Hippie Chick's Heavenly Ride

Avoid clichés. Any freshman comp professor will tell you this is one of the cardinal rules of writing, and this was certainly true when I stood in front of a classroom. However, I cannot help but start this post with the following statement: “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

I’ve met Loose Bruce on various occasions since embarking on this writing project. A self-proclaimed ‘crusty old biker,’ Bruce looks and dresses the part: his sun-tanned skin has the handsomely weathered look of a man who has logged thousands of miles on the open road, with windblown, pony-tailed hair never restrained by a helmet. One of the reasons Bruce migrated to South Carolina from Tampa, Florida was because there isn’t a helmet law here.

Clad in leather and denim, Loose Bruce is a quintessential outlaw biker. 

On the surface at least.  

Ask him about his wife, or his relationship with God, and that crusty façade crumbles – revealing an incredibly spiritual, sensitive and sage soul on a mission to reach others for Christ through his testimony and witness.

When I met Bruce, he was at Amber Island having some work done on a large skull piece on his stomach. Albeit an incredible work of art, what caught my attention was the tattoo located on his upper right chest. The piece depicts an urn cradled in the hollow of a dead tree and juxtaposed with these images of death are flower blossoms, a mushroom and the essence of smoke spiraling out from the top of the urn.

 

 

The tattoo is a memorial for Bruce’s wife Cynthia Marie Darty Harrison. She was killed in a tragic automobile accident in April 2011.

“That represents that with death you have life. Her spirit is going to Heaven via the smoke coming out of the urn. Then you have flowers and the mushroom growing out of the dead tree, see?,” Bruce explained. “That’s to represent the new life that comes with that death. That’s what that represents. And to me, in my way of thinking, she’ll ride with me you see? She’ll ride with me forever. Via that memorial.”

The way the story goes, Bruce came to Pickens County South Carolina, from Tampa Bay Florida, with a suitcase in one hand and a TV in the other. He landed a job in a local sawmill where he met a guy by the name of David.

David was a rough fellow, according to Bruce. Drunk. Since David didn’t have a car, Bruce offered to give him a lift home from work. There Bruce met Cindy, and the rest was history.

The way Bruce tells it, “his wife was my wife, only he didn’t know it yet. She was from Alabama and I was from Tampa and we met and fell in love in the Carolinas.”

When they first met, for Bruce, it was like love at first sight:  “She had them spandex bicycle shorts on, and I thought, man, who’s this foxy woman. Then she jumped over the table and punched her man David in the head for some infraction,” Bruce recalled.

“And I said ‘boy’ that’s my kind of woman. You know, back-up. Living the biker lifestyle you want your old lady to be able to back you up in case someone brings a chair over your back. You know?”

 

Cindy wasn’t as fond of Bruce. He says she couldn’t stand him, but his deep-seated sensitive soul eventually won her over.

On Christmas Eve the two went to see some light displays. Bruce looked at Cindy and said:” You know these lights are beautiful. But not as beautiful as you.” 

“That changed her way of thinking about me,” said Bruce. “And we got to know one another.” 

So another Christmas Eve rolled around and he said: “I don’t care if I have to whip your old man’s ass, I have to kiss you. I have to know. She kissed me and, boy, sparks flew. And the fella’s Dad was there that Christmas and he walked over and told his son – he says ‘that man right there is fixing to take your wife.’ Because he saw the connection."

Bruce grew up in an era where a man’s word was his bond. Cindy was a married woman, but eventually, her husband got in a bunch of trouble with the law. Busted for drugs. Cindy had three children, ages 5,6 and 7. After fate stepped in and removed Cindy’s husband, Bruce stepped up and made his move.

“I told her, well, Cindy, you know I love you. I’ll take the whole package. Kids and all,” he said. “So we moved in together. I was born in a time when your kids are your kids regardless. They were my children and we raised them the best we could.”

Bruce and Cindy Harrington were married for seventeen years.

