Flowers talk

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“What’s the flower you resonate with?” I asked on Instagram today.

Some of my women friends said they’re sunflowers, dandelions and daisies; women who feel grounding to me. Others are invigorating daffodils or sensible Gardenias, which my own Orchid child feels related to.

Who might Rebecca be? Or Christiane?

My innocent posting became another journey; I began associating flowers with my women friends. Wow, that’s what I see and love in them? Flowers became mirrors of the energy they are to me; I saw sweet, embracing and happy pink baby roses in my friend Barbie or elegant, confident beauty and depth in Helene’s Dahlia.

Ron, the one man who responded named the Tulip as the flower he resonates with, “because of my heritage.” Part of his family came from Holland and he was touched and impressed when seeing the Tulip fields on a visit.

Flowers talk; so I checked on the flowers of my heritage.

The Cornflower is the unofficial national German flower and was once regarded a weed. When people began to see her unique beauty she was elevated into the flower state and her wild sisters are now protected.

I relate to the weed state of “not being good enough”. When I finally began to own my truth and expressed it in my looks people began to see me.

Chamomile is a healer, especially for insomnia and stomach pains.

My stomach is my weak organ, where I hold my fears and anxieties, it sometimes cause insomnia.

The Spindle grows on bushes and transforms from green, yellow into light fuchsia, which takes her months and then produces poisonous decorative berries.

To step into my true colors took my six decades. I love to enrich people’s life with fun, creative outfits. Most of my life I protected myself; look at me but don’t touch.

It was the Edelweiss that blew my mind in her fairy tale way.

Edelweiss (Leontopodium alpinum) is a popular alpine flower related to the sunflower family, which grows in the mountains of Germany. In German, edelweiss means “white noble"; its white color is a symbol of purity. Edelweiss typically blooms during the summer months and prefers to grow on cold, rocky terrain that’s rich in limestone. Edelweiss is easily grown from seed and is often found in gardens throughout the country. Medicinally, edelweiss was used to help treat stomach pain and respiratory diseases.

I had frictions with Edelweiss; it was a song in the Sound of Music, sung by Julie Andrews. I disliked her goody two shoe attitude and the nationalist text “blessing my country” of the lyrics; I’m into blessing the whole world equally. I rejected white, a color I found as simplistic in its vibe of “clean, holy and good.” I always flirted with the drops of my blue blood from my noble revolutionary Huguenots fore-people. Even when I was broke I never felt not noble as a person.
We find the purity of our hearts and minds in challenges, in rocky terrain. I am on the conscious journey to be “real” and walk my talk since I began posting my “styling from the insight out” adventures on Instagram. And at the end of three years I have begun to love the color white and to live the childlike purity of my heart without my protective shield.

I wrote this poem five years ago.

Orchid Kids

I am an orchid living in a scruffy corner

Wrapped in darkness my colors are faded

My blooms died and dropped into the dirt

Too much rain suffocated me

Too much sun burnt my leafs

Life is not fair

I am ashamed of how I look

I am nothing

Nobody sees me

Nobody adores me anymore

 

A little girl picked me up last week

She put me in her window

She gave me clean water

And just enough light

There is a new leaf she smiled

You'll see soon

You'll blossom again

I think she loves me as I am

 

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Blossoms have come and gone; I own my complicated self these days and often I even love her.

Enter the game; find your flowers here and your vibe reveals itself.


 

Yuk, she said. I will report her.

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“I am effing immortal,” I thought on my photo shoot, feeling a naughty giggle like a kid wanting to make things true by stomping my foot. I don’t usually swear in writing but the f-word wishing for a forever life and spelled out in Swarovski crystals made sense to me. People have crazy dreams and this is one of mine. I felt empowered and the photo shoot was a kick in the butt of my doubts.

“Fucking immortal.” There. I said it.

“Haha”, the Universe responded.

Back in the car I turned around to my dog, I thought she was scratching herself as the car was shaking lightly. She was motionless in her Zen mode.

The car was shaking heavier now… this… was… an… earth… quake…. I envisioned the huge power poles crash on my car. The shaking of 30 seconds felt endless. I was holding my breath, there’s nothing else you can do. Think positive thoughts but I was too numb for that.

“Haha”, the Universe had responded to my big mouth and sent me an earth quake. Okay, the earth quake was for everybody but I take things personally.

For a woman who takes life as a movie script with clues and cues and lines to learn, with supporting actors, heroines and heroes and opponents who push, shift and guide me, this was a biggy. Nothing crashed, only a clothing rack fell off the door at home but the earthshaking moment became me-shaking.

