Cheerleaders are more fun than critics.

If I refused to write, or to share my writing, as a result of my inner critic telling me my writing is mediocre at best, I'd write very little and would certainly never share a thing. That's to say, my inner critic — like yours I'm sure — is relentless and brutal and positively genius at coming up with reasons why I'm terribly uncreative with not much good to say and virtually no talent for saying it. Conversely, I have only praise to heap on my inner critic — it's doing an exceptional job of being a judgmental asshole.

It's an unfortunate reality that our minds tend to be more adept at knocking us down than building us up. Self-abuse is simply a more natural response for most of us. That sucks, sure, but only as much as we let it. All that means is we have to work harder on the "building up" response. We have to be our own excited cheerleaders, so loud in our exaltations that we drown out the nagging critics who will never be happy with anything we do.

The critic isn't all bad, by the way. It's one of fear's operatives, which means along with making us suffer, it's really trying to keep us from suffering: from being judged, being ridiculed, being ostracized. The thing is, our fears — and our critics — don't give us enough credit. They think we'll collapse under the weight of judgment, or give up after a failure or three. Why would we do that? Right, we wouldn't.

There's no good reason to let our fear dictate how we share our creativity — or ourselves — with the world.

We have to become more aware when we're focused on how worthless we are and reject that notion because it's not true. Follow that rejection with some reasons why we're worthy and lovable and just the right person to express whatever it is we want — no, need — to express. If you're like me, there are countless opportunities throughout the day to interrupt the critic and announce the cheerleader. Go you! It just takes doing so. It takes remembering that fear's job is to prevent us from taking risks, expanding our comfort zone, and generally doing much of anything that stands to transform our lives for real.

And our job is to feel the fear and DO IT ANYWAY. We will survive the doing. We will survive the judgment. We will survive whatever reality comes to pass. And we will be so much stronger and more resilient for it. That's just how it goes.

Fear's not going anywhere. The critic's not going anywhere. We can't wait for them to leave before taking action, because they'll never leave and then we'll never take action.

I'm afraid (or insecure) a good percentage of the time, especially where my creativity is concerned. I just don't care as much about the fear anymore. I don't give it the voice it used to have. It gets a say without getting it's way (I think I just stole that line from someone but not sure who).

Look, life is hard enough without silencing ourselves, our creativity, our freedom. Indeed, one of the surest ways I've found to create a more fulfilling, less miserable existence is to put myself out there — my love, my fears, my heart, my art — knowing that the act of doing so invites possibilities and connections that my inner critic will always be too afraid to see.

Now is the time. It's all we've ever got.

In love and creativity and community...Go team!

Father's Day.

I wish I felt different on Father's Day.

I wish I longed for the close relationship I had with my dad until he died, but our relationship wasn't close — it was nonexistent. I wish I'd wanted to model much of my life on his example, but his actions, more often than not, emphasized what not to do rather than what to do. I wish I could feel in my heart the love I was certain he must have felt for me, but all I feel, and all I've ever felt, is an unknowing — a deep uncertainty about whether he cared for me much at all. I wish I missed him more than anything, but I barely knew him, and much of what I did know about him I don't miss at all.

I wish I felt different.

All I feel is longing, not for the relationship we had but for the one we didn't. Longing for the father he never figured out how to be, and for the son he never gave me a chance to be. Longing for a dad, but not for my dad.

I know I'm not alone.

There are many of you out there for whom today is more painful than celebratory. Each with your own reasons. Each with your own wounds. Know that you're not alone, either.

When I think about the more painful relationships in my life — the one with my dad topping the list — I also consider the gifts that have come from them. It's no joy for anyone to feel unloved, as I felt when my dad was alive, but I am more empathetic and more compassionate because of it. Because I know what it's like to feel unseen, I do my best to make others feel seen, and worthy, and loved. This is a gift.

I believe my dad was a good man. He was also a terrible father — at least to me. I've found much peace over the years reminding myself that he was just a human being, like me, doing his best to navigate a crazy world. He made a lot of bad decisions, but he wasn't a bad person. This truth does help me feel better about him, but it doesn't take away my longing for a loving, engaged, reliable father. I wish I were missing him today, instead of missing what could have been.

To all of you loving, engaged and reliable fathers out there, Happy Father's Day, and please keep doing what you're doing. You're making a profound difference.

To all of you shitty fathers out there, Happy Father's Day, and please start showing up for your family differently. It's not too late to serve up the love they deserve.

To everyone feeling this day today — whether happy or sad or grateful or wistful — I wish you nothing but peace and so much love. Always.


