If I tell you where I am right now, you’ll probably be envious, maybe even jealous. I’m alone – minus kids, husband, friends, family, chores – in a log cabin in the middle of the woods. There’s a fire burning in a stone fireplace and someone just brought me seared tuna on a bed of fresh spinach, which I am now eating while sipping a glass of Pinot Grigio from Italy.

Did I mention I was alone? Did I mention the miles of wooded trails right outside my front door? Did I mention the quiet? The king size bed and a remote all to myself? Comfy sweat pants?

Everyone in my real world is left to fend for themselves for three nights and four days, while I luxuriate in solitude. Oh, I’m not totally free of responsibility. I’m here to work and write. As I told my husband, “Maya Angelou does is all the time!” But truthfully, my heart and soul needed it more than my writing.

I’m not even sure men need this kind of getaway. Men are better at finding alone time, even when they are in the middle of a party or family gathering. They don’t feel the responsibility to connect and nurture everyone around them, the way women do.  Most of the men I know are more selfish, or more assertive about getting what they want first.

I don’t have to spout statistics to support the fact that women are weary in January.  Whether self-imposed, or expected, women do most of the holidays. After 10, 20, 30 years of holidays, most of the women I know are exhausted, irritable and finding it hard to get back on track. And I’ve discovered that as we women, um, mature, our entire beings cry out for some solitude.

Most of us don’t do much about it, besides suffer in silence or complain to our best girlfriends. We tell ourselves we don’t have any choice, that our time is not our own. We say that one day, when the kids are grown, our parents are healthy, or our partners are supportive, that our time will come when we can put ourselves first.

So we wait. We wait for that time, or for permission.  Sometimes that permission comes from a doctor, a concerned friend, a pink slip, a frustrated husband, a smothered kid, your dog. But most times permission never comes.

If this column doesn’t leave you sighing and saying, “I wish I could do what Deb did”, then I applaud and admire you.  Obviously you’re a woman who knows how to balance the needs of others with your own.

But for the rest of you, who need some coaxing, let me tell you, it was worth every single solitary second.

Maybe this is all the encouragement you’ll need to give yourself a time-out.  Maybe you’ll cut this column out to remind yourself to take a break every now and then.  And maybe your best intentions will be swallowed up by your obligations, work load and family to-do list.

So let me give you an actual prescription slip:

Here is your official DPGA (Deb’s Permission to Get Away) to attend my first ever retreat!

I wrote this column four years ago and I never had my retreat.  I forgot to do one thing – give myself permission to believe that I could pull it off! My dream was to hold a fun, meaningful and empowering retreat for moms, sisters, cousins, and friends – women of all ages. I wanted to give women an opportunity to laugh a lot, learn a little and go back to their lives, lighter of heart. Well, it took me four years, but I finally believe it’s possible. And then, my cousin, Colleen, the travel agent gave me permission to sail!

I’m sailing to Cozumel from February 7-11 for my first ever Purseology Cruise!

What is a purseology cruise, you ask?  After years of delving the depths of many purses and speaking to women across the country, I’ve created a retreat to share the wisdom that comes from harnessing the power of your own unique purse-onality. Based on my purse presentations and other wisdom-filled teachings, we’ll talk, we’ll laugh, we’ll dance and we’ll become empowered to be our best selves.

For only $250 you can reserve your space today!  =Call Erin Foster at Travel Connections to set up a payment plan that works best for you. (Note first 20 women to sign up will receive a save the date purse-onal empowerment luggage tag!)

Click here to read more and be on the lookout for developing news on available scholarships and ways to help struggling, single moms take part in this special event.

Dear Moms, forget perfect today.  Forget all of the crazy, unrealistic expectations you had for yourself and your children and embrace your Slightly Off side.  Let everyone be Slightly Off today- your kids, your husband, your mother-in-law, your mom.  Balance is a myth.  The perfect mom is a myth. Have a Happy Mother’s Day!

Ever since I saw the “Titanic”, I’ve been haunted by the movie’s many underlying currents. I’ve plunged to the depths of despair, submerged (these metaphors are unstoppable!) in a sea of “what ifs”.

“What if the crew had heeded at least one of the 14 warnings that said, ‘Caution: Big hunk of ice straight ahead?’”

“What if there had been enough boats for everyone?”

“What if the hero, Jack Dawson, had survived?  Would he then have learned the horrible truth, that Rose squeezed the toothpaste tube in the middle?”

But the biggest “What If” was too terrible for me to even consider until one afternoon when my two older children forced it out of me.

