A letter to Julia Louis-Dreyfus: 3 keys to beating the breast cancer blues

Dear Julia,

I’m a huge fan of yours and I send my heartfelt wishes for good health and a complete recovery.  I myself just finished up surgery, chemo, radiation and reconstruction after the positive diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer. I’m sure the irony is not lost on you that our diagnosis could be associated with the word “positive.” Nevertheless, there is light at the end of the tunnel, in the tunnel and before the tunnel, if you can learn to adjust your thinking. I hope you are helped by the following “happiness tips” from someone who’s been there/done that, and who was brought onto  RWJBarnabus Health System’s “Women’s Health Initiative” as their optimist expert. 

The very first thing I struggled with when the docs told me I had breast cancer was figuring out where to put my mind. I was frightened, upset, disoriented, sad, overwhelmed, and I couldn’t seem to think straight.

I’m trained as an attorney; that was a weird mental space.

A brilliant man once told me that he doesn’t like to think too much, because when he does, he goes behind enemy lines. That’s just not me. I am by nature a happy person. I call myself a non-recovering laughaholic. I didn’t want that to change. I was terrified it would.  My dear father used to joke that “everything in life is mind over matter. I don’t mind and it don’t matter.” This time, however, things really did matter.

I knew that the key to mentally surviving this ordeal was to find a way to change my perspective about what was happening to me from something negative to something positive.  I might still mind, it might still matter, but I was going to have to “give a shift.”

KEY ONE: Give yourself permission to be happy!  I realized that even though I was given a life-threatening diagnosis, if I let cancer steal my joy… then I’ve died while I’m still alive! And I didn’t want to die while I was still alive. If I lost my happiness mojo, that’s exactly what would  have happened. I’m allowed to be happy! I’m allowed to laugh. I’m  still alive! And while I’m still alive, I’m going to be alive! I came back to this thought a lot.  It always helped me when fear gripped my innards and twisted me inside out. I won’t let cancer steal my joy. 

But you say, Princess Diane Von Brainisfried, how can I be happy when  no-one can give me a guarantee that I’m safe, that I’ll be cured? That’s what I was thinking, until it dawned on me that in asking the universe (and the doctors) for a guarantee that I would live, I was asking for something that didn’t exist…for anyone! No-one has a lockdown on tomorrow.  The proverbial car crashing, the errant branch falling, the glamorous elephant stampeding, there are a thousand ways to check out unexpectedly. Guarantees are for April Fools.  

It dawned on me that even with my diagnosis, I still have everything everyone else has. I have this moment. Nothing less, nothing more. Wait, I have more! I have a new reality that has seeped into my head and my heart. I understand on a profound level what it means that time is seriously precious, and that I truly must make my moments and my relationships count.

KEY TWO: Give yourself permission to be healthy.  I’ve always been a healthy person. I eat well, exercise, and keep a positive attitude.  So when this cancer thing came along, I didn’t know how to view myself. For me, the paradigm of a cancer patient was someone who is sick.   But by the grace of G-d I didn’t feel sick, I didn’t look sick, and I didn’t want to “be” sick.  My brain was having major cognitive dissonance.  I decided that I was still going to consider myself a healthy person. 

It took some mindful moxie to call myself healthy, especially after I started chemo.  My “monkey mind” was taunting me, asking me how could I possibly consider myself healthy, when I had more ports than a horny sailor, one to deliver the Red Devil and two for expanders.  How could I call myself healthy when my bald head made me a dead ringer for Elmer Fudd, and my once voluptuous chest had been reduced to a short stack.   I’ll tell you how I called myself healthy; I gave myself permission!  

The first step was to recognize that other than cancer, I was healthy.  I was “otherwise” healthy.  This line of thinking gave me a laugh. It reminded me of that old riff, “Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?”  Truth is, other than cancer, I am healthy.  When I get a cold, I don’t see myself as a sick person, I see myself as a healthy person with a cold. When I had IBS in college, every emergency trip to the loo didn’t make me think of myself as a sick person. I saw myself as a healthy person who had these inconvenient incidents.  I decided to view cancer the same way. Thus, I learned not to say that I have breast cancer. Instead, I say that I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer.   Don’t claim it. Don’t own it.   

