What I Know For Sure Read online

  By the time I was 17, I was working in radio, making $100 a week. And that’s when I made my peace with money. I decided that no matter what job I ever did, I wanted that same feeling I got when I first started in radio—the feeling of I love this so much, even if you didn’t pay me I’d show up every day, on time and happy to be here. I recognized then what I know now for sure: If you can get paid for doing what you love, every paycheck is a bonus. Give yourself the bonus of a lifetime: Pursue your passion. Discover what you love. Then do it!

  I’ve never been a white-water-raftin’, bungee-jumpin’ kind of girl—that’s not how I define adventure. What I know for sure is this: The most important adventure of our lives doesn’t have to involve climbing the highest peak or trekking around the world. The biggest thrill you can ever achieve is to live the life of your dreams.

  Maybe you’re like so many women I’ve talked to over the years who have suspended their deepest desires in order to accommodate everything and everyone else. You ignore the nudge—that whisper that often comes in the form of emptiness or restlessness—to finally get on with what you know you should be doing. I understand how easy it is to rationalize: Your mate and your children need you; the job that you admit makes you miserable demands so much of your time. But what happens when you work hard at something unfulfilling? It drains your spirit. It robs you of your life force. You end up depleted, depressed, and angry.

  You don’t have to waste another day on that road. You can begin again. Starting over begins with looking inward. It means ridding yourself of distractions and paying attention to that inkling you’ve been ignoring. I’ve learned that the more stressful and chaotic things are on the outside, the calmer you need to get on the inside. It’s the only way you can connect with where your spirit is leading you.

  Many years ago, as a young television reporter at WJZ in Baltimore, I was given what was considered a plum assignment. I was sent to Los Angeles to interview a few television stars.

  At first I was thrilled. Here was a chance to prove myself a good interviewer—alone, without the help of my usual co-anchor—and to add some celebrity cachet to my career experience. But by the time I arrived in California, I felt like a small fish dropped into the Hollywood fishbowl. I started to doubt myself: Who was I to think I could just walk into their world and expect them to talk to me? Reporters from all over the country had been invited. There were throngs of us local newscasters, entertainment/lifestyle reporters, each given five minutes to interview an actor from the TV season’s upcoming lineup. I started to feel nervous. Uncomfortable. Inept. Not good enough to be there with all those other reporters from much bigger cities with more experience than I.

  To make matters worse, a representative for Priscilla Presley, who was there for a new show she was hosting, told me—as I was eleventh in line to talk to her—“You can ask her anything, but whatever you do, don’t mention Elvis. She’ll walk out on you.” So now I wasn’t just intimidated by this new world of “stars” and their handlers—I was feeling completely inhibited.

  I’d been a TV reporter since I was 19. I’d interviewed hundreds of people in difficult situations and prided myself on being able to break the ice and establish rapport. But I wasn’t accustomed to real “stars.” I thought they had some mystique, that being famous made them not only different but also better than us regular folk. And I was having difficulty figuring out how I’d pull that off in a five-minute time frame with the most real questions being off-limits.

  For some reason—you might call it a coincidence; I call it grace in action—I was switched from the Priscilla Presley line to interview a young comedian who was starting a new show called Mork & Mindy. What followed were five of the most exhilarating, wild, off-the-charts minutes I’d ever spent in an interview, with the most uninhibited, out-of-the-box, free-falling-in-every-second celebrity/human I’d ever met.

  I don’t remember a word I said (but I know I hardly said any). He was a geyser of energy. I remember thinking, Whoever this guy is, he is going to be BIG. He wasn’t afraid to be his many selves. I had great fun playing with Robin Williams, and I learned in that instant to go where the interview takes you. He was all over the place, and I had to flow with it.

  So when my turn came to talk to Miss Priscilla, I for sure had received the lesson: You can’t accomplish anything worthwhile if you inhibit yourself.

  I asked about Elvis. She didn’t walk out. In fact, she obliged me with an answer.

  If life teaches you nothing else, know this: When you get the chance, go for it.

  My biggest mistakes in life have all stemmed from giving my power to someone else—believing that the love others had to offer was more important than the love I had to give to myself. I remember being 29 and in a relationship based on lies and deceit, down on my knees crying after Mr. Man, once again, brought me low. I had been waiting for him all evening—he stood me up, arriving hours after our date, and I had dared to ask why. I remember him standing in the doorway and hurling these words at me: “The problem with you, baby doll, is that you think you’re special.” At which point he turned on his heels and slammed the door in my face.

  I had grown up watching my cousin Alice be physically abused by her boyfriend, and I had vowed I would never take such treatment. But sitting there on the bathroom floor after he walked out, I saw with great clarity that the only difference between Alice and me was that I hadn’t been hit. Mr. Man was wrong: I did not think I was special—and that was the problem. Why was I allowing myself to be treated this way?

  Even with these insights it took me another year to end the relationship. I kept hoping and praying things would get better, that he would change. He never did. I started praying for the strength to end it. I’d pray and wait to feel better. And wait. And wait. All the while repeating my same old patterns.

