I have a life coach now. If you’d asked me what that meant a year ago, I would have responded with some vague answer, with roughly the same insight that I have on synchronized swimming (which is very little). I know in theory that girls swim around and make shapes with their bodies, similarly I knew life coaches help you “figure things out,” but that was the extent of my knowledge. Then as a very generous gift, a dear friend bought me two sessions with THE Helene Finizio. Now I had heard of this woman (the best in the biz) and I’d dreamed of one day getting to work with the Queen of New York, but could never have fathomed to what extent she’d change my life.

So that’s how it all started. I received a gift, a stranger’s voice on the other end of my phone gently inquiring about all the nooks, the crannies, peering into the deepest darkest closets of my life. And then before I knew it, that voice was no longer a distant stranger, but a life’s guide, a dear friend, a confidant, a sage and a cheerleader.

Here’s the deal. I’ve spent more money on jeans, shoes and movies than I would ever like to admit. I don’t mind dropping big Bens on a personal trainer, expensive mascara, and the new Victoria Secret, must-have bra. My bank account diminishes at the mere thought of international airfare and tickets to see my favorite band play. Why then does it pain us to spend money on the things that actually matter?

You see, a life coach is just about the best buck you could possibly spend because (at least for me) I’m being taught how to live better. It’s not quick fixes, plaster over the cracks, but looking into my lifelong habits of loving bad boys, highlights of unnecessary self-critique, techniques on how to better handle stress, and the subtleties in thoughts that are getting you exactly what you don’t want. We’re not talking voodoo, mad scientist fluff, we’re talking about facing every facet of who you are intimately in a mirror and being forced to reckon with what most of us would rather sweep under the rug.

And the beauty is it’s not a therapy session, woe is me, kumbaya-ing. It’s practical steps to getting what you want, shifting your paradigm so that anything is possible and mantras that actually change the way you think. We have coaches for sports, tutors for school, mentors for business, so why are we not encouraged to have a coach for life in general  ̶  a coach for how to be a better version of ourselves?

The reason I’m gushing over this is because it’s a phenomenon, something I had vaguely heard of and I feel like it’s a secret most of us don’t know about. In fact, I started inquiring to all my most successful friends about it and sure enough, nine out of 10 had a life coach. Where was I when that memo went out? So here’s the deal, Helene has changed my life, continues to, by inspiring me, encouraging me, unapologetically challenging me and enabling me to do what I’m meant to do in this lifetime without getting caught up in my own bull$&#@ that serves as a serious distraction, temptation and/or a slower-downer.

She doesn’t remove the obstacles for me, but shows me the same invisible walls I keep running into to and leads me to the door. She helps me clarify what I really want in life instead of falling victim to society’s pressures, or other people’s influence. She recognizes patterns in my language that are limiting beliefs, and pinpoints my revisionist history of things that never really happened “like that.” She dances in a world of endless possibility and encourages me to dance alongside her. She doesn’t subscribe to what the world says and instead writes her own life menu and chooses exactly what she wants to order.

Helene is a miracle worker. She makes dreams come true, by helping you realize what yours even are in the first place. Whether it’s a major career-changing decision (which she recently walked me through), my latest 8^th grade crush, my personal struggles with body image or my financial goals, she helps guide me in the right direction. She is a flashlight along a dark road and a voice of reason when the world gets so chaotic and the endless possibilities leave me in a state of paralysis.

Life is tough — at least it can be. But as I’m learning, it also doesn’t have to be. The greatest thing I have been taught is that either way, we choose how our life will unfold, the adventures we go on and the attitude we adorn.  I feel like when you find something that significantly and positively changes your life, it’s a travesty to keep it a secret. Helene is a pretty penny, but why wouldn’t she be? She’s in the business of changing lives. I get asked all the time what my secret is… well cats out… it’s her.

www.HeleneFinizio.com

I’m not going to lie, I don’t get the whole Valentine’s day hype. I never have. And this isn’t a single girl’s rant, I’ve certainly had my share of rose-petaled surprises, chocolate filled teddy bears and expensive ooh- la-la Valentine dinners. I just don’t like the idea that there’s this arbitrary day once a year where whatever guy is in my life, is pressured into expressing his love through a cheesy Hallmark card and a heart shaped box of delectable delights.

