Of course, the wiser part of me knows this is a recipe for disaster (or at least disappointment). But sometimes the id screams like a toddler being forcibly removed from the toy aisle and the hubris of me insisting on doing things my way prevails.

But in saner moments, I realize that I simply need to catch the dreams and ideas that come to me, give ‘em some love, take a few action steps…and then release the trajectory of their manifestation to God.

My best friend recently gave me one of the most beautifully thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received: a very cool replica of an old school drive-in theater speaker. Her note said:

“To remind you that you are a screenwriter and filmmaker. Regardless of the fact that it may not look like what you thought it would.”

I was touched not only by her belief in my work, but how spot-on she was about the fact that our desires don’t always come to us in neat little packages designed by our imaginations.

Ever since I fell in love with screenwriting in college, I pictured that my films would one day end up with one of the big studios.  (Granted, this was when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and before everything was available on YouTube…but I digress…). My producing partner Curt Apduhan and I tried for years to get into the Hollywood club. Curt is an Emmy award-winning cinematographer, who has worked with a lot of famous people who are well-entrenched in the studio system. But even with his personal and professional connections, we always seemed to get thisclose with one of our scripts, and then…crickets.

Finally, we decided that it was time to stop wasting time courting approval and just make a movie on our own. Even if it wasn’t a full-length feature backed by millions of dollars and starring a household name, it was still tangible proof that we knew how to write and produce something screen-worthy.

So, we shot our first short film, “Anniversary” with an amazing cast of three in a friend’s home (whose living room was miraculously transformed by our set designer into a hotel suite). We were on a shoestring budget, but everyone involved gave so generously of their time and talent that we ended up with a beautiful film that was very well-received at several festivals in the U.K.

We may still make it to Hollywood one day. Or maybe not. But I will never forget the thought that came to me as I stood on set for the first time and watched the actors say my words:

“I don’t know if I could be any happier if this were being played out on a giant soundstage or a glamorous location. I love filmmaking, period. I just want to be in the game.”

And as of this writing, I still am. Another short film produced and screened at festivals last year, and one more in the works that will be expanded to a feature. At least that’s the plan.

(I know, I know…cue the “we plan, God laughs” jokes.)

But I’ve done my best to catch and cultivate the dreams that come to me. Now begins the continual process of prying my fingers off of the steering wheel.

Time to let the Divine do the driving.

But while all of the above events may be true, they’re still excuses. And if I championed them, I’d be creating an absurd rationale for why I’m not doing the one thing that makes me feel the most alive: putting words on a page.

So, why do we go silent on our life’s passions?

Sometimes it’s for a good reason, like the need for genuine introspection. Taking a brief step back from what we love so we can see it with fresh eyes and return to it with renewed zeal.

But all too often, that short break turns into a self-sabotaging sabbatical. Excuses are reframed as “reasons” why we can’t get back in the game.

It’s been too long.

I’m out of practice.

I’ve lost momentum.

I don’t even know where to start.

Those toxic rationales enable us to politely excuse ourselves from doing what feeds our souls in favor of the things that – while perhaps necessary – feed only our practical routines.

We all have to take care of business. And because we’re good, responsible grownups, we buckle down. The work gets done, the groceries get bought and the bills get paid. All the boxes checked.

Except the one that didn’t even make the list: the dormant desire that is never truly silent.

But it is stealthy.

You’ll think you’ve successfully buried – or simply forgotten – it. That is, until it chooses any number of ways to slyly remind you of its existence:

You see a book you could have easily written.

A canvas you could’ve painted circles around.

A dish you could’ve cooked WAY better than that stupid, screaming TV chef.

And the only difference between you and those artists and creators is that when life got noisy, they didn’t lie back quietly and allow it to drown out what they loved.

They turned up their own volume, ignored the cacophony of “shoulds” and “have-tos” and pushed their passions to the forefront.

You can do the same. So can I.

And once we do, we’ll find that our dreams are very forgiving.

Just like a close friend who slides off our radar, all it takes is one moment to reach out and reestablish that connection to our God-given desires. To remember why the love was there in the first place. And to forget how long we’ve been apart.

Let’s break the silence. It’s time.

We’re all made of the same basic building blocks. We all eat, drink, work, sleep…lather, rinse, repeat every 24 hours. The Constitution even confirms that we’re all created equal.

