Day 1: My ego is in control. How can I find them sitting at home? I have flamingo wrapping paper. Is that cheating?

Flamingos: 0

Day 2: I micromanage. Maybe my belated birthday card has a flamingo.

Flamingos: 0

Day 3: Driving to work, I think about Maria’s advice to “be the flamingo.” My first thought is that I don’t want to stand on one leg all day. And how would I get my neck to curl up on my back and sleep? I make up a song instead.

Hail to the pink flamingos!
Hail to their fluffy feathers!
Hail! Hail to flamingos
Birds standing on one leg!

Far from a perfect iambic trimeter, but it gets me happy. I see a pink garbage can—progress. At home, I change a password to include “flamingo.”

Flamingos: 0

Day 4: I surrender! I’ve put it out to the universe and now to get aligned and be a good receiver!

I realize that recently at work I had been sucked into complaining, a big manifestation buster. Today, I walk away from a complaining discussion. I manifest free calligraphy supplies and a future job opportunity but no flamingos. I think about that flamingo wrapping paper.

Flamingos: 0

Day 5: I am in the office. On the floor I see a black and white sketch. They are flamingos! Then I wake up.

Flamingos: 0

Day 6: I sit quietly and feel myself seeing a flamingo. My shopping list: TP, milk, sponges, flamingos. On social media I see the Abraham-Hicks quote, “Today, no matter where I’m going and no matter what I am doing, it is my dominant intent to see that which I am wanting to see.” I do—a flamingo Beanie Baby at CVS.

Flamingos: 1

Day 7: I’m feeling the flow. A catalog arrives and a doormat is pictured with a flamingo standing on one leg with the phrase “Don’t make me put my foot down.”

I get distracted looking at memes. The animal ones make me laugh hard and put me in a good mood. A flock of flamingos running to “I’m So Excited” pops up. I got this.

Flamingos: 2

Day 8: I think about my flamingo wrapping paper. Is that cheating? When I manifest isn’t it supposed to be all magical and things just appear? I email Maria and she confirms flamingos in the house count. I have 2. That makes 5.

In the hairdressers’ lobby, hand sanitizers are in a box labeled spirit animals. I know it’s there. When my name is called, I politely tell them to wait; I am taking a picture of a flamingo!

I know if I went to Christmas Tree Shops, I would see a flamingo. Again, am I cheating? I don’t have to go. I decide I am being nudged and my ego is getting in the way with all this “rules talk.” “Not doing it right” is blocking the flow. I go. I KNOW there are flamingos in the store.

“Today, no matter where I’m going and no matter what I am doing, it is my dominant intent to see that which I am wanting to see.” And there they are. A flag, windchimes, garden statues, toys, coasters. Everywhere I turn a flamingo—16 in all.

I am having so much fun. It’s like waves coming one after another with flamingos surfing on each one. I see them before I actually see them. I know where they are.

I learn an important lesson. Why am I being so timid? Do I want to see flamingos or not? I had an inspired thought, and I took action!

Flamingos: 19

Day 9: Today, the post office and recycling center. I KNOW there is one in the post office. I hum my flamingo “fight” song and look. There it is. A little girl wearing a flamingo inner tube on a gift card advertisement.

Flamingos apparently do not recycle. However, there is one on a book when I grab coffee at a café/shop.

Then it happens…a major, manifestation buster.

Flamingos: 2

Day 10: My happy flamingo place is shattered. Someone dear to me is suffering and although I know it’s her path, not mine, it triggers me, and I take myself out of alignment.

I put on music and dance, raising my vibration. My ego again starts thinking “I must have flamingos in the house somewhere!” trying to force a sighting. I eventually surrender and focus on dinner. Among the recipes is a bird book. I open the book to where a business card is inserted, the flamingo page.

Flamingos: 1

Day 11: I am distracted by my sad news and know it.

Flamingos: 0

Day 12: I pivot from my sad mood while grocery shopping. In the cereal section I randomly pull out a box. On its back a fun fact answering the question, “Why are flamingos pink?”

