no rest for the weary

My predicament afforded no obvious escape. I felt that God dropped me into a labyrinth whose exits He had sealed.

 

 

I wanted to suppress it. I told myself that everything would be OK if I just kept muddling through the days. Exercise, be patient. Love. Be loved.  Care for others.  Do for others.  But none of that was enough.  Something didn’t feel right.  Something was missing.  I wasn’t sure if it was love, my sister, a child, or more fulfilling work.  I felt broken.  Not lonely.  Just incomplete.  

 
 

I considered changing jobs or moving to other cities. But I had already done both of those, and I still felt stuck.  Thinking back to the happiest times in my life they had been being in love, interpreting, and engaging in interesting business deals.  Opportunity once fell at my heels.  Lady luck had sang over me as I slept; her sweet, soulful tunes stayed with me the whole day long everywhere I went.  Without trying I attracted beautiful circumstances, and in the most unusual places I met people who impacted my life and ways of thinking.  This was all before I understood the laws of the universe.

 

 

In a wicked turn of events, once I understood the laws I began to have trouble commanding them. The irony of it all swept through me.  As happens normally in life a few failures sprung up in the road.  Instead of dusting myself off for the next round, I started to play it safe.  My romances went down in flames, so the next time love knocked on the door, I pretended not to hear.  My entrepreneurial efforts resulted in incarceration and humiliation, so I took a safe 9 to 5.  That lifestyle may have suited me if I was doing meaningful work, but I wasn’t. 

 

 

Time passed. New experiences and places offered temporary relief, but the nagging eventually re-surfaced no matter where I went.  Slowly it dawned on me that I was an extraordinary beam of light that had tried to seal itself inside a dark crate.  The crate was safe; shining bright was not.  Had I really been hypnotized in Las Vegas? Dunked in ice water? A rat race baptism designed to wake me the hell up so I could see how far I was from where I needed to be.  Not even my colorful, strong social circle could pull me out from the hole into which I had fallen. 

 

 

I wanted so many things… Excitement, answers, financial relief, a full life and to help other people. I wanted my courage back.  Most of all I wanted to crush the fear that was living inside of my throat, stopping me from breathing full gasps of air.  Not every day felt like that.  But the heavy days were enough to make me want to just take off running and never look back. I had no idea what the solution was.  But I clung to the belief that one could come.

 

 

I won’t call it depression.  Let’s term it a spiritual deficiency.  I don’t choose to discuss mine for sympathy.  Writing about it feels therapeutic.   A part of me feels like if I write it in the past maybe it will become the past more quickly.  Instinct tells me medication is not the answer, and that these feelings are a result of me not doing my spirit’s work.  Besides, science tells us what prescription drugs due to your ability to connect to the universe.  But it seems to be easier to attract a bottle of feel good than to connect with your purpose.  Some nights I think of taking one or two, but I don’t want to live like that.  This pain and discomfort lives inside of me for a reason.  It’s up to me to take action toward something greater.  If I mask it today it will only be staring at me tomorrow morning like a bedside gremlin that I fed after midnight.  Natural healing is slow and exhausting, but I fear any other method will extinguish my drive. 

 

 

I wish that my best friend Tommy’s wife had found some therapy before she put a pistol in her mouth.  I wish my old childhood friend had told me how sad she was before she launched herself from the balcony where we had once watched the Atlanta skyline and talked about our futures.  I don’t think I would ever take myself out, just because I care too much for the people around me.  I couldn’t make them suffer like that.  But I do ask myself (often) – when does my own suffering end?  All I really want is to feel important and be happy.

 

 

I didn’t realize when I was younger that the mountain would be this tough to climb.

Learning To Fly

A friend of mine recently sought out my advice concerning some romantic troubles. His situation inspired me to share this personal story, in hopes that it would help him make a decision. perhaps it will help someone else, too. Feedback is appreciated.

Learning To Fly

Many years ago when I was still young and foolish at heart I hurt a caring man that I was dating.  The relationship seemed doomed although I sincerely asked for forgiveness.  At that point most people would give up, but I, being heavily influenced by the Latino cultural value of "fight for what you want," decided I wasn't going down that easily.

Over the next few months, I pulled some stunts that many people would have considered nuts.  But as my good friend Alessia told me, "He will only think it's crazy if he doesn't like you."  By far the most memorial of my antics was the "surprise flight to Mexico."  I began by asking a lady friend of mine to teach me how to make a classic Hispanic dish, the Devil's Shrimp.  Claudia's "little diablos" were perfect: plump, fresh, swimming in homemade tomato and jalapeño sauce.  I paid close attention, and after much practice, I mastered the recipe. 

When the camarones were ready for their debut I decorated my kitchen like a traditional house in Puebla, Mexico, complete with cactus-printed wallpaper and clay-looking plastic doors.  That day Mr. Reluctant agreed to stop by, and when I pulled out a blindfold he was clearly hesitant.  Somehow I convinced him to play along.  Once inside I guided him inside to a chair, where I proceeded to play pre-recorded "airplane sounds" from my computer.  Then, in my best azafata voice, I began my "Prepare for Take-off" speech.  At the time my Spanish accent was very poor, and I must have sounded ridiculous.  But my desire to win him back was greater than my embarrassment, and I pressed on. To this day I remember how to say random things like "fasten your seatbelts" and "refrescos now being served".  As I spoke, I grabbed hold of his chair, leaned it backward for the take-off, and shook it hard to mimic turbulence.  After a few minutes of engine noise I sang out, "Now landing in Puebla, Mexico!" and slowly lowered his chair back on the ground.  Then, with all the drama of Marilyn Monroe I whipped off his blindfold and revealed a long, brightly-colored table filled with Devil's Shrimp, golden, steaming Spanish rice, and rows of pan dulce.  I held my breath and prepared for him to A.) Quickly flee or B.) Be absolutely touched and think, maybe this woman is worthy of forgiveness.  Yes, it was a goofy thing to orchestrate. But it's one of the best memories I have from a noviesgo (courtship.)

Rarely in life do we find instant results for our efforts.  My friend did not forgive me that day.  But, he didn't take flight, either.  Months later, with the help of time, respect, and more "kind, silly" acts, I saw an ugly, dead tree take on shades of green.  Then, unexpectedly, in the middle of that summer I was badly injured in a river accident.  Life dealt me the cruel lesson that only in rough times do you come to know those who really care for you.  In the months that followed my recovery, in a time when I could not walk and I was no longer the life of the party, ninety five percent of my friends disappeared. This gentleman was in the five percent that remained.  I will forever value the great company and support he gave me in that lonely, dismal period.  One year later, we decided we were not compatible for a long-term relationship, but left off on good terms.  To this day I consider him a friend.  I am without a doubt glad that I fought for that relationship. I would do it all over again, even knowing that this fellow was not "the one." 

