Dear Ones, some thoughts…

The ego and the soul

At once, the ego jumps to a solution. It levels the odds, bridges the divide, and saves the world. The ego polishes the silver and counts the money. It wants what it wants the way it wants it. It defends its home, city and views with vigor.

Be Inspired.

Be Enlivened.

Be You.

Join Zhena some of the world’s most successful online and offline entrepreneurs, female CEO’s, and global coaches in this one-day, joy-filled, information-infused leadership gathering in the fun and funky Narrative Loft on April 29th in Santa Barbara.

Guaranteed to be fun with inspiring, rockstar-level 20-minute talks, mingling sessions, breakout workshops, and laser coaching from the world’s greatest women coaches. Say goodbye to boring business conferences & come play!

Click Here to Reserve Your Spot

• Learn the laws of reinvention & how to make big moves that win
• Find out how to use “setback management” to recover and rock, quickly
• Meet the Makers of your favorite products and programs
• Discover fresh ways to build your career & feed your soul
• Laugh and learn from dynamic motivational speakers
• Get coached on the things holding you back from pure joy
• Learn the power of personal branding
• Unveil your current life’s purpose & uncover the ways to fulfill it
• Tap your intuition and make the best business & life moves possible
• Oh, yeah, and increase revenues for yourself and your company 🙂
• Sip wine at the after-gathering wine crawl, and get to know your she-roes

NOTE: SPECIAL EARLY BIRD PRICING ENDS SOON! PRICE GOES TO $297.00

Your ticket includes light breakfast and yummy Mediterranean lunch by Metropulos.

For Tickets & Information Click Here

Speakers Include:

Zhena Muzyka

Author of Life by the Cup, publisher of Enliven Books, founder of Zhena’s Gypsy Tea

Linda Le Brock

Publisher at Pacific Coast Business Times

Melanie Benson

Inspirational Speaker, Entrepreneur Leader, Profitable Growth and Lifestyle Mentor

Rhonda Britten

Founder of the Fearless Living Institute, inspirational and life changing speaker

Andrea Brook

International performing artist, yoga teacher/life catalyst and public speaker

Christine Hassler

Life coach, speaker and the author of the best-selling books, 20-Something, 20-Everything and the 20-Something Manifesto.

Molly Lavik

Executive Director: Los Angeles Sustainable Business Council & Founder, Ai Showbiz

Natalie Ledwell

Co-founder of Mind Movies, host of The Inspiration Show & global law of attraction expert

Kathleen McMullen Coady

Owner & Creative Director Towner Design Studio

Rikka Zimmerman

Creator of Adventure In Oneness and Life Transformed™, acclaimed speaker and singer/songwriter

Click Here to Reserve Your Spot

Brought to you by Zhena.TV & Linda le Brock, Publisher of Pacific Coast Business Times.

Media sponsorship by Pacific Coast Business Times.

Yoga.Meditation.Writing.Bali

Zhena is hosting an exclusive group of writers for a transformative experience in Ubud, Bali on June 18th to the 24th, 2017.

We’re taking the power of Zhena’s Author’s Academy and combining it with the lush, exotic, inspiring energy of Bali.

Throughout the week we will workshop your book and you will have access to one on one editorial feedback.

Daily yoga, meditation, excursions, and onsite spa access.

What’s included…

• 7 days and 6 nights in a private luxury estate in Ubud, Bali
• Access to everything the estate offers – 2 pools, a yoga shala, spa, cooking classes
• Travel to and from the Denpasar airport on the day of your arrival and departure
• Daily writing sessions, workshops, and editorial feedback circles
• 3 seasonal and organic meals a day
• Optional excursions to waterfalls, temples, and monkey forests.  Oh my!!

What our days will look like…

• 8:00am Morning meditation and yoga
• 9:00am Breakfast
• 9:30am Writing Session/Workshop/Editing (or excursion)
• Noon Lunch
• 1:00pm Writing Session/Workshop/Editing
• 5:00pm Reading/Sharing Circle
• 6:00pm Dinner and bonding (optional—you can choose to go into the city for dinner
• any or all nights)

Investment $2997

Payment plans available.

June 18th to June 24th

Only 8 spaces left!
Please e-mail our team and will send you an application to get to know you and send you more details!

Here are some shots of our stunning estate!

Finish Your Book in 6 Months!

