“A rebel is anger on steroids,” said my college friend Dieter. He should know, I thought. He had been the feisty singer of a punk band in what he describes as an “NYC ghetto” at a time when Patti Smith, David Bowie and Lou Reed climbed to fame.
Against his warning I still named my movement “The Ageless Rebellion”, this was three years ago. I was proud to be a rebel, always fought against political or social imbalance, for the underdog, women’s rights or acted against the attacks on our environment. “There’s this other women group,” I told him, “the “Forever Fierce Revolution”, they have revolution in their name also.”
“I have the right to be angry,” I thought, “there’s so much in this world to be upset about.”
I was angry with anything unfair because my life had been unfair; I was “just a girl” and as such too sensitive. As a misguided tomboy I was too loud; I was simply too much, not worthy to be loved. Writing the story of my decades of rebellions I saw how I had fiercely and mostly successfully fought for my right to be as creative as artists and as powerful as business men, but that in my fights were the tears of an angry child feeling abandoned and powerless. Anger is born in disappointment and sadness; when I entered that part of my truth my world began to change. I sat in it. I cried.
Anger becomes enlightening when we make it a journey, a starting point not a status.
“Transform your crap into gold” was my “I show you, world” motto.
Self love had been a unknown mystery to me. My life coach made me dig for it; I needed not just a shovel but an ice pick. The moment I told my mirror image “I love you” without a sarcastic grin was magical awakening to the deeper levels of me. I now had the power to go back to the beginning; to my dreams, my innocence, my childlike curiosity and passionate love for life. I had the power to change. Not the world outside of me but my thoughts, my feelings; my story. Every tantrum and every one of my fights held a pearl of wisdom; what I truly longed for. My No contained the hidden story of my yes.
“ReBelles,” I wrote in my group, “let’s re-claim our true inner and outer beauty.”
I now used the power of No as a tool to eliminate what hindered me to manifest ME, to be present in my “real”. I finally entered what I had called “ageless” as my answer to ageism. “There is no age.” The full meaning of ageless though revealed itself in my journey; it is the sacred space where time does not exist, where we are pure essence and see the world without preconceived notions.
When we’re not trained like Eckhard Tolle though we usually don’t stay in the “present” for too long, we’re in and out and each time we’re “in” we get another glimpse of who we truly are like gifts from our inner goddesses.
To be authentic isn’t done by saying so, it is a journey with hick ups and ripping bandages off with whimpers or screams.
Writing the memoir of my rebellions I had watched the movie of my life and how the different voices inside of me had manifested in my outside world; my judgements and doubts but also my power and compassion and my search for love. I was deeply touched by what I had not noticed before; that life had always been on my side and my own beliefs let me reject it. I would go back to the beginning; to be childlike and trusting. A rebel for a wonderful world where women virtues rule and the planet is safe from greed…
“Seriously?” asked my inner critic rolling his eyes.
“What’s with that silly dream to be 16 again?” a woman I hoped to be friends with asked. “Why the heck are you so childish? And why would you want to change the world? That’s really stupid.”
Watch out, babes. On the path to our inner freedom we get tested; do you still believe that “you’re not okay the way you are, dear” ?
I finally said NO. I left the stage of guilt and fear.
NO is power when we become rebels for the truth of us. Anger is healthy when it is transformed into awareness of what we really want and make it happen.
Anger is the fire that burns the bullshit we have let ourselves accept and believe; all what’s left in the ashes is the magical dragon of our truth.
In my social media journeys I discovered that as much as I theoretically had disliked comparison and competition I compared myself to others; I was either better or less. I became a watch dog of my jealousies and entitlements; I was to own what really mattered to me, to walk my talk and step into the shoes of my fearless Instagram avatar. Not only that; on my fashion therapy adventures I literally stepped into the mindset of styles; I got to be the hippie, the goddess, the yuppie, the boss babe or sexy Barbie. I got to understand and appreciate more facets of the female mindset every day.
Repetition is a master of change; when we love who we are we love the women around us as equals, every day a little more.
Three years ago my FB group, Ageless Rebel, had been an initiative of “me against ageism”. The Forever Fierce group was a team creation of fifty fierce female bloggers making the world prettier, friendlier, happier. I liked their women virtues but I was “different” than them. I was a rebel, my movement gave aging the finger. They weren’t rebellious enough. They were much too nice for my taste. Nice made me suspicious.. Why did they call me darling?
Meeting 80 of them in real life last October was a revelation; some of the women had the same fears entering the conference as me and many of them really meant their hugs. I felt my doubts, suspicion and judgments shrinking. I wasn’t as “pink” as them was I?
Unconditional women communities celebrate our uniqueness, I stated, feeling “different” though was separation.
On outings with my new and re-discovered “old” women friends in LA, with Barbie, Loretta, Mindy, Teresa, Elizabeth, Rita, Rosanne… we played dress up and got to be 16 again, spun stories, made plans or traveled into the myths of our past. I listened. I asked. I saw them without the filter of needs or wants. They reciprocated but seeing me and not only that they asked me to be who I was. My childlike enthusiasm as much as my fierce Rebelle power were encouraged not condemned. I was inspiring others, how amazing was that.
In the middle of February, right after the official love day of Valentine’s 2019, I playfully and effortlessly fessed up to one of my secrets in a live conversation broadcast to the 6000 member strong group Forever Fierce group.
“I wasn’t this nice before I met you girls…” The group had helped me to re-discover the sweet girl who allows herself to love pink. Thank you. What a relief when you can say thank you from your heart.
Freedom is not to have agendas.
The sweetness of others can wear you down. I couldn’t stop smiling; I had arrived. I felt liberated from my inner bullies. All what was left in the ashes of my past at this moment was the magical dragon of MY truth. I met women’s eyes thinking; I see you, I love you. I meant it.
I am what I see in others.
Self love gives us permission to be everything we are; even the parts of our past we wanna kick to the curb. It’s our journey that made us and the journey wants to be embraced like everything and everybody else.
Love is our medicine; kindness is an alchemical potion.
Please go ahead; call me darling and tell everybody that you love them even if you only mean it a little bit. Being kind to somebody today might change their world.
“Joy is contagious”, commented my friend Sophie Davis. “That’s it right there,” I responded. “A new kind of rebellion.”
I remembered a quote I had made up last year.
I am a pink rebel in a pink revolution. What better than to be warrioresses for love, together.