Money, A Love Story

Money A Love Story

Money A Love Story is a phenomenal book by Kate Northrup. This financial guidance is elevated through its unique approach: loving yourself equates to abundance in your financial life.  In other words, your money ain’t all about the money, honey.

Now, before you start thinking that this is a woo-hoo book telling you that all you have to do is be positive and you’ll get rich, think again.  This path is definitely about specific personal action, but it does so from a perspective of self-acceptance, dropping shame, valuing oneself, and celebrating that you are inherently a unique contribution to the world.  From that springboard, then, we turn to our finances.

Kate shares her background and experience, which shows readers that she has lived the full financial spectrum and knows of what she speaks.  She’s been in a financial black hole, she’s pulled herself out, and she’s opened into abundance–and we can, too.  Her whole point is to share this knowledge and to empower others how to create the same for themselves.

Philosophy marries practicality in this money love story.  Through tangible exercises you will understand where you come from with your finances, as well as specifically define where you want to go and how to get there. The downloadable workbook can either be printed out or worked digitally in a savable pdf as you go through the book.  There are also many tools and resources provided concisely at the end for easy reference and support.

Necessity is one mother of an inventor–you can quote me on that.  We all have our financial stories, and through this book you will learn how to mindfully write yours the way you choose, from this point forward.

Anyone who ever uses money will benefit from this book, whether you consider yourself “bad with money”, a “financial genius”, or anywhere in between. Additionally, anyone who is looking to expand their self-awareness (even if not financially-related) will also gain from reading this book.

In my financial learning I have also been helped by Dave Ramsey, for whom I am also very grateful.  Learning from Dave is like learning from your father, whereas learning from Kate is like learning from your sister.  Get it?

I received this book from Hay House in exchange for my honest opinion of it.

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The Age of Miracles

Yaay!  This is what I was looking for when I gave Do Not Go Quietly a whirl.  Lesson learned: go straight to Marianne Williamson.  Every time.

The Age of Miracles: Embracing the New Midlife

The Age of Miracles

Mind Over Medicine

Mind Over Medicine: Scientific Proof That You Can Heal Yourself, by Lissa Rankin, M.D., is a powerful perspective for anyone to consider.

Mind Over MedicineThe author is a credible and successful physician who is radically overcoming conventional medicine’s approach of doctor authority over patients.  The message is that we do not need to hand our healing power over to have someone else “fix” us, that we each have more healing power than we have ever imagined, ourselves.

Time out.  In no way is she suggesting to abandon current medical care.  The perspectives in this book are not either/or: there is room in this realm for all forms of healing, and it is the individual’s responsibility to make wise–and intuitive–decisions.

Each of us has the power to heal our body just by changing how our mind thinks and feels.  Yes, heal on a very large scale.

Now, this is far greater than simply putting on a happy face and thinking rainbows and hearts.  This is a spiritual path.  This is a challenge of connecting lifestyle dots, reexamining personal beliefs, and taking responsibility.  This is asking yourself, “What does my body need in order to heal?”  And then it is honestly looking at the answer you may receive, even if it is along the lines of:

  • I need to leave my spouse.
  • I need to quit my job.
  • I need to finally go back to school.
  • I need to leave this church.
  • I need to have a child.
  • I need to forgive ______.
  • I need to say no to ______.
  • I need to put my aging parent in a home.

The book is organized into three parts: Believe Yourself Well/Treat Your Mind/Write the Prescription.  Part One talks about long-standing scientific evidence that supports this radical idea of self-healing, including the effects of both the stress and relaxation responses physiologically on the body.  Part Two identifies strategies to identify personal stress-response indicators, as well as teach how to create counteractive measures. Part Three shows you how to diagnose yourself as well as write your own prescription for health, with specific tools, steps, and guidelines.

WARNING: This is not for the faint of heart.

Again, this is a spiritual journey.  You have the capacity, and the courage.  This book is your direct support, and anyone at any point on their path will benefit in some form by reading it.

I was graciously given this book by Hay House in exchange for my honest thoughts about it.

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Becoming Indigo

becoming indigo

Becoming Indigo is the second novel in a series by Tara Taylor and Lorna Schultz Nicholson.  As with Through Indigo’s Eyes, this is an incredibly well-written young adult novel that both young and old (ahem: and all of us in between!) will enjoy.

We now find Indie in her own apartment with two roommates, her first summer after high school.  She and her friends strive for independence and responsibility, deciding the evolutions of their individual lives.  The regular questions of employment, college, boys, friends, and what-do-I-want-to-do-with-my-life are accompanied by Indie’s personal lessons with her clairvoyance.  Learning to trust intuition, expand awareness, open to others, and protect our own energy are universal story lines that any reader will identify with and learn from, no matter if officially clairvoyant or not.

As with the first novel, this one also handles big-time issues in an overall positive manner.  Thank you very much for tackling serious, real-world subjects without devolving into and focusing upon the drama!  An example of this (no spoiler alert needed) is the healthy relationship between Indie and her family members, and how this interweaves with Indie’s in-progress lessons about boys and men.  Although easily able to have descended into a teen-drama summer-read, again the authors have successfully kept the book elevated, with the focus on the higher-vibration aspect of story.