I’d rather him do it on a random Tuesday, in the middle of June, or a Wednesday in late September when he actually feels like it. All I’m saying is that I want the appreciation-forced 14^th of February to last the other 364 days out of the year, not all stuffed into a single 24 hour period. And I don’t like the idea of someone doing something for me because of a make believe bow and arrow carrying, half naked guy flying around inducing prearranged marriages.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am as hopeless a romantic as they come. I am weak in the knees at the sight of pink lilies, silly sweet notes written for no reason at all make me smile all day and dinner with a guy I have a crush on leaves me completely unproductive for a week as I replay flirtatious comments in my head and sport a perma-smile all day. I’m the queen of butterflies, lose all logic-making ability when I’m kissed and admittedly hold my breath when my phone rings at the mere thought of the guy I like calling.

So with my girly confessions out of the way, I am 100% chick when it comes to the sweet stuff. But I have to admit that I hate a guy feeling obligated to do ANY of that for me so I’m proposing a new concept for Valentine’s day, a potential hand shake, deal making opportunity. Okay guys, What if I said that that from now on, Valentine’s is your day off. The one day a year you get to do whatever in the hell you want. Watch football, play poker, go camping with the dudes, sleep in, I don’t care. But it’s your day to be a man, beat your chest and revert to the cave man that lives deep down inside. However, the other 364 days out of the year you make an effort, you do thoughtful surprises, leave cards for no reason and yes, you buy me pink lilies and chocolate chip cookies but all on your own time, when you feel like it. But on that one, special day, it’s completely yours.

And I promise the same goes for me. Valentines will be my day to pamper myself, go to the spa, get a mani and pedi, buy myself a new outfit and lounge in a bath singing along to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. But 364 days out of the year, I in return will spoil you with fantastic home made dinners, buy tickets to your favorite team’s championship game, surprise you with whip cream bikinis and will have your favorite beer stocked in the fridge on poker night. I will go out of my way to make you feel special the rest of the year if you grant me one day to have all, completely to myself.

Deal?

I think we could use a reminder once a year to pamper ourselves anyway and seeing as we have the rest of the year to be selfless, to compromise and to be sweet and thoughtful with each other, we deserve a day off. February 14^th seems as arbitrary and perfect as any. The perfect day to be the good kind of selfish, to pamper ourselves and revel in unconditional, selfishness.

We’d also get to avoid the inundation of red and pink, overpriced set menus, hard to get reservations at fancy restaurants, forced compliments and chocolates. You don’t have to worry about forgetting a made up holiday and hurting my feelings, or trying to out do whatever you did last year or meet “crazy girl on Valentine’s day” expectations that were unbeknownst to you. I think I’m completely okay with all of that, well except the chocolate. I’ll pretty much accept chocolate any time, any place, anywhere (make note of that).

Either way, I’m starting a new Non-Valentine’s, Valentine’s Day trend. After all the beauty of relationships is that you get to decide what works for you. Together you write the rules and  you set and create your own expectations. Among many other things I don’t buy into, Valentine’s Day, at least for me (and this is NOT the case for all girls so don’t propose this idea of your girlfriend and get me in trouble) is being scrapped from my yearly calendar.

However, absolutely nothing above applies to birthdays. Birthdays are a completely different story… forget that day and you’re in the dog house. We’re talkin’ big time dog house.  July 6. Sear it into your brain and plan two weeks in advance, fireworks are suggested and trust me, the golden rule applies here so your birthday will reap the same MUCH deserved love and attention.

Recently a friend reached for my leather bound journal and asked me to “quote myself.” Despite being an avid journal writer, I have rarely reread a single line that I have written. Rather I have fantasized that one day when I’m ninety, I’ll reach for my coke-bottle glasses and thumb through the story of my life. But until then my life’s adventures have remained crystallized in a beautifully bound journal that is filed away at the back of my closet with the rest of the memory keepers.

