Love Kelly Love

Kelly Loves a Road Trip with the Small Red Dog

2010-04-03T15:15:00.004-06:00

Indeed. Baxter and I are piling into the old Subaru tomorrow and hitting the road for a long-ish stint in the beautiful city of San Francisco. I am letting go of worry (like, will I be able to write in San Francisco? Like, will Baxter contract some gnarly disease from walking those pee-stained sidewalks for a month?) and putting the focus squarely on how great my job is. (Thank you, Nicole!)

Note that I am also planning to tweet from the road (I know, how very 2009 of me) so sign up for my tweets if you want to be kept in the loop. Mwah!

Kelly Loves Blind Pilot (But This Is Getting Ridiculous)

2010-03-20T16:47:00.004-06:00

Seriously people, I have not listened to any album except Blind Pilot's "Three Rounds and a Sound" for six months now. It's the only CD in the six-CD player in my car. Its the only thing I listen to when I'm taking a shower. It is folk-pop perfection, and I have run it right into the ground.

The time has come. I am hereby taking a one-month hiatus from this album (after I listen to it one more time...just one more time!) and am at the same time officially.....taking suggestions.

Kelly Loves Being Someone Else for a Day

2010-03-10T15:49:00.003-07:00

This is a kumquat. You'll understand later.

Today I did something interesting and odd: I got to be someone else entirely for a whole hour. This was a particularly good day for me to have this opportunity, for from the moment I woke up I had no interest whatsoever in being myself. Myself, Kelly, is someone who is supposed to be writing a book. And writing a book was the last thing I wanted to do this morning. I have been in a spiral of self-doubt since yesterday, when the client for whom I am writing said book gave me feedback on the two chapters I had just finished. I heard none of the good stuff and all of the bad, and suddenly I was:

1) Hopeless at this writing thing

2) A total fake who cranks out material rather than letting it be downloaded through her by God

3) Never going to make her deadline.

I called it quits after the call yesterday, expecting to get up on the right side of bed this morning. But instead of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I was sullen, negative, and self-hating. Welcome to the wonderful world of writing!

So when I remembered that today is the day I got to play Amanda for the psychological diagnosis grad school class my friend teaches, I perked up.

This is the second year in a row I've been the "final exam" in Cheryl's class. Always the actress, I volunteered as soon as I heard she needed someone to come into the class play a patient. I would study a description of "Amanda," and then they would diagnose me.

Last year I was nervous, but this year I had Amanda down. She's an architect, living in Denver for six months, and she's falling apart at the seams. She's scared about nothing! Scared to be here alone, without her loving husband Carlo. Usually she can keep things together but now....

Anyway, on the off-chance one of Cheryl's students is reading this blog (right) I won't tell you what the diagnosis is. But I will say that I got a respite from being Kelly for a whole class period today, and it was like a cool breeze.

Walking out into the snowy afternoon, the fear came back. (For both me, and Amanda, I'd imagine.) Fear that I won't be able to do it. Fear that God has stopped downloading to me. Fear that I'm a hack and a phony.

Fear that I'll write more, and then I'll get more feedback.

So funny to be on the receiving end of the feedback loop after so many years of being the one giving it. It kind of sucks. But I'm trying to remember that there's a reason they call it "constructive" criticism. I talked to my client again this afternoon and she once again repeated everything she said yesterday that I hadn't heard: the structure and voice and content are all there, 100%. She just wants a little more heart.

She prescribed me 4 pages of Anne Lamott and to write a paragraph about a moment when I felt like I had really landed something I've written. It helped. Go figure. (I'm a Capricorn, and we love assignments.)

Feedback is like a kumquat. When you first bite down, you've never tasted anything so sour, so bitter. But the longer you chew it, the sweeter it gets. When you're done all you want is another kumquat.

This round, I'm still in the bitter phase. Waiting for the sweetness. Waiting for the sweetness.

Boulder is the #1 Happiest City in America!

2010-02-16T06:06:00.005-07:00

I love it when I'm seconded by the Daily Camera.

Kelly Loves Four Years in Boulder

2010-02-13T17:09:00.002-07:00

This morning I was driving into the Ideal Market parking lot and was on the phone with Jenna. I told her that this very week is my four-year anniversary of moving here. And I said that it really doesn't feel like four years. I remember what it felt like when I hit five years in NYC—it was a huge milestone. I made a scrapbook. I felt like I’d been through the wars; it seemed much longer than five years. But as I said to Jenna, now I’m like, “Huh! Four years! Interesting.” It’s not as much of a milestone; it just doesn’t matter. When you know you want to be somewhere for the next forty years, four years is truly nothing.

