The Month of Blogging Dangerously

I loved the 1982 film, “The Year of Living Dangerously.” Mel and Sigourney getting all hot and bothered in steamy, turbulent Indonesia. While specific scenes have gotten a bit fuzzy since I last rented it, the movie’s title has only become more clear, compelling and urgent.

Live dangerously Giulietta.

Every year.

Get out of that boring safety zone and into the heart-thumping action of life. Basically, the kind of stuff that would be on your resume if a prospective employer really wanted to know what you could do for them, instead of those soul-numbing “action” phrases job hunting books advise you to slap on.

Implemented. Developed. Saved. Generated. (Snore …)

(Wo) Man, how did so many of our lives become dictated by a piece of paper? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?  Shouldn’t we fit “resumes” into our living?

A while back, I ripped up my traditional resume in order to “re-zoom” my life. And you know what? “I feel better now. I feel better than James Brown …” thx Was (Not Was)! I now move to my own beat, looking for all the juicy adventures life has to offer. Some are in my own backyard; others I seek farther from home. They might feel physically dangerous like hot air ballooning, or emotionally dangerous like speaking my truth. If I feel myself getting uncomfortable, I know there is something or someone I have to turn around and face.

How about you? Anything you need to face?

Need to sign off for today. Just wanted to leave you with this first muse-merizing taste of “The Month of Blogging Dangerously.”  I invite you to join me on this e-muse adventure, to let the rest of us know if and how you’d like to live more dangerously—be it emotionally, spiritually, physically, financially, creatively or some other “ly.”

Remember, when you check into the nursing home it will be one someday too many to “re-zoom” your life!

Over and under and around and between and …

Muse Thanks!

Giulietta N.

p.s. my “real” name is Julianne, usually shortened to Julie, but that log-in was taken. My Italian grandmother, Giulietta, must have been channeling through me because I automatically typed in Giulietta as a second choice. I had been thinking of changing the spelling of Julie to Giuli, so here’s my chance ... Future musings will have more to say about my grandmother and how I discovered her real name wasn’t Julia as I’d been told; it was Giulietta.

Was (Not Was).