Until today. The “quote request” jostled my curiosity and for the first time ever, I peeked into the already-forgotten cursive filled pages. When I looked into my journal, I caught glimpses of emotion, confessions of the heart, faint fears, and insecurities scribbled like a child. There was something foreign about the words, like a mystery movie where the antagonist has a letter written in her handwriting, with no recollection of having written it. A part of me shied away from the pages. It felt voyeuristic. I was looking at the inner caverns of my head and my heart. Rather than hearing my voice, I read accounts from an uncensored, idealistic, hopeless romantic– jotting down song lyrics interlaced with intellectual inquiry into the state of the human experience. There were moments of masterful confidence, brilliant eloquence, splatter painting of four letter words, childlike vulnerability, ironic pessimism, surmounting faith justifying my latest disappointment, seventh grade crush confessions, and my wildest dreams whispered to my silent confidant.

My journal is me, my guts splashed on a page capturing every layer of who I am. How do we know who we are or what we stand for if we never ask ourselves? How do we begin to understand this life in all is complexities if we don’t take time to reflect on it? I scribbled notes, I drew pictures, and made up new symbols desperately trying to make sense of what life means, or who I am and why things work out the way they do or don’t. Then I refused to look back.

Despite the patronizing request to quote myself, I admittedly spent several hours the following day hashing through years of memories. It was like a novel, only I no longer knew the author. I had outgrown her. But I became inspired by the insight. I witnessed my own process of immeasurable maturation. I experienced hilarity. I saw redemption and grace intertwined with the deepest of broken hearts; a mosaic of life’s most memorable experiences.

I wiped away the stream of tears, reliving my nephew’s birth, giggling over meaningless spats, resurrecting an old boy friend, and waltzing with the dreams that are now my reality. It occurred to me that we are in fact all our own authors. Whether you capture your story in journal form or not, you create your life and that makes you the director of your own play, starring you. Front and center. You.

My journal is a window to who and what I am and was. It is forever a glance backwards, past tense, a highlight reel of my life in beautiful snap shots. But far more inspiring than the word-filled pages are the blank ones that lie ahead. The pen sits in my hand and so does yours. We have the freedom; the choice to make up whatever story we want. The ability to create any adventure we can imagine. My story will go something like this, “there was this girl once, she believed she could change the world, so much so she wrote the greatest adventure story to date and sure enough she made it a reality.”

If only in the privacy of a leather-bound journal hidden amongst your latest reads,  take off your mask. We could use a little more authenticity in this world but it must first start with us. I’ll make you a deal, you take yours off… and so will I.

Image courtesy of Womensconference.org

This blog was recently posted on Womensconference.org.

The very tippy, top of my To Do list for 2010 is wildly unusual for me. I normally have the “complete a book, run a marathon, win a Nobel Peace Prize” kind of expectations, but 2010 is the year of being kinder to myself. So my number one priority is simple — loving myself more. I feel like today we’re expected to be Superwomen, and it’s so easy to fall into the trap of unrealistic, unattainable expectations of perfection and the disappointment and self-critique that quickly follow. 

I was recently told that the way we treat ourselves is a direct correlation to the way we treat others. So really, to exercise compassion, patience, unconditional love and forgiveness with myself is to practice for how I treat others. For me that means, a little more giggles and less discipline, a little more chocolate and a little less salad, a little more flirting and a little less work. So, 2010 is about loving myself as is… PERFECTLY FLAWED!

A month ago I said to one of my friends, I’d do anything to just pack up and move somewhere, to go on an adventure and for the first time in my life have no clue where that adventure takes me. The blunt, rather patronizing pop to my mid-day, head in the clouds bubble was, “then do it.” It’s always so funny when someone uses your medicine on you, when it’s the words you speak all the time slipping out of someone else’s mouth and how powerful they are directed at you, not from you. I’m the queen of, “then just do it,” encouraging people in the audience to live life to the fullest, to dare to dream big and to create bold, awesome adventures. It’s crazy when you realize you’re preaching an awful lot of it, and your cozy, comfortable world has gotten a little too cozy and a little too comfortable.

My dream-killer conversation was followed up with the logic police, “ I mean honestly Alexis, I was kidding. Obviously you can’t just pack everything up and chase dreams and adventures. We’re not kids anymore and last time I checked, we don’t live in Never, Never Land.” That’s when it hit me, this whole “growing up thing” is totally overrated. Maybe I’m the Wendy who never went home, but I don’t subscribe to the rules everyone else plays by. I don’t think I ever have.

