So she decided to take that need for connection offline and made them grateful. Fittingly, it took place the day after Black Friday. 

Armed with markers and a large colorful paper board, we set out to ask passersby to participate. At first, many people were startled. It didn't make much sense, and I got the feeling they thought we were selling more than gratitude. But as we got bolder in our approach, more and more people took part and the board began to fill up.  

So many thanks!

Some were shy and had to be coaxed to take a marker. Others, especially kids, eagerly picked out a spot on the board and wrote their hearts out. One adorable girl told me she could not write yet so I suggested she draw a rainbow. She drew several. 

My nana wrote she was thankful for all of us and that she was here. I wrote that I was grateful for my nana because she loves me so much. 

One older man wrote, "I'm thankful for my wife of 55 years." A young man wrote, "I'm grateful for my boyfriend. He makes me laugh and is the best person in the world." 

Pito gave thanks for Pita

A boy wrote so much, his thanks stretched over two panels. His little brother just wrote his name. It's the only thing he knows how to write. 

Some young men wrote in Arabic, some wrote in Hebrew. Thanks were written in English, Spanish and French. One man told me he'd been very lonely and that it cheered him up to write down the things that make him happy. 

Entire families wrote on the board. Two curious police officers gave thanks for their families. Some witty guy said he was thankful for his brother who made sure he knew the scores to his favorite teams' games. One new mom wrote her toddler's favorite thing: pigeons. 

This little guy wrote,
"I'm thankful for my dog
 & my girlfriend."
When his dad said,
 "You have a girlfriend?",
the boy ran off laughing
and shrieking.

There were smiles, hugs, high fives. You could feel the energy, the LOVE in the air as people shared what or who made them happy. It was proof that gratitude and compassion are powerful things that connect us at the heart. It's what Mikaela shows us every day on the Daily Saint, that love brings us closer together, while fear and negativity drive us apart. 

We need each other. 

So forget cool and snarky. I'll take corny and kind any day. 

By the way, if you're curious, family topped the list of things most often written, closely followed by friends and pets. 

Not a single person gave thanks for their flat screen TV. 

-XO,

D

Get in the Ring

I've alway wanted to be a yoga girl. So gorgeous and serene with their long limbs and bendy bodies. Believe me, I've tried. I can never seem to stick with it, though. Instead, what I have found really speaks to me…is kickboxing. I've been training for almost a year now and I still get as giddy as a kid on Christmas when I nail a roundhouse kick or add height to my jump kick. I find I am never more fully present than when I am concentrating on my jabs and crosses, and never more pumped than when I pound an uppercut through the pad. 

It also helps that I work out at a women's kickboxing gym. We are all friends. No one wears Lulu Lemon. No one wears make up. We get sweaty, we laugh, we egg each other on, and we high five after a particularly grueling workout. 

And while I've never had to exercise my skills in a dangerous situation, I'm hoping muscle memory kicks in. And kicks the crap out of whomever chose the wrong person to mess with. 

I do get in the ring, though. 

Every day. 

Every day that I choose the life that makes me happy. 

Every day that I write. 

Every day that I show up to work out, whether I feel like it or not. 

The point is to show up. 

At the gym. 

In life. 

This is my zen. 

I'll never be a hapa goddess…but I'll settle for a happy warrior. 

- XO,

D

Diana's Super Awesome Guide to Getting Past Depression and Getting on with your Life

Recently I went through a tough time. The kind where you question everything, you cry a lot, you feel incredibly sad and lost. It lasted about a week, which when you are depressed, feels like forever. Fortunately, I have incredible family and friends that listened, offered advice, came over and made me tea (thank you Angela), and in general, sat with me in my pain, assuring me it would not last forever. And they were right. I remember when it lifted. I'd been writing and painting for days, letting the crap feelings wash over me and then wash away. Finally…all of that stopped. And I was still there. I was ok. Better than ok. I was calm. My mind was clear. 

