, , , , , , , ,

5 Ways to Be More Grateful

Today is the eve of my 29th birthday, and I'm feelin' mighty grateful!

Whether you are currently in a floating, happy place or in the midst of struggle, I want you to serve yourself by stopping for a moment and to appreciate whatever you're going through. As I look back on my life, I realize how important it was to go through everything - regardless of how nonsensical or painful the situation may have been at the time. Today, I am grateful for all of it. 

It would serve you to be more grateful, too.

5 Ways to Be More Grateful

  1. Don't judge the situation you're in. Just move within it and be grateful for what you can learn from it. 
  2. Remember that your existence is a miracle. 
  3. Do things that make you feel grateful. Watch a sunrise. Breathe in fresh air. Snuggle a pup or kitty. 
  4. Celebrate differences between yourself and others around you.  
  5. Look at how far you've come. Do your best. Give life your best shot. 
Always, always, always, say Thank you. 


, , , ,

Having a Bad Day? Let That Shit Happen

I have a confession to make.

Yes, I coach people to work toward becoming their most blissful. It is my calling to bring about shifts in people's lives so that they can bear witness to their own power. They learn how to make their own miracles happen.I recognize that it isn't because of me. I just show them what has been bubbling beneath the surface all along. I'm a messenger.

However on certain occasions, I move within the realm of pissed-offness. On days that are few and far between, I am not a happy camper, and there's no rhyme or reason for my bad day. There doesn't need to be.

Like today.

Perhaps it is because the world is on fire. Perhaps it is because I see pain and suffering all around and people's ignorance propagating human negligence, cruelty, and atrocities. Every once in a while, I allow it to bring out the anger and frustration I generally keep a lid on because I'm tired of feeling helpless.

Before I hit my meditation pillow, it's a shitty day and I'm mad as hell about everything I can't help. I'm OK with it. I sit with my frustration because when I feel this way, it gives me a point to re-calibrate to. I usually go out for a run to shake off the negativity, or I practice yoga.

My point is,

When you are having a bad day, let that shit happen.

Let yourself feel it. I'm not saying take it out on those around you, because they don't deserve to be subjected to your bad day, but give yourself time to move within it before you decide to make shake it off.

I usually give myself five minutes because I don't enjoy feeling emotionally cloudy or heavy.

But then, I hit my meditation pillow, and in the silence of my mind and the beating of my heart, I remember that my time on this earth is limited. That being angry without being led toward serving what will alleviate the anger is a waste of time and emotion. I remember how grateful I am to be here; to occupy this time and this space, and I wonder how I can make things better, in the one-person-can-change-the-world sense of better, and then I do whatever that is.

How can I use my actions and words to move forward and leave anger and helplessness behind, or to use those to fuel my endeavors?

The bliss I have found comes in the form of being of service to anyone who may need it, even in the midst of my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day...which I remain grateful for.

, , , , , , , , , , ,

The Universe Has My Back

On rare, blessed occasions in life, we are sent kindred souls who echo sentiments that our spirits whisper. Today, I spent a rare day off with a friend, Courtney, who I consider a spirit guide as well as trusted confidante. With her, our friendship is uplifting and enriching as it is easy. Spending the greater part of the afternoon with Courtney today gave me the reassurance that I did not realize I was seeking.

Today, Courtney blew my mind because for the first time since I began the process, I admitted out loud how overwhelming and humbling this process has been. She responded by echoing, verbatim, sentiments I have said or written. Building a business; writing my first book; leaving a life that was comfortable and taking a chance on myself have all been intensely world-shifting to say the least. I am working on implementing balance between my work, rest, recreation, and pleasure.

"It's not about me; it's about the message."

I said this about two weeks ago to my significant other when I was expressing mild frustration about being in the midst the billionth round of editions to my manuscript. I refocused my energy from my deadlines to the content. That the work I release has been a labor of love that has been crafted to serve and inspire. None of it is about me; it is through me. 

Courtney said at lunch, "It's not about you, it's about the message. So you have to make sure that the message is perfect before you release it." My jaw dropped as soon as she said this. She vocalized what I knew all along.

"Don't let yourself get in the way of your success."