Regardless the gauntlet had been set and I can’t possibly think of a better reason why I can’t in fact up and leave to do whatever I want. I have a job I can do from anywhere. I am single, with no ex-husband or children, mortgage. I’m not in serious debt, running from the police or on house arrest. I have no pets, no life-threatening disease, no responsibility to anyone other than myself and while this will not always be the case, it certainly is right now. I cannot think of a single good reason why I should not do something mildly crazy, ridiculously exciting. Just because every bit of it scares me is not a good enough reason not to do it.

I think fear is crippling to so many, the ultimate dream spider that stalks a hope, suffocates passion, induces paralysis and eventual death to dreams caught in its web. I’m twenty-six and I’m right at that age where I see friends of mine, who were the dare devils in high school, the Passionistas in college and the adventure hungry in grad school, fall one by one. I’m watching the glazed eyes, the resignation in their voices and haunting pictures posted on Facebook as they slave away for a company they hate.

You see, the reason we love Peter Pan so much is there is something thrilling about a world in which we still get to play. Where we get to fly, swim with mermaids and fight with pirates. I’m not so Pollyanna that I can’t see there are real life responsibilities, that the world isn’t perfect and work is necessary. I get all of that, I just don’t believe that growing up means we give up on life as an adventure. I believe we can still have fun, be spontaneous and do things that absolutely don’t make sense. I think that while we are still “young,” which I hope to be forever, we are still as eager to discover new life experiences, to revel in ambiguity, to sign up for things that scare us all while inspiring others to live a little more and worry a little less.

I’ve always been a girl who leads by example — soapbox was never my style. Now I don’t have all the answers, I’d be lucky if I had a few. But what I do know is there’s a world of people out there, myriad of cultures I’m dying to see and feel, with life experiences begging me to show up for them. I have my whole life for routine, to be a fantastic wife, an amazing mother. But not now, when this moment is all I have.

So my advice for you today, whoever happens to stumble upon this blog, is to do it. I don’t know what that is for you, or where you are in life. I don’t know what you have on your plate, but don’t let anything, anyone hold you back any longer. Clean up the mess, cut some strings, walk away, quit, do what you have to do to stay true to yourself. If you’re not happy then change something. If you need some adventure, create it.

You have this one, precious life and you alone dictate how colorful your mural is at the end of your journey. You decide the depth, texture, size, the spectacular spectrum of shades and brush strokes. I would never pretend to fathom what life has in store for me. I’d underestimate God if I thought I knew the rollercoaster ride in store for me. But what I do know is that life is not too short, but rather, far too long for me to waste another day not seeking out and stalking every adventure calling my name.

I will be that girl who looks back at the end of a long, fulfilling lifetime and say I left it all on the field. I won some, lost more, but got back each time and begged for another opportunity to be surprised by the altruism in humanity, my own courage, for the uprising of a generation of people who care about things bigger than themselves, by the bravery of those living without and my passion to capture their humbling and heroic stories.

There are a lot of unspoken rules in life, society’s invisible regulations of normalcy, and the unseen but surely felt pressures to fit in. To hell with all of them. No person made history fitting in, staying quite and floating under the radar. I’m on the adventure of my life, have no idea where I am going, what I am doing or any other details to the story. I’ll keep you posted on where the wind blows me, but in the mean time, stop reading about mine and set out on your own expedition. Keep me posted where YOU end up and who knows… maybe we find out paths crossing on our adventure back to Never, Never Land.

(Pictures courtesy of Care.org and tantrumzz.com)

I currently live out of a suitcase. Be careful what you wish for because this was always my dream. I wanted a job where I traveled. I wanted a job that was never the same, required no office, had no boss, and yes, a job that forced me all around the world on a moment’s notice. I now have it. So all I’m saying is be careful what you wish for.

I just returned home to my beautiful apartment after having spent almost a month on the other side of the country and some places in-between. In that time, I have met new people, added faces to the patchwork collage of my memory, teased my mind with “name input” overload and forced my inner clock to the verge of insanity trying to keep up with my most recent standard time zone.