I am thrilled with this novel, and a wide variety of readers will enjoy it!  Like the first book, this sequel is a powerful, positive force that will enhance and uplift the reader–and you won’t even see it coming because you will be so caught up with the story itself!

Looking for gift ideas for that tough-to-shop-for teen?  Give a set of these Indigo books and you will  feel you’ve done something worthwhile.  (And a money bill makes a great bookmark, even for non-readers.  Just saying.)

Hay House has graciously given me this book only in exchange for my honest opinion of it, and my copy has been donated to our local high school library.  More young adult readers need to have material like this available to them–thank you, Tara and Lorna!  The next book is eagerly awaited!

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The Weight of Sweet Memory

Walking in the front door of home with my parents and brother who is older by a year and a half, I am maybe four. My favorite Grandma and Grandpa are staying with us from out of state. This time was especially interesting: my brother and I got to each pick out a candy bar at the grocery store we are just returning from. I cradled my very first own whole Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup package lovingly in my hands as I stepped over the threshold.

Still my favorite, after all these years.

Still my favorite, after all these years.

We all removed our shoes, lining them up on the braided rag rug against the paneled wall. Dad and Grandpa padded off down the hallway’s wood floor to do Mysterious Guy Stuff with my brother in tow, while Mom and Grandma headed to the kitchen’s large red and black tiled squares to make supper. Mom held out her hand for My Candy Bar. She wished to hold onto it until after supper so that I wouldn’t spoil my meal. Instinctively turning my hunched shoulders away to safely protect my hard-earned prize, I promised I wouldn’t eat it until after supper and could I please be in charge of it?

My Grandma looked at my Mom and suggested that if I was old enough to have a whole candy bar to myself, then perhaps I was old enough to manage that responsibility. My Mom, who knew and loved me well, commandeered  my eyes as she smiled and said that she wanted me to wait to eat it until after our meal–could I do that? Grandma, advocating for me, supportively said of course, but Mom held my gaze. I promised that I would save my treasure for dessert, and also that I would eat a good supper.

I was allowed to be in charge of myself and my first very own candy bar, and I was excused for the half-hour until suppertime. Yesss! I ran back down the hallway toward the front door, turned up the warm, dark boards of the stairs, followed the grain to the right at the top into my room, and hesitated on the tan, fuzzy rug by my bed. I slowly uncurled my fingers from around the orange- and brown-wrapped responsibility I held, and soaked up its glory.

As I gazed at my chocolatey-peanut butter treasure, I realized I wanted to look at the actual candy I held, maybe just one cup with its zig-zagged dark brown paper that peeled off with so much fun. Are you eating your candy bar? my brother hollered out of nowhere as the wrapper crinkled. No way, I replied, are you?! I thought crawling under my bed would be a safer place to pre-investigate my after-dinner extravagance, he wouldn’t understand anyway, and then I could revel in my very first whole candy bar to myself and all that it implied, in private.

The smooth, dark floorboards slid easily underneath my polyester pants and shirt and warmly embraced me on this warm and steamy summer evening. Elbows out to each side, I held my solitary cup in front of my eyes. Remembering how much fun slowly peeling the paper away truly was, I giddily realized that today I got to do that twice! With the paper removed I found I had no place to safely set the chocolatey peanut butter until after supper, so the only thing that made sense in my childhood wisdom was to enjoy it now.

Just one bite, Eve...

Just one bite, Eve…

I felt sorry for that lonely remaining second cup. Besides, where would I securely set the remaining candy now? I wasn’t supposed to eat it yet, but leaving the second half set aside confused me. I decided quickly the only thing to do was to eat the evidence. I marveled at how much fun it was to peel the zig-zags of a second dark paper in a row, and licked the melted remains from the bottom of both wrappers after finishing the final candy cup.

There, as darkness fell on me way up against the wall under my bed, I felt the floor’s warm cuddle turn into a cold, hard, clutch of accusation. As the chocolate and peanut butter headiness melted away, I looked at the empty orange packaging and the two pleated dark brown paper cups,and slowly realized I had not kept my word. The weight of my failed integrity in my hands added friction and heavily I slid again across the floorboards, emerging into the twilight of my room as Mom called me down to supper.

Thinking to keep my lack of responsibility private, I hid the wrappers under my pillow to return for them at dessert-time, when I could legitimately toss my private discards into the public household garbage. None would be the wiser about my transgression, I would have a future opportunity to personally redeem myself, and I would retain my newly administered Big Girl status. The plan was foolproof.

Trotting downstairs and skipping into the dining room my feet skidded to a sudden stop. Everyone was seated at the table and the piercing eyes of my Mom, Dad, brother, Grandpa, and Grandma were all aimed at me. Why were they staring? How could they possibly know? My guilty conscience skittered around nervously inside, looking for safety. Suddenly, the entire group detonated into laughter.

Melted chocolate and peanut butter were smeared all across my lips.

What gave me away...?

What gave me away…?

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