How does one go from feeling unforgettably lost to finally feeling found? The First 2015 Post. 1/52.

Searching for Answers

I feel so lost. I’ve been feeling this way for a few days now. Even weeks. It all started when the cold started. Like the creative gung-ho sure-footedness of September and October just all went down the dark and endless wormhole of things lost and gone forever. Why the F does this happen to me every winter? I keep thinking to myself year after year: This is it!  This is the year I kick the nasty winter blues and the intense holiday homesickness.  Since it’s now Year X (I’ve been living this Canadian experience for over a decade now) I know I can handle this like a champ this time around.

Well, I couldn’t be more wrong. Again. Because I feel more like a chump.


Yup, a foolish or easily deceived person.  I have deceived myself one more time.  Hopefully, the last time.  Or I may just thump my chumpy head with this thick lump of wood they speak of!

I’m listening to Unforgettable on my project as I type. By chance, I found it again. I was just bouncing about pages, researching ideas, websites, searching…for what, I didn’t know anymore and ended up here.

Then I thought to myself: Not bad. Not bad at all, Chiquiness. I recorded this version in the spring of 2013, May 19 to be exact and there it is. Scratchy yet something sentimental and singy-songy-i-sang, damn it! Yes, I did. No matter the weather…in my body, mind, in my then-very sore throat! The feat was somewhat unforgettable, if I may brag a bit.  To me, it is.  And 9 people did “like” it and a sweetheart bonafide artist “Ganda!!!”-hearted it.    Self-talk mode: No matter the approvals, woman.  YOU enjoyed it and that’s what really matters.  Also, as bad as you felt then, you’re still able to come up with songs, not just any song, Unforgettable songs!  Do remember that, will you?!?

For the past three months, Oct-Nov-Dec, this writing hour was The Chiqui Pineda Show time slot. It feels strange not doing the work at this time. I have a very strong missing and longing feeling for the show and my PRC family. Yes, even if the show has been giving me sleepless nights and more white hairs and eyebags than I care to share about. I hear Liezl’s admonition once more: Love takes Work.  Amen. And The Work has moved to Sundays. 5PM/EST!

Nailed It

This, folks, is my version of the Nail Story that Amanda Palmer’s mentor shared with her and her with me from her book.  (Yes, grab the book. FAST. It’s worth every centavo, my fellow ever-reluctant artist. You’re welcome. 😉  I added the audiobook link because  I think AP is 100x better heard than read.)

You know the story. To those who haven’t heard it yet, here it is, just for you ~

Story goes, there once lived a farmer and his farm dog on their farmland.

They were a happy farmer and farm dog for the most part.

One day, the farmer’s BFF visits the farmland and hears this unforgettable howl out of the barn where the farm dog likes to hang out.

What in the world…* says the BFF. *What’s going on with FarmDog?

Oh, that’s just FarmDog howling his pain howl, says Farmer.

Why?! wonders BFF, alarmed.

He’s sitting on a nail. Again.

What?!? Why the f…

And another more unforgettable howl ensues.

WTF?!? half-yells BFF. What’s going on now?!!

Oh, that’s just FarmDog howling his bigger pain howl. says Farmer.

What now?!! wonders alarmed BFF.

FarmDog’s still sitting on the nail.

The F…WHY???

*dramatic pause*

It don’t hurt enough yet.

 I’m imagining the farmer’s from good old Tennessee so pardon the tenses, ma’am-sir. 😀

So.  Back to the proverbial Nail.

This winter’s proverbial nail and my ass meet yet again. As I sit on it…well, the holiday hoopla moment’s passed so I kindda got off it already and am now back to life and reality as are all of us here and there, I make the commitment, actually there a few of them. I boldly spell them out here for you, dear wruddy and readers here, so you can help me remember!  Gad, please help me remember and if I do forget, I give you full permission to boink me on the head with a proverbial hammer and nail.

My 2015 Commitments (to saving my sanity) are ~

1) To go home during the holidays. This is non-negotiable. Get it, Chiquita? Get it already that there is no need to sit on this nail yet again.