This heading is the original heading to this very blog post I began writing last night. I felt so deeply about reminding people to focus on their goals in order to move forward with their lives, versus allowing themselves to be trapped within their realm of perceived possibilities.    

Imagine my awe and elation when - you guessed it - Courtney said this to me, once again verbatim, today at lunch. Without knowing it, she single-handedly gave me permission to have faith in what I have been secretly trusting with my whole being. I now know without a shadow of doubt, that:

God, The Universe, The Powers That Be have My Back.

And I know it has Your Back, too.

In the span of one afternoon, my friend innocently encouraged me. But I don't think she realized how powerful her words were. I have tears in my eyes as I type this because soul sisters have been so rare in my life, and when I meet one, I consider them to be precious and enlightening. I am blessed to have a handful of light-bearers. 

Listen to those who love you and who uplift you. They are messengers who were sent to you to guide you, inspire you, and love you, even when you think you are falling apart. I hope that you have your own version of Courtney. Everyone should be blessed with someone in their lives like her.

Who in your life brings you luminous hope?

, , , ,

Become Your Own Bliss

Dearest Loves,

As most of you know, I've been working on Become Your Own Bliss, my debut as a published author. My original release date for the book was set for Monday, July 14, 2014. 

Due to a last-minute massive edit, I am forced to push the release date for #BYOB a few weeks. Don't worry, it will be available for purchase before the summer ends. I will make announcements on every social media front, and every single one of my websites for the final release date.

However, I am honoring my original release date by publishing the corresponding website to Become Your Own Bliss, and I will be posting gifts leading up to the release of the book. 

We have much to look forward to! 

Blissfully yours,

, , , , , ,

Get Your Blissification on The Talk 2 Q Radio Show

Tonight at 8:00 CDT/9:00 EST, get your Blissification on The Talk 2 Q Radio Show! Click on the link for details. 

It'll be my first time as a guest on a radio show, and I'll be chatting with Q about my upcoming book, Become Your Own Bliss, (#BYOB) and how much I love being a life coach, and other stuff.
Join us!

, , , , , , , , ,

Project: Fresh Start

During some of the most trying times in my life, I went to my mother for advice. The common thread that wove the events together was that they were the turning of the page from one chapter of my life into the next. "Change is the only constant in life," my Mom would say, "get used to it."

That has been the singular best piece of advice I've ever received, which is why I have learned to brazenly swim into the turning of the tides.


Starting anew is deliciously terrifying. There are fewer things that can blissfully rattle the human psyche more than a fresh, bright, new start. 

When we make the conscious choice to move forward while using fear as power rather than a hindrance, we not only do we allow ourselves to grow by leaning into our edges; we give others permission to do the same.

A month ago today was my first day completely devoting my life to my coaching practice and my writing. I've never felt more liberated, and the transformation has not only been surprising, it has been awe-inspiring. I am bravely putting my future on the line by betting on myself.

Stop doing what you dread and give yourself a chance.

My soul is grateful that I have.

"Do what you love and everything else will fall into place."

, ,

Late Night Confession

I confess:

I LOVE honest people. God, do I love honest people. People say the truth hurts, but I'm OK with a little bit of pain.

BS - low tolerance for.

I do my best to think differently, every day (but Facebook makes it so darn hard).

Swearing feels so good sometimes. Fucking loooove.

I surround myself with my books and my dogs.

I stay up most nights writing, finishing stuff up, crafting words and absorbing them.

I hate that my best friends are so far away, but we text every day.

I'm obsessed with lip balm.

The past couple of months have been kind of hectic for me; I owe some of you mail. It's coming!

And lastly, I truly believe that people are not told enough that they are loved. So, whoever you are, wherever you are...You are enough, and I love you, from the floor of my thumper. <3 <3 <3

, , , , ,

Amy Schumer's Speech at the Annual Gloria Awards

Image from Inside Amy Schumer Facebook Page

I am a big Amy Schumer fan. F'ckin' LOVE her! She has been a girlcrush since I came across her stuff on YouTube. Needless to say, I was thrilled when Inside Amy Schumer hit the air on Comedy Central. She reminds me of the hilariously blunt and sexually liberated best friend I never had.