I felt fear, powerlessness, the need to connect with friends, create a back up system, create safety, hug my loved ones. I texted my son, what now? I felt flight, “I move to Seattle” and fight, “I fulfill my Los Angeles dreams and face my fears.” The series of emotions ended with a bang of immense gratefulness. Thank you for protecting me.

Did veils fell off my eyes?

I realized that I am not ready. Looking at the sold out shovels, earth quake putty and first aid kits at the local hardware store and empty water shelves at Gelson’s not many people are.

But for me it’s not just being prepared for a disaster but for life; for opportunities. I had talked about it often, wrote it in my morning pages; be open! But to be open we have to see clearly, remove the clutter. My physical action was to start cleaning up my act from papers to tons of script notes and piles of outfits to legal stuff and those boring bureaucratic needs. No wonder the posts of my declutter friend Rebecca are poking my soul since weeks; get organized, babe. Clean up and write the outlines for your books and your life.

Get ready.

Remove the boulders, sticks and pebbles.

Be open.

It’s the context, it’s always the context in which things happen that tell their story and reveal their message; I posted the immortality picture and my earth quake story in my social media.

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“Yuk,” a woman called Mary said in an online women’s group. “I will report her.”

Mary hated my guts; she hated my swear word, the audacity of immortality and called me classless and awful. I had behaved badly, like a teenager and I all I heard in her yelling was her parents reprimanding, stifling her.

Did the Universe reprimand me? I say that I am immortal and she answered “shame on you?” In my old ways of thinking where I was “guilty to just be a girl” and everything was “my fault” it would have been just that and it came up as the first thought. But I wasn’t punished, I was shown that I was safe.

Many women jumped in online to defend and protect me from Mary’s and two other women’s attacks of the improper behavior for a woman your age. My old beliefs of having to apologize for who I am squealed loudly and were silenced by women’s empowering voices.

“Do not apologize for your truth,” they said.

“Some of us (including some churchgoers who have seen our 60th birthdays) think Angie Weihs looks positively fierce in that outfit. So very nice that we live in an age when women our age can take a pass on the orthopedic shoes and granny pin-curls and wear whatever pleases us,” commented a different Mary.

And so the online world interfered as my my Guru again; I encounter philosophers, priestresses, mothers and medicine women, sisters and warrioresses who hold my hand or swing the sword for me. Because I hold the banner of our empowerment high up and intend not to be hindered by those who throw stones at me and would love to see me burn on the stake. “I will report her,” to whom? The FB inquisition?

“See,” said the Universe, “you are protected, your are untouchable as long as you believe you are.”

I never believed in growing old and I never did; I am over 60 and move, think and feel like a 30 year young person, sometimes like a teenager, other times like 1000 year wise.

I believe that I am ageless and in agelessness lives the magic of immortality.

Maybe the Universe shivered because I had finally owned my power? Maybe I am immortal, as a human, a soul, as a writer or all the above? It was Marianne Williamson who said years ago that humans are more afraid of their greatness than of their mediocrity.

What I experienced again is that my social media tribe is one of the most mindbogglingly beautiful think and feel tanks a woman can ask for.

The earth shook and told me to be open my eyes and see the beauty and love we extend to each other.

Did veils drop?

Yes. I am connected to the bigger picture.

Yes, I am not alone.

My next IGTV is about fantasy and fairytales in LA and her gorgeous walls.

Storytelling magic.

Storytelling magic.

OUTIFIT

I felt my Cinderella in this outfit but also my love for magic and the power of my imagination.

I added the ribbon sleeves to the top, and the handmade angel wings belt from the 80’s to the skirt I bought from a friend; her mom made it for her theatrical ventures and my friend sewed the flower bundles when she was a kid.

Magical morning clothes

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“I don’t know what to do…” she texted.

“Try wearing morning clothes,” her friend answered.

“What are morning clothes?”

“The Ageless Rebel does some of her videos in hers but they are princess morning clothes…”

“Oh right! Yes, I def need morning clothes. Especially pink ones!”

Morning clothes are mantras that help us frame our day.

I had just posted a video in which I praised the liveliness of videos for connecting with our friends and followers. Even if not live broadcast, which adds spontaneity and intimacy, video allows us the 3D of a person, their gestures, mannerism, voice and laughter.

“You can witness me in my princess morning dress,” I had said.

The short dialogue referring to my fall-out-of bed-and-into-my-princess-dress sparked in return the idea of framing our days not only with morning pages, the thoughts and feelings we write down, but also, playfully with what we wear right there and then.

