I am utterly surrounded, at the moment, by people (friends, clients) who are boldly stepping out into new adventures, taking risks, redesigning their lives, their relationships, expanding themselves, dancing outside their comfort zone and seizing their future by the horns. Even though it can in some instances be scary, really hard, messy. It is exhilarating to be alongside them as they move into a new future and inspiring–and yes intensely moving–to watch them fly, soar, grow. I came across this photo today and felt it had to be shared immediately. Hopefully, you will find inspiration or resonance, or both, among these words too!

Typically, my daughter will drift towards colorful displays of unaffordable eye shadows and experiment with exciting new shades of navy and silver. I wander towards the promise-filled face creams and begin to sample 120euro serums, exorbitant Swiss eye-gels (to prep for the wear and tear of the flight) and squirt assorted wrinkle-relieving potions onto my fast-aging-but-coping-ok-for-now face. Note: I rarely buy anything at this experimentation phase and generally shop for cosmetics in American drugstores, discount French pharmacies and the occasional WholeFoods, whenever I get to one.

On my last Spazierung through duty-free cosmetics, I paused in front of yet another display of cutting-edge serum where the copy loudly whispered: Youth is in your genes. Reactivate it. Discover the skin you were born to have.

I have to admit, that simplicity struck a chord.

Despite solid copy writing experience (it was my profession once) I am unusually un-cynical around clever copy. My husband laughs at my capacity to buy banal products (and pay premium) out of sheer elation with the back-story crafted on the label. The delightful Innocent Juices—one of my favourite and possibly the most brilliant British inventions—are such a product.

But back to reactivating my youth. I dabbed some of the clear, shiny liquid on my temples (using the lab-like glass pipette) and mused…Hmm, I have youth in my DNA, it is inside me all the time and…it’s just up to me to activate it. I mean, honestly, isn’t it my human right to reclaim the skin I was meant to have?!

There’s a science fiction dimension in there somewhere…like an X-man being activated from within while, on the surface, he/she is in the skin of an ordinary citizen.

I am cynical enough to realise (at least for now) that these miraculous drops (did I mention $78 an ounce?) will not make me look instantaneously younger and start me reversing, à la Benjamin Button but…I had lost sight of the fact that there are plenty of easy ways to feel young, remain young, be young, breath young.

Or at least: younger.

Or young-ish, as the case may be.

Which begs the question: what else lies within our cells that we can simply, with the touch of a finger (and the subliminal support of some silky serum), magically activate?

Enhanced, de-puffed, smoothed, re-pulped and scented, I realised I was late for boarding and hustled my young self and my eye-linered-to-the-hilt-young lady to the gate (no purchases). Dry, obscenely circulated air, 10 hours of it, acute dehydration, cabin pressure, HA! Bring it on! I am undaunted: I have the power to reactivate my youth, and much more besides.

Except (!!) in the 6 months since I launched this blog I never once mentioned any apps so please indulge me, just this once, because it’s an app that so completely captures a universal need.

The application’s tagline goes “Lovin’ that tune? Shazam lets you discover, buy and share the song that is playing.”

For less than $2 I installed and promptly forgot I had Shazam. Until recently, when my son reminded me. We’d bounded off the couch to groove to a cool song accompanying the credits of a film we’d just watched and I said “this is such a great song, I wonder who sings it?” Without skipping a beat he exclaimed “Mommy! Shazam it!” to my perplexed expression he practically shouted “Shazam it! Shazam it!” and grabbed the iPhone (to hand, sadly) and pointed it towards the source of the music (in this case the TV). Within 2 seconds the name of the song and the band appeared on the screen, within 3 we were directed to an iTunes window allowing immediate purchase of the song. Done, dusted, loaded. The next morning I was running to it. And no, I’m not revealing what song.

Turns out Shazam can truly identify EVERYTHING, even early 1950’s Cuban music from an unheard of album (yes, I own such a thing), like magic. It unfailingly spits out the name of the song and artist.

Jogging happily to my newly downloaded song, I tried to pinpoint where my enthusiasm for this gizmo sprang from, and suddenly, it was clear as day: the joy of capturing a fleeting feeling or moment (in this case: a tune) and holding on to it, forever. Whatever the song evokes, you can reach out and grab it, without any restriction, permission or tedium. In nanoseconds, you can satisfy the primal “gimme some of that” urge, best embodied by babies swiping at an older child’s cotton candy or reaching, with every yearning ounce of strength and willpower for those juicy cherries or a shiny toy. If only we allowed ourselves to be more like that, with more things in life, more of the time! You want it? Shazam it! And you too can have it.

Hmmm, so much for not waxing lyrical.