I just ate a pint of ice-cream in one sitting. Something I've done many times before. I didn't sit down to eat the whole pint (I never do), but early in I could tell that I wasn't going to stop until it was all gone. In part because it was really good, but mostly because I'm headlong into my sugar addiction right now and wanted to escape into endless spoonfuls of sugary creamy decadence.

So I sat there and listened to my mind chatter, bite by bite. It went something like this —

"Stop eating this ice-cream. This is not healthy. You're addicted.

Enjoy the ice-cream. You love the taste. Savor the moment.

You always talk about self-care and you are so not taking care of yourself right now.

Don't worry, it's not a big deal. Yes, you're out of control with sugar these days, but you'll find your way back to balance. Relax and enjoy the ice-cream.

You don't have to finish the whole pint. Really, put it down. You're gonna feel like shit. You can make a different choice, right now.

Just finish the pint so it won't be in the house anymore, and you can go all day tomorrow without eating any ice-cream."

Blah, blah, blah. It went on and on and on until the pint was empty and there was nothing left to say.

Sometimes I'm amazed, just amazed by how noisy my mind can be. How I can talk myself into doing something and simultaneously condemn myself for doing it. I wish it only happened with ice-cream, but it happens all the time — with exercise (as in not exercising), with writing (as in not writing), with TV binges, with so very many aspects of my life really.

So I remind myself: you're only human, and it's okay. It's true that downing a pint of ice-cream isn't the best reflection of self-care, but neither is beating myself up for downing a pint of ice-cream. In fact, I've so often savored ice-cream but can't remember even once savoring my own self-abuse. That never tastes good.

We're only human. We sometimes eat pints of ice-cream or __________ (fill in the blank). It's okay. We're still worthy. We're still lovable. We're still totally enough.

I know I'm all those things right now. Along with being super full and a little gassy.

Be gentle with yourselves.


I'm done with walls. I'd rather feel.

I struggle with this reality often. I used to be pretty good at not feeling, at closing myself off to the ugliness and pain that saturates our planet. I walled myself up well enough to keep from feeling much at all. But that was a long time ago. Now, sometimes, it's like I feel everything, and I would give anything in those moments to feel nothing at all.

Sometimes, it's all too much. 

Too heavy. 

Too violent. 

Too malicious. 

Too disgusting.

Too exhausting.

Human beings have mastered being inhumane. And for what? For nothing. Nothing important, anyway. Nothing righteous and real. Nothing that has anything to do with love.

Sometimes, I want my walls back. All of them and more. Whatever it takes to keep out every bit of darkness and all the wretched noise.

Of course, the walls keep out the magic, too. They block out the light as definitively as they block out the darkness. They silence the laughter along with the cries.

So I choose to stay open, and I choose to feel. I understand the truth of humanity—that we are as ugly as we are beautiful, as violent as we are peaceful, as wise as we are ignorant.

I understand the lies of humanity, too—that some are greater than others, that salvation is for a select few, that love comes with conditions. That any of us has any clue what's really going on here.

But here we are, human beings on planet earth, doing our best to make sense of this place, and of ourselves. And though our best is a far cry from anything good sometimes, it's where we are, and it's what we have to give.

So I'll keep giving some version of my best, in an effort to bring more peace and love to our world, and to create more equity among us, and to walk the path of empathy and compassion, and to make a habit of being kind. These actions—commitments—not only serve the greater good of everyone and everything, they help me make it through the darker moments, when I'm overwhelmed by the ugliness of us human beings, and by the misery I sometimes feel in myself.

I'm done with walls. I'd rather feel. As much darkness as there is in our world, and as vile as human beings can be, there's no denying the magnitude of our light. Pure radiance. Being able to see and feel the beauty of humanity makes feeling everything else tolerable, even okay. It gets me to the other side of the struggle every single time.

I will forever be in awe of who we can be when we allow ourselves to be love, when we sink into the beautiful humaneness of our humanity. That feeling will never be exhausting.

Where is the room for happiness in this kind of world?

I woke up this morning feeling content, for a moment, before my mind suggested it's entirely inappropriate to feel content—not when terrorists are killing people everyday somewhere, not when children are being sold and used as property, not when Donald Trump might become our president, not when our world is figuratively and literally (according to the temperature reports) burning up.

Where is the room for happiness in this kind of world?

About fifteen years ago, my partner (at the time) and I moved from NYC to LA. He'd sold his beautiful loft apartment in the city and made a chunk of money from doing so. When we arrived in LA, one of the first things we did was go car shopping. He bought both of us brand new BMWs, in cash. Mine was a black convertible with a dark tan interior. It was beautiful, unlike any car I'd ever owned.