KEY THREE: Give yourself permission to see this as an adventure! The philosopher Goethe famously stated, “The journey of discovery is not going to new places, but seeing with new eyes.”   A yoga teacher of mine once said, “It’s not what’s happening to you that’s important, it’s what you tell yourself is happening.”  Positive psychologists talk about reframing.  I searched my mind to find a way to look at the situation with new eyes and to reframe what was happening to me in a positive way. I decided to look at it as an adventure!

An adventure carries with it the possibility of excitement! What was I going to find out about myself on this new journey?  What wonderful people would I meet? What new experiences would I encounter? Seeing my circumstances as an adventure and not a curse immediately shifted me from a victim to a victor mentality.  It changed my energy.  Hopeful! Expectant! It was a chance to up my learning curve and go up the next rung of my evolutionary path, which, by the way, I’m farther along than most people, having never received my wisdom teeth. But I do have an L-6, which is kind of akin to a tail. So that’s a wash.

By seeing my breast cancer diagnosis as an adventure, I was borrowing a page from Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning by finding meaning and purpose in the ordeal.  I was also ripping a page from Pollyanna’s playbook and doing her “Glad Game.” I was in good company with these two.

I now look upon breast cancer as a beautiful gift bequeathed to me from the universe. Through it, I’ve been graced with the opportunity to help others find a positive and optimistic way of adjusting and coping with breast cancer.  I’ve had the gift of modeling for my kids that life can hand you a curve ball and you don’t have to fall to pieces. I’ve felt the love and caring of family and friends.  I’ve learned, like the line in the beautiful poem Alicante  by Jacques Prevert, “the present of the present.”  I’ve learned to savor moments deeply. I’ve learned the sustaining nature of passionate dreams and goals. I’ve learned the depth and breadth of my resilience, and the understanding that no matter what comes at me in the future, I’m gonna deal. And so will you! Cause that’s just how the girls in our club roll!

To our health!  To life! To the gift!                                                 XOXOXO,

Princess Diane Von Brainisfried

If you don’t take it on the chin, you’ll get it up the arse.                                       – Princess Diane Von Brainisfried

 

 

Hold your tongue-keep your friendships

Dear Royal Friends,     

Our friendships account for a big chunk our happiness currency.

We need to protect them from the damage we can do in a knee-jerk reaction to some perceived or real infraction.

Were you ever just about to indulge in some delightfully decadent dessert, when an inner voice whispered, “Ten minutes on the lips, ten years on the hips?”  Wouldn’t it be fabulous if we had a similar sound “bite” that would give us pause before we lashed out at a friend?  

Here’s one of my favorite sayings that packs more “pause” than a five-legged cat. It goes:  “Least said, soonest mended.”

I understand that sometimes we’re faced with a “straw that broke the camel’s back” moment and we’re mad at a whole bunch of stuff,  and we just want to blow.

Here’s the problem. The salvo might feel good for a moment, but…ten minutes on the lips, ten years on the hips.

“Least said soonest mended.” Try it next time you’re on the brink of ripping your friend a new one. Give yourself the grace of stepping back. Remember what’s at stake. It’s not  just the friendship; it’s also your happiness. 

You can always eat dessert later.

XOXOXO,

PRINCESS DIANE VON BRAINISFRIED

“LIVE YOUR ROYALLY HAPPY LIFE!™”

 

 

The Most French Girl Thing About French Girls

Dear Royal Friends,                                                                                              

I love being a bit like a French Girl. It gives a princess a certain air, a certain mystery, a certain feminine style with a powerful stance.  

There’s one aspect of being a bit like a French Girl that I’d like to suggest you adopt, because when I do it (and I do it every morning and throughout the day) it has a very uplifting effect on my spirits.  Can you guess what it is?  I’ll give you a hint: It’s one of The Most French Things about a French Girl.

