What I Know For Sure (7 page)

A few years ago, I was writing this question in my journal every day: “What am I afraid of?” Over time I realized that while I had often seemed brave on the outside, I had lived much of my inner life in bondage. I was afraid that others wouldn’t like me. I was terrified that if I said no to people, they would reject me. Everything I did, thought, felt, said, or even ate was connected to the fear I carried around with me—and I allowed it to block me from ever knowing who I really was.

Dr. Phil often says you can’t change what you don’t acknowledge. Before I could challenge my fear and begin changing what I believed about myself, I had to admit that, yes, I had always been afraid—and that my fear was a form of slavery. Author Neale Donald Walsch says, “So long as you’re still worried about what others think of you, you are owned by them. Only when you require no approval from outside yourself can you own yourself.”

It’s true that when you summon the courage to cast a vote for yourself, when you dare to step out, speak up, change yourself, or even simply do something outside of what others call the norm, the results may not always be pleasant. You can expect obstacles. You’ll fall down. Others may call you nutty. At times it may feel like the whole world is rising up to tell you who you cannot become and what you cannot do. (It can upset people when you exceed the limited expectations they’ve always had for you.) And in moments of weakness, your fear and self-doubt may cause you to falter. You may be so exhausted that you want to quit. But the alternatives are even worse: You might find yourself stuck in a miserable rut for years at a time. Or you could spend too many days languishing in regret, always wondering,
What would my life have been like if I hadn’t cared so much about what people thought?

And what if you decided right now that you will stop letting fear block you? What if you learned to live with it, to ride its wave to heights you never knew were possible? You might discover the joy of tuning out what everybody wants for you and finally pay attention to what you need. And learn that, ultimately, you have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself. That is what it truly means to live without fear—and to keep reaching for your best life.

The true measure of
your courage is not whether you reach your goal—it’s whether you decide to get back on your feet no matter how many times you’ve failed. I know it’s not easy, but I also know for sure that having the courage to stand up and pursue your wildest dreams will give you life’s richest reward and life’s greatest adventure. And what’s really wild? Right now, no matter where you are, you are a single choice away from a new beginning.

One of my defining
moments came in the third grade—the day a book report I’d turned in earned my teacher’s praise and made my classmates grudgingly whisper, “She thinks she’s so smart.” For too many years after that, my biggest fear was that others would see me as arrogant. In some ways, even my weight was my apology to the world—my way of saying, “See, I really don’t think I’m better than you.” The last thing I wanted was for my actions to make me appear full of myself.

Beginning when we are girls, most of us are taught to deflect praise. We apologize for our accomplishments. We try to level the field with our family and friends by downplaying our brilliance. We settle for the passenger’s seat when we long to drive. That’s why so many of us have been willing to hide our light as adults. Instead of being filled with all the passion and purpose that enable us to offer our best to the world, we empty ourselves in an effort to silence our critics.

The truth is that the naysayers in your life can never be fully satisfied. Whether you hide or shine, they’ll always feel threatened because they don’t believe
they
are enough. So stop paying attention to them. Every time you suppress some part of yourself or allow others to play you small, you are ignoring the owner’s manual your Creator gave you. What I know for sure is this: You are built not to shrink down to less but to blossom into more. To be more splendid. To be more extraordinary. To use every moment to fill yourself up.

In 1989 I read
this passage in Gary Zukav’s
The Seat of the Soul:

Every action, thought, and feeling is motivated by an intention, and that intention is a cause that exists as one with an effect. If we participate in the cause, it is not possible for us not to participate in the effect. In this most profound way, we are held responsible for our every action, thought, and feeling, which is to say, for our every intention.… It is, therefore, wise for us to become aware of the many intentions that inform our experience, to sort out which intentions produce which effects, and to choose our intentions according to the effects that we desire to produce.

That was a life-changing paragraph for me. I had recognized for a long time that I was responsible for my life, that every choice produced a consequence. But often the consequences seemed so out of line with my expectations. That’s because I was expecting one thing but intending another. My intention of always trying to please other people, for example, produced an unwanted consequence: I often felt taken advantage of and used, and people came to expect more, more, more from me.

But the principle of intention helped me realize that other people weren’t the problem—I was. I decided to do only those things that came from the truth of who I am—and doing only that which pleased me to do for others.

What I know for sure is that whatever your situation is right now, you have played a major role in creating it. With every experience, you build your life, thought by thought, choice by choice. And beneath each of those thoughts and choices lies your deepest intention. That’s why, before I make any decision, I ask myself one critical question:
What is my real intention?

Since reading that passage in
The Seat of the Soul,
I have seen time and again how knowing the answer to that question can be your guiding force. The reverse is also true. When you don’t examine your intention, you often end up with consequences that block your progress. Over the years I have witnessed far too many couples who stayed married when they shouldn’t have, simply because their intention was just that—to be married, rather than to be fulfilled. And in the end, each of those couples had a relationship in which there was no regard for intimacy, growth, or building a strong life.

If you’re feeling stuck in your life and want to move forward, start by examining your past motivations. Look closely—I’ve learned that my truest intentions are often hiding in the shadows. Ask yourself:
How have my intentions produced the experiences I’m having now? And if I change my intentions, what different consequences will I create?
As you make choices that honor who you are, you’ll get exactly what life intended for you—the chance to reach your greatest potential.

I’ve always had
a great relationship with money, even when I barely had any to relate to. I never feared not having it and never obsessed about what I had. Like most people, I can remember every salary I ever made. I suppose we remember because a salary helps define the value of our service—and, unfortunately for some people, the value they place on themselves.