2) To save up for this trip because it is an expensive trip having 5 of us traveling across the ocean.

3) To dedicate part of my life’s Work to saving up for this trip and make sure that it feeds the work as the work feeds it. Ahhh, the yin and yang of living the artist’s life.

4) To remind Self of this weekly, if not daily.

5) To continue The Work and allow it to nurture Self and Others as I do the same for It.

Unforgettable. We all strive to be such. Yet we fail over and over again. Once in a great while we, umm…nail it. :p

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And here’s my Chiquiness for today ~

We simply need to remember that it is in the striving (towards our soul-goal) and not the sitting (on our sorry ass) that we get the most of life’s rewards. 😉

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And now, let me ask YOU? What nails are you still sitting on, my dear fellow creative?

What kind of nail-sitting would you like to stop already? What kind of striving are you going to commit to this 2015?

Sharing is caring and I thank you, sincerely, for choosing to keep the CP company.

Do SUBSCRIBE if you haven’t yet!

Salamat!  And here’s to YOU finding your shimmering Self over and over again and to soul*full Striving in 2015!!!

waldo finds himself

Courage in Creativeness,




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A gentle reminder to keep me company on TCPS, this time, every SUNDAY, 5PM on


The Red-headed Cat (or What’s Your Life’s Metaphor)

In his book, Turning Pro, Mr. Steven Pressfield (The War of Art, The Legend of Bagger Vance, Do The Work) shares a story from his younger years about this particular cat that used to stare him down when he had his dinner at this rundown rental he used to live in.

Almost every night, as he sat by the cinderblock steps out back, this red-headed cat would come out from his side of the woods where he lived and just sit and stare at Steve, as if to give the vital message of how pathetic his life had become. At this point in his hero’s journey, Steve had come to terms with his hiding and avoiding his true calling: writing books.  He knew he was making up excuses and BS ones at that.  He’s been a trucker, an apple picker, a taxi driver among many other odd jobs, divorced, and was basically watching his life swirl slowly down the great metaphorical drain one miserable year at a time.

Redhead (let’s name him that for now) he recalls, would not even take the dinner scraps that he would toss out across the distance to him. “He was nobody’s pet.” and made sure he knew it.  In this staring contest, Steve continues, they both who was boss. Both knew who was in control of their lives and who was not. Both knew who had the upper hand.

Redhead sat there there, staring, daring SP to do it already.

Redhead was Steve’s life metaphor.  He says,

“I miss that cat. I missed him nights he didn’t show up.  I miss him now.”

So, as I was making the kids’ third (and 458th) chicken/bacon sandwich for the school lunches, after frying four eggs – two sunny side, the usual for Joshim and two scrambled, Oona’s special request; as I just finished wiping down the breakfast table and by chance, glanced out the sliding glass door of my kitchen, as I looked across the crab grass and weeds growing in our backyard, I had the sweetest sight of my morning :  a shock of bright red-orange against deep, dark green. 

Redhead.   My Redhead was right there.  This time he was facing away, back towards me, and immediately I knew it was him.

And this time with a message for me: “I’m here. And I’m watching you.”

As I opened the sliding door as gently and quietly as I could, he turned his big, round head and faced me and just as he did with Steve, stared at me for a full minute unmoving as if in a dare:

What now, Chiquita?

I knew. At that very moment, with Steve’s words and all of the 94 chapters of the book, MY book, Turning Pro still ringing in my ears, I knew.

My own life metaphor was staring me in the face.

Like Steve, and I imagine like you, we’ve all had my very own version of “slow-swirl”.  Thanfully mine hasn’t been Steve’s version of miserable.  Though you know what I mean when I say there’s that empty, hollow feeling, almost like a hole in your heart from all the hiding and feeling self-doubt and shame.  There were years of not singing a single song, all because I was…what?  Afraid of trying again.  I felt and allowed the fear to take over. I’ve had my own share of making excuses. And now…

My Redhead. He’s watching me.

Of course I took a photo:


And I didn’t wait another minute and shared it with Steve. Yes, we’re definitely on first-name basis now.