Flamingos: 1

Day 13: I am sure I lost to a woman who manifested a trip to Florida. I give it a final push and manifest 3 more. I end up coming in third.

Flamingos: 3

I view this experience from a hawk’s perspective. I see it in its entirety, on a graph. When you view the ups and downs on a chart and realize how much each down stops the flow putting you two steps backwards after the three forwards—that’s powerful.

Hail to the pink flamingos!

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My processing begins with memories of my beloved paternal grandmother who was great at throwing out crap. Actually, she never possessed crap, just beautiful used things.

Over the summers between my college years, I stored my clothes at her home in Michigan. Upon my return to school in the fall, she would stand, hands on hips while I sorted through my belongings.

“I never wear this, but I really like it.” I see her now, slowly shaking her head and then one firm motion with her thumb up and over her shoulder.

In stark contrast, my grandmother-in-law offered me a used, stained, casserole dish shortly after my gift-laden bridal shower. It’s all in the timing. “No thank you.” She was stunned.

My husband commented that no one had ever turned down her crap. Now what was she going to do with the old casserole dish that her neighbor had passed on to her? It’s kind of like that hot potato game.

I loved all my grandmothers to pieces. They were all loving, strong, beautiful women. However, I can’t help but delve into this a little bit more.

My paternal grandmother was well off, had a beautiful home, clothes, and traveled to Europe and exotic places with her husband. I remember her being content and happy. My grandmother-in-law lived a modest life and she too always seemed to find happiness.

Both my grandmothers chose and looked for happiness. However, one chose monetary abundance. One chose to throw away the old to make room for the new, signaling to the universe she was worthy of bright, new, shiny objects.

The other had trouble parting with used, worn-out things. She subconsciously signaled to the universe she was fine with what she had. She didn’t need or deserve anything new, which brings me to my beloved Toyota.

My car of 15 years has 220,000 miles on it. It is my calm in the eye of a temper tantrum. It is my solace during periods of unexplained weight gain. It is my stage to be the next Mariah Carey. It carries plants and dirt, fertilizer and mulch for me. It is my best friend who always listens.

So, that’s why I stand in Whole Foods crying. It won’t start, and my husband and I decided not to pour any more money into it.

Many people might cry because they don’t have the money for a new car, especially at Christmas when money can be tight. That would make sense. No, I cry because I know it is a used casserole dish that I have to let go.

I look to my paternal grandmother for guidance and I see her with her hands on her hips, slowly shaking her head and firmly gesturing “out.” I come to realize my faithful car also carries a lot of crap.

It is the vehicle I used to transport my husband and daughter on trips to the hospital. It was witness to family arguments and the four-day-too-long road trip. It was where the dog threw up.

These things, surely, I could let go of and, more importantly, should. They represent the garbage that lingers in your mind subconsciously, weighing you down. Literally weighing your vibration down. They are the memories that prevent you from being “present.”

The universe has bestowed me with a beautiful, healing opportunity.

I move on from my tears and decide to let go of the old and let in the new. I let go of a poverty mentality and instead choose abundance. I let go of painful memories and prepare for new joyous ones.

I accept with gratitude my new car. I am worthy. I get in and smell its glorious leather. I gaze at the latest radio technology that has been absent from my life and turn it on.

“All I Want for Christmas is You” heralds out of the speakers, and I belt out the tune as I drive away.

The post Lessons in Abundance Mindset from My Toyota appeared first on TUT.

Out of all the belief systems, this is one I’d like to see busted the most. Where did the belief that you have to work hard originate? Why?

I’m not advocating sit on your butt and wait for everything to manifest, but it shouldn’t have to be hard. What if you work hard and you don’t succeed? That could be followed by bitterness, a feeling of entitlement or victimhood. Not good places to be.

Recently, we moved our daughter into her first apartment in the city. I’ve never been one of those people with a toilet seat phobia, but I know it’s out there. My father-in-law wasn’t the first person I knew who recommended changing toilet seats before moving into a new home.