But somehow, we just don’t get that “all” includes us, too.

She sings like an angel. I sound like a cat being attacked by a lawn mower.

He’s written five bestselling novels and he’s only twenty-six. I’m um…not twenty-six and have barely finished one book that approximately nine people know about.

The entire planet follows them on social media. My dog follows me to the kitchen.

So, why do we habitually catapult those we admire to godlike status, while relegating ourselves to watching silently from the cheap seats?

I think it’s because we forget (or at least I do) that those who have attained stratospheric success are there for inspiration…not imitation.

Big difference.

In the midst of flailing about writing my first novel (which is now thankfully in the hands of some amazing beta readers as I write this), one of my favorite – and futile – things to do was to look at famous authors and note all the ways that I wasn’t following in their esteemed footsteps.

I don’t write long tomes (my head explodes when I think of Ayn Rand spinning out 1000+ pages for Atlas Shrugged).

I’m big on dialogue and nearly non-existent when it comes to description (welcome to the side effect of 25+ years of screenwriting).

And I’m completely missing the “vampires and wizards obsession” chip (somehow I doubt that Anne Rice and J.K. Rowling are losing any sleep over this, since I am one of approximately 15 people worldwide who feel this way).

But the further along I get in my own work, the more I realize that even if I wanted to imitate the aforementioned greats…it’s just not gonna happen.

And it shouldn’t.

Mark Twain said, “Comparison is the death of joy.” And he’s right.

Because there is nothing that sucks the beauty and fun out of creation like wallowing in angst because you don’t paint like Cezanne, sing like Adele or write brilliant prose about blood-sucking creatures of the night or magical adolescents who fly around on broomsticks.

You weren’t put here to be a half-assed copy of someone else. Respect the talented masters that you admire, but don’t revere them. They are just like you, except they’re doing the one thing you might be avoiding:

Being 100% true to who they were created to be.

So, take them off the pedestal. Or better yet, climb up there with them.

There’s more room at the top than you think.

You may not be redefining the world of dance like Martha did (my own musically-induced gyrations have prompted people to ask if they should call 911), but there is a bit of habitual dissatisfaction in all of us.

And I think it’s awesome.

But I didn’t always feel that way.

I spent a majority of the anxiety-and-self-doubt festival known as my 20s and 30s dreaming of the day when I’d finally hit a peak so high that nothing else could top it.

Everything would be in its proper place, and I’d be perfectly content from that point on. No more striving for goals that always seemed just out of reach.

No more grappling with the fear of what I’d do if I never achieved them.

Or what I’d do with the unease of responsibility if I did.

Back then, that sounded like bliss.

Now, it sounds boring.

I’m not saying it’s wrong to sit back and take pleasure in what you’ve achieved so far. Or to want a life that’s not rocked by constant upheaval.

But there is a big difference between enjoying the season you’re in, and trying to make it last forever.

I believe the inherent – and healthy – sense of discontent we all possess was put in us by a loving God who wants us to be as expansive and creative as He is.

Unfortunately, that natural desire to grow and explore is often suffocated by fears, frustrations and supposed obligations.

But it never goes away.

I know, because I tried unsuccessfully for decades to make it vanish.

I mindlessly collected degrees and certifications for a career that I told myself was practical, but was actually paralyzing.

I avoided bookstores and theaters because they showcased the stories I wasn’t telling.

I saw the success of others as proof that there was one less spot available for me in the world of writers who made a living at their craft.

But deep down, I knew what I was truly capable of.

What I would pursue with abandon if I put on the superhero cape we are all born with and flew like the skies were on fire.

Exciting? Absolutely.

But also terrifying.

Because when you surrender to the discontent, there are questions that demand answers:

What would you have to give up to get where you want to be?

Who might you have to give up?

What would you need to allow into your life…or kick out?

But if you’re willing to listen as your soul responds with honesty to the queries that come, you’ll be rewarded with a sense of passion and purpose that is your birthright.

This kind of unrest truly is blessed…if you allow it to be.

I remember my last night as a grade-schooler, unable to sleep as I pondered my upcoming first day on the big bad junior high campus. Instead of the same familiar pack of munchkins I’d been running with since kindergarten, I’d now be forced to meet an entire legion of new students.

