My mom, who will be 93 in a couple of weeks, is one independent woman!  She lives alone in her condo- still doing crossword puzzles daily and she is definitely up-to-date with the latest Hollywood scandals and with the current news, especially if Nancy Grace on CNN is interested in the topic.

My mom calls it like she sees it.  She is not afraid to speak her piece- be it to her grandsons, granddaughter and certainly to my sisters and me.  When she is around her great grand children, she remembers to bring them some special treats and asks them to guess what hand she is holding the candy in.

She is determined.  She wanted to see my daughter’s new condo, but there were 14 steps involved- no easy feat for a woman who uses a walker.  With some help, she made it up those steps, checked every inch of the place and gave it her stamp of approval.

What is so unusual about all this?  I wouldn’t have guessed it would be my mom that I admired for her strength, determination and even her sense of humor.  Growing up, I always thought my dad had the claim to these traits.  He died more than 20 years ago, and guess what- my mom didn’t wither up and die.  Instead, she made a new life for herself and still appreciated the simple pleasures of life.

This is now getting harder and harder for my mom to do.  Her body has become much weaker and the simple pleasures have become burdensome tasks.  She is in a lot of pain- mostly with her knee.

It is hard to watch.  There is an invisible cord between us.  I, like most daughters, have to come to grips with- what we see in our mothers, we will one day experience.  It is a mirror held up to us.  I see both- the pain she experiences each day as she grows older and her tenacity and courage to stay independent.

Funny, how my perspective has changed over the years.  My dad, who I will write more about, next month, was whom I admired and feared when I was growing up.  My mom was the quiet one who stayed in the background and I never felt as much as a need to prove myself to.   And now looking back and seeing the bigger picture, I realize my mom has always been a terrific role model for me  Thanks, mom.  I love you.

Until next week,

Evonne Weinhaus

For the past several weeks, I have explored my relationship with my mother through perhaps one of the most difficult periods of not only my life, but probably hers too. This exploration has not been simple, fun, or easy; however, along the way I feel a deeper sense of appreciation of my life’s journey—as well as a deeper and more abiding love for my mother.

As I wrote, I tried to pay close attention to the fact that I was writing from my experience, and that “my experience” should not be confused with or interpreted as “the truth.” To quote my grandmother’s famous words, “There’s his story, her story, and then there’s the truth.” So, I decided to conclude May’s blog discussion with my mother’s thoughts, opinions, and recollections, in her own words…

WHEN YOU LEARNED THAT I WAS WRITING ABOUT MY COMING OUT, WHAT WERE YOUR INITIAL THOUGHTS?

I think it’s healthy. Writing about something really brings your true feelings out. I didn’t really have a problem with it or the world knowing about it. The only person I had a problem about it was one friend of mine, she sort of laughed about it. I think a person should be their true self. I think that anybody who has feelings of being in their skin other than who they are will always pose a problem.

WE’VE NEVER REALLY TAKLED ABOUT IT, BUT WHAT DO YOU REMEMBER ABOUT READING MY JOURNAL?

I don’t remember anything really about it. I remember your brother showing it to me. I don’t remember anything about it, really. I don’t even remember that we didn’t talk for a year, and I can’t fathom not speaking with any of my children for a year. You don’t have to agree with how someone lives their life, but you do have to respect it. My memory of putting things in chronological order isn’t always good. Now, if we didn’t speak to each other for a year, it didn’t happen because I didn’t want to speak to you.

AGAIN, WE’VE NEVER REALLY TALKED ABOUT IT, BUT WHAT WERE YOUR FIRST INDICATIONS DURING MY CHILDHOOD THAT I WAS DIFFERENT?

I used to always say that I didn’t want to have any of my boys be a “fag or gay” or whatever the term was at that time. There are so many things about life that are difficult to remember, but really I was confused because there were times that you dated girls. There were things about you that gave me some indication but I think really I was afraid to really know. I often wondered that perhaps I was too lax about who I left you around as a child. Sometimes I sit in the shower and just cry because I feel like I failed you. I wonder if there is anything that I could’ve done (or didn’t do) that caused things to be the way they are. Like maybe I didn’t watch over you enough. A parent is supposed to protect a child.

WHAT WERE YOUR FEARS/CONCERNS ABOUT WHAT MY LIFE WOULD BE IF YOUR SUSPICIONS WERE TRUE?

