Cutting Loose

  "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."           -Theodor Seuss Geisel (Dr.Seuss)    

          I will sing out loud in my car, or at a CVS, or at a coffee shop, because it feels good. Like a kid will do. With that freedom of expression, with that ease of expression. And, as an adult, I know not to sing too loud, because I don’t want to taint the experience of others I share the space with. I don’t, however, make that distinction when I'm alone in the car. I just let her rip. Anyway, there is balance there, with the boy within and the man I am. I don’t let the kid run the show, but I let him be. The man parents the boy, just like in good, external, physical parenting.
          You don’t stifle the child, you don’t shut him up. But you don’t let him go nuts all the time either. You do, however, let him go nuts some of the time. Like in the backyard, or whenever the kid is playing in an environment that’s appropriate to let it all hang out. As an adult, you have to let the kid, let yourself, go nuts sometimes too. I do it when I play drums, I do it in the bedroom. I do it a lot of places.
       Many do not. They never experience full, unbridled self expression. They never cut loose. I have a lot of compassion for that. And I can help people with that. As I transition MuscleHeart to a personal development business, my objective, indeed my life’s work, is to inspire and move and guide and assist people to fully and more vibrantly express themselves. As they mine the depths of their own heart and get to what burns inside of them.
       My life can at times be one big “cut loose”. I bring that to my business, now, too. Always striving to be more unchained, more uninhibited, more free. Many keep so much in, hold so much back. They are afraid to let it all hang out. Ever. I understand that fear. I don’t believe it serves us. And I want to assist those in their journey through that.

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Coffee Insult

This incident happened to me a couple of years ago and got lost in my writing shuffle. Just found it. It made me chuckle. I may have even guffawed.

       At my local coffee shop, The Daily Brew in North Falmouth, I ran into somebody. When I say “ran”, I mean that literally. Not physically, but metaphysically. Who I Am ran smack dab into Who He Is. And sparks flew.
       I had biked from my house a few miles away. My attire was not unusual for an early morning bike ride in mid October. Spandex pants. Skin tight Under Armor top. A couple of ear rings. The ear rings might have been what threw him. Or the colors I was brandishing: bright. Maybe it was that I went to the counter and jokingly ordered a vodka martini and he was in a hurry. I don’t know what exactly irked him. I didn’t ask.
       I ordered my large hazelnut. He ordered his large, maximum density, pitch black ultra dark roast. I added cream, sugar, nutmeg, and cinnamon to mine. He added nothing. Maybe that’s what did it.
       At the fixins table, as I’m concocting my cup, he’s grabbing a lid and looks aver at me. He scoffs. I didn’t interpret his action as a scoff at first, so, being friendly I just said “How are you?”. He said “What kind of cup of coffee is THAT!”. Although perplexed by the rhetorical question, I didn’t miss a beat and responded “It’s MY kind of cup of coffee. What else would it be?” He chose not to respond to my question and instead continued with his agenda. “It’s lame”, he said, half under his breath.
       Insults tend to raise adrenaline and testosterone levels. The first thing that crossed my primitive reptilian brain was “The gloves are off.” Obviously, I curtailed this primitive knee jerk reaction. I didn’t say or do anything. The Macho Male Ego part of me wanted to punch him. He was to my left, and my right hand was free. That meant that if I had hooked him with my right, I could have telegraphed it and he still never would have seen it coming. He might have been a real tough guy, I don’t know, but I’ve boxed before and I know how to throw a punch. And this one would have been a haymaker. I’m not proud that I momentarily fantasized sucker punching this guy. And these are not the kinds of thoughts that usually roll around my head in the morning.
       My pause was well rewarded, because my next action didn't come from my amygdala. My response to his “It’s lame” comment was “So am I”, and with that I walked away, sporting a fake but very convincing limp.
       I’m not in the habit of pretending that I’m physically challenged. But something in me had to continue this joke. Who the hell insults someone’s coffee? At 7:30 AM no less? I smiled at him as I limped off, dragging my right foot behind me as though my entire leg was completely inert.
       As I turned away, I could tell he was looking at me. I could also tell that his jaw was a little closer to the floor than it was just a moment before. He didn’t say anything, but I’m sure he wanted to. His pride probably got in the way. I sat down, went to work on my computer, and didn’t pay much attention to him as he practically ran out of the coffee shop.
       The rest of my day was almost as much fun.