I firmly believe that if someone loves you, they will fight to be with you, and they won't take no for an answer.  They will swallow their pride and exhaust themselves for a chance to be by your side. They may not blindfold you and "transport" you to your country of origin because they know you miss the food, but they will do something (anything). If they do nothing, then that's probably what you mean to them.

Without something to fight for, and without passion, we are living in black and white.  We won't come close to the bright, blinding, rich colors that only the truly passionate will experience. After all, we only get one journey.  One flight.  Sure, we may crash.  But the pain of the coming down won't be as bad as reaching the end of life and wondering. Over and over I've heard the saying, "At the end of life you don't regret the things you do. You regret the things you don't do." To me this is all the more reason to get in the plane and fly it.

where are the lions hungry like myself?

Excerpt from Conversations with Buddha:
Student: Master, what is real? 
Master: That which doesn't change.

What about you is changeless? Could that be your Northern Star, guiding you to understand who you were meant to become..

I find myself sitting here, asking myself, how much longer until I find “it”? I've been on this road for longer than I'd like to admit. I wonder if it's my own fault that I still haven't grasped it.

It.. That untouchable fulfillment that I am seeking. A mysterious, intangible thing that only lets me see it's shadow, but never it's real flesh and form. It whispers, taunting me, daring me to go out and find it. But it won't tell me how to do that. It dances in front of me in the quiet evenings as I meditate.. It reaches out its hand and invites me to dance with it, but the moment I leap forward to engage, it takes back its hand and asks me to dance alone. 

Where are you? You, the thing that will drive me- excite me- push me to my limits and beyond. The thing I will sweat for, work my ass off for, and inspire me to risk it all. My reason. My purpose.

I'm on the edge of a cliff, and “it” is the bottom, laughing at me, because I can't figure out how to climb down and claim it. It will not reveal the path to me. At other times I feel that I'm already at the bottom, and it's shadows are touching over my shoulder, and it's so damn close.. but I cannot put my finger on it.

And I find myself frustrated. Asking God when will the time be right? Have I not shown myself worthy of a mission greater than myself? What more must I do to come closer to you? You, this thing that lives inside me. This wolf preparing to howl. Am I walking the wrong roads? Have I lost the path? The clues run hot for weeks on end, then the trail goes cold.

All I can do is keep hunting. There's no doubt that the hunger will not subside. I have learned to be content with what I have, but to never stop searching. All I can do is look at the stars, and keep asking questions.

I sincerely want the opportunity to challenge myself. I am hungry for it, and I feel ready for it. I will continue to inspire myself until I find it. I thank God for all the elements in my life right now. My family, friends, health, a stable, fun job even if it isn't the most incredible occupation in the world.  But it's not enough. I demand more from this lifetime. I want to change this world. I will change this world. There is nothing more important than that to me. No relationship, no person, it's just me and my purpose. I've got to find it. 

God please come with me on this journey. Help me to hunt it more aggressively. Don't let me stop until I'm tired and exhausted. Purge me of excuses, substances, of the people who will distract me from this burning desire that I have to relieve suffering and see my visions fulfilled. This is up to me and only me.

shepherds and sheep

All the world is still for a moment. I pause and look for a moment of quiet. One in which I might reflect. I squint into the darkness, desperate for a sight of what Dr. Dyer calls "your source." Desperate to come close to it; to know it; to use it for the greater good. "All of man's problems come from his inability to sit in a room and be quiet." Could it be true?

Envy. I envy those who are content with what they have. They don't seem to be on any road to anywhere. It doesn't bother them that the world will be no better after their tombstone is chiseled. They are the 9 to 5'ers who blow their checks and run their credit cards. A love for consumption and "things" stands in place of any particular ambition to do something important. No plans for the future and no desire to makeany sort of impact on others. Superficial. Pointless. The kind of people for whom Mother Nature asks for refunds.

And yet I envy them.

What would a day be like to wake up and feel worryless? To live life completely and selfishly with no regard for this.. "itch" of mine. An itch to know more, to grow, to try my hardest to bring out the best in others and make people happy, even if just for a moment. To end suffering, as nuts as it may sound. What if I awoke with no zest or desire to pursue the talents that God planted inside me?  If I walked around happy with average, and dismissive of anything that meant struggle. Would I be any better? Would I be.. any worse. 

Perhaps I am judgemental. Smug. Always looking at people too hard instead of accepting who they have chosen to be. But it's hard to accept the world for what it is. I see so many people who have not the slightest concern for people, animals, the Earth, real problems like hunger and the deficit. They simply breathe. My God.. how I long to breathe just one breath without wondering how I could have breathed it better?  If I could stab a simpleton, rip open his chest, and steal his apathy I would do it in a New York minute. No one knows the pain of those "called upon" except those who are called upon.

Lord, help me understand why I reincarnated. And please, in my next life, make me a sheep.

reflections from a typical Sunday

I've heard people say that certain moments of your life are real defining points. Sometimes it comes in a mysterious phrase, like, "That experience really defined me as a person."  As I grow older I think I am getting a better idea of what this means. 

I Am Jack's Complete Lack Of Surprise

It's Sunday. 6 AM. Morning light has yet to re-claim the landscape. I am paralyzed on the interstate. Cars whiz by in the darkness at 70 MPH. But not mine. I am frustrated, helpless, and essentially fucked. They say trouble comes in 3's. My car dying was number 2. So I sat, waiting for number 3.

Trouble number two was nothing compared to number one. And so a part of me has to be thankful. Fifteen minutes earlier I was ready to fight for my life. Like I've done many times before, I put myself into a stupid and dangerous situation. The part of me that chooses risk and excitement over the typical and predictable is probably the stupidest attribute of my personality. But I can't live any other way.

I'm asleep, and quite drunk, passed out at a friend's house. Somewhere I never should have gone to begin with. He lives in a rough neighborhood, and on previous visits my wild imagination had asked me how I would react if an intruder were to come. It's funny how the things we think eventually manifest.

I'm not usually drunk when I'm there. I am almost always elected D.D. Tonight was my lucky night, up until we awoke to the sound of someone pounding on the door. I was half asleep, still intoxicated, but I knew that sound. That was not a neighbor. That was someone furious and quite determined to enter. It's hard to explain the instant fear and adrenaline that fills you when you perceive a threat. The body does something amazing.. It slaps you across the face and forces your shit together. Within three seconds I suddenly became sober as a judge, and my mind started calculating the essentials.