I meant that. And I’m starting to think that might actually happen. I’ve had a few question marks around where I will end up living—if I’ll ever really settle down, if it will be here in Boulder or somewhere else. But today, as I said “forty years” to Jenna, I thought—actually, that may just happen.

I should be so lucky! Boulder, I *heart* you. And I thank you for four amazing, exciting, fulfilling, transformative years. You are the very best town I have ever, ever known. Mwah!

Kelly Loves this New Yorker Cartoon

2010-01-23T13:32:00.003-07:00

Was Gahan Wilson secretly observing my most recent psychic reading?

Kelly Loves Getting Caught Off Guard in a Bookstore By a 12th Century Poet

2010-01-17T21:09:00.005-07:00

Perhaps

For just one minute out of the day,

It may be of value to torture yourself

With thoughts like,

"I should be doing

A hell of a lot more with my life than I am--

Cause I'm so damn talented."

But remember,

For just one minute out of the day.

With all the rest of your time,

It would be best

To try

Looking upon your self more as God does.

For He knows

Your true royal nature.

God is never confused

And can see Only Himself in you.

My dear,

Venus just leaned down and asked me

to tell you a secret, to confess

She's just a mirror who has been stealing

Your light and music for centuries.

~Hafiz (c. 1320-1389), translated by Daniel Ladinsky

Kelly Doesn't So Much Love Learning about Blogs (But She LOVES Jon Hamm)

2010-01-15T21:12:00.004-07:00

I just put this photo of Jon Hamm here so this entry wouldn't be so boring

Tonight, for my mass display of learning, I looked up the word "blog" on Wikipedia. Here's my top ten list of things I learned:

10) There are such things as blog search engines. Seriously! You can search blogs at Technorati.com, blogscope.com, and bloglines.com. FYI, this blog does not come up during searches on any of these sites, even with carefully tailored search terms, so no need to try it out. Just in case you were going to.

9) The Gaelic language is benefiting from the blogsplosion, as blogs have allowed native speakers in the real-world diaspora to come together in the virtual world and, you know, talk.

8) The first known use of a blog on an official news site took place in 1998 (well before this blogger knew what a blog was) and was used to track Hurricane Bonnie.

7) Blogs as a thing to learn about are rather boring. I'm bored of this Top Ten list. I am finding myself thinking about Mad Men as I write it. (Now there's an interesting topic. Maybe I'll learn more about the hotness of Jon Hamm as my assignment tomorrow. For now, I'm going to jump straight to #1.)

And the #1 thing I learned about blogs on wikipedia today is....

1) There are many different types of blogs, including personal blogs, corporate blogs, fashion blogs, art blogs, and so forth. This blog that you are reading is, I have surmised, a personal blog. The way I discovered this was when I read that, and I quote, "Personal bloggers usually take pride in their blog posts, even if their blog is never read."

Yep, this is a personal blog.

Kelly Loves Getting Bossed Around by Spirit Guides

2010-01-14T21:03:00.001-07:00

The spirit world digs wikipedia, apparently

Today I had the pleasure of a phone call with the one and only Ainslie MacLeod, psychic author extraordinaire, and his Greek chorus of spirit guides. I have the honor of being one of the chosen few for whom Ainslie's guides have instructed him to give free readings indefinitely. The reasoning in my case is that after numerous editors blindly turned down the opportunity to publish his first book, The Instruction, I picked it up for Sounds True. Ainslie and I got along famously from the start, and he's been giving me good advice from the other side ever since.

But never in my time with Ainslie have I received as much homework from the spirit realm as I got today. The to-do list is long. And while some of the tasks are one-offs (write a business plan for my new venture--apparently the Guides are all about the planning phase), some of them are ongoing.

Like this one. In order to counterbalance my past-life fear of failure, I am supposed to actively learn something new every day. Now this doesn't seem like much trouble--pay the teensiest bit of attention and you, too, will learn something new today. But the otherworldly instruction is far more specific. At night, before I go to bed, I am to learn something new. (The Guides suggest Wikipedia. How cliche.) And not only am I to learn said new thing, but I am to write out what I learned.