On Thursday night, Amy gave a speech at the Annual Gloria Awards held by the Ms. Foundation for Women, in honor of Gloria Steinem's 80th birthday.

That gross sexual encounter that catalyzes the change in our perspective, self-love, self-image... It's here.

Every young woman should read this transcript:

          "Here I go, and if it doesn't go well, please just don't blog about it.

Right before I left for college, I was running my high school. Feel it. I knew where to park, I knew where to get the best chicken-cutlet sandwich, I knew which custodians had pot. People knew me. They liked me. I was an athlete and a good friend. I felt pretty, I felt funny, I felt sane. Then I got to college in Maryland. My school was voted number one ... for the hottest freshman girls in Playboy that year. And not because of me. All of a sudden, being witty and charismatic didn't mean shit. Day after day, I could feel the confidence drain from my body. I was not what these guys wanted. They wanted thinner, blonder, dumber ... My sassy one-liners were only working on the cafeteria employees, who I was visiting all too frequently, tacking on not the Freshman 15, but the 30, in record-breaking time, which led my mother to make comments over winter break like, "You look healthy!" I was getting no male attention, and I'm embarrassed to say, it was killing me.

But one guy paid me some attention — Matt. Matt was six feet tall, he looked like a grown-up von Trapp child, and he was five years older than me. What?! An older boy, paying attention to me? I must be okay. Uff. I made him laugh in our bio lab, and I could tell a couple times that we had a vibe. He was a super senior, which is a sexy way of saying "should have graduated, but needed an extra year." He barely spoke, which was perfect for all the projecting I had planned for him. We grew up in the same town, and getting attention from him felt like success. When I would see him on campus, my heart would race, and I would smile as he passed. I'd look in the mirror and see all the blood rise to my face. I'd spend time analyzing the interaction, and planning my outfit for the next time I saw him. I wanted him to call. He never called. But then finally, he called.

It was 8 a.m., my dorm room phone rang. "Amy, wassup? It's Matt. Come over." Holy shit! This is it, I thought. He woke up thinking about me! He realized we're meant to start a life together! Let's just stop all this pretending that we weren't free just to love one another! I wondered, would we raise our kids in the town we both grew up in, or has he taken a liking to Baltimore? I don't care. I'll settle wherever he's most comfortable. Will he want to raise our kids Jewish? Who cares? I shaved my legs in the sink, I splashed some water under my armpits, and my randomly assigned Albanian roommate stared at me from under her sheets as I rushed around our shitty dorm room. I ran right over to his place, ready for our day together. What would we do? It's still early enough, maybe we're going fishing? Or maybe his mom's in town, and he wanted me to join them for breakfast. Knock-knock. Is he going to carry me over the threshold? I bet he's fixing his hair and telling his mom, 'Be cool, this may be the one!' I'll be very sweet with her, but assert myself, so she doesn't think she's completely in charge of all the holiday dinners we're going to plan together. I'll call her by her first name, too, so she knows she can't mess with me. "Rita! I'm going to make the green bean casserole this year, and that's that!" Knock-knock. Ring ring. Where is he?

Finally, the door opens. It's Matt, but not really. He's there, but not really. His face is kind of distorted, and his eyes seem like he can't focus on me. He's actually trying to see me from the side, like a shark. "Hey!" he yells, too loud, and gives me a hug, too hard. He's fucking wasted. I'm not the first person he thought of that morning. I'm the last person he called that night. I wonder, how many girls didn't answer before he got to fat freshman me? Am I in his phone as Schumer? Probably. But I was here, and I wanted to be held and touched and felt desired, despite everything. I wanted to be with him. I imagined us on campus together, holding hands, proving, "Look! I am lovable! And this cool older guy likes me!" I can't be the troll doll I'm afraid I've become.

