Living beyond the edge.


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I’ve always been running towards the field. It’s a beautiful field, just on the other side of an old, weathered wooden fence. It is filled with wildflowers and daisies, there’s a warm summer breeze whispering through the air, you can feel the sun freckling your skin and you can hear the bees slurping up the honey.  I can see it in the distance as clear as day – but it always seems just out of reach.

Since returning from Burning Man, I’ve been doing a-lotta tinkering and thunkering. Something really amazing happened to me there – I changed. Maybe it was my time, my place; I was ready for the perfect dust storm, where all the elements came together in a crucible, sparking a catalyst, the culmination of decades of life experience, wisdom and work… whatever it was; I am different – I feel released from old conventions, I feel free. Instead of running towards the field, Burning Man plunked me right on it. I remember the moment. It was about 5:30 am and I had ridden my bike to the farthest point of no return on the playa. There was fence and beyond that fence was desert and horizon for as far as the eye could see. I stood at the flimsy, plastic barricade to no man’s land and felt this overwhelming urge to hop over it and go beyond the perceived limit; to go where my imagination had brought me for decades. It felt like I was stepping over a lifetime’s endeavor. I hesitated a few times, made sure no one was looking, that I wouldn’t get in trouble or be stepping into a mind field. It was scary, like standing on the edge of a cliff, swaying, fearful to take that next step. But this time I did. It took just a few seconds to crawl through a little crevice and stand on the other side. Stand in the field. There wasn’t a daisy in sight but I knew I had arrived. I stood there for a few minutes not sure of what to do next, half expecting the dry earth to crack and engulf me in its crater, but it didn’t, so I jumped up and landed on its solid ground, then took off running wildly into the great beyond.

It’s been a little over a month since coming home and a lot has changed. I have an enormous amount of free time on my hands which can be both a blessing and a curse…especially if you are a wonderer and wanderer like me. Thousands of possibilities are playing out in my head.  What to do, what to create, how to be, who to be, what will become? Most days I’ve been blissfully happy to still be in the ember glow of the Man, but if I am also honest, there’s also been a few days of tantrums, big ass questioning and laying in fetal position on my kitchen floor looking at dust bunnies under the frig….yea I know…”dramatic”.   So with that ridiculous image in mind I decided to go back to that big sandbox and figure out what was different and what I did differently so I can bring it full on into my life here and now.

Who are we at our best? Who are we at our worst?

At Burning Man, and most certainly many other times in my life, I felt my best. I was free, unencumbered, wildly open and trusting without any preconceived judgement from myself or others.  I was in the moment and flowing, spinning, and spiraling in perpetual spontaneity.  I was boundless in direction, limitless in possibilities.  I felt so incredibly light and good I floated. Decades of weight removed as I let go of control, fear, restraint, expectation, calculation and obligation.  There were no “to do’s, just be. I didn’t plan an agenda – it presented itself to me. What I needed showed up, what I dreamt of, was realized. I created space in my otherwise tightly contained, meticulously managed consciousness and gave my imagination the reins.  It felt like I was in a constant loop of random circumstance, celestial serendipity at every turn, but in fact it was simply letting go of control that allowed my mind to make magic happen.

Being home, being back in a realm of reality is a test.  How do I be Burning Man girl here?  How do I keep that magic going strong? All I know is every time I try to contain it in a jar it diminishes, when I open the jar it becomes abundant. And so be it. I choose to leave it open. I relinquish the ordinary. I reject the need to control. I trust whole-heartedly and open myself to the freedom of flow.  Time and space is a gift. Thoughts are magic.  I put on my tutu and wings, I dare myself to invent fantastical possibilities and daydream my days away knowing that each and every positively infused intention is taking me a step closer to my ultimate destiny.  I am in the field and it is the most wonder filled place I’ve ever been.



After the dust settles.


Hold onto your unicorn horn!  What I’m about to share will tickle the corridors of your mind, with hope to inspire and prove that magic is real. Talk about a whirlwind ride!  I’m fresh off the sand of the most amazing life experience at Burning Man, where I was gifted the opportunity to engage in a cosmic connection that collaborated with my deepest intentions. I invited change into my world. I planted seeds in the dust to turn the pages of my already extraordinary life and create a new chapter.  I welcomed a quest. An adventure that would lead me to greater experiences. A chance to expand my awareness, crack open the vault and uncover a greater purpose for my talents, for my mind, spirit, heart and soul.  I wished for it, I was willing and ready.