Morning clothes usually are composed of your night wear, pajama, tee shirt, maybe a bathrobe. I always wondered, as hoteliers complain those and their fluffy towels are so often taken as souvenirs, who of my friends might, grinningly, own a bathrobe from an expensive hotels they stayed in.

Morning clothes are not for every day; they are for mornings in which you feel open to dive into what you might be missing; to be more feminine, forgiving, playful, rebellious or esoteric and feel that the belief in magic is totally yours to have. They are for you alone, in your sacred space with time to spare for dreams. They fit into moments in which you trust that outfits have power and that they love to talk to you; when you feel playful enough to let your childlike curiosity fly back into your still wavering dreams. Mornings are often graced by innocence because our inner critics snore and intuition can guide us to an outfit that spills tales of your desires, funky feelings, fierce wants or silly moods.

Don’t think, just feel and wear the cozy cashmere, the witchy black sorceress skirt or the grungy old pullover and workout pants with holes. It’s a fairy tale moment, a child’s play not the adult who says I need my suit as my goal today is to achieve…

You can prepare the night before what you know you’ll need the next day; I once slept in a soft silky sexy long dress that made me feel like a tall glass of water, sensually smooth and feminine with crystal clarity. I felt like a water goddess in it, able to move around any obstacle and managed a confrontation like a gracefully defensive Kung Fu warrioress.

It might just be colors you wrap yourself with; from the black of protection to the pink of unconditional love. It might be dresses or robes…

Outfits on your skin and words in your diary create a powerful alchemy.

Example for morning outfits

  • exotic kimono

  • elegant smock

  • naughty rebel hotel bathrobe

  • a king’s house coat

  • a boyfriend’s tee

  • a vintage negligee

  • a cozy wraparounds

  • a boho dream dress

  • a hollywood peignoir

  • a color of your dream, literally

  • a girly princess dress

  • a tough statement tee



Awakening hurts like hell but hey, you are a movie star.

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“Life is hard when you don't know who you are. It's harder when you don't know what you are. My love carried a dark shadow of pain, guilt and fear. I was lost for decades, searching while hiding my vulnerable truth only to find that the origins of my story will set me free.

I won't hide my true self anymore. I will live the life I choose.”

I adapted and modified the premise of the TV show Lost Girl, which ran from September 12, 2010 for five seasons until October 2015. I binged the first three season not in love with Bo, their super natural heroine but her human side kick Kenzie who, gawd, so totally talks and dresses like my inner 16 year old.

But I am fierce like BO; I won't hide anymore. I will live the life I chose before I entered this reality.

Who says we are NOT super natural?

My role is a detective like Bo’s; finding my tribe, my family, those who resemble my own powers of fantasy, vision, deep love for our world and a passion for truth that tears me up and lifts me into unknown heights. Like most cool heroines I was pushed into impossible obstacles and re-emerged like Phoenix from many ashes.

The best TV shows for me are those that kick their heroes to the curb and when we think it can’t get worse it freaking gets s o m u c h w o r s e…. and their path gets clearer and clearer.

When we’re slapped enough we awaken. If we are open to it. Not everybody is. Life is story; some like it deep, dark and hilarious, others want the pink and polished route. It’s all good, because it’s our movie, our role. Play it to perfection. And bad guys? They are there to be defeated. If you’re one of them acknowledge the experience and go for redemption.

Mine was the role of Cinderella knowing that she’s got the princess in her, somehow, somewhere. My Cinderella fought and rebelled herself into mansions only to turn around and smack, sabotage it and go back to the original belief. I’m guilty of something and have to repent. Growing up Catholic was a perfect part of the plot.

I landed in Topanga, California, in a job I called my purgatory. I took the “lessons”, accepted humiliations thinking I needed to learn to be “humble” until I exploded… actually my car exploded into a nearly fatal accident. Luckily only metal was damaged.
It was in 2013, a year after my dad had left the planet, my challenger and yet my safety cushion. The totaled car, (it is all my fault) was my last slap in the row of many smaller slaps and cartoon like situations asking me to wake the hell up!!! See your disappointments, woman, face your angry martyr beliefs.... but I trotted on until I was forced to fess up.

When I shivered and cringed but finally admitted I was responsible for my “crap” I was breathing hard into my “sins”, not the ancient ones from the myth that had ruled my life - I’m making a rad movie out of that story - but the worldly ones from my past decades. Those I did not want to see. Like super natural Bo I sucked the life of a couple men, not being able to love them, like Bo I was confused as to what my role was and made mistakes trying to find it. I laughed and danced and stumbled and fell and gosh, it hurt others too.