I have slept in five-star hotels overlooking the NY harbor, on couches, trundle beds, air mattresses, awkwardly in the airport on long layovers, painfully on East Coast subways and rather quaintly on an old-fashioned train. I’ve eaten Vegan, New York Italian, good ol’ fashioned Tex-Mex, Florida’s finest fresh fish, home cooked, precooked, on-the-go, cold, hot, sweet, spicy, salty, paper napkin-ed, sterling silverware-ed, at a wedding, at 4 a.m., while watching a movie and while half-asleep. I also drank wine, chocolate martinis, milk from the carton and overly sweet, sweet tea. I’ve talked, danced, worked, slept, swam, ran, biked, laughed, cried, napped, hugged and hiccupped.

I live a life of uncertainty, of outrageous ambiguity, adventures with unforeseen twists and turns on a Technicolor rollercoaster. I chose it. It didn’t just happen to me. I sought this lifestyle out far in advance, custom-built it, patiently awaited its arrival and now it sits before me, daring me to find a single flaw in the painstakingly premeditated steps I took making it mine.

And yet I sit perplexed how I have the audacity to question it now. Or perhaps this is a classic case of the “grass is always greener.” Because only now am I discovering the beauty in simplicity, routine, in the conventional ― all the things I denounced and swore off in my lifetime are whispering sweet nothings to me now more than ever. I must agree with our generation’s criticism as being fickle because I exercise that stereotype on a daily basis. It’s a matter of time until I get what I want and then that want quickly mutates into something else, patronizingly the complete opposite at times so I’m forced to swallow my pride and the bitter pill of hypocrisy.

However in lieu of questioning my entire career, running from the dream I’m forced to endure on a daily basis (insert sarcasm here), rather than impulsively whacking the pendulum even farther in the opposite direction and choose a completely different career altogether, I had an epiphany. It is not about my job. It’s not about the pros and cons I can write down, consider, mull over, stew on and allow to completely inundate my thoughts to endless distraction. In fact, it has nothing to do with grass of any kind much less varying shades of green.

I woke up this morning, packed my suitcase for the umpteenth time, had a car sent for me at 4:35 this morning to drive me to the airport and as I sat sleepy-eyed in the belly of a beautiful, black steel stallion, questioned, “Does all of this make me happy?” I carefully assigned worth to all the different facets of my life; my relationships, my career, my health, my finances, my lifestyle. I meticulously calculated all the intangible factors in hopes of computing an accurate happiness tally.

Immediately, I thought the job is getting to me. I need more family, more familiar and less foreign. I need more routine and less chaos, more drawers and less suitcases. I hit the eject button and the sirens in Happyville went off. I panicked thinking, if I’m questioning it, I must not be happy and if I’m not, what is it about my life I need to change? The contentment police pulled out their magnifying glasses in hopes of discovering the perpetrator meddling with my joy and corrupting my peace.

But as I sit on my couch, exhausted from a month straight of traveling I realize it has nothing to do with my career. It’s not the amount of traveling I’m doing, my single status, or any other outside factor I could point at. It all boils down to choosing contentment and happiness in spite of circumstance ― the good, the bad and yes, even the single. It requires digging deep into your soul on a daily basis and making the choice to be joyful, not because you have the perfect job, found the love of your life, or won the lottery. It means that when presented with the choice this morning, you checked the happy box.

It’s so easy to look outside yourself for the answers, looking for someone else to do the work, to hand you a free ride to “Happily Ever After,” but I don’t think contentment is given, it’s earned. I think it’s worked for every single moment of every day, a responsibility we have, and a choice we get to make. So “does my job make me happy?” is a futile question; just as much as does my family, my body, my boyfriend, my book? No, because, I do. Me, myself and I.

And here’s the kicker, so do you. You have to stop looking outside yourself to find it, hoping that it’s magically going to show up one day or the formula will be written in the sky for you to jot down and memorize. It’s always much more simple than we make it. Decide right now, this second that in spite of the endless “to-do” list, the broken heart, the work drama, the economy, world hungry, poverty and all the other endless excuses you could exercise, that for the next say, three minutes, you check the “hopeful, adventure-seeking, optimistic, eager, energetic, can’t-stop-smiling, obnoxiously happy, anything is possible” box for no other reason than you can.