Longhand.

Um, yeah. So, I promised to give the learning and writing thing a shot, but I crossed my fingers when I agreed to do it longhand. For I have discovered that one has only so many hours in the day, and I have a blog to write. If I'm going to learn something new every day, you'd better believe I'm going to get a daily post out of the effort. So here goes nothing--I'm off to get me some learnin', and then I'm going to post about it here.

Kelly Loves a Report Card (Even a Failing One)

2010-01-08T20:44:00.001-07:00

Well, the end of the week is upon us, and if you'll recall, I had planned to write 50 pages of content for the book I'm writing by the time I went to dance class earlier this evening. So....did I make the grade?*

The answer is a big, fat NO! I did not write 50 pages this week. I wrote more like 20 pages this week. Can you BELIEVE it? I failed to make good on my report-card promise. Me, whose only B in high school was in Gym class. (And okay fine, also one semester of Algebra 3, but there was the cutest, funniest guy who sat next to me in that class....)

But fear not, loyal readers. (Yes, the beloved three of you.) My failure to hit the target wasn't due to slackage. Not entirely, anyway. As it turned out, there was a bunch of reading and sorting through content that took my attention off the actual content creation. But, I did make progress. And not because I have anything to prove or anything, here's what I did this week:

Wrote 20+ pages of new content
Sorted through the notes from all my phone calls with the author from the past 4 months
Sorted through various documents sent by author over the past 8 months, to see where content would fit in the book
Phone call with author
Emailed numerous questions (and received responses!) to both author and her second-in-command
Read 1/3 of The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan, both to steep in his voice (which my author loves) and because there's really good stuff in there about, well, desire--which is the subject of our book as well
Thought a lot about scrapping the entire out line of the book and starting over. May still do this, but not until next week
Test-drove new tea shop called Atlas Purveyors, down on East Pearl, as writing location. Grade: B. High marks for nice owner, good tea, good people-watching out the front window. Low marks for draftiness and good (read: distracting) people-watching out the front window.

See? I was very, very active. Next week I hope to be more actively productive as well!

*Yes, sister Stacy, that one's for you! Mwah!

Kelly Loves Hazelnut Crack. Er, I Mean Butter.

2010-01-05T19:44:00.000-07:00

A tub of delicious amazingness. Okay fine, half a tub.

So last night Julia and I were leaving Alchemy of Movement, fresh and sweaty after a great hour of dancing with Maria, when what should catch our eye but that Alchemy has a new neighbor. And a famous one, to boot. Our humble little strip mall is now home to none other than the offices of Justin's Nut Butter.

Now for those of you who aren't familiar with the deliciousness that is Justin's, get thee to your nearest Whole Foods and partake of either the Cinnamon Peanut Butter (yum!) or the Maple Almond Butter (yum yum!). While the company has risen to fame for it's ingenious packaging (individually portioned packets you can take with you skiing, on a hike, or on a meditation retreat--I speak from experience on all three counts) it's what's in the packet that you really shouldn't miss.

Julia and me, we're the intrepid types. As soon as we saw it was Justin's, we walked right in the front door. Turns out the very tall, very cute guy who was sitting just inside was none other than THE Justin of Justin's Nut Butters! Go figure! He's ingenious AND tall AND cute. That seems to be more than any one person's fair share, don't you think?

Now as you can imagine, there was perhaps just one thing on the planet that could have taken my attention off tall, cute, ingenious guy. And wouldn't you know it? That one thing was sitting right there on the counter in front of him. My attention alighted on a tub of his new Chocolate Hazelnut Butter, and I saw Justin no more.

All natural. 60% less sugar than Nutella. If it had been organic, I might have died on the spot.

My excitement must have been obvious (maybe it was all the jumping up and down) because Justin disappeared into the back room and returned with two tubs of said all natural 60% less sugar than Nutella chocolate hazelnut crack. I was only slightly disappointed when he said I had to give one of them to Julia. (She bought me dinner later, which made up for it. Kind of.)

As it turns out, he's nice to boot. Who'd have known?

