There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living. ~Nelson Mandela

Do you ever ask yourself "what if"?

What if I had taken that chance? What if I had faced my fears? What if I hadn't let that opportunity pass me by?

Well, what are you waiting for?

Go- see what if. Chase your dreams. Take matters into your own hands instead of leaving things to figure themselves out. Or it may end up being too late.

What if today is your last day? What if this is your last month? What if you only have this moment. Right here. To make a decision- to take action. GO!!!

If you're still here, reading this, thinking... but- I can't possible do THAT. THAT which I think about every time I allow myself to relax. THAT thing that keeps me up at night. The very IDEA of it is crazy. Impossible even.

But really, think about it. What are your excuses and your hesitations built on? Is it reality or is it expectations? If you find that the "what if" isn't everything you hoped for, at least you will know. You will be able to focus on a new dream. Something even better.

Find joy in places you least expected it.

Fate loves the fearless. ~James Russell Lowell

Late Saturday night, after an all day birthday party for my friend Melissa, a few of us took a stroll down to the beach in Capitola.

We walked in the cold sand and climbed onto a lifeguard tower and chatted for a long time. Talking about the party, birthdays, relationships, hopes and dreams. Melissa walked us over to the edge of the water and coaxed us into reaching our arms all the way out to the sides to take in the ocean air and to feel the wind while yelling out wishes into the sky. I forget what I wished for, but I'm pretty sure it will come true. It was a fun, magical moment.

The three of us ladies walked back toward the street and had stopped on the sidewalk to clear the sand off our feet when a man came and sat down on the low wall near to us. He had just come from the bar on the same block - he said hello and we sent him a warm greeting right back.

Then, Melissa says- I've met you. A couple of years ago, we were at a bar and you bought me 5 glasses of wine! I remember because your girlfriend was Melissa too. In small towns like Capitola, you're bound to run into the same people many times over.

It was getting late and it was cold. The man had told us that he lived right across the street, so I told them all that if we were going to keep chatting, we'd have to invade his apartment. We got inside and Melissa located his iPod and speaker system. We had a great conversation in his cozy apartment and it got even later in the night.

We said our goodbyes and walked home, feeling happy and refreshed and glad that we aren't afraid to talk to strangers.

Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a kindness. ~Seneca

The nicest people in the United States live in Georgia.

I was visiting my good friend Benay a couple years ago at his home in Atlanta. I've always wanted to see the great state of Georgia from a local's point of view and he did not disappoint as my tour guide.

Everywhere we went, people were so gracious and so kind. They held doors open for me and genuinely cared that I was comfortable and happy. It was a huge cultural difference from my home state and those I've visited.

My second day on the trip, Benay drove us down to Savannah. Just after we checked into a hotel, I ran into one of the maids on the elevator. She surprised the heck out of me when she said she'd catch the next one so I didn't have to smell her cleaning products on the cart. It was just me in the elevator, so it's not like it was too crowded or anything. I insisted that she get on and that I wouldn't mind. She thanked me and wheeeled her cart in while assuring me that if I need anything while I'm staying, just call the front desk and anyone will be happy to help.

I was feeling overloaded with the love and kindness offered to complete strangers by the locals. Overloaded in a good way though. It was incredible.

We decided to catch a boat for a ride up and down the river that runs through Savannah. Just when we got in line to board the boat, the sky opened up and began to pour. I guess it's a pretty common occurrence in the area because most people had umbrellas at the ready and just popped them open.

We weren't so prepared. Neither of us were too concerned about getting soaked. We could just go back to the hotel and change after the boat ride if we needed to.

But the gentleman standing in line ahead of us with his wife saw us without an umbrella and aimed to remedy the situation. He handed Benay his umbrella with a word to him that we should share it and hugged in close to his wife so they could share hers. The man gave up his umbrella because he saw that we were without one.

Can you imagine how much this world would benefit if people were just a little bit more kind to each other?

