Stupid things I used to believe in

I used to think that I had to be perfect. Not TRY to be perfect. But actually BE it. Like to the letter, line in the sand, better than everyone, on a pedestal kind of perfect.
Not because I wanted to be a big bad show-off, the almighty of awesome, but because I felt like perfection was my only way in to be liked, loved, respected, and on and on and on. I couldn't wrap my head around why people would want to be around me otherwise.

I used to think I had to be the nicest, smartest, happiest, coolest, hippest, neatest, craziest, sweetest, everything -est person to worm my way into hearts and souls and create a network of people who really loved me.
All things to all people all of the time.

I beat myself up – a lot – with every failure on that impossible course.

It was hard work.
Exhausting really.
And, in hindsight, really stupid thinking.

In fact, it turns out that the people I've been trying to please and wow and amaze and impress all these years are the people that have loved me so deeply from the get-go with all my faults in clear view. With my short attention span. With my low tides. With my weak moments. With my irrational tears. With my self pity and self loathing. With my blubber butt. With my self-doubt. With my carelessness. With my silliness.

All the good and the bad and the ugly and the awesome have been on display for 33 years. It turns out the only person who really didn't love it was me. (Damn you, life lessons!)

It also turns out (rather glaringly obvious) that the whole Kim package is no where near perfect and never will be. That said, this package has earned a school of loyal followers who have reminded me, over time, that believing in perfection is kinda lame and dated. I should really be spending more time just trying to be the best of me.

The great thing about stupid beliefs is that they often come with a really sweet silver lining. Some call it "learning." I call it "smack in the face."
Seeking perfection taught me to strive for personal betterment – push the limits, believe in the impossible, and go at it with gusto. It gave me wings when I was terrified to fly. It also taught me that failure is inevitable sometimes and that's quite alright. Being me is better than being ideal. Who would've thought?

So, thank you, Stupid Belief. You've shown me the light.

See you later incessant need for unachievable perfection. I'm ditching the hamster wheel.
Hello self-confidence. It's nice of you to finally arrive.

Moonlight + snowshoes + a banjo + beers

I was mingling at a party where the babies outnumbered the adults, feeling very out of place as the only woman there who hadn't experienced marriage or childbirth. My friend, a bachelor to his death, said: "Let's go snowshoeing on Cypress!"
"It's night" I reminded him.
"Exactly," he said.

I scooped up my gear – snowshoes, long johns, boots, mitts, and headlamp and we drove to the North Shore.

About 3/4 way up the mountain was a tiny pulloff that I've never noticed before.
We pulled in, put on the 4x4, and parked on a snowy road.

We put on our gear.
"which way?" I asked?
"Up!"

We trudged forth.
WIthin 10 minutes, we were both peeling back layers.
It felt like spring.
The moon was nearly full and the sky was cloudless.
At some parts, where there was a break in the trees, the moonlight cast itself like sunlight over the snow.
So bright that we turned off our headlamps and let it guide us.
The snow glittered.
The only sound was the crunching of our snowshoes on the crispy snow.

After 45 minutes, with big smiles, lots of sweat, and eager anticipation, we arrived at the top, came out into a clearing, and started to come across more people – snowshoers and cross-country skiers alike. Old. Young. In-between.
In the middle of a clearing was a cabin – hollyburn lodge. Smoke coming form its chimney and music playing from within.
We went inside – a 6-piece band with a banjo, violin, and other instruments played foot-stomping great music. Everyone form every age bracket was dancing – the floor shook.

Our beers came ice cold, and we found a pod of our friends who'd been here since early afternoon.
There are only about 10 tables in the place – all long picnic-table-style furnishings that force you to sit beside strangers and make friends.

It was good old fashioned fun.
We drank. We danced. We laughed.

They close down early (9 or 10 I think) because the patrons all have to rely on their legs (hopefully not too wobbly) and their heads (hopefully not too murky with pale ales) to get down the mountain.

We went down with about 10 other folks. It was invigorating, hilarious, exciting.
We raced. We jumped in snowbanks. We went out for (veggie) burgers.

One of the reasons I love Vancouver is that I can do something like that – on a whim. With no planning. I can leave at 6. Be home by 11. And have the time of my life in between.

The Burning Questions

Danielle LaPorte is a mentor of mine. She makes me think. And get deep down into the core of me – of Business Kim, of Creative Kim, of Love Life Kim, and of Just Me Kim. All aspects of me. Sometimes it's tough. Sometimes it's invigorating. Always it's insightful.

She's launched her new burning questions series. Highly empowering. Like self-discovery on a stick.
So I thought I'd take a stab and answer today's "How Do You Want It To Feel?" burning questions.


I want my day to feel like dancing in the living room to sugar pop beats when no one's looking.
I want my next success to feel like one of those big bang drums in parade – thump thump thump – heart pounding awesome.
I want my body to feel like a gazelle – effortless, beautiful, strong.
I want smiling to feel like tingles and goosebumps.
I want my friendships to feel like artwork in street alleys – wild, amusing, bright spots in dark places.
I want my nervous system to feel like a sprinkler on repeat.
I want my creative to feel like new born babies complete with hugs, love, laughter, and cigars.
I want my neighborhood to feel like cozying up in front of the fireplace.
I want my integrity to feel like quartz. Solid, unique, stunning.
I want my money-making to feel like gliding through clouds.
I want my words to feel like threading popcorn and cranberries.
I want my laughter to feel like cool mountain air.
I want the end of the day to feel like a full belly and a glass of beer.
I want being of service to feel like magic tricks.
I want my challenges to feel like denim jeans with holes in the knees.
I want my love to feel like fireworks and down duvets at the same time.
I want my reationships to feel like round pegs in round holes.
I want my ideas to feel like cracks of thunder and revving engines.

I don't just want these feelings. I aim to make them happen.
Life is wild.
xo