Kelly Loves Setting Goals Part II: New Year's Edition

2010-01-04T09:15:00.000-07:00

Last night we had our New Year's 2010 edition of Circle. After eating (more than usual) and drinking a nice bottle of wine (thanks, Jean) we opened up the goals we set for ourselves last year, which had been safely stashed away in a little box in Chantal's care.*

We'd each made two lists: our "internal" goals and our "external" goals. To my own surprise, I could literally say that all of my internal goals (four of them) had been reached. They ran something like this:

1. Feel more contentment, more of the time.

2. Start practicing again.

3. Learn to trust my intuition even more.

4. Feel more and more in the flow of my own life.

Numbers 2 and 3 are certifiable. Ever since my harrowing visit to Bobby Wood back in July, I sit nearly every day now. And the fact that I have started giving Tarot readings to total strangers this year is testament to a significant increase in my intuitive trust. Numbers 1 and 4 are less quantifiable, and are the work of a lifetime. But movement is being made, if proven only by the fact that I didn't feel the need to include either of them on my list for 2010.

My "external goals" were less reliable over all--I didn't get an unexpected windfall and I am not in a rocking relationship--but that feels okay to me. Several of them

were on the theme of finding new ways to make a living outside of my (then) current job at Sounds True, which of course has happened in a big way. Oh, and one of my goals was for Baxter to be calmer when I had company over. As I read that I looked up and saw him sitting on the couch between Jenna and Chantal, looking nothing if not the perfect gentleman.

In other words, sometimes miracles do happen.

*Note to Jenny, Haven & Tara: I have your goals and will be sending them to you!

Kelly Loves Setting Goals

2010-01-03T17:07:00.001-07:00

Once again inspired by The Four Hour Workweek, and Tim Ferriss's suggestion that work expands or contracts to fit whatever time frame you give it, I have now set a big goal for a short period. By the time I go to dance class at 5:30pm on Friday 1/8, I will have 50 pages of content for the book I'm currently ghostwriting down on paper. (Or on screen, as the case may be.) (And backed up onto an external drive. I shiver at the thought.)

We're not going to worry about chapters and outlines and such at this point. It's just write it down, write it down, write it down. Organization will come later.

I will report back on Friday. Wish me luck!

Kelly Loves the Four Hour Workweek

2010-01-02T09:34:00.000-07:00

It's official: I'm in love with Tim Ferriss and his theory of lifestyle design. I realize I'm not breaking new ground here--everyone seems to be on the bandwagon these days. To wit: when I asked if the revised edition of The Four-Hour Workweek was in stock at Big Hat Books in Indy last week (it wasn't--had to order on Amazon), both the bookseller AND the woman behind me in line started waxing rhapsodic about Tim and his blog.

At which point I had the familiar feeling I've been living under a rock (or more accurately, in the pop-culture-free Boulder bubble) since I myself had only just heard about him. I heard about him because he's writing a new book on how to be a superhuman, and the sex chapter features the author I'm now officially working for. I had no idea, though, how much I'd end up loving his philosophy.

This morning I filled out his Dreamline Worksheet, and one of my "starred items" was to blog every day. The "today" action item? Write a blog post. This is that post.

See you tomorrow--I'm going skiing!

Kelly Loves Crafterglow

2009-12-25T19:33:00.000-07:00

Crafterglow (n.): The feeling of accomplishment achieved after completing a satisfying craft project. ex: "I am basking in the crafterglow of finishing the beanbag owl I made for my niece Georgia for Christmas."

Kelly Loves Quitting Her Job and Going Freelance

2009-10-01T20:29:00.001-06:00

I definitely love the quitting part. We'll see, as of January 1, 2010, whether or not I love the actual "going freelance" part. But I suspect I will. Herewith, my Top Ten List for why I anticipate loving my new lifestyle:

10) I get to write all day, instead of being in meetings all day.
9) Never again missing a powder day!
8) There won't be an Accounts Payable guy in my life anymore, which means Baxter won't have to bark rabidly every time he walks by my office.
7) More time to blog, right?
6) All the cool kids are doing it. (Witness Exhibit A and Exhibit B.)
5) I'm done asking permission to go to the dentist.
3) Only two clients for all of 2010, both of whom I love.
2) No more sitting through soul-deadening discussions parsing out how the G&A allocation will affect the P&L. Aaarhghgh!

And the #1 reason I think I will love quitting my job and going freelance....drumroll please....

1) I will be a professional writer! How cool is that?