He put on some music, and we got in bed. As that sexy maneuver where the guy pushes you on the bed, you know, like, 'I'm taking the wheel on this one. Now I'm going to blow your mind,' which is almost never followed up with anything. He smelled like skunk microwaved with cheeseburgers, which I planned on finding and eating in the bathroom, as soon as he was asleep. We tried kissing. His 9 a.m. shadow was scratching my face — I knew it'd look like I had fruit-punch mouth for days after. His alcohol-swollen mouth, I felt like I was being tongued by someone who had just been given Novocain. I felt faceless, and nameless. I was just a warm body, and I was freezing cold. His fingers poked inside me like they had lost their keys in there. And then came the sex, and I use that word very loosely. His penis was so soft, it felt like one of those de-stress things that slips from your hand? So he was pushing aggressively into my thigh, and during this failed penetration, I looked around the room to try and distract myself or God willing, disassociate. What's on the wall? A Scarface poster, of course. Mandatory. Anything else? That's it? This Irish-Catholic son of bank teller who played JV soccer and did Mathletes feels the most connection with a Cuban refugee drug lord. The place looked like it was decorated by an overeager set designer who took the note "temporary and without substance" too far.

He started to go down on me. That's ambitious, I think. Is it still considered getting head if the guy falls asleep every three seconds and moves his tongue like an elderly person eating their last oatmeal? Chelsea? Is it? Yes? It is. I want to scream for myself, "Get out of here, Amy. You are beautiful, you are smart, and worth more than this. This is not where you stay." I feel like Fantine and Cosette and every fucking sad French woman from Les Miz. And whoever that cat was who sang "Memories," what was that musical? Suze Orman just goes, "Cats." The only wetness between my legs is from his drool, because he's now sleeping and snoring into me. I sigh, I hear my own heartbreak, I fight back my own tears, and then I notice a change in the music. Is this just a bagpipe solo? I shake him awake. "Matt, what is this? The Braveheart soundtrack? Can you put something else on, please?" He wakes up grumpily, falls to the floor, and crawls. I look at his exposed butt crack, a dark, unkempt abyss that I was falling into. I felt paralyzed. His asshole is a canyon, and this was my 127 Hours. I might chew my arm off.

I could feel I was losing myself to this girl in this bed. He stood up and put a new CD on. "Darling, you send me, I know you send me, honest, you do ..." I'm thinking, "What is this?" He crawled back into bed, and tried to mash at this point his third ball into my vagina. On his fourth thrust, he gave up and fell asleep on my breast. His head was heavy and his breath was so sour, I had to turn my head so my eyes didn't water. But they were watering anyway, because of this song. Who is this? This is so beautiful. I've never heard these songs before. They're gutting me. The score attached to our morning couldn't have been more off. His sloppy, tentative lovemaking was certainly not in the spirit of William Wallace. And now the most beautiful love songs I've ever heard play out as this man-boy laid in my arms, after diminishing me to a last-minute booty call. I listened to the songs and I cried. I was looking down at myself from the ceiling fan. What happened to this girl? How did she get here? I felt the fan on my skin and I went, "Oh, wait! I am this girl! We got to get me out of here!" I became my own fairy godmother. I waited until the last perfect note floated out, and escaped from under him and out the door. I never heard from Matt again, but felt only grateful for being introduced to my new self, a girl who got her value from within her. I'm also grateful to Matt for introducing me to my love Sam Cooke, who I'm still with today.

Now I feel strong and beautiful. I walk proudly down the streets of Manhattan. The people I love, love me. I make the funniest people in the country laugh, and they are my friends. I am a great friend and an even better sister. I have fought my way through harsh criticism and death threats for speaking my mind. I am alive, like the strong women in this room before me. I am a hot-blooded fighter and I am fearless. But I did morning radio last week, and a DJ asked, "Have you gained weight? You seem chunkier to me. You should strike while the iron is hot, Amy." And it's all gone. In an instant, it's all stripped away. I wrote an article for Men's Health and was so proud, until I saw instead of using my photo, they used one of a 16-year-old model wearing a clown nose, to show that she's hilarious. But those are my words. What about who I am, and what I have to say? I can be reduced to that lost college freshman so quickly sometimes, I want to quit. Not performing, but being a woman altogether. I want to throw my hands in the air, after reading a mean Twitter comment, and say, "All right! You got it. You figured me out. I'm not pretty. I'm not thin. I do not deserve to use my voice. I'll start wearing a burqa and start waiting tables at a pancake house. All my self-worth is based on what you can see." But then I think, Fuck that. I am not laying in that freshman year bed anymore ever again. I am a woman with thoughts and questions and shit to say. I say if I'm beautiful. I say if I'm strong. You will not determine my story — I will. I will speak and share and fuck and love and I will never apologize to the frightened millions who resent that they had it in them to do it. I stand here and I am amazing, for you. Not because of you. I am not who I sleep with. I am not my weight. I am not my mother. I am myself. And I am all of you, and I thank you.