As a last-minute thought, even though the three of us had our hands full of cleaning supplies and tools we had used to prep the apartment for move-in, my husband one handedly managed to take a picture of the measuring tape extended over the seat before we left. “Dad would be so proud.”

We are so proud of our daughter, but it’s been a bit overwhelming for all of us, especially for her, working 9–6, moving, packing, commuting, etc. I was happy to help out with all I could, including the toilet seat. In Lowes, I began looking at the toilet seat display with my husband’s picture on my phone for reference. The seats were various lengths, all within about 2–5 inches.

Although I admired the dexterity with which my husband simultaneously held the tape measure and took the picture with a bag of tools over his shoulder in a cramped bathroom, in the picture, the tape measure did not exactly begin at the top of the seat.

I did some “mental math” and began looking to find a seat that matched the measurement—of which there were none. A promising toilet seat contender seemed to be a loner. Its box was opened and who knew where it really belonged on the shelf or its cost.

My hands were filthy from the dirty boxes and legs cramping from squatting. There was one wooden seat that looked to be the same as the one we were replacing, but a brown toilet seat on a white toilet in a black and white bathroom certainly would have been a designer faux pas. I decided to seek help.

At the far end of the long aisle I saw a man staring at his phone. His red apron gave me hope. I called out for help. He put his phone away and I began my litany of questions as he slowly strolled my way, yogi like, completely void of stress.

“I was wondering if you could help me.”

Slow nod.

“I’m looking for a toilet seat, preferably white, and I’m not sure how they are supposed to be measured. I have a picture…”

“Ma’am.”

“…and I know it’s kind of difficult to see the exact measurement, but my question is can I get a toilet seat…”

“Ma’am.” Timeout gesture with hands. My helper was calm and poised. “One question: round or oval?”

I stopped my narrative. “Round.”

Calmly, the red-aproned yogi walked over to the display and with a Carol Merrill motion said, “These are the round. Any one will fit.” And he left.

The earth is ascending and energies are moving so fast now that if you know how to work with them you no longer have to believe in working hard, because you don’t. When the keys to the apartment failed to work, I tried to apply my Lowes yogi lesson.

Neither my husband nor I, understandably, were comfortable with our daughter in an apartment with inoperable keys. So instead of my daughter waiting for her free time over the weekend to have it fixed, I called a locksmith and arranged to meet him.

I instinctively knew we were going to get ripped off but was resigned, as it was important. On my way down the six flights of stairs to meet the locksmith (the intercom doesn’t work yet either) I met the building super, Eddie.

“Why you have this man come? He charge you too much. Look,” he said pointing to the lock. “This part $30. This part more but only $120 all together.”

Then, a little coy, “You give me $150 total and I do it.” At which point the locksmith called. “Tell him you have emergency. I fix.”

We planned for the locks to be fixed the next afternoon. Not ideal since I would have to meet my daughter at work with the new keys on my way home, an extra trip I didn’t want to make. However, I gave it no energy, no complaining, and I stayed in complete divine neutrality—(pun alert) that’s the key.

A few hours later, Eddie called. Could he stop by at 8:30 in the morning instead? Why of course.

Later that night, my daughter unpacked several boxes and the recycling pile grew. No problem. With a six-story walk up you learn quickly to take garbage or recycling with you every time you leave.

Before going to bed I had the thought, Wouldn’t it be great if Eddie came a bit early and was finished in time to give my daughter the keys, saving me a trip? Oh well, whatever. Neutrality…divine neutrality.

I had just finished getting dressed when I heard a faint tap at the door. It was 8:00 a.m. and Eddie had arrived thirty minutes early. He worked diligently but had to go downstairs twice for a tool. Each time he took a load of recycling. He finished the job and gave my daughter a lock lesson with her new keys, and she was out the door in time for work.

This was not hard. No trip to meet my daughter with the keys. No extra trips down six flights of stairs to the recycling. No getting ripped off by a locksmith.