  Until one day I got it. While I was waiting on God, God was waiting on me. He was waiting on me to make a decision to either pursue the life that was meant for me or to be stifled by the one I was living. I recognized the truth that I am all right just as I am. I am enough all by myself.

  That revelation brought its own miracle. Around that time the call came for me to audition for a talk show in Chicago. If I’d stayed entangled in that relationship, my life as I know it would never have happened.

  What is the truth of your life? It’s your duty to know.

  In order to find out, know that the truth is that which feels right and good and loving. (Love doesn’t hurt, I’ve learned in the years since I was 29. It feels really good.) It’s that which allows you to live every day with integrity.

  Everything you do and say shows the world who you are. Let it be the truth.

  I’ll never forget the moment when I decided to always choose myself. I recall what I was wearing (a blue turtleneck and black slacks), where I was sitting (in my boss’s office), what the chair looked and felt like (brown paisley, too deep and overstuffed)—when my boss, the general manager at the Baltimore TV station where I worked, said, “There’s no way you can make it in Chicago. You’re walking into a land mine and you can’t even see it. You’re committing career suicide.”

  He used every tactic he could muster to entice me to stay—more money, a company car, a new apartment, and finally, intimidation: “You’re going to fail.”

  I didn’t know if he was right. I didn’t have the confidence to believe I could succeed. But somehow I gathered the nerve to say to him before standing up and walking out, “You’re right, I may not make it and I may be walking into land mines. But if they don’t kill me, at least I’ll keep growing.”

  In that moment, I chose happiness—the lasting happiness that abides with me every day because I decided not to be afraid and to move forward.

  Staying in Baltimore would have been the safe thing to do. But sitting in my boss’s office, I knew that if I let him talk me into staying, it would affect the way I felt about myself forever. I would always wonder what could have been. That one choice ch
anged the trajectory of my life.

  I live in a state of exhilarated contentment (my definition of happiness), fueled by a passion for everything I’m committed to: my work, my colleagues, my home, my gratitude for every breath taken in freedom and peace. And what makes it sweeter is knowing for sure that I created this happiness. It was my choice.

  Time is fleeting. Those of you with children are ever cognizant of this fact—because your children keep growing out of and into themselves. The goal for all of us is to keep growing out of ourselves, too, evolving to our best possible lives.

  Somewhere deep within me, even when I was a teenager, I always sensed that something bigger was in store for me—but it was never about attaining wealth or celebrity. It was about the process of continually seeking to be better, to challenge myself to pursue excellence on every level.

  What I know for sure: Only when you make that process your goal can your dream life follow. That doesn’t mean your process will lead you to wealth or fame—in fact, your dream may have nothing to do with tangible prosperity and everything to do with creating a life filled with joy, one with no regrets and a clear conscience. I’ve learned that, yes, wealth is a tool that gives you choices—but it can’t compensate for a life not fully lived, and it certainly can’t create a sense of peace within you. The whole point of being alive is to become the person you were intended to be, to grow out of and into yourself again and again.

  I believe you can do this only when you stop long enough to hear the whisper you might have drowned out, that small voice compelling you toward your calling. And what happens then? You face the biggest challenge of all: to have the courage to seek your dream regardless of what anyone else says or thinks. You are the only person alive who can see your big picture—and even you can’t see it all. The truth is that as much as you plan and dream and move forward in your life, you must remember you are always acting in conjunction with the flow and energy of the universe.

  Move in the direction of your goal with all the force and verve you can muster—and then let go, releasing your plan to the Power that’s bigger than yourself and allowing your dream to unfold as its own masterpiece. Dream big—very big. Work hard—very hard. And after you’ve done all you can, fully surrender to the Power.

  Awe

  “In the word question, there is a beautiful word—quest. I love that word.”

  —Elie Wiesel

  I no longer make a list of New Year’s resolutions. I do, however, give considerable thought every January as to how I can continue to move forward.

  One New Year’s morning, I was sitting on my front porch in Hawaii, overlooking the ocean, meditating. I prayed to be more resolved about being fully conscious, allowing every experience to bring me closer to the deepest essence of life.

  By nightfall my prayer had been answered in the most profound spiritual encounter I’ve ever had.

  My friend Bob Greene and I were taking a hike. The sun had set, leaving wisps of lavender ribbons across the sky. Clouds moving down from the mountain spread out over the ocean, with only a small opening through which we could see the moon. All around us was the cloud mist and just one clear space of sky glowing with the light of a crescent moon.

  “Look at that,” Bob said. “It looks like the DreamWorks logo. I feel like climbing up and sitting there with a fishing pole.”

  It was surreal.

  As we continued our walk, Bob turned to me and said, “Stop a minute.”

  I stopped.

  “Can you hear that?” he whispered.

  I could—and it took my breath away. “It” was the sound of silence. Utter and complete stillness. So still I could hear my own heart beating. I wanted to hold my breath, because even inhaling and exhaling was a cacophony. There was absolutely no movement, no breeze, no recognition of air, even; it was the sound of nothing and everything. It felt like all life … and death … and beyond contained in one space, and I was not just standing in it, I was also part of it. This was the most peaceful, coherent, knowledgeable moment I’ve ever experienced. Heaven on earth.