Most young women have experienced a version of this awkward, desperate encounter, and sadly, some young women have resigned to versions of this as their primary form of interaction with the opposite sex. They settle. They also allow societal standards to ruin them. Being a woman, whether we're viewed as skinny, fat, ugly, gorgeous, plain, is irrelevant, because there's so much more, but only if we demand to be seen as more than the facade that is judged while facing the world.

I loved Amy before I read this speech, and now I have even more respect and admiration toward her. Ladies, you are so much more than attention from men that you are willing to settle for. 

Thank you, Amy!  


5 Steps to Living a More Blissful Life

1. Surround yourself with people you love. 

If they fall under the "People I Tolerate" category, skip the party. Treat time as currency; don't waste it on people who don't benefit you.

2. Find your purpose. 

Because, sure, working that job that rewards you with a paycheck every couple of weeks that pays your bills, but does it make your soul shine? If the answer's no, figure out what will. Chances are, what fulfills you can be monetized.

3. Stop giving a damn what people think about you. 

I honestly can't remember the last time I wondered how I was perceived. You can't please everybody, so you might as well please the person facing you from the mirror.

4. Play harder. 

As in, work hard, play harder.

5. Take advice from people whose life you wish to live. 

Otherwise, it's like taking health and fitness tips from someone who's 200 lbs. overweight.

This is just the tip of the iceberg. Stay tuned...

Incorporating a little bit of bliss into your life is important. I don't mean this from a new-age perspective, I mean it from a matter-of-fact, you-need-this perspective. I can't tell you how many people I've encountered who, for intents and purposes, have everything one could possibly want but are still miserable. There's an art to living blissfully, and I know just the person to show you how.

, ,

Non-Judgmental Love

My world changed the moment I stopped judging people. It helped me love better and become better.

I no longer got caught up in putting a "good" or "bad" label on people. Flaws are no longer the first thing I see.

Remaining in a state of non-judgment has given me permission to love unconditionally. It allows me to view perfect strangers as I view my loved ones: as my kin, sisters and brothers roaming this space, occupying the same time I've been privileged with.

I no longer waste time thinking someone as good or bad. I am able to listen better, without forming an opinion before the other person is finished speaking.

Mostly, what has startled me is how much I've learned since this I've begun practice. I've learned about people and about myself. I've opened myself up to countless possibilities in which bliss became possible.

In order to shift one's perspective from perpetually analytical to objectively loving, refreshing the perspective is necessary. In effect, we must un-know what we've learned in order to gain the ability to see past what we believe already exists. Non=judgmental love is the root of unconditional love because when we cease to put "our stuff" into people's situations, loving them is all that's left.

, , ,

Spring Detox: Clear Away the Bull$#!+

My favorite time of year is upon us once again. Springtime summons blooming flowers, longer days, and shorter skirts. The urge to begin anew rears its pretty little head, along with the inevitable need to clear out the old.

Bad habits, toxic friends, a job you hate, are a few examples of the things in life that may take away your joy. Giving space to any of the above keeps you trapped in a cycle of tolerance for bullshit that you shouldn't subject yourself to. Yes, quitting smoking isn't easy, and you may have known that friend your entire life. I'm sure that job sustains you in some way, but is it fulfilling you? 

If it does not serve you well, slowly work it out of your life. There is no shame in evolving, and don't let anyone make you feel otherwise. 

Kick that habit. 
Send that friend on his/her merry way. 
Figure out your life purpose and chase it with all your heart and soul. 

No more excuses. 

Popular Posts




Information and ideas expressed on any and all websites, videos, books, and coaching calls written, owned, operated, and conducted by The Blissification Company, LLC is not meant to take the place of legal or medical advice. Coaching results may vary.

Bliss Out!

Let's Connect!

twitterfacebookgoogle pluslinkedinrss feedemail


Nutrition and Wellness Certified by AFPA

Receive Bliss