Ugh.

Do not trust the business credit reports you get from D&B.  I sold my company more than two years ago.  I have tried 23 times now to get my name removed. 

 I do not own the company and they keep telling me it will be updated.  I talked to someone again today who said he isn’t sure why it is still coming to me.  They tell me they have to call back and confirm with the new owner.  So frustrating.

He said today he would ask someone to remove me - according to entity support he can’t do it.

He does claim I will be removed.  I hope so.  Makes me not trust any of their data if the Secretary of State says I don’t own it why the delay?

Frustrating.

The guy was really good at customer service though- just sad this company doesn’t have valid information.

So much has happened since I last wrote.  India (amazing) Queretaro (wow)  Minnesota (yes, super wow) 

 I have also been crawling on my bare belly over broken glass in my personal life.  Makes it tough to take the time to blog, floss my teeth and do all the things I know are great for me.

 Imagine me for a moment in Queretaro Mexico.  (pronounce it correctly when you read it please)   I give a presenation to 100 CEO’s from Latin American countries.  I do part of it in Spanish (I speak great Spanish if you are three years old)

I am asked if I want to do something fun.  YES!  I reply.  There I am- standing on the dirt of a bullfighting ring.  I am placed behind a barrier and told to stand there.  When the bull goes by just sort of lean your arm out with your pink blanket (I can’t remember what they are called.. the red cape) as the bull happens to go by.

Cool.  Too cool.  Too easy.  I watch MEN step out of the barrier and walk around the ring.  So I step out.   I walk forward.  I am very nervous. 

I didn’t used to be nervous.  I was a daredevil after the age of 23.  Something happened in me and a once quivering little girl started taking super risks.  There was NO WAY I was going to stand behind the barricade when all the men are stepping out onto the ring.

I am scared.  A new feeling for me.  In the past, I didn’t get scared I just ran forward with out thinking.   Now that I’m a mom, I suppose it has all changed.

The audience is going NUTS.  They can’t believe I stepped out so far from the barricade.  The bull passes to my right.  TORO!   (there is no blood here ok- I wouldn’t do it if we were stabbing the poor thing.  pobresita)

The crowd who I have spoke in front of that afternoon is screaming “Communicate with the bull Christina”  “LOOK HIM IN THE EYES! ”

The bull passes to my left.. the bull jabs me in the right thigh.   Passes to the right.

I walk back to the barricade to cheers and limp a little bit.  That bull got me good!

It was so fun.  I was carried out of the ring by a few guys - on their shoulders.  They couldn’t believe I stepped out. 

What happened next is so hard to describe.  A group of 20 guys who had played soccer on the World Cup Stadium grass a couple of days before got out in the ring with a plastic beach ball and started playing soccer with the bull.  It was a little humorous and THEN they let ANOTHER bull out.  It was one of the most ridiculous things I have watched.

No one in that ring was really brave that day in comparison to Claudia.   I met Claudia in the beautiful tent after the bulls.  There were all these dancers all around from all the different areas of Mexico.  30 different styles of dance and costumes. 

The stage they were on broke from all the weight and they had to stop.  I started talking to a woman Claudia.  There was something about her.  I was drawn to her.

She was there with her husband.  They were laughing and giggling like schoolchildren.  Turns out they have two children (under 4) at home.  Still they giggled.  “We broke her out this weekend to be here.   Ha ha”  “I kidnapped her”  Ha ha.  “A prison break”  They both laughed.

What?  I say?   She is in the middle of chemo and radiation treatments in Arizona for a fast moving cancer.  She showed me that what she was wearing was actually a wig.

“We are going to beat it.”  They started sharing the journey with me and I watched her face.  So incredibly strong.  So sure.  The giggling continuing.

She and I held hands for a while.  The announcer announced the next Latin American Conference would be held in the Dominican Republic. 

She and I turned to each other and made a pact “let’s both be there.”  Agreed.  One year from today.

That night as I looked at the giant bruise on my thigh from the bull, I felt so lucky and so very far away from my little boy. 

