Monday, July 30, 2007
I've always had a motto about men. Simply put, "Let them be the moths, I am the flame." As I look back and try to figure out when and where this notion got planted in my head, I can only come up with my parents. I mean, they never said such a thing, but their rules ultimately shaped my thoughts and actions.
I wasn't allowed to date until I was sixteen (couldn't even have phone calls from boys until I was fifteen), so aggressively pursuing a boy or even looking for a boyfriend was a mute point. Of course I was too mortified to tell boys that my house rules were so strict, so I went about the business of developing my own interests and in the process also developed an air of friendly nonchalance that apparently proved to be intriguing.
Despite the fact that I thought my parents were brutally unkind, now I see that I actually learned three valuable lessons in those early years: 1) boys like a bit of a chase; 2) staying busy doing my own thing--whether work or play--was a good thing because having my own life and interests is an important part of any relationship; and 3) boys will always find you, especially when you're not looking.
So I repeat: Be the flame.
Being the flame gives you a very positive attitude to wrap your mind around (and we all know, where your mind goes, your butt follows). Flame glows. Flame attracts. Flame lights the way and warms the path. Flame welcomes and mesmerizes. Flame is white hot!
Be the flame because when you're the moth, you simply become one of several flitting around someone else's light waiting and hoping that you'll get noticed (and increasing your chances of getting burned). When you're the moth, you give the flame the power to pick and choose; to validate and make you feel attractive and wanted. Bump that...BE THE FLAME!
I know, easier said than done. Well let's talk about a few ways to make sure your flame burns big and bright enough to attract the moths with the right stuff.
1) Change your attitude, change your life. Stop living with the moth mentality and let your light shine. Stop believing that basking in the light of some man's flame will make you happy and start tending to your flame. Building and basking in a secure, self-confident fire within is the secret to your happiness.
2) Work to make your flame a beacon of welcoming light and warmth--not a fire hazard. We are so worried about how lovable we are that we don't stop to consider what is the quality of the love we give.
3) Begin to recognize the attributes in other women whose light you admire. She might even be the one you constantly refer to a 'biyatch,' when you are suffering with acute EBS (evil bitch syndrome). It is important to understand that the attributes you admire (and probably envy)and are drawn to in other women are most often those hidden assets that you have yet to acknowledge in yourself. So instead of player hatin', look, listen and learn from the flames around you. Bring these things out in yourself and watch as your flame gets brighter.
4) Work on your sensual, signature style (see early posts)to make your flame unique and individual while enhancing your best qualities and letting your perceived flaws go up in smoke.
5) Stop believing that only certain moths should be attracted to your light. Don't limit your options with some small-minded list of flame-retarded choices. The moth you turn away because his wings aren't the right size or color or his cocoon isn't big enough may just be the moth of your dreams. And even if he's not the ultimate moth, the lesson he may be there to teach you may be the one that will help draw Mr. Right to your flame.
Be the flame.
What do you think?
Friday, July 20, 2007
I saw this image and decided I had to use it in a blog entry and this was supposed to be about being safe and sexy in the sun. It reminded me of the first and only time I got sunburned to the point of excruciating discomfort. I was in college. I went down to Puerto Rico with a friend and did what we always did back there-- slathered on some Johnson's baby oil and sat on the beach looking young and fly. My first time out of the country too. No body mentioned that the sun is slightly stronger down yonder. I got burned from my eyelids to my toe nails and everything in between. The trip home was a nightmare as anything that touched my body--threads even--hurt like hell. Never again, I promised myself and unlike my promise to give up Dunkin' Donuts, I kept that promise.
But as I sat down to write all that came to mind is the last time I visited a nude beach--Orient Beach in St. Maarten, July 2005--to pinpoint my last venture au naturale. And that led me to think about the first time I'd ever tip-toed out to a nude beach--the same beach in 1986 on my honeymoon. And that got me thinking about all the years that have gone by in between--oh hell, let me start from the top.
My husband and I went to St. Maarten on our honeymoon. I was a young, nubile newlywed of 26 married to a curious, very adventurous younger man who has always had a great body and has never been afraid to show it. It was his idea to check out Orient Beach, and though I was feeling a bit shy about the whole thing I agreed. Of course, the man was out of his clothes in the parking lot! I had to laugh--even back then I was about going with the flow (though frankly, I had no intention of taking off my swimsuit). We ambled down to the beach, which was surprisingly empty. All the better. While I stripped down to my bikini and set up our picnic, my husband walked down to the shoreline to check out the surf (okay and to let me check him out!) and then proceeded to make himself comfortable on the blanket in the sand.
Then the parade started and I realized we were an anomaly on this stretch of clothing optional sand.
It began with a heavyset man whose stomach provided a sunscreen for his privates (you get the picture and it wasn't pretty!). Next a tall, skinny couple, where everything on both of them was hanging and swinging in the ocean breeze. They proceeded to frolic in the surf, hot, happy and naked as jaybirds. Right there I realized that this was no St. Tropez. No Rio di Janiero. No exquisite bodies oiled up and oozing sex. Matter of fact, Craig and I were the only hot bodies to be seen.