I knew that if we didn't open the door the intruder would quickly kick it in; that an alternative exit was too risky because I didn't know the layout of the house or neighborhood; and that I had nothing in my immediate reach with which to defend myself.

Had I been alone in the apartment I would have immediately found a defense weapon, called the police, and prayed to God that it would take this asshole a good amount of strength and time to beat the door down. Had I had more time to think maybe I could have come up with something better. But I don't think more than 5 seconds passed between the time that the pounding started and "Johnny" rushed to the door. I watched, horrified, as he unlocked the door and swung it open.   

Hypothetical Madness

Dawn has broken on the freeway. Pale shreds of light start streaming into my lifeless vehicle. Big rigs roar by and send an unnatural vibration through me and my car. While I know to look for the gold in every situation, I can't stop thinking about all the places I would rather be than stuck on I-10.

I scan my phone for the number to a tow truck company. No luck. I try to think of a friend who can Google it for me, but it's 6 AM, and no one is awake. A technology glitch prevents me from receiving the one response that actually did come in (hours later.) A motorist assistance company stops by to help, but only tells me what I already know: it's not out of gas, and it's not the battery. I feel like the sinking Titanic.

I manage to get the number to a tow company. As I start to shuffle through my purse for my credit card, I find it: trouble number three. At some point in the long night my card has taken flight. No card means no money. No money means no tow truck. The inevitable moment has arrived. I dial my stepdad's number and prepare to get my ass beaten.

Later. Much Later. 

I have survived the Sunday from hell. I feel disgusting, hungover, angry with myself, and about as smart as a bag of hair. Make that used hair.

I want to beat my own head in for repeating the same mistakes. Married apparently means married. I no longer believe in "separated," or "going through a divorce."  If I ever hear those words again I will demand written proof, Carfax style. No, take it back.  I'll just run.

It's now 10:30 at night. I dare to tiptoe out of my room where I've been hiding all day since our return from the morning family outing to pick me up off the side of the road. My stepdad, Steve, is thoroughly sloshed. But instead of the continued tongue lashing I expect to receive, he just looks at me with super glossy eyes. We exchange an awkward conversation, and I make an excuse to leave the room. Not because I don't want to be there, but because my eyes are misting over. I know that somewhere deep inside and past all of the scoldings there is a part of this man that loves me and wants the best for me. Not because he has to.

I am overwhelmed by feelings of gratefulness and guilt. I've chosen to give more time to my career and friends than to my family. And yet, it is family who is with us when our careers and friends turn their backs. As sad as it is, I am reminded of the brevity of life, and the things that made me bitter earlier in the day now seem far away.. Weightless. I am no longer angry at Johnny's wife who showed up to mortify us and pour water in my gas tank. I am simply grateful that I am not in a broken marriage. And that thanks to my family, not in a broken car. Helpless. Waiting for dawn to come and make it better.

I feel a little more defined today. 

Ring, ring. It's your wearwolf calling.

A lot of people think opportunity knocks. I'm here to tell you that it howls.

Ready to let it all howl out?

For the past few days my head's been buzzing with questions. At times I'm so frustrated that I fully expect steam to come whistling out of my ears teapot-style. The last time this happened, I compared it to Noah's mission to build an arc. But this time the feeling is less like slow, lazy construction, and more like a gravitational pull. In short, I feel like a werewolf just before the full moon.

I'm not going to run and hide this time.  And if you're brave, neither will you. When your inner wolf is ready to howl it means you are ready to do your life's work. It calls out to you from within, and no one can discover it for you. According to all the "howlers" I've ever met, and those I've read about, whether you choose to face your calling or not will define whether you live an extraordinary life, or just a regular existence. 

A Tale of Two People....

To illustrate just how different your life could be should you rise to the challenge of finding yourself I shall tell you the brief Tale of Two People. It's about a man and a woman born around the same time, in similar places, with similar intelligence. They were carriers of the wolf gene, just like you and I. When the gene was ready and their inner wolves started to howl, each of them responded differently, and thus they wrote the stories by which they'll be remembered. 

Each was born in the Spring of the 1950's; one in Mississippi, one in Louisiana. He lived in the city, and was the son of working class parents. She lived in a country farm, and came from a generation of servant families. Her grandmother said to her one day, "You better learn how to wash those clothes and hang them on the line, because you'll be a maid the rest of your life." She looked out into the field, into the clear blue sky, and thought to herself, 'No, that's not right at all.'  It wasn't a thought - it was something she knew to be true, even as a 12-year old child.

As a kid He also knew that he was capable of doing great things. He was not a minority like she was, so his road may have even been a little easier. Yet for some reason he chose not to see his gifts like she did. He would attempt projects, but at the first sign of adversity, abandon them. Whereas she would grab the bull by the horns, and get back on whenever thrown off. She was highly motivated; he never did the "inner-work" necessary to find his passions.  

Fast forward 50 years later. She is the world's only Black billionaire. Her philanthropy has touched countless lives. She's raised over $51,000,000 for charitable programs of all kinds.

He lives in the same city he grew up in. Despite that he is known amongst many to be a man of great intelligence and potential, he struggles through life and does only the bare minimum to survive. Worse than that, he has denied the world the benefit it could have received from all his gifts.

As much as it pains me to share this story about Oprah Winfrey and my father, I feel that it is necessary. How do the lives of two people take on such a contrast? Why does one person feel a hunger to discover his calling, while another feels the desire to bury it deep inside them and pretend that it's not there?

We Are All Carriers, But We Are Not All Howlers

I feel the hunger, and I bet you do, too. Like the moon pulls the tides, it reaches into the werewolf's insides and begins to take control. He can't do anything about it - the metamorphosis is instant. Ugly horns as big as bananas sprout from his head; thick hair springs from the pores on his arms. Maybe he sprouts a few extra eyeballs. It reminds you of a scene from the video of M.J.'s Thriller. Maybe M.J. was trying to tell us something about our own inner wolves.

When the patient, flacid 'soul searching' part of you snaps like a twig the wolf comes to replace it. He's like a big, hairy, non-profit lawyer that smells bad and asks all sorts of questions for which most people don't have answers. Am I the only one who hasn't found her "calling"? Where is my burning desire for accomplishment? Why does this beast torment me? Why don't more people grapple with this? Are they afraid? Should I bury her back inside me, or allow myself to come.. La Loba? (the she-wolf.)

