Every day has a flavour: today was nuts.

 Bodhi is different. I see it sometimes as a flicker of recognition as it passes stranger’s faces, sometimes a look of delight, other times a look of confusion or shock – depending on the type of different he wears that day. Depending on if he has stopped someone on the street to tell them what a beautiful person they are or if he has spent the duration of a haircut rolling his eyes back and snarling like a velociraptor (bless the hairdresser for snarling along with him).

Suffice to say he has quirks, and they demand to be noticed. Sometimes his difference is subtle, it lingers in the background, like a ray of light on good says, or like a shadow on days when he got up on the wrong side of the bed.

Other times it seems all consuming, the hard days feel like they must always be like this, and on the good days the difference is so damn beautiful I wonder how I noticed anything else.

I used to tell myself he’d grow out of some of his difference, knowing full well that he was born with it, as much part of him as his gorgeous smile. Those would be the times I’d see him playing with kids and watch things just not click for him like they did for others, or be out with him and get the feeling that we were residing in entirely different worlds and mine didn’t make any more sense to him than his did to me. When he had no problem with huge concepts but the ABC song was all too impossible. But I told myself he’d grow out of it, because that made sense at the time.

Today was one of the shadow days. The days where a shopping trip was interrupted by a tearful cry of “Mum! Seba grabbed my tongue!” “How did he get your tongue?” “I was trying to see if I could shove his whole fist in my mouth and he grabbed it!!!”  A day where a beautiful swim in a gorgeous pool was, in his world, somehow agonizingly difficult in some way or another. A day when at a crowded checkout, amidst a sea of feet and trolleys he decided to lay down on the floor and yell at anyone who came near him.

These are the days when I deep breathe a lot to keep my patience. Sometimes it still escapes me. Chocolate usually lures it back. And if I do feel my temper fraying as I remind him something for the 237th time that’s when he will squeeze my hand and tell me he loves me, then ask, as though it’s an obvious question, if I’m going to turn into a dragon anytime soon.

These are the days that it’s harder to stay in love with his difference, but they’re also the days he needs it more. Because his little world doesn’t have to make sense to me, it just has to matter – really matter.

It might be the same for someone in your life. You might have the adventure of someone different in your family, your friends or your work. Their version of different might not be the same as Bodhi’s… but they might still fill your week with their fair share of light and shadow days. They might fascinate and inspire you with their perspective, or madden you with their quirks. What’s that saying? “Blessed are the cracked, for they let the light in.” Their difference lets the light in, even in the times it drives you crazy. It challenges you, pushes you, makes you question.

My boys fell asleep in the car as I drove home today. Two angelic faces, eyes closed, free of worries and wonder, just at peace. And for the first time I let go of the notion that he’d grow out of his difference. He won’t. He’ll grow INTO it. And he’ll fill it in the most wonderful way.

He woke up bright and happy from that nap, rested and smiling, as if to confirm the peace I felt. He read books, practiced writing on his ipad, then came and grabbed my hand. “Lets play Lego” he said, “you can be the dragon.”

Copyright Nirvana Dawson 2012

Santa’s gift

Christmas is coming; the rumble of summer storms mingled with Christmas carols and beach sand that burns our feet. And despite the sweat, Santa never seems to feel the heat in his big red suit.

Like all children, there came a time when I realized Santa was a myth. I hinted this to my parents, but they denied it; they fought to keep Santa alive for me for just a little longer. So I played them. Blatantly. I asked for overpriced toys, discontinued toys, one of a kind toys… dolls only found in museums. And I said, in my sweet little girl voice, that if Santa was real he could bring me anything.

I don’t remember what I got for Christmas that year, but I do remember the rush of victory when I didn’t get anything I’d asked Santa for. My parents had to admit defeat.

Then I grew up, and somewhere in my logical pre-mummy brain I decided that I wouldn’t lie about Santa Claus. There was enough magic in the world, I decided, without hiding behind made up fat men who got all the credit for mum and dads Christmas shopping. I wouldn’t lie, I’d just tell my kids that Santa was a fun game people played at Christmas time. Yep, that’s what would happen. But that didn’t happen. Bodhi happened. When he was two I went along with my plan and he nodded with wide eyes the way a two year old does when they’re really thinking “I’m-not-listening-to-a-single-word-you’re-saying-oooohhhtoys!!”