I first realized I was not my salary when I was 15 and making 50 cents an hour babysitting Mrs. Ashberry’s rowdy kids, and cleaning up after she pulled nearly every outfit from her closet every time she got dressed. Her bedroom always looked like the end-of-the-day, last-call sale at Macy’s, with shoes and brightly colored necklaces and dresses everywhere. Just before flitting out the door (without leaving any info as to where she was going or how she could be reached), she’d say, “Oh, by the way, dear, would you mind tidying things up a bit?” Well, yes, of course I did mind, and the first time I “tidied up,” I did such a great job, I thought surely she’d pay me extra when she saw how I cleaned not only her room but the kids’ rooms, too. She never did. So I moved on and found a job that would pay me more—a job where I thought my efforts would be appreciated.

There was a five-and-dime not far from my father’s store, and I got hired there for $1.50 an hour. My job was to keep things straight, stock shelves, fold socks. I wasn’t allowed to work the cash register or speak to customers. I hated it. Two hours in, I found myself counting the minutes to lunch, then to quitting time. Even at 15 I knew in my soul this was no way to live, or make money. I was bored beyond anything I’ve ever felt before or since. So after three days, I quit and went to work in my father’s store—for
no
salary. I didn’t like working there, either, but at least I could talk to people and not feel like my spirit was being drained by the hour. Still, I knew that no matter how much my father wanted it to be, that store would not be a part of my future life.

By the time I was 17, I was working in radio, making $100 a week. And that’s when I made my peace with money. I decided that no matter what job I ever did, I wanted that same feeling I got when I first started in radio—the feeling of
I love this so much, even if you didn’t pay me I’d show up every day, on time and happy to be here.
I recognized then what I know now for sure: If you can get paid for doing what you love, every paycheck is a bonus. Give yourself the bonus of a lifetime: Pursue your passion. Discover what you love. Then do it!

I’ve never been a
white-water-raftin’, bungee-jumpin’ kind of girl—that’s not how I define adventure. What I know for sure is this: The most important adventure of our lives doesn’t have to involve climbing the highest peak or trekking around the world. The biggest thrill you can ever achieve is to live the life of your dreams.

Maybe you’re like so many women I’ve talked to over the years who have suspended their deepest desires in order to accommodate everything and everyone else. You ignore the nudge—that whisper that often comes in the form of emptiness or restlessness—to finally get on with what you know you should be doing. I understand how easy it is to rationalize: Your mate and your children need you; the job that you admit makes you miserable demands so much of your time. But what happens when you work hard at something unfulfilling? It drains your spirit. It robs you of your life force. You end up depleted, depressed, and angry.

You don’t have to waste another day on that road. You can begin again. Starting over begins with looking inward. It means ridding yourself of distractions and paying attention to that inkling you’ve been ignoring. I’ve learned that the more stressful and chaotic things are on the outside, the calmer you need to get on the inside. It’s the only way you can connect with where your spirit is leading you.

Many years ago,
as a young television reporter at WJZ in Baltimore, I was given what was considered a plum assignment. I was sent to Los Angeles to interview a few television stars.

At first I was thrilled. Here was a chance to prove myself a good interviewer—alone, without the help of my usual co-anchor—and to add some celebrity cachet to my career experience. But by the time I arrived in California, I felt like a small fish dropped into the Hollywood fishbowl. I started to doubt myself:
Who was I to think I could just walk into their world and expect them to talk to me?
Reporters from all over the country had been invited. There were throngs of us local newscasters, entertainment/lifestyle reporters, each given five minutes to interview an actor from the TV season’s upcoming lineup. I started to feel nervous. Uncomfortable. Inept. Not good enough to be there with all those other reporters from much bigger cities with more experience than I.

To make matters worse, a representative for Priscilla Presley, who was there for a new show she was hosting, told me—as I was eleventh in line to talk to her—“You can ask her anything, but whatever you do, don’t mention Elvis. She’ll walk out on you.” So now I wasn’t just intimidated by this new world of “stars” and their handlers—I was feeling completely inhibited.

I’d been a TV reporter since I was 19. I’d interviewed hundreds of people in difficult situations and prided myself on being able to break the ice and establish rapport. But I wasn’t accustomed to real “stars.” I thought they had some mystique, that being famous made them not only different but also better than us regular folk. And I was having difficulty figuring out how I’d pull that off in a five-minute time frame with the most real questions being off-limits.

For some reason—you might call it a coincidence; I call it grace in action—I was switched from the Priscilla Presley line to interview a young comedian who was starting a new show called
Mork & Mindy.
What followed were five of the most exhilarating, wild, off-the-charts minutes I’d ever spent in an interview, with the most uninhibited, out-of-the-box, free-falling-in-every-second celebrity/human I’d ever met.

I don’t remember a word I said (but I know I hardly said any). He was a geyser of energy. I remember thinking,
Whoever this guy is, he is going to be BIG.
He wasn’t afraid to be his many selves. I had great fun playing with Robin Williams, and I learned in that instant to go where the interview takes you. He was all over the place, and I had to flow with it.

So when my turn came to talk to Miss Priscilla, I for sure had received the lesson: You can’t accomplish anything worthwhile if you inhibit yourself.

I asked about Elvis. She didn’t walk out. In fact, she obliged me with an answer.

If life teaches you nothing else, know this: When you get the chance, go for it.

My biggest mistakes
in life have all stemmed from giving my power to someone else—believing that the love others had to offer was more important than the love I had to give to myself. I remember being 29 and in a relationship based on lies and deceit, down on my knees crying after Mr. Man, once again, brought me low. I had been waiting for him all evening—he stood me up, arriving hours after our date, and I had dared to ask why. I remember him standing in the doorway and hurling these words at me: “The problem with you, baby doll, is that you think you’re special.” At which point he turned on his heels and slammed the door in my face.