In the next couple of days, along with the new car, my partner paid off my credit card debt, which was the equivalent of buying another BMW. I had used my credit cards freely in those days. Well, not freely. There was a price. I'd dug myself into a hole of debt and struggled just to make the interest payment every month.

So here I was, within a few days, with a brand new car and zero debt. Just like that. As though I'd rubbed a magic lamp and put a genie to work. No car payment! Zero debt! An amazing partner! These gifts were huge. I was the luckiest guy in the world.

But the thing I remember most about that week is how unhappy I felt during it. Not because of the gifts, but in spite of them. I had been feeling down during that time, sad and lost, without a connection to purpose. And the gifts, which were so generous, and for which I was entirely grateful, made absolutely no difference to my state of being. They played no role in my happiness, or lack thereof. How could they? My happiness can only be and has always ever been within me, no matter what else is happening on the outside.

We know this to be true, that "happiness is an inside job" and "money can't buy happiness" and "insert your own happiness platitude here." There's a difference, however, between knowing things and understanding them. After being showered with gifts and still feeling unhappy and lost, I understood something about happiness that I'd always known: it's not to be found in stuff or circumstances. You can have very little in the way of material things and still feel deeply content, just as you can have a life of riches and be deeply miserable. You can be surrounded by love, yet lonely and unhappy, or spend your days alone and content with peace in your heart.

Everything is possible where happiness is concerned, and none of it lives outside of ourselves.

When I woke up this morning, feeling content, and then feeling uneasy about being content in our too-dark world, I thought of my BMW and my paid-off credit card debt. I remembered one lesson I learned so clearly that week: Your happiness and peace of mind are not a given, no matter the circumstances.

To that, I would add: Your unhappiness and instability are also not a given, no matter the circumstances.

I'm afraid of plenty in our world. Heartbroken over much more. Yet I know it's possible, still, to be at peace, even to be content, at least some of the time. Not because the world suddenly becomes safe and united, or that I suddenly become unafraid, but because I know the peace that lives within me, at my core, is a peace that can never be touched by anything going on in our world, or in my head. That peace is not something I've developed or earned. It's always been there, and will always be there. A birthright. It's beyond our world, beyond my fears. It's my home, whenever I want to visit. Just as your inner peace is your home, too.

Our peace and happiness ultimately depends on nothing but our willingness to be present within them, and to understand that the world around us will always be crazy and violent and overwhelming and beautiful and exciting and boring and united and divided and whatever else it is, and we can still be healthy and okay within it all—not because of the outside world, but in spite of it.

Being peaceful is not the same thing as being silent. There are too many injustices in our world, too many marginalized populations, too much pain to be silent anymore. What in our world is breaking your heart right now? Are you making noise about it? Are you acting on its behalf? My answer to myself: not enough. There's already too much noise for darkness. The light needs our voices, too. The light needs our passion. Our brothers and sisters—and children—suffering all over the world need our energy, our action and our love. Who can focus on peace and happiness when you're living in constant fear of violence or death or starvation each day?

Those of us able to browse through our social media accounts without worrying about the next bomb or our next meal are lucky indeed. Beyond lucky.

That doesn't mean we have to be miserable because so much misery exists, or that we have to feel guilty in those moments when we're actually content. True joy can't hurt our world. It can only help it. Any peace we bring to the change we're trying to create only adds more peace to the planet. Peace is a part of us. Just like love. We can ignore it, or we can choose it.

Where is the room for happiness in this kind of world?

It is within us, as it's always been and will always be. It's not likely to be inspired by more stuff, or a bigger social media circle, or endless fun things to do. All of this rarely leads to happiness. Where do I find meaning in my life? How can I be of service to those in need? How can I connect more honestly with others? What do I love to do? I've found these to be good questions that help lead me down the path to peace, and to happiness. A good starting point on the journey home.

In love and solidarity...

And today, we grieve again.

And today, we grieve again, for Dallas, and for our nation. How many times can a heart break? The only solace I take in a tragedy like this is knowing our whole country cries together, that within all of the anger and blame and division, our humanity unites us against these acts, and, together, we grieve.

All I can think to do right now is pray.

I pray for the families and friends of Brent Thompson, as well as the four other officers who were killed in Dallas last night, whose names we still don’t know. I pray for the complete recovery of the seven other officers and two civilians who were injured in the shootings.

I pray for the families and friends of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile.

I pray for the families and friends of those who have died, in America and countries all over the world, due to violence at the hands of their fellow human beings.

I pray that the tragic events we’re experiencing, in our country and worldwide, will ultimately unite, rather than divide us, so they we may come together as one people, one family, one human race.