When he was three I dared to suggest the same thing and was told in no uncertain terms that Santa DID exist and was EXTREMELY real. There was proof of that, obviously, in the fact that there are all those story books about him. I mean look at them, HEAPS.

He’s four now, and Santa’s existence is clearly not a topic for debate.

So the myth of the fat man is tangible at our house. I’m glad. Because that pre-mummy brain didn’t see how much fun there was in his existence. How little logic was important when there was magic to be found. And the fact that I can already see Bodhi’s brain ticking over about the absurdness of it all (“So Mum, how does Santa get into the houses without chimneys?” “That’s not really Santa at the shopping centre is it?”) makes the fleetingness of it all the more fun.

 But with all the fun I also want to give my kids a little of the real stuff. A little of the Saint Nick stuff.

Every week Bodhi gets his allowance in coins. They are divided between jars, Living, Giving, Saving and Wealthing (though the savings one should just be titled “Lego”). This week we are about to count the Giving jar. We’re about to count the coins and give something.

We’ve spoken about what he’d like to give and he’s decided he’d like to buy some chickens or a goat for someone in Africa (we’ll use TEAR Australia’s “Really Useful Gifts http://www.usefulgifts.org/ ). We’ve spoken about why this would be a nice thing to do and he chats about it with the enthusiasm of someone still innocent enough to want to change a world they don’t really understand.

It’s awesome.

He’s also collecting toys here and there for the wishing tree. This week we’re going to buy wrapping paper, or rather he is, his choice, and I’ll be there with the scissors and tape to help him wrap them. Then he’ll go and put them under the tree for someone he doesn’t know, just because, just to make them smile.

You see my pre-mummy brain didn’t see the sense in the bearded man with his elves making presents. But that part of me didn’t get the moral of the story. The part where magic and giving come together. The part where my little elf counts his coins to make sure Santa arrives for someone else and wants to wrap a strangers gift as much as he wants to tear the paper off his own. That’s the magic bit, and I’m so glad I didn’t miss it.

So this Christmas I’m explaining about Saint Nick. I’m telling him about the birth of Jesus. I’m talking about the Summer Solstice. I’m also going to make sure there’s a reindeer carrot bitten in half on Christmas morning and some hoof prints on the deck.

And the way his eyes light up with excitement about it all is my gift. Thank you Santa – it’s perfect.

Copyright Nirvana Dawson 2012

The Difficult Ones

Disclaimer – this post is written about the challenging people in our lives. About the overbearing boss, the difficult coworker, the moody relative, the judgmental neighbour. It is not referring to cases of abuse, serious bullying or violence, or trying to solve them.

Someone asked me recently for my thoughts on the difficult ones. On how to handle it when we encounter people who are spiteful, underhanded or just plain horrible to deal with.

I believe that there are a few elements to this, so I’ll break them down a little…

First of all – we are selfish

Let go of negative connotations around that word, because it’s just how we’re wired. I’m not saying that we all behave in a selfish manner, but rather that our motivations are based on our own needs and perceptions. And rightfully so.

A lot of our actions flow on from this, whether they seem self centered or altruistic to others. For example I might donate money to help someone less fortunate – even though my action is giving, the motivation for doing so comes from self-actualization, or more simply, it makes me feel good.

A negative behavior is the same – if I act irritated at a friend it is about how I feel. She may have acted in a way that triggered that feeling in me, but that is my perception. Hers may be different; therefore that irritation is based on myself more than her.

In short, your actions and feelings are yours – they’re ultimately about you. Another person’s actions, feeling and motivations are about them.

It stands to reason that in a diverse world with billions of people we will encounter those that seem kind and those that seem unkind. We will encounter those we love, those we hate, the bullies and manipulators as well as those that warm our hearts.

The problem is that they’re all behaving and perceiving selfishly and so are we. So we make it about us. And it’s not.

Likewise they perceive our actions and reactions to be about them, but they’re not either. Conflict has a habit of feeding itself this way.

A wise woman I know with dark skin was once asked if she experienced racism. She said no, then explained “But if I’m not served first at the counter, I think they’re busy, not that I’m black. If someone is rude to me I think they’re having a hard day, not that they have a problem with the colour of my skin.” She didn’t make it about her, because it wasn’t. So she saw the best in situations instead of looking for the worst.

