Monthly Archives: October 2011

Gratitude or Grumpiness

Last week I wrote about my unexpected challenge of trying to iron out a glitch between the Social Security System and the DMV resulting in my not having a driver’s license.  The glitch seems to elude both departments, the court system and two lawyers who have no idea how to solve the problem.  The process of dancing with the bureaucratic systems that surround me at every turn is time-consuming.  The process of conforming to the requests of civil officials is filled with lines and numbers, as well as the growing possibility for my blood pressure to climb, my stomach to growl, my head to ache and my day to devolve into sea of impatience and aggravation.  The questions are repetitive, tedious and usually down right absurd.

The amount of times I repeat myself when asked, “Have you every driven before?”, or, “Where are you living at this time?”, makes me question my own sanity.  Yet, I get up each morning and realize that today I have a chance to do it differently.  Today I have the chance to breath deeply and possibly learn something from the 24-year-old woman in a cubicle.  It is not an easy task for me.  Especially when I have “more important things to do!”, or so I tell myself.  Who am I to know if what I have to do is more important than this?

So, last week I decided to make this journey of solving the question, “What does a Gypsy do without a car?”. First I entertained a suggestion that I become an Outlaw.  I nixed that option and  I began a meditation, a yoga posture that I would truly be thankful for something, every time I pulled a number and sat in a chair with a sea of people who were in fact, pretty pissed off looking.

I started by seeing me in the huge room, waiting for my number to be called and imagining that it was a room filled with children.  I looked in each face and saw what each of us might have looked like as kids, feet dangling from the black plastic and chrome chairs, little boys in baseball caps chewing gum, little girls twirling their hair.  All of a sudden the pock-marked noses, balding heads, cranky faces and bleached hair dissolved into an ocean of cuteness.  I would smile, even laugh to myself and before I knew it my number would be up, usually in more ways than one.

And my journey has taken new roads, hit dead ends and there was a lawyer confessing in a hushed tones on the phone that sometimes there are oddities and mistakes in the law that don’t get solved and the person gets stranded and unable to do anything.  That was not only NOT comforting and  once again, made me question the purpose of the law all together.

Yet, every day one person would step up to the window or answer the phone and be real, and kind, and truly interested in my one plight in their world of complaint.  That one person would lead me to another person that might be just like her (I say her since to date I have never, ever, not once, talked to a man).  And that kindness has given me a little hope and I keep going down this windy road.

To date:  I do not have a driver’s license and there is not one in sight.

So, yesterday, as I was being chauffeured home by my daughter, we stopped at  Barnes and Noble.  I had a dim recollection of a book that I had intended to read that I felt just might boost my new meditation on patience and humor into a new realm.  The book was “365 Thank Yous”.  I found it in the inspirational literature section.  I recommend it to anyone who feels their lives have become tedious, derailed, uninspiring or filled with inexplicable losses. The journey this one man-made will inspire all of us to put our lives and our inconveniences into perspective and even be able to cherish them in new ways.

So, onward and upward to my next stop:  The Civil Court Supervisor!

About the Book - 365 Thank Yous imageErik Kolbell quote
About the Book page title image365 Thank Yous is a book that tells the story of an inspiration, the writing of 365 Thank You Notes, and how my life was changed by the people who received them.In December 2007, I had reached what I viewed as a nadir in my life. While my life seemed full of debts and disasters, I ached for the things and the security I felt I deserved. On January 1, 2008, as this dissatisfaction pervaded my thoughts, I took a walk in the mountains above Pasadena, where I was inspired to write one thank you note a day for the next year.Although it took more than a year to complete the writing of 365 Thank-you notes, I continued writing them until 365 were completed. And then kept on. I learned to be grateful for the life I had, recognizing that the love I had for my children made my life already richer than the many people I envied. I learned to be grateful for my law firm, my practice, and for the love of friends and family that surrounded me. I became thankful for the many people around me who dealt with challenges far greater than the ones facing me, with courage and style. I learned to recognize the many people in my life who had protected and cared for me.365 Thank Yous tells the story of how all these things happened, and could be traced to the willingness to be grateful, in fact to the grace I received from writing 365 Thank You notes.