While we all have great intentions to write and complete our books — it often feels daunting when we are not in community!  Many members of our tribe have requested mentoring, mastermind access, and/or literary consulting, as well as to continue the connections some have made through our Authors Academy.

Well now, we are opening registration for a group writing and coaching group led by Zhena and other experts in the field of publishing–you will be producing pages under deadline (Yep, that’s how things get done in the publishing world–pressure!) and you will have a community to give you feedback + a gazillion other benefits. We are opening this up for a VERY limited group (no more than 20 writers) and look forward to facilitating your completion!

What is a writing mastermind??

The writing mastermind is a community of writers that meet together to share, encourage, mentor each other to get your books finished!  If you are currently working on a book in the genres of self-help, motivational, how-to, business or memoir, you are invited to join by filling out our simple application and submitting 5 pages of writing sample. There are only 20 spots available!  This is first come-first serve and applicants will be assessed to be sure their projects are aligned with the overall group for maximum productive feedback.  

We are going to be holding our first session on Wednesday, February 15th online and in person in Ojai, CA–you can video conference in easily and see everyone else from anywhere in the world!  We have had successful mastermind groups combining about half joining us by video and half joining in person for the last 18 months and have had several writers finish their books and publish.

This will be a very SAFE place for you all to create and share. There will be 100% confidentiality built into the commitment form—we take confidentiality and your writing seriously. 

Here’s how it will work & what you will get out of it:

• Monthly in-person mastermind workshops: We will host a monthly, 3-4-hour writing workshop. You will send in your pages and/or questions prior by noon the day before the meeting. If you are still shaping your book, we will spend your slot helping you brainstorm and clarify. Zhena will teach and facilitate the mastermind.
• You will have full access to my Empowered Authors Academy online!  We  have just launched our online course, and you will be one of the first to experience it!  This 6-module video course AND marketing content binder will give you all the detailed information you need to market and publish your book.
• You must commit to a minimum of 6 months. You will have to sign a commitment form, and we will take this seriously! You will be getting your book written and DONE, so you’ll be held to task 🙂
• The fee is $197 per month via credit card. You can prepay for the 6 months, and receive a 10% discount.
• If you cannot show up for one of the masterminds, we will have them recorded for you and you’ll have access to our membership site—so you will still have the content and you will pay no matter if you attended or not.
• Ongoing access: Zhena will give you each a personal, editorial assessment during the mastermind. Any work assignments Zhena assigns you for the month individually should be completed by the next session. You will have access to Zhena to answer questions twice a month via Facebook group and other options…
• This is a successful program, you’ll be part of a tribe and you’ll get to play with each other and Zhena for 4-6 hours a month (Zhena is $375/hour, this is a bargain 🙂 ). You’ll get worksheets, and get to workshop your writing with a fabulous, supportive, loving and CONFIDENTIAL group.
• This is NOT a marketing mastermind. We will be focused on editorial support—the shaping of your book, the editorial aspects of your writing. Of course you’ll get access to marketing info via the online private membership site and academy tho’!

We will be starting this February 15, 2017, and sending the 6 months of dates out as well as commitment forms, credit card authorization form, and any other items once your application is approved.  We are SO EXCITED to write with you–make this your year, revolutionary writer! 

Your commitment to your expression and creativity is fundamental—without writing, speaking and expressing ourselves where would we be–where can we go if we do it more and complete our first or next book? We are blessed to have words to express ourselves. We are fortunate to have dreams. We are the instruments of the muse and the keys to healing many by making our voices heard.

Are you ready to get your book finished?  E-mail our team here for an application and more information!

Last night I awoke in a long, elaborate dream that lasted the entire time I was asleep. In the dream, I was dropped into an engagement with Donald Trump. By engaged, I mean–TO BE MARRIED. In the dream it was Monday, our wedding was slated for that Friday. Married. To Donald Trump. WTF.

In the dream, I went around announcing the impending wedding to all of my liberal friends. I am one of my most liberal friends BTW.  They cringed, they cried, they begged me not to go ahead with the marriage. They held onto my arms and pulled at me to stay “safe” with them. Granted, I was in the middle of what seemed someone else’s life, but momentum had me and the date was set. And so, I went about convincing everyone why I’d be okay, and how it wasn’t that bad.

“He’s all bark, no bite.” I said. “He won’t hurt me,” I told my crying best friend. “It just happened, there was nothing I could do about it,” was another thing I repeated as the days trudged forward and my closest friends wailed, “NOOOOO!” I found myself the day before the wedding embracing a feeling of duty, mixed with curiosity, and dare I say investigative desire–to get into his head and rewire it.

