I remember when I was 8 or 9 years old, lying on the floor of my bedroom, begging, pleading, gripping an arm to pull an invisible his ear toward me to say, Please. Make. Me. Pretty. Please. Pretty. Please. Lying there, thinking oh no, what if I’m not, what if I’m not? I don’t know where all this came from–from the ether, I suppose, the TV, the movies, music, all the venues where beautiful women were exalted, showered with love, wealth, power. Power. Power comes from beauty–for women. Now, with age, is power lost or can it finally be discovered?
Power granted isn’t actually power, is it? Power assumed, is.
Do you feel powerful today? Powerfully genuine, that is. Open. Fearless. Unapologetically passionate. Protecting and radiating your brilliance and tenderness with the power of a hundred thousand suns…that kind of power.
Turn on the pilot. Light a match. Drop it. Go. Assume the power.