And the winds of change came – like a beautiful gust of sweet, summer air they lifted me off my little size five feet, spun me around, tickled me inside and out of my expected reality, gently landing me on my new fluffy path…or as I like to thinkof it – my red carpet.

Funny how things happen.  Just a few days back from Burning Man, my employer of 8 years lost their biggest client and set fifteen of us free.  The gift of this surprize party – a generous severance that will reward me the time and security to purse my next great adventure.  How’s that for magic?

So am I looking for work?  Yes and no.  Work in its traditional sense no longer exists as a term in my vocabulary. I am looking for joyful, authentic self- expression. I am celebrating my gifts as an abundant creative writer and want to contribute to a company or project that will inspire its readers and consumers. I want to tell stories and express emotive narratives that encourage questions and unveil realizations. Sure…. it can be about toilet paper or saving the world – it’s all how you approach it. I want to collaborate with a company, a team and projects that value and respect the creative process. So if you know of anyone looking for a moxie, magic-maker writer, I would be ever grateful for the connection.

I am also looking to travel, to explore myself and my world. Africa has been calling me for decades and my heart is ready to answer. It’s been my dream since learning to sew as a child, to one day teach other women to sew. I’ve dabbled on a small scale, but now realize I want to make this happen in Africa. I want to give back what my Mother gave me, an artful expression and a practical skill that will not only bring creative joy, but help encourage independence and self- sufficiency in their lives and community. If you have any ideas or experiences that can help me make this dream a reality, I would be so excited to speak with you.

So what’s next?  I am laying stepping stones…and they are really pretty ones; bedazzled in jewels, sparkled with faerie dust and grounded in truth. I am lifting the veil…clearing space and inviting extraordinary possibilities into my world.  And I am trusting – not always easy – but I am trusting and believing beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is my time.  I’ve been given a gift and I plan to cherish it, celebrate it and put it to its best purpose.

Let the adventure begin!

My Burning Man.


Where does one start? To tell a story that perpetually unfolds and magically morphs with every thought? How does one describe an other world, unseen, and unimaginable by most? A surreal, dreamlike time and space where infinite possibility thrives in every grain of sand. A realm built on earthly reality, yet ethereally unreal – completely tangible, viscerally invisible and consciously perceived.

An eddy of rhythmic flow, full of fierce force and at the same time as gentle as a feather’s wisp. A continuous current of chaos, lulled by calm; an explosive combustion, quietly quenched in solitude – all occurring as natural as our breath.  It’s a place for wishes to be planted daily on dusty plains, watered by will. A serendipitous fantasy, salacious in imaginative foreplay, teasing and taking you deeper and deeper into a whimsical mindscape you have only dared to dream existed.

It is more than a carnival or stage. It is far beyond the costumes and personas. It is art and the art of self-expression. It’s an adventure for the imagination. An illuminated illusion made real. A journey for the soul and the brave of heart. It is also a test. One that will unearth you. A test of will and power, against the elements, the deprivation, the plethora, the roller coaster of emotions and a hardcore beholding of yourself.  Everything is magnified, intensified and verified. You’ll play a game of truth and consequences – sometimes you’ll win, other times you’ll lose and the prize is always constant.

And if you dare – Burning Man is a sacred relinquishing, a welcoming invitation into a vortex that will strip you naked, then wrap you in the most illuminated blanket, fluffed with acceptance, applause, encore and a calling to come home, to be free and reveal your true self.

Burning Man was an island of inspiration. A gift to my senses –the vibration of silence at sunrise, the sultry kiss of sun on my skin, and the whirling winds guiding my course. The playa was a playground. A utopian expanse to escape the ordinary, explore, discover, and unveil the extraordinary. A labyrinth of nooks and crannies, peep holes and glimpses – all clues and signs that I am on the right path. My mind’s eye forever etched in reflections of artistic genius. My spirit sashayed across a mecca of marvel, filling and fueling the corridors of my imagination with vividly wild wonder.

As a community, it is a not so distant planet populated with a newfound phenom of people, my people – a motley crew of the curious and uncommon; larger than life characters, creators, star lights and moonbeams; destined connections and new soulmates – all our stories shared, realized and cherished. All lessons in love, providing an awe-inspiring revelation of self-awareness so profound it tickled me and made me weep. I heard the words, I felt the feels; and it’s all safely tucked in close to my heart to hold on to, to remember for the rest of time.