Having studied enough Jungian psychology and having done dreamwork with Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes, I knew when I woke up I’d have to write this one down. What was it telling me? Why would my subconscious do this to me? What was it my soul needed to work out on this one?  As I journaled, the insights arrived: Integration, embracing my shadow, and lastly–Trump is the rogue dad who expresses himself, no matter how dangerous. Bingo. Dad issues…again.

Let’s move through these insights, one by one.

1. Integration. Trump has brought to light a demographic, a mindset, to which many of us feel alien. He’s selfish, he calls people names, he blunders and yells, he sleeps with the enemy, he uses donations for personal gain, and so on. The list of what Trump does and has done keeps growing and yet in the polls, he’s gaining. This has perplexed and greatly confused me. How can a man so selfish make so much progress to get a national stage to air his dirty underwear? Because somewhere in us, we are selfish and haven’t had anyone tell us it’s ok to be this way. Enter permission, a la Trump.Trump makes us ok somehow, because if he can be nominated as the Republican nominee for president of the USA, with all of his obvious bumbling, unapologetic faux pas, clumsy tripping, and raging rhetoric, then we too are ok in our imperfections. He’s like us, but way worse: He messes up so big we can’t believe it. And then he gets right back up and keeps going. Wha?!He sleeps with the wrong people. He gets divorced. He hires and fires people too quickly–showing mistake after mistake in judgement. He backtracks on what he says. He doesn’t do his homework. He takes what he wants without apologizing–something we all secretly wish would be easier for us ourselves to do. Basically, he is a wreck with a big personality, a Narcissist so obvious and so radical, that those of us who haven’t allowed ourselves to openly express what we feel–are now feeling somehow redeemed by him (or terrified!). He is the integration of a large percentage of people’s shadow side. And when we ignore the shadow, it overtakes us.
2. Embracing the Shadow   Hillary Clinton got blow back for recently calling half of Trump’s followers, “a basket of deplorable bigots.” Yes, she did. How did that go over? Not so well. Why? Because integration demands that we embrace the shadow of our being. And by shadow, I mean those aspects of our nature that are darker, less characteristic of what we hope to be and more characteristic of our current state of ignorance.Trump is calling upon the racists, the ignorant and angry, and they are answering him. He reflects that aspect of their nature which gives them permission to be ugly. Permission to be mad. Permission to embrace the worst aspects of themselves. Because they’ve never been able to air this part of themselves, they now have been given permission. While that’s scary to me, and most of you probably, it’s like mass therapy for a group of people who don’t know what to do with their deepest, subconscious impulses–and they haven’t had a neutral third party to air them to and heal from them.While you and I have probably had tons of therapy and deep transformational work, we have been seeking healing and these people have never had access to it. We can judge them, we can cringe at them, but they have not had the resources to be open about how they feel, much less the tools to heal how they feel. We had Oprah open our inner lives en masse, we’ve had therapy, shamans, meditation retreats, yoga, and maybe even an Ayahuasca ceremony.  They’ve had access to very little support, very little love, very little soul healing.  Instead, they have festered and become more mad.  They are mad about money, as well they should be.  But, instead of directing their anger at the corporations and banks, bad policy and mismanaged faith, they direct their anger at people of other races, which is delusional, but they’ve never been shown nor taught how to direct their anger away from other humans and toward the injustices they have suffered somewhere along the way.

   We are seeing the chasm between realized people who have been able to air their frustration in safe environments and heal from them, taking ultimate responsibility for their feelings and issues, and those that have never embraced the “Oprah” or personal development train of self-reflection, journaling and healing–probably because they’ve been too busy working to take the leisure of healing. I’m not making excuses for anyone, but if I were to look at people exposed to healing and people who are not, I can tell you that the “basket of deplorables” has most likely not been seeking help and most likely hasn’t had access nor exposure to much. These are hard working people who haven’t had time.

   Trump has opened the windows on the dark corners of the American psyche, and instead of naming it something to demean it, we should actually be having a real conversation about how to heal it.

   In shadow work, we are called to bring out the side of our nature of which we are most frightened and ultimately to embrace it. As a country, if we were to look at what is happening, we would see that Trump has been the catalyst for a wound healing. His words and existence have lanced the boil of untreated, unhealed resentment and deep-seated ignorance which have shown us that we are not integrated. When I look at how lucky we are as a country, and how angry we are in contrast, I can understand why the stress is so high. After spending a month in Bali, I came home and the energy was still mad–although we have more than anyone else as far as resources and comforts–and yet we are mad. Why? Because we lack perspective, we lack healing and real, heartfelt conversations.

