"It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage." Why New Year's resolutions never work - and what you can do instead.
http://ping.fm/vK4G0

"It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage."

It's that time of year again when everyone tries to turn over a new leaf or identify some positive commitments for the New Year. Been there, done that and bought a whole closet full of T-shirts. But I've realized that it's not the intention that counts or even the thoughts we have that make a difference. It's what we DO that matters. While what we say or think may send out one message, our actions can demonstrate something else altogether. There's no point in thinking positively if we're taking actions that demonstrate low self-worth or a lack of self-acceptance.

Thinking doesn't change us; action does. We can spend a lifetime trying to convince others that we are worthy or trying to get approval for who we are or want to be, but it's ourselves that we need to convince. We need to demonstrate to ourselves, through our actions, that we believe ourselves to be powerful, lovable and worthy. When we say or do things that demonstrate strong self-worth (even if we don't FEEL worthy), we start to attract positive, fulfilling opportunities and people into our lives. If, on the other hand, we think positively and keep affirming to ourselves that we're successful, loved and worthy, yet we're taking actions that negate these thoughts, we're wasting our time and our lives.

So make this a year of action. Decide what kinds of things you need to do or say in order to demonstrate strong self-worth and a belief in your ability to create the love, abundance, success, ease and fulfillment that you want. Walk the talk even if you don't think the thought. This will cancel out your negative thinking and change the negative programming that's prevented you from believing in yourself, and then everything around you will change.

That's the REAL secret.

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If you've ever had a run-in with a traffic warden, you'll enjoy this post. http://ping.fm/iM9AJ

The traffic warden dream

I was driving along quite happily, in my nice red VW convertible, when a massive Mercedes limo swerved right in front of me and shot off at speed. That made me fume—so much so that I didn’t see the speed cop at the side of the road with a speed-detection thingee in her hand. So, of course, she pulled me over and told me to get out of the car. She looked like a cross between a frustrated sergeant major and a bored librarian. Come with me, she ordered. But I can’t leave my car here, I protested. It will be okay for a few minutes, she said. I followed obediently and we entered a small building where she obviously wrote up her fines and put offending drivers through hell. I waited, still fuming, as she filled out some kind of form, musing to herself about the size of the fine she should give me. Finally, I lost it. Oh, just give me the damn fine and let me go, I said. She looked at me, checked her watch, and then sighed heavily. I’ll let you off this time, exceptionally. Now, let’s get you back to your car.

I should have known then that something was wrong. My car was, of course, nowhere to be seen. I turned on her, furious. You said my car would be okay here! I yelled at her. I said it would for a few minutes, she said, but we were gone for more than that. Very unfortunate.

I pulled out my cell phone. I’m calling the police, I said. No point, she said. We ARE the police. Oh, I’m not just calling the police, I said, I’m calling an ambulance too. Hello? Yes, can you please send the police and an ambulance to... I gave a few landmarks.

Is this for an accident?, asked the operator. Yes, I said. Can you tell me the time of the accident?, she asked. In about 2 minutes, I said. Can you describe the situation? It involves a traffic cop, I think, or maybe she’s a traffic warden. A traffic warden? She was suddenly attentive. Yes, traffic warden-cum-Nazi interrogator, I said. Just tell me how I can help you, said the now-quite-effusive operator. Would you like to know what doctors are off duty at the hospital? Yes, please, I said. Well, I know there’s no one there right now to deal with broken bones. What about skull fracture? I said. Nope. Not for a few hours, anyway. Anyone for severe bruising and possible concussion? Yes, unfortunately, there would be a few interns to handle that. What about internal injuries—say, ruptured spleen and maybe a couple of broken ribs? I’d recommend the ribs, she said, but the spleen might get fairly immediate attention. That’s great, I said. You’ve been very helpful. Take your time with the ambulance, though; absolutely no rush.

I closed my phone and looked meaningfully at the speed cop. She was on her phone now too, talking rapidly to what sounded like a car-towing company.

...just posted an article on Open Salon: The Bush-bashing Syndrome - symptoms of a world gone awry. A rather different spin on politics and personal empowerment. See http://ping.fm/RrGck