Proof of Life

An inspiring call-to-arms to stop abandoning yourself and to no longer wait for permission. From the bestselling author of ON BEING HUMAN, comes this fierce, funny, and frank manifesto on getting unstuck and living your life on your own terms, without apology. A guidebook to remembering that stress isn ’ t your birthright, that change might hurt but it won’t kill you, and that you don’t have to provide any proof to show that you are worthy or deserving because: You are own proof of life. Having finally achieved professional and financial success, Jen Pastiloff should have been content. She repeatedly told herself that her life was fine and that fine was enough. Mostly though, what she told herself was screaming. She remembered that we all have to the voice of This book is Pastiloff''s account of how she radically changed her own life--leaving her marriage, taking risks professionally, and stepping out of her safe bubble when safety was all she''d ever wanted, after losing her beloved father when she was eight--while imparting her courage and wisdom to inspire readers to do the same. She shows us it is never too late to change the stories we think define us. The ones that deprive us of accepting greater love, fulfillment, and joy. Stories like: Through this book, you learn how to quiet your Jennifer Pastiloff

Klappentext

**NATIONAL BESTSELLER

An urgent rallying cry to stop holding back and start living life on your terms.**

Jen Pastiloff convinced herself My life is fine and fine’s enough, until the whisper that something was missing turned full-on scream.

This is Pastiloff’s account of how she reclaimed her voice and desire by radically changing her life. She did this despite believing that change equaled death ever since her beloved father died when she was eight. (Much to her shock, change did not equal death.) She shows us it is never too late to begin again, or to let go of stories like: I don’t deserve this; I don’t get to be happy; no one will love me; I’m too old, to name a few.

Through this book, you’ll quiet your Inner Asshole, participate in the cathartic process of Shame Loss, ignore the Imaginary Time Gods, use creativity as a portal into healing and connection, and become your own permission slip. Complete with takeaways in Jen’s signature style, creativity prompts, and poetry, Proof of Life is funny, inspiring, and full of love. This book is a reminder that your birthright is not stress or shame and that you don’t have to show proof that you are worthy or deserving. You are your own proof of life.

Leseprobe
Chapter One

You Get to Have This

There I was. Saying one thing and living another. Trudging through my days, Bullshit Stories tethered tightly to me. The ones that said I had nothing to show for myself or my life and that I did not deserve love, and I certainly did not get to be happy. I was in my forties and still trying to convince the world (the world meaning only myself) that I was not bad, and the world (meaning only myself) was not having any of it. Not be convinced, I let myself stay shackled to those stories and took whatever I could beg, steal, or borrow.

Who was I to ask for-or even want-anything different?

The School of the Seven Bells

I was almost pickpocketed. Twice. First in Rome and then again in Paris. Almost, because neither of my pickpockets were very good thieves.

There used to be a school for pickpockets. The School of the Seven Bells is said to be based in Colombia. There are exams, it being a school and all. One test required the hopeful pickpocket to try to pickpocket the teacher, whose suit pockets had seven hidden bells sewn inside. The goal was to pick the mark clean without ringing any of the bells.

Do you ever think about what you have taken? Beliefs that you took to be true when they weren’t? Shame that wasn’t yours? What about mediocrity, misery, and even abuse because you believed it was all you deserved?

I find old notes in handwriting that is no longer mine, written in the margins of poems I wrote decades ago. My handwriting has gotten illegible over time. The letters run into each other as if they don't know where they end and the next begins. I have forgotten how to do this basic thing. Now dot the i, cross the t, and let your fingers find the rhythm.

If, like me, you (mostly) don't listen to yourself (except when you're being hard on yourself), if you listen better and pay more attention when someone else says something, let me be that someone else saying something. What I am saying is: You get to have this. You don't have to beg, or borrow, or steal. You get to have this (whatever your this is).

The most memorable time I was almost pickpocketed was in Paris. By the Seine, I scooped down to pick up a ring glimmering in the sun, even though it was hideous. It was a huge ring, and with my unusually small (but wide) hands, it looked almost as big as my whole hand, like I had a third hand, just filthy and more copper-toned. I don’t even like copper, but I was thrilled at my luck of finding something. It didn’t matter what. I had that rush of excitement we can get when we find something, as if suddenly anything might be possible.

If I found this, what else can I find? inevitably bubbles up, however briefly, before we go back to disbelieving in our own good fortune.

A man ran over and began speaking in a language I didn't understand as he tried to grab the ring from me. I held on tight as if it had always been mine. I lied and told him I'd dropped it. He yelled at me, in English.

You must pay me for the ring! It is mine! he claimed, his arms flailing wildly.

I gave him the ring, which couldn't have been worth more than a few dollars.

I was miffed at how quickly I succumbed to lying and possessiveness, just for the sake of having.

The intricacies of thievery, with its endless possible outcomes, including forgetting what is ours, who we are, and what we get to have.

Have you thought about what you want? I’m talking middle-of-the-night radically honest want of all wants that you can only whisper into crouched darkness. Have you ever tried bringing it into the light? What happens when you name it? I urge you to see what happens for yourself.

I refused to acknowledge what I wanted, even in my most private moments of solitude and darkest of dark hours. Were I to admit what was so (such as my profound hearing loss), or what I really wanted, I knew I'd then have to do something about it. Or else face that I'd surrendered into complacency.

Instead, I chose not to name what I wanted so I could stay feeling safe. Albeit, this was a false sense of safety, which was also a choice. I convinced myself that never changing, and that sameness and consistency, would equal safety. If I could count on it being the same as it always was (nothing ever is, so this was a ridiculous way to lie to myself), then no one would suddenly leave or drop dead.

What it really meant was a lack of growth.

It also meant feeling like an imposter for not being self-expressed and having a longing for something that I did not know I wanted. An ignored longing becomes an itch you can never alleviate because you can't figure out where it's coming from, and each time you think you've got it, it moves.

If you keep naming it though, you'll start to feel comfortable with the words. Like you have the right to hold them in your mouth, which you do. Naming what we are afraid to is a kind of sorcery; you'll suddenly notice what you've named all around you. Eventually, it will become impossible to deny and it begins to feel real, which was the thing I was most afraid of. Because then what? Now what?

If you are willing to investigate what things you might want, which could you liv…