Excerpt from Conference Call

This is the excerpt from my short story in the Bella Books anthology “Conference Call.” All of the proceeds from this anthology go to benefit the Golden Crown Literary Society. If you want the rest of the story, buy the book – available July 20th here.

It was an affair. It was a tawdry affair between two women who should have known better. That’s what we all thought. We watched it happen at the Golden Crown Literary Society conference in DC. There was a palpable energy between them that the most sensitive of us noticed immediately. We sat in the lobby with our coffee, water, and breakfast sandwiches and watched as Maddie walked past the registration desk. Her eyes scanned the room and we held our breath, wanting her gaze to fall on us, to pick us out of the crowd. Maddie moved through the conference with the grace and confidence of someone who felt at home at the con and we all watched her. But Justine sat up like a prairie dog and Maddie’s eyes landed on her. Time froze, or we did, as the electricity between the two of them exploded into a million pieces in front of us.

Justine stood and crossed the room, her eyes locked on Maddie as she walked. They hugged and somehow, we all felt the press of their bodies, felt the way their arms wove around each other, their hips pressed together. From that second on, we were invisible. We sat in on their author readings and we went to their panels, but we were invisible. Oh, Maddie still smiled and laughed with us, and she answered our questions, but her mind was always somewhere else. When Justine walked in the room, a lightning bolt of energy sizzled between them and the rest of us disappeared. Though Maddie would turn back to talk to us, a secret smile remained, and we knew Justine had somehow touched a part of her that no one else ever had.

We stood next to them at the lunch buffet, watching as they carefully didn’t touch. Their bodies craned toward each other until they caught themselves and rearranged the space between them to an appropriate distance. We could feel the pull as they found seats next to each other at a table. They made conversation with people nearby but their arms somehow kept touching or they bumped hands as they ate.

We whispered words like adultery and cheating and homewrecker. It was an affair and we didn’t approve. We heard whispers that Justine was emotionally abused at home and we nodded righteously. Justine was married and we didn’t care how unhappily. She should leave first. There’s no excuse for adultery.

Maddie was partnered and we didn’t know if there were long, lonely nights crying in bed. It didn’t matter. It was an affair. That’s what we all thought. But we watched them laugh together at shared jokes no one else found funny. We felt the emotion underneath the attraction. It was starting to look like something more.

We saw them standing close, heads bent together, having a quiet, intense conversation. Justine blinked out a tear and Maddie brushed it away softly, her fingers lingering on the smooth skin of Justine’s cheek. They didn’t see us, though we passed quite close.  Love of my life, we thought we heard one of them mutter. We overheard them talking several times, and we marveled at the conversations. I’ve never felt so accepted in my life. I can’t remember ever being so heard.
We sat behind them at the movie and watched the way their shoulders touched as they leaned together. We nudged each other knowingly when Maddie put her arm around Justine, secure perhaps, in the invisibility of the darkened room. We ended up at the same table during karaoke and we watched the ways their eyes flicked toward each other whenever someone butchered a particularly sappy love song. We heard the sighs, we saw the longing, and we felt the pain and ecstasy. We started to smile at them during master classes and some of us were whispering the word love.

One day we walked behind them through the garden path of the hotel, and we saw their hands come together. Their fingers entwined and they looked at each other. For a second our hearts stopped. We questioned our own lives. We wondered if it could happen to us. We thought about our own long lonely nights and bitter tears. We remembered the deep love we felt for the friends and partners we’d met at the conference. We touched the hands of our lovers and smiled, wondering if Maddie and Justine felt what we felt. We wondered if they had experienced that jolt, that moment of recognition. We remembered the instant we had looked into each other’s eyes and knew that somehow, after all of the years of feeling out of sorts, we finally felt the last piece of the puzzle slipping naturally into place. We looked at their faces and thought, if only for a minute, that just maybe they were feeling the same thing we felt when we knew we had finally found the one.

It was an affair. That’s what we all thought.