I cried, moping in my cozy arm chair, “sitting in it” until I was able to see clearly through the veil of sadness and - forgive myself.

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Only then could I open a new chapter.


From Elefant Journal:
“Awakenings tear us open. They expose all the yucky stuff, the shameful stuff, the secrets, the dreams that were never given a voice, the relationships that imprison us, the words left unsaid. Awakenings are a mirror we can’t turn away from, even in our ugliest, most tattered gown. They force us to get real, to get honest, to get transparent. They ask us to up level.

Awakenings don’t just come for anyone. They seek out those who are strong enough to take a hit. Awakenings don’t f*ck around, because they have a mission: to help us arrive. To arrive at our deepest place of love and compassion. To arrive at our endless inner wisdom. To arrive at the tender crossroads of accepting ourselves and loving others. To arrive at the place in which we are in full trust of who and what we are. To arrive at our shattered places and pour some light over them.”

The author of the article, Elizabeth Gordon, says that life isn’t like a movie but I say it absolutely is. My life is proof. I’ll show you in my memoir, working title “White Powder” Nothing is what it seems.

The script I followed is like that of a game where we can manipulate our avatar to a certain degree, an interactive script. We receive the blueprint, the character traits and talents, the back ground stories and the location - and wing it, make the best of it. The best means to follow the clues, see the winks and messages, to find our road map. We repeat levels until we get it and collect powers, weapons, tools and coins on the way.

The treasure is our fulfillment; owning our true essence and standing up for our self, be it total weirdness or utter normalcy.

My life is a dramedy series called Mea Culpa in which “dark nights of my soul” episodes are training grounds and provide cliff hangers for the next seasons. It premiered six decades ago and is still running.

“Mea Culpa” follows the life of an esoterically inclined rebel played by Angie Weihs, as she learns to discover her myth, the ancient blue print that controls her feelings, thoughts and every step but also contains the gifts of her abilities. Being torn between fierce rebellion and pampered princess she enters the castle of a super natural queen of wisdom.

In the scrolling credits I thank my many supporting actors, the director of eye opening situations, the countries providing dramatic locations and the stylist who created a wardrobe with foreshadowing and manifesting powers.

If I wrote my life’s script I took the screen writer’s rule of “killing her darlings” to heart, if I wrote this I am an amazing writer.

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Life is a TV script. I’m about to write the happy end.

How to sophisticate your vinyl and be Cat Woman at any age

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Yes. I love vinyl because I dream of being super, a woman with powers out of this world.

Owning my inner Cat Woman I love the liquid look of vinyl even more than the empowered edge of faux leather. I’d do head to toe vinyl if it weren’t socially awkward. My inner super girl has always been plastic fantastic.

But.

As much as I love dress up for dreams and empowerment and wish to be part of a wondrous Universe where so much amazingness is possible I’m not a kid with a light saber or in for cheap thrills.

I am a woman who wants to marry her rebel edge with elegance.

How to erase the imagery of being childish or, worse, a dominatrix snapping her whip?

How take the risqué vinyl vibes off the table and let sophistication come in?

How to take beer, bikes and rattling chains out of faux leather?

Get your feminine softy to play with your punkier self and for the casual daily life add

  • chunky knits

  • sweet and cozy sweaters

  • classy jewelry

  • faux fur

  • cotton shirts

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  • athleisurewear

  • sneakers and chucks

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  • tweed

  • rustic plaid

  • designer glasses

  • I chose a cotton top by designer Prabal Gurung

I chose vinyl pants not skin tight leggings.

I chose vinyl pants not skin tight leggings.

Adding the feminine contrast makes the outcome pure sophistication rather than risqué.

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Romantic ruffles do the softening trick really well.

However, if you like an edgier aesthetic like me, even combining soft pleather and glossy vinyl works when keeping your cool by using an expensive designer belt and calming color blocking.

Dare to be you - or a different you.

Dare to be you - or a different you.

Looking for your inner wild? Wonder if there is one?

To step into the vibe of vinyl might open up new insights into the story of YOU.

Our styling journeys for clarity, branding or memoir dig a little deeper. Why do you love or hate vinyl? What’s the feeling it provokes? What’s the desire or belief behind it? Where does it comes from? Who’s voice do you hear?

Getting to know thyself via dress up is the most fun therapy ever.