There are times when I feel disadvantaged as a writer because I cannot capture in words, try as I might, the emotion an individual displays when they are talking about someone they love. The hint of tears in his eyes, coupled with raw warmth of his voice, overwhelmed me with the infinite love Bruce continues to feel at the very mention of his 

wife’s name.

Listening to him talk was like watching Love Story, Out of Africa or countless other versions of Hollywood love stories – only this story is true, and while it might not have been without flaw, it was genuine and tangible. I couldn’t help but feel tears well up in my own eyes and say a silent prayer that somehow, some day, someone would – could love me like that.

 

“We had our ups and downs, but every couple does. She knew what I was thinking before I’d say it. And she loved to ride – just like I did. Her motor-cycle name was Hippie Chick. She always wore fancy flowered shirts and beads,” said Bruce. “We’d ride around. We’d go to the flea market. We’d come back and you couldn’t see the bike for all the stuff. And she was back there. My passion. My soul mate. She was special.”

And in an instant, like a snap of the fingers, Bruce’s life was forever changed in April 2011.

Bruce, Cindy and friends of theirs were at a bike show. Everyone had been drinking. 

“We had a little argument about this, that and the other, and I said I’m going home. She said well I’m going with Steve [one of their friends and neighbor]. I went home and went to bed. I didn’t think nothing about it. Sleep it off you know,” said Bruce. “Policeman woke me up and told me she was dead. I didn’t believe it. He just kind of threw her rings on the kitchen table. I balled my eyes out. I cried. I asked God why. Then I loaded a gun and was fixing to go kill him.”

As he walked out into the sunlight of his front yard, Bruce, loaded rifle in hand, heard a voice. 

“It said, ‘Son, go put that rifle up. I’ve got things for you to do.’ And it didn’t come from my mind; it came from my heart. I went and hung it up. I walked back out into the yard and I fell to my knees. And I prayed for God’s help,” Bruce recalled.” He sent one of the brothers from my church over to my house the next morning. I come out looking like 30 miles of bad road – hung over. Hurting. In pain. The woman I loved dearly is gone now.”

Billy hugged Bruce and told him God loved him. Invited him to church that Sunday. Bruce hasn’t missed a Sunday service since.  

“Soon as I walked in that door, God was like – ‘Son. I got this,’ he said. “I get a little teary over it still. I know in my heart that it’s going to be alright. I miss her. I’ve got a lot of fond memories. The rose that’s tattooed there [and Bruce points toward his right upper arm] was on the back of her vest. Very same rose. She’s still riding with me.”

Bruce believes he has touched a lot of people with his story. I don’t doubt it. His story certainly spoke volumes to my heart.

“This has changed my whole life. I think of myself as a child of God. The way I used to think – I’d cut your throat in a minute. Screw with me and we’re gonna fight,” Bruce chuckled. “But now I think Lord help them, see, they know not why they do it. God has called me to witness to folks. To tell them what He has done in my life.”

“They look at a cat like me, and when they first see me, they think Good Lord! Outlaw biker. But they feel that presence when I’m there. That joy. They see the joy in my heart and want to see where I’m getting it. See that’s what God wants me to do. I like to hear myself talk. So I might as well talk about God.”

Bruce affectionately refers to himself as a crusty old biker, and in many ways he is. The label suits him. 

It would be easy to look at the leathered, crusty Harley exterior and make any number of stereotypical assumptions about the soul housed in the interior. I’m not a gambler, but I would be willing to bet that the majority of those would be misconceptions. 

Loose Bruce exemplifies the notion that one cannot judge a book by its cover.  As the Hippie Chick who loved him learned, sometimes you’ve got to take a leap of faith and hold tight for the ride. 

What's in a Name? A Mother's Love for her Children

I know several people who have had the names of boyfriends and girlfriends – husbands and wives – tattooed on their bodies – the ultimate romantic gesture. I’ve also seen these same people, years, months, weeks, days later, having the same names covered up.