That's when I initially wrote my guide to getting out of depression. It was sort of tongue in cheek and yet every single thing I listed, I credited with helping lift me out of my sad state. And then...I chickened out. How could I possibly post that? Then everyone would know I'd been depressed. That I'd been sad. Falling apart emotionally. No no no. That's just too scary, too vulnerable. But…it bothered me that I was taking the easy way out, maintaining the facade that everything was fine, when in reality, it had not been fine. I was perpetuating the lie that depression was something to be ashamed of, to hide. 

The reality is, we all go through tough times. We all get depressed. The lucky ones have people to turn to, with whom to share their pain. Others have to soldier through it all by themselves. This is not right. This stigma attached to vulnerability and sadness and depression is wrong and we need to change it. I know from experience, I have resisted asking for help because I thought it would make me look like a loser. And yet when someone has enough courage to come to me and tell me that they feel crappy, I jump at the chance to support them. 

The reality is, sadness and pain are part of the authentic human experience. It's how we deal with them that determines how they affect us. If we avoid or deny these feelings or self-medicate them away, they may go underground temporarily but they're still there. Eventually you will have to deal with them. However, if you allow yourself to feel them fully, explore them, and then resolve them, you'll find these feelings, this pain is liberating. I know that sounds crazy (but it should be obvious by now, I've stopped fearing being thought of as crazy), but they may mean you are letting go of and mourning old thought patterns or ideas about yourself that don't suit you. You are rewriting your life. You are moving on to a life that actually fits. 

That's why I felt calm after the storm clouds lifted. I'd dealt with the feelings that were plaguing me and dragging me down. I'd slayed the dragon. Onto the next level. 

So without further ado, here are my silly guidelines. I present them to you because I want you to know that it's okay to feel sad, to deal with depression. You're not a loser. You are not a failure. On the contrary. You are a fighter. You are alive. You are human.

And you're going to win this fight. I'll help you. I've got your back. 

Diana's Super Awesome Guide to Getting Past Depression and Getting on with your Life

1. Wear pajamas. A lot. All day. I write in my pajamas. I read in my pajamas. I paint in my pajamas. I think I do that because I feel rebellious. I like flouting societal norms. And one of the most radical ways to flout societal norms is to choose to be happy and do the things that make you happy. Wearing pajamas means I'm comfortable and living my life on my own terms. If you think that's stupid, that's cool. It works for me. 

2. Walk. Walk everywhere. Walk around the park, up the hill, to the library. Walk walk walk. Getting in motion gets you out of the hole of depression. When you have to put one foot in front of the other, it forces you to stop dwelling on the sad shit. No time for that because you're walking, people!

3. Recognize that no matter how awful it feels to be depressed, it's actually stripping away the bullshit and drama and crap and loads and loads of unnecessary expectations and obligations we force upon ourselves. A brush fire burns away the old, the dead and the useless, creating fertile ground for new growth. When you're at your lowest, you're at your most raw and the old stories just won't work. That's when your truth emerges. You can't cover it up anymore. You are free. 

4. Listen to Nina Simone. 

5. Write. Write everything you're thinking and feeling. Without rules or grammar or fear. Write wild. Write raw. Write your most ridiculous thoughts without judgment. Once it's all on paper or in your computer, it ceases to hold any power. They're just words. You can put them on permanent time out by shutting the journal or shutting down your laptop. 

6. Drink lots of water. Seriously, this one habit has helped me more than I every expected. By drinking water, you hydrate your body - you look better, you feel better, and you're less likely to feel lethargic or unmotivated or sad, which is absolutely crucial when you are depressed. Plus you don't eat as much which is great because the last thing you need when you are depressed is to feel like you're getting fatter as well. How many times did I tell myself not only am I a loser, I'm also fat. Yeah, that does wonders for easing your pain. So drink up and drink often. 

After doing all of these, you should begin to feel a little less like shit. When that time comes, it's time to write a new story. Your biography. Begin with the end. You know, where you win at life. And then work backwards. 

-XO, D

Do what you Love. Who cares if you suck?

When I was around 4 or 5 years old, I remember my sister screaming and running back into the house from the garage. She'd seen a rat, a most amazing thing for me at that age.

What did it look like, I asked. What did it do? Did it squeak? I was fascinated, obsessed even.

It was angry, she said. Angry??