One of the things I was concerned that someone would notice your lifestyle and do you bodily harm, especially when you travelled during the time that you worked for Estee Lauder, coming in and out of the country, especially when you travelled to Africa. I just didn’t want anything to happen to you. I used to tell you all the time before your trips just be careful.

HOW DID MY BEING GAY AFFECT YOU?

Well, at first, I was concerned that your life would be different. I knew that if you choose a man and not a woman that you wouldn’t give me any grandkids. I was concerned about that. I wanted to have a little version of you. I really wanted that. There were several times during your life that talked about having a baby, or were really close to deciding to have a baby and then ultimately didn’t. I just wanted you to give me a grandchild.

WHAT WAS IT LIKE FOR YOU TO COME TO TERMS WITH ACCEPTING WHO I AM?

It was fine. The thing about me accepting it…but you’re the person who has to live it, or suffer it. There have been people who have been beat to death. Which I think is kind of like an oxymoron because they don’t do that to women. You don’t really hear about that happening to women. Man’s inhumanity to man is something that I worried about for you.

You know, I had some serious doubts about the man I married. I used to tell you I love you, but if it ever seems like you aren’t getting what you need from me, remember that you have a grandmother, aunts, and large extended family — go to them and tell them what’s going on if it ever seems like you can’t get through to me.

My biggest regret in life was when you were two years old I was given the opportunity to relocate to Colorado with a pretty prestigious and my mother told me not to take it because it would’ve meant that she would lose you too. And, now that I’m a grandmother I understand what she meant. It just seems like your grandmother, my sisters, all of them wanted you to be their child, but you’re not…you’re my child.

If there is a parallel universe somewhere, if it were possible to do this whole thing over again…I would do so many things differently!

- INTERVIEW CONCLUDED -

I have often recommended to clients to have a sit down conversation with their parents and find out about what life was like from their point-of-view. Also, if the subject matter is too difficult (or emotionally charged) simply break up the conversation in smaller bits…and now that I’ve done it, the experience is richer than I ever imagined! If it is possible, make the decision to sit down with your parents and interview them…you’d be surprised what you discover!

I re-discovered what I always knew about my mother…she’s smart, strong, sensitive, and that she loves me with a ferociousness that set me up well to deal with the twists and turns of life. A long time ago, I gave up the illusion that my mother was supposed to be “perfect,” and instead see her as one of the funniest, wittiest, most wickedly sarcastic people I’ve ever known. For all the things my mother may have not known how to do, what she did know teach us well is how to laugh. And mamma-la, your laughter continues to be my greatest inheritance!

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!

“We can talk about it or we can just forget it ever happened.” After a beat or two, I finally managed a reply, “Let me sleep on it,” I told her, “and I’ll let you know in the morning.”

That was the longest night ever because I didn’t speak to my mother until a year later.

Now, it’s not that I didn’t “see” my mother, it’s just that I didn’t “speak” to her for an entire year. How I managed to do that is still a mystery to me. To the best of my recollection, whenever we found ourselves in the same space—usually my grandmother’s house—I would somehow find a way to excuse myself.

Never was it my conscious intention to go an entire year without speaking, I simply couldn’t bring myself to talk to her. I felt too hurt, too betrayed, too stunned, and quite frankly, too embarrassed. More than anything, I was afraid that she would finally make good on her threat to disown me for being confirmed as the “F” word.

“Do you still believe in God?” my mother asked several years after we had tentatively reestablished our mother/son relationship.

“Of course I do.” I replied as my insides began gnawing their way out. “I believe in God. How could you possibly believe I didn’t? I just don’t believe in God exactly the way that you do,” I nervously continued.

By that time in my life I had already broken off an “unofficial” engagement with a woman and was already a year and a half into my first openly gay relationship. Even after my mother had discovered my sexual orientation years before, I had met a woman on vacation, dated her for over a year, and moved to New York to live with her. As I look back, I can clearly see how I was still trying to win her approval and love—even at the expense of living a lie that had the potential of severely damaging at least two lives.

And I wasn’t the only person who deserved an Academy Award, because by that time she acted every bit the part of the enlightened PFLAG parent. She asked questions about my relationship, expressed a desire to meet my then boyfriend, and even wanted to accompany me to a dance club someday.

I, on the other hand, was still quite dubious.