When we think about what is The Most French Thing about French Girls, we might conjure up some cliche images like a jaunty girl in a beret, smiling as she pedals a bicycle with her long crusty baguette and a small round cheese wheel jostling around in the bicyle’s front basket along with a bottle of red. Perhaps she’s wearing a blue and white horizontally striped sweater. Or a striped something.  Possibly she’s sporting chin length fashionable hair.  Always fashionable hair.  But something would be missing from that scene.  What’s something you will never see on a French girl…but bet your bottom Euro, she’s always wearing ( besides pretty, sexy and pretty sexy undies?) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…..perfume! 

To illustrate how obsessed  French Girls are with their perfume, I recently went to a wedding in New York.  Seated next to me was a quasi-relative French Girl traveling from Paris who exuded a luxurious fragrant presence.  Yes, she had chin length hair. I asked her what fragrance she was wearing.  I figured she’s just gonna tell me, but no, she proceeds to Show & Tell me in the most astoundingly French Girl way.  

She opened her teeny weenie purse that was in the shape of a small orange.  More of a pouch than a purse, really. This purse looked large enough to hold maybe a driver’s license, a piece of bubble gum, and either a pencil stub or a tampon, but not both.   She  proceeded to pull out of this walnut of a thing, a full-sized bottle of Pamplelune by Guerlain. Not a sample, not a travel size, but a big, full size bottle.  I couldn’t have been more surprised  had she produced a full-sized rabbit. Wearing a beret. And a blue and white striped sweater.

Think about it. Perfume must have been so important to my relative, that she handicapped herself with a full, heavy bottle of the stuff, thereby displacing other important cargo…like say…her wallet and her phone!  But to a French Girl, it made perfect “sense.”  She’s French. I remembered how  a few years before the wedding this quasi relative  was visiting for another occasion. As she passed by the stairs in the house we were visiting, I breathed the trail of a beautiful scent just as deliciously divine as the one she wore at the wedding.  I also asked then what she was wearing. It was Prada’s Infusion d’Iris.   Her nose knows what she wears, and she takes shhhpritzing seriously. 

Another truly elegant and stylish French Girl friend of mine who, when I first met her,  always smelled like Caleche by Hermes. Years later she always smelled like 24 Faubourg by Hermes. She never didn’t smell great, just like my French relative.  

How do these French Girls do it? Waft around in their perfume clouds?

The secret is: “spray well and often.”  Have perfume will carry. None of this spray to last to the end of the day. If you want to be French-Girl worthy, you gotta cultivate Fragrance Vigilance. Perfume Priority. Spray and Stay.

So what’s on my dressing table? I have a number of perfumes that I wear from time to time, but right now I have three go-to’s that I wear most often to “Channel” my inner French Girl.   Chanel No 5 Eau Premier;  Hermes un Jardin en Mediterranee; and  Hypnotic Poison by Christian Dior. 

Learn to channel your inner French Girl to start your day sweetly. Find a perfume that you love, that makes you happy, that uplifts your spirits, then spray well and often.  That way, wherever you go, there you smell. 

QUESTION: WHAT’S ONE THING YOU DO THAT CHANNELS YOUR INNER FRENCH GIRL? I’D LOVE TO KNOW! PLEASE TELL US BELOW!

XOXOXOXX,

Princess Diane Von Brainisfried

“LIVE YOUR ROYALLY HAPPY LIFE!™”

 

 

 

 

 

Breast Cancer-Tip For Finding A Positive Attitude

Dear Royal Friends,

Life isn’t always a bed of roses, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still have a sweet-smelling garden!  I’m so excited to reveal something to you today….

something very personal,  because if I can help just one of my royal friends face a difficult challenge like breast cancer with greater positivity, then I’ll be happier than a pig in a kosher kitchen. CLICK HERE FOR SHORT VIDEO where I bequeath to you a game-changer of a princess-worthy tip on how to face difficult challenges like breast cancer with a positive attitude.   Cause face it. In life’s garden, nobody escapes the weeds. It’s up to us to learn how to deal with them. 

If you don’t want to miss more on this and other info about living your royally happy life, subscribe above! 

Please SHARE and LIKE if you liked!