I’ve heard it said before that having someone’s name tattooed on your body is the kiss of death to relationships. Is this true? I really don’t know. And I am not entirely certain where I stand on the issue. There is someone in my life whose name I would like to have tattooed on my body. Holding tightly to superstition (or, on a deeper level I have feared uncertainty) he has convinced me that this is a bad idea.

As with anything and everything in life, there are some couples whose relationships have survived having their partners name tattooed on their bodies. For other couple, perhaps it was the kiss of death.

Whatever the case, I would be willing to bet it is more a function of the relationship than the tattoo, but this one statement could turn into an entire essay or dissertation all on its own merits.

There are a lot of people who have the names of people they love tattooed on their bodies. As I think of the title of this project – “Soul to Skin” – I think of tattoos as visible reflections of those intimately important things we feel in our hearts and souls. Most of us have people in our lives that we love. People who have touched those deep and often inaccessible places in our hearts and spirits. In my experience, a love that strong – the kind that stirs our spirit in ways we never dreamed – is something I (you?) want to share with the entire world.

I have the initial ‘e’ in two different tattoos to represent my daughters, Emerson and Eleanor. Recently I had a tattoo placed on my ankle that is scripted in my Mom’s handwriting. My daughters and my mother are part of who I am – biologically, familiarly, emotionally, spiritually – it only made sense to want all of those internal love connections made visible on my skin. I am not alone.

It has been several months since I met with Tracey. She had several interesting stories to tell, and I will do so – one at a time. Even without knowing her or having a conversation with her, the art on her body speaks volumes about the love she has for her children and family. The depth of feeling in her heart and soul is recognizable to the naked eye.

Her children’s names are scripted on her wrists – a mother’s badge of pride and celebration for and in honor of the sons and daughter who mean more to her than mere words can describe. As a mother, and, I imagine as many mothers out there reading this, I can relate completely to my children being the center of my universe. Despite the mistakes we might make along the way as we hone our parenting skills, our children, my children, are the most amazing things I have done with my life. If I were to draft a resume of my life’s greatest accomplishments, Em and Ella would be at the tippy-top of the list above anything and everything else I have done.

This story, and I apologize for the digression, is about Tracey.

In January 2008, Tracey, her three children and her cats, packed up their belongings and memories, gently placed into a U-Haul and moved from Maryland to Liberty, South Carolina. Her husband, at that time, remained in Maryland preparing the home they had lived in for sale.

He finally made it down to Liberty the following August, and almost immediately upon his arrival, announced that he wanted a divorce. Tracey and her husband had been married for 17 years, and despite hindsight which has made her think that he had been planning the divorce for some time, 17 years is a long time to love another person, to share a life, to share children. 17 years’ worth of memories (good and bad), love, laughter, tears, worries, victories … no one but a robot could wipe these things out of her heart and mind in a matter of minutes.

No matter how poor a marriage might be divorce is painful for all parties involved. Bottom line.

As I talk with Tracey, I am impressed by her compassion and tender-heartedness; within her I also see a fighter and a strong woman. Someone who is capable of grieving yet simultaneously picking herself up by the old proverbial boot-straps and getting on with the getting on. Frankly, as a mother who has children depending on her, Tracey (and other women like her) had no other option really. She picked up the pieces and started to reconstruct a life without her husband.

Possessing a new found freedom, Tracey decided that she was going to start living for herself instead of making choices that centered, primarily, on pleasing her husband. Because he had never been a fan of tattoos or the amazing artistry brought to life in their indelible placement on a human canvas, one of the first things Tracey decided to do for herself was to get the tattoo she had always wanted.

Tracey has always had an appreciation for art. Her home is decorated with paintings done by her step-dad. Her appreciation of art extends beyond traditional forms of paint, watercolor and charcoal sketches, evidenced by the fact that she had always wanted a tattoo. After seeing the 1981 film Tattoo – staring Bruce Dern and Maude Adams – her appreciation of tattooing morphed into a deeper love for the artistry.  Tracey recalls that “it was kind of a spooky movie,” but she loved the way the tattoos looked.

