Last year I was making my second vision board (don’t knock the VB; it works!) and came across the words “TELL YOUR STORY!” in a magazine I was thumbing through. I realized, as I began to cut through the magazine’s page, that the words were in all caps. And they weren’t followed by a period at the end. Instead, it was an exclamation point pulling me to re-read.
“TELL YOUR STORY!”
I think I actually took the message personally, as if it were a command from some higher power. Nothing like Moses, of course. No Ten Commandments or burning bush. I may have received a few additional grey hairs, but that’s just stress stripping the color off my hair. I felt moved to reply back.
“Okay, okay! I got it.”
Write my story, huh? Write my story. Creepy. No one in the world knew my major desire to write. Well, no one but the Alpha and Omega. I always wanted to write, but was held down by gremlins. They made me think I wasn’t able to do many things that I enjoyed or loved. So I gave in and did what other people told me to do. But here I was years later, on my own. My world. My rules. My life. Now, I could actually take a stab at something I’ve always wanted to do.
From time to time, I like to kinda swim against the current, stir the pot once in a blue moon and ask the question “Why?” over and over like a curious kid, until I piss the hell out of the person I’m asking. Why? Because I like to change perspectives. I like to make people aware of the what if. Not everything is concrete when it comes to people and behaviors. There’s so much left to learn in this world, and not about what’s out there in front of you, but rather what’s inside of you. What is your potential? What are you really capable of doing? Knowing? Saying? Accomplishing?
Over the years I’ve been around groups of women of various ages, ethnic backgrounds and cultures. They were in the lunchroom, at the office, or at the park with their children. At the salon, at the grocery store, at a house party, and at a girl’s-night-out excursion, even in women’s public restrooms. These are the areas where I’d hear stories, and stories, and stories about how their boyfriends did this, their husbands did that, the guy who should have called her 30 minutes ago, and the man who made a comment deemed jerk-worthy (The comment? The guy said, “Sure is cold outside, eh?” to a woman and she concluded that he must have meant she had a T.H.O. ~ Sidebar: Don’t know whata T.H.O. is? Urban Dictionary it.) These experiences and more made me want to write. I wanted to see if men were really the cause for every woman’s misery. Was it all their fault? Did they all really “suck”?
I usually joined in and appreciated their comments, then used a little humor to lean them toward my perspective. In all circumstances, the men were never there to defend themselves or share their side of information, so I would try to speak for them. If I couldn’t speak for them, I’d think for them, and I’d feel for them. So, I set out to build a book that will cater to understanding women and appreciating men, getting them to eventually learn to appreciate one another.
After contacting Alex, who was the perfect representation and talent for this kind of project, we talked for hours and hours. Days and days. We were like a fricken’ couple. In fact, she dubbed us as “book wives.” While working on Project DGPS, she discovered who was the guy and who was the gal in our book relationship. Sometimes we’d naturally switch roles to suit the moment and requirement of the task. (*Note: We were able to switch roles easily because we are superheroes. Yep. Got them secret-y powers to morph from a “Just the facts, Ma’am,” beer-drinking alpha-male, looking for the bottom-line and clarity, to giggling college girls, squealing over a giddy happening or thought, then easily segueing right into our ultimate power, the Corporate American Girl, where delegating, recruiting, dissolving and merging powers unite. Rock on.)
This journey has so far blown my mind. One drop in the pond and the ripple effect is boundless. I was and am still amazed by the number of people who have stepped up to help me carry out my thought, desire and vision. I’ve had a few people ask me if the book is out yet. I wish it could be that easy. Just type it up, the publisher likes it and takes it, and boom, there it is, on every shelf of every bookstore and electronic reading gadget known to mankind. Yes, I do wish it were out right now. I know Alex does, too. We just have a boatload of work we’ve done and have yet to do for this book to truly matter.
In my world, I see a population that now seems filled with divorce and pissed-off, scrunchy-faced grouches looking for something wrong in someone else. I know them well, because I was around that vibe growing up, and even became one for a while. Let me tell you, it’s not a fun place to be. I think it’s in our natural DNA to want freedom and power in what we give and receive. But later, as we grow past the ego-based bullshit that holds our minds hostage from letting things be as they are, we realize that there is so much more to learn about ourselves. Until then, it’s lonely, and love is far away, seemingly unreachable. Right now, love is spread so thin, thrown so far away, that we’d like to go collect what is left and return it back to their proper owners.
This book brings real people with real stories and points of views. It has professionals who provide two to fiddy cents worth of their wisdom to cover many areas that women will want to have repeated or explained to them. Even become inspired. I know there are lots of relationship books out there, and I’m not going to knock a single one. They each have their own purpose, and every reader has her favorite. The one Alex and I provide will be someone’s favorite as well. Maybe yours? We’ll hope so :)
We’ve collected stories and hand-picked impressive men to partake in this venture. The professionals are writing, the smell in the air is sweet and fills the hunger I’ve had to see a vision slowly evolve to reality. The contracts are almost all in. Just a few more negotiations to go, and I’m trying so hard to allow myself time to sleep. Even now, it’s past 2 a.m., and though dreaming is great, I want my dreams to be reality, so I’m doing what Trump asks anyone who wants to make something to happen to do:
“Think Big and Kick Ass.”
What happens next?