If we can remind ourselves, as our hackles rise, that another’s words or actions are not our doing, then we can change the outcome with our own perception. It’s not our fault or our flaws, so take the hurt out of it.

Be selfish enough to act with kindness, because it feels good to you and to others. And while you endeavor not to make mountains of molehills, not to take blame or hurt that’s not yours – still be selfish enough to surround yourself with people who will treat you kindly. You deserve that.

We all speak different languages

It’s easy to miss when the words all sound the same, but we do.

Years ago I worked with an older lady who was bullying me in the workplace. I hadn’t expected that experience at all and was shocked and hurt. Going to work was like walking on eggshells and I often ended up in tears. Until one day two things clicked – 1) it wasn’t about me, my presence just stirred something in her and 2) the language she spoke- craved -was that of affirmation. She was fighting me because she felt threatened and my defending myself just confirmed that threat to her.

So instead of retaliating I made an effort to soften and to use her language.  I affirmed her strengths, I made a point of noticing what she did well, I asked her to share her tips and things she had found worked. When I thought about her I focused on the positives. Within the week not only had she apologized for how she’d acted, but she’d become a friend. She turned out to be a great support.

Most people’s fight is actually a shield for something. Sometimes it’s just about showing that we’re not armed.

There’s been the neighbour that put down our house, whose guard dropped when his insights were acknowledged, and his choices affirmed as well as our own. The acquaintance who attacked my parenting choices, whose insecurities acted as such great weapons, but fell away when they saw there was no judgment in our differences. The spiteful boss who feared for their power, who became an ally when they saw I had no urge to take what was theirs.

I’m not suggesting you become a pushover. I’m saying that there are many kinds of strength, many kinds of wisdom. And sometimes the greatest strength is to choose to be soft.

I’m suggesting that you take a little time to read people. To take notice of what language they speak.

Because you can keep fighting the difficult ones, but your fight just builds that shield of theirs into a stronger weapon. 

When you meet someone who speaks with hatred, find the dialect of kindness to undo them. When you meet someone who speaks to hurt, listen to what is behind their words to find what has hurt them.

And if someone is just plain cruel – walk away. Regardless of their language, you do not need to have that conversation.

It’s about energy

Some believe that everyone comes into our lives for a reason. That we either have something to teach them or them, us. I think there’s some truth in this. Sometimes our clarity, strength or kindness can be enough to change someone’s path completely. Sometimes the challenge they provide can be enough for us to find how clear, strong or kind we are.

But some people just seem to have more than their share of difficult ones, of harder situations, while others find themselves surrounded by more of the good stuff.

Everything is energy, and ours is made up of our perceptions, experiences, and what we surround ourselves with. If you have a difficult person in your life, or one who continually drags you down they are influencing your energy as you connect with them.

Aspire to surround yourself with people who lift you higher, but when circumstances don’t allow it (due to family, work, where you live etc) just choose not to engage anymore. Shift your focus and choose not to give so much of yourself to them.

Seek out more of the people whose energy DOES lift you higher, and connect there. It might be a close friend of someone you pass in the shops. Take the opportunity to feel the good wherever you find it. Notice kindness wherever you can. You’ll begin to attract what you’re looking for, and as you disconnect from that which doesn’t work for you you’ll begin to notice it less.

So in the end…

Don’t take on negativity that isn’t yours. Take time to read people and speak their language occasionally.  Surround yourself with the good stuff. Life is meant to have a lot of happy in it – if it doesn’t, then it’s a reminder to take a step back.

You deserve to be treated well. You deserve to laugh often. You deserve kindness that blows your mind. 

Copyright Nirvana Dawson 2012


Bodhi on parenting

“I don’t want him to follow me!” Bodhi protested as Sebastian took off after him down the hall, all squeals, giggles and mischief.

“He’s just trying to play with you.” I explained (again) “He doesn’t know how to play your games yet, so we need to be patient and teach him.”

Apparently this wasn’t convincing. “Why?” Bodhi asked.

“That’s what we do for babies. When you were little you couldn’t do much at all, but we helped teach you to roll over, sit up, eat, walk, talk and play games. We had to help you learn how to do everything you do now.”

“Seriously?” He looked horrified. “You must have been BORED out of your MIND!!”