On October 17, 2008, Tracey got her first tattoo. The significance of the date: it was her wedding anniversary. She and her husband were no longer together; rather than succumbing to sadness, Tracey decided to make the day an opportunity to celebrate the positive aspects of this new chapter in her life.

Located on her lower back, Tracey’s first tattoo celebrates the bond she shares with her children, parents and sister.

 

“It’s a heart with wings and Sam did it at Amber Island. Underneath of it - it has starting at my youngest son’s initials, then my middle son, then my daughter, and then my sister and then my parents. Because first of all, they lift my heart, so the wings are them,” said Tracey. “Your children will always be your children. Your siblings will always be your siblings. Your sister is always going to be your sister and your parents are always going to be your parents, but there is no way in hell that your husband [is always going to be] your husband. So his initials are nowhere. Even though he [her son] is a junior, it always says ‘jr’ after his initials.”

Inspired by another woman with whom Tracey worked, she decided to have her children’s names tattooed on her wrists.

“I thought, I want something to stand out because my children are my world,” said Tracey. “So I had my daughter’s name and my sons’ names done.”

Funny story: In March 2008, before she moved to South Carolina, Tracey had to have three discs in her neck fused (This would not be the funny part). She and her husband had planned a trip to SC to visit her parents, but because of the recent surgery, Tracey was prohibited from traveling. Her daughter, Alyssa, stayed in Maryland with her and her husband brought their boys down to visit with their grandparents.

“Of course I was on pain medicine,” said Tracey. “Alyssa had her cell phone and I had my cell phone. She sent me a text one night and it said ‘Good night. I love you.” And the next morning, she said mamma, are you ok? And I was like, yeah, why?”

“She said did you see the text message you sent me? And I said ‘no. What did I say?’”

“She showed me, and it said “luv vavt.” That was the text message I sent her. And I’m looking at my phone and I’m thinking I don’t know what that was. And that became just a little thing between me and Alyssa,” said Tracey. “And she’ll send me a message through the day and she’ll say “luv vavt.” And it’s our little thing mother-daughter.”

Recalling this story, Tracey went back to Moto at Amber Island (who had done the tattoos of her children’s names) and she had the words “luv vavt” added with her daughter’s name.

Although Shakespeare’s Juliet might not place a great deal of significance in a name [Juliet: "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."] there are those of us who do – especially when it comes to our family and significant others – our children and loved ones.

Having a loved one’s name tattooed on the body is an outward expression of the bond and relationship shared between the parties. I imagine there is less likelihood that anyone would have a family member’s name covered up or removed – compared with the name of a romantic love interest – but I am still not convinced that having a lover’s name tattooed marks the beginning of the end of the romance.

True love, I believe, transcends words and has forever been a subject tackled by artists and writers alike. Again, I imagine this is another topic for another time. 

Alchemy

It might seem as though I have been slack in the writing department. I assure you, I have not. Whether or not it gets put on paper, my brain is constantly writing. Ideas flash through the grey matter at alamaring (not really - it is not a schizophrenic flight of ideas and to steal from my favorite Sheldon Cooper - "I'm not crazy. My mother had me tested!")

While I am playing catch-up on my interview transcription and blog posts, I thought I would share one of my recent columns from the paper - that would be The Pickens County Courier. I have a weekly column and if you subscribe and say you are subscribing because of my column, I might get a raise or at least begin making above minimum wage (wink, wink - nod, nod) ... Geez! I am on a Sassy role this morning. Must be the high octance coffee.

This "post" might not relate to tattooing per se, but it does relate to one of my tattoos (story to come) and I think it will connect as this project unfolds. That said .....

I imagine most people are fairly conventional when it comes to relationships.

Two people meet and begin dating. They take ample time to get to know one another, to develop trust, emotional intimacy, strong communication processes. Maybe they also develop a physical intimacy built, again, on trust and communication. They share their individual needs and wants and begin to dream of a future together making those hopes and desires a reality.

