Barbara Brooks created Flamingo Strategies LLC to help clients stand up and stand out, through telling and sharing their stories of impact and purpose.
Hacking Away at Happiness is her blog.
What if we’ll never find the peace we seek with another until we first understand and love the barely comprehensible human who already lives in our heart?
A trickle charger maintains the perfect balance of power. It puts energy in at the same rate it’s draining out. It’s slow going, but it’s better in the long run for battery health.
My current streak on Wordle is 41 days. So what? How about we take a peek at our streaks? Be sure they’re serving us well.
If we don’t have actual Shabbat candles, we kindle tea lights. Or birthday candles. We hold up Bic lighters. Or nothing at all. We make it up as we go along.
Over-sharing can be annoying—even dangerous. Or so we’ve been told. But under-sharing also is a trap of our own making.
Now I see what’s happening: Those tricky Stoic gods tossed me a second eye surgery because I didn’t learn enough from the first one.
It’s hard to celebrate this calendar turn as either Happy or New. So, instead of staging a hollow celebration—or ignoring the day altogether—why not open our hearts and forgive?
I bumbled around looking for a match, but frustration set in. The heads were too boxy. The legs too short. Some pups were born too early. Others already were taken.
The central issues of our lives, from falling in love to facing death, require an ability to surrender that often eludes us.
Losing Ruby connects me to anyone who has ever experienced loss. And anyone who ever will. So hold your pets close and your humans even closer. And don’t give up on love.
Today is just another day. To wag more and bark less. To express our gratitude. To live as though we could die at any minute.
If staying over our skis is a metaphor for living in the present, how can we both stay over our skis and let something unknown and risky pull us along?
I was drawn to the book because of my marital redundancy. What I learned is that we all have three marriages. At the same time. Welcome to the new polyamory!
When I was an insatiable child, my mother would say “Greedy, greedy, makes a hungry puppy.” I hated that. But now I know this: “Busy, busy, makes a tired monkey.”
Going on so many dates may seem like torture. But it also creates compassion. For myself, and for the other guy.
I returned to the hot springs. I knew there was more to see. And to say. Especially about getting old. And learning to love the skin I’m in.
This Independence Day I won’t lie on my back in the sand behind the Surfside Community Center—yes that Surfside—as I did as a child. But I’m learning to be free.
Recent vitrectomy surgery has blurred my vision, so I’ve been living more so than usual in my head. It’s easier to write than to read. But I’ll be back!
Madame Bovary ate arsenic and died in agony. Anna Karenina threw herself under a train. I may feel like hell right now, but I’m not giving up on love.
As I dipped from pond-to-pond, or floated on my back, I forgot all about the male gaze. And the female gaze. Instead, I gazed inward.