Love and Healing – Michfest 2013

It has been just about a month since the end of this year’s Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival and I am finally sitting down to blog about it. The fact that I haven’t written about it doesn’t mean that I haven’t been thinking about it. In fact, I think about fest every day. I send messages to, text with, and talk to other festies every day. But every time I have sat down to start writing about it, I’ve been overwhelmed by the barrage of memories that I want to somehow get down. beth and jes the line

Last year was my first fest. Yes, I was a virgin. I went in with no expectations and experienced a world beyond my dreams. I found a place where womyn of every size, color, age, shape, etc can find acceptance and safety. I found a place where I could be myself, where I could find laughter when I wanted it, tears when I needed it, music when I wanted to dance, hugs when I needed contact. I reconnected with my BFF and soul sister, Kim. I met new soul sisters. I experienced what was, for me, a complete validation of everything I had been working on for myself since the end of my last long term relationship. That is, I am a loved and lovable woman and I am strong enough to live my own life on my own terms. Pretty powerful lessons. My life changed after last year’s fest. I had a magical year. I think I can say that the year between fest 2012 and fest 2013 was the best year I have ever had in my life.
Fast forward to fest 2013. I’m an old pro at this point. I totally know what I’m in for, and I am ready! Of course, I know my fest experience is going to be made a bit easier this year by the fact that my dear friend Jenny is bringing a tent, air mattresses, all of the stuff needed to cook and make tea, chairs, tables, food, etc. All I had to do was show up with my sleeping bag and my clothes and help her set this stuff up. Easy peasy.

ImageLast year, I set out to do *EVERYTHING* I could possibly do. Yes, I want to see that band, and I want to go to that workshop and I want to learn how to throw a tomahawk and I want to go go go until I can barely stand to keep my eyes open another minute. This year, I decided to just relax and go with the flow. I went to a couple of workshops and I went to a couple of concerts. Jenny and I went to the dildo olympics where I was proud of myself for throwing the dildo javelin thirty-five feet until the next person threw hers sixty feet and the record holder walloped hers a full eight-five feet. That’s a hell of a dildo throw. I went to a meditation and journaling workshop. I lounged in the grass at day stage listening to music. I did my workshifts, both of them, in the main kitchen. There is something soothing about helping to feed thousands of womyn…. the nurturer in me cherished the idea of helping to set out meals for all of my sisters. The camaraderie of sitting around hot, soapy water with other womyn as we told our stories and listened to each other was the embodiment of what I love about fest.

I relaxed at the camp site with Jenny. Sometimes we were alone, sometimes we got visitors. Sometimes we were invited to go off to see some music or visit someone’s camp…. sometimes we went. Sometimes only I did.

Most nights, after a day of workshops or concerts or meeting new womyn, I got on my then girlfriend’s shuttle and sat on the engine block and rode with her for her last couple of rounds of the night. After, we would lay a blanket out on the ground in a field and watch the stars or talk or kiss or just quietly enjoy each other’s company.

Last year, fest was an education for me. This year, it was about relaxing and enjoying the fruits of those lessons. Last year, I was introduced to the radical concept that womyn are amazingly powerful. This year, I affectionately watched that concept in action. Last year, I was starry eyed and awed and dumbfounded and a little overwhelmed. This year, I was proud…. Proud of myself for how far I have come in a year. Proud of the womyn who put together this incredible festival. Proud of Lisa Vogel who had a vision and made it come true. Proud of the girls who have been raised in an environment where they can see the future of who they can be, combating the ideas that are often forced upon them by the media and school and other outside influences that womyn have to be a certain way and smell a certain way and act a certain way in order to fit in to the societally proscribed paradigm of a woman. Proud of my friends for being part of making this space where womyn are safe, where we can walk in the woods alone after dark and not be afraid of anything. (Except, if you are me, spiders.) Proud of all of us for understanding that in this world, it is still important for womyn to have a place where we can go and be womyn without expectations, womyn on our own, womyn who have been raised in different environments, with different socio-economic backgrounds, different family structures, but with one common denominator… we were born girls and we were raised into womyn and sometimes the lessons that came with that development were painful, but we are in it together and no matter what else the world throws at us, at least we know we have this last bastion of safety and love and healing.

I don’t know what this year will bring. It’s hard to imagine anything being better than the growth and healing I experienced after last fest. But I am coming into this year as a new woman, as a woman who loves herself and believes in herself and who knows that whatever I decide to do in life will be the right thing for me because I am worth that kind of self-love and consideration. Fest gave that to me.

See you in August.

Authors helping authors. The Golden Crown Literary Society 2013 Conference.

My favorite author.
My favorite author.