And I was terrified.

In the midst of my angst, I actually had the thought, “I wish I could wake up famous tomorrow. Then everyone would already know and like me.”

I was absolutely convinced that if I were Brooke Shields (the gold standard of teen stardom at the time), I wouldn’t have to face the awkwardness of trying to fit in, saying something idiotic or just flat-out being disliked.

Thankfully, I outgrew the naïve notion that “recognition = adoration” long before the internet and social media took public scrutiny to a stratospheric level.

And while it’s tempting to complain about the TMZ-style world we live in today, there is a proverbial silver lining to the often-moronic tidal wave of reality show starlets, viral videos and vitriolic rants:

It’s proof that the gatekeepers are done for good.

And so is your excuse for remaining invisible.

You no longer have to genuflect in the presence of movie studios, radio stations or art galleries, begging them to anoint you as a legitimate artist.

But as the barriers that keep your work from being shared with the world dissolve, so do the walls that keep you shielded from criticism that ranges from the mildly disheartening (actual review for my first short film: “That’s 20 minutes of my life I’ll never get back.”) to aggressively hateful.

The fact is, if you’ve got something to offer the world, you’re going to have to deal with online trolls who are more than happy to announce that your novel was apparently written by an orangutan with a MacBook Pro and your abstract canvas looks like a sewage explosion.

And I’ve found the best way to handle the hate is to have empathy for those that dish it out.

No, I did not misspell “Twitter war.” I actually do mean empathy.

And here’s why.

These are people that have opted to spend their precious time and energy on a mission to seek and destroy. And their target isn’t something they despise, but rather something they desperately wish they had:

The courage to offer their gifts to the world, and to keep on doing it, whether the response is kudos or condemnation. 

Your book, film, blog or painting may not be their cup of tea. But the fact that they opt to attack – rather than simply ignore – your creation signals a human being burdened by regrets and hammered by creative Resistance.

Someone imprisoned by fear of failure, success, or both.

Simultaneously facing the dread of taking – or not taking – that first step toward a dream.

And in my book, living that way is suffering enough.

So, the next time snarky or scathing words are lobbed at you, consider the source.

Allow yourself a moment to be angry, annoyed or even amused.

Then let it go.

And give thanks.

Because you, too, could be hiding behind a screen name instead of making a name for yourself.

– Christopher Robin to Winnie The Pooh

As I kid, I loved the tales of a potbellied bear and his posse that included a tiny pig, a grumpy donkey and a boy who adored him.  His innocence made me smile, and I could definitely relate to his insatiable sweet tooth (honey for him, anything chocolate for me).

But as an adult, I realize that the stories aren’t just cute, they are full of wisdom and comfort…two things I could certainly use right now.

Which is why I’m writing this today.

I’m staring at a finished novel that I’m terrified to send out to my beta readers because I may find out that I spent six years writing a piece of sh*t.

So, I don’t feel brave.

People close to me are hurting because of circumstances that I can’t fix. One is in prison, both physically and spiritually. Another is battling chronic pain and flirting with an opiate addiction. Someone else is shouldering a family loss so huge they may never be made whole again.

So, I don’t feel strong.

I still can’t get my damn blue tooth device to talk to my phone.

So, smart isn’t in the cards today, either.

But the good news is, I don’t have to let my momentary feelings determine the rest of my life.

Because as much of a gift as they can be, sometimes our emotions just get it all wrong.

As the fear and doubt start to pile on, we feel them so strongly that we forget what we know to be true about ourselves in saner moments.

So…

I will send my book to the readers and get it published, regardless of whether I feel like J.K. Rowling.

I will pray for those I love and do whatever is humanly possible to help them, even if it isn’t nearly enough.

I will throw myself on the mercy of the Verizon store gurus and get over my temporary techno-conundrum.

I will listen to the words of a boy who loved his bear, take them into my heart, and share them with anyone who may need them.

Maybe that’s you right now.

If so, I’m here to remind both of us to honor our feelings, but don’t treat them as infallible. Gently question their validity if they try to lead you away from the truth about yourself. And that is…

You are brave.

Strong.

Smart.

Beloved.

Badass. (especially Badass)

To a fault.

I used to say that all the time. Usually when I was failing miserably at something and wanted to deflect any suggestion that I should step up my game.

