I tried crushes. They don’t work for me. When I was 9 or 10, I remember begging my dad to get me a Leif Garret album.  I didn’t really want his album, but the free poster that came with it. I wanted to be like my friends so I tacked him up on my wall, wondering what the fuss was about.  In high school I had a James Dean calendar.  I kept it long after the months ran out because he reminded me of my late father who I missed terribly.  

My idols were not really idols, but momentary lures.  I studied these bold figures with detached curiosity.  Sorta James Dean-y, I suppose.  Captain Kangaroo was suddenly an old man with a crazy laugh.  Bill Walton snuffed the fire of my beloved Blazers.  A football player, famous in his own mind, crushed my spirit long enough to swear me off of football studs forever.  Even my parents burst my bubble far too early with a nasty divorce and all kinds of domestic discord.  I remember my heroes were too quickly fallen, wounded or frail. 

In my adult years, I valued knowledge and expertise. People who wrote books filled with facts and useful insights were my gurus; until I learned how bias and belief color even comprehensive tomes.  Despite my overflowing library, few thinkers, philosophers or scientists wrangled me into submission.  I bow to the willy artists and clever poets who tackle reason in the shadows while speckling the walls with imagination and possibility.

What moves me deeply today are people who live in service.  Especially if they didn’t mean to or had other plans before their hearts were snagged by a love more powerful than ego.  I dig those who are willing to fumble across the stage without pretense; get over themselves and reach out to pull someone up.  Too many celebrities lend their names to charities because it’s the thing to do. Too many people sign checks to clear their conscience or take a write off. Too many businesses have slick eco-friendly-natural-healthy PR campaigns while dumping toxins into our shared biosphere.  There are just too many damn phonies, a hazard of material pursuits.  I fall madly in love with those who accept the calling to give deeply and big.

I just saw the film Blood Brother.  It won the Audience and Grand Jury awards at Sundance 2013.

Without a doubt, Rocky Anna is a hero. Though I don’t have a crush on him, I do very much admire how he answered his own spirit’s call and has impacted the lives of these sweet children so profoundly.

The few crushes I had when I was young taught me that every one is pretty much just human, warts and all.  When we live by our small mind, our victories are short lived bursts of ego.  When we live by our big hearts, we become the only real kind of super hero. 

**This blog post is part of the GenFab bloghop on “My Celebrity Crush.”  *GenFab is an abbreviation for Generation Fabulous, a dynamic group of female midlife bloggers who are setting this world on fire. The women of GenFab are the voices of midlife today. Once a month, we organize a blog hop on a common topic. Happy Valentine’s Day from GenFab.

Please feel free to share and add your own insights or experiences below!

I have not been much of a ritual person.  Raised in a very superstitious, fundamentalist world, the word became associated with evil or witches.  Rituals were bad.  As I have matured and made peace with that misguided legacy, I have come to really appreciate what rituals are meant to do.  A ritual is anything that you do to remember, to focus or bring awareness to something.  It can mark a milestone or be a daily habit you intend (or not).  As a busy mom of four, if I don’t create space for myself, no one else will.  So for me, creating a ritual around my writing is essential.  No ritual.  No writing.

When I want to write, I get myself a cup of tea or yerba mate and I put on some inspiring music.  My desk or any desk becomes my writing alter.  I have the laptop, notepad, research materials and a collection of keepsakes that symbolize something to me.  A mural I photographed in Cusco, Peru.  A tin box inscribed with “Carpe Diem” I found years ago when I knew that someday I would need to seize the day.  A black rock engraved with a whale I bought from a Kahuna in Hawaii.  A woman in a yoga pose my girls gave to me as a gift because they say it reminds them of me.  And my candles.  No matter where I am, I always have a candle.  The flame reminds me to go within to connect with my own fire of creativity and spirit when I write.

I have also realized that I had some not so great rituals in my life.  Rituals that become efficiency vampires or dysfunctional habits are the really evil rituals that probably need to be banished.  I ask myself whether the ritual or habit is enhancing my life, my relationships or my work.  If the answer is no, it’s time to shake things up.  My weakness is social media.  I love to chatter away and share like crazy.  I am trying out some applications to get a handle on how I spend my time so I’m directing as much as I can towards the things that really matter to me, like my rapidly growing children and my writing projects.

What about you?  What kind of rituals do you have in your life?  Are your rituals empowering your highest purpose and passions?  

I recently published an article on Elephant Journal “Awakening to the Feminine {Orgasm}.”  If you haven’t seen it, please check it out.  I will be writing more for them in the future.  I’m also editing FREYA WOLF and working on a screenplay.   I have a newish project on Tumblr called POSY FYRE:  A BLOG FOR PASSIONISTAS where I am exploring femispiritual ideas on empowerment and creativity.

Please stay in touch, drop a line any time and share the love.  

Happy New Year!