Punch Lines!!

Traffic sign alerting drivers for Amish Buggie...

Image via Wikipedia

As the Saga unfolds I have heard from many some amazing ideas for the punchline to the Joke…”What is a Gypsy without a car?”  (See post for Oct. 17th)  I wanted to include some of what has been sent to me for all our consideration.  Thanks to everyone for your support and humor.

1.      “What does a gypsy without a car do? Hitchhike.”
2.      “What do you call a gypsy without a car? Homeless”
3        “Have you ever considered being an outlaw gypsy and just driving anyway?”
4.       “What’s a gypsy without a car”–someone who is discovering the joys of cycling, walking and/or being chauffeured.
5.        “Have you looked into an Amish carriage (surely one doesn’t need a license to drive a buggy…?) and have you traveled by train lately???  My family and I used to take the train between southern California and Louisiana at least twice
each year…always an adventure, always so enlightening.

A Gypsy Joke

One of my friends and I were staring at each other in bewilderment over a steaming cup of tea while sitting in a nearby cafe as she burst out laughing. “Ok, there is a joke in this!”, She said. “What is a gypsy without a car?”.  We both howled.

So, what IS a gypsy without a car in our 21st century?  Well, I am finding out the myriad of answers to that odd question since at this moment the Universe has orchestrated a challenge for me of not having a valid drivers license which does curtail ones travel plans.

Let me back up briefly.  Gypsies are nomadic and mobile at heart.  They need to pack up and relocate or wander at any given moment and carry with them simple and transportable belongings.   They need to be ready to go the direction the wind is calling.

In another century, if someone came into a Gypsy camp and said, “Well, we are not only taking your gypsy wagons away from you, but we are taking your horses too!”, I think there would have been a mild uprising at the very least.  So, in this moment of history, not having a driver’s license, when everything I have packed for travel is in my car is, at the very least, is just a tad inconvenient.

In short, here is how it happened and much like Julie, in the movie “Julie and Julia” who had to confess to her public when one of her recipes simply failed or she could not dress a proper chicken, there is a twinge of embarrassment.  But, it is just part of the journey.  My oddly difficult driver’s license renewal sage to date goes like this:

I moved my few things to North Carolina.  I needed a new drivers license.  I stood in lines forever.  I was first asked if I wanted to donate vital organs after a car crash and then they checked whether I do in fact have hazel eyes and am 5’5”, which I had to correct since it seems as I am shrinking and am now 5’4”.  And then they asked a question that 10 years ago I was not asked:  “What is your social security number?”  Happily I gave it to them.  Instantly, they said I could not have a driver’s license since somehow my name on my social security card did not match my current license.  Really?  Can you explain that please?

So, I started on the road to OZ, winding my way through what has become the most convoluted justice system I could ever have imagined.  First, there were small-minded people who did not know answers and did not know who had the answers and then I got lost down the rabbit hole of our Social Security system.  I didn’t think I was going to get out of the building alive and for a split second I thought I was on this year’s new TV series The Walking Dead.

The glitch seems to be one that no one in either civil or national governing positions has the answer to solving.  It was even suggested that I just become 16 years young again and start over….after 40 years of driving…and take a written driving test and then a physical driving test so I could get my PERMIT and drive with some “responsible” 21 year old in the car of choice.  So while I was in Colorado, the state my last official driver’s license was from, I did just that.

I went to get in line to be given the written test.  I picked a number and the ocean of difference between the number I was given and the number flashing on the wall was….three hours worth of unhappy people.  I sat.  I waited.  And then I thought I could go shopping for the next two hours and not sit here.  So, I stepped outside.  Across the street I saw “A-1 Driving School”.

I went in and shared my plight and they said that they gave written drivers tests and I could take one with them for $20.  Then I could take it back over to the DMV and get in the front of the line.  That was a no brainer.  But, the wonderful woman took one look at me and asked me when the last time I took a test was, sensing that I might be just a wee bit behind on knowing driving laws or information, which of course, every pimply faced new driver has to know.  Like is it a right or a privilege or an honor to drive a car?  Now that is certainly debatable in my mind.