   Bringing out the dark side of our country’s nature, displaying our ignorance, being unapologetic about our language and mad mindset, that’s what Donald’s energy has created on a more open stage. He’s a shadow teacher, showing us the parts of our psyche that need examining and healing. We cannot heal the shadow by hiding it or running from it. Donald is demanding we look it squarely in the eye and somehow find a way to embrace it and perhaps even love it through its terrible twos. He’s shown us that racism, hate, and fear exist–the genie is out of the bottle and now we need to engage it to give us our three wishes–health, happiness and freedom for all would be my vote. But first we will have to create a space for healing, which will hopefully and swiftly proceed the reckoning.

   Never before have we had such an obvious person leading a group that shows us our problems so clearly. Bush was more subtle and we didn’t at all heal from what happened, we just went to war. We need a national healing to occur now, and that starts with a conversation about integrating these sides of our country’s identity and healing the dark layers of unrest on display through the Trump candidacy.

3. Dad Issues.  I think it’s fair to say we all have dad issues.

   When I was in Bali, I would glance at the news and find myself wondering, “How can a guy with this many gaffes and flaws still be in the running, much less narrowing the gap??” I watched my most liberal friends poo-pooing Hillary and hating on Trump. Facebook was a study in duality for certain. I found myself scratching my head in perplexity until this dream occurred. “AH, now I get it! “Our dad’s never were really taught to express themselves. Maybe your dad did, but my dad didn’t. When I look at Trump, he’s yelling and making a mess of speeches; he’s persistent and consistently messy, and no matter how he might sound, he cares less and just keeps talking confident rubbish.Trump is a poor communicator with a big personality. He’s not only fearless in inspiring fear in others, he’s the embodiment of throwing “caution to the wind!”  He really could care less about what flies out of his mouth. I think my dad would be a different person had he had a little Trump in him. He’d probably have stood up for himself at work more. He’d probably have bought that ranch in Montana sooner. He’d probably have embraced his manliness and fired the slackers more swiftly. Trump is the rogue, blundering, but ever present father figure of the election. He embodies what a lot of older men wish they could.

   And Hillary is the mom who set the rules and made us eat our veggies. While Trump is screwing up, he’s getting rewarded (because the standards are pretty low, presence is fatherhood for many), and while Hillary is outlining real policy and discussing concrete plans (other than pouring a concrete wall), she’s being pelted with that side of our nature that hated our mom for making us be good kids.

   Hillary is the mom who raised us to be good neighbors, and Trump is the dad who came to get us on weekends and taught us how to drink beer and shoot guns. You think the email debacle would be an issue for Trump? Nah, he’d tell everyone simply to f*ck off and it’d be a thing of the past. But not mom, we hold her to higher standards, we can’t forgive mom as easily, never have.

   Hillary is Responsi-Mom and Trump is Disney-Dad.

   What does it mean for us as a country that we are showing a deep-seated preference for a man who screws up everything, hates openly, disparages people who have lost everything for this country, and openly breaks all of the taboos as easily as a peanut shell in a bar? It shows we are a mess and we need to clean it up if we are going to remain a leader in the world that is happening around us.

   We need to integrate the shadows by knowing them. We need to pray for forgiveness and create compassion from transmuting our anger. We need to cultivate interpersonal skills and create communication forums where everyone feels safe. We need to replace our parent issues with a states person’s cultivated character and perspective.

As the wedding day arrived, I woke up. I hadn’t actually married him just yet. I hadn’t actually gotten in my dress. But I was there, we were conversing. We were in a high rise in New York discussing the ceremony. I was nervous and shaking like a leaf but going to do it. I had no choice somehow. In the dream, I was marrying the shadow and that was that. And although I didn’t, I think these insights were a gift. I’ve been perplexed beyond belief, but somehow this dream helped me see the purpose behind the plunder.