I crawled into bed with Linda Kay Silva. Sure, there were other takeaways from the Golden Crown Literary Society conference in Dallas this year, but let’s face it, there isn’t much that can top crawling into bed with Linda Kay. Sure,I flirted with Georgia Beers, traded quips with Andi Marquette, and almost knocked Lynn Ames over in the hallway, but those things were just icing on the cake.

I participated in a incredible panel that I, unfortunately, had to leave ten minutes early because of a migraine. The panel was fantastic, though. I remember people laughing and I think it was when I was actually saying something funny.

I danced ceaselessly. You have got to love a gathering of lesbians… even of woman of size doesn’t have to sit out a dance, not one. I slow danced. I fast danced. I danced in the dining room. I danced in my room. I had one short, but memorable dance in the elevator with a woman who prefers to remain nameless. I danced at the awards banquet. I dragged one woman onto the dance floor though she insisted she felt self-conscious and next thing I knew, she was out there doing the electric slide. I danced with everyone who wanted to dance. I even danced at karaoke.

And speaking of karaoke. I road tripped and roomed with Dutch, a woman who is so far beyond crazy, it will take the light from crazy seven point three billion years to reach her. On Karaoke night, Dutch came back to our room about an hour after I did. Thinking I would be interested in hearing every single little thing that had happened in that hour, she decided to recap. She was so enthusiastically reenacting her karaoke debut that she slid across the room on her knees singing, “You’re the one that I want.” Moments later, we got a call from the front desk telling us very politely to shut the hell up. Dutch made history, though, when she wore her Army dress uniform to the awards ceremony. It’s a reminder that gays and lesbians have made major leaps forward in the fight for equality, and the fact that an out lesbian can now wear her uniform to a gathering of lesbian literary people is huge.

I finally met my publisher in person and learned that I truly like her as a person. She is kind of like the Godfather…. “My loyalty is to the family.” (Picture Marlon Brando, only tall, slender, and sexy.) It feels good to be part of the Sapphire Books Publishing family; like I can point out someone who was mean to me and they’ll end up with a horse head in their bed. In all seriousness, though, when I broke my glasses on Liz McMullen’s breasts, the first thing I did was turn to Isabella with the two pieces and a pout and she took them and tried to fix them. When my migraine made me sick to my stomach, she showed up with a cool rag and a glass of water. After that, I kept referring to her as a nurturer… perhaps because of that, I felt comfortable enough to talk about personal subjects with her. And one of my favorite memories of Isabella was sitting in her room, telling her all about my love life (or lack thereof.) She gestured to herself, sitting cross-legged on the bed with her arms wrapped around her knees and said, “What about my body language says, ‘please share this with me?’”

I made contacts and I made friends. I networked, I laughed, I shared meals, I hugged most everyone. Some more than once. I signed autographs… lots of autographs, actually. Some of them were even requested. I met so many wonderful people that I can’t possibly begin to list them all. Schileen who kept coming out with zingers that made me spit out my drink. Aschleigh who for the first time got to see what it’s like to hang out with a bunch of lesbians. Jaynes who gave me a neck rub and cured my migraine… And yet…

My takeaway from this conference is that I crawled into bed with Linda Kay Silva. I’m not going to tell the story. First of all, the actual story is way more mundane than the first sentence. Second, I want to leave it to the readers’ imaginations. Perhaps they’ll write fan fiction about it. (If so, could you make me a tall, buff blond with large but perky breasts? And make sure to write a whole scene in which LK pursues me with panting ardor. Thanks.) Suffice to say, there I was, in bed with Linda Kay Silva, my hero, my mentor, my former professor, and now my dear friend. Linda has the distinction of being the reason I even wrote my first novel in the first place. She forced me to work and rework every line of every chapter. I spent several long days cursing her out as I labored over my (ALREADY) edited manuscript. She helped me put out a better product. Her online persona is that of a powerhouse who is larger than life. Her real world persona is exactly the same.