I was seated in an empty drivers education classroom right next to the woman’s eight-year-old daughter doing homework on her laptop and…5 rescue dogs.  Fabulous dogs, each suffering from some unadoptable malady; One leg, one eye, too old, no fur.  They were precious and each sat at my feet while I discovered what I was up against on the test.  By the third question I was in trouble.  When was the last time I even thought that I needed to treat a motorcyclist who is merging onto the interstate from an on-ramp any differently than any other moving vehicle?

I flunked.  The woman was sad for me.

She said I could take the test again and mentioned some cautions and some of the new air bag regulations that she whispered in my ear just before going back in the room with the dogs.  By the third question I was in trouble again.  So, I broke out my secret weapon, my pendulum, just in case the testing rule of “when in doubt it is always choice “C”, did not seem just right.

So, here I am with a child asking me if I had ever driven a car before since I so obviously knew nothing about driving, with the one-legged pointer named Brownie licking my toes through my sandals and me knowing that they might be calling my number over at the DMV and I would loose my place in line.  I stared at the last question.  “How many feet back from the crosswalk at a stop sign do you need to stop your car with or without any people in it?”  Ugh!

I did not flunk.  I thanked the pendulum, grabbed my test that had “passed” on it and ran back to get to the front of the line at the DMV.  Same questions about my organs, but looking good again and then the assistants face dropped.  “It seems you need to deal with the Social Security problem you have miss.  May I suggest you get a lawyer?”   Sigh.  I felt like Brownie the one legged dog.

I drove back to my friend’s house in her car, certain that every cop on the road knew who I was and would then be throwing me in the Poky.

So, I am now back in Asheville, looking online for a good Social Security lawyer and allowing my 28-year-old daughter to chauffeur me, which I must admit, is not so bad really.  But, what is the lesson here?  Lessons abound every day, but THE BIG LESSON is forming itself over time.  I have had ample opportunity to practice a new kind of patience, with a bureaucratic process that is like holding a difficult yoga posture with people who don’t like their jobs and are short, befuddled and down right rude.  I imagine I will be Gandhi by the end of this legal process.

I get to practice being happy while standing in line for hours only to be told I need slightly different paperwork and a new set of fingerprints since I could be a uni-bomber. I close my eyes often while in the waiting places and find gratitude that I was not in the salon when the angry father shot and killed eight people this week, but simply acknowledge that I am only waiting for the “privilege” to drive a car in the United States.  Then the entire process becomes easy.

But, I have learned the most about patience and understanding with myself.  Self love in the midst of floods of thoughts about how I could have known this before or done a dozen things differently.  I become happy for the simple truth that I do my best and sometimes there are surprises in life that give me the opportunity to align just a little more with the truth of who I am…with or without a driver’s license…with or without a car.

I am certain this will be solved by Christmas and I will have the choice to be back on the road.  I now have the creative opportunity to drive with friends, maybe find a traveling companion who wants to explore my next stops with me, stay put and write, which is a great idea or fly where I need to go, which is most likely not going to be my choice.  I know that whatever changes I need to make to accommodate this tiny inconvenience will be part of the flow too and will lead to something I had not expected; a new friend, or a surprise that could not have happened unless I had had this little bump in my road.

So, I will let you know my creative solutions as the story unfolds. And I will share the punch line to “What does a Gypsy do without a car?”  Any ideas?

I Believe You Are Amazing

My journey is drawing into my life new and wonderful new friends all along the way.  My Friend Robert Harvey from Virginia, shared a video that we all should see.  As women we can stand proud as mothers, daughters, lovers and  friends who share our hearts openly and live a bold life, living all our moments right out loud for all to hear.

http://www.IBelieveShesAmazing.com      Kim MacGregor organized this flash mob of 200 dancers to launch the “feel good” movement, “I Believe She’s Amazing” in honor of her friend Erika Heller who passed away May 28th, 2009 at 31 yrs. old…this is her living legacy. The amazing choreographers and dancers pulled this together in just one-6 hr rehearsal the day before the shoot.