XOXOXO, 

Princess Diane Von Brainisfried

“LIVE YOUR ROYALLY HAPPY LIFE!™”

 

 

 

https://youtu.be/4AY0YEY1fBk

One princess’s pudding is another’s poison

Dear Royal Friends~

You’ve undoubtedly heard the expression,  “one man’s poison is another man’s pudding.”  

"You don't like puddin'? Then more for me!"

“You don’t like puddin’? Then more for me!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For example, staying on a “roll” with the food theme, I am not a big fan of pig roasts.  It pains me to see these sad-eyed  little critters crammed all whole and real on a serving platter, their last Wil(bur) and testament being a parsley-plattered  laurel, a sad irony considering it’s certainly not the pig’s victory.  And, good lord, what they do to that poor apple!

Pig roasts, as you might have guessed, are my poison. But some princesses love pig roasts. To them,  it’s their pudding.

And so I was reminded of this pudding/poison axiom as I was strolling through New York City’s Central Park just the other day, when  grey, threatening skies loomed sooner than predicted.  The clouds were not supposed to open up into wetness until evening. But you know what they say, “Man plans, G-d laughs”  and the skies had another idea.  Almost without warning, we in the park got dumped on by a torrent that soon soaked our clothes and packages, and made our sneakers and jellies squeak.  

Many scurried and many scowled, and most did both, harassed by this lapse in weatherman judgement.   I ran under the nearest broad-limbed tree, but the droplets were like heat seeking missiles that found their way through the feathery leaves.   I spied  a table umbrella at a vacant table by a little park cafe and made a bee-line for better cover.

As I stood waiting out the downpour,  feeling slightly grumbly,  I saw a sight that shifted my perception of the unexpected storm.  

You see, running down the hill outside the little park cafe was a young man pushing a baby carriage  in the pouring rain.  He was shouting  “wheeeeeee” “wheeeeee” at the top of his lungs,  and his rain-streaked face sported a smile so brilliant, it was a near match for the absent sun.   Inside the carriage was a golden-haired angel, maybe two or three years old, soaked curls matted against her head,  head tilted up to the sky to receive this gift, giggling and laughing in wild abandon.  Both of her chubby little  arms were outstretched high into the air in order to grasp the raindrops as they whizzed by her in the carriage.

  I will never forget the expression on that little girl’s face. If joy had a face, she was IT.

In that moment I realized that this downpour, this “poison” that was responsible for so many scowls on so many faces, was quintessential pudding to this little girl!  Forget pudding; this was an Eiffel tower-sized  ice cream sundae with rainbow shhhprinkels!  This was  a giant stuffed teddy bear won at a Six Flags roulette wheel.  This was an “I bought you a puppy” even though mommy said “no.”

Suddenly, at the sight of this little cherub’s amazingly happy face, I broke into a Cheshire Cat grin. Her exuberant squeals of delight tickled me princess pink, and what was a moment ago my poison, became instantly my pudding. (Not to be confused with instant pudding.) Right then and there I made a vow  to remember the expression on that little girl’s face forever. To remember the sound of her unfettered and spontaneous glee.  To remember her father’s indulgently playful “wheeeeeee” “wheeeee” all the way home. I shall use these as my shield against the onslaughts of daily little poisons.

And when they assault me, and they will, I will  remember this little girl and her father, and then this little princess will go “wheeee” “wheeee” all the way home to the palace. 

TTFN, P! (Ta Ta For Now, Princess)  

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PRINCESS DIANE VON BRAINISFRIED

“Live Your Royally Happy Life!™”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unveiling my princess food truck prototype!

Dear Princess,

I recently hopped into the city for some business meetings in my kingdom.  Lunchtime came around and my colleagues and I spilled outside to grab some grub.   My mind was on some salad or such in a little French bistro (of course) around the corner, when my eye caught sight of a gaggle of fabulous food trucks lined up along the street, gleaming in the midday sun. One after the other, these proud, square squatters parked in the fab food lane.  From taco and tortillas, to pitas and their pockets, to brews and stews, the “stand up” chefs in their upscale chuck wagons were energetically serving an exciting diversity of delectables to eager consumers waiting in long ques. Hmmmm….is that a fajita sizzling, or the smell of a successfully sizzling enterprise?!