“I can’t write a book. I’m too busy. “
“I can’t create a website. Technology hates me.”
“How am I supposed to eat a salad when a perfectly good pan of brownies is in grave danger of going stale?”

I’m only human.

But while those three little words provided me with a handy-dandy hall pass for avoidance, it always felt wrong. Like I was using my status as a mere mortal as an excuse to not rise higher.  To achieve all that I knew I was capable of.

So, what’s wrong with declaring yourself to be human?

Nothing at all.

As long as you leave out the qualifier that will put the brakes on your potential greatness:

“Only”

I love the way John Mayer addresses the idea of wanting to go beyond our limits in his song “Bigger Than My Body.”

Someday I’ll fly
Someday I’ll soar
Someday I’ll be so damn much more
Cause I’m bigger than my body gives me credit for

We all dream of being so much more than what we appear to be. To amaze the world – or maybe just ourselves – with the strength, talent and innate bad-assery that has lain dormant for much too long.

So, what do you do to get beyond the often minimal “credit” your physical self says you’re due?

First off, remind it very politely who’s boss:

Your God-given soul.

The spirit that animates the earth suit you’re living in for the time being.  The divine spark that was set off the day you were born and has kept you going up until this very moment.

The part of you that knows you’re meant for more than what you’ve accepted as the status quo.

Secondly, do something.

Anything.

Right now.

One tiny step forward that will signal your intent to once and for all stop believing the bullsh*t story that you’re “only” human.

Write the first sentence of your novel.

Throw some color on a canvas.

Capture a moment in your sketch book.

Destroy your kitchen in pursuit of the perfect spaghetti sauce.

Sing. Loudly.

Lastly, try this mantra on for size:

I am contained by nothing and no one.

Those words came to me recently when I felt constrained by circumstances, both real and imagined. I wasn’t drinking my own koolaid when it came to living in Einstein Time, so I felt rushed and scattered.

Every time I’d reach for my work in progress, my phone would launch into an urgent symphony of beeps and pings.

The clock ticked out a constant reminder that in “X” minutes I was supposed to be somewhere else.

I could feel  my resentment choking off any and all creativity.

Why can’t the world just leave me alone so I can do what I want  – and need – to do?

Then I realized it wasn’t the world’s fault that I was stalling out.

It was mine.

So, I took a deep breath, and out came the aforementioned mantra that reminded that I can never be confined unless I allow myself to be.

Because I am bigger than my body.

So are you.

Prove it to yourself. Today.

Your greatness is waiting. And I for one can’t wait to see it unleashed.

I’m not sure who originated that quote, but I’d always accepted it as true. After all, there are lots of ways to create more cash.

Invent something the world  can’t live without.

Find a better job.

Have a garage sale.

Beg, borrow or steal (not highly recommended unless you want to stand on a street corner, pay interest or get arrested).

But there can’t possibly be a way to make more time, right?

Wrong.

And I’m not talking about getting better at time management. Downloading yet another day planning app and sacrificing sleep and sanity in order to pack more activity into the same 24 hours.

I’m talking about literally creating more time.

At this point, you’ve either decided I’ve been eating peyote buttons for breakfast, or I’m possibly onto something.  I hope it’s the latter. Because if you can wrap your head around the idea I’m about to share with you, your relationship with the clock will never be the same.

Welcome to living in “Einstein Time.”

In Gay Hendricks’ bestselling book, The Big Leap, he presents the groundbreaking idea that time is not a finite entity outside of us, but rather something we ourselves create internally.

As Hendricks puts it, “When we’re running on Einstein Time, our experience of time changes because we make a fundamental change in how much space we are willing to occupy. By learning to occupy space in a new way, we actually gain the ability to generate more time.”

Here’s a practical example from Einstein himself that perfectly explains the flexible nature of time:

“Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute.”

Unless you are wearing asbestos gloves, your tolerance for occupying any space at all on the scorching stove is going to be zero. Conversely, when you’re with someone you’re attracted to, you are more than willing to inhabit each moment together.  And time literally flies.

So how do we stop doing battle with the hours and minutes that seem to rule our lives?

One of the most simple ways to begin accepting the fact that YOU are the source of time is to stop complaining about the lack of it.