The reason I’m gushing over LK (I mean, besides the obvious fact that I have had a huge crush on her for many years) is that she said something in the acceptance speech she made for her award that I feel needs to be readdressed. She said that older and established authors should mentor someone. I can’t stress enough how much her mentoring did for my writing career. I can’t begin to imagine where I would be without that support, that teaching, that love. And I am going to carry that forward and mentor someone else. When a young writer asked me to read her manuscript recently, I thought about it for a second. I thought about working full-time, going to school full-time, trying to cram in time to write, and the sheer volume of time it takes to nurse my new and borderline unhealthy fascination with author Yvonne Heidt… I almost said no. I almost said, in the politest way possible, that I don’t have time to read someone else’s manuscript right now. And then I thought about Linda. She’s a full-time professor, a full-time writer, a friend to many, a turtle rescuer, a chronicler of the adventures of Alan, and a fastidious perfectionist in regards to  her own work. Yet, she still found time to offer me some really valid criticism of my first novel. She made time before we were even friends to encourage me to write and to keep encouraging me when the self-doubt started kicking in. She spent many hours on the phone, walking me through the ins and outs of being an author and putting out a great product. It’s not an exaggeration to say that I don’t believe I would be here, writing this blog, if it wasn’t for her.

So, I called my young friend back and I said that I would absolutely love to read her manuscript. In the course of the conversation, I was able to tell her some advice that I’ve now embraced since becoming an author. I spent a great deal of time offering suggestions and tips and yes, friendship. And I realized that my takeaway from Linda Kay is that as lesfic authors, it is our duty to care about and be willing to help other authors. And maybe someday, my young friend will be a published author and she’ll turn around and help someone else who wants to be a part of all of this magic.

Or maybe someday, she’ll be writing a blog about crawling into bed with me. A girl can dream, right?

Well, here we go again.

So, I’m back at the day job. I have to admit, when I left last fall, I didn’t think I would be back. I think I kind of halfway expected that I would be a famous novelist, living in a quaint and cozy (but fully insulated and close to cool things like meditation groups, thrift stores, and Trader Joe’s) log cabin in the woods, working on my third or fourth novel, living in a completely satisfying, but not too ostentatious manner on the regularly rolling in royalties.

Well, that didn’t work out. Things happened…. like my van dying in Illinois while on a road trip and needing to buy a new car. Little things like bills. And the fact that I was kind of floundering about how to even market my charming and engaging first novel. Don’t get me wrong, I love “Man Enough.” The reviews were fantastic. Old, churchy straight people loved it. Young, transsexual twenty somethings loved it. Middle aged moms of gay people loved it. My friend’s grandmother loved it. It won an award. I was invited to speak to a couple of groups. I even did an interview. But… Well, it just didn’t hit a wider audience. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of how well “Man Enough” sold for a first novel. Very proud. And I’m proud of the fact that I even wrote a novel and got it published. And I am proud of the fact that my second novel is coming out in a week. And I am proud of the fact that I am midway through my third novel and already making notes for the fourth. I’m proud. I’m happy.

But then, dammit. I’m working at a grocery store again.

Still, I feel as if I’m moving forward. Small steps, day by day. My publisher has gotten our books into a couple of bookstores and is working on more. We are looking at setting up a couple of signings. I’m going to Dallas for the GCLS literary conference in June. I have a radio interview in a couple of weeks for a lesbian radio show in Madison, Wisconsin. I just hired a wonderful daughter of a friend who sent out press releases to one hundred sources in hopes of getting reviews or interviews.

One step at a time, one book at a time. One interview at a time. One conference at a time. And in the meantime, I need a steady paycheck to help pay the bills and buy dog food. (For Brutus, not me.)

Is it a failure? Not at all. Is it a step backward? Well, maybe. But it is a necessary step that will lead to more steps forward. I am on a journey to follow my dreams and sometimes journeys involve turns and forks in the road, and sometimes, you have to make a u-turn and drive back the way you came for a while, and that’s okay, because the main thing is not how long it takes me to get to my destination, but the fact that I even started the journey at all.

If there is one thing I have learned in the past couple of years is that the best way to get what you want in life is to be grateful for what you already have. I am grateful. I’m more than grateful…. I’m blessed. I’m blessed with a love of writing. I’m blessed with loving and beautiful friends who are my soul mates. I’m blessed with an amazing mom who not only let me move back in with her, but who constantly watches (and spoils) my dog when I make my frequent trips out of town. I’m blessed that I am not afraid to try.

Don’t be afraid to try. I guess that’s the biggest thing I’ve taken from this whole adventure. If you want to do something, just do it. If it doesn’t work out, you’ve done so much more than you would have done if you had never tried. So, I am keeping my heart and mind open. I’m setting my intention to the universe. I want to be a writer who lives off of her writing for the rest of my life. And I want to put out progressively better books and articles. A movie deal wouldn’t come amiss, either.