My wish for our country is that we learn to make friends with the “basket of deplorable bigots” amongst us first by stopping the name calling and second by learning that the orphan issues in our psyches are at play here. Many a guru has said, “There is no one else out there,” and so what would that mean if you looked at this shitshow of an election and examined what it’s bringing up for you? Are you scared of your anger? Are you mad at your dad? Are you running from your shadow? Do you hate your mom for messing that one thing up? Time to do the work. Time to examine your issues. Time to integrate your inner mom/ badgirl or dad/ badboy lest they get a hold of you and run rampant with your soul…and regardless of where you stand politically, do this one thing for me: Vote.

And if Trump is elected, I’ll meet you in Bali.

After a month in Bali, I promised I’d return to work and pace myself with better discernment. I’d say No more often. I’d intersperse delicious bouts of rest into my work days and linger in the gratitude and grace that was my reality in Bali.

After a week and a half home, I discovered an autopilot program in my brain that works to convince me that resting is ONLY for Sundays and vacations. I knew this program had been running my um, life, for (probably two) decades, but after the third week in Bali it had started to dissipate…it’s power faded, a spell had been cracked and the light of rest and relaxation shined through the fissures.  Being back for the first week felt like the vacation had never happened, but nothing was too much. No work felt too big. By week two though, my inner conversation began to shift, subtly at first and then mantra-like. “There’s so much to do, I’m so busy, I better get that done too.”

I had ten minutes yesterday between calls and I took my laptop outside to the patio, plopped onto a lounge chair, and stared up at the enormous bamboo shoots reaching toward the sky. I thought, ah, I’ll rest! 

I was then ambushed by an auto-response from this aspect of my ego that obviously eats ambition with Sriracha & battery acid before she’s had her morning tea. This voice said: YOU HAVE TEN THOUSAND PRODUCTIVE THINGS YOU CAN DO IN TEN MINUTES, and you want to rest??!!

I took a breath and examined this tendency that keeps me in a fake promise land of productivity: The more I do, the better I am. In my defense, I began listing the accomplishments of the day aloud.

Kids fed and to school
Dishes done
Forty pages of edits on a manuscript
Twenty emails
Scheduling & planning author and media meetings
A podcast interview
Meditated
Filled the bird baths
Social media posts
Responded to two readers of Life by the Cup
Worked on a show pitch
Did some new book acquisition paperwork
Started a new database for my authors
Wrote galley copy for an upcoming book
Reviewed copyedits from a title in production
Scheduled a book launch campaign for another book
–All before lunch.

Looking at this list in my mind’s eye, I could feel some anxiety. Perhaps it was because working from my beautiful home, relaxing on a lounge chair before my next Skype interview, sipping tea in the sun feels like cheating? And then the questions rose: Why don’t I feel safe when I relax? What is it about relaxing that makes me feel unsafe? Whose voice is that which drives me? Is it the spirit of ambition? The ghost of failures past?

I listed the reasons the hard-driver might have taken the wheel of my mind.

1. I just had a month long vacation in Bali. I’d hit the rest quota.
2. Being busy means I’m earning my keep. I am not a slacker, I earn my keep.
3. While I’d been in Bali, the world hadn’t stopped, it was time to catch up.
4. Resting means I might miss something important or worse, I won’t be important if I’m not filling the time with effort.

I opened my eyes to look around the yard. Orange trees weighted with ripe fruit. Peach colored Bougainvillea dancing in the breeze. Bees kneading lavender sprigs with sticky legs. Sunlight glittering and birds bathing and my laptop reflecting my face back at me. In the mirror that was my screensaver I said to my reflection,

“Listen, no one is going to hurt you if you relax. No one is going to judge you if you rest. No one is going to get hurt if you stop for ten minutes to breathe. No one is going to fire you for taking a ten minute sunshine break. No one is going to rest for you. No one is going to yell at you for resting.
Rest. Rest because you can. Rest because you should.”

And so I wanted to share this with you now. I want you to know that no matter what–you are safe to rest. You have permission to stare at the ceiling fan. You have all the time in the world to breathe. You are safe to rest. Because resting is a state of receiving, receive the blessings of ten extra minutes to linger on a work day.

After this exercise, watching myself, I laughed. Autopilot has begun to be less of a constant, the spell is in fact breaking and awareness is seeping in. The learning to watch the thoughts, examine, unwind, and then dismantle them bit by bit…that’s the gift.

And then boom, the ten minutes was up…I could look at this awareness as one more accomplishment…except this one was won by the powerful act of resting.

With a sick child and no health insurance, the stakes for Zhena’s tea business to work couldn’t be higher. Her company stands out with a focus on ethical treatment of field workers. But after her own board forces her out of the company, she’ll have to pivot again. Zhena describes her rise, fall, and rise again.