I pray for deeper peace, in each of us, so that violence and murder will no longer make itself known to the weakness of our minds.

I pray for deeper understanding, in each of us, so that we may disagree with one another without being hurtful and hateful in the way we communicate.

I pray for deeper empathy, in each of us, so that we may recognize our own pain in the pain of others and treat all of our brothers and sisters with compassion and respect.

I pray for the courage and clarity to look within, to examine the ways in which I might be contributing to separation rather than unity, and to realign myself with the intention of kindness, compassion and love.

I pray for all those whose hearts have been hardened and who see violence as an answer, that they will allow love to enter their beings and pull them from the call of violence to the call of peace.

I pray for all of us, who are hurting and afraid and confused, that we may center ourselves in the ever-present light within us and share that light as selflessly as possible.

I pray for our country, and for our planet, that together we create a world that reflects the best in humanity, that together we rise to the understanding that we are beings of love, and that love is our greatest hope for changing our reality, and for healing ourselves.

I love this community. You’re an important part of my life, and a continuous source of happiness, support and inspiration. I pray we never stop loving, ourselves and one another.

If you're moved to do so, please add your own prayer below.

In Love and Solidarity…

Another tragedy for us all.

I've been staring at my computer for over an hour, trying to figure out something to say about Alton Sterling's murder. It's not the first video to show police using inexcusable force and ultimately murdering a black man, but those gunshots—at point blank range—make this stand out, somehow. Of course, it doesn't stand out. It's happening all the time. And people wonder why our black brothers and sisters feel angry, afraid and marginalized, in their cars, on their streets, in their own country.

Police brutality—especially against people of color—is a serious, deadly problem. Is that really up for debate, still? How many statistics, how many videos do we all need to see before we acknowledge something that exists? It should be enough that the entire black community has been telling us for years what's going on. We shouldn't need videos, but now we have them, so let's learn from them.

I don't know anything about anything when it comes to policing the streets, but I know I watched Alton Sterling get murdered in that video, by two police officers. I know there are countless decent police officers in our country, and I wish more of them would stand up and speak out against the brutality that we're seeing so often, and is happening so much more often than we even see. Every profession has those who abuse their power and do a disservice to the profession on the whole. It is not an attack on all police to call out certain officers who have proven themselves to be racist or excessively violent. It’s the only decent thing to do. Another man is dead for no reason, well, other than he was a black man, which is reason enough, too often.

And I don't care about Alton Sterling's record before his death. His past had nothing to do with him being killed, nor did it warrant his execution. All efforts to make him look somehow deserving of his fate only make the system—media included—look desperate and heartless. His death is a tragedy, for us all.

For those who still resist the Black Lives Matter call, watch the video of Alton Sterling being killed. Black Lives Matter activists have never been suggesting that their lives matter more than anyone else's, only that their lives matter as much as everyone else's. And in America, they still don't, not really, not yet. Another tragedy for us all.

I pray this heartbreaking video and gruesome crime generates a newfound awareness and a deeper call to action in all of us to continue to press for equality among all people in our country, not just in the rights we have, but in the way we're treated.

To the African-American community, for whom this tragedy affects most profoundly, and especially to the family of Alton Sterling, I am with you, in grief, in love, and in solidarity.

From writer to love-spreader.

My Facebook page used to say: Scott Stabile, Writer.

It didn't feel accurate. I like to write, sure. But I'm not, and have never been, a writer who couldn't imagine ever writing again, whose life would be without meaning if I didn't write. I've sort of pretended that was the case at times in my past, because it felt passionate and deep, but that's not really my truth.

I wanted that to be my truth. I wanted writing to be more of a passion than it is. My heart's number one calling. I so envied those writers who lived to write, who needed to write to feel whole. I envied anyone who had found something they lived to do (but especially the artists, especially the writers). I used to feel less than because I hadn't.

Of course there is no greater than or less than as far as our passions are concerned, or even as far as connecting to any passion at all. We are who we are. We do what we do.

So I changed the title of my FB page recently, from Writer to Public Figure. Public Figure is the broadest of the choices FB gives, though it felt a little too fancy at first. Look at me, I'm a public figure. A figure of the public. What does that mean anyway? Anything I want it to, apparently, which is why I like it.

The whole Writer/Public Figure thing got me thinking about labels, the ones others give us and the ones we give ourselves. It got me thinking about how restrictive labels are, as well as often being completely untrue.

How have you restricted yourself by the labels others have given you? How are you restricting yourself right now by the labels you're giving yourself? Are they even true? Isn't there so much more to you than all of these labels?

Clinging to the identity of writer helped me feel like I was someone, like I had something tangible to offer, a response to the question "What do you do?"