Burning Man was also a hell of a lot of insane fun!  A wildly spontaneous circus without nets. A raceway of psychedelic wheels and parade of flamboyant floats. A nomadic caravan of gypsies, clowns, unicorns and intergalactic kindred spirits. It was a home, away from home where I met my new family for the first time. A tribe of fellow freak flag waving, tutu wearing, Mad Hatter hallowed be thy name, dare-devil, sparkly cape crusaders of pure juicy jubilation and joy – all flourishing in an explosive environment that bares the most open-hearted generosity, wiggly- giggly wanton freedom, surrounded by an abundance of effervescent one love acceptance with the promise of renewal offered daily on a dusty pillow.

Burning Man is what they say, “a city in the desert, a culture of possibility, and a network of dreamers and doer.” It was also intensely breathtaking, awe-inspiring, contagiously radical and soul-stretching transformative. I felt the most alive in my entire life – challenged, cared for and changed for the better. It gifted me an epic, life renewing, re-opening of the vault – an insatiable desire to do more, learn more, share more, love more and be so much more myself!

This is just the beginning and I can’t wait for what’s coming!

I believe in magic.

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I believe in magic. I always have. I’ve hear the whispers in the woods; I’ve see the winks in the waves, the smiles in the sky, and the faeries in the chandelier. Dad always told me to listen closely, be still and everything would reveal itself.  As a child it was easy, as a grown up, not always so much. Sometimes the signs are crystal clear, other times muddy; but I always look and trust something is there.  Sure I’ve wavered, lost my path, let my senses dullen…but this year beyond any shadow of a doubt I know that magic is real.

I also know that out of pure and un-insatiable desire comes dreams of truth. I have proof.

Last year at this time I was invited to Burning Man – with one week’s notice. Tempting beyond the Gawds of absolute rapture, but the opportunity lacked a critical piece of my perfect puzzle – the bliss of anticipation.  I love chips, I love animals and I love to look forward to something special.  I turned down the invitation, but sent an intentional note with my friend to leave in the temple letting the Man know I would be there next year. It was at that very second I began stating in absolute confidence I was going to Burning Man in 2017.

I gave time, time, I built a mini Burning Man temple; I placed precious treasures, notes, mantras and nightly prayers into its core. I was blessed with the friendship of Diana and her connection to a beautiful camp at Burning Man, prepared my Oscar worthy interview and was accepted with open arms into the Love Cow Camp. Now all I needed was the ticket – the infamous, illustrious, golden ticket.   Wednesday, March 22 at 3 pm, I booked off work for a half hour, poised my fingers to type the 5 digit code into my exclusive vortex of possibilities to wait among thousands of people world-wide to score a ticket. I was sweating, my heart was massively beating, prayers were spewing from my mouth, but I trusted because in my heart of hearts I knew this was my time and I would get a ticket. An electric wave of energy went through me as the bell tolled and the little green man slowly inched his way “in turn” as I waited…and waited and waited until to my horror the two worst words appeared – SOLD OUT.  I was stunned, speechless and motionless. This was impossible. This was my time, my turn. I was paralyzed in utter disbelief. I ran to the washroom and cried like I’d just lost my world. My chance.  My dream.  I know it sounds dramatic – but I’ve been dreaming of going to Burning Man since I was 20 years old. I’ve been dreaming of experiencing a space and time where judgement doesn’t exist and love is fluid and free; a place where we can be who we are for real, without hesitation, without criticism, rolling eyes, doubt, discrimination and meanness.  An ideal embodiment of pure self-expression and freedom so rare and so precious.

I’m a tough cookie. I take care of myself. But that night I crashed and ran to Diana out of sheer dispair.  With open arms she simply said “sweetie, you’re going, just believe it, a ticket will come.”  Faith. Trust. Belief.  Tough to grasp but I knew I had choice… to wallow in doubt or to believe. Always choose believe. I went home, I connected to the camp site, to all the Burning Man sites, portals where Burners sold their tickets and I wrote an email to the leader of the Love Cow camp expressing what it would mean to me to go and although I was sure I was 100th on his list of wannabees, if a ticket came his way I would be ever grateful. Two days later, Sunday night, 8:10pm, I got an email from the Camp simply saying “good news Patty – we have a ticket for you”.   And in a breath followed by a river of elated tears I was going to Burning Man.

Fast forward 5 months of envisioning, manifesting, designing, and creating all my childhood costume fantasies. Daily thanks of massive gratitude, day dreaming, shopping and finding purpose in dozens of saved treasured pieces of memories I’ve held onto for some day when they would come in handy.  And far beyond the superficial indulgent bliss of fanciful self- expression, adornment, personas, jewels and rainbow infused spirit, this journey leading up to Burning Man opened a gateway to process and clear spiritual space for happiness, to purge emotional baggage, and physical and emotional weight so that I would be free to be ready and open to accept and experience all that would be presented to me.