Kelly Loves the Phrase "I Am a Honeypot"

2009-03-17T16:45:00.000-06:00

Jean said it first. We were all lazing around the couch at Jenna's last week, talking about this and that (subjects of discussion at the womens' circle are not to be disclosed; what happens in Circle.....well, you know) when suddenly, and entirely within the context of the discussion, Jean just hauled off and said, "Oh, I know I'm a honeypot."

I had to stop her. Did she just say what I thought she had said? Had she just declared herself a honeypot? She looked surprised at my surprise. Wasn't it obvious?

Of course it was obvious. Jean is nothing if not a honeypot. But it wasn't about the words, or even the sentiment. It was bigger. She'd spoken a simple phrase (now the battle cry of the Circle; t-shirts are already in the works) but it said so much.

To me, it was one more example of all the ways in which I am not like Jean. I think I could talk straight through from now until the rapture and never would the phrase "I am a honeypot" come out of my mouth. But Jean calls it like she sees it, and when it comes to her own self-image, she sees it with clarity. This is a woman who owns her power and self-worth. She does not apologize. She does not mitigate. The mirror through which she sees herself is not all fogged up with a lifetime of the message, "You are not enough." She knows she is enough--in fact, she knows that she's more than enough. She is beautiful, intelligent, witty, charming, a rock star at work, a stunner in bed, a magnet. In short, a honeypot.

I am inspired. So inspired that I transferred my little container of farmer's market honey into an actual pot and put it on my kitchen countertop, labeled with a little post-it that says, "I am a honeypot."

And so I am. (And so are YOU!)

Kelly Loves Watching this Video

2009-03-10T21:09:00.000-06:00

Seriously, I've watched it like 10 times.

Kelly Loves Forgiveness

2009-02-26T21:48:00.000-07:00

So my intention tonight was to write a teensy tiny post about forgiveness--a short one, focusing on how much I love my friends, who (I hope) have forgiven me for sending out an email asking them to sign up for my blog--and then proceeding not to blog. For days. For a week, even.

But the truth is that the topic of forgiveness deserves my actual love and attention, so now that I'm here I think I have to actually go for it.

Even though I should be reading a manuscript right now. Even though it's late, and I worked late, and I'm tired. I'm going to sit here and spend some time on forgiveness. Because forgiveness is worth it.

I should know; I've seen it up close and personal these past few weeks. And lo, it is good. As it turns out, it has a higher vibration than just about any other energy I can think of. In fact, I've come to see it as a sort of jetpack on the path of spiritual development.

Let me be clear: I'm not talking about granting forgiveness here. I'm not talking about saying, "This person did this awful thing to me and was mean and horrible but look at me, I'm like Jesus, I am benevolent. I forgive them for their evil behavior."

No, I'm actually talking about asking forgiveness. And specifically, asking forgiveness from someone who may in fact have wronged you.

I know--you're like, "Wha...?" Because that's not the kind of forgiveness we usually think of--not in reference to ourselves, anyway. Usually we are the heroes of our own human dramas, and as such we cast ourselves as the receivers of good things like forgiveness, and not the perpetrators of acts that require them.

But all I can tell you is that being in the presence of truth incarnate for five days (I'm speaking of my recent retreat with Adya here) kind of sandblasts your perceptions. While in his presence one afternoon I spontaneously began to cry. I cried because realized that I was deeply and truly sorry for the way I'd behaved toward one particular person in my life.

And it was damn surprising, because the person I was thinking of was someone who I'd previously cast as the victimizer, not the victim. The person I'd previously thought deserved my forgiveness, if anything. The person I might (just might) perhaps (if she was lucky) be able to forgive on my deathbed. THAT person. You know the one. You have one, too.

With the help of the world's greatest forgiveness coach, a.k.a. my friend Jenna, I wrote the person previously known as my antithesis a letter. And I said I was sorry.

For having been so angry. For having carried her around as an enemy in my heart for the past X months. For not having seen that she was doing the best she could at the time; for not being able to do better myself.

And you know what? It felt like a resurrection. (Which is apt, given this is my Jesus year--the big 33.) It's not like my life has changed outwardly, though I did win a friend back in the deal. The real transformation was on the inside. It's like this single act of surrender--of showing my heart and saying I was sorry--washed me clean. Having done that, I feel like I can do anything.

Even ask forgiveness again—right here, right now, from you.