At some point, they decide they want to get married, so they get engaged. The engagement process is typically proportional in time measurement to the months and (or) years leading up to the engagement. The couple gets married and settles into life together. Maybe they start a family. They evolve as a unit built on a foundation of unconditional love and acceptance. Mutual respect and appreciation.

I’m certain it will come as no surprise to my regular readers that I see love from a slightly unorthodox perspective, which is to say that the romantic in me believes in love at first sight and soul mates. The notion that God, in all of his infinite wisdom, has divinely created perfect matches that he unites when the timing is correct.

Recently I reread my copy of Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist (an AMAZING book if you’ve never read it). In hindsight, I believe that I was drawn to the novel at the perfect time last year. My Mom had recently been diagnosed with Breast Cancer, and my world felt like it was crumbling around me. Looking back, it was also around this time that my marriage was slowly unraveling, stitch by stitch.

The book offered me a renewed spiritual peace from which I was able to cope with the massive changes taking place in my life at that time. It made me feel grounded and it gave me hope for the future.

As I read back through it, the following passage caught my attention: “At that moment, it seemed to him that time stood still, and the Soul of the World surged within him …. he learned the most important part of the language that all the world spoke – the language that everyone on earth was capable of understanding in their heart. It was love. Something older than humanity, more ancient than the desert. Something that exerted the same force whenever two pairs of eyes met, as had theirs here at the well. She smiled, and that was certainly an omen – the omen he had been awaiting, without even knowing he was, for all his life.”

“It was the pure Language of the World. It required no explanation, just as the universe needs none as it travels through endless time. What the boy felt at that moment was that he was in the presence of the only woman in his life, and that, with no need for words, she recognized the same thing. He was more certain of it than of anything in the world. He had been told by his parents and grandparents that he must fall in love and really know a person before becoming committed. But maybe people who felt that way had never learned the universal language. Because when you know that language, it’s easy to understand that someone in the world awaits you, whether it’s in the middle of the desert or in some great city. And when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. There is only that moment and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one’s dreams would have no meaning.”

I find myself exploring this possibility because – without even being consciously aware of it – I have ascribed to this philosophy my entire life. I’ve said it before, and I will say it again: I believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that everything – good or bad – just or unjust – happens for a reason.

Everything we experience in our lives – the challenges, the triumphs, the failures, the setbacks, the joy and sorrow, pain and heartache – all of these things mould and shape us into the people we are supposed to be. Following the Biblical analogy where God is the potter and we are the clay – being ever shaped into the most perfect form of ourselves at the exact moment in our lives when it is imperative.

There was a time when I thought my hopelessly romantic nature was silly. Childish. My perspective, however, has shifted. I believe in the divinity of soul mates because I believe that God’s love is limitless.

The biggest problem in my marriages has been that I have lacked God as a foundation. Ever the control freak, I wanted to be in charge of every detail rather than giving it up to God and allowing Him to take the reins. I lacked faith, instead allowing myself to be consumed by fear and uncertainty.

I am saying good-bye to fear as the guiding force in my life, and replacing it with Faith, Hope and the knowledge that, with God, nothing is impossible. 

She Never Ceases to Amaze Me

After Em and Ella were snuggled in and asleep last night, Mom and I rendezvoused on the stoop for a moonlit chat before going to bed ourselves. I had to remember, record in my mind parts of our conversation because it was that profoundly meaningful.

Mom read the “Always Remember I love You My Molly Mugwump” blog post and cried. This was her response to me: “I am not amazing. For thirteen years, I prayed for you. I truly believe you were a gift from God. All I have done, Nicole, is take care of you because I wanted you so badly and I promised God if he gave you to me, I would take care of you.”

She told me I was the one who is amazing and special and that she has always know this. She also said that she thinks I am finally starting to understand that I am special – though I haven’t fully grasped it in her opinion. While she has no plans on going anywhere any time soon, Mom also told me that if she went to sleep and wasn’t there in the morning, I would know that she was at peace because she has seen me happier than I have been in a long time. She said she had confidence in my ability to do anything I put my mind to, and that she is so very proud of me (I can’t type this without crying. Geez!)