My wild went for all faux; a pleather dress and shiny stilettos. What saved me were the glasses…

My wild went for all faux; a pleather dress and shiny stilettos. What saved me were the glasses…

For an edgy look choose

  • pencil skirts

  • message or graphic tees

  • feathers and silk

  • unique purses

  • statement jewelry

  • knee high boots

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If you’re in for a challenge go for plastic fantastic and let your power girl out.

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Check in with Loretta, the introspective adventurer, she bravely accepted the challenge of a metallic pleather skirt. It brought her to take pictures in an ancient ruin where she discovered her inner Goddess rising like a Phoenix from the ashes.

For the love and hate of drama

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“You’re so dramatic!!”

Who hasn’t being blamed for being “out of control”? I certainly was castigated for my theatrics. I even was “hysterical”, which is the next and meaner patriarchal judgment often ingrained in our own set of beliefs. Many of us have internalized the need to be modest good girls and to criticize our “drama.”

When we own our drama we don’t need it anymore.

How? We discover what our past drama holds for us as a guide to our truth.

Drama can be petty, bitchy, blaming and egocentric because its goals are petty, needy, manipulative and superficial. Drama can also be fierce, passionate, creative and freedom fighting; in both cases it is an amazing dagger to cut though the bullshit of ourselves and our situations; a tool “to know thyself” and an illustration of our true desires.

Rule No 1 : Don’t blame your self for your dramas.

Being theatrical, colorful and “loud” is a reaction to women being labeled the “lesser” human for centuries; drama is a rebellion against inequality and powerlessness. Sometimes we need to yell to be heard and seen or whistle in the darkness to feel safe. Drama can be seen as a step in a woman’s evolution.

Drama is done to us and we do it to others.

I once cut my wrists to convince my partner that I loved him but just enough for the theatrical effect; I created a make-believe to make my point. He was much older than me, a father figure. My unconscious intention was to hurt and scare him; it was drama for revenge. Needless to say a month later I moved out of his mansion and on with my life’s journey towards my truth. I did not not get what I wanted but what I needed; clarity. It was the first time that I hugged my tantrum throwing inner child with an understanding smile of her pain. She giggled adding ketchup to her cuts to take dramatic pictures.

Done to us drama can be painful; when I was pregnant in the 80’s the man I thought to be the love of my life freaked out. He yelled that I had set this “evil plan” into motion because I wanted to “nail him down.” My heart crashed into pieces when he pushed me onto the floor and I lost the child. In this one dramatic situation I saw his lies and the fake reality I had created but also had a vision of an ancient past in which a woman had been stabbed to death in my 700 year old house. This was fateful drama; the beginning of a journey into an ancient story stored in my genes, a story that ruled my life.

Drama is explosive and can shatter the illusions we believe in.

Rule No 2 - Don’t blame others, be responsible for your drama.

What provokes us, is a part of us. We attract mirrors of our beliefs for the purpose of our journey.

Being able to watch our drama queen without guilt or embarrassment is freedom.

I have grown to love the emotional challenges of my past; my theatrical nature has made my life into a movie or a TV series with amazing cliff hangers. The soulful and sometimes devilish director of my script gave me the challenges I needed to get to my happy end. I embarked on all facets of drama; I attracted “silly” scenes I could fume against because my life was bland and I was bored. I exercised my creative powers to transform a situation or tame a wild beast, exaggerated the tiny to make a huge point, attracted painful drama because my soul needed me to see my truth or set emotions into scene to achieve a goal.

Midlife adds wisdom and self love; when we take responsibility for our past dramas, for the stumbling stones and challenges, the crazy seeming obstacles, and the often male monsters we invited, we enter the best of theater; expressiveness, raw truth, vulnerability, and openness to deeply listen and act on the dialogue.

I’m not free of old beliefs but when I attract drama these days they take up less time and space. I still get stomach pain and tooth ache to wake me up from stubbornly resisting what’s right in from of me. Letting go of drama happens when I explore which old pain or belief has created or tints the situation emotionally. Exercising the power of my new self confidence and self worth and taking pain and judgement out of the equation I can either participate in or quit.

I have grown to acknowledge and step away from the emotional challenges of my past, my theatrical nature wants to write her own script.

Drama Queen is a journey in which the dramatic tantrums of the young princess evolve into the confident theater of a queen.

“Drama is an exciting, emotional, or unexpected series of events or set of circumstances,” is its simple judgment-free definition.

I intend to write my life’s next TV series with amazing cliff hangers and fun challenges matching the new insights and powers in my luggage; it will be an exploration of what it means to live and love as an empowered woman and if there’s magic in the 21st century. The joyful creative drama I allow myself this time around is the passion of my stories, dialogues and my theatrical wardrobe.

