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August 26, 2005
Take
a Chance on Me
In
the summer of 2002, my personal branding topics were
just getting going. I had done a few talks and the audiences
loved the concept, but I needed a way to make personal
branding, well, more personal.
To
do that I decided to offer a hands-on workshop, something
intimate, where the participants could really get to
know each other and themselves. Most workshops are held
in offices or hotel conference rooms, but that felt
too stale for the kind of program I was offering. So
I took a deep breath, took a risk, and decided to have
the workshop in my own home.
I
accepted six women into the program: a real estate agent,
a relationships therapist, a writer, a banker, a woman
facing retirement, and a professor, Peggy Ingram, Ph.D.
Peggy
was the last woman to register. She taught business
ethics to MBA students at a private university. Needless
to say, I was just a tad intimidated by her credentials.
What
could I possibly teach her? But, she must have
signed up for a reason, so I took a risk, registered
Peggy, and moved forward.
The
workshop was great. Everyone participated, interacted
with each other, and left empowered to tackle their
projects. Peggy stayed after the program to talk with
me. There was an immediate connection. I liked her energy
and her enthusiasm and her “let’s just do
it!” attitude. I could tell that Peggy was a woman
with ideas.
Then
Peggy took a risk and invited me to hear her son Jack
in concert at the Aerial Theatre downtown. I had never
heard of Jack Ingram before, but with a little research,
I found out he rocks! (See www.jackingram.net)
I
took a risk, went downtown alone, and met her at the
show.
Peggy
began to introduce me to a whole genre of music. Some
call it Texas Country, others call it Texas Roots, but
Jack calls it “Real American Music,” (See
www.ramfestival.com).
Whatever you call it, it’s a combination of modern
day storytelling, rock & roll, country twang, and
poetry. After that first concert, Peggy began to invite
me regularly to hear her favorites, like Radney Foster,
Todd Snider, Hayes Carll, and Chip Taylor. Peggy opened
my eyes (and ears) to great music, and a great friendship.
Isn’t
it amazing how intimidated we can be by a person’s
title or achievements, wealth or beauty? And
how these barriers prevent us from starting something
as simple as a conversation that can lead you into an
exciting new chapter of your life? Somewhere you never
would have gone if you had never taken a risk.
One
night, we’re sitting in a pub, listening to one
of Peggy’s favorite female vocalists, Terri Hendrix.
As I sat there, I realized that I was not just tapping
my foot to the beat, but I was really listening. I was
listening to the lyrics, to the feeling and to the all
of the music. As I took in her words, I was instantly
convinced that Terri is not only a talented Grammy-winning
songwriter/Dixie Chicks musician, but also a poet, storyteller,
and wise sage. Much of Terri’s music, I realized,
is as much about tapping into her female spirit as about
getting audiences to tap their feet.
“You
gotta own your own universe,” she croons. “Need,
need, need, I got a need to be wanted and a need to
be free.”
I
knew I needed to meet her.
So
I took a risk, and went up to talk to her at the break.
I introduced myself, and told her that I loved her music
because as a speaker and writer on women’s empowerment,
her music spoke to me. After she signed the CDs I bought,
Terri gave me her email address and asked me to email
her. Could I really email a Grammy winner? Well, here
goes. I took a risk, and started to email Terri.
After
listening to her albums over and over, I got an idea
to call one of my programs “Wind Me Up and Watch
Me Go” after one of Terri’s hit songs. Terri
had already told me I could use her music anytime I
wanted. This created an exciting program that I have
performed many times over the past few years.
A
few months ago, I received an email from Terri. In this
email, she took a huge risk and revealed herself at
a deeper level to her friends and supporters. (See Success
Story.)
There
are several different ways we learn. One is through
books and another is through people and our experiences.
Some of the greatest lessons and gifts that I have been
given in life have come from people. If we are too afraid
to speak and too scared to take relationships to a higher
and deeper level, then we are missing out on the greater
lessons that life has to offer. Stop being afraid. Go
out there and take a personal risk. Create relationships
and experiences that will help you grow and prosper.
Success
Story
By Grammy Award winning singer songwriter,
Terri Hendrix
One
day I learned that life can change overnight. In the
early ’90s, I closed the blinds in my downstairs
apartment before bed and awoke the next day in the hospital,
chilled to the bone, in a scary new world. Thinking
I was in a nightmare, I lay shaking underneath a thin
cotton blanket as a doctor stood over me, tapped a clipboard
with his claw, and splashed me with an ice-cold dose
of reality. In a nasal draw, he told me I had epilepsy,
a neurological condition which affects the nervous system,
making people like me susceptible to seizures. "Great,"
I thought, "I've got a mental disorder that causes
me to lose consciousness and bite the #*&@ out of
my tongue!"
Thankfully, my tongue healed in a week. And in the months
of testing that followed, I discovered that although
my condition had yet to be destigmatized, I did not
have a mental disorder. I learned that, yes, seizures
were *freaky*, but they could be explained as a result
of a sudden burst of excess electrical activity in the
brain. To control this disruption in the normal message-passing
between my brain cells, I would have to take medication.