The Past Life Perspective

Last November, I took the plunge into my last lifetime. I didn’t know whether I believed in past lives or not, but I did know that my children came into this world with crystalline clear memories of other lifetimes. When I met Ann Barham, therapist and past life regression expert, and acquired her book The Past Life Perspective, for Enliven (www.EnlivenBooks.com), I was curious to discover what a regression would be like and if it would help me overcome or heal an enduring issue I had around the worth of my work. Being a spirituality publisher has its perks!

Over Skype, Ann hypnotized me, and summoned my attention to my feet in my subconscious. They were dark brown, dirty, and barefoot. She then had me look up and notice my surroundings. I saw rice paddies, a hut, and bombs exploding in the distance. Being Ukrainian, I kept trying to make the location the Ukraine, but it was obviously Asia. Ann then led me into the house where I realized I was living with an aunt and uncle and cousin. The cousin was mad that I ate food that was scarce. I recognized him as my cousin in this life, one who had a fierce rivalry with me when we were young!

She repeatedly woke me up in different settings and at different ages in that lifetime. The most notable was when I was living in a labor camp. I had the sensation of a debilitating fear of the predatory guards. I was a young girl, and they were terrifying to me as they regularly did the unspeakable to us. I began to cry in this life for the pain of my former self. It made sense as to why I would feel an unshakable physical horror each time I heard a news story about young girls being kidnapped or hurt. I would literally keel over and sometimes purge. I could never explain this, but now I sensed from where it had originated. I then saw myself climbing onto the thatched roofs of the shelters, I was lithe and quick, and I had created a job for myself in patching and mending the roofs. The busier I was, and the faster I patched the roofs, the safer I was from the guards.

It also helped me to communicate with the people inside the shelters–being on the roof gave me access to spread messages and give encouragement to others. I was a messenger of sorts. I shared valuable information for the survival of others. And, my hard work could never pay a wage, other than save me from being beaten. So, there was the core as to why I undervalued my work and worked so hard that I would often burn out. While I couldn’t explain my need to work myself into exhaustion, nor my embarrassment over charging for my time in this lifetime, it was easily explained by looking at the lifetime I now witnessed.

After the session, I wondered how to apply what I’d learned. Ann assured me that there was nothing “to do” but to reflect on what I’d seen and experienced. It was Thanksgiving and I throw a huge feast every year. This year was no different, I had 34 confirmed and had to cook. Normally, I would be a martyr and cook everything myself, not allowing anyone else to pitch in. But this year I asked everyone to bring a dish or if they couldn’t, I asked them to pitch in some cash or sweat to cover the big food and wine bill. Without realizing it, I wasn’t feeling the normal shame and worry over how much work there would be, instead, I just asked openly for help.

The day after Thanksgiving, when I would normally still be cleaning, I had the whole extended family help me and we made quick work of it and were out the door for brunch by eleven. Unprecedented. It wasn’t apparent to me at the time, but a few weeks later as I reflected on this, I realized I had taken care of myself, wasn’t tapped out energetically and hadn’t spent the exorbitant amount as usual on food and wine, linens and floral arrangements. Instead, everyone had pitched in and we had the best Thanksgiving ever. This type of behavior has become my norm now. I was working “to save my life” and now I work to celebrate it.

Was that last life a symbolic journey to healing or an actual incarnation? I’m not attached to a hard stance either way, but I do know one thing: I am healed. And that is the power of this process. I’m proud to be Ann’s publisher. The book is a fascinating glimpse into the power of this important mode of healing, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Who were you in your last life? I’d love to know in the comments below! Here’s to your absolute brightest life. Love, Z

And to buy the book, you can order it here: http://authors.simonandschuster.com/Ann-C-Barham/567693034 

This post received a lot of attention on my facebook page, and so I thought I’d post it here. xx

YOU ARE SAFE WHEN YOU STAND UP FOR YOURSELF

Dear ones,
I have been in inquiry, wondering what it is about myself and my clients, friends, and family members who have a hard time charging what they are worth, hiring a lawyer when needed, or simply learning to say what they need when in the face of negotiations. And today, in my meditation, I heard my intuition say: YOU ARE SAFE WHEN YOU STAND UP FOR YOURSELF.