Now I ask you one question, “Hard or easy?”

The post The Key to Not Working Hard appeared first on TUT.

My husband and I are headed to Montauk, one of our favorite escapes to celebrate our anniversary, and I’m pleased I remember the kite!

Years ago, as newlyweds we discovered “our” hotel and beach. We’ve been going for years, always off season when it’s a bit chilly and less crowded. While packing the car my husband comments, with a smile, about the kite.

On our drive out, we recall a favorite memory:

It’s a very windy day, perfect for flying a kite and watching it dip and dive, flapping in the sky. We keep warm in our matching Brigadoon tour coats and attempt to get our kite in flight.

About 50 yards set back from the ocean, are three vintage cottages. In the picture window of one sit two older gentlemen, warm and comfortable, at a table with their morning coffee watching us. I feel an immediate rapport with these men.

I sense they must be old friends perhaps from college, or maybe they were neighbors raising their children side by side, coaching little league. I envision their wives chatting happily in the kitchen making a big, lazy morning feast. I feel their happiness.

Although I’m a big fan of the wind, this day it seems to be hampering our ability to fly the kite. I am aware the gentlemen are watching us throughout our challenge. I can hear them in my mind coaching us, reminiscing themselves about their kite adventures and tips on the best way to get a kite in the air.

In solidarity with the two men’s analytical thinking, my husband realizes our kite needs a heavier tail. We begin to look for a rock or a shell, and I feel the support of our audience as they sip their coffee. We find a rock, but how to attach it?

The universe replies, graciously pointing us in the direction of an old piece of duct tape, still willing to be of service, lying in the sand. Within moments our kite is flying high and the men in the window are all smiles and nodding with approval. It is a favorite memory. I felt so connected to everything in my world.

On the first morning of our most recent visit, we go for a walk on the beach and I carry the kite in its package. As we walk, another memory surfaces:

I am in 5th grade and our science teacher has given us an assignment to make a kite. So, in other words, my dad makes a kite and I watch. He uses flexible small wooden dowels, string, and I choose striped wrapping paper for the sail.

When it is done, it looks impressive. So much so, that at school when Susie DeMartino sees it, she grabs it from my hands, takes the kite line and starts running aimlessly spewing joy and laughter all over the soccer field.

I don’t see that though because I’m too busy listening to a voice in my head telling me to be careful with the kite, it’s delicate, you don’t want to break it, which is of course exactly what happens.

We decide on a place to fly the kite and I take it out of the bag to assemble. My excitement takes a hit when I discover one of the two rods that make up the cross spar is missing even though I thought I had salvaged it from behind the baseboard heater. Staying positive I give it a go. Aerodynamics? Who needs it!

My husband’s expression doesn’t look too promising and neither does the kite. The unicorn’s head and horn on our once little girl’s kite can be seen but her mane and neck are flopping.

I couldn’t tell you the technical reason why the kite won’t fly because I didn’t learn anything in science class that day in 5th grade, but it’s pretty apparent the unicorn is grounded and I’m ready to give up. Lucky for me, I married my husband. “Why do you give up so soon?” he says.

We look for and find a thin stick, but it isn’t strong enough and snaps. A stronger one fits into the kite’s small pockets on each side, this time making a strong cross spar. The unicorn is proudly displayed now but she still won’t fly.

We need a weight for the tail just like we did years ago. My husband takes the tail of the kite, ties it around a shell, and up Pegasus flies towards the heavens at which point I start to cry. It is the best anniversary gift, and we stand with our arms around each other watching the kite soar.

Susie DeMartino had it right all along. The voice inside my head that day in school preached perfectionism, caution before joy. I felt fear that the kite would break, and it did. It was a self-prophecy; I created it. Thankfully, I was presented with not one, but two opportunities to learn this lesson.

I have now proved twice that if you have the joy to fly a kite, why do you need a perfect one? The universe provided everything we needed to get those kites in the air because both times my husband and I were relaxed, happy, and childlike.