Notice that I said “simple,” not “easy.”

We’ve been conditioned to believe in scarcity when it comes to time. So, of course it’s second nature for us to gripe about it.

How often do you catch yourself saying the following:

There aren’t enough hours in the day.

I don’t even have a second to stop and breathe.

Where does the time go?

But if you can (even for a day or two) allow yourself to play with the mantra “I am where time comes from” whenever you feel rushed, you’ll be surprised by how quickly the pressure of trying to wrestle time into submission will dissipate.

While alleviating stress is reason enough to adopt this new way of thinking, there is another benefit that I’ve found to be equally important:

Increasing your creative output exponentially.

If you read my blog, I’m willing to bet that even if you aren’t a writer, you have a huge passion to create.

You want to make more music. Paint more canvases.

Cook more amazing meals. Grow stunning gardens that would make Martha Stewart hate you. (If that last one applies, call me. I have been known to kill a cactus by breathing in its general direction.)

But after you factor in all the other aspects of your life – job, spouse, kids, pets – the assumption is that there is very little room left for your creative outlets. That you can’t possibly generate anything worthwhile when you don’t have an entire day set aside to noodle on your latest project.

And that kind of erroneous thinking is precisely why you need to switch over to Einstein Time (ET).

When you’re operating on ET, you become more easily absorbed in the work you’re doing, whether it’s for fifteen minutes or five hours.  Blocks and resistance dissolve because you aren’t obsessively watching the timer, counting each minute as it slips away. The less you believe in a so-called “time crunch,” the more easily your words, melodies, images or whatever you’re trying to bring forth will flow.

ET applies to the business world, too. The demands you feel upon you (meetings, deadlines, etc.) are much less crushing if you realize that you own the clock, not the other way around.

But what if everyone else thinks I’m crazy? Or they won’t  play along with my new perception of time?

Not to worry. The beauty of ET is that other people don’t have to buy into this concept.

Just you.

The idea of ET is simple, but it takes a little practice to integrate it. In fact, as I began writing this post, I was hyper-cognizant of an appointment I had looming on the horizon today. I found myself getting uptight over the prospect of finishing this – and several other pieces – before I had to leave my house.

So, I stopped, took a breath…and reminded myself of who’s really in charge.

And I wrapped it all up with time to spare.

If you’re ready to give up feeling like you’re living on a shot clock, give ET a try.

You’ll find that time really is on your side.

I got a decent amount of work straight out of the gate. And that was partly due to the fact that I was so elated to no longer be starring in my own personal revival of Office Space, I would write about anyone or anything.  From executive officer profiles and Facebook campaigns to video scripts for spray tan gadgets and robotic surgery, I took everything that came my way.

But after some time, I started to feel that something wasn’t right.

Not cataclysmically so. Just enough to get my attention.  Repeatedly.

But instead of taking this sense of disquiet as a sign something was intrinsically wrong with me, I decided to treat it as a signal to dig deeper into what was really going on inside. Look back on my creative path and see where – or how – I’d gone off the rails.

I had successfully escaped the 9-to-5 rat race.  But I realized that once my initial sense of liberation began to flag, I started approaching my work from a place of  fear and self-criticism.

You’d better not screw up with these clients or it’s back to File Cabinet Hell.

You can’t keep this up forever. Every well runs dry eventually.

You just wrote a piece about anti-fungal cream. Sexy.

The more I worked from that dark and cramped space, the worse the internal nagging became.  I couldn’t understand how I’d managed to ruin the writing life that I’d always wished for.

I didn’t know what was missing. But I was determined to find out before CareerBuilder.com started calling my name.

That’s when I was gifted with a little book by Melody Beattie simply titled Gratitude.

And because the Creator has a wicked sense of humor, this quote was on the first page I opened to:

God, teach me how to enjoy and savor the pleasures, gifts and talents that are spread out before me.

Alrighty then.

From that moment on, I made it a point to be deeply grateful for every single idea or project that came to me…no matter how seemingly illustrious or insignificant.

To see them as blessed opportunities to grow instead of just paying assignments.

To enjoy the learning curve instead of letting it terrify me.

As I collected more and more of these experiences, my sense of inspiration and joy – and consequently, my entire world – expanded. I connected with other writers instead of staying isolated. And that led to opportunities that I had never allowed myself to consider before: blogging, guest posting and eBook writing and publishing, to name just a few.