Stop blaming others, making it into something it’s not, creating grass-colored hierarchies to justify your mediocre life, and depressing, self-pity stories that “life’s not fair.” Life is nothing but myriad of choices and based on those, an endless slew of more to follow. That’s it.

In retrospect, don’t be careful what you wish for – wish for it all, wish for nothing, dream big or small or not at all. Regardless of what you get or don’t get, your ability to enjoy it rests in your choice alone. So go ahead, choose happy today.

I had dinner last night with a dear friend. Epitomizing the persnickety, overly healthy stereotype of Los Angeles restaurants he appropriately ordered a meatless macro burger, and I peanut enriched kale dish. Fittingly we sat there in LA’s latest dining limelight catching up on the past month or so of each other’s life changing adventures.

As usual with this particular friend, our traditional dinner time lapsed into a time span commensurate with two movies, four back to back episodes of The Office or a drive to and from Santa Barbara. However, it was in hour three of the four that our topic of conversation resonated with me the most. What is it about love, relationships and the “soul mates” debate that evoke such a curiosity?

For me, I’ve loved and lost, and lost and loved some more. I certainly don’t have a methodology, a tried and tested philosophy, or a proven formula that ensures love’s success. Even my dating record, or lack their of, wouldn’t qualify me to advise others, but it wasn’t our theory based answers that peaked my fascination, it was more in the infinite quandaries that kept me up that night.

I have to admit that I’ve laid to rest the fairytale that my prince will arrive on a shining, white stead or that I myself am adorned in a diamond studded tiara. Because honestly, I think it’s these childish, unrealistic, unattainable expectations that leave people disappointed and disenchanted by their less than happy, “happy ending.” However, that doesn’t mean my expectations aren’t extraordinarily high or that my standards aren’t near impossible; it just means that what I’m looking for (and unwilling to settel for less than) will take the same patience and meticulous searching as a needle in a haystack and quite frankly, I’m banking on the fact it will be worth it.

Because here’s the deal, I do believe love and relationships can be magical, but I am well aware of the fact that the kind I speak of are far and very few between. I also think it’s terrifying to entertain that notion because by admitting the possibility that a truly powerful, mind blowing, “one plus one makes 10” relationship exists means you’re left with the reality that realistically you may never find it, or worse, that you end up settling for something subpar. Both of which for some, make the journey to finding the ever elusive, love of your life, not worthy of the hunt in the first place.

That’s when it occurred to me that like any good treasure hunt, there is a legitimate fear your journey might possibly be done in vain, and yet for me, that gamble pales in comparison to the treasure that potentially awaits you. Then again, what in life are we guaranteed? Not success, health, wealth, or even life for that matter; so what makes the journey to find love anymore terrifying than chasing down your dreams or striving for success?

I guess that’s where for me, it’s a matter of faith, believing in something profound that I have yet to see or experience firsthand. So maybe I haven’t met my perfectly flawed prince charming, or maybe I have and like Superman his true identity is being kept secret from my heart’s eyes for the time being. But either way, to muster up the courage, rather, the audacity required is not for the faint of heart. Then again mediocrity is for the simple, willing to settle, comfort-loving individuals who dare not. But for those of you inspired by the mere possibility of having a powerhouse relationship, I promise your life’s treasure hunt to find what you’re looking for, your fortitude in not settling, your faithful resilience, and your passionate quest will not be done in vain. I promise that no eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind can conceive what is in store for those treasure hunters determined to discover life’s greatest fortune, a love worthy of the hunt.

Pictures courtesy of: Mathforum, Oceangrams

If New York and Paris could breed, Buenos Aires would be their beloved off spring. Like a child with the perfect blend of its two parents, Buenos Aires has the fast-paced New Yorker spirit and yet maintains the romantic features of Paris. I love her, I love Argentina for her welcoming arms, her electric pulse and her ability to take my breath away with her wine, her steak, her Cuban cigars, her dolce de leche and her men; all of which are exquisite.

