When I first read MMND’s post about abundance I felt a ring of WOOHOO! through my soul. The original post had her spending a dollar amount (that multiplies exponentially until by day 30 we’re spending 50 *billion*) and combining her spree with gratitude for three things.
And then she kicked it up a notch by adding in a third element a few days later: how she could generate that amount of money in order to make her “wished for” thing happen.
My jaw dropped.
The first thing that came to mind was the message boards that I no longer participate in; the ones where oneupmanship was de rigeur. A mama would post that she’d given birth in a hospital without drugs; another piped up that she’d delivered in the ER; #3 birthed in the parking lot…all the way down to the ultimate Hippier-Than-Thou mama who squatted down in the backyard and delivered, then went back to hanging up the laundry before chopping firewood for her cookstove.
Then I thought of Y’s post about seeking her own relationship with God - where she says
I need to know that there is a higher purpose in life because there are days where I think “Is this all there is?”
The whole point of the exercise is to enjoy the abundance of the universe, why in the world would you want to limit that abundance by adding a “ways I can make it happen” element?
For me, that isn’t an option. In order to receive my abundance, the “I” has to be removed. Otherwise you’ll find me curled up in a chair sucking my thumb and saying “can’t do that. can’t.”
And now, without further ado, my $12,800 will be spent on a new car and insurance for my daughter.
I’m participating in The Millionaire Mommy Next Door’s abundant life spending spree
30 days of spending
And all I got was this piece of paper.
Can someone call the fashion police? I think it should be illegal to make people wear this shade of orange, even in 1988. And I can’t find any pictures that I’m willing to post with the perm My Sainted Mama said would look soooo incredibly good.
You know. The poodle perm.
I remember that day being strangely anti-climactic. I somehow realized even then what I know as a fact now — it would be the last time that I’d ever see 99% of these people, even with reunions. There are some that I wonder about, especially the students that moved with me from elementary to jr. high to high school. Some of us met in the parking lot before or after rehearsal (c’mon, it’s been 20 years SURELY you don’t expect me to remember which??!!??) and I remember thinking that it was nice, but weird. One of the guys commented on said poodle perm. Something or other about the chemical smell. I wanted to whap him for that, don’t remember if I did or not. I did make him sniff my head, since it most CERTAINLY did not reek of ammonia.
When I run into former classmates in town, they all ask if I’ve heard anything about a reunion. (I haven’t.) Or they ask if I’ve seen so-and-so. (Um. No, again.)
Twenty years. Good lord I’m old.
He asked me what time I got off work.
He was in the parking lot waiting when we locked up.
We talked, we held hands, we hugged.
We kissed.
He walked me to my car.
He gave me a last hug goodnight.
Sounds great, right? Y’know what he DIDN’T do?
Ask for my phone number. Or give me his.