It got me to thinkin’ — wouldn’t it be fun to add a princess food truck empire to my many indulgent projects? Yeppers it t’wood.  But what would a princess food truck even look like?

I thought up some ideas and consulted my experts, then combed the world looking for a prototype so I could retrofit it to my exact specs!  Here it is!  Whaddaya think?

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I’m so excited, because I got a two thumbs up from  the great chef “Gourd-on” Ramsey. 

What would your princess food truck look like?

Bisous et tralala,

XOXOXOXOX PRINCESS DIANE VON BRAINISFRIED

 

 

 

Even now, do you secretly worry about being cool?

Hi Royal Friends,

Do you secretly worry about being cool? You might assume that only teens get swept up into this kind of pressure. Not necessarily.

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Just as teens experience pressure to become  part of the “in crowd,” or to buy the  “right” purse, or perhaps cringe when mom picks them up from school in an old clunker, anxiety about being cool can shadow us into adulthood like a grease stain on a white blouse.   But it doesn’t have to be that way.

 If we learn to focus on our unique royal essence and our own  precious worth, if we understand how each of us already makes a difference in the world for the better and build on that, we begin to realize how traditional coolness is superfluous.  It’s based on our perceptions of what other people think is cool.  The common cool.  The common cool is just that: common.  But we are not common. We are princesses.  And princesses have a duty to make a difference in the world for the better. That’s our cool factor.

As soon as we focus on what we can  contribute to the world, either through an enthusiastic passion (a hobby, our work, a project) and/or through our everyday doings ( a smile, a good word, a kind deed), our anxieties about becoming cool melt away. Because it just won’t be relevant anymore to our self worth.

Check out  a post here, by Maggie di Pasquale, a wonderfully smart young woman who mentors teens and tweens who addressed this issue on her blog.  Her marvelous advice is just as sage for grown ups. 

In Maggie’s words, “Stop putting pressure on yourself to be cool and start figuring out who you are.”  I can’t agree with her more.  

Go out there and live, laugh, love your royally happy life!

XOXOXOX

PRINCESS DIANE VON BRAINISFRIED

 

9 NECESSITIES FOR A ROYAL PRINCESS LIFE – HOT NEW LIST!

Dear Royal Friends, 

If you’re a newbie princess like I am, it’s a little hard to get up to snuff.  I’ve had to do a lot of catching up in a short time, not only to fulfill my royal duties, but also to learn to live life the way a royal princess oughta. One of my self-appointed duties is to help other newbie princesses learn the (purple velvet) ropes of princess life.  In order to do that, I make lists of this stuff. 

Here’s my latest list. It’s not organized in any particular order, because neither is my brain. 

1. A comprehensive guide to the most elegant and princess-worthy public pit stops in your kingdom — in case you need that throne away from home on your royal tours.

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The above is the glamorous entrance to New York City’s Waldorf Astoria’s ladies’ inner sanctum on the main floor.   

2. An auditorium-sized walk-in closet for your tiara collection.

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Make sure it has theater-quality lighting.   

3. A signature perfume created by a famous “nose” just for you, with the perfect blend of evocative notes to reflect your sweetness and your refinement, as well as your bold essence. Make sure there’s not even a hint of mousiness. 

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4. An hat that on a non-royal would look absolutely ridiculous…

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 …but on a royal just looks kinda ridiculous. 

5. A family “CREST” befitting your present royal status.

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Absolutely essential for your front doormat, and by jove it looks swell on cocktail napkins.  

6. A Frenchie Locator App for your phone.

filippo-991912_1920Helpful to locate these cute little royal princess mascots anytime, anywhere, so you can pet them. 

7. Proper rain boots for those more formal occasions. 

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 Sloshing about in muddy puddles with $2,000 pink peau de soi shoes on your tootsies is a total buzz kill. Trust me.