 

The Self Help Community Needs Some Self-Help

I have been up in the air.  Between San Diego, LA and Denver.  I do not really like to fly but driving across the country seemed too long and too costly, so I bit the bullet.

This October travel has been focused on finally embodying my desire to publish my writing.  Each day I have envisioned an ease at navigating myself toward publication and my travels have materialized opportunities to talk with authors in Boston and agents in San Diego, so I can become educated about the complex publishing world.   It has been a true adventure to foreign lands.  Eye opening does not cover it.  But before I get ahead of myself lets talk about publishing and the writer’s world as it is today.

The publishing world has morphed into an animal that either seems designed to be about who you know and your skill at schmoozing and networking, or having the self power, self determination and stick-too-it-ness to self publish.  Then recently another group arrived to throw a life line to those who needed some mediation and help to do all the nitty gritty of getting something you love and feels like a brand new baby you just birthed, into print and with a cover that might compete in the ocean of books that come and go every single day, most ending up on the Barnes and Nobel 99 cent table.  This is where I chose to start.  And now the baby that was conceived nine months ago has been born., delivered and is sitting in my living room in Asheville.

This year I published with a group of women a book called “Freeing Godiva:  On Women’s Empowerment”.  It arrived in eight big boxes today. Way too heavy to carry up three flights of stairs.   And in April my book “Roadmaps to Success”, with Deepak Chopra will come out.  So, I have both feet in the rapidly moving and ever changing world of words on paper and ideas for the masses.  Now it seemed like time to take some of my writing that is inspirational and provocative and find a mainstream publisher who will think it is better than Hemingway or Miller and sign me on.  This is a new animal for me. This means I have to believe in myself.

So, as I envisioned the possibilities, I got a call and invitation to come to San Diego for the 85th birthday party for Louise Hay, the grand dame of the self help publishing world.  450 people, consisting of closest friends and authors contributed to an extravaganza honoring her ground breaking presence in the self-help community. She is truly an icon for us as women and for having launched the most famous names in the self help industry.  I was excited to go. I stared at my closet, I did not have any high heels.  Sneakers would not work. Then came the old feelings.

The voices of our culture, the voice of my mother, the voice of doubt, all started to clamor for attention as I imagined my going to this event in California. This was the Academy Award of conscious publishing.  The voices in my head were a cacophony of lecture tones that went something like this:  “You don’t have anything to wear Maya, look you closet looks like a bad thrift store? What will you do if they ask what book you published with Hay House?  If Wayne Dyer is at your table how will you explain that you are a Gypsy and not published on any the trendy themes?  That was just the start of a bad day.

These are words I recognize as the voices that have stopped me in my tracks before, halted amazing visions on a dime and kept me ensnared in my own web of self sabotage, so that my drawers and files and computer are all overflowing with unfinished novels and the next Titanic Movie.    I had to shut them up once and for all and get on the plane.  Not easy.

I have dismantled those voices before but they seem to migrate back at the most inopportune times.  I needed a new perspective.  I heard MY voice say, “just let them run their course”.  Painful idea.  But I did.  I did not resist the messages, the feelings of unworthiness, the shame or the anger at how much room they hove taken up over my life.  I just let them run full tilt until….they had nothing else to say.  All the while I simply breathed.

I think the voices got bored with me.  I did not react and start an inner argument, I did not become afraid, or grumpy, or little or reactive.  I simply acknowledged their words and presence and then when all the hubbub died down and there was some breathing room I added my own voice.  Short and sweet. “You are just perfect the way you are Maya and you love what you write, so be happy and be yourself”.  “Wear what makes you feel good and others will feel good too.  Share about you life as a Gypsy and your passion for the adventure and those around you will feel passion too.”  Quite elegant in the simplicity don’t you think?  My heart felt lighter and certain.  (But I did buy a pair of kick ass heels and have the blisters to show for it).

 

So the day arrived, I floated into a room full of Lady GaGa shoes, all the right Couture, and name tags on every silk shirt, strapless gown and Armani suit. The blazing sun beat down on the patio.  Silk table clothes, fountains of oranges and yellow roses, trays of sushi and glasses of wine began flowing at 11:30 on the dot as the Valets tried to find a parking space for the hundred or more cars.