We cannot hold a torch to light another's path without brightening our own. ~Ben Sweetland

I was out celebrating in downtown Ventura last month. I had just taken the gold medal in a darts competition and wanted to share my joy with the world. Or at least with the few people who were lucky enough to cross my path that night. I headed to a fancy Italian place that always has a live band in the evenings.

The band was playing some excellent classic rock and there was a cushiony seat right up front, next to a gentle-looking baby boomer who had a full beer. It looked like he'd had a few already. I beamed as I crawled between the table and the seat to plop down next to him and take in the scene.

Between sets, we chatted. He owns a machined parts shop locally and does every single piece by hand. This economy is killing him- he's all by himself in the shop now because he can't even afford a staff. People just don't want to spend the extra money for manual lathe anymore.

My friend who had made his way to the other side of our comfy seat by now heard us chatting and piped in- he's looking for someone to complete a custom prototype for him. He's going to get three of them made, show the design to investors, and have thousands of parts made as soon as he's got funding.

My seat-neighbor looked despondent. He doesn't have the machines to produce what my friend is looking for. But he may know somebody. I ask him what his email address is so that these two can get in touch and make a connection. People who know people do this all the time... but not this guy.

He launches into a tirade about "Why do I need email? If you want to get ahold of me, call the shop phone or drop by. Write me a letter. Drop a note in the mail. Why does everyone want to just talk on email these days?"

Oh... I say "You really need to think about all of the tools available to you and your business. You say that your business is failing. It could be that other shops are offering online quotes. They have some kind of internet presence. You need one to operate competitively."

He continues, as if he hadn't heard a word of what I'd said "I just don't understand it. What's wrong with just picking up the phone?"

I'm not going to get through to him. Not tonight- especially not through the beers that had talked to him before me. But I'm feeling so bright and shiny and gold medally, I still want to help him to help my friend with the prototype.

I ask "Do you have a business card with your phone number on it? Maybe if my friend called you tomorrow, you could give him a good local reference of someone who can make the parts."

He's visibly anxious now "I've never had business cards. Everyone around here who needs what I have just knows how to get ahold of me. I'm in the yellow pages. My shop is up there on XX street. Just drop by or look me up in the book."

We talk some more and it seems EVERYone has been pestering him about getting online, getting a cell phone, getting cards printed up. Getting connected. I wanted so badly to talk to him more about it, but the band started clearing out and I realized it was a week night. I still had to work in the morning.

My seat-neighbor and I said goodnight. I wished him well with his business and reminded him that if he wanted to see a change for the better with his business, HE would have to be the one to make it happen. The bad economy can only be blamed so much.

I wish I could email him a reminder to get connected or be forgotten.

Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life. ~Rachel Carson

I grew up in gorgeous foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains in Northern California. Nature and I have always had a close relationship. I ruined many of my clothes while playing in the same red clay dirt that the Maidu native Californians used so long ago to build their homes.

Paradise is a small, sleepy town that is spread out enough that your neighbors are generally a little more than a rock's throw away. Lakes and rivers and seasonal creeks are abundant. Activities for kids and teenagers are not so abundant.

We had to be creative about our weekends and after-school fun time hours. One of my favorite things to do was to drive out to the middle of nowhere just to stare up at the stars and talk with friends about our hopes and dreams.

One of these nights, my friend Matt and I drove up to Paradise Lake and, over a 20 minute period, the entire area was completely fogged in. Fog in the mountains is thick- you can't see more than a couple of feet in front of you sometimes. This was one of those times.

Luckily, Matt and I weren't in a hurry, so we just sat there and listened to the silence. There is something about fog over water that I never knew until that night. Sounds carry. Out of nowhere, we heard people talking like they were sitting right next to us, but we hadn't heard another car pull up.

Rather than being frightened, we were intrigued.
Matt yelled- "Hey! Who is that?"
Mystery man voice yelled back- "Whoa! I thought we were here alone!"
Matt responded- "Us too! It's so foggy, we can't see you."
The man spoke more softly this time- "Well, where the heck are you?"
Matt told him- "We're right on the shoreline by the parking lot."
We hear- "What the. What? We're on the OTHER side of the lake!"