I celebrated my last birthday surrounded by loving husband, kids, parents and nephews, showered with gifts and my favorite foods and champagne. I also fielded emails, text messages, phone calls from roughly 70 people spread across 15 countries. As if that weren’t enough I also received 4 truly breathtaking bouquets, including one from the flower shop down the block that delivered them all (happens to be my favorite in Brussels, they kinda’ got that something was happening for me that day!).

The last delivery, from my best friend, boasted 42 roses (the secret is out of the bag) which, in keeping with our friendship, seemed to hold out forever. It was a full week before I decided to pluck out the wilted roses to salvage the perky ones.

This takes time, but the alternative—waiting an extra 3 days until the entire lot was ready to trash—didn’t feel like an option. Not the kind of thing I do.

I heaved the huge, intoxicating bunch out of the vase, snipped the string and gently took it all apart in the sink. I cast aside the roses that were clearly done for, isolated the still impeccable ones and trimmed the offensive petals off those that were somewhere in between. I pulled off dry leaves, rinsed and refilled the vase. With red, orange and pink petals cascading across my countertop and feet, a metaphor began to percolate. I’d like to say, from my heart up to my head. It went something like this:

(bear with me here.)

Our life, when you think about it, is a huge bouquet of roses. As we mature we get to choose which ones we keep and which ones we are through with. To honor the elements we want to safeguard, we have to clear out the encumbering weight that no longer serves. Yeah, those dead roses certainly brought color and fun to our life while they lasted and…..we have a responsibility, to ourselves, to differentiate between possibilities and wilted would-be’s, and know how to let the latter go. And no else can say, really, what’s still good, what works, what doesn’t, except us. This intimate selection needs to be artful, gentle, thoughtful (i.e. remove brownish petals and it will look fab). At times it can also be obvious, immediate, thought-free (yup, that here is a dead flower). Either way, no one can do this but us.

By 7am, feeling incredibly serene, I swept a bucketful of rose waste into the trash and reached for a slimmer, different, far less modern vase, a quirky 1950’s number found in a flea market 15 years ago.

I now had a radically new bouquet. Less roses, for sure, but all of them elegant, stunningly healthy and breathing tall, with renewed presence.

5:40. Taxi rings my doorbell. Too little time to get fully groomed, grab a little fruit, a little slice of Irish soda bread for later, kiss my sleeping son’s little neck, throw a little make-up on, whisper a little word to the cat. He only has one eye open.

“Starting your day or ending it?” I ask the taxi driver.

“I’m done,” he yawns, “you’re my last customer, I need to get a little sleep.”

I smile. A little difference between where each of us is, in the day.

6:00am. Brussels South station is a little spooky.

I dart into the first open shop, buy the FT. Hmm. Feels a little early to read anything too serious. Illy espresso bar looks open, I’ll have a little macchiato. “You’re my first coffee of the day, beams the barista.”

I feel a little special.

The train to Amsterdam is dark, a little too empty.

I read a little, make a little progress on my next book group novel, Let the Great World Spin, all about how the little choices, the little yes’s and no’s, the little shifts in perspective really do change the course of Life.

7:20am. Sunshine strikes through smudged glass. Just a little. But enough that I need to shade my eyes a little. Dutch countryside is peaceful, frosted, flat, of course. There are little canals delineating the fields. The train slows down a little, for no apparent reason. Except for me to see that there are little—very little—ducklings splashing in the canal nearest the train. Like a little free poetry.

Suddenly 9am. Only 9am, and I’m in a new country and city. All abuzz with movement, colors, possibility. Easy and simple. It’s the little things that make a new day.

In a state of uncertainty, or not knowing, we can get “hits” of deeper wisdom and insight. I recently discovered that it can be nourishing and freeing to just….not know. Call it beginner’s mind or child-like curiosity, this is a different perspective, and one through which life feels more precious. There was a time, about 5 years ago, where I absolutely had to know it all, cover all bases and have all guarantees before making any plan or decision. Happily, those dull days are long and I now function more effortlessly and sail through myriad life choices with only approximate certainty, yet far more confidence.

If your life has become predictable, routine or uninspired, take time to enter new terrain, especially if it feels uncertain, go where you have not gone before. This can be done far more simply and readily than you think. Carve out some Dream Time to reflect on:

• Who you are
• What matters to you most
• What is no longer true for you
• What are you doing that no longer feeds your soul
• How you might be out of integrity with your mission or calling
• What change you could make starting now to live in greater integrity with both your heart and your soul

Now grab a pen and paper and do it!

Be honest, be authentic, don’t filter these questions through your sophisticated brain, let your gut do some of the talking. And don’t be afraid of the answers that percolate, no mattter how they rattle your safely guarded beliefs. You might just make your life a whole lot simpler!