  We stood there for the longest time. Trying not to breathe, in awe, I realized this was exactly what I had asked for earlier in the day. This is the meaning of “Ask, and it shall be given … seek, and ye shall find.” That moment was indeed “the deepest essence of life.” And what I know for sure: That moment is always available to us. If you peel back the layers of your life—the frenzy, the noise—stillness is waiting.

  That stillness is you.

  This is what I call a “glory, glory, hallelujah” moment. I wanted to hold on to it forever, and I have. Sometimes I’ll be in the middle of a meeting, with people lined up outside my door, and I’ll just inhale and take myself back to the road, the clouds, the moon.… Stillness. Peace.

  I’m often confronted by things about which I have no certainty at all. But I for sure believe in miracles. For me, a miracle is seeing the world with light in your eyes. It’s knowing there’s always hope and possibility where none seems to exist. Many people are so closed to miracles that even when one is boldly staring them in the face, they label it coincidence. I call it like I see it. To me, miracles are confirmation that something larger than us is at work. I believe they happen not just sometimes but every single day, if we are open to seeing them.

  In my own life, miracles often involve the simplest things, like being able to run five miles in less than fifty minutes. Or being exhausted after a long run and craving a bowl of red pepper and tomato soup—then walking into the kitchen to find that my godmother, Mrs. E, left some on the stove for me. A miracle is watching a sunset the color of strained peaches and seeing it turn to raspberries by the end of my evening walk. It’s having pomegranate, kiwi, and mango on a pretty tray for breakfast. It’s admiring the pink peonies I cut from my own garden and placed in my bedroom. It’s when a green minivan pauses on the road and a young woman leans out the window to yell, “You’re the best teacher on TV!”—and she herself is a kindergarten teacher. It’s the sound of the birds and their individual songs and the moment when I wonder, Are they singing to each other, to themselves, or just to be heard?

  A miracle is the chance to roll in the grass with all of my dogs—and enjoy a full Sunday stretched before me with no obligations, no plans, no place to be. It’s the chance to come back to myself after a week of going, going, going and have time to finally just be—alone. To meditate on a log cabin porch, leaves rustling like water, newborn geese in the pond with their mother teaching them to swim. To feel the joy of this glorious life—and have the chance to live it as a free woman. If I know nothing else for sure, I know that the big miracles we’re waiting on are happening right in front of us, at every moment, with every breath. Open your eyes and heart and you’ll begin to see them.

  Getting older is the best thing that ever happened to me.

  I awaken to a morning prayer of thanks posted on my bathroom wall from Marianne Williamson’s book Illuminata. Whatever age I’m at, I think about all the people who never made it that far. I think about the people who were called before they realized the beauty and majesty of life on earth.

  I know for sure that every day holds within it the possibility of seeing the world with wonder.

  The older I get, the less tolerance I have for pettiness and superficial pursuits. There’s a wealth that has nothing to do with dollars, that comes from the perspective and wisdom of paying attention to your life. It has everything to teach you. And what I know for sure is that the joy of learning well is the greatest reward.

  I’ve heard truly amazing stories over the years, about almost every human situation. Conflict, defeat, triumph, resilience. But I’ve rarely been more awed than I was by John Diaz’s story. In October 2000, John was on Singapore Airlines flight 006 when it exploded at takeoff. Eighty-three people perished in the flames. John and 95 others survived. John—who describes himself as a very straightforward, competitive, and pragmatic kind of guy—still endures physical pain from h
is injuries. But in other ways he is more alive than he was before he literally went through the fire.

  The plane took off in typhoonlike conditions. Before John boarded, his instinct told him not to. He’d called the airline several times—“Are you sure this plane is taking off?”—because it was storming so badly. Peering out the window as the plane taxied, all he could see was rain. He was sitting in the very front of the plane and watched as the nose started to lift.

  But the 747 had turned down the wrong runway.

  At first he felt a small bump (the plane hitting a concrete barrier), followed by a huge bump right next to him where something (a backhoe) ripped a hole in the side of the plane right near where he was seated. His seat came unbolted and was thrown sideward. He could feel the motion of the plane rolling and spinning down the runway. And then it stopped. In his words:

  “Then the explosion hit … a great fireball came right out and over me all the way up to the nose of the plane and then sucked straight back, almost like in the movies. And then there was this spray of jet fuel like napalm—whatever it hit … ignited like a torch.…

  “And a gentleman, an Asian gentleman, comes running right up to me, fully aflame. I could see all his features, and there was a look of wonder on his face—like he didn’t even know he was dead and burning. And I figured, well, I must be the same. I really thought at that point I was dead.”

  I asked John if he believed it was divine intervention that saved him. He said no. He said what helped him get out was his position in the plane and quick thinking: To protect himself from the smoke and flames, he covered his head with the leather bag he’d been encouraged not to carry on, then looked for the door and kept moving.