But there was still something more.

I never really thought of myself as a teacher or a coach. Or more accurately, in true Mary fashion, I simply didn’t allow myself to be cast in that role. Who needs your motivational genius? Pretty sure Tony Robbins and Oprah have that arena covered for at least 90% of humanity.

But I have always felt a need to serve people. To give back, pay it forward…whatever you want to call it. The need to give was always there, but I didn’t know exactly what to do with it.

But the more I worked with gratefulness and saw how it transformed my life, I couldn’t shake the idea that I wanted to share what I’d learned. To let people know that peace, satisfaction and unlimited joy can be the norm…even when Life tap dances all over their perfectly laid plans.

And the best way to do this is to step into a role that enhances rather than replaces my life as a writer:

Gratitude Coach

I am still figuring out how this is going to take shape. How it will evolve as a mission, a business, or both. But I’ve decided today that I am dedicated to helping people live their best and most fulfilled lives by using the most powerful tool on the planet: Thankfulness.

Here’s to the start of yet another new adventure. I look forward to having you along with me.

But the fact is, it’s hard to improve your writing when you aren’t actually doing it.

So, the other thing I’m always looking for are surefire tips on how to get my ass moving when everything but the keyboard is calling for my attention.

And thanks to blogger Ali Luke’s wise words, I have found a method that works for me every time I use it.

It’s hugely scientific. You may want to take notes.

Ready?  Here goes…

Open the Damn Document (ODD).

It’s so deceptively simple that it’s tempting to just blow it off. Oh, right. Opening the document is going to magically make the piece write itself.

Unfortunately, that isn’t the case. But the tiny step of putting yourself – literally – within arm’s length of the page makes it infinitely more likely that you’ll get down to business.

And yes, this works when your project is overwhelming. Especially when it’s overwhelming. Because it’s much easier to stomach the thought of merely opening a file than it is to obligate yourself to War and Peace-level output.

I recently had to put this technique into major practice when I wrote and published my first eBook: Gratitude Adjustment: 5 Simple Shifts To Refresh Your Perspective and Ignite Your Life. Even though it was planned to be a very short book, I was still freaked out by the possibility of…well, everything.

You know nothing about this kind of format. What makes you think you can put out a book on Kindle all by yourself? You are such a techno-idiot, you will probably single-handedly blow up Amazon when you hit the ‘publish’ button. And why do you think anyone cares about your take on gratitude? I’m pretty sure the Dalai Oprah has that one covered.

So – being the wildly enlightened person that I am –  I listened slavishly to the aforementioned bullsh*t and proceeded to procrastinate like a demon.

Oh my God…there’s a science project growing in the toilet. I’d better clean it up immediately or else the dogs might drink the water and die.

Uh, oh. We’re out of vanilla extract. And chocolate chips. I haven’t baked since MTV actually played music videos, but suddenly I’m feeling a Tollhouse cookie deficiency. Hey, it’s a blood sugar issue. It’ll just take me ten minutes to run to the store.

But one sparkling toilet and three trays of baked goods later, I was still firmly rooted in my authorship avoidance.

So, it was time to engage in some ODD behavior.

I went to my laptop and opened the page of notes I’d started for the book. The urge to get up and clean something or have a Betty Crocker relapse was still there. But it wasn’t nearly as strong as before.

Come on, you’ve got your butt in the chair and the page in front of you. Just write a few words. Then you’re free to keep your hot date with the vacuum cleaner.

So, I jotted a few words. Which turned into a few paragraphs. And one hour later, the Hoover was still sitting forlornly in the corner while my book took on a life of its own.

Even if you’re not a writer, the ODD principle is still one you can apply to your own pursuits.

Want to become a great chef? Don’t freak yourself out by trying to figure out how you’re going to afford living in Paris while you train at Le Cordon Bleu.  Buy a cookbook and play with a recipe or two.

Tired of living like a human beanbag chair? Skip buying $1500 worth of clothing racks…um, I mean exercise equipment…and start with a walk around the block.

Goethe was on to this concept well over 150 years ago when he wrote, “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”

Just choose one step. Keep it simple. Then keep it up.

You’ll be amazed where you’ll go from there.