In the comments below, I'd love to hear about your dramas and what they might have given you.

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Mirror, mirror

Style sisters

One of my style sisters, inspiring me in her creativity of radical outfit combos, mentioned that she is watching out for what she wants the world to know and what she wants to keep “private.” I don’t even consider privacy anymore, I thought astonished, I’m an open book.

Private.

The word didn’t let me go. My I-phone rang. My friend Angelika, who I met in Santa Monica 25 years ago and immediately felt like a long lost sister, called me from Sicily. She is a writer, translates spiritual and self help books from English to German and travels the world while doing so. I hadn’t talked to her in a year.

“I love to follow your journey on FB and how far you have come,” she said. “You look so powerful and happy. How are you?”

“Not always happy,” I said, “I feel lonely some times…” “Me too,” my joyous life-loving friend answered.

“I told tell everybody”

“Me neither.”

I told Angelika, who is not into IG or posting personal stuff on FB about my Instagram journey; how many empowering women “mirrors” I have met, opening my heart and my eyes to who I really am and what I would like to give to the world. She told me about the people she meets every day who leave her adventurous stories recharged and inspired but that she is longing for a bigger goal of what she might be able to give to the world.

My intuition told me that she is missing a tribe to support her on her journey to discover her message. Her intuition told her that I need “real” people.

After an hour on the phone we split with resolutions; she would open herself up to my Instagram family and I would open up to “real” people and talk to them “just like that” in cafes. Making “Contact” reminded me of how Alien I often feel.

I too keep things private.

A poem I had written two years ago came to mind. It ended in me wanting to be brave enough “to walk the streets naked.” I don’t foresee ever doing that literally (insert fierce emoji). It is a metaphor to fearlessly show and tell all that I am.

Differently on different media.

I show who I am on IG and wrap images into ideas, I add a little more “flesh” to the story bones on FB, get real - and wordy -on my blogs and let it flow like a gorgeous waterfall into adventurous stories in my upcoming memoir.

“Confessional” writing is an art, so are brave posts on social media; the right dose of truth can be magical.

I put my self out there to feel it out; I might cause a yawn or excitement or even fall on my face. That’s how we learn, by being brave.

I got to be brave because of the women I met in the process; my mirrors and support.

I met women who vibe like me, my style sisters who uplift me to dance and dare “more”. I encountered women with different energies who make me think, feel new feelings and expand. I found compassion and the wish to give. I discovered clarity of what I want in women I fancy and feel sisterhood with. I saw who I am not in women I feel worried about or afraid of. I adore myself in baroque mirrors and wonder about my distortions in the broken ones.

I see myself in you.

The idea that our life is a creation of our mind, that we only see what our own set of rules and parameters, our beliefs let us see is scary but true. There is no objective “real”. When you read my words you interpret them from your point of view.

“We hear what we WANT to hear” is our demise but also our chance.

A business coach once fired the aggressive sounding question at me, “Are you coachable?”

“Yes”, I stuttered.

I wanted to be a life coach. The experience with my own therapy journey had been so rewarding that I needed to share all I had learned. I owned my intuition now and was confident that I’d be able to heal others. Let’s create a program, let’s create a course, yes, yes, yes.

“Your website is wrong,” the business coach went on, “you’re bad in writing copy. I can teach you how to write copy that convinces your readers to buy.”

I felt resistance. I did not want people “to buy into me.” I kinda hated copy as it felt so artificial and demanding. It felt like the old me who got what she wanted by manipulation. I owned my doubts and did not hire her.

I’m a bad marketer, it’s just not me. What now? I wanted to be worthy to be paid for my knowledge, love myself enough to be rewarded for who I am.

I really wanted to hear the word coachable. So I put out the mantra that I am. Coachable.

I did not get the immediate answer to my wants and needs but a play list; women and their vibes and stories. When we’re not immediately getting what we want it’s easy to give up on those cool slogans like “the universe has your back.” It freaking often feels it doesn’t. But darn and yay, it does. Just not as expected. In my case not in a fat paycheck or huge opportunity but in thousands of likes, feedback, comments and dialogues.

I listened.

Life is a movie.

On my journey to stepping into my power the director of my life (I call her my inner knowing) presented me with supporting actresses. They tossed stones to stumble over in my way, impressed the heck out of their me with treasures, shocked me with a little poison and gave me hope with beautiful bright vibes of personal power and fierce feminine fun.