I found the beginning of these answers in a book, and not only did it soothe my Wolverine, it also compelled me to share it. I decided that the only wrong way to handle the Wolf is to ignore it. I do not fear it, as most people do. Instead, I would let it cover me like a coat. I decided I would trust that I'm exactly where I need to be inside this labyrinth of a search.

Perhaps life isn't about the exit-strategy.. Maybe it's about running inside the maze and finding different paths and people inside it. After all, the walls will continuously curve and change if you let them. And that makes the labyrinth an interesting place to be.

But the most important thing that I realized is that we have to embrace the wolf because the world needs to hear us howl. If you don't take the time to find yourself, your calling, and your gifts, then you have done a selfish thing indeed. You've denied the people, creatures, and the Earth of your contribution. 

We all have an equal chance to do something significant. But getting inspired is your own job, and no one else's. This is harder than it seems, and that's why I believe that once you've found your calling, your life would be greatly enriched by helping others do the same. How selfish are those who have discovered the great secret in life, but never share it.

Imagine that your favorite artist never wrote that one song you absolutely love. He sat around the house with a lot of good thoughts, but never found the motivation or courage inside himself to put them on paper. Or picture your favorite author before she started writing. What if she decided she couldn't bear the thought of the publisher's rejection, so she never sent off her manuscript? It would have been one more Pulitzer buried in the attic. Or how about if Thomas Edison had given up his 9,999th try at inventing the light bulb? After all, it took him 10,000 failures to hit pay dirt.

If the only contribution you can make at the moment is to raise your kids to be as great as they can be then go out and do it. Rear the next Mother Theresa or Steve Jobs. After all, that's all the man in "A Tale of Two People" could do. Do what you can with what you've got. That is the start of your calling. And don't stop.. don't limit your thinking. When one calling is fulfilled, look to the next full moon and find the next one. You could end up being the woman in the Tale, no matter where you came from.

All you have to see is that first step, and take it.. The staircase will reveal itself, said Dr. King. 

I believe that if we live our lives always searching for ways to bring a service to the world, then all our wants and needs will be satisfied by "Infinite Intelligence." Go in peace, friend. When you're ready to howl, you can count on me to be along for the ride.

Joy to You & Your Journey,
"La Loba"

---------------------------------------

"The whole point of being alive is to evolve into the complete person you were intended to be. "

Oprah Winfrey 

For Your Listening Pleasure:

Count On Me by Bruno Mars

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJYXItns2ik

 

Inspirations of This Week's Blog:

My good friend, a hard working woman, and my soul sister Courtney. Also Michael JR., her son who enjoys 'stroller skating'

The Creator, who sees my doubt as I stumble upon this dark path, and shines just enough light for me to continue.

What I'm Reading This Week:

What Should I Do with My Life?: The True Story of People Who Answered the Ultimate Question

by Po Bronson

What Are Old People For? How Elders Will Save The World

By William H. Thomas  

It's OK to fry your brain, but use good oil

"Testing: 1, 2, 3. Brain testing. 

Is this thing on?"

It's official, folks – I am hooked on crack.

Brain crack, that is. 

It's a harsh metaphor, but if you think about it, we all have some kind of cerebral drug. An intellectual stimulant, subject of interest, or even a game that we can't get enough of. We all choose to 'crack out,' just with different ingredients. How else can I describe my unexpected love affair with a subject that formerly sent alarm sirens blaring through my skull?

'Econ' is the quickest and most painless way that college students can refer to a subject that no one should broach unless in a moment of absolute necessity (you know, the night before a final, or at gunpoint). But Econ to me has recently taken on a new identity, and in the words of Nat King Cole, “ it's almost like being...... in loooooooooove!”

Before you wheel me to a room with rubber walls, let me plead a case for sanity. First, even if I am a finance geek, can't you think of worse things to be? (Like a real crack addict, or a “Wookie”). 

Second, the study of Economics provokes free thought and fun, intelligent, often controversial, conversation. This means you get to know people who not only follow the current financial situation in America, but have actually pooled enough neurons to form an original opinion about it. There is something sexy about a non-conformist; of that I'm sure. 

You may want to join this group of market watchers, and I'll give you some good reasons to do it. Many don't realize the consequences of all the money being printed by the Fed, or how it will affect them. But knowledge is power, especially in this case. We're cranking out $1 trillion a year with no signs of slowing down. That much cash is diluting our money supply, just like melting ice dilutes what was once a good, cold drink. This is why the American dollar has been losing its value for almost an entire century. 

This is also the reason that inflation will continue to rise. What does this imply for us average American joes? The game of follow the leader goes sour when the leader walks off the cliff. So you can be a sheep, and follow Uncle Sam into certain doom, or you can break formation. In order to think originally, you need information! This is where Economics can help you.

Clear your mind of what you think you know about Economics, and try to view it as an investment in yourself. Your mental health is your greatest asset, and therefore understanding money and the way societies use it is an essential foundation for anyone who hopes to exit the 9 to 5 rat race. These are not my words - they are those of a billionaire investor. When billionaires talk, it's probably a good idea to listen. 

The truth is we don't learn about the real value of money and assets in traditional school, so those of us who want to explore our curiosity about the market and use it to our advantage must take our education into our own hands. It doesn't matter if you have a little money or a lot. It's better to start off wise and poor than to suddenly find yourself rich, but with no idea as to how money works. As my father says, “a fool and his gold are soon parted.”  Sit back and think about all the people you know who suddenly earned or somehow came into a large sum. Chances are good that they burned right through it (just Google "the curse of the lottery" if you need extra assurance.) 

Yet if you choose to go against the majority, and allow yourself to be educated, you will be fascinated. 

For instance - do you know the difference between money and currency? And that one is much stronger than the other? Why do only 1 out of 10 people in Singapore drive a car, and does this have anything to do with the nation being home to a higher percentage of millionaires than any other in the world?

Would you be interested to know why have so many U.S. businesses have disappeared overseas, and what can you do to protect your money despite impending dollar inflation? How did Jim Rogers retire at 37 doing something you can do, too?

Oh, and should you consider being a farmer? According to some very wise, wealthy people, yes, you should!

Economics answers these questions, and will make you think about so many more. You might even get to the point like me at which you have a favorite economist. That's when you are knee-deep in dorkiness. Not even Screech from Saved by the Bell will challenge you at this point. But come on.. who wouldn't value the opinion of the only person to predict in detail the housing crash and depression of 2008 – 2010? Peter Schiff, cheers to you.

Does anyone smell a wealth transfer cooking? Crank up the heat. 