(Maybe I shouldn’t hurry to teach Sebastian *too* much anyway, Bodhi has spent the week repeatedly trying to arrest him. Whenever I point out that he’s not a villain – like in his games – he responds “He’ll probably be one when he grows up. You can’t be too careful.” Best not grow up too fast then!)


Copyright Nirvana Dawson 2012

Growing Something Good

“The garden teaches us there is something we are all capable of doing. Only with something so small that can be in everyones hand can we challenge the empire.”  Vandana Shiva

We are currently building a house, a process that involves watching a drawing come to life before your eyes, to the heartbeat of nail guns and tradie’s radios.

We are intensely excited about the garage door, the floor, the windows, even the linen cupboard. Of course not all of it is there yet, but it will be, and we look forward to it like a child looks forward to the end of a story, because no matter how we think it will look or feel, we know it will surprise us in some joyful way.

But around the house is something really special – a blank slate. A yard that has not been landscaped or planted, no garden beds or trees or overgrown pathways. It just is. And I can’t wait to start helping it grow.

I’m really noticing lately how reliant on the grid we all are. For our power, water, entertainment and most of all – food. Few of us want to live a fully self sufficient life, but as evidence continues to show sprayed fruit and vegetables to be toxic, and organic food prices soar while genetically modified ingredients creep into our food supply… maybe it’s time to do something, a little something.

Our little something is going to be an edible garden. Not a veggie garden, but rather an entire yard where everything, bar the grass, either is food, or helps to grow it.

There is an online campaign called “Grow Food Not Lawns” (find them on facebook) and though I love soft green grass beneath my feet, it does make a good point. What if we got used to seeing a front garden filled with vegetables? What if we dug up just a little of our grass and planted something we could eat? What if we turned our ornamental gardens into practical ones? The easy care trees into fruit trees? What if we planted potatoes in the corner of the yard we never use, and turned our kitchen scraps into compost? What if our salad greens thrived amongst edible flowers?

What if even a quarter of us converted even a quarter of our yards into urban farms?

What if all of us grew something?

Can you imagine what it would do for our budgets, our health and our communities? We’d have enough to share, even with that. We would connect with our neighbors more, and ‘fast food’ could be a salad thrown together in minutes from the garden.

We are blessed where we live, but for a lot of people even here affording as many quality fresh fruit and vegetables as they should be eating is difficult (let alone the range they should be eating, or organic). In America someone living on foodstamps has around $30 a week to feed themselves. In other parts of the world people have even less.

We all carry with us a wealth of practical life skills to pass on to our children. They are an inheritance of sorts – a precious one. Maybe this inheritance can help them along the way or even save them revisiting some of our own mistakes. But how many of us have this skill to pass on – how to grow a high yield, thriving, organic vegetable garden. The skill of feeding yourself.

I don’t. I don’t learn gardening from books, for me it’s like trying to learn dance from print. It brings out my clumsy side.

I have planted gardens before, plenty of them, but my system involved putting things in the ground and hoping. In the end the cherry tomatoes and sweet potatoes were victorious (and ones the size of footballs continued to be dug up MONTHS later), while most other things either became insect entrées or just didn’t do anything at all. Seriously, I had a cabbage stay an inch high for months – I had too much sympathy for the poor runt to pull it out.

So I’m hiring someone better versed in permaculture to help create something on that beautiful blank slate of ours. To show me where things should go to help them thrive, how to feed them and nourish them so that they can do the same for us.

Children often learn best by doing, so that garden of mine can plant seeds of knowledge and inspiration for my kids. They might love it and munch on fresh snowpeas and cucumbers they harvest themselves, or they might ignore it in favour of Lego. But I want it to become normal for them, habit, to think of food as coming from the earth rather than a supermarket.

Considering that what we eat and how we eat can affect our health, the planet and even our ethics, I’m realizing that no matter what else I teach my children this lesson should be right up there in “Life 101”.

We look around at what’s wrong in the world and we get a lot of fight in us. Our inner activist looks at all this before us and either attacks what they can or has the breath knocked out of their fight because there’s SO MUCH to be done, and there are SO MANY bigger, stronger warriors on the other team.

But real change doesn’t need the force of a tidal wave, it needs the reach of a ripple. It starts small and spreads, and slowly, it can make a new normal. Because that’s what we have to do to make real change. It has to stop feeling like change at all. If we can get used to seeing lettuce in place of mondo grass, spinach in place of gerbras, potatoes in place of ferns – we can change the world.