As she continued chatting about her religious beliefs, and questioning mine, I could feel my blood boil. Were it not for the fact that I was in the driver’s seat in bumper-to-bumper New York traffic, I would’ve probably stopped the car and yelled at the top of my lungs.

Then, it happened…the Torch Song Trilogy moment I knew one day would come…

“You know mother,” I began, “I have completely surrounded myself with enough love in my life just in case you decide one day that you didn’t love me anymore or took your love away.”  Out of my peripheral vision I could see that she was shocked to speechlessness. “Do you remember,” I continued, “how you used to say if any of your children were to be a thief or a faggot that you would disown them? Well, I’m gay! And I’ve prepared myself for the moment that you decided that you didn’t love me anymore!” I screamed while shakily clutching the steering wheel.

When she finally found her voice again, all I really remember is how she denied ever saying those words. And, somehow, even with the pressure of the moment, I refused to let her off the hook. “You’ve said it over and over and over again! How can you deny that you said it now?!” I continued screaming.

And whether she truly acknowledged the words or not, for the first time in my life I really saw how afraid of the truth she had been all my life because she began to cry. Tears began generously streaming down her face as her crying grew increasingly louder. Through her sobs I somehow heard how much she loved me and how proud of me she was. Then, finally, I began to cry. The two of us crying to beat the mourner’s bench as we sped north in my black Nissan Sentra. And even though my mother “knew” years earlier through reading my journal, I finally had the guts to come out to her screaming on a New York Thruway at 70 miles an hour.

And, even though we had been speaking, we had finally broken the silence that had stretched between us over the years. The tie that held us to our respective pain began to unravel.

Dr. Coleman, author of “When Parents Hurt” talks about the “silent epidemic,” the estrangement between parents and their children. In an article in the The New York Times, he talks about the disparate perspectives between parents and their children. “It’s possible for a parent to feel like they were doing something out of love but it didn’t feel like love to that child.”

Finally, I was able to understand my mother’s fear about the world I would face given who I am. Finally, I was able to understand the love present in the words I had interpreted as oppressive. Finally, I was able to truly accept my mother’s love…and give her love, in return.

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!

“Your relationships with others can be dramatically altered without ever having contact with them” is the secret behind the game playing in the Sandbox from our new book, A New Fearless You.

Never have I thought about this secret as much as I did last Monday, May 10^th on Monday’s night Breakthrough Blogcast Episode 19 with Jaimes McNeal, the host. Yours truly was the guest co-host and Bridgette Kossor was the roundtable guest for the evening.   This week’s particular topic was how all of our “relationship issues” stem from the unresolved issues with our parents.

The Background: I knew Jaimes knew the roundtable guest and that they had a great relationship.  So when we met on the phone a few seconds before the show started, I thought nothing of it when Jaimes told her to really open up and share.  I remember her saying, “Everything?” and he replied in a very knowing way, “Absolutely!”

Show starts: I remember Jaimes asking me about my response to his Mother’s Day blog. I was really surprised when he wrote about not speaking to his mother for a year.  Then we moved on to more about our book, A New Fearless You. I described the definition of Hide and Seek – hiding from the fear of separation from your parents and thus seeking the opposite- separating from your parents.  I used that example so I could ground the definition of Hide and Seek with what Jaimes had just shared about with us when he didn’t talk to his mom for a year.

Bridgette joins us: All I remember is her saying is that she didn’t talk to her mother for ten years and then her mom died in a car accident.  At that moment, I felt my stomach sinking, my heart going out to her, and feeling breathless.  But, that didn’t last long.

Jaimes managed to get out of his mouth, that he knew her for eight years and never knew that about her.  Then he went mute, needing time to absorb it.  Meanwhile, I asked if I could become Jaimes and say what I thought he would say under normal circumstances:

“How would you know if you had a breakthrough?”

We immediately moved into Bridgette’s past.  In fact we are rolling around it-twisting and turning- going deeper-peeling backs every layer of the onion.

What is going on within me when Bridgette has so courageously shared such an intimate part of her self?

Professionally, questions are running through my mind. How can this experience be relevant to what is going on now in Bridgette’s current life?  What is the common thread?  Can we help Bridgette unravel it?  Can she use what she has courageously brought forward to the surface?