As these words danced through my mind, I saw several instances where, for my perceived safety, I didn’t say what I needed or I didn’t push back when I should have. As a child, in a rough neighborhood, I was beat up more than a few times and instead of potentially getting killed, I became an entertainer, when faced with danger, I either climbed a tree or created big, funny stories to distract others so they wouldn’t hurt me. This habit has permeated my adult life and today I was able to see how and in all the ways I’ve allowed it to: By not hiring lawyers when I should have, by being a “yes” person, by not charging enough and giving discounts on my time even when it’s in extremely limited supply. So many ways this comes into play.

And so I invite you all to examine places where you yield when you should really speak up. Places you undercharge or over deliver to the demise of your health or family time. Anything and everything you do or don’t do when it comes to protecting your health, wellness and dignity, so you can stay “safe”. YOU ARE SAFE WHEN YOU STAND UP FOR YOURSELF. A message I think we can all learn from–sending you all my devotion and love. XX Z

Dear friends,
I’ve been busy building Enliven Books, running Author’s Academy, and consulting with my clients and have not been writing much the last few months–and today I’ve recommitted to my writing. So, to get this started, I am going to post some stories and rough draft chapters that didn’t make it into “Life by the Cup” and were slated for other “by the cup” books. Initially, I wanted to publish a series: life by the cup, love by the cup, and business by the cup…etc…but when I left the tea company, I wanted to get as far from “the cup” as possible :). Not really possible since tea runs in my veins :). But anyway, some of these writings are rough, some a little risky, and I think you’ll find something useful in them. So here goes, this one is first draft, it’s about my first husband, ha :).

****
A Taste for Business

As my first husband took the step from the foyer into the cold night, he looked back and said to me, “I ruined you. You were an artist and I made you get into business and now you’re ruined.”

“Huh?” I replied. “How is being an artist different from being in business?” But he was out the door. I watched as he hoisted his suitcase into the back of his truck and sped away. Tire marks left a fading trail in the rainy street as his taillights disappeared.

I could have mourned, but instead I examined what he could have meant by he “ruined me with business,” and that I could no longer be “an artist.” Maybe I hadn’t realized I could be only one or the other. In my mind they existed simultaneously and non-exclusively. I wondered if I had gotten boring by helping him with his business. But he needed it so badly. Having dropped out of 9th grade to take over his parent’s business, he couldn’t spell, had a hard time reading, and had his manager for store #2 write all of his business letters. He was handsome and oddly charming with his crooked smile, considered the town’s most eligible bachelor at one point, he lassoed me after a pool game in a Kansas country bar and we got married within three months of knowing each other.

I always thought he just knew what he wanted, and that made him a killer businessman who would take over the Midwest with his chain of electronics stores. I wanted to make him a mogul, and fantasized that we would be so rich that we’d run away to Paris, buy a flat in the 5th and spend our days sipping red wine, writing Pulitzer perfect poetry and making love to Gypsy music. Ahhhh. This fantasy made it easy for me to accept quiet Kansas living as a former wild child California girl.

I settled right in and focused on filling our 1887 Victorian’s 20 rooms with Bohemian antiques, exotic tropical plants, Brazilian crystal clusters, east Indian embroidered curtains and Czech floor pillows. I took up painting, opened my formal dining room for palm readings, and threw elaborate weekly dinner parties for local artists, professors, college friends, neighbors, the exotic contingent of psychics and even a few white witches, which we called “herbalists.”

In our short-lived marriage, we opened a couple more stores in his chain and it inspired me. Remodeling grungy industrial warehouses into posh showrooms for cutting edge sound systems felt immensely romantic, the art of music and the nuts and bolts of speakers, amps, surround sound and speaker talk was a turn on to be honest. We sketched, dreamed, signed leases and navigated young love with wonder.

I talked him into state of the art sound rooms with race car bucket seats and touch screens, so his customers could envision themselves in their very own Ferrari (and buy the stereo from this fantasy). I talked him into new carpet, cool uniforms for his staff, and upgraded showrooms. Having gone to school for creative writing, I saw everything in my husband’s business as a form of poetry, a story woven from his ambitions. He went along with it, at least for a while.

We had had so much fun, I thought. Creating harmony among the once disingenuous employees who’d hated each other. Creating sales growth by holding contests that turned past rivalries between locations into profits for us. I hired graffiti street artists to paint massive murals on the side of his buildings. It had worked with taggers and gang bangers in my rough neighborhood back in California, so why wouldn’t it work in Joplin, Missouri and Pittsburg, Kansas?