Our power doesn’t lay in a fight, but in ceasing to be passive. It lays in planting that seed. That’s what starts the ripple, because we vote most powerfully with our forks – with how we eat. We show how we will accept our animals to be treated, we take the power back in our health, and we help the environment as we do it.

Our garden might make up the knowledge we pass onto our children, parents or friends. It might build a bridge between neighbors or inspire a passer by. It might ease the strain on our budget, or it might just make for fresher herbs and salads. But if we can plant that seed – plant something – the future we grow can surprise us.

Copyright Nirvana Dawson 2012

The Leaf Fish

The other day as we were leaving a park my son passed me a crinkled yellow leaf that we simply had to take home. This was a daily occurrence, and that day my patience was waning.

“We’ll leave this one,” I said “it’s just a leaf.”

There was fire in his eyes as he responded “It’s not a leaf at all Mummy, can’t you see? It’s a beautiful yellow fish.” He said this as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you understand why it’s so important now?”

“Yeah baby,” I told him “I see it now.”

This post is to us mothers, all of us, for the moments we forget to see that fish.

Dear Mummas,

I know sometimes we’re tired, and that it’s a little harder to be a dreamer without sleep.

This grown up world we live in is all about reality, but try not to let reality obscure the view today. Peek past it when you can. We’ll do it together.

Pretty much every day small hands thrust treasures at us to take home – a pile of sticks, a leaf, a seedpod or branch. They look like more ‘stuff’, more mess to clean up. But you see the thing is, they’re not sticks, leaves, seedpods or branches at all. The leaves are a school of fish swimming to escape a shark (that frayed leaf was bitten by it), the branches are swords or magic wands… except for that one right there… that one’s a tranquilizer gun to shoot carnivorous dinosaurs. The seedpods are rockets, the seeds the passengers that they’re taking to Mars.

The spilled puddle of water little fingers are tracing around the table is a river, the biro hole in the papaya is an escape hatch for a passing worm. And to a child’s eyes that furniture, oh it is simply aching to be climbed.

Try not to get frustrated by the random moments beautiful mums, like when the ball keeps being sat on during a game of kicking – because it’s obviously not a ball. It’s a blue egg laid by the dragon that lives just over the hill. Your little one is just trying to keep it warm so it can hatch. You would too if you’d seen that dragons fire.

Don’t get so focused on driving to the grocery store today that you fail to notice the magical time portal that just transported you to the Cretaceous period – I bet you understand the importance of that tranquilizer gun now, don’t you?

I know the stories get old when we’ve heard them a thousand times, or the questions have been answered to the point of madness, but they’re still being told because they’re loved, they’re classics. And the answers to those questions – our children colour in their wonderings with them a little more each time.

 There are days when we crave silence like we’re hungry for it, when our kids sound like they’re talking just to bury the peace beneath noise. But that’s their music, for now, it’s how their rhythm is found.

Lets be patient today, with our kids and also with ourselves. Because it is hard, it is tiring, and we really have to grab onto that wonder to stop from sliding into monotony.

Sometimes we forget how big this job is – how important our role is right now. Because when we’re helping a baby open and close drawers, soothing tantrums or wrestling a child into a pair of pajamas it doesn’t feel like we’re changing the world. It’s easy to forget how many lives our little ones will touch, how many people they’ll make laugh, inspire or love. But they will – they do.

Some days reality clouds the view too much for us grown ups, and we fail to see the snowstorm in the dishwashing bubbles or the boat in the laundry basket. We can though, and our kids know it – their imagination is bright enough to spark our own. That’s their job, and it’s just as important as ours. Just as important as the leaf fish.


 Copyright Nirvana Dawson 2012

Happy Birthday to Us

 “The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.” Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

My Baby Boy,

This day, almost a year ago, I was awaiting the birth I didn’t want, for the child I desperately did. Like many things in life, it didn’t go quite to plan. Like many things in motherhood, it required more courage than I’d expected.

But we did it. And amidst the beautiful madness there you were – absolutely perfectly… sticky. And ours. You opened your sleepy eyes and looked at me, and you owned that room, baby boy. You owned us.