8. A crash course dedicated to international royal-speak.  

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A princess needs to be able to purr in a multitude of languages such phrases as, “I love your tie. Is that Hermes?”  Or, “My what an adorable infant. Do you do Baby Einstein?”  Or in the hotter realms, “Yikes! Are those mosquitoes or birds?”  It’s a “tall” order, but you’ll be glad you did.

9.  Claim a signature expensive French wine as your favorite and make sure to order it frequently. So when the waiter (inevitably) brings you freebies, he won’t “monkey around” with the cheap stuff. And you won’t have to water the nearest plant!

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What’s on your princess necessity list?  I’d love your comments!

TTFN,P!  (Ta ta for now, princess!)

XOXOXOXOX PRINCESS DIANE VON BRAINISFRIED

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This Valentine’s Day-Do You Know Who Your Secret Valentines Are?

Dear Royal Friends,      

Valentine’s Day is this Sunday.  We can be sure that fat & furry stuffed Steiffs, bon mot candied hearts, and Godzilla-sized Godivas will be buzzing around town like blue-arsed flies. (A distant cousin of Shooflies, but never caught dead in a pie.) It got me to thinkin’ of a time way back, when we kiddies exchanged  Valentine’s Day cards in class. There was always some mystery clowns who sent me their Valentine signed “Guess Who.” 

valentine-1171220_1280That never much bothered me.  I figured if my Secret Valentines were too shy to fess up, it never hurt to have their good vibes thrown in my direction.

When I think about it now,  I realize that each of us has legions of Secret Valentines who exist in our lives that won’t ever declare themselves,  yet send us silently palpable goodwill.  These Secret Valentines are the good and kind people in our lives who help us and watch over us in unobtrusive ways, who fashion safety nets of encouragement when we need steadfastness,  who send signs and symbols from the heavens at opportune times.  These folks include sisters and brothers, parents and children, friends, relatives, teachers, nurses and doctors. It includes an administrator who helps you fill out a form, a cafeteria worker who gives you extra chips with your hoagie, a teen who lets you use his phone on a train when you forgot yours…even some extra licks from a beloved pet when you need a hug. 

This Valentine’s Day, even if you don’t get a pony pant load of cards or certifiably cheesy romantic stuff, please know there are  minions of silent “Guess Who’s” circling you with their warm thoughts and well wishes, their soothing energies and goodwill, their heavenly prayers… their secret, sacred smiles.  

 Please know too, that I am grateful to all my “Guess Who” Valentine’s whom I may never personallyknow.  Your generous spirit and kind thoughts are bright lights in my kingdom.  I can honestly feel them. I hope I can be a light in yours.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!!

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Princess Guess Who

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHAT MAKES A GOOD LIFE? 75 YEAR CONTINUOUS HARVARD STUDY’S GOT THE ANSWER

Dear Royal Friends, 

If you had a magic wand and could look into the future to see if you would lead a happy life, wouldn’t that be cool? For some of us, heckles freckles yeah. For others of us, not so much. Well what if we could have the next best thing. Or, scratch that, a better thing. What if we had the wisdom under our wings to make the changes NOW that we need to make, that could give us a better shot at a happy life.  

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Well wouldn’t you know it – this princess has your back.  I’ve linked to an article that is written by the fourth director of a Harvard study that followed the lives of a group of men continuously for 75 years.  And the study continues!  Thankfully the study answers questions that really mean something, that can change your life.  One such question reveals the secret of a happy life. The secret comes not in what these men say, but what their lives look like. Who dies, who doesn’t, and why.  Who stays mentally strong, who doesn’t.  Because a person could say he loves arsenic, and that arsenic is the secret to a happy life, but guess what?  His lips say yes yes, but there’s no no in his eyes.

Here’s a hint: the secret to a happy life is not fame, and it’s not fortune.

Do yourself a favor and read the article.  Then think about where you might be able to recalibrate your focus so you can start to build yourself a life that’s not made of sand castles.  You can read the article here. http://www.dailygood.org/story/1196/what-makes-a-good-life-robert-waldinger/

Bisous et tra la la,hearts-673345_640 pixabay

 

PRINCESS DIANE VON BRAINISFRIED

“LIVE YOUR ROYALLY HAPPY LIFE!™”

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