Dear You, Beautiful Blog Reader,

I’m sorry for not having blogged this past week. I was busy; I had a houseguest; I did not make the time. I will try to do better next time.

With love,
Kelly

Kelly Loves Georgia (the Niece, Not the State)

2009-02-18T07:57:00.000-07:00

Georgia, double-fisting her first birthday cake....incidentally, wearing a top her Aunt Kelly gave her for Christmas

Does not this picture speak for itself? You can see more illegally cute pictures of little Geo here.

Kelly Loves Dancing, Oddly Enough

2009-02-17T06:25:00.000-07:00

A seriously low-res video clip from Chantal's SoulSweat DVD, which you can buy here

Ever since I first moved to Boulder, my friend (and colleague) Chantal has been telling me I should come to her dance class, SoulSweat. My response always ranged somewhere between hysterical laughter and annoyance. Was she serious? Did she not have eyes? Could she not see that I am not the kind of person who goes to dance class? I am not remotely athletic, I thought. I don't know my left foot from my right. I'm not an "exercise person."

But then life slammed me up against an emotional wall about a year ago. As I gathered the shards of my broken ego and glue-sticked them back into the shape of a whole person, I discovered that the "me" who was emerging this time wasn't exactly like the "me" I'd thought I'd been. I was suddenly an altogether different being.

And one Friday night, to my own shock and surprise, this altogether different being spontaneously wanted to go to dance class. The rest is history: this past weekend I shook my booty right through the Soul Sweat Teacher Training Workshop.

Um, did you hear that? I said teacher training. Me--the non-exercise person. The "I'm such a bad dancer Mrs. Wiehe always put me in the back row in high school show choir" person.

Me--and eleven other amazing women, ages 23 to 59. We danced, we played, we choreographed. We laughed, and some of us cried. But mostly we had boatloads of fun.

How unexpected!

Kelly Does Not Love Mean Landlords

2009-02-13T08:09:00.001-07:00

The monkey dog, smugly sunning himself at the office in between reigns of terror

Luckily, I have no mean landlord of my own. And now that I own my own place, and realize that one day I may actually be a mean landlord myself, I've maybe even developed a bit of sympathy toward this archetypical nemesis. (I know, I can't believe it either, but you try living across the courtyard from a dawn-to-dusk college house party, and you, too, may become a fan.)

But all feelings of sympatico with the iconic landlord flew out the window when, yesterday afternoon, the worst thing EVER happened--and I discovered it was the handiwork of none othe than a landlord. Specifically, the landlord of Katie the Dogsitter, who cared for my little terror of a monkey dog on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I could work in peace.

I only caught the highlights before I went down: Complaints from neighbors. Out of business. So sorry to see Baxter go.

When she revived me, I was solemn. It was out of my hands. There were only two options:

1) I would have to bring Baxter with me to work five days a week instead of the previous (manageble) three. Said change would indeed drive me insane, and I would jump out a window. It would simply be destiny. Death comes for us all; I just didn't think he'd come for me in an office park in Louisville.

2) Baxter will have to be relocated "to a nice farm in the country."

I've since been reminded that other options--such as dog training, getting a doggy door at home, etc.--remain, but for now, I'm wallowing.

Kelly Loves Target (But Not As Much As She Used To)

2009-02-11T20:47:00.000-07:00

Confession: I used to be a total Target girl. Where I grew up in Indiana, there was a Target practically within walking distance. All of my affordable shopping needs were met beneath its sizzling red neon bullseye--hair products, sporting goods, cute undies. All the essentials, under one roof.

It was only once I went to college that I realized not every family automatically hit Target on the way home from church. At the time I was in school with my beloved sister (who writes this blog) in Washington, DC. The two of us were forever bemoaning the District's lack of a Target. Many of our friends at school puzzled over our obsession with this large discount retailer--but then again, many of them had never been to the fairytale land that is Tarzjay. For Target is a midwestern company (shout out to Minnesota) and all those many years ago its mastery of style + affordability had not yet swept the eastern seaboard.

When, after two years in school, my father hand-me-downed us his white old-guy Buick, and we finally had wheels, the first thing we did was dust off the map and plot a trip to the nearest Target (shout out to Green Belt, Maryland).

