“I don’t trust anyone whose eyes have not been opened by The Dark.”

That is a quote from my friend/sister/colleague Vera de Chalambert, from a recent interview I had with her on the wisdom of the dark times we go through and the brokenness we carry.

I’m guessing you are dedicated to being ever-more conscious, woke, and not superficial. But still, it’s likely you’ve already swallowed (and digested) the poison pill that tricks you into believing there is some shiny plan, blueprint, proven program, script, or set of rules that — if you are a diligent devotee — will ensure things will be good, painless, and all fixed up for you.

Good, painless, fixed-up times exist, sure. They just don’t last forever — or for very long, at least in my experience.

And they don’t last for long because that’s the nature of things: to change, to ebb, to shift. It’s the nature of life to include joy AND pain, light AND dark, mending AND breaking. No one escapes this, no matter how shiny the plan.

However, that poison pill likely has you convinced that it’s YOUR FAULT those times don’t last forever, that you haven’t been a diligent-enough devotee to whatever plan, blueprint, proven program, script, or set of rules.

But you are NOT the problem. Really.

Can you remind me? I’ve forgotten. Why exactly should I get out of bed this morning?

Okay, it’s a little less dramatic than all that. I mean, I’m up and dressed and made tea and even eaten the eggs my son didn’t eat from his breakfast. I’m up. I’m at ’em.

But this morning I’m sad and tired and discouraged. Lonely AF.

I got an email from someone wonderful and very famous sharing a recent success in her writing career. I don’t begrudge her success, but the scope of it socked me in the gut and triggered a spiral down to nowhere good.

When it comes to my business and writing career, my “voice” is small. On a good day, the peace I’ve made with that fact shines bright. Not so much on days like today. I’ve been singing at the top of my lungs, giving it everything I’ve got, for nearly two decades. And my “voice” is still barely audible.

I call this my “WHY BOTHER” hole.

WHY BOTHER is what it sounds like when I howl from the bottom of familiar pit that I fall into sometimes, a fall that strangles me and obliterates the sky.

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I was in lower Manhattan a couple weeks ago, and saw something unbelievable.

I was in town on a whim, meeting some friends for lunch at a spot that happened to be a few blocks away from where I lived during my 12 year tenure in NYC as a professional dancer.

How many times in 12 years did I come up to that same street from that same subway platform to be greeted by a huge billboard, usually filled with some high fashion image from Prada or similar that made me feel like crap?

But this time as I looked up I saw something remarkable.

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Most of us are familiar with the “easiest” way to grow confidence: you go for it, you work for it, you get it!

But I want to introduce you to the “hardest” way to grow confidence, as well.

It might be even better than the easiest way, in terms of the quality of confidence it grows, even though it will kick your ass the whole way.

Happy Valentine’s Day — or happy Day of the Heart as they call it at my son’s school.

Can I just say I can’t believe it’s February? I’m finally feeling really well-prepared for September … of last year. Well, then. Onward.}

So, a couple days ago we got a puppy. Nine weeks old, the little thing. She’s a bundle of joy and exuberance and quite possibly the cutest thing ever. She’s already mastered peeing on her special pad. But poop? Not so much.

Stay with me a sec so I can link up self-love with puppy poops.

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