Cheers,

Cherry Pie

Leaders are Readers! ...What I'm Reading This Week:

Crash Proof 2.0 by Peter Schiff: interesting insight into how the U.S. got into its current mess, and how it's going to painfully wedge its way out 

The Advocate: the newspaper is powerful!

Environmental Report: How Asphalt Shingles Are Recycled, and Their Potential Uses

-----Do you have any good books to recommend? Please comment below..---- 

One of my goals of 2013 is to acknowledge those who inspire my blog posts, so, this week's inspirations are:

My Dad, who finally talked business today with me after what seems like years of pestering. Thanks, Grogg!

My future business partner who just by believing in me makes me feel invincible

My close friend Ray Schlabach, who has always inspired me to dream big

In love? Or just love stoned? Yes, you can tell the difference

"Strange Magic'  

There is a strange truth to love. It's that you can fall in love with pretty much anybody.  No qualifications and no logic needed.  Even more odd is that you can love how a person makes you feel, but not really love that person. The love stoned of the world are trying to build futures with people who aren't good matches for them, instead of looking for a better approach. If we want to break that cycle then we have to be smart about something that generally makes us stupid. 

Having observed many, many couples in all stages of romance, from googly-eyed, dopey lovers during the first 6 months to the "I never want to see you again and take your dog with you" after 7 itchy years, I invite you to share what I've learned.   

The Wheels On The Love Bus...  

Everyone knows someone who is in and out of relationships all the time. To start this story I will confess that I used to be one of those people. Then one day I decided I wanted just one relationship: a successful, fulfilling one. This is when I intentionally stopped dating, and started hanging out at "the bus stop."

The "bus stop" is where romance begins (and often subsequently implodes). We sit at love's bus stop and watch as the "buses" roll on by. We smile, wave, and keep on sitting. We sit through stormy weather and sunny days. We sit while friends jump on and jump off. We sit because we're having fun watching all the commotion on the buses even if we're not a part of it. For us, sitting is fun, because we know something that a lot of people don't: we know what we want. 

"We" are the lads and ladies who are single by choice. Our confidence comes from having taken the time to figure out what exactly we are looking for in a mate. Our expectations are high, yet reasonable. This is the first key and the home field advantage that many overlook completely - do you know what kind of person will make you happy?  

If you know the answer, then when Mr. or Mrs. So-Not-Right-For-Me comes along, you won't entertain the temptation. If you're serious about finding a sensible match, then you're going to need the discipline to resist the other buses that roll by. You need the patience to be single and hold out. If you're already on the wrong bus, then you won't be at the stop when the right one gets there to pick you up. I see too many friends hanging around in relationships they know have no destination, and all the while they are missing opportunities to meet people with whom they can have a long-term click instead of a brief, abrupt romance. 

If you can't handle these basics, then you don't know yourself that well. Your first step may be that - get to know you. After all, we can't expect someone to fall in love with us if we don't have any concept of what we need from others and what we're trying to become. It's ok to be a blank canvas.. Just have an idea of what kind of paint you'd like to splash on it.

You may think that you can get into a relationship and then try to find yourself and what makes you happy. This is a young fool's way of thinking, and many will tell you they have already learned it's a tough road down which to travel. It's almost impossible to do your inner homework while investing in a relationship. The time that you need to find "you" is already limited as it is by your career and family. As my friend Kelly Camp-Force once put it: "How do you expect to get to know you, if "you" are always busy trying to get to know someone else?"

Maybe you know a couple who just doesn't seem to have any spark or mental connection. Chances are good that these folks are mismatched. They never took the time to grow as people, and because of that, they don't have a clue as to what they want. They picked anybody, instead of picking somebody.

So if you haven't already, I encourage you to do your "research." 

Why Do Opposites Attract? Actually, They Don't

So let's say you know what you want. How do you find out if someone else has it? I know some questions that will put you on the right track. These will scare off the people who are wrong for you, and bring you closer to someone who is potentially right. Once you understand why we are asking this sort of questions, you will see that couples who seem opposite are in fact very much alike.

What are your values? What is your attitude toward life and people? If I disagree with you, will you still respect my opinion? Do you have goals? What are some qualities that you feel like you've always had, like being curious or competitive? Do you fight for what you want, or do you Let It Be? Do you love to learn? Do you, reader, see where I'm going? The answers to these questions reflect the real part of you, and the real part of whomever else answers them. These are the parts of a person that are less likely to change over time, which make them absolutely essential to understanding another human on a long-term basis.

Most people bypass these questions because they are too busy falling in love with what another person is "interested in," or with how another person "makes them feel."  That we love motorcycles, cooking, and action movies may make us more appealing, but these are skin-deep interests. They have nothing to do with what a potential mate will be like 10 years from now, because interests can change from day to day. But habits, and core values, are more likely to stick with us for life. 

After all, if the only thing you have in common is that you go out and drink together, what happens when one of you joins AA?  You might find yourself with someone that you really don't connect with at all.

Undervalue feelings, too, as unromantic as it sounds. Here's why: "love" puts us under the influence. It's on par with a fluffy chemical cocktail (think Madam Rue's Love Potion #9). The mind doesn't care if you have long-term compatibility, or if you would be friends this person if no sexual attraction existed. These important concepts are meaningless to it! All it knows is that it wants MORE! More novelty, flattery, and attraction! These are the hypnotic drugs prescribed by mother nature to keep the race intact. In turn they produce enough euphoria to convince you to do all sorts of idiotic things. It's so much like being high or intoxicated that we are literally too impaired to think straight. This is why we need to see prospective partners at a deeper level and try to catch a glimpse at how they think, instead of focusing entirely on how we feel when we're with them.  

Interestingly enough, this explains the common phenomenon "opposites attract". Partners who seem to be very different in terms of interests and personalities appear quite happy and suited for one another. Could it be that their souls are in agreement?  The next time you meet a couple like this, you will observe that while she may like routine and he is a lover of spontaneity, the ways in which they think about life in general, and how they perceive its challenges and great moments, are on the same wavelength. Therefore fickle interests, like skiing, sports, and soap operas, have no real merit.  It is our pattern of thoughts that ultimately attracts and bonds us.

Don't go looking for a couple like this.. Await that great little thing called Serendipity and she will bring one into your experience. When you meet these people, I challenge you to make the observations that we discussed. I personally know of a handful, and it's a remarkable thing to watch them interact. Two people who on the surface are like night and day somehow finish each others' sentences.