No matter what happens, though, I am going to keep my heart filled with gratitude for what I already have and for what I have already accomplished. I am going to keep moving forward without trivializing what I have in the present. I am going to live mindfully, while allowing for reaching for my dreams.

Seems as if I have finally achieved a beautiful balance between living in the moment and preparing for the future. That, my friends, is a lovely lesson indeed.

The Art of Not Taking it Personally

Don Miguel Ruiz, in one of his Four Agreements, wrote, “Don’t take it personally.”  This is a variation on a standard theme within spirituality circles and frankly, I’ve had quite a problem with it. When you get into a situation where someone is abusing you, or calling you names, or bullying a child, how do you not take it personally?

Or, to bring it closer to home, when your partner is being an ass, how do you not take it personally? If you have a hubby who decides he would rather watch baseball than go to dinner with you? What about a sister who tells you that you look fat in that outfit? Your best friend doesn’t return your phone call for a week? Your boss is just plain being a dick?

This is where I have been struggling. It’s all very well and good to say to not take things personally, but how do you reconcile trying to live that without letting someone treat you like a doormat?

And then today, while walking the dog (and I really do seem to always get these periods of illumination during the dog’s elimination), it became clear to me why I can’t take it personally.

See, I have spent a great deal of time over the past couple of years moving into a place on non-judgment. I think it is a process, and it takes practice. For example, when someone comes into the room wearing a strange outfit, and the people I am with make fun of it, I do not. I don’t think anything about it. In fact, I understand that the judgment speaks way more about the person making fun than it does about the person wearing the original outfit. And I have been pretty fond of trying to help others come to a place of non-judgment. For example, in a friend’s recent Facebook thread, there was a heated discussion about people being bothered by seeing adults out in public in pajama pants. Well, I countered that we could never know the whole story as to why they are wearing pajama pants, so we can’t judge. Maybe they have a deathly ill child and had to run to the pharmacy for medicine. Maybe they’ve recently had surgery and can’t wear regular pants. *MAYBE* it’s none of our damn business why they are wearing pajama pants and we should be better people and not judge them. (But see what I am doing there? I’m judging the people who judge.) As I said, it is an on-going process and I think only completely evolved religious masters can ever get to a place of complete non-judgment… after all, as long as there are still rapists and child abusers and people who torment animals, I will still have judgment in my heart.

-But- I think I have come a long way in my non-judgment and I think it has helped me to be a better friend. I don’t care what my friends wear or what they do for a living or how much money they make or whether or not their houses are clean.

So how does this on-going practice relate to not taking things personally? Well, it finally hit me today. It really isn’t about me. If someone tells me I look ugly in my outfit, that says absolutely nothing about me. I haven’t changed one bit from the moment before they said it to the moment after. *THEY* are the ones who have changed, by speaking in unnecessary cruelty. And I don’t know why they are like that… perhaps they’ve had a bad day. Perhaps they feel as if they look terrible today. Perhaps they are just nasty. The point is, I don’t know. I can’t know. None of us can ever truly know the entire depth of another person’s mind and heart. Heck, some days, I don’t know why *I* do everything I do… let alone anyone else. So, in the spirit of non-judgment, I must also put myself into the mind frame of not judging someone when their behavior goes against my own comfort.

Now, does that mean that you should just put up with someone who acts like an asshole to you? No, definitely not. Just because you are trying to be non-judgmental doesn’t mean you have to live with someone who treats you like crap or remain friends with someone who is always trying to drag you down. You make a choice. Are the good parts of the friendship worth the bad parts? I have gotten rid of friends who seem to do nothing but complain. I’m not going to judge them… perhaps they have valid reason for always being unhappy. But I prefer to choose my happiness and being around negative people makes it more difficult.

You can make your own decisions based on other people’s actions, but you can’t control their actions. I was just having this conversation with my bestie the other day. I do not like to talk on the phone, so unless it is an emergency, I am probably not going to call you back, maybe not for weeks. Text me, Facebook me, email me, whatever. I just really don’t like to spend much time on the phone. You can take it personally, or you can practice non-judgment and understand that that is just the way that I am. You can then choose to accept it and stay in my life in a NON telephoney kind of way, or choose NOT to accept it and cut me out of your life. Either way, we are each being responsible for our own decisions and we are not taking it personally! Just understand that no matter what, you cannot fully understand the reasons for a persons actions.