I’m dramatic and react with feelings. They sometimes are physically expressed in my body; I shiver and cringe, smile or giggle and jump up and down with joy. You should see me going through my IG feed…

In the mirrors of others I saw where I was at; I did not want to make money being a life coach. It took me a while to get back to my true desire; to be a journalist and writer who can’t wait to finish the fantastic trilogy waiting on my shelf after my memoir has cleared the path.

All that to say; I paid 40,000 for my life coach but we are life coaches for each other; for free. It’s an amazing web of giving and receiving energies, lighting up each other hidden talents, fears or desires and expanding each other with who we are.

My “supporting actresses” were amazing side kicks and in return I swing my sword as Gabrielle to their Xena in their own amazing queendoms.

“I needed your energy right now,” a woman commented on one of my posts recently and that’s what we do; collecting energies of other women like pearls on a necklace until I have one that fits.

One day I will wear my necklace and be stylishly “naked”, wearing my soul on my skin. In public.

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Screw invisibility and what does it mean to be visible?

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“Watch me, watch me..”

When I was a teenager I tortured my parents to watch each and every one of my hundreds of dives into the public swimming pool; I was so cool and got better by the dive. Did you see THIS one???

“Look at me,” was my attitude entering college classes, parties, conferences in my twenties and thirties. When I became a mom “me-me-me” melted away in the love for my son. My life was about him, the new number one on my list. As a single mom I stored my career, fame and fortune, fashion and party fun in the basement. I loved Pinky and the brain, Pokemon, power rangers, skiing, hang gliding and our road trips showing him the country. Who needs grown ups when adventures with my kid were so fulfilling?

Then he left and I was on my own.

I went to a party. I walked through the bar filled with eighty people. The large mirror showed me sassy in a tight black lace dress.

Nobody, not one person looked at me.

I was 55 and INVISIBLE.

My ego woke up with a scream; she was angry and swore to combat ageism. It prescribed the belief that midlifers are “going down” and have nothing to offer; they are irrelevant for the advancement of society. Arriving at senior-dom we are burdens to society, living of social security or driving to our final destination in a cushioned carriage of our savings. The road to death is plastered with senile senior moments….

Not for me. I’m a rebel. I have a rad futuristic screenplay on my desk. How can I be taken seriously?

My goal was not just to make midlife prettier and easier to cope with but rebellious. I did not want to please but shake awake. Not the “advanced style” but my way.

I raised some eyebrows with “sexy over 60” low cut outfits and got to hear that I should be a lady not “desperately trying to look like twenty” with my teenie bopper looks. I responded, “I’m shooting for 16.” Yeah. I let my inner child play.

Look at me, I am cool over 60.

I had a couple thousand followers but hits and comments were mediocre.

“Women are afraid of being rebellious,” I was told, “forget it already. It’s so teenager.”

Okay then. I calmed down the rebelling and posted nicer, sweeter, more fashionably accepted outfits and lots of pink. Pretty in pink helped me to warm up to my feminine, compassionate self and got me more likes but didn’t raise engagement.

I was not relatable.

I have something to say. Please look at me.

It hit me when I watched a woman friend doing everything “right’ for likes. She lived her life and styled her social media solely for applause. Every action, gesture, outfit, smile or word is calculated to please and is meticulously set in scene for the agenda of being approved of. I had always loved the idea of “fake it to make it” but this strangely hurt me. It reminded me of my 20’s and 30’s when I fulfilled my womanly manipulation “duties”, testing how far I could get with sexy charm and smart theater. I regretted having flirted and elbowed myself into success.

My recent pleasing attempts felt like manipulation now and I did not want that anymore. I did not want to desperately long for getting the ball tossed to me.

My life coach had taught me not to enter a room with “look at me” but with “who are you?” So I did.

Look at them. They look amazing over 60.

So truly wonderful, so out there!

Sometimes I had to dig deep into my self loving confidence to overcome this unnerving little thing called competition and the fear of not being good enough; I feared women were “better” than me, richer, fancier and designer clad with creative and make up teams, photographers and agents. I didn’t have that, gawd!!

We only get what we can handle; I had learned to listen and to be open. To really see what they show.

Women I adore don’t always tell stories or have life coachy wisdom accompanying their pictures; their pictures show how arty, empowered, fierce, fearless and creative they are. They don’t talk about their real, we feel it. Others add heartfelt words coming from the depth of who they are and ring little bells in our heads.

I looked into many mirrors and they looked back at me.

The more honest and authentic I became the more women responded to me from their heart. “Your vibe attracts your tribe” proved true.

Look at us, we are ageless. We make visible who we truly are.