©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights Reserved.

Snow Ninja

       Snow: Beautiful. Transient. Magic. More fun, as my friend Ron used to say “than a pair of pants full of Jell-O”. I’m not sure I ever completely understood that phrase, but I use it all the time. Because, as with great song lyrics, the words don’t necessarily have to make sense. They just have to pop and sizzle. They have to evoke an image, create an atmosphere, and have some attitude.
       We had an overnight dusting of snow here in Boston a few days ago. Walking to a coffee shop early the next morning, I noticed the cars along Beacon Street that had been parked there overnight and thus acquired a light covering of fluffy snow. There were hundreds of them. After a few minutes of walking and observing, something remarkable happened. My reality changed. I started seeing my world differently. I stopped seeing hundreds of cars covered with snow. And I started seeing hundreds of blank white canvases.
       Canvases aren’t meant to stay blank for long. They beg to be written upon, painted upon, drawn upon. They beg to be transformed. I heard their calling. And I answered.
       So on this morning, a one mile stretch of road in Boston was littered with dozens of cars with the word “KISS” written in snow upon their windshields.
       At face value, this is a silly little story that could end there. But there’s actually more to it. Some of it I’ve already referenced. Some of it is between the lines. Using this story as a metaphor, I challenge you with the questions, “Why live life on the surface? Why not go deeper and get to the juicy meat of existence? Why just chew on the bone when you can suck out all the marrow?”.
       In my story, I mentioned that my whole reality changed. That I suddenly saw the world differently. And not because of anything different on the outside, but strictly because my perspective shifted. When that happened, new actions opened up. New possibilities emerged. New options were created. And all I did was stop seeing cars and start seeing canvases.
       If I can apply this to all of my life, then I can literally transform any situation, any circumstance, any reality, to a different one. To one that serves and empowers me. To one that creates new opportunities and new possibilities.
       This is much easier said than done. And for each of us, certain contexts allow for easier transformation of reality than others. Most people would never think of seeing cars as canvases and then actually write on dozens of them. But for me, that came naturally and easily.  Likewise, some people in business more readily see opportunity when others see disaster or nothing at all. We all have our natural forums where it’s easier for us to shift our perspective and thus create new possibilities. That means we can all learn so much from each other, if we are patient enough. If we are loving enough. If we care enough.
       I often see the world through the heart of an artist. “What can be created that will add beauty and feeling and connection and fun and depth, to the world?” I don’t ask that question consciously, but it’s always running around in my subconscious. That’s why I eventually see the canvases. Because through those canvases I can create something that’s in my heart. In this case, I created fun. I created humor. I created a smile on my face. And I created a good story that has so much more to it than meets the eye.
       I call that a good morning.

From The Icarus Deception:

"Art isn't pretty.

Art isn't painting.

Art isn't something you hang on the wall.

Art is what we do when we're truly alive."

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights reserved.