Yesterday I had a deadline to meet (LA time) and so I rushed downstairs to grab a bite. Embarrassingly, I was slightly proud for forcing myself to even leave the office instead of my normal routine of working straight through lunch. I got to the restaurant a block away from our office and I quickly realized that I was the ONLY one eating alone in a very packed café. Immediately I asked for a salad When Harry Met Sally – style, I want this, but not that with this on the side and extra that. Not only does this absolutely drive my brother crazy, but it was a dead give away that I was a high maintenance foreigner.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that I was lonely and persnickety, I added “work-a-holic” to that already unattractive package as I whipped out my notebook, my iphone and my lap top at the table. Then worse, I have the audacity to ask the waiter if he can expedite my order because (as I glance at my watch) I have a conference call at 2pm. I received an appropriately annoyed glance and myopically proceeded with checking next week’s schedule for whether or not I could fit in a lunch on Tuesday… and I honestly wonder why guys don’t ask me out when I blatantly give every indication that I’m uninterested and too busy. Ha!

So there I was, my face buried in work, fully distracted by “to do” lists, deadlines, phone calls I haven’t returned and meetings. All of this minutia stole my attention so much so that I’d completely forgotten I was sitting in a beautiful café in Argentina. Then, like a scene in a movie, I’m interrupted by a gorgeous Argentinean Casanova and in a thick, Spanish accent God’s gift to women smiled and said, “excuse me, you seem very busy, but I couldn’t help but wonder your name and why it’s taken this long in my life to have finally found you.” Only in Argentina, with Antonio Banderas’ accent and Brad Pitt’s good looks could a guy get away with saying such a cheesy line and it actually cause my knees to buckle.

Due to my pathetic stammering and girly shyness, he spared my pride and simply invited himself to sit down. I was completely mesmerized by his cool confidence, laze fair swagger and his captivating smile that sucked me in and left me fumbling and mumbling for a response to his melodic, Shakespearean prose. It was then that my USA train going full steam ahead came to a screaming halt.

It’s like when you were a kid, walking in right after mom pulls fresh chocolate chip cookies out and your nostrils can’t possibly inhale fast enough the delectable delights’ strong fragrance. And that’s how they live; they revel in the present moment, soak up life experience like a sponge and bask in the relationships with people they love.

So I shut my notebook, my computer, slipped my phone into my purse and chose flirting over working. Harmless enough. I listened to him discuss his passion for Tango, his love of red wine and beautiful women. I appreciate Latin men and their ability to immediately fall madly in love with a stranger so convincingly that you actually wonder if you’re in love with them too.

I could help myself and finally asked this gentleman sitting before me, “So how often do you do this?” His confused, reply, “do what?” My (presumptuous) response, “you know, walking up to a complete stranger, inviting yourself to sit down and then drenching them with compliments.” His simple, and honest reply, “as many times as it takes to find her.”

I couldn’t hide my smile, for no other reason than, he was probably right. For all he knows, I could have been her. The reality is I wasn’t, his Princess and my Prince Charming still await both of us, but it was worth finding out. We chatted long enough to distract me from my planned schedule. When I realized the time I excused myself for a conference call, which I was now painfully late for. In the rush, he kissed my cheek and said I was lovely. I walked away blushing like a third grader who’d just been kissed by her crush.

Now, this isn’t a story of having met the man of my dreams on a romantic business trip to Buenos Aires; okay, maybe an hour long, café crush. But really, this was an epiphany for me.  In spite of my wild ambition, my unbridled work ethic and the goals I’m conquering on a day to day basis, there’s still time, there has to be because love it worth it. What are work, accomplishments and accolades with no one to share them with? We must make time to play, to drink wine, and flirt with strangers, to laugh and giggle for no reason other than a handsome man calls you beautiful.

While I don’t plan on adopting a new personality, affording me the luxury of care free living, of meandering through this life’s journey and throwing caution to the wind and confessing my undying love to every stranger I find attractive, there’s certainly a sliding scale and it wouldn’t hurt me to take a few steps closer to a happy medium.

So my latest challenge was born: a little less work and a lot more play. A little less seriousness and a hell of a lot more laughing. A little less American and a TON more Argentinean. I’ll spend the rest of my trip soaking up as much Buenos Aires as humanly possible and hope work demands a quick return to this beautiful country.