 

But all eyes were on the name tags.  No eyes met very often, everyone was sizing up either the competition or the comrades in arms.  Most had a questioning look as they gazed at the name tag as if to say, “ Shit!  I should know this person, what the hell did they write?”.  The inner circle had nicely typed name tags and the new people like me that came with another author had to write our names on our own name tags, immediately culling us out to the outer edges of the throng.  But, I managed to write Maya Christobel with some flare.

There was only one important question to ask anyone with a drink in their hands.  “Are you with Hay House and what have you published?  And what are you publishing this year?”  There is was.  The question that would challenge my deep honesty.  So, each time the question came to me I simply breathed and smiled and said, “I have not decided whether I am publishing with Hay House or not.  This year I am Nomadic, living a simple life and the answer will become obvious in time.” (Did I REALLY say that?).    Silence.

Next!

It was a wonderful and sweet exercise in self love.  In not measuring myself against what was being called success and it was fun to find out who would move away from my answer and who would be genuinely interested and not take offense.  I made two wonderful friends in the ocean of possibilities and befriended my own self as I did not try to be anyone other that who I was in that moment.  I watched sharks swimming in search of contacts, acknowledgment, room to plug their next book, business cards flying, face lifts taut with smiles.  And I met wonderful, genuine, heart felt people like Lauren Mackler who made my trip possible.  They, like her, were passionate about their books, willing to admit being afraid or ignorant of the process just like me, or feeling fragile but excited to be swimming in the self-help ocean, limitless possibilities in front of them.

I floated through the the outdoor tent the size of New Jersey with white gauze curtains blowing in the afternoon breeze. I nibbled on fabulous food, sipped Champagne and realized that this wonderful gathering was not about me landing a contact in the publishing world or having a long conversation with Deepak about the book I was lucky to share with him.  It was about finding the amazing comfort zone of myself, in a sea of fame and fortune, in the glitzy world of being a famous author, of loving who I am that is uniquely me, who will write something that will stand apart, even if I have a hand made name tag and heels from Target.

So, when we finally sat, all 450 of us to a beautiful three course meal, I looked down at the artistic birthday invitation that was perched on my plate, orchids and roses the center piece, cascading over the table for eight.  On the front of the card was a hand made glazed paper flower.  When you opened the card there was a circular mirror that immediately reflected you…back to you.  I do not remember the poem on the inside of the invitation.  I just remember the reflection of my own broad smile, smiling back at me.

You Are Never too Young! Nerd Girl Speaks

  • Welcome!

    Welcome to my website! Please click on one of the tabs above. The current house I’m working on is called the Lusby (117 square feet with an additional 50 square feet of loft space- where people can sleep)
  • My Goal- (Photo from the Tumbleweed Tiny House Company)

  • About

Hi! I’m Kendall, a junior in high school and founder of NerdGirlHomes. I’m a student, an athlete, an artist and an engineer at heart. I believe in protecting our amazing environment and am interested in sustainable building and design.

I’ve been struck this year by the level of devastation globally due to earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes, and other natural disasters. It’s staggering how quickly a person can lose a home. Locally, the homelessness I see everyday on my way to school prompts me to think about its causes, solutions and how blessed I am to have a roof over my head.

NerdGirlHomes is a project inspired from one of my childhood goals. My parents have always encouraged me to dream big, and one idea that really stuck with me is that I want to learn to build a house from the ground up.  I’ve always loved building things. When I was little I created contraptions and structures out of Knex, Legos, Playmobile, and much more. I’ve learned to weld, use plasma cutters, power tools and to light the wood stove with a blow torch!

Now as a teenager I am ready to take on my childhood project and invite you to join me on the journey! Over this summer I’m building a LUSBY from the Tumbleweed Tiny House company. When it‘s complete, I’ll either be donating the tiny house to a deserving recipient or giving the proceeds of its raffle to a charitable cause.

So, I invite you to join me on the journey. Contact me at nerdgirlhomes@gmail.com.

Here are some of the ways you can help!