How are all the cast of characters that she is talking about playing Hide and Seek within themselves.  How can I help Bridgette and all listeners recognize the game that is going on with in each of us- not with each other as the key players?

With those questions, intermittently rolling through my mind during the time together. I had the privilege and honor of working with and through Bridgette.  What helped me the most was…  Knowing we were enveloped in trust and love, no matter what fears and vulnerabilities were exposed.

Personally, I knew that I, too, like everyone else have to look in the mirror, examine my relationships-particularly as a mother of three adult children and see how this secret “Your relationships with others can be dramatically altered without ever having contact with them” is exactly true in my life:

Oh, how much easier it is to be the teacher!

What about you?  When you look in the mirror and examine your difficult relationships what do you see?

Until next week,

Evonne Weinhaus

Mother’s Day isn’t what it is cracked up to be.  Blasphemy- I know, but true.

In fact it is a day I dread.  Over the years, my friends and I have collected Mother’s Day stories; most of them are funny, when you can be the detached observer.  But in truth, they are bittersweet.  These stories hold lingerings of the past, hopes of the future and mirrors of the present- Families that are split- either by physical or emotional distance or both.

Many times I think of Mitch Albom’s book, One More Day. The premise touches my heart deeply.  It is about a man who goes back in time and relives a day of his past.  Often I think of what day I would choose if this magical wish would be granted to me and I always come up with the same answer- a typical day in our lives- a day we spent together doing our typical routines and taking in deep gulps of  our emotional closeness.

Simple moments.  David reading the newspaper every morning and letting me know if I had misplaced any pages or the pages were in the wrong order.  Eddie making sure he was physically close to his dad- holding his hand or hugging him.  Rachel, downstairs bouncing her ball, making up her wonderful stories.   In between, we would all share our day’s events, do the usual amount of bickering, laugh together, and during the summer, on Sundays, we have people over to swim where parents and kids played and shared ideas with one another.

What we all took for granted, shared on a daily basis with ease is a thing of the past and is now gone.  As life changes, times to be together have to be arranged – taking in both physical and emotional distance-not an easy task I can assure you.

I am an adult daughter, a grandparent of seven terrific grandchildren, a parent and a spouse.  Professionally, I am a co-author, a speaker and therapist who is embarking on a whole new exciting adventure.  I love my life- it is full.  However, not to acknowledge my yearnings of yesteryear- for the ease and naturalness of family closeness- would be living a lie.  It is something I’m not willing to do anymore.

So if there is any advice to be given.  It would be… Cherish the typical days and the small moments versus the day Hallmark has created.

Until next week,

Evonne Weinhaus

What was I going to do? Quickly, I began to formulate several damage control scenarios. “Who else knows?” I worried. Suddenly, the thought I feared the most made itself obvious, “My mother knows!”

I grabbed the telephone and punched in the numbers, and when my aunt’s voice came through the phone I suddenly had no idea what to say.

It was, perhaps, the most difficult conversation I’d had my entire life. I couldn’t form the words. I just kept stammering until finally she walked me through the conversation. Eventually, I understood that she already knew the reason for my call. Eventually, I understood that if she knew I could no longer hope that my mother didn’t know—which probably meant my grandmother knew as well as the rest of my family.

My world, as I knew it, had come to an abrupt and bitter end.

I was in a place far away; a place far away from my family’s love, concern, and understanding. I was in the place that my mother always warned me about. As a child, my earliest and most persistent memories of my mother were centered on a statement that haunted my life: “If any of my children turned out to be a thief or a faggot I will disown them.” My worst nightmare had become realized. My mother’s worst nightmare had been confirmed—through reading my journal, my mother had confirmed what she knew (or feared) years before.  A confirmation that she had spent years trying to make untrue.

If I stood a certain way (right foot on top of left) while washing the dishes she would walk by and separate my feet with her foot. If my walk was a little too loose she would make corrections. If the line between my forearm and hand was broken by 90-degrees she would call attention. Eventually, I became hyper aware of how I stood, walked, and the position of my body so that every moment was planned so far in advance that any veteran actor would marvel at how purposefully I handled any  “onstage business.” Offstage was another matter completely.