In spite of the side effects (gaining 15 pounds), I
did as told and soon felt stable enough to meet my friends
at a local Mexican restaurant. As they slurped down
margaritas, I proceeded to nod off (drowsiness was another
side effect) at the table. Our waiter sized me up with
a haughty snort, thinking I was intoxicated (I hadn't
had one sip of spirits), lifted me out of my seat and
ushered me out of the restaurant. With my confused friends
in tow (I hadn't told them about my epilepsy), I slurred
(yet another side effect) "shokay ... I am ssshokay"
as the door slammed shut in my face. Thus began my hatred
for my medication, known as anticonvulsants, because
the side effects hurt the quality of my life more than
epilepsy did.
Luckily, a few years later I met Marion Williamson,
who aside from teaching me guitar lessons and how to
milk goats, turned me into a bonified health nut. With
a new lease on life, my episodes tapered off until I
all but forgot I had epilepsy. After all, I was a distilled-water-drinkin',
leafy-green-and-fruit-eatin', lentil-bean-lovin', flax-seed-oil-and-salmon-cookin',
vitamin-poppin' granola girl who embraced yoga, aromatherapy,
acupuncture, magnets, salt lamps, and the virtues of
(as Marion had instilled in me) "all things organic,
herbal, and holistic for the enhancement of my immune
system."
But
in 1997, Marion suddenly passed away. Not only did heartbreak
pull the guts out of my soul, but without my mentor,
I returned to my old ways. Having never educated myself
on just how life threatening epilepsy could be, I convinced
myself that given time, my seizures would disappear,
just as they had in the past. And true to form, they
did. I quit taking my medicine so I could concentrate
and therefore finish my second album, "Wilory Farm."
After several episode-free years, I once again forgot
I had epilepsy. But as I said, life can literally change
overnight.
In 2003, the "smells," or "auras"
(this is a seizure too) returned during soundcheck prior
to a show. It had been so long since I'd had a problem,
I'd forgotten what an aura was. I quizzed Lloyd, "Do
you smell something bad?" And ironically we were
told that some varmint had curled up and died beneath
our stage. The uneasiness stayed with me as my head
pounded and my stomach grew increasingly queasy. I did
my show, returned to my hotel room, and ...that's the
last thing I remember. The next day I learned I'd had
a severe grand mal seizure. In the weeks that followed,
Lloyd and his wife Tina helped me recover and saw me
through the situation as I was prescribed yet another
anticonvulsant.
Within
a couple of months of taking this drug, I lost 15 pounds
(side effect; it's now being marketed for weight loss),
had grown so jittery, unable to concentrate, and depressed
(more side effects, none marketable) that I retreated
to my bedroom and to one of the darkest times of my
life. I forgot what it felt like to feel good. With
an immune system weakened by many years of opting out
of healthy choices and choosing a stress-filled lifestyle
with a diet of greasy fries, burgers, truck stop munchies,
and a bottle of vino to wash it all down before bedtime,
I had a long road towards recovery.
But one day I woke up, and then I woke up some more.
I could stew or I could do. I wanted my life back. After
all, I had performed for quadriplegics, cancer survivors,
victims of violent crimes, heart patients, children
with deadly diseases, burn victims … you name
it! If they could face their lives with a game face
and a smile, then by God, I could too. It was all right
to get down about epilepsy, but using my condition to
stay down was something quitters do. The songs for my
fifth album, "The Art of Removing Wallpaper,"
are a direct reflection of this time in my life when
I weeded out bad habits and got my seizures under control
as I began the tedious trek towards getting my health
back. That meant confronting my condition head-on instead
of hoping I could make it go away by trying to ignore
it.
Last year I learned that a long-time fan of my music
(who had passed away years before) had died in her sleep
from a seizure. I'd actually played at a gathering in
her honor shortly after her death, but at the time had
no knowledge of her condition. When I finally found
out the cause of her death, I told her husband that
I, too, had epilepsy ... and had recently read James
Redfield's book, "The Celestine Insights,"
about there being no such thing as "coincidence."
Her
husband encouraged me to tell my story to others, because
I was in a position, as a performer, to raise my hand,
"admit" it, and hopefully help destigmatize
the mystery behind epilepsy. I could encourage other
epileptics to both recognize its danger and to find
their own unique path towards health and happiness.
Since every person with epilepsy is different, I discovered
what worked for me by researching and absorbing every
scrap of information I could find on anticonvulsants,
epilepsy, and alternative therapies and apply what I
learned — along with a regimented diet and a combination
of Western and Eastern medicine — to my lifestyle
and my work.
Life can change overnight. But often, what happens overnight
is years in the making — meaning, it's never too
late to start. I'll be honest — epilepsy is hard.
And traveling and performing for a living hasn't made
dealing with epilepsy any easier. Let's just say it's
been a steady uphill struggle to get my life back. But
as Jack Lemon said, "Failure seldom stops you.
What stops you is the fear of failure." And the
way I see it, I'd rather *do* than stew. I have epilepsy,
but it doesn't have me. It's taken me a while, but I'm
glad that I've finally shared this with you as I continue
my quest to "get my goat on" and to keep it
on.
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