Tools in my Toolbox

Let me start by extending a greeting to welcome you and thank you for stumbling upon this writing. You might soon make the connection that I am GoBe Greetings’ creative voice – some call me the founder. But that title sounds official and I’ve struggled hard to make this life as unofficial as possible.

It is my desire to honour the spirit that has defined the stories of my life. My passionate defence would begin early and stay late – regardless of who offered insight. My Italian vigour was most comfortable when my father played parliamentary opposition. It was nothing short of spicy. Our stubborn ideals helped form the basis of who I really am.

The first blog to break the ice is a bit awkward as it does hold somewhat of an expectation. I’ve worked hard to ensure that this life is rooted in authentic connections and an ongoing experiment of trusting all that is. Regardless of my experiences, I don’t feel that I’m a victim. My foundation is tolerance and much patience was needed for me to stop doubting, drop the fear, and move on with it.

I can only comment on my life experience and speak about myself, something that I found incredibly difficult to do in my youth and especially during those tumultuous teen-age years that generally define identity. The reality is that I struggled the entire time and probably the most when it appeared I was doing great. In a culture where we’re measured in order to qualify to be ‘normal’, I became energized with unique experiences and insights into the mental healthcare world and into bizarre, off-the-wall characters. After all, these are disciples drafting the manuscript for society’s aspirations for ‘normal’. 

I knew what psychotherapists did before they could tell me. They thought I was clairvoyant and in many ways, that’s not a lie. There are some very unique and rare memories that came from these Jane Goodall-esque insider events. Naturally I was curious to explore the elements of psychosis and psychic abilities, the paranormal and paranoia, hypnosis and the psychiatric department. Genuine excitement is rooted in the artist’s brain. I might be considered a creativepreneur.

We come into this life with a box of tools that we feel we’ll need. Similar to going on a trip, we prepare accordingly. Camping or hiking excursions require differently packed luggage than a one-week all-inclusive to the Caribbean. No doubt, remembering your itinerary becomes a fun part of this human experience. What I know is that I selected the perfect goodies that I would need to live out my true purpose to the best of my ability. It is something I think that I often overlooked, as many of us do, in my quest to not be allowed into that ‘normal’ social club.

My internal world is intuitive and creative. I have been connected to my auspicious ‘higher self’ from an early age and always felt great safety and comfort there. The outside, external world was a different story. It was enough to scare the (insert here whatever word suggests a heightened state of intensity including cussing if you need to) right out of you. And rightfully so – people are crazy! They say life is stranger than fiction, and isn’t that the (use the same word again here) truth!

I’ve joked to friends recently, that it feels like I endured a quick crash-course on every lifetime that I’ve lived (and I do think there are hundreds of them) over these past 11-years since founding GoBe Greetings in 2003. There is celebratory delight knowing that my trust in my tools proved to be bang on – even if I didn’t know I was using them all of this time.

The role of an artist is to offer a unique perspective into or of the world in which we are living. It becomes an energy-rich snapshot that carries on as artifacts of our collective evolution. I traded in condo-sales in a condo-addicted city for crayons and wide-angle cut markers.  Now, I don’t sell. I tell. Mostly, I tell children’s stories about peace, intuition and collective consciousness. Happiness flows everywhere beyond my smile.

All of it is perfect. Everything and everyone is perfect just the way it is. Our tools are limited edition, energy-crafted treasures that help to shape our personality, our tolerance, our convictions and our beliefs. Our toolbox helps us to do a better job with living out our stories and to truly learn these human lessons that we are here to learn. Our choices are authentic to each of us. It is our innate right as a human. No one can ever cross the line in your mind’s mind to tell you that you are anything other than divinely perfect.

This post is an offering of gratitude for the people, the places and the props that I use to live out my story. There is special gratitude for my father who still suggests conventional offerings in conventional ways, despite my laughing protests. He doesn’t seem to laugh in like-tone. About a decade ago he insisted, more out of disbelief than amusement, that I replace the white paper bakery box, tied with jute twine, that I was using as a toolbox. But I wasn’t attached to that Roberstons or Phillips to put in the red metal box that was  equal in size to my childhood lunch pail. The tools that I came with are named Jason, of course. And I have a much better grip on how to use them now.

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