I was back to the beginning. I am a rebel. It doesn’t matter that not everybody likes it. Looking at the world “my way” isn’t a demise I need to hide; it is my power.

I decided against botox and fillers even when women friends with facelifts looked ten years younger than me. I did not do color, filter and style coordinated galleries. I did not gray my hair when many others did. I do not wear neon colors as the trend scares me (nice little challenge right there) and I sometimes write more words than I am supposed to.

It felt like my life depended on it; I had to be the real me.

I am a rebel with the cause of me.

A woman friend in Europe mentioned that she is always controlling what she wants the world to know and what she wants to keep private. It hit me like an alert as the word private was not even in my vocabulary anymore. For me it is the other way around; what can I dig up that is share-worthy as it might in some way help, inspire, enlighten or uplift my friends and followers?

The strange idea popped up that my personal life had become of service.

Confessional literature is an art, so is raw, real, rad posting in social media. We learn to give the world what it wants to see and to be true to ourselves in the process. In a world where ageism waits at every corner we become Dalis and create what we feel.

I tune in every morning before my post; what does this matter to me and why does it matter to the world? I wrap it into pictures, stories, fashion and outfit ideas in a dance of fun and philosophy.

To be seen we have to be relatable but for our message to be heard we reveal what’s underneath the wrap.

If you’re still searching for the branding of YOU your daily exercise of being true to your Self will get you there. It took me two years of testing; thrills of “that’s me!!” and disappointments of “missed it” to hear my message and find a way to make it visible.

The path is as personal as the outcome.

I go with the trendy flow and make it “mine” by feeling what’s in it for me.

I post pics with my dog because women love pooches but also because she is my Guru, my emotional support buddy in so many ways, not a decoration.

I post pictures of my style of the day because that’s what everybody is looking for but focus on what resonates with me; what makes me feel happy, fierce or protected. I let the latest trends wake up new, story telling emotions and show how outfits can guide and empower us.

If I’m ever going viral as a naked nymph over 60 I’ll better have a cool reason that aligns with everything I am, a message that enlightens not just a quick fix for my glory.

I am a rebel with the cause of me for you.

Latest in midlife many of us realize that there’s more than following the norm. We discover deeper levels of ourselves, interesting inner movies we might have neglected while trying to be a master of fitting in. We played “extras” rather than taking on the role of heroine.

It’s fun to “have stuff” but fulfilling to be our true selves.

It’s the inside that counts.

Which doesn’t mean that hanging in pajamas or unisex baggies is the cozy solution, on the contrary, the confidence of self worth is just the starting point. If we don’t want to be seen as “sleepers” rotting into retirement we spice up our uniqueness; she usually is neither the slob nor the trend obsessed fashion sheep. It’s the woman who has worked like a coal miner to get to her truth and shows it.

We are our brand when we are true to our Self.

Making our power visible is a necessity to be taken seriously.

I met a middle age woman recently, overweight, hair cut from a barber shop and in baggy clothing bare of any fashion sense. I sensed my judgment but also her pain. We started talking.

A documentary film maker from the Midwest she was bitter not to be taken seriously. She was the creative force behind the film they were shopping around and nobody ever addressed her but always her male business partner. She was ignored. She hated “these bullies” and blamed superficial Hollywood for not seeing her.

“I am invisible,” she said with a tremble of repressed tears in her voice.

“I know the fear,” I responded, “I am a midlife woman with a Sci Fi fantasy script. I can imagine the Gen X assistant of the assistant producer’s eyes glaze over looking at my age and not listening at my pitch.”

I will very carefully decide on what I will wear.

I did not say that loud but I swear if I could give her a make over, even Hollywood would take her seriously. Outfits talk.

People judge a book by it’s cover. And - shouldn’t we show our content in our form?

I am looking for a book designer at the moment because my upcoming book cover has to show at first glance why people have to read it. I would like you to get a feeling of my soul when you look at it. It’s the same with our style. We are the invitation to the world to look at us. I’m not sending out burnt-at-the-edges punk letters when I am throwing an opera themed party.

Visibility that lasts and is satisfying to both, our bank account and our soul is created in the very specific unique beauty each of us are. We style our life from the inside out.

I let go of wanting to be visible. I dug up one of my old posts, one of those foreshadowing guides, where I promised that I would walk my talk. I do it in many different shoes, that’s my thing; to be many facets of myself. Sometimes I fall on my face like recently on plateau heels; I made a story of of it.

I’m an explorer and share what I find, inside and outside. What’s your thing?

Look at us, we are ageless. We make visible who we truly are.

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