Hi. I’m a little in the eye of the storm the past couple of weeks. Pneumonia, my sister had a stroke, my son has that horrible flu .. I could go on. A lot of stuff pulling at my hair.

Yesterday I get a letter from a training organization I used to be involved with. It was not a nice letter. It was written by someone who I consider a friend basically threatening me about all sorts of things. It made me sad to read a letter written by an organization that touts being friendly. An organization that teaches people to be build relationships.

It really hurt my little feelings. I am sad for any organization who tries to bully people- who believes the world is so small that only they can work in an industry. The world is expansive and vast. We have infinite possibilities and if our mission is truly to change the world it is wise for us to support EVERYONE in that path.

Weird serendipity. I connect with a guy in my industry trying to do the same thing I am. He drops by 10 minutes after I open the letter and drafted my response. In the middle of this happening my contact tore and I was standing at the mirror trying to get i out of my eye. I hear him behind me. it is a funny moment. My eyes were a little red from the tears I had just shed from the coldness of the letter.

We sit down. How can we play together? Is his question. We are doing the same thing - let’s help each other. Let’s reach more people. His next sentence, without knowing anything, is “I am meeting with “Training organization name here” tomorrow about a strategic partnership. He mentions the names of everyone I know in that organization. The same one who sent me the hate mail.

it was one of those moments that reminds me just how small and tiny our world is. We talked about protectionism and exclusiveness. His entire message is the antithesis of the letter I got. he can really help them expand their thinking. I tell him about the beauty of the founder’s message - of how much this organization changed my life.

I can’t say who they are. As it turns out, they don’t want anyone to know I worked with them. I suppose I don’t want anyone to know I worked for them. My company and my message is the opposite of what is going on there. I left because of the incongruence.

Don’t try to guess who I am talking about. it doesn’t matter. They are all good people who are just acting out of fear and scarcity. There is just no purpose for this kind of thinking in the world. There is enough business to go around.

Mel’s diner.  Yesterday.  A white pick-up truck.  My son.  Me.  Chocolate ice cream in mind.  The motorcycle charred.  Beyond recognition.  My son walked by it and said “Bike has an owie momma.”

 Beautiful men.  Two of them.  Just happend to be sitting behind us.  Sebastian asked them about their bike.  (How he knew it was them I don’t know.)  A story.  A new italian bike.  a friend.  a fall.  an ignition.  Burned beyond recognition (the bike, the friend is totally fine) except for the giant massive tail pipes.

We talked about bikes.  “Will you let him ride?”  I’m not sure.  My brother died on a bike.  It is a tough call for me.  I remember the salt air in my hair as I rode my bike.  Too difficult a decision right before ice cream and right after a search for the Lorax at Muir woods.  He speaks for the trees you know.

I remember.  My dad.  A motorcycle enthusiast.  Many bikes. Nortons.  Indians.  Hondas.  (Anything but a hog he said.)

He rode his bike to the nursing home.  Picked out the one he wanted.  before he needed.

 Another man.  A stranger.  A son.  He came to visit his mom every week.  On a Harley.  He found out my dad liked bikes.  For months he visited.  He helped my dad outside every week and started up his motorcycle for my dad.  My dad feigned interest in the Harley and secretly LOVED hearing the bike roar.  He lit up in ways I could not create for him.

 This man.  This stranger - did.

The man continued this once a month.  Long after his mom died.  He visited my dad.  No discussion.  No talking.     No fan fare.

I thought of this man last night.  For the first time in a long time.  These silent little things that people do with out the ticker tape parade.  I’d do anything now to know who he was.  To tell him how much it mean to my dad to be important enough for that little piece of grace.  That gift.

 The boys with the motorcycle last night took a moment to spend with my little two-year old.   

I don’t need a politician to make me proud of being from this great nation of ours.  With all the stress, fear, anger and all the things that make us different- we are all the same.  Beautiful. 

You are too.  All the weird stuff we do to survive in this world- we are still.  Beautiful.

Thank you motorcycle men.  I love you.