I ran from store to store in my husband’s truck, with Janis Joplin blaring, checking on the projects, overseeing painters, bringing beer to my husband during huge installs. The competitors called me his “secret weapon” and that to me was kick ass. Being my husband’s secret weapon felt like my destiny.

Soon, the employees complained less and worked more. Absenteeism all but disappeared. The contests I set up between stores got the managers to stop holding back inventory when the other was out of something, they would even drive it over to help out. Withholding information like jealous children ended and where once there was conflict we now had familial competitiveness that harmed no one and benefitted morale and the bottom line. I was on top of the world!

My husband had never considered fun to be an essential part of business, he saved fun for the bar down the street after hours. He marveled that managing people wasn’t such a chore. I had never considered it otherwise. I had had bad bosses and great bosses. The extent of my professional life had been as a nonprofit volunteer, wood stacker, busgirl, waitress, latch-key kid art teacher, babysitter, shop girl and palm reader. I loved to work, and even more, I loved to make people happy. I didn’t know what a balance sheet or profit and loss statement was but I knew that money followed creativity and responded to pleasure like magic.

I loved my husband’s business because it gave me a platform to use my creativity in real time. I read tarot cards for the employees and coached them on how to go vegan. I wrote ad copy and hosted big employee parties to celebrate benchmarks like opening another store, expanding product offerings, hitting sales numbers, speeding up installs and creating funny radio ads. The employees seemed grateful, I was thrilled, and then my husband divorced me and told me I was “ruined.”

A year after he dumped me. He flew out to California to see me again. I’d lost everything in the divorce, because I signed a document that said I’d surrender all claims. I didn’t know what it meant because I’d not gotten my own lawyer. So, I left with less than I entered with. At this point I was still broke, renting a room next to the nunnery in Santa Barbara, taking creative writing and journalism classes to finish my degree and stealing oranges off of the neighbor’s tree in order to eat. He arrived and took me to dinner, and professed that I had been the single most important person in his life, and I had taught him the most important things he knew of business. He told me I had been the key to his businesses booming success, he’d doubled revenues through the programs I’d put in place, and then said, “Zhena, it’s such a turn on, just seeing you, will you f*ck me, for old time’s sake?”

I looked down at my wear worn dress and wondered why he was rich and I was poor if I had been so important to him. And how on earth did he have the guts to brag about his numbers after screwing me out of my only asset in the divorce—my car.

His stores were booming, profits through the roof and he had acquired another chain in another state, he was telling me that I had made all that difference for him? And now he wanted to get laid. I watched him smile sloppily and hopefully. He playfully took a bite of his steak, attempting to be sexy, and the oil from the fat made his lips shiny. As a vegan, it was just gross to me. I looked down at my dressing free salad and wondered why I lived like such a martyr. I ordered another glass of wine and drank it quickly, still not answering him. Listening to him was torture. He’d bought a boat and a second house on the lake. He had gone to Fiji with his hairdresser, the one he was seeing before we got married. He was thinking about a Carrera 911, and what did I think? Or should he go for a new Boxter?

I watched the sharp blade of his knife and fantasized about chasing him out of the restaurant with it in my hand. He’d run so scared that he’d drop his wallet and I’d pick it up, finding enough cash for my rent and a new pair of shoes.

“Zhena, hey Zhena, where’d you go?” he interrupted, waving his hand in front of my face.
“Oh, I’m sorry, just thinking about homework, I better go.” I said getting up.
“Whaaaa?!? I came all the way out to Cali to see you and you’ve got homework? Seriously?” He waved the thought away as he reached for his beer. He looked down at his crotch then back up at me, hinting without class a specialty of his.

“You’re doing great, and I’m happy for you,” I said, motioning for the waitress. Standing, I straightened out my dress and felt embarrassed when I noticed a drop of wine right between my breasts. “Good God,” I thought, “Can’t I have just a sliver of dignity!?”

He felt for his wallet and said, “I must have forgotten my wallet, Z, you’ve got this, right? Seeing how you are all successful living in California and all,” he smiled. “I came all the way out here to see you, least you can do is pick up a meal.”

Paying the bill left me with pennies. I walked to his hotel with him, hoping he’d pay me back, but all he did was try to kiss me. Shoving his hand up my skirt, and fumbling around my underwear, he whispered in my ear, “Let me repay you with this..”

I ran from him.

Needless to say, Husband #1 left a bad taste in my mouth for business…but tea eventually cleansed it.