We talked about other things. About this project I have undertaken. What I quoted above, however, are words I will forever carry with me. She might not think she is, but my mom is amazing to me. I only hope I can be a fragment of the mom she is -- for Em and Ella. I am humbled by the way my life has been blessed. Truly. Honestly. Deeply.

 My Mom never ceases to amaze and inspire me. I simply had to share this!

Always Remeber I Love You My Molly Mugwump

Today is my Mom’s 69^th Birthday. She has distinctively beautiful handwriting – so unique that it took loads of practice to forge her signature on notes when I skipped school. No matter how diligently I practiced, it never was exact.

A few months ago I asked her to write something to me, so that I could have a tattoo done in her handwriting. She handed me a slip of paper upon which she had written “Always Remember I Love You My Molly Mugwump.”

In honor and celebration of her birthday, Moto tattooed the message on my left ankle, swirling it somewhat around the Hamsa I had done six years ago (another incredibly emotional story for another day).

When Moto finished, I looked down and felt tears flood into my eyes. With the ink smears wiped away, there was this vivid blank handwriting that looked amazing and more than being aesthetically pleasing, I have a piece of my Mom that I will carry with me forever – not that I wouldn’t carry her in my heart, mind and soul; the tattoo, however, is a constant reminder of her unconditional love and support.

Last May my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Thankfully, they caught it in the early stages. She had a lumpectomy followed by six weeks of radiation therapy. Currently she is on an oral form of chemotherapy that is, somewhat, more mild than if she were receiving it IV. Still, it hasn’t been a walk in the park.

My parents divorced when I was three, and I am essentially an only child (I have a half sister who is eleven years my junior and we did not grow up together. She lived in Montana with our Dad and my Step-Mom, and I lived in Miami). Mom was a single parent in every sense of the word.

Geography, it would seem, made it difficult for my Dad to play an active role in my life. Long distance didn’t make for a warm and fuzzy or close relationship. Mom pretty much did it all – worked to support us, made sure I did well in school, helped with homework, took care of me when I was sick, encouraged me in everything I dreamed of doing. She cooked and cleaned; chauffeured me to and fro the destination du jour. She held me when I cried and joined in when I laughed.

My mother taught me – by example – the meaning of genuine, unconditional love and selflessness.

When I was a little girl, missing my Dad, crying in bed at night, my Mom used to sing “My Blue Heaven.” I always remember her changing that one lyric to “just Molly and me, and Sooters (we had a cat named Soot) makes three” offering assurance that the three of us were going to be OK. That we were going to make it.

Although my name is Nicole, the nickname Molly stuck. To Molly, my Mom added Mugwump, which she explained is a bird who has his ‘mug’ on one side and his ‘wump’ on the other. To her, I have always been and will always be Molly Mugwup.  That is one of the amazing things about Moms – something I didn’t fully grasp until I became a Mom myself: No matter how old your children are, in some ways they will forever be the little babies you snuggled against your chest while they slept and dreamed and smelled so milky sweet and perfect.

Finding out she had cancer was devastating for us both. Despite our faith in God, the idea of losing someone you love is heartbreaking. She and I have been together for thirty-five years. She still lives with us. She has been present for every event in my daughters’ lives just like she was for mine.

When she told me she had found a lump in her breast, it was almost as if time stopped and the world came to a screeching halt around me. How would we tell the girls? How would I comfort them and still be able to grieve myself? Who would I drink coffee with in the morning? Who would wander around Wal-mart with me on a Saturday afternoon?  Or listen to my ideas involving duct tape and furniture? Who would beam with pride at every accomplishment? Or read every article in the paper with my byline? Who would offer me reassurance when I felt like life was falling apart? Or tell me not to beat myself up for not doing something that measures up to my insanely impossible perfectionist standards?

I had talked to Moto a few months about wanting to have this tattoo done so I would always have my Mom’s handwriting – a visual, ever present echo of her love for me – as a literal part of me the way she has always been such a huge part of my life. Today, her birthday, seemed like the perfect occasion to have this tattoo done.