I’m attaching a disclaimer that I’m currently in Argentina with 12% battery left on my Mac and no access to an American adaptor to plug in my life’s greatest distraction. I’ve also just returned to my hotel room at 2:14 am,  severely jet lagged and admittedly my head is still swirling from my first introduction to Cuban cigars. In addition to this pathetic state I’m in, the airlines lost my luggage so I’m sporting the same clothes going on two days and in desperate need of deodorant and a toothbrush. Regardless, I have to pour out my thoughts before I attempt to sleep in my painfully cold room in the 13 minutes (appoximately) that I have left on my dying thought catcher. So as fast as my fingers can type, this was on my mind today…

i am that girl had the recent luxury of co-hosting an event that brought together 15 of the most influential women under 35. John Paul DeJoria (owner of Paul Mitchell and Patron Tequila) donated his private train that took us from LA to San Diego, where we then chartered a private sailboat for the day. Despite the opulent transportation and the prestigious titles of the women inside the steel bellied Patron Express, it was neither of these impressive conversation capital pieces that fascinated me.

As women, we all know how catty girls can be especially in a room filled with gorgeous, confident, successful Alfa females. This day event was an exaggerated version of a potentially perfect storm where high heels clash and egos fly. However, it was shockingly the opposite of what stereotypical expectations would suggest.

I found myself in a room potent with success, fame, prestige, accomplishments, and yet they paradoxically didn’t seem to fit the beautifully humble faces starring back at me. I found it difficult to have such juxtaposing intangibles co-existing in the women who sat before me; fierce yet feminine, bold yet beautiful and smart yet sexy. More importantly was the vulnerability and transparency that these Super women possessed in spite of the confidence, bordering cocky, that they would all be justified in flaunting.

Like an old Western stand-off, the first few minutes were painfully silent. Then, one by one each woman set down the cumbersome facade of perfection, the heavy, chink-less armor and the Wonder woman cape that we wear for the  rest of the world. And that’s when the magic occurred and the fairy dust of authenticity sprinkled and glittered on our faces as we began to candidly share our life’s most personal battles, the good, the bad, the glamorous and the down right ugly aspects of our seemingly perfect lives. Egos evaporated, pride melted and we were left with the most beautiful characteristic intrinsic to women, compassion.

Suddenly the Hollywood Starlet, the East Coast editor, the powerhouse producer and engineering genius found common ground that defied professional titles and couture name tags, we were transformed into a mere group of girls patiently listening to each other’s unique life stories, interjected with struggles and triumphs, love stories and heart breaks, the highlight as well as the blooper reel. I was left inspired by a group of women committed to collaborating instead of competing and because of that dedication each of us walked out picked up, dusted off and ready to be put back on the battle field.

So to hell with the stereotype of glass ceiling and catty, threatened lashing outs of insecurity. While it may currently be the reality for many, I’m not interested in allowing the past to dictate our future. I believe that women are ready for a new relationship with one another, one in which we support and encourage each other, where we challenge and inspire each other and stand in one another’s corner instead of starring down our opponent in the middle of the ring.

The Concept of i am that girl is as relevant to me as it is for every woman out there. It’s a declaration that while I am THAT GIRL, so are you. And quite frankly, there are fights so much more worthy of our time and attention than fighting amongst each other. If women choose to collaborate the possibilities are endless, and yet conversely, if we compete the cancerous resentment will quickly be our demise.

So I know it exists, women empowering women. I’ve seen it with my own eyes and it’s breathtaking, magnifying every phenomenally powerful characteristic unique to women. I believe in a world in which women feel worthy, where they have the audacity to dream big and access to the tools and support to make those dreams a reality. I believe in a world where glass ceilings are shattered, where stereotypes are put to rest, where catty glances are exchanged for supportive smiles and where women are reminded everywhere that we are, in fact, on the same team. I believe in a world where compassion surpasses ego, a world where women boldly challenge each other and use one another as resources instead of a means to an end.

I also believe that in a single generation, we can drastically change the future for women and that our daughters and granddaughters will have no concept of a day when women were anything other than each other’s biggest fans. It’s audacious I know, lofty to say the least, but every revolution begins with laughable doubt and incredulous, unfathomable goals. Let’s pick up where our mothers’ left off and rebuild our fractured community brick by brick. I already found 15 women worthy of the charge, architects for the future stage on which our daughters will dance, but it’s not enough, we need more…  we need you.

I believe that if you empower women, you change the world. I dare you to dream with me.

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