Michelle Deangelis - Get a Life That Doesnt Suck: 10 Surefire Ways to Live Life and Love the Ride

A Note to the Reader

All of the names of people used in the stories in this book have been changed, unless those people gave me permission to use their names or I state otherwise. In a few instances, composite stories were used from client material that was similar. In all cases the stories reflect the ideas and experiences of the people discussed.

2008 by Michelle DeAngelis

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any other information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

Photo credits: , Michele Constantini/PhotoAlto/Getty Images

Interior design by Joanna Williams

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

DeAngelis, Michelle.

Get a life that doesnt suck : 10 surefire ways to live life and love the ride / Michelle DeAngelis.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN-13 9781594867989 hardcover

ISBN-10 1594867984 hardcover

eISBN-13 9781605299181

1. SuccessPsychological aspects. 2. Self-actualization (Psychology) I. Title.
BF637.S8D366 2008
158dc22 2008028336

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To Joyce and Dean
for being such living examples of joy.

To Babo
for being my greatest teacher.

Life can really suck.

Six years ago my mom was diagnosed with brain cancer, and she died just 34 days later. This was a cancer that doubled in size every seven days, so we knew she didnt have long to live. It was imperative for me personally, and for my family, to enjoy the little bit of time we had left with her. So I made a conscious decision to be fully present and drink in the last bit of my moms existence. I chose to relish the time we had left as the gift that it was, Frankenstein scar and all. Her death was not about me, or my sadness, or how unfair it all was. It sucked, all right, but she wanted her death to be a continuation of her celebration of lifeall the way to the end. So we were all there to hold her hand, reminisce with her, listen to her hallucinations, write down her words, give her morphine, crawl in bed with her, and give her as much comfort as possible. It was all about her.

Now, this was not to deny my own feelings. Sometimes I cried so hard the snot ran down my chin. No, this was feeling all of it, every bit. I wasnt worrying about what would happen after she was dead or cursing God for taking her too soon. That would have distracted me from her. I was just being. Showing up. Zooming out to see the beauty of her spirit and zooming back in to caress it. It wasnt feeling my own mortality; it was understanding the peace in death. It was an honoring time, a reverent time, a joyful time. In spite of it all.

It was one of the times I felt closest to that Universal Spirit that some people call God. Ive had countless experiences where I was aware of Spirit, but none really quite like that.

One night I was sitting with my mom after she had lapsed into unconsciousness. I stayed close while the hospice staff rolled her over and back in her bed. She heaved a big, unconscious sigh. Im not sure if she had any awareness at all, but I knew those sighs were big, weighty releases. Of everything. She was about to leave and go off to glory. So I sat there with my back against the headboard and her head in my lap. My dad held her hand and stroked her arm. She looked so peaceful. Her hair was straight and slicked backshe would have hated itand she was not wearing makeup, after a lifetime of putting on her glamorous face. Her skin was amazingly smooth and luminous, kind of freaky really. She seemed to be getting younger somehow, even as her organs shut down.

After a life of big bangs and so much larger-than-life hoopla, she let out her last bit of air in a quiet little whimper. The ultimate anticlimax. Her quiet coda.

And then she was gone.

One of her parting gifts to me was the absolute resolve to truly live every day.

I know people die every day.

I want people to LIVE every day.

And thats why I wrote this book.

Two years ago I was sitting on the beach in Cabo, drinking a margarita and scribbling ideas for this book, when the guy on the beach chair in front of me asked, Are you an author?

Im about to be, I said. Im writing a book.

Whats your book about? he asked.

I didnt really feel like chatting and the margarita had me a little feisty, so I ran through my mental shorthand of what my book is really about and said, Its about how to get a life that doesnt suck.

Oh my god! he said. I know 20 people who need that book!

Oh my god is right. Those words were just what I needed to hear. Finally, I had learned to describe my book so people would actually want to read it.

You see, until I figured out how to get that response, I dreaded answering the question Whats your book about? I had learned what not to say, thats for sure. I couldnt say to the skeptics and the jaded who were posing as innocent inquirers, Its about raising the level of joy on the planet by showing people how to create joy in their lives every day, no matter what. Oh hell no. When I said that, all they could see was a saccharine swirl of pixies, unicorns, and fairy dust dancing around my head. Joy schmoy. Each time I started up with that little ditty, I got responses ranging from a polite Oh, really? to one guy who looked at me like I was the first brunette with three heads hed ever seen.

So I learned I had to cross over to the dark side.

I had to morph from Mary Poppins into Darth Vader. No spoonful of sugar was helping the medicine go down. I had to cross over from the happy place where I live to the crappy place where many other people live. It was like that great scene in The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy steps from her black-and-white farmhouse into the amazingly colorful world of Oz. Only in reverse. And no, I wasnt in Kansas anymore.

Actually, those hundreds of excruciating Whats your book about? dialogues had been great market research. They told me several things. First, there was a disconnect between what I had to say and how people could hear it. I had to change my approach especially when coaching. No more asking people to come over and join me at the joy place, no sirree. I had to go to them. I had to meet people in their misery, spend some time with them there, and then, once they felt heard, lob out a couple of casually phrased suggestions about taking responsibility and making good choices. And make it all sound possible. Oh, and worthwhile.

Second, I learned that the word joy had become code for something to be disbelieved. Something magical thats out of reach but still within sight and blinking with a tormenting Neener, neener, youre a jerk for even attempting to be happy, sucker. I definitely could not lead with the word joy. It could only be uttered among believers, like some Skull and Bones ritual chant.