That knowledge and a little prompting led me to remove my top. A few hours later, with the realization that nobody gave a damn and a little more spousal prompting, off came the bottoms. But even with the best body on that land (and when the hell would that ever happen again?) and my man by my side, I still didn't feel truly comfortable in my skin' and before I wound up with some wacky tan line--one hand print on my upper arm and one on my thigh--I closed my eyes, turned over and let my butt take all the heat. Still, I had to admire the fact that these old folks were oblivious to their imperfections or my judgemental eyes. They were just enjoying the sun and surf in their birthday suits--wrinkled and worn as they might be. I had to applaud their daring.
Fast forward twenty years. I'm back on Orient Beach, this time all by my lonesome, blissfully minding my own business, editing my book, and enjoying the sun kissing my naked body (okay this is actually part two of the red bikini story I wrote about in May.) I was full frontal and didn't give a damn who saw (Okay, in full-disclosure, I did take a little time to position body parts so they weren't slipping under my armpits and my stomach appeared flatter than it actually was. And okay, even in my late 40's I was still among the youngest and most fit bodies on the beach, amazing how much the 70 plus crowd likes to strut around nekked.) But the huge, most telling difference was that I was relaxed and enjoying myself because unlike when I was a young newlywed, I'd taken the sex out of this adventure and was simply enjoying the sensuality of the experience. I had no worries about being judged as a sexual object and the only bodies I noticed were the occasional, fully clothed, twenty somethings ambling down the shore trying not to gawk and laugh at us old-timers happily enjoying nature in the buff. They were curious about the idea of a nude beach but not courageous enough to experience it. I had laugh as I thought back to myself at their age. Age does bring wisdom and courage and a spectacular "I don't give a damn, deal with it" attitude that goes along way in making like more enjoyable and a hell of a lot less stressful.
So what's the point of this rambling set of memories? First, I'm not proud of the fact that my comfort level ebbs and flows only by comparison. Even I have yet to master the lesson 100% of the time that being myself, exactly the way I am, is fabulous and can never be wrong. Secondly, whether it's a nude beach, taking a trip without your spouse or painting your toenails and fire engine red, occasionally challenge yourself to do something daring and outside of your comfort zone. Only then will you recognize how much fuller and funner (I know it's not grammatically correct--I should say more fun, but I like the way fuller and funner sounds) life can be when you are brave and adventurous. And lastly, wear sunblock every time you leave the house. Keep that birthday suit healthy and wrinkle free just in case Orient Beach or some other naked adventure comes up in your travel plans!
What do you think?
Monday, July 16, 2007
I am looking for five more women (preferably married or in a committed relationship) looking to get their sexy back and are game for participating in my Stiletto Camp--six weeks of individual coaching intended to help you become the beautiful, sensual, confident wife and partner you were meant to be.
In addition to a Stiletto Camp workbook with exercises designed to unearth your authentic sensuous you, you'll receive:
A weekly, one hour, individual coaching sessions by phone
Two WMS support group conference call meetings
A weekly motivational email
Unlimited email access
WMS gift pack
In return for the services above, I will ask you to allow me to document your progress for inclusion in my new, nonfiction book. Of course, all names and identifying details will be changed to protect your identity.
This complimentary camp officially begins October 1, 2007, so grab a girlfriend and take the first fun and empowering step towards becoming a more sensual, more charming, more successful YOU.
To enlist, email your name, address, phone number to me at firstname.lastname@example.org Tell me your story and why you'd like to participate. You'll be hearing from me and before you know it, getting your sexy back! Deadline to register is Sept. 1, 2007. Hurry! Only five spots remain.
PS This post is separate and above the Tandi Cruise offer.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
My daughter, who is 14 and about to enter high school this fall, finally said the "S" word. She told me she wanted to be "sexy." When I asked her to explain to me what she thought sexy was, she, like most of us, was at a loss for words. So I of course took the opportunity fill in the blanks for her.
My first response to her was "Sexy is a clean body. Sexy is fresh breath. Sexy is skin that's soft and not ashy." "Sexy is a genuine smile." "Sexy is a clean room." (okay, that was a little behavior modification, but it can't hurt!). "Sexy is clean underwear." Apparently that wasn't the message she was trying to hear, (but believe me I'll be in her ear with it for the duration) and she all but knocked me down trying to answer her cell phone.
Well that conversation got me to thinking and I decided to share with you what other things I think are sexy. Okay, truth is, I was on a roll with nobody to listen. So here we go!
Kindness is sexy. Laughter is sexy. Realness is sexy. Smart is sexy. Humor is sexy. Bold is sexy. SAFE is sexy. Truth is sexy. Confidence is sexy. Passion is sexy. Quirky is sexy. (Strange is not!) Individualism is sexy. Mystery is sexy.
Compassion is sexy. Fairness is sexy. Natural is sexy. Loving God is sexy. Love yourself is sexy.
These are all the things I want to explain to my daughter when she is willing to listen. I want her to know that she is sexy because she is who she is. That sexy isn't a mold every woman has to stuff herself into. It doesn't come in a bottle and she won't find it hanging on the size 2 rack. That she has the right to be sexy on her own terms and she shouldn't judge hers, or anyone else's sexiness by any rigid cultural, societal or media implied standards.
She is the new (and improved) sexy and, so by the way, are you.
What do you think?