While driving to basketball practice, my son revealed how he had risked personal injury at school that day to check on his sweetheart.  He bopped himself on the head with his Social Studies book so that he could go to the nurse’s station where his blonde-haired beloved had gone moments earlier.

“I wanted to make sure she was okay,”  my son explained.

“YOU DID WHAT?!”  I shrieked, nearly colliding with the car in front of me.

“Mom, it was no big deal,” he assured me.  “And it was during recess anyway.”

“Geez, Marcus.”  I said.  “Aren’t you going a little overboard?  I mean if she jumps off a bridge, are you going to jump too?”

Silence.

I quickly realized that this was not a good question to ask a puppy-love-struck-pre-teen who knew every word to the Titanic theme song, including the already infamous dialogue in which Jack tells  Rose,  “You’re the most incredibly amazing, wonderful girl, woman, I’ve ever known. I’m not an idiot, I know how the world works, but I’m too involved now.  If you jump, I jump, remember?”

“Well, if dad jumped, wouldn’t you jump, mom?”  my son asked.

Silence.

What could I say in response?  That you can’t compare a 15-year marriage to a five second fifth grade fling?

So I chose to ignore him, my insides churning.  The biggest “What IF” now loomed dead ahead.

My third grade daughter piped up from the back seat, “Wouldn’t you, mom?  Wouldn’t you jump in to save Dad?”

Silence.

“Mom?”

“I’m thinking.”

“MOM!!”

“It’s just that there are things to consider before just jumping right in, ya know.  Like is he actually drowning?  I mean, maybe he just dove in for a swim.”

“Mom, he jumped off a bridge,” my daughter gasped, reminding me of the scenario.
“Okay, well, then first I’d check for a life preserver, and then I’d call 911, and then if all else failed, I’d lean over the edge, look down at Daddy and say, ‘Swim, honey, swim with all your might!  And stop swallowing all that water.  You’re going to drown for gosh sakes!  Oh, and wave twice if you’re really in trouble and once if you think you can make it to the river bank.  Wait, wait, do that again, I couldn’t tell when both arms went all the way under the water like that.’”

The question now hung in the air like a dense fog.  What if I had been on that boat?  What if I had been Rose and my husband, the brave, handsome Jack Dawson, only with a pot belly and a slightly receding hairline, of course?  Would my husband, Tony, fearlessly fling me atop a floating door and beg me not to let go?  And even though he knew he was going to die, would he tell me it was all worth it because he had met me!

Ah. . . romance! It’s so easy in the movies.

Well, I honestly believe my husband would have saved me, although he might not have expressed himself as eloquently as Jack.

Here’s what he’d say:

“I told you I didn’t want to go on this stupid boat in the first place.  Now look at the mess we’re in.  Hoist yourself up on that piece of driftwood and don’t let go!  No matter what happens.  Because I’m not swimmin around this friggin ocean lookin for another piece of this stinkin, lousy boat!  Unsinkable, my foot!”

As for myself, would I have taken the first dingy out of there or stayed back to die with my beloved?

If you have children, it’s an easier decision. Someone would have to stay back to care for them.  But in these days of equality, why the mother?  Fathers are just as capable. Who would be the better parent?  If the boat doesn’t sink for two hours, you’d have time to discuss it:

“I’m the better parent because I can help with algebra.”

“If you stay, they’ll live on McDonald’s Big Macs.  What kind of nourishment is that?”

Or better yet, let the kids decide, with the parent’s gentle guidance, of course.

“If you choose me, I’ll do your homework until you’re eighteen!”

“Remember how I said I’d never buy Nintendo 64?  We’ll go to the store as soon as we hit shore.”

But children didn’t figure into the scenario for Jack and Rose. I confessed my fears to my husband later that evening.  “Honey, I honestly don’t know if I’d be brave enough to stay back with you,” I admitted.

“I do.” he said simply.  “You’d stay with me.”

And maybe he was right.  Just as I believed he’d die for me, he believed I’d do the same for him.  But just to be on the safe side, we’re steering clear of any icebergs.  Metaphor intended.

So, when the second red caravan went kaput, I went searching for my next van.  A mini SUV was the next car for me, I told my husband. I was used to sitting up high, surveying the world and all the other crazy drivers perched from atop my throne. But after an exhaustive search, okay, it wasn’t exactly exhausting, because frankly I find car shopping right up there with a vurp (Yes, this is in the dictionary) – slightly unpleasant and better if it’s short lived.