Matt and I stared at each other and wondered what the heck was going on. This isn't a huge lake, but we certainly shouldn't be able to hear people on the opposite shore like they were 30 feet away. But it was the fog.

We went back several nights later and tested it without any fog at all. He dropped me at the parking lot and drove his 4x4 all the way around to the other side. I could barely see the beam from his flashlight when he walked to the shore. We waved with our lights. He yelled- practically inaudible. I yelled back. He could barely hear me.

Just a few nights ago, I was standing on my roof deck at the ocean and heard a party going on. I looked around to see which of my neighbors was whooping it up on a weeknight, but couldn't place it- all of their lights were low and no one was spilling out onto porches to catch some fresh air.

Then I looked out to the ocean and saw a large yacht passing with all of the lights blazing- way out near the oil rigs pretty far off shore. I breathed in the foggy night air and realized it was the party on the boat that I was hearing. It took me back to that night in Paradise, like it was yesterday.

If you have gas, fart and you'll feel better. ~Jane Ahlswede (my mother)

I was at Abi's and Jack's house on Sunday night, playing with their two brand new babies and their four year old son, Ethan. As I was feeding little itty bitty Miranda, I was instructed to burp her after every ounce of milk from the bottle.

Abi is very particular about a lot of things. She and Jack are very attentive, involved parents and exhibit extreme measures of grown up-ness and responsibility. Just as Ethan was spilling his milk at the dinner table and exclaming "WAS THAT AN ACCIDENT?", Miranda was ready for a burping.

Abi ran for a dishtowel while explaining to Ethan that while it was indeed an accident, he needed to be more in control of his body. At the same time, I raised the little tiny baby up and she farted nice and strong. The baby- not Abi.

I did what any good natured lady would do and complimented Miranda: "Good fart, baby girl! Ooo eee!"

I looked up and Jack shook his head and whispered: "Toot. We call them toots."

Abi yelled from the kitchen: "You mean Toots!"

I yelled back: "I am rolling my eyes at you, Abi!"

She returned with the dish cloth and began to clean up the spilled milk: "You don't have a preschooler at home who repeats everything you say."

Ethan piped in: "May I please be excused? I think I have to fart."

I turned away and laughed into the baby's belly because I was afraid I'd get in trouble with Jack and Abi if they saw me delighting in hearing the preschooler say "fart."

Abi told Ethan to stay put while she finished cleaning up and reminded him: "That is a grownup word. We say Toot."

Very soon after, Ethan and I were excused to go get him settled into bed. He chose a dinosaur sticker book and an educational book about rattlesnakes. He was not impressed with my rattlesnake voices, as they were either too girly or too scary. At least I didn't insist on giving him the lowdown on funny things to say to see his parents turn funny colors from trying not to laugh.

I never blame myself when I'm not hitting. I just blame the bat, and if it keeps up, I change bats. ~Yogi Berra

Last night at the end of class, I heard another student discussing her team's grade for the last assignment that they turned in.

"We followed what was in the syllabus, but your feedback included other things- like we were supposed to consider things that weren't written in for the assignment."

I wanted to throw my shoe in her general direction. Are you kidding me, lady? You want to talk the professor into changing your grade because he wants you to be more creative? It's a marketing class, sweetheart- not a math test. It's ok for the professor to throw his own thoughts into the class and into the grades and feedback for your paper.

If you want a better grade, then do better work.

These professors hardly ever see true "A" work. To get an A, you're going above and beyond what was asked of you. You're bringing innovative ideas to boring old topics. You lend your own expertise and experience to a scholarly essay with loads of references to back your thoughts up.

It upsets me to think that my classmates are so quick to ask the professor for a special pass when they could be spending that time and energy on the next assignment, taking past feedback and incorporating it into future deliverables.

But it does not upset me enough to ACTUALLY throw the shoe in my classmate's general direction.