Someone tried to steal my joy today, and she almost got away with it.
April was one of the best months I’ve ever had, both personally and professionally. I participated in the Avon Walk for Breast cancer, walking 39.3 miles in one-and-a-half days to raise money for the Avon Foundation for Women, raising nearly $5,000 in the process. It was a BHAG (Big, Hairy, Audacious Goal) if there ever was one!
In the weeks leading up to the walk, I went on training walks (6 miles, 9 miles, 12 miles), battled laryngitis, and did three successful Stella & Dot trunk shows, beating my personal best sales month by $4,000. The week after the walk, I did a mock trunk show at my networking meeting so my fellow members could learn more about my Stella & Dot business, took Coco to a local event to help raise money for a dog rescue group, and sponsored a new stylist.
I was a ROCKSTAR in April!
And then someone said something hurtful about my skills as a stylist behind my back and insulted my business acumen in a private Facebook message to me. She implied that she, a more savvy stylist than I, would reap the benefits of my ineptitude. Her comments stung, and I wanted to reply with a zinger that would make her feel as small as she made me feel. But I realized a zinger wouldn’t affect her the way I wanted it to; it would only fuel her fire and give her the chance to lob another one back at me.
So I held my tongue. Well, actually, I stewed about it for a while and said some things out loud while walking Coco that would have alarmed passersby had there been any, and I waited until the stinging feeling had dissipated before I responded to her. (Note to self: try this strategy more often.)
I thought about the quote my friend, Stiles, sent to me after reading this morning’s blog post:
We must not see any person as an abstraction. Instead, we must see in every person a universe with its own secrets, with its own treasures, with its own sources of anguish, and with some measure of triumph. – Elie Wiesel
Yes, I thought, that’s me! Secrets, treasures, anguishes – and triumphs. I know what it’s like to set really big goals – and surprise myself by achieving them. I know what it’s like to have your best month ever – six months after the person who loved and supported you most dies. I know what it’s like to ride a wave of achievement only to have it crash, inevitably, on the shore.
And you know what? So does she.
So instead of typing the back-atcha remark I composed on my walk around the block, I wrote this:
I have a thriving and fun business that brings me great joy, and that’s all that matters to me.
Someone tried to steal my joy today, but I didn’t let her.