Car shopping doesn’t suit my purse-onality especially when I take my husband along whose purse-onality likes to ask lots of petty questions such as – “Is this the actual price or do I need new glasses?”

Here is a log of my actual car buying activity:  Sit, sit, sit, look, look, look, talk, talk, talk, drive, drive, drive, avoid hitting other cars while driving, discuss, discuss, discuss, wonder if the break room has cookies, yawn, yawn, yawn, discuss, discuss, discuss. Look around for somebody to poke my eye out!

We were all set to negotiate the purchase of a mini SUV and I was all set to make a mad exit to the restroom, where I could easily shave off a half hour of negotiating time, when my husband pointed out a regular car. A sedan, I think they’re called.  One with four doors instead of a massive sliding door and its own storage unit.

He suggested I drive it.  And I decided to agree with my husband, which is very unusual, but I was in a good mood because I found cookies in the break room! So I drove it and to my surprise, I liked it.  It felt kind of cool to be low to the ground, and when I shifted into gear, I felt like I was at the Indy – not on the raceway, but driving around the parking lot  looking for a space that wasn’t next to a messy minivan.

To describe the ride in complex automobile terms, it was smooth, not bumpy. And although I wasn’t up high, I had lots of mirrors for viewing. Of course I was concerned about the space, because of all those kids, I explained to my husband.  And he pointed out that we now had fewer kids to cart around. He was right.  Two of my kids had cars of their own and my youngest was going to have to learn to squeeze, because I was buying this car!

This car was sleek, stylish and black. This was the new me! Sleek (after a few more pounds lost), stylish (after I replaced my mom wardrobe), black (okay, well, maybe not the black part).

At this stage of my life, I am ready for exciting new changes and this was the car to take me there! As I drove home in my new sedan, I can’t say for sure, but it seemed as if the other buyers were looking at me with a new kind of respect and admiration.  Not that they don’t have respect for moms in minivans (oh that made me laugh).

When I got home, I opened the manual to read about my new car and there it was in bold, black print – the manufacturer’s description of the buyer for this car model – FOR THE MATURE DRIVER!

Wow, I wondered. Do I take this car back?  I quickly decided the cookies weren’t worth the effort so I took out a black Sharpie and crossed it out.  Take that you, you, ignorant car manufacturers! I showed them!  Then I got in my stylish sedan and drove to the salon to dye my grays, and to the chiropractor to adjust my back, and then to the grocery store where I whipped into my parking space like an Indy car driver – not a racer, one of the valet parking attendants.

Thank you to Donetta, a patient, patient woman and excellent salesperson at Hyundai in Tinley Park, IL

Here’s an experiment that Crenshaw uses to prove his point.  Set a timer and see how long it takes you to write Multi-tasking is unproductive. Now write and time it again, only this time, write a corresponding number under each letter.  For instance, you will write the M with a number 1 underneath, then go back and write the U with the number 2 underneath, all the way until you get to the E in unproductive the number  26 underneath. Once again, time it. You will be shocked at how long it takes your brain to process two functions simultaneously.

Muli-tasking also explains why I’m still writing the same blog that I started at 9 a.m. and it is now 2 p.m., I mean 2:10 p.m. I just had to take a phone call and check my e-mail at the same time and then I switched back to the. . . Wait! I had to defrost pork chops for dinner. Now it’s 2:14 p.m. I mean, 2:20 p.m., because my dog needed to go out and I remembered that I was updating my expense sheet, and the travel check list for my next speaking trip and now it’s 3: 37!

Although multi-tasking is a lie, Crenshaw claims that background tasking can be somewhat effective. This is when you are talking on the phone, changing a load of laundry, yelling at your kid for putting clean jeans in the laundry basket and apologizing to the person on the phone for shouting in their ear all at the same time. Wait a minute, I think once I yelled at my kid, I technically switched from background tasking to multi-tasking.  I think I’ll switch over to the couch and lie down.

Then, I jumped on the elliptical and watched a segment on Good Morning America about teen-age girls posting You Tube videos to ask the world if they were ugly or pretty. My first response was – This is crazy! But then, I knew it wasn’t that simple and that I had to be truthful.

At some point in our lives, every woman has wondered whether she was pretty or ugly. And, yes, most of us have wondered about it way too often to be good for our own souls. We’ve wondered about it so obsessively that we ignore more important things, like our goals and dreams, our talents and our life’s purpose, in order to fix our nails, our nose, our hips, (insert your own list here).