But the writing is secondary. It's an avenue for doing the thing I've come to discover I'm really here to do: SPREAD LOVE. That's it (at least right now). It's funny (crazy) to me that I spent so much of my adult life not seeing that as something tangible. Of course, Love-spreader gets funny looks as a response to "What do you do?"

I used to ask myself the questions "Who Am I?" and "What's my purpose?" Always in search of my destiny...which is a totally pointless, paralyzing search, by the way. Aren't we continuously living our destiny or it wouldn't be happening at all? I got to the point where I finally said destiny schmestiny: just love, and you'll be fine.

Now I ask myself questions like these:

What do I love to do?
Where do I love to put my energy?
What things bring me joy?
How can I bring joy to others?
What creative avenues would I love to explore?
What am I curious about?

The answers to these questions lead us places unbounded by the labels we've gotten or given to ourselves. If we follow our answers with action, and exploration, we're certain to find we are many different and wonderful things.

The more we venture into the unknown, and stretch beyond our comfort zones, and follow the whisperings of our heart, the more wonder we awaken to in our world, and the more wonder we create, as well. It's a serious WIN WIN.

Don't get me wrong, I really like to write. Even love it at times. But it's never been the whole of who I am. It's something I like to do. It's one more way to connect with people through love, and I'm incredibly grateful for that.

What about you? What labels do you feel like letting go of?

There's no better time than the present...

This _____ is not gonna _____ itself.

I'm working on a new book, and each day I come up with a lot of things to distract me from the work...from the writing. So I have this new statement I keep repeating to myself: Your book will not get written unless you write it.

Now that's obvious, of course. The only way the book I'm going to write will get written is if I write it. Duh. But for some reason, this reminder is working for me right now.

And it's the case with EVERYTHING we want to do—it's not gonna get done unless we do it. The yoga's not going to do itself. The new job's not going to find itself. The house is not going to clean itself. The meditation's not gonna om itself.

The _____ is not going to _____ itself. 
(I'm sure you can think of twenty or a thousand things to put in those blanks.)

We have to do the things we want to do, or they'll stay undone. Double Duh.

I want to write this book. I've written some chapters and I like what's coming through me. Yes, I'm terrified it's going to suck, and yes, I'm terrified I'll never finish it (because it sucks), but greater than both those terrors is my desire (at least I think it's greater) to write this book. As we've established, it won't get written otherwise.

The cool thing is, I'm the only one who can write this book. I'm the only one who can do my yoga. It's kind of empowering when you look at it that way. You're the only one who can do your whatever it is you keep putting off doing.

So let's all just start doing these things we want to do, or need to do. Let's quit putting them off, out of fear or insecurity or laziness or House of Cards marathons.

Let's start getting shit done. Then getting more shit done. Because we want to do it. And because we're the only ones who can.

You with me?

Addiction, recovery, forgiveness & love.

I was interviewed for a wonderful podcast called HOME, which looks at the big questions in life through the lens of addiction recovery. My interview is up today.

I didn't realize it when we were recording the other night that today also happens to be the birthday of my brother Ricky, who died 21 years ago from a heroin overdose. He viewed his entire adult life through the lens of addiction, without much recovery.

It's easy to view alcohol and drug addicts, especially, as dirty or less than or somehow flawed. I used to feel that way about my brother. Now I'm clearer than ever there's no difference between any of us. Ricky was never less than me or anyone else. No one is less than or greater than anyone else. Our essence runs much deeper than our habits.

My brother succumbed to his addiction. It killed him before he could figure out a way to stay sober. To everyone out there in recovery, I applaud you. I applaud the brave choice you make, over and over each day, to live in your sobriety. You are all messengers of courage, of resilience, and of hope.

To everyone out there living in their addiction and considering recovery, I'd like to remind you that you have what it takes to become, and stay, sober. You are no less strong, no less courageous, no less anything than anyone else. You are a choice away from your sobriety. That choice is there for you right now. It is always there for you.

We're all working hard to make sense of this challenging task of being human. And we're all numbing and escaping our realities in different ways all the time. With drugs and alcohol, with TV and food, with social media and shopping. Everyone is addicted to something.

Let's continue to work hard at self-love and love of others. At compassion and kindness. At truth and forgiveness. Let's keep making choices that reflect our commitment to our happiness and well-being. Let's stay committed to creating for ourselves the kind of lives we won't feel the need to escape from. The kind of lives that have us naturally making healthier choices for ourselves and the world.

And through it all, let's stay connected to each other and remember that we are brothers and sisters. We are family.

I hope you'll give my interview a listen:

Happy Birthday, Ricky, and BIG LOVE to you all.