To placate me, she drew the rat. Round ears, pointy snout, paws, and long, thin tail. Definitely angry.

I memorized that drawing and replicated it. Over and over and over. I constantly drew angry rats, that same rat, on every paper I could find. Rats rats rats.

A few months later, I finally branched out and began drawing other things. And I never stopped. For years, I drew on anything I could get my hands on. Paper, newspaper, brown paper bags from Publix. My mom would bring home reams of used dot matrix printer paper for me.

If there was bare space, it became a canvas.

I drew cats, dogs, horses, whales, all sorts of animals. There was a unicorn and pegasus period. I drew people. I became addicted to Archie comics and drew the redhead and his waffle hairdo, Jughead, Betty, Veronica, the whole gang.

I won my school's t-shirt design contest in elementary school. I participated in the zoo's art competition, drawing giraffe and zebras. To this day, it remains one of my all time favorite memories of being with my mom, running to make the deadline for submitting my art, flying by emus and gibbons, laughing breathlessly the whole way back.

I created floor plans for the house I eventually wanted that included a grand spiral staircase and about 10 bedrooms (I've since downsized my tastes).

I painted. I sculpted. I worked with thread, yarn, paper mache and glitter. Damn, I loved glitter.

Throughout those years, I believed I was an artist. I was an artist because I loved to create. I never doubted my talent because it brought me joy and that was enough.

The drawing and creating dropped off around high school, a little more in college. An uptick in my early twenties as I discovered photography and the meditation of working in a darkroom, the anticipation I felt as I slipped the white photo paper into the solution, and images appeared, as if by magic, images I'd shot days or even weeks ago, hoping I hadn't totally screwed them up.

As more and more of my attention and energy went to building my career, little was leftover for creative pursuits. I had no time, I lacked inspiration. There were late nights and early mornings at work. Groceries to be bought. Homes to be cleaned. Laundry, litterboxes, errands.

My creativity was reduced to those nights that, after a couple of glasses of wine, I'd draw elephants on placemats or any available friend's arm. Or dolphins. Depends on the friend's taste. I take requests.

I'd wander into art supply stores, lingering by the paints, examining brushes. It made me happy just to be around those things.

My need to create was still there. But my serious side had snuffed it out. Who do you think are, those mean voices would ask. You seriously think you're an artist? It's not like you're Picasso. You're not a real artist. You just doodle. And your paintings are so basic. You suck.

I'm sad to say I listened to them for a long time. I never mentioned my doodles and drawings, because I thought, who cares? I was afraid of being judged. It's not like I'm good at it or anything. I just do it for fun.

As if that's not enough of a reason. As if that should not be the ENTIRE reason that we create. I've finally come to my senses and realized that the things that bring us joy are the most important things we should be doing. Yes, we need to pay the rent and buy groceries and all of that other stuff, but what are the things we do that delight us? That bring us back to ourselves?

Recently I had the desire to paint again. When I took inventory of the supplies I had, I was startled to realize I had a box full of different sized brushes, acrylic paints in every color. Stencils, markers, and…GLITTER! All of these things, all sitting in a box that's been untouched for months, maybe even a year or two.

I bought a few canvases, an easel, and began sketching and painting. And there I went, right back into that amazing place where time ceases to exist, and the only thing that matters is what shade of brown to use, or which brush will give you the precise feather stroke needed to make the fur look right (Shocker: I'm painting animals). Hours later, I realized my arms and fingers were covered in paint, my canvas no longer white, and I was happy. Actually, no, I was joyful. I was so joyful, I didn't even want to go to bed. This was exactly where I wanted to be.

I was learning to play again. To find joy in creating. It mattered nothing whether it was "good" - just whether it made me happy. That's it. If others like it, cool. But this…this is for me.

Writing, drawing, painting, these things feed me in a way nothing else does. How long have I been starving?

What are the things that belong solely to ourselves? Is it our poems? Our photography? The piano, the guitar, the saxophone? Riding horses? How long have we neglected our secret gardens? Whatever we love to do, it may not be some BIG IMPORTANT THING…but it's ours.

If we nurture the seeds of creativity within us, we bloom.

-XO, D