My aunt’s kind words let me know that she loved me, but her acceptance was not my main concern at the moment. When my mother and I eventually spoke by telephone, she let me know that she knew my secret. Without thinking, I flew off the handle, “At what point did you know you were violating me by reading the handwritten pages of a private book in my home, Mother?” I screamed. “You know,” I continued, “you got exactly what you deserved reading that book.” At 5’8”, my mother was a formidable woman and I had never taken that tone with her before. Truth be known, I was more than a little afraid of her—at least until that moment.

Perhaps sensing that our relationship would change forever, she offered a truce, “We can talk about it or we can just forget it ever happened.” After a beat or two, I finally managed a reply, “Let me sleep on it,” I told her, “and I’ll let you know in the morning.”

That was the longest night ever because I didn’t speak to my mother until a year later.

…to be continued…

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!

Twenty two mile an hour winds with gusts to thirty six said the scritchily radio man without emotion as I contorted my weather radio to attempt to receive a signal at 3:32 am.  My RV rocked while I watched the shadowy branches of the huge old oak tree spin in the wind.  The delightful thought entered…”what would happen if that old gal fell on my RV and scissored it in half?” 

Cool winds met the morning and highlighted the structure of this magnificent creature with spring green leaves doing the Cha Cha in all directions. Yet through the dance I could see larger limbs that held steady like a baritone, slightly swaying to the beat.  Beyond that chorus was the rhythm of the base, solid, consistent, upright, predictable and unmovable, thumbing a single tone grounded deep into the earth. I could almost hear its resonance.

She, like us has a centered core to her existence, an anchored cord that is the base for her survival.  What is this tap root that stays upright, sturdy and poised in all situations?  What gives her this confidence and clarity? When I look at her I know that she knows who she is without question and that gives me strength to trust her structure and permanence as I sleep under her wings.

What are the core values that give your life meaning – honesty, trust, appreciation, spiritual conviction, goodness or love?  How do you stay in alignment with them and what throws you off course?  I often felt as if my values or core beliefs were constantly changing – I could not find the rhythm of my life to know who I was and what was solid in my being. It felt as if my entire life was more like the leaves flittering in the breeze and altering to each whim or person around me than branches or a trunk, I was always swaying, never grounded.  

“This is a good thing” I would encourage myself, “I am flexible, easy going, alterable, open, and ready for progress.” Who wouldn’t want to be like that, ready to pick up shop and head in whatever direction the atmosphere dictates in the moment? The flip side of pliability might look like insecurity. Remember the Wet Willy childhood hose attachment that wiggled in all directions and you could not catch it? It was unpredictable how could you rely on it for security?

The opposite of being flexible in my mind was being boxed in and that would cut the cord to my freedom and no one should take that from me or I would cease to exist. I did not want to commit to anyone about anything let alone myself.  I loved and still love my freedom! A tree to me was unmovable, stuck, fixed and trapped.  I prefer the wind; no one owns it and it can move from here to there without entanglement or death.  If you uproot a tree it dies.  Of course it can be transformed into furniture or other beautiful blessings, but it is so stationary!  That could also be why I tend to date men who are trees.  Counter balance – we are ever seeking our equilibrium.

Several years ago I was asked to give a talk to a high school group about entrepreneurship. Little did I know that it was a staunch Catholic high school and my topic was – What are your personal 10 Commandments?  I like to stir up the pot. The basis was to understand what 10 commandments or principles you live by that hold true in all circumstances. Those you fall back on over and over again when confronted with hatred or love.  They are solid, clear and confident.  As the growth rings of my character develop I realize there are things that I clearly stand upon.  What are the qualities in us that are dependable?  You may not be in love with what they represent or how they show up in your life now, but you can always let go of what does not serve you.

Have some fun and see what you are made of today – number a page from one to ten and pen your deepest core values.  The beauty of knowing what is solid to us is that we can make choices based on these principles.  You can refer to your 10 when you are being asked to chair a committee, transfer to a different department, or enter a new relationship.

Are you like leaves, branches or a trunk?

“Do you still believe in God?” my mother asked.

I was stunned. Not just because the question seemed to come from nowhere, but because her first New York visit was going so well, and with six unexpected words we had suddenly ventured into very treacherous waters.

“Of course I do.” I replied as my insides began gnawing their way out. “I believe in God. How could you possibly believe I didn’t? I just don’t believe in God exactly the way that you do,” I nervously continued.