I feel so incredibly fortunate. I’ve done incredibly hard work and I have thrived on over 6 months of daily creativity that has given me wings and the faith to trust and accept who I am, who I must be, without apology, without fear, and without hesitation because I feel alive, I feel authentic, I feel real and it feels effortlessly bliss full – which btw… is an incredible way to be.

And now it is time to go, to live this dream, this gift. A once in a life time opportunity, a mystery and an adventure beyond anything I have ever experienced or imagined.  The Burners say it is about coming Home. I really want to go Home.  Home to a place where we are one, loved for who we are without boundaries and I can’t wait to feel that love.

Ode to Pinky.


A face full of freckles topped with Bozo the clown fire engine red curls.

A cherub on the outside. A mad trickster on the inside.

A great back scratchier, starfish finder and friend to all faeries, especially the ones that lived in our chandelier.

He made a mean pot of wieners and beans. Swiss Chalet was his favourite treat, Cheesies his addiction.

He liked to hide and jump out and scare me for giggles.

He loved animals and bugs, especially butterflies.

His favourite show was Archie Bunker and Animal Kingdom.

He was a banker but really wanted to cycle around the world.

He taught me to swim and dared me to jump off the 60 ft diving board…hence the saying…”never dare a Lowry”.

He loved Sarah Vaughn. I took him to see her and he yelled out “I love you Sarah”!

We use to bury the fish that washed up on the shore at the cottage.

He played Santa Claus for children.

He loved to embarrass me in public by singing at the top of his lungs.

He wore bunny ears.

He yelled at the toaster. He wanted to kill the newspaper boy. And he cried for days when Tippy our family dog died.

He had a memory like a steal trap.

The first three words he scribbled after being in a coma for 4 months were “Elly, Patrick and Tuna”. The forth was Income Taxes.  He then proceeded to defy science with a quarter of a brain left and re learned to breathe, talk, walk, read, write, tie his shoelaces …all the while flirting with his nurses.

He was completely brilliant and wonderfully bonkers.

He had the imagination of a child.

He believed in magic.

He was a miracle.

He always called me Patrick.

He was my Yogi and I was his Boo Boo.

Two peas in a pod. I am proud to be my father’s daughter. The luckiest girl in the universe galaxy!

Miss you, love you forever Pinky.  xx Patrick

I just wanna say thanks.

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I think manners matter. I believe etiquette is an art form that showcases our gratitude and grace. As children we were taught it was the most basic reciprocation of respect. A gesture that acknowledged our appreciation for an act of kindness, generosity or support. Beyond the simple “p’s & q’s”; being grateful is kind of a “tag, you’re it” philosophy that keeps the love going and feeling strong. It feels great to be appreciated, to be acknowledged, and it feels even greater to give gratitude because it illuminates the abundance in your life.

All this said, after a wild world wind birthday celebration and in fact, after any given wild world wind Patty day, I want to express some serious SHANKS out to the world because I’m feeling massively grateful!  To all the peeps who love me and let me be me. Who show up every time with open arms and hearts; to my gang, my guys and gals, my tribe; you are an awesome sauce motely crew of Kings & Queens, Princes and Princesses, freaks, geeks, scardiation sneaks and fellow vortex wobblers in kind that I adore to the moon and beyond the stars. You are my heart and soul; my playmates and my safe place.  You are my velveteen rabbits and we are real for life.

To my peeps who inspire me, help me and make me want to be a better me; big juicy thanks for instilling magic in my heart and mind and proving to me that it is always in me and always out there to tap into.

To my superstar sister, your bravery is mind-blowing, you are a warrior and your gifts go far beyond the presents you spoil me with.

To my far away friends, you’re really not far away at all.

To my pets and all animals, bugs and birds – you fill my heart beyond capacity and I appreciate that you enjoy my Snerny Berny squeaky speak (the ecstatic, euphoric, enraptured sounds that translate into a hysterically high-pitched rhyming, nonsensical language spoken to and only understood by animals) –e most humans think I’m nuts…and I don’t care.

To my co-workers who indulge my daily insanity; to my morning coffee Gawd, the cute but very unhandy handyman who tolerated my impatience and finally finished the GOSH DARN DECK; to strangers on the bus that I strike up conversations with and the makers of cheese scones, chips, wine and cheese – thank you, you make me smile, laugh, and be happy!