The tricky thing is that having this mental connection isn't enough by itself.. Romantic love at some level must accompany it. Often friends exhibit the same kind of "hey, you read my mind" phenomenon   If we can find it as friends, then what's to stop us from finding it in a long-term partner? The guy or gal who shares your attitude toward life and understands you may turn out to be a great, long-term match.  

Now you see, my friend, why I'm quite content at the bus stop. So hang up your hat and have a seat with me. We have a lot of fun here, us Spinsters ;) One day we will give up our seats when the right bus comes along. We'll reap the rewards of all our patience.  Life is too short to spend alone, and offers too much abundance for us to settle for something less than wonderful. 

Happy Hunting! 
Cha Cha 

Keeping me on my toes (all 9 of them)

One of the most devastating moments of a youngster's life is sure to be on the day he loses a favorite and necessary extremity, like a toe. I remember that day like it was yesterday.

A mirror that had yet to be mounted was left to chance in the hallway of our home. Somehow my prized, right pinky toe found the edge of that mirror as I came skipping out of the bath. And next was the red stuff. Loooooooots of it.

Naturally, this being my first "serious" injury as a tot of perhaps 8 years old, I was convinced that I was losing too much blood. And that on top of that, my toe was a goner. I began to compose its epitaph:  ....Thanks for the walks in the park.. Thanks for helping me learn the 'This little piggy' song... Thanks for being the caboose without a complaint. 

My neighbors were immediately dispatched. The tale began to spread, and we had no choice but to call upon Mommy Dearest, who was at one of her three jobs at the time. Poor Mom, as if she didn't have enough to worry about. Added to her charge now was the burial of my lost digit, and the rest of the 9-toed 8-year old left behind to grieve it.  

But to my surprise I got to keep that toe. It turned out that my perception of the injury was not nearly as bad as the injury itself. I took away an interesting lesson that day. The way we perceive things in the world changes our viewpoint, and our entire lives, completely. Sometimes we expect the worse, and get the best. Other times, it's vice versa. But at the end of the day - your take on the situation, how you decide to view your own circumstances - is all that's real. Everything else feels like details. 

Most of us are concerned about how others perceive us - but what about your perception of yourself?  What if you didn't care at all how others perceived you? How would you behave differently? I can give you a good example. My Acting teacher, Dr. Tony Medlin, is a nothing short of a salaried toilet that you might find at the end of your neighbor's driveway. He is a foul man with no filter who is not afraid to piss you off. In fact, that's his goal. And my is he fascinating.

The best thing about Dr. Tony is that he doesn't give a care in the world whether you like him or not. He is a real person who hides nothing. If you can accept him at face value, he will help lead you to treasure: "There are diamonds in the river of shit if you aren't afraid to go in!" He declares as he stands at the front of the class.

"You bastard, quit getting here late," he regularly barks at a student who is habitually tardy. While we play Improv and warm-up games he bawls out, "Stop sucking!" And you know happens next? We start improving. As students we know that we are to show up to his class "on our game." That is what's expected of us, and while not everyone rises to the challenge, most of us do. We have been inspired to take an elective more seriously. He's keeping us on our toes because we're forced to think on our feet.

My perception of Dr. Tony is that he lives a very rich life because he is himself 100% of the day. I wonder what life would be like if we could just all let our guards down. 

Our family cat, Louis, hates me, no doubt, when I let my own guard down. His quiet afternoon snooze on the sofa of our home is loudly interrupted any time I am left home by myself. As soon as I hear the last car roar off I run to the stereo and crank it up. And that's the moment when I transform.

I am a footloose Kevin Bacon meets a maniac of a Flashdancer. I pounce on top of furniture and get down for the caterpillar carpet burn. My air guitar puts David Lee Roth to shame. On a good day I'll even slide down the hallway in my socks and undies, making Tom Cruise look like my amateur stunt double.   

Even if I only have 5 minutes to 'rock out' I do. Prince's Let's Go Crazy lets the bull right out of the gate. Sometimes I'll slow it down for songs like the Beautiful Ones, and I imagine that I'm Queen Mab of a new branch of ballet, "Stripper With Her Clothes On." This, right here, is the realest side of me.. It's when I feel the most free and the least judged. I believe that we are all a little afraid of judgement, and of that word again, perception. 

So I guess if I could send out a message, I would send out one like Dr. Tony's. Don't be afraid to do your own Mashed Potato. Even if today you can only be "you" in private, this is one step closer to being "you" in public tomorrow. Maybe one of your toes will pop off. Maybe you'll lose blood some other way. But Mom, or a friend (or one of those creepy, magic State Farm agents) will appear, and your wound will heal. It will be well worth the pain just to feel a bit of freedom. 

When are you the most free? 

Two eyes, and one mouth: my favorite disproportion

“Try to live with the same intensity as a child. He doesn't ask for explanations; he dives into each day as if it were a new adventure and, at night, sleeps tired and happy.”
― Paulo Coelho, Warrior of the Light 

...........................................................................................................

I know what you're thinking - it's two ears, and one mouth. Well, my friend, you are both mistaken and correct (which makes you a paradox, hmmm :).

You're correct in remembering the accuracy of the old adage that we're born with two ears and one mouth - a reminder that we ought to listen more than we speak. But you've mistakenly assumed that I intended to use this adage. I am, on the contrary and with your help, re-writing it. 

You have thus, since February 20, 2013, been re-born: now with two bright, curious eyes and one two-lipped speaker. Now you will join people across the world who already understand that in order to pursue personal development and a full, and happy life, then they must forget about their ears (and that silly old adage.)

It is flawed in nature, you see. Whoever invented it to begin with wants us to believe that it is better to listen than to speak, working inside the idea that those who speak know more than we do, and therefore, in order to learn, it's best to shut our eager cans.

When I was young I bought that line. But not anymore now that I've got a few grey hairs. At first I feared them and plucked them. Now I like to think of them as my brain's expression of speedy expansion. Riddle me this, Batman: have you considered your sources, lately? Who are you listening to, and do you trust them with your well-being? Much of what we do and think is influenced by those around us. Are you listening to people who have what you want and do what you want to do?  Are the TV talking heads telling the truth, or just saying what people want to hear? 

You tell me to beware of my own mouth, and to listen in a free and unfiltered manner to the hogwash that flies out of the traps of others. I might as well kiss a pig after a mud bath. 

I challenge you, old adage, to a modern duel. And I challenge you who reads this, who obviously has the gift of sight and ability to analyze and obtain information, to close your ears. All around you are people are not qualified to speak into them. We must be cautious and guard our greatest possession of all - our minds. I call upon you to install your own filter, or your water system will be tainted. Don't you know that he who can read, but doesn't, is equal to a man who cannot? Be a man - or woman - who can. 