Of course, it’s important to feel good about our appearance, and I’m not suggesting women ignore the desire to look attractive! As someone who stands in front of an audience for a living, especially someone who speaks primarily to women, it’s a necessary part of my job. I’m suggesting that we are so much more than a physical body and if we want young girls to understand this, we’ve got to model it.

Probably the most truthful response I read, to the girl’s You Tube question, was the person who posted – both. “You are both ugly and pretty.”

We are light and dark. We are both pretty and ugly – on the outside and the inside. The more we focus on what is pretty about us, rather than what is ugly, the more pretty we will become.

It is not about comparing or competing with society’s image of beauty. The only real competition is with ourselves. It’s about discovering our own beauty and bringing that out within ourselves. It’s about wanting to be the best “us” for our own sake, not for the approval of anyone else.

I realize I have been focusing on the negative side of my own appearance, because of a measly ten, okay, eleven pounds, and I’ve allowed it to make me look and feel ugly. I’ve let it diminish who I am, not only on the outside, but on the inside. This is the same crazy thinking that drove the teen to post her video! This is the type of thinking I help women to eliminate when I speak about self-esteem and stress management in my presentations to women across the country. Looks like I needed my own wake up call. Who knew it would happen at the gym!

Here are the real questions girls need to be asking:

What are the gifts I’m here to share with the world?
How can I make a difference?
What is my life’s purpose?

Moms, sisters, aunts, friends, let’s help them by doing the same.

http://www.carolyngableretreats.com/register.html

 However, as Marla’s  article points out, “People who are afraid of failure have confused failure with mistakes,” says success psychologist, Ann Vertel. “Mistakes aren’t failure, they only feel like failure. True failure is in quitting or not learning, everything else is part of the process of learning and growing.”

But probably the most eye-opening and annoying part of the article, is the opening in which Marla talks about a client who is afraid to blog because she fears she doesn’t have anything to say. It’s as if Marla were talking directly to me!

Marla, were you talking directly to me?

Because I’ve forgotten to follow my own Super C advice, which is to let go of perfection and fear of failure and give myself permission to earn the grade of a C. I hate when that happens!  But the truth is, I’ve been fearing failure when it comes to my  blog for some time. Sure, I can tell you I’ve been sooooo busy, I’ve had some hardships, blah, blah, blah, but it’s that other thing. The thing that we don’t want to talk about as grown-ups. It’s good old-fashioned fear that I won’t have anything worthwhile to say. That if I write a crappy blog, you won’t hire me for speaking and training.  And even worse, since I also help writers to write and publish books, that if I make a grammar error or typo, you will think I can’t help you! 

Of course all of this angst goes against everything I teach. I allow my audience members, clients and writers to be less than perfect. In fact I even encourage it! I need to allow myself that same freedom and only then can I truly embrace what I believe and teach.

So, thank you Marla, for geting me back to what I love to do, in addition to  helping companies to boost morale and improve communication.  I love to write.  So, here we go!  More blogging to come from Deb DiSandro – the Slightly Off speaker and writer who is happily  failing her way to success and encouraging you to do the same.  

What are you willing to fail at today?

Recently, Oprah got the cast of The View to empty their pocketbooks and although I didn’t get to personally read their purses, after watching the video, I am ready with my predictions.

Barbara Walter’s purse had lots of practical work-related items.  I also overheard one of the other cast members say that her purse was very organized.  Barbara responded, “Well, you know that I’m neat.”  Since there is only one neat and organized purse carrier, my predication is that Barbara is a Classy.

Whoopie Goldberg shocked all of the women by professing that she doesn’t carry a purse.  Only a Brassy would have the confidence to go through life without a purse.

Elisabeth Hasselbeck’s purse was bulging with stuff. Her purse had a little bling too. My prediction is Sassy, since Sasssy’s tend to be the messiest purse carriers and like some bling and shine on their purses.

Joy Behar’s purse looked to be a designer bag. She also seemed to have very few items inside her purse. This one stumped me because you would think she’d have a big flashy bag to go with her Sassy purseonality.  I think it’s safe to say that she is a Brassy.

Sheri Shepherd had the other big messy bag and I was surprised that it wasn’t more of a flashy purse, because I believe that Sheri is a Sassy too.

So there you have it. No Lassies on The View, although I would say that Lassie is Elisabeth and Sheri’s secondary purseonality.

Click here to watch the Oprah.com video!

To learn what your Purse-onality is, check out my radio show on TheWinOnline.com!