One year later, my Mom is cancer free. She is still on the oral chemo, and I have noticed a gradual slowing down. Through everything, she has not missed one day of work nor has she ceased to be active with me and her granddaughters. I find her absolutely inspiring and amazing. I do my best to enjoy each and every moment I have with her, because I know that she is not going to be around forever.

 And when the day comes that I can’t share a cup of coffee with her in the morning, I will forever be able to see her unending, unconditional love written like a soft whisper and a warm hug on my skin.

Blessed and Thankful

My mind, body and soul have been flooded with thoughts and emotions pinging, zigzagging, and ricocheting off of one another such that I feel like the Pin Ball Wizard.

Those of you who continue to follow me on this journey will come to know that I am a devoutly spiritual and faithful person. While I sometimes find myself bogged down by self-doubt or anxiety, like a cat that always lands on its feet, I find my focus and press forward toward whatever goal I have set on my horizon.

Hand in hand with my passion for writing (mentioned in an earlier blog post) has always been a love for reading. I have an insatiable appetite when it comes to written words – devouring books like a starved man in desperate need for nourishment.

Believing that everything in life happens for a reason, at the perfect time, applies to books as well. I have purchased books, brought them home with every intention of diving into the pages, only to be distracted by one thing or another. That book might sit on my nightstand for a week, six months, maybe even a year, before some current inside starts to stir and the next thing I know, I’m sitting with that book in hand.

The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho, is one example of being drawn to the exact book, the precise words, the spiritual nourishment I needed at the perfect time. It accompanied me to the mammogram and needle biopsy that diagnosed my mom’s breast cancer last May. And while I was unable to focus on reading at the time, it was in my bag while I impatiently waited for her surgeon to deliver a report after the lumpectomy.

So many thoughts and ideas in The Alchemist resonated with me at that time, making such an impact that it has become one of those books that I read over and over again. The pages have been marked with my own questions and notations – multiple passages emphatically underlined in pencil:     

“Because there is a force that wants you to realize your Personal Legend; it whets your appetite with a taste of success.”

“In order to find the treasure, you will have to follow the omens. God has prepared a path for everyone to follow. You just have to read the omens that he left for you.”

“But the sheep had taught him something even more important: that there was a language in the world that everyone understood, a language the boy had used throughout the time that he was trying to improve things at the shop. It was the language of enthusiasm, of things accomplished with love and purpose, and as part of a search for something believed in and desired.”

“When you want something, all the universe conspires to help you achieve it.”

“When someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision.”

Making the decision to start the Soul to Skin Project has already started to carry me places I never imagined. With every fiber of my being, I believe this is what I am supposed to be doing at this precise moment in my life.

Like everything else I do, I am approaching this with unbridled enthusiasm, passion, love and purpose. Writing a book has been my dream since I was a child. Over the years I have come up with a million excuses for why I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have time. I wasn’t a good enough writer. People wouldn’t be interested in what I had to say.

I have come to the point in my personal and professional life when I am choosing to abandon my fears and doubts in order to pursue the dream that has always been inside of me. As I sit and write this I am awestruck by the surrealism of this very moment, everything leading up to it and the endless possibilities awaiting me in the future.

Thank you to everyone who has looked at the Soul to Skin Project blog, who have read the posts, who have ‘Liked’ the Soul to Skin Project page on Facebook. The outpouring of support, encouragement and love is truly humbling and amazing. I sincerely hope you will continue to follow this project, that you will share your thoughts and comments, continued support and encouragement.

Every morning that I wake up, I thank God for the blessings in my life. When I looked at the page views for the blog and had an email inbox full of Facebook ‘Likes’ and comments on the Soul to Skin Project, I was overwhelmed with feelings of positivity and possibility and immense love.

Today I feel especially blessed and incredibly thankful, and I would like to say thank you to everyone out there who has filled my soul with love, blessings, support and encouragement. None of this would be possible if all of you didn’t collectively care about this too. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!