My hand shook as I shielded you from the harsh light. I’d wanted dim light and a blissful water birth, I’d wanted gentle and empowering. I’d wanted peaceful and natural and perfect. But you were so beautiful that I didn’t care about what wasn’t. I didn’t care about the people bustling around the theatre, or the tugging at my tummy.  

And that made it a different kind of perfect. A different kind of empowering.

You were born that day, but you weren’t the only one.

A mother was born, a mother that had never existed before. A mother of one had been in her place, but you birthed a mother of two.

This mother had only ever existed in the other mothers dreams, in her plans, in her hopes. Oh she had hoped. And there she was, bursting with newness and joy, seeing things differently, as you saw them for the first time.

A father was born, a stronger one than before. One who had tapped into all his strength to sit beside his wife and tell her everything was ok with a look. A father of two was born that day, and that courage made him bigger – big enough to love you both, to guide you both, to be a man that you would be so proud to call your Dad.

And at home with Grandma, waiting for a phonecall, was a small boy who had spent three and a half years as an only child. He loved the idea of you with all his little heart. You took the word ‘brother’ and made it mean something to him. He wore it so proudly for you. You didn’t wake when he came to visit you that first time, and I’m not surprised. Hearing his voice through sleep was probably a lot like hearing it through my belly, familiar as a hearbeat, comforting as the lullabies he sung my bump every single day.

A big brother was born that day, and you changed his world.

You see baby boy: when you were born, a family was born. It wasn’t just changed, it was absolutely turned on its head and recreated – because you deserved nothing less.

And when we gazed at you those first days and fell so deeply in love with you we fell in love with each other more too. Your stickiness stuck us together.

This past year has been a blur of tiredness, cuddles, laughter, tears and beautiful firsts. My heart has burst with joy for you every time I see your eyes light up at a new discovery. I have loved in ways I never knew as I watched my boys look at each other like they were looking at their own personal superheroes.

On Sunday I’m going to wish you happy birthday, baby boy. And I’m going to wish us a happy birthday too. Our family – one year old. That was the gift that you gave us that day for the first time, and that we are going to keep on giving eachother every day.

I hope you like your present little one. Your presence is ours.

Happy Birthday to us xx


Copyright Nirvana Dawson 2012

Diving for pearls of wisdom…

My husband is regularly wise, but rarely when I go looking for it.

Interestingly this doesn’t stop me, partly because I think too much and partly because it is the job of each spouse to drive the other to the cusp of madness now and again. I assume that we do this by accident, but can’t be sure.

Anyway, my relentless pursuits of these pearls of wisdom usually coincide with me being either exhausted or awash with hormones. In short, the times when logic and light heartedness are not my best traits. In these moments the greater the absence of profound statements of truth the more desperately I grab at them. Which of course alarms the poor man and he gets the look of a cornered animal then usually winds up making a fart joke.

Last night’s episode began with me half asleep with writers block and went a little like this…

“I’m feeling melancholy.” I sighed into his chest.

“What’s that??” he asked.

“You’re kidding?” I said (then mumbled something about him needing to read more books).

“So tell me what it means?”

“Thoughtful and sad.” 

“So just say that then. Oh! Or ‘sadful!'”

Now at this point a smarter woman than I would have either laughed or walked away… but no, I was too busy being sadful. So I painted my melancholy on all the conversations that followed, waiting for a pearl of wisdom and missing all the light heartedness I could have enjoyed had I not been looking for something else.

It was right before I went to bed, after we had effectively driven each other a little batty and wound up arguing over ideal cup quantities in the modern kitchen that he said just what I needed to hear. I got my wise pearl – even if I was the grain of sand to irritate the crap out of him to get it.

Last night he reminded me not to force things. Not writing and not the search for wisdom either. If it’s not working, whatever it is, let go, take a step back and just be happy.

We convince ourselves that we know how things should go – be they situations in our lives, creative endeavours, friendships, romance or our future. Even conversations with people we care about. But the thing is, life is meant to flow – things are meant to feel good for us and to go well in journey as well as destination. If it’s not working then let it go and see if the flow takes it in a different direction.

You can still hold on to what you want, just maybe don’t try to hold so tight.

Because it’s the times when you stop pushing and start allowing that the good stuff really starts happening…and even when it doesn’t, you’re too busy being happy to care.

Copyright Nirvana Dawson 2012