Gym eMotion

       Working out is a way of life for some of us. We actually miss the sweat, strain, and minor pain of pushing our bodies past every day use. When I’m in a groove I rarely miss a day of exquisite physical excursion. Habit becomes routine. Routine becomes lifestyle. Lifestyle becomes A Way Of Life.
       Besides the great rush that exercise gives me, I sometimes experience another phenomenon while exercising. I sometimes become very emotional.
       When we exercise, things are shaking and moving and changing within us physiologically. We’re increasing our heart rate, pumping more blood through our body, changing oxygen levels, blood pressure, and a host of other biological mechanizations.
       Many of us listen to music during exercise. Music can move us. When we are moved, just like when we exercise, there are physiological changes happening inside us. Thus, with both music and exercise, our brain and body chemistry are altered. Combine the two, and the changes are even more profound.
       The double whammy of exercise and music thus have the capacity to stir my insides to a feverish pitch.
       There are times when I’m working out where, irrespective of the amount of weight I’m lifting, I feel incredibly powerful, centered, full of life, completely alive, and, frankly, very fuckin’ cool.
       Other emotions well up sometimes, from deep within me, to right under my skin, to right behind my eyes. A song will remind me of someone in my life who is no longer here. Or I will think of someone I miss very much. Maybe a particular event comes to mind. When any of that happens whilst working out, tears well up and I feel like I could just burst.
       Crying in the gym isn’t something I really want to do. So I grab my towel, cover my face with it, rub away some sweat, and simultaneously quickly cry a few tears. Anybody who happens to be looking at me long enough will see that, when I pull the towel from my face, my eyes are a little redder and shinier than they were just a few seconds ago.
       My close friend Stanley died in a plane crash about a year and a half ago. We had our differencess, and sometimes we fought like brothers. But we loved each other very much. He used to say to me “Clint, you’re the brother I never had”. I miss him. There’s a song that powerfully reminds me of him; The Wreck Of THe Edmund Fitzgerald, by Gordon Lightfoot.
       One warm late summer Saturday night, I was over Stanley’s house with a few girls. Fresh out of his waterfront hot tub, we put on some music. Stanley chose a tape that had the Gordon Lightfoot song on it. I turned to him and said “Dude! I love this song!” He replied “Me too!” We thunderously high-fived each other and continued our love fest review of the song.
       I knew all the words. And there are a lot of words. I was singing them aloud, every word of every verse, throwing in punctuations of drum hits, guitar notes, and other nuances. Stanley was amazed. He repeated, over and over again, like Stanley often did, “I can’t believe you know every word of this song!”. Stanley knew some, but hardly all. He was singing along with me as best he could, often looking at me and repeating what I sang a split second later, like a delayed echo effect through a PA system. We were both acting out the song as well, like a couple of kids. It was one of the funnest moments of my life with Stanley, and that’s saying a mouthful. Because we had a lot of fun moments together. A lot. Some of this spontaneous performance art was even captured on video.
       The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald is on a few of my workout mixes on my iPod. A strange selection, you may think, but it works for me. You should see some of the other choices in music that I work out to. Anyway, when that song comes on whilst working out, it inevitably makes me think of that night. And of Stanley. And how I’ll never have another moment like that with him, ever again.
       A sense of loss and sadness overcomes me a like a giant wave. When I experience those moments outside the gym, I’m sometimes able to ride them out without an outward expression. Not because I don’t want to emote, but because I don’t need to. But in the gym, I have much more trouble controlling that wave of emotion. Because of the augmented physiological changes going on inside because of the combination of music and exercise, the emotions are even stronger. At some point, I just can’t hold it in, and it becomes a “Towel To The Face” moment. And it usually happens more than once.
       Far from embarrassed about this, I don't mind it at all. There are many silver linings in this cloud. These silver linings are reminders of the depth and power of my emotional engine, and how that engine propels me to experience a fuller, richer, deeper, more meaningful life. They remind me that I’m connected to my heart, and that that wasn’t always the case. They remind me of how vitally important love is to me. And they remind me of my friend Stanley, how much we loved one another, and how much fun we had together.  
       I’ll pay the price of some tears and a towel to my face for all of that, every time. No matter where I am. Or what I’m doing.


©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights reserved.

Do You Believe In Magic

       Early this morning, I awoke from an absolutely amazing dream.
       In the dream, I was hearing and singing a song. The song however, was a hugely popular one from the waking world, with the melody and the lyrics precisely in tact. This is incredibly rare in the dream state. Songs heard in dreams almost always morph into other sounds. And they rarely sound exactly the same in the dream state as they do in the awake state.
       The song I heard has thus been driven far into my subconscious. And that’s no surprise. Because it’s one of those songs that I know reaches something deep and mystical inside of me. It’s one of those songs I find so beautiful that it makes me ball like a kid at Christmas who just got THE toy.
       The title and message of the song, “Do You Believe In Magic”, are perfectly reflective of my experience of it. This is the verse, word for word, note for note, that I heard in my dream....

“If you believe in magic
Come along with me
We'll dance until morning 'til there's just you and me
And maybe, if the music is right
I'll meet you tomorrow, so late at night
And we'll go dancing,
BABY THEN YOU’LL SEE
HOW THE MAGIC’S IN THE MUSIC AND THE MUSIC’S IN ME”

       Those who know and love me, know that, indeed, The Music and The Magic Are In Me. In fact, The Magic is In Us All. Imagine how our lives would be if we all believed that, accessed that Magic, and constantly shared our Magic with each other. Imagine how our planet would be if we shared our Magic with the world.


©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights Reserved