Soon after leaving DC I moved to the grand mecca of inconvenient shopping that is New York City, and once again I was adrift without my Target. New York is a place where haircare products, sporting equipment, and cute undies each get their own entire (expensive) stores. Saturday afternoon errands means dashing hither and yon, hauling dozens of shopping bags from subway platform to subway platform. We're not talking a civilized, climate-controlled Target experience here--we're talking elbowing your way crosstown through mass humanity. We're talking survival mode.

I mourned Target. I spoke of it often to friends, with a longing heart.

To make matters worse, around that time, mysteriously, advertising for the store started appearing on billboards across the city. No actual Target retailer, mind you, just lots and lots of billboards. Tormenting me. Then one Christmas, randomly, the signs started announcing the arrival of the Target Boat, set to dock at Chelsea Piers just in time for holiday shopping. My best friend Stace and I were just Target-deprived enough to fall for the obvious marketing ploy. (See photographic evidence above.)

My last couple of years there, I discovered that there was a Target that could be accessed by taking the G Train to (gulp) the Queens Mall. Yes, that would be in Queens. And yes, I made that trip. Many, many times. (For those readers interested in my spiritual development, it was on the long subway ride to Target that, one Saturday morning, I first cracked The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle.) The year I was leaving NYC, the first Target store opened in Brooklyn--so hope was dawning for the city dweller. But alas, I was already on my way out the ever-revolving New York door, heading to brighter skies in Boulder, CO.

Where, once again blessed with a vehicle of my own and not one but two Targets on my drive to work, my love affair with Target promptly began to wane. (Such is my way in love and shopping. It is my curse to love only the ones who play hard to get...)

If you want to blame someone, blame McGuckin's. McGuckin's, the local hardware store that sells much more than hardware. They may not have cute undies, but they have just about everything else--including hundreds of adorable retirees in green smocks whose only job is to ask you if they can help you find something.

When I think about how sad I would be if McGuckin's closed up shop, benching all those cute little old men, it makes it very hard to walk into Target--the monolithic, the big-box, the national chain.

But I do still walk into Target--sometimes. Tonight was, in fact, one of those times. And my experience there led me to love Target once again. It was not the pimply teen in a red polo who accosted me as I passed the jewelry counter, wanting to know if I needed help finding anything. (I did not in fact need his help, for I was shopping with a purpose: shampoo, which I'll have you know is not available for sale at McGuckin's.)

What I loved was that, as I stood in the shampoo aisle, hemming and hawing between Pantene and Dove, I heard someone say, "Um, were you just on an Adyashanti retreat?"

And I remembered why I love Target--the Target in Boulder, at least. It's because as much as everybody loves McGuckin's, everybody still shops at Target. And because it's Boulder, that means you'll end up running into some guy who sat four rows behind you on a silent meditation retreat in California the week before--and that he'll say hi.

Kelly Loves Adyashanti

2009-02-10T22:11:00.000-07:00

Last week I attended my second five-day silent retreat with Adyashanti, a.k.a. the free-est human being I have ever met.

The freedom I'm talking about is freedom from ego attachment. The freedom to experience--and to be--naked awareness, unguarded and completely vulnerable to the universe.

If I learned one thing on this retreat, it's that I love Adya. I love him spontaneously, genuinely, and with a devotion I have never yet encountered.

But in truth it's not Adya that I love--though I have had some level of exposure to his personality and find him suitably charming, disarming, and real. It's actually the wind that blows through him, which mirrors the wind that blows through me. I somehow have a better sense of the Kelly version of this wind when he and I are in a room together--when I'm sitting in silence and feeling its warmth and energy; when I have the space to tenderly explore what it might mean to be instead of do all the time; when I'm not robotically chasing the unmet needs of my childhood.

(Not that I didn't do some Olympic-style unmet-need chasing while on retreat. Sheesh. In a sea of middle-aged seekers of enlightenment, leave it to me to find and fixate upon on the one hot Boulder dude. Let's just say that when Adya started talking about being a "junkie for validation," I had to wonder if he'd been reading my journal.)

And With That, My Friends, a Blog is Born*

2009-02-10T21:47:00.001-07:00

Post-retreat, over the world's best cinnamon bun at the world's sweetest cafe in Santa Cruz, my dear friend Jenna bemoaned the scarcity of writing in our world that is all three of the most important things: spiritual, intelligent, and funny. "What is there but Eat, Pray, Love?" she asked, her countenance despondent.

What she didn't know (or did she?) is that I love nothing more than a challenge.

*How original.