yellow hibiscus

Dying of Thirst?

I am, as it turns out, a yellow hibiscus.

Allow me to explain:

I thrive on both touch and words in the language of love. I say “I love you.” A LOT. I like to hear it, too. And I blossom under a steady diet of light, sweet, hey-you touch: a squeeze of my hand, a quick hug, a kiss dropped on the top of my head while passing by–heck, even a swat on the ass with a dish towel.

The thing is, I spent far too much of my life feeling deeply ashamed about that.

My ex is, truly, one of the kindest, loveliest, funniest and best-looking guys I know. He remains special and dear to me, and we have a great co-parenting relationship. We shared tons of common interests, we loved to talk to each other, and we laughed our asses off together.

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saying yes, maggie mcreynolds

Trusting Yourself to Say YES

I’ve been talking to more women than I ever expected about my Ready to Ripen program. I’ve touched a chord, it’s clear, and that thrills me.

But the program isn’t what this is about, except to say that in the course of talking to these women, it’s striking to me that almost all of them are reaching out because they want to say yes.

But most of them are saying no.

This isn’t self-aggrandizing delusion (perhaps I’ll make that next week’s newsletter). I’ve been self-employed and as such offering my writing and coaching services for most of my adult life. I really do know the difference between a disinterested no and yearning regret.

“I would so love to do this,” one woman tells me. “I think this program would be perfect for me,” says another. “OMG this is SO what I need!” writes a third.

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sign spinning, maggie mcreynolds

Hey, Baby, What’s Your Sign?

When I was a kid, the sidewalk marketing trend was hiring guys to walk around wearing sandwich boards.

sign spinning, maggie mcreynoldsThese days, it’s “sign spinning.” You’ve seen ’em. Someone—usually young—dancing and jumping and bopping, all while twirling, flipping, tossing a sign for a tax prep service, a mattress store, a car dealership. Some of them actually manage to look like they’re having a good time. Maybe some of them even are.

Today, as I sat at an intersection and watched a girl with a cobalt blue skunk stripe in her hair throw a sign for a cell phone company ten feet in the air and catch it, all while jiving to music on her iPod, I wondered what my sign—the invisible sign we all hold and toss around for other to see—might say. Because like it or not, I am, in a way, a walking advertisement of sorts for me. Not just in a business sense, but in the way I project myself to others just as a human being on the planet.

Would my sign say that I’m confident and centered? That I’m available to talk and a good listener?  That I think I’m pretty cool? That I am joyful, authentic, transparent, open?

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