At 27 years of age, I had lived most of my life trying to please my mother. With a few bumps during my adolescence, I had pretty much given her what she expected—a perfect child. My track record, however, was irrevocably altered several years earlier when my younger brother discovered my secret. Perhaps the discovery of “my secret” was the reason why she questioned my belief in God—or better said her “God.”

Twice in my young life I found myself the primary caregiver of a brother seven years my junior. The first time he came to live with me was when I was barely 20 years old and it was clear that he was safer living with me than with my mother and stepfather. His living with me was an easy decision to make because I loved my brother. He was my best friend and favorite playmate. We laughed loudly, invented and acted out skits, fought bitterly, and loved each other fiercely.

The second time he came to live with me was a few years later the summer he graduated high school before leaving for The Marines. By that time our relationship had already changed significantly—and so had I. My little brother was becoming a man, and I was becoming a man different than him. It was during this time that was beginning to come to terms with a secret. A secret that I couldn’t hide anymore, not from myself or anyone else. I was growing tired of hiding, lying, and playing the pronoun game.

For months before my brother’s arrival I had begun keeping a journal as a form of self-therapy. Every day I would open its green marbled cover and expose my deepest, darkest thoughts. Every day I would hide it in my bedroom before leaving my garden apartment on Chicago’s north side. Every day I was growing increasingly tired of nursing my secret. I was tired of only revealing it to the blank page.

So, in the “Freudiest” of moves I realized on the noisy L platform that I had left my journal of secrets on the kitchen table in plain sight! How could I have done that? What was I thinking?! Would my brother notice it? See it? Read it?!

My heart stopped beating. I broke into a cold sweat. I considered jumping the turnstile for home, but I was already running late. So, I hoped for the best and tried to push the whole affair out of my mind.

That night when I returned home, the house was empty and my journal lay open on the table, and I began pacing like a wild animal around the kitchen. Clearly he had read it and my secret was out!

What was I going to do? Quickly, I began to formulate several damage control scenarios. “Who else knows?” I worried. Suddenly, the thought I feared the most made itself obvious, “My mother knows!”

…to be continued…

Use this discussion board/blog to post your insights. Read and discuss the insights of others. Go for it!

Around 2003, I used to hate it when people said, “I’m going to meditate on it” or “I’m going to ask my higher self.  I’m telling you, I had no idea of how to connect with my higher self.

Then I discovered that the organization Heartmath (www.heartmath.org) may be able to help me.  I called them directly to see what they could offer.  I still remember that phone call when the young woman suggested I hire a Heartmath coach whose thrust was on growing your business. Then I repeated my new mantra.  I want to get in touch with my higher self.  “Oh,” she responded, “I have just the person for you.”  I swear I could see the light bulb go off in her head.  “Sheva Carr will be perfect for you.”  And, she was absolutely right!

One of the first Heart math tools Sheva taught me was called Freeze Frame, as a way to communicate with my higher self.  This is a tool that combines both  breathing and feeling the feelings of gratitude to open up your heart’s wisdom.  Bingo!  I remember the moment exactly when I experienced this simple but powerful exercise.

When I was visiting our daughter in Los Angeles, we went down to the ocean. She was going to run; I was going to walk. Ahead of time, I had decided I would try this “Freeze Frame when I was waiting for her to finish her run.”

It would be the perfect time. I’d be relaxed after my walk, and I knew exactly what I was going to ask my higher self.  What would be the so called promise or message of the book that I wanted to write?

There I was, body relaxed, sitting on a bench facing the ocean and taking myself through the process.  Oh yes, something came through.  I heard, “Full expression.”  At the time, I couldn’t believe it.  It sure didn’t sound like a “very sexy” message.

Fast forward seven years.  Cindy and I are almost at the finish line- with our book, A New Fearless You.   We are working on the last chapter, Pin the Tail- the most spiritual chapter of the book- the pinnacle of all the preceding chapters.  We have just come up with the secret behind the game:

When  your energies work together in sync, you’re not half- you’re whole.

Cindy says to me, “Great secret, but what do you think the one-word action is that goes along with it?”

Without hesitation, I say, “I know what it is.  It is the last piece of the puzzle.  It is all about people expressing themselves.  The one-word action is Express.”

“Are you sure?” says Cindy.

“Oh yeah, I’m 100% sure,” as I remember the woman sitting on the bench looking at the water having one of her first conversations with her higher self.

Until next week,

Evonne Weinhaus