To those who challenge me, thank you for teaching me patience, compassion, and not to judge for I do not know what you have to carry.

Oh and to my faerie friends in the chandelier… thanks for keeping an eye on me, sparkling that pixie dust on a path worth skipping down and holding out your wings to pull me back when I’m heading for the cave. Thanks for always being there beside me and proving to me that magic is real and we all have wings.

Big love & thanks to all.


Live it up.


Tomorrow is my birthday. Second to Halloween, it’s my favourite holiday, in fact so much so, I branded it an official month-long celebration called Patty Fest – running June 1st until the 30th.  It begins with a countdown several weeks in advance, along with an invitation to my annual Birthday Bashulation where I surround myself with my fave peeps, drink a lot of wine, munch on bowls of chips, crank the 80’s tunes and soak up the love!

Funnily, this year I wasn’t feeling it.  My usual WGAF*  (who gives a fuck) about getting older cause I’m too sexy, sassy and silly to even contemplate old, let alone start acting my age… wasn’t resonating with me and my molecules.  I wasn’t feeling like celebrating, donning my pink tutu, tiara or cutting any cake. I had landed myself in a full on anti-festive funk.  911 pull the pompoms! Clearly I needed a COME TO GEEZUS, kick in the butt and talk’in to, so I could shake this party pooper petulance off.

First of all why?  Why Miss Lowry?  Why? (Yes I talk to myself and quite often out loud). It didn’t take long to bubble to the surface…deep breath…I’m not where I want or expected to be at 55. Gulp.  OMG I KNOW I have an awesome life, filled with abundance, freedom, amazing friends, love, health, a wicked imagination, kittens, chips, wine; I know I’m luckier than most and I am grateful for my life; but this little energizer bunny wants more. More mustard on my hotdog, more muscles, marshmallows and much more meaning. And while I’m at it…I’ll have more money too, only to allow me more freedom to experience more life. I want more adventures of getting lost and found, more opportunities to be creative, more meetings of the minds, more encores, more spice, and a lot more love. And not to be greedy, but I’d also like more patience, more tolerance, more faith in the unknown and more insight into what’s behind door # 3. Yes I want more. I always have. It’s what propels me forward, what motivates me to never give up, to keep dreaming and working and believing everything will find its place in my life. It’s a lot and sometimes it’s exhausting being me. I’m always thinking, feeling, figuring, planning, dreaming, running, fixing, caring, doing cartwheels and so on and so on, and so much so that this bunny is pooped da party out.  I’ve been so busy doing I’ve lost track of feeling the moment and realizing how fricking awesome sauce it is.

So then I asked myself (out loud) – What did I expected at 55?  And I thought long and hard and was happily surprised that other than a little less love handles and speeding up my “in between boyfriend phase”, life is pretty damn good. Really damn good in fact.  I am healthy, I’m smart, I’m resourceful and I have great hair.  I also think I can address my wants and make them happen, all in good time.  It’s funny how sometimes a little dunk in a funk is exactly what you need to set things right.  Living life real, vulnerably and not always being “perfect patty” (said with insightful relinquishing) just means I’m learning, feeling and growing – which is all part of wanting more.

So fuck it!  I’m not old, I’m 5 and I’m going to throw myself a badass birthday party and celebrate this milestone with friends and a few gifts of newfound wisdom including self compassion and patience; permission to turn the Patty dial down just a notch and sit a while, smell the roses and trust 55 is awesomely saucy!

Happy today, tomorrow and the next day to ME!!!!

I’m coming!


In just 3 more sleeps it’s the official seasonal opening of Kamperslut!

Hello, my name is Patty and I am a Kamperslut.  Yes you heard that right. KAMPERSLUT! For those who don’t know me well and may not understand the name – allow me to explain. I love camping, I love nature, I also love buttertarts, squirrels, chips, red wine….love, love, love …is there not another word that can take this expression up a notch or ten?  Just simply “loving” something doesn’t really define my uber elevated expression of massive loviation for this place.  And so in search of a word…that could properly describe my desires – I thought I’d redefine the word “slut”. (Because it has a lot of chutzpah about it)

Slut. /slət|/ An extreme intensity of “vanting, needing, must having” that defies and over powers all previous levels defined by humankind and transcends existing degrees of yearning, coveting, impassion, craving, itching, lusting, hungering, thirsting and suspiring for to possess or have.

