We’ve felt the Philly love thing, now what? Don’t let the parade pass you by. I should know. I let the biggest parade of my life (with 1.7 million onlookers) pass me by. I shared that with you last week. My, err, not finest moment.

The Comfort of Staying Hidden

And there are others, too. For instance, this blog and my writing. It wasn’t exactly My No-Bell Prize. Okay, that was a fabulous one. And all my cancer series, that was straight from the soul. You can’t go through cancer and worry about whether anyone is reading you or not. But before cancer, I would write three blogs in one. If anyone couldn’t get past the first one, I don’t blame them. But I keep those posts up as a beautiful reminder (to my perfectionist self) that there is no such thing as perfectionism. Those earlier posts keep the humility in check.

Taking The First Step Toward Authenticity

But I was never completely honest with you. When I started the blog, we were supposed to figure out what we wouldn’t share. And I decided I wouldn’t share anything about being the daughter of my Dad. I figured my writing was supposed to be about me. Sound a little bit like the girl who sat out of the greatest parade imaginable? Yeah! It does.

Learning To Share My Truth

I broke my rule pretty quickly into my journey. I wasn’t able to contain myself when Kobe Bryant and his daughter passed away. It hit me hard, and so I wrote In Light of Kobe Bryant’s Muse. The response to that was overwhelming, but I didn’t know what to make of it.

When Life Forces Growth

Cancer knocked some sense into me. I didn’t have time (or energy) to get into my own way (or head), and I was free to be me. And, boy, did I have fun. Until it was all over, and I eagerly waited for my brain cells that were suspended (as my chemo doctor would tell me) to come back.

Come to find out; the brain cells weren’t all that good, to begin with.

The truth was shocking. Cancer didn’t take away my ability to do things—it made me realize it’s impossible to reorganize something that wasn’t right in the first place.

I didn’t know, still, was I writing about my Dad, or me, or what? I still didn’t know what I was doing. I was even more lost when I finally had brain cells to think about it.

Moving Beyond Perfectionism

I reverted to my perfectionism. For most of last year, I could barely get one muse out a month. Friends stopped reading me because they had no idea when to expect me in their mailbox. It was the final push out of my perfectionism, out of my disorganized mess.

So I decided I’ve got to write my muse once a week—every Sunday—because that’s when people like to think. Don’t make them think midweek or midday, even, but on Sunday, because that’s always been our day of rest from our activities. That’s when it’s time to get spiritual.

Embracing The Full Story

And just when I started in on the once-a-week writing, I wrote three muses in one week. Talk about a Valentine’s gift for us all! Along with these stories, I posted this photo on Facebook of my Dad and me from a New York photo shoot when I was young. It was my one private moment with Dad made available to me even though it was a photo shoot—not exactly intimate.

The Power of Connection

Because of the tremendous love that my friends and family were able to share with me over that one photo with Dad, it made me understand my place in the world. I’m here to share with you the intimate moments of my life that have special meaning to you. By sharing my soul, and actually writing from my soul, not holding back or keeping myself at arms distance, your soul shows up, too, and then there were two of us.

When our souls unite, we pass the ball back and forth to one another, and we partake in that parade. We’re taking a stand. We’re on that float and watching the magic unfold all around us. The city can’t help but feel that love, too.

It took me 42 years to finally tell you this. Let’s spread some love 💕

Your Turn: Join the Parade

What parade are you watching from the sidelines? Maybe it’s not a literal parade with 1.7 million people—perhaps it’s a story you’ve been hesitant to tell, a truth you’ve been afraid to share, or a dream you’ve been watching others live. Take a moment to reflect: What would stepping into your own parade look like? Share your thoughts in the comments below—because sometimes naming our parade is the first step to joining it.