So many people including myself often have it backwards. The joy doesn’t come once everything is perfect. The joy comes first… then everything is perfect.

The post Let’s Go Fly a Kite appeared first on TUT.

Each spring while hiking, she always pines to find a lady’s slipper orchid in memory of her aunt. But, alas, they are rare and hard to find.

One day while waiting for my daughter at an appointment, I drove aimlessly looking for a Starbucks and instead magically end up at a beautiful little nursery. The energy was great. A slight breeze; warm sun; beautiful, welcoming plants; and free coffee. I strolled with my warm beverage, feeling gratitude that I had received a gift from the universe.

The peonies were in bloom, and I lingered by the ones that had the most fragrant scent, knowing they are more evolved. I read years ago in a book by Lynn Andrews that the stronger the scent, the more the plant wants to communicate. I love that insight and now always feel kind of bad for the new hybrids that have lost their scent.

On a table right next to me, I saw them—lady’s slippers! $70 a pot! Yes, I guess they are rare and worthy of a big ticket. I snapped several artsy, Instagram-worthy photos. When I got in the car, I sent them to Susan and told her I found her a lady’s slipper! Then I added the warm feeling and thought that came over me, Tell her they are from her Aunt Olga.

The following year, around the same time, Susan asked if I wanted to go north about an hour to a trail she hiked in the past. I had a feeling I knew what was up and on further discussion it came out. “I know right where the lady’s slipper is!”

We never made it to that park. However, on a subsequent hike, while lamenting about our lack of lady’s slipper sightings, we came to a life altering realization. Could it be that “lady’s slippers are rare” is just a belief system? Why of course! What are we thinking? Apparently, that is the problem.

The next morning, I sat in bed researching lady’s slippers on my phone with an adventurous spirit. Simultaneously I received a text from Susan, “Hike?”

My response, “Maybe we’ll find a lady’s slipper!”

Her reply, “Exactly what I’m thinking!”

At the entrance to the park, our anticipation and excitement was high. Her aunt was all around us. We chose a new trail. After a small incline and a turn to the right, there it was: a beautiful pink lady’s slipper. I cut off Susan mid-sentence and in awe point to the treasure. Then we see them all, one right after another until we counted more than a dozen lady’s slippers surrounding us.

They seemed to be saying, “What took you so long?” I had to sit on the nearest rock I am so overcome. Susan experienced the same emotions, and we both wept with joy, amazed. I find during a spiritual awakening there is a lot of weeping.

Now many might ask what the big deal is, but we realize the greater magnitude of the moment. A simple limiting belief system kept Susan from experiencing a moment of joy—limiting because she believes she has to travel an hour north to experience it. A belief system prevented us from experiencing the magic that is all around us all the time.

We wondered: If we hadn’t changed our beliefs, would we ever have gone down the new trail? Would we have walked by the lady’s slippers?

Several days later Susan recounted her story to a friend. The friend’s response, “Oh, they sound like the wildflowers I have in my backyard.” Picture after picture of multiple lady’s slippers on her phone. I guess her friend has never heard of the rarity of the plant, let alone its name.

So where do we come up with these belief systems? Obviously, some species of lady’s slippers are listed as endangered, threatened, or of special concern. Who gets to decide that? In Massachusetts, a 1935 law fines you $5 for picking one. (Cheaper than $70. I am NOT suggesting you pick them.)

What I am suggesting is you don’t have to buy (OMG, a pun!) into this belief system. And don’t think the lady’s slipper doesn’t have anything to do with this. Did you know you can get dermatitis by picking them? Maybe the lady’s slipper doesn’t want you to pick her and that’s how this whole thing got started. I bet the lady’s slipper believes she is worthy of a $70 price tag.

Later, I visited a friend’s woodland garden and commented about how beautiful lady’s slippers would be spread amongst her setting. Oh no, didn’t I know? Those are rare and endangered. I see.

And I do, on so many different levels.

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