Example:       I am a nature slut.   I slut for nature.

To “slut” for something is a deep rooted and spiritual commitment to your inner being that resonates beyond the realm of antiquated language and laws.   It is the epiphanic divine manifestation of a moment – one of sudden revelation and supernatural essentiality of life.   And to make it even more slut-worthy … you can only slut for one thing…and hence I am a Kamperslut and named my cottage the same. (And now I am hoping you are all thinking about what one singular ultimate thing you “slut for”).

There’s a way of the land at Kamperslut… unlike anywhere else on this planet.  Visible and invisible waves of soul dust that trigger and tease the nooks and crannies of your thoughts and dose them in the shower of joy and pure magic that is all around.  A peculiar psyche and transcendental vortex of sorts, a gale force of inspiration, an eddy of flow that spirals into the very chi that creates life. A place and a space where the time traveler’s key unlocks the mind’s door to the other realities.  A magically curious place where the manifestation of ideas and expressions are free and everything is a beautiful state of being.

There is magic in d’em dar woods!  I’ve felt it and I’ve seen it with my very own eyes.  From floating Faerie orbs and dragonfly soirees to rubbing whiskers with wild rabbits and sky clad river dipping under a full moon. So grab your drums, drop your sarongs, hold onto your chainsaws and crack that peanut because there is party about to happen and all the cool faeries will be there!



Standing still.

Without a breath,

My footing solid for now.

Perfection in motionless silence,

Protected by a frozen moment.

Dare I step and break the paragon.  Will the future present the past?

A single toe and peace is interrupted.

Now it will never be the same.

The consequence of an action.

Make your move.


Spring has sprung, buds are busting out, wee weeds are peeping their sunny little dandy lion faces out from the cracks of the sidewalk, the sun is radiating its omnipresent glow, flip flops are flopping, ice cream is screaming and oh it’s bikini season in about a month. DA DA DA DUM!!!!! Did someone say where’s my moo-moo?

Yes winter’s hibernation, comfort food marathon and general overall state of sloth have helped to add a few extra layers of warmth to my anatomy of being. Who said potato chips aren’t a vegetable? So what there’s just a little bit more of me to love!   And like I always say…one size – one love!

However, as much I adore my jiggly bits, I am inspired to fitten up my bodacious bod in preparation for doing mega cartwheels on the playa for Burning Man.  Yay me!!! Just one little issue – I HATE EXERCISING. Like an allergic, loathing, aversion to the whole concept of sweating, bending and stretching – are we done yet?   GRUNT.  I’ve tried joining a gym – I never went. I did hot yoga for a year, but after that terrifying toad attack last summer where I impaled myself on a tree branch and had a piece of lumber stuck in my shin …I haven’t been able to bend and sweat in that bacteria bowl of Zen. I even once hired a trainer…actually pay someone to yell at me…let’s just say I yelled back – “I QUIT”.

So I’ve had to get creative and come up with easy, enjoyable and doable ways to wiggle my jiggle and muscle up my mojo!  A means to create momentum, motivation and move my lazy ass moxie butt.  So I’ve declaring May MOVE YOUR LAZY ASS MOXIE BUTT MONTH.  My Dad always use to say “Patrick…you’ve got moxie girl…so move it”! By definition moxie is your force of character, determination or nerve…and I’m about to shake things up!

First and foremost I won’t call it “exercise” – cause it’s kinda too close to EXORCISE if you ask me and that’s just scary. Same with “working out”…who wants to WORK, I ALREADY WORK ALL DAY…how about we call it “make room for chips”!  I’ve also printed out a calendar on pink paper for May and purchased gold sparkly star stickers for every day that I accomplishment my goal of creating movement for 1 hour a day!

Here are a few other inspirations on busting my move!

  1. Every morning just before I head out I stomp my feet in defiance, wave my arms in subordination, roll my eyes in revolt and then bend down to tie my sneakers. It all burns calories.
  2. Baby steps. Like walking from my house to the subway (20 mins) of daydreaming, humming, people and animal watching, getting fresh air…instead of taking the TTC (which usually destroys my mood the moment I get on and have to scream at everyone to PLEASE MOVE BACK.)
  3. Enlist a Bust a Move partner in crime and walk the hood at lunch.
  4. SHOES MATTER! Bugs Bunny sneakers.
  5. Buy the fuchsia and white polka dot bikini with the ruffles, hang it on the fridge door.
  6. Some visualize the finish line…I imagine I am prepping for a date with Robert Downey Jr.