Accept my challenge and read a new book this week. Investigate your author and see if he has the experience and assets, whether intellectual or financial, to dispense such advice. And if he doesn't, keep searching.

I look forward to hearing your feedback. Oops, I meant seeing :) 

Con mucho amor,

Cha Cha  

My Book List This Week:

Warrior of the Light by Paulo Cohelo  
The Real Crash by Peter Schiff 

Last Week: How To Win Friends and Influence People, by Dale Carnegie
 


Special Thanks To Inspirations of This Year's First Blog:

-Miss Patricia Garcia, who knows in what section of Barnes & Nobles to abandon me for hours without food and water

-Andrew Anderson and his latest blog about how the sound of orange juice pouring might control your destiny

Why I don't believe in coincidences

Ana Alverado has been sent to my office to get registered on the new time clock. Instead of a simple meeting, I have managed to make her cry. It's not even 10:30 am, yet it's a typical Wednesday here at United 1 Labs.

As the on-site supervisor for a manufacturing plant I have all sorts of interesting "to-do's," the most massive of which in my first week has been to register 200 or so Hispanic employees into our fancy, new time clock. The clock captures an image of each person's thumb so that he or she can clock in with nothing but a fingerprint. Unlike the old time cards, employees can't leave their fingers at home. Or so I hope.

So one by one I pull the ladies and gents out of production and start thumb-printing. It was all a very smooth process until Ana came along.

Ana is one of the oldest employees on the staff. Considering the difficulty and hot conditions of the product lines, I am surprised to see her there at all. She's in her mid-50's. She has salt and pepper hair that the color grey is trying to take over, but hasn't quite made it all the way. Her eyes are dark brown. They look calm and kind. She looks much older than she is, much like a grandmother. But you can see the age only in her face, as though it was put there by a great emotional weight.  

I register Ana, but before she leaves to return to production, she remains seated in the purple chair next to my desk. The wall in front of her is a wide, tall glass window, and she looks out of it a moment before speaking in Spanish.

"I have been with the company for 4 years. I work very hard, despite my age, and the gentlemen of the company congratulate me. I need help to get my vacation check. I do not want to take off, I just want to keep working and get the check. How can we do it?"

With plenty more employees waiting to give me their prints I really don't have much time for conversation. But something.. A little inkling that comes from no where tells me to spend a little more time with her. So I do just that.

I hear myself respond in my ultra-Gringa accent. "Is this your only job?"

"No," she goes on in Spanish. "I work at night, too, where I clean offices. I get home at about midnight, then I come back to the plant at 6 in the morning. Every day."

Her tone is not arrogant. She is not bragging, neither looking for sympathy. I don't even think she is proud. She is simply.. determined. And I simply cannot resist but press further.

"Forgive my frankness," I begin, "But may I ask what motivates you?"

Ana's eyes, creased with tiny, yet somehow darling wrinkles, change immediately. I have obviously caught her off guard. I am, after all, supposed to be an authority figure. My question has exposed my own vulnerability in acknowledging that I may benefit from what my employee, a subordinate, has to say. I probably shouldn't have asked it. But there is no turning back.

At that moment, as though this was the first time in a long time in which someone had shown an interest in her aspirations, her expression brightened. "What motivates me?" She repeats aloud, pensively, as though saying the question will help her process the answer. "Well," she begins. 

And Ana's story unfolds. 

We flash back to the night Ana plays over in her head every day without fail. Her dear son, a newlywed, called her on the way home from work. It was 11:45 PM on Thursday in Dallas. He asked her if she wanted something to eat, then suddenly said in a panic, "Mom, something is happening. Something is happening. I love you so much. Take care-" Then the phone disconnected. 

It has been two years since that night. To this day, when Ana is not working, she takes the bus to Dallas, where she posts flyers in local businesses and telephone poles. The flyers have a picture of her son, and offer a $10,000 reward for information that will lead to the arrest of the men who took his life that night. "The facts don't add up," she says in tears. "Why was the passenger door open if his car crashed? Did the car crash before or after he was shot? I have so many unanswered questions," she sobs through bloodshot eyes.

One year after losing her son, Ana became a widow when her husband was hit by a drunk driver. In fact, in a 5-year span, Ana has lost the people closest to her: her parents, son, and soulmate. 

Still, something keeps her moving. If she can just save a little more money, she can pay to bring her grandson back from Guatemala. He is a citizen, but has to pay a penalty for being out of the country so long. She has hope.. Something to work for. Her grandson, she says, is all she has left of her son. 

And so, Ana keeps on working. It doesn't matter that her hands and feet are tired, or that she hasn't had a day off for as far back as she can remember. She still has a reason to go on.

Seated across from Ana I realize that I am no longer the "Supervisora." That part of me has temporarily left my body. I have been reduced to a human, a mere mortal incredibly swayed by the strength of a woman who has been drug through hell and back, and yet finds a way to get out of bed every morning and work to the bone. I want to bust down the door to my boss's office, jump on top of his $5,000 desk, and demand four weeks of paid vacation for Ana, one week for every year she has been with the company. I want to overdraw my bank account to give her the $1500 she needs to bring her grandson back here. 

But what I want most is to go to the police station and demand to know what those pigs have done to find the pieces of shit who took her son to an ATM and then shot him twice in the back. Or have 5 minutes alone with the jackass who chose to drive drunk and change this innocent woman's life forever. They took more than two lives. They took Ana's, too. Her joy, her memories. God forgive me but may they meet an unbearable end.

Ana gets up to leave, and I stand up, too. "Please come and find me if I can help you in any way." 

Later in the day I thought long and hard about the kind of courage it would take to push forward despite those kinds of circumstances. A situation at work made me stay later than usual, but around 5 I was headed home. At the precise moment I was pulling out of the office I saw someone in the company uniform walking down the street. As I slowed down, I realized it was Ana. And I inexplicably knew, without a doubt, that we were crossing paths again for a reason. I drove her across town to her next job, and on the way, she could talk of nothing but her love for her lost son and husband. Her grief was almost palpable.

Then she said she was so glad I had stopped, because she had wanted to ask me for a favor, but wasn't certain if it was appropriate. With great humility she asked if I would spare just a few minutes every week or so to call for news about her son's case. She had been anxious for answers, but unable to communicate with the English-speaking investigator.

For the second time in one day, I watched Ana wipe tears from her face as she thanked me for listening to her. I told her it had been my pleasure. I've never spoken truer words.   