You can carry this over into your job, too. If a customer is being irritable, remind yourself not to take it personally. Practice the art of non-judgment. Remove yourself from the situation and remind yourself, in a non-judging sort of way, that their behavior has really nothing to do with you, and everything to do with them.

You really do get out of life what you put into it. But you must be doing it for yourself. You cannot change someone else’s life, you can only change your own.

Non-judgment, personal responsibility, and not allowing others to dictate your life all fall in the same space. Removing your ego from the equation allows for better life decisions. Of course, I’ve read all of this stuff and I have tried to absorb it. But I don’t think it really means anything until it sinks in all of a sudden while walking the dog…. BAM! Lightning strike. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out.

My Inner Calling

I saw this on Oriah Mountain Dreamer’s facebook page today. “Where does the energy want to go? Feel it in your body, heart, and spirit. Follow where it leads. It will be easiest to face whatever challenges arise if you are honouring your inner calling.”

Well, that seems like really great advice, doesn’t it? I mean, honor your inner calling. Who can argue with that? Be true to yourself, follow your dreams, take the road less traveled (if that is your way) and live a joyful life.

The thing is, how do I really know what my inner calling is? I mean, I think I live a pretty good life. I’ve published one novel. My second novel is finished and off to the editors to be red-lined and sent back for edits. My third novel is outlined and the characters are starting to come alive for me. I have a lover who celebrates me for who I am. I have some amazing family members. I have friends who are more than friends, more than family, more than anything that can be described using currently existing words.

I try to wake up happy and grateful and I try to stay happy and grateful throughout the day. I have a car that I love, I have a fantastic and extremely patient dog, I have the books that I want to read and access to more when I want them. I eat well, I exercise, I take a yoga class, and I am taking a full time class load. I like my life.

Then why is there always this pesky little voice in the back of my head saying, “Yeah, but what’s next? What else is there? Where do you want to go? What do you want to do?” Even worse than that is the voice of “wait and see.” Wait until you finish this novel. Wait until you lose fifty pounds. Wait until you have more money in the bank. Wait until… whatever. It’s as if I am caught in an eddy between thinking I am not doing what I should be doing and telling myself that I can’t do those things right now anyway.

I read Oriah’s post today and I thought that it was so timely. Honor your inner calling. I’m going to do that. But first, I need to figure out what my inner calling is.

So I put on some Crosby, Stills & Nash (because if old hippies can’t help you meditate, who can?) and sat down, closed my eyes and started to meditate/pray/ask for guidance/look into my own soul/whatever. And I asked the universe/God/myself/The Creator/the great network of positive energy in the world “What is my inner calling?”

What is my inner calling? Well, duh. My inner calling is to be at peace with myself. That’s what I want. I want to be at peace within myself and I want to help to bring peace to others. And that voice, that pesky voice, the one that likes to throw all of my doubts and insecurities into a pot and stir them around, likes to tell me that I can find peace if only I (insert your own if only here.) If only I went to Sedona. If only I went to India. If only I took that meditation class. If only I went to that drum circle. If only I would make myself meditate every day. If only I could be perfectly centered all of the time. If only I never made stupid mistakes. If only I was never judgmental, if I never said an unkind word, if I never got mad at my partner, if I never snapped at the dog, if, if, if.

If only.

Well, this morning with the help of CS&N, I silenced that little voice for a little while and I thought about what I really need to do to find inner peace. And I realized that there is no such thing as “finding” inner peace. I don’t find it, I create it. I create it within myself. And I don’t create it by jetting off to the spiritual places of the world, I create it by realizing that what I have, right now, is exactly what I chose for myself. I made everything in my life. I am currently making everything in my life. Everything that is happening is happening because of me. And when I come to truly embrace that, I’ll learn that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Peace isn’t in some far off place, and it isn’t in some meditation classes. Those places and activities may be good for me and they may help bring me in line with others who are searching for the same things, but they are not mandatory for my inner peace. My inner peace is right where I am, right now.

Inner peace. Inner. It’s inside of me. It seems pretty self-explanatory when I get right down to it. My peace. My self. My happiness. My gratitude. Peace and joy come not from going out and searching for the secret to inner peace, but from truly having gratitude for what I do have in my life.

Inner peace. How about that?