Wearing my Trench coat, and wearing it well

Do you ever find yourself looking around and saying, "How exactly did I get here?" This, my friends, is the story of my life. Despite that I set out with a chief aim and fiery determination, the curve balls start ripping out of no where, faster than I can keep up. The only thing left to do is catch what I can and dodge the rest. 

I had somehow convinced myself that I could be lucky, really lucky, in the same career field twice in a lifetime. I was sure that if I packed up my things and said goodbye to everyone I know then I'd be back soon enough with the same pile of cash that I had made those short years ago. I'd achieve my dream of paying off my credit, and I'd find a fun, lucrative business to pour my heart into.

I wanted so badly to re-create the magic I felt back when I first started doing home renovation sales. I didn't even know I was a salesperson I was having so much fun.  But the playing field has changed, and the years..Well, they have changed me.

As we get older, we become wiser, and it isn't always to our advantage. We become painfully aware of our own weaknesses and flaws. Those of us who are ambitious must work harder to overcome rejection and our fears of not being good enough. I am much like a child who at 7 cheerfully dances at a birthday party, but at 13 has become far to shy to dare take such a risk.

Sometimes, I long for that ignorance. I wish learning could be retroactive. I wonder what it would be like to have a Benjamin Button sort of life.

So what that I have literally hundreds of competitors? Yes, it's 110 degrees outside, and I'm melting like a snow cone, but sunblock is in stock. Never mind a social life, family reunions, meeting my nephew, and having a day off every now and then. I'm certain that I'll get over the awful smells of my second job. And hey, there's always the option of buying my own health insurance since neither of my employers offer it.

These things are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.. right? One of my favorite all-time quotes that I try to say to myself every day...

"If I do what is easy, then later my life will be hard. If I do what is hard, then later my life will be easy."

I have made the decision that I will be financially independent, and if that means rolling in the trenches, then hand me my Trench Coat. My future will not be that of someone stuck in a job that he or she does not enjoy because they were not willing to look harder for opportunities.

So I guess I am complaining because I want so badly to complain, but the best thing to do is shut my mouth, go back to work, and daydream of the day when life is easier. When I throw ridiculously large theme parties for my closest friends' birthdays.. When I build my dream home with secret passageways and slides that take you downstairs. I'll invite my loved ones to stay, and maybe they'll never leave. My non-profit organizations will jump, jive, and wail. My private chef will be tragically overpaid, and my pool boy will be of humble origins.. Tan and dirty.. I can see him now.

I know these days will come, and the thought of them keep me going.

Attracting opportunity

Why does the water drip so slooooooooowly?

Lately the theme of my life has been attracting opportunity. And I mean, quality opportunity. It's working out so far, but sometimes the process gets the hiccups.

Helping people who want to help themselves is a pleasurable, fun experience that I want more of. I take joy in watching an opportunist blossom now that someone else believes in him (or her :). The people who surround us and support us are more important than many of us realize.  

But I am only one person, and self motivation is not exactly my forte. Some days it's at 100%. I'm a purebred stallion (or at least Mr. Ed) barreling through the inside lane in full form. Dant-ta-da-daaaaa! 

Other days I have to go back to my goal list and make a concerted effort to remind myself of why I began this journey, and why I deserve to be better than average. If I could just be one of those ultra-energetic people, all the time. My production would be through the roof. Where is Olivia Newton-John when you need her?  

Let's get physical, physical!

Have you guys ever seen her in concert? That woman is en llames!

At this point I'd even settle for Richard Simmons.

So yes, there is a tiny seed inside of me that wants to and is sprouting. One day, out of nowhere, it's going to become a beanstalk, and I will scale it all the way arriba, until I find my big-toothed giant with a sloppy grin. My big business idea. He will stare down at me and say, what took you so long?

I remind myself not to rush it - but to push for 120% every day. One day soon I'll say to Mom: Mom, the day has come. You don't have to work anymore. Let's go check out the borealis.

I cling to tiny, yet powerful aspirations like these. They help me keep the seed watered...

How do you keep watering yours?

This is Cherry Pie in the Capitol City, signing off for now.

Unraveling the latest mystery

Stocks of the 1800's and the year 2012:  I see similarities! :)~

A great mystery has been solved this 12th day of March.

For years after reading The Awakening I wondered why exactly the lovely Mrs. Pontellier chose to fling herself into the sea at the end of the novel. Now I understand: Mr. Pontellier made her do his E-trading.

Ok, ok - so the online brokers aren't quite so maddening to work with. But learning the process is frustrating enough to make anyone want to find a cliff and go out Castaway style.  

I thought I'd take advantage of today's grumpy weather by diving into the elusive investment realm known as the stock market. (Did anyone just shiver? :D) Just the mention of stocks and I think of hundreds of well-dressed brokers pooling on the floor of the Exchange, arms flailing as the Big Business tycoons watch them through their Vegas-like "eye in the sky." I always wondered, what's written on the little pieces of paper they wave determinedly in the air? Are they the last Golden Tickets? Hehe. 

A tip in the Business section of the local paper has me convinced that an Argentina-based company with a promising future will be the perfect stock to christen my bright new portfolio.  So I rev the engine of my cherry red '72 Camaro (in reality, my comfy home office chair) and jump onto the internet Superhighway, ready to burn some serious informational rubber. After two hours of research, though, my engine is broke down, and spitting out more smoke than pot puffers at a Van Halen concert. 

Limit orders? Day only stocks? Much like the auto industry, stock trading seems to have a dialect of its own. Don't get me wrong - I'm a fan of foreign language, especially the romantic ones. But I can't imagine being wooed by anything called "market capitalization".

Yet I also can't imagine a broker taking hefty commissions on my earnings. So I'm faced with the decision of spending long hours to educate myself, which still may not qualify me as a financial adviser, or let an experienced trader handle my moolah.

The problem is that I am a do-it-yourselfer. Another "male trait" I somehow inherited, you could say. I don't like to give up control - or hard-earned cash - unless I absolutely have to. Anybody else feel this way?

And so - you guessed it - I'm getting under the hood to fix her myself. In other words etrade.com and I are about to have a roll in the hay. I figure the worst that could happen is that I get frustrated and start flailing my hands in the air like those Wall Street junkies. At least by that point I'll have something in common with the real hard-hitters, which is one step above being an amateur :)  

I figure as long as I run the race tortoise style, slow and steady, I'll be able to fend for my own. Take that, you bunch of Hares.   

This is Cha Cha, signing off. :)