Introduction

AWARD WINNER AT THE PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL & HONORABLE MENTION AT THE HOLLYWOOD BOOK FESTIVAL! Who knew a bottle of wine and a Cosmo quiz could change a woman’s life? After finding out that she’s leading a shallow and purposeless existence, according to the credible psychoanalysts at Cosmopolitan Magazine, Holly desperately wants to keep up with the trends and get in touch with her spiritual side. The only thing standing in her way is a boatload of neuroses and an affinity for good wine and junk food. As the housewife of a workaholic and a frazzled mother of three, Holly figures true enlightenment is impossible since relocating to a mountaintop to live in monk-like solitude isn’t exactly practical. When scavenging the Self-Help section at the bookstore, she comes across a workbook titled Discover Your Inner Goddess. Her interest is piqued. Although Holly has a sneaking suspicion her inner goddess ran away screaming a long time ago, she decides to buy the book anyway, despite her inner cynic. Still, all skepticism aside, Holly commits to the exercises in the workbook, finding each of them to be more ridiculously uncomfortable than the one before it. Fear, a colon-cleanse, yoga and REALLY spicy curry, just to name a few, the lessons are hard on her emotions, not to mention her digestive system. By journaling through lessons written by a lofty guru, Holly takes you along the bumpy ride of her newly found spiritual path, stumbling over her own feet every step of the way. But will this workbook help Holly find her inner goddess and grow into the woman she desperately wants to be, or was that Cosmo quiz right all along?

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Excerpt

Stylish but Shallow:

“The upside is you have great taste. The downside is you’re completely shallow.”

Now who doesn’t love a little self-introspection? I’m a normal, self-absorbed woman in America, and I, too, enjoy the enlightenment of a daily horoscope or a three-page-long quiz in a fashion magazine. Like most of my peers, when the results of said horoscope or quiz are positive, I feel pleased by their accuracy and happily apply their wisdom to whichever area of my life is in need of such illumination. However, when the results aren’t so positive, like being told I’m shallow, for example, I write them off as total bullshit. Little did I know one of these seemingly innocuous quizzes had the power to propel a major turning point in my life.

2009 had come to an end and I was looking forward to the promise of a new year. I didn’t have any resolutions or particular goals in mind; frankly, I gave up on those a long time ago. Instead, I had a feeling 2010 was going to be a good year. My husband, Shawn, had just been promoted from selling computer anti-virus software to managing his own sales team—a much more lucrative position. We’d finally moved into our new house in the ‘burbs. And even though my three children of two, five, and twelve fought incessantly and drove me nuts, God love ‘em, they were all growing, developing and in good health. I didn’t have anything to bitch about is my point. I’m not saying I never complained, but I had a hard time finding anyone who would listen.

So, there I was one January night, rinsing the dinner plates and stacking them in the dishwasher. My flannel pajama pants paired nicely with the oversized bear claw slippers my kids had gotten me for Christmas. I was looking drop dead sexy with my hair pulled back in my Mickey Mouse scrunchie. Yes, my getup screamed, “I’m depressed and so is my fashion sense!” But my spirits were actually high. It was after 9:00 p.m., and with the children in bed and my husband away on business (the only downside to managing an outside sales team), I was delighted to have the house all to myself. My Petit Syrah of excellent vintage had been breathing for two hours. At least 99.9% of the germs on my countertops were dying a quick and painless death thanks to my EPA-approved all-purpose cleaner. And as if quiet time, good wine and a lemon-scented kitchen weren’t enough, I had a brand new issue of Cosmopolitan magazine waiting to be perused on the table. I scrubbed quickly, impatient to flip through Cosmo’s glossy pages, knowing it was chock full of fashion advice, intimidating sexual positions and a lengthy personality quiz to ring in the New Year. I poured my wine, taking in the spicy aroma of oak and plum, and dove right into the January issue. I had been looking forward to this moment all day. With my hot pink bejeweled pen poised and ready, I sat down at my kitchen table and flipped to the survey. As usual, I read through each question, enthusiastically circling whatever answers I assumed would provide me with the most favorable results.

When gift shopping for a friend, you:

A. Have a hard time choosing just one. I love my friends and I’m such a giver!

B. Choose something personal. I like my loved ones to know I put thought into it.

C. End up buying more items for me than anyone else. There’s just so much good stuff out there!

Of course my honest answer was C, but A sounded so much better. Did it occur to me that lying on my own personality quiz might be the first indication that something was amiss?

Nah.

I finished answering all thirty-two questions and tallied up my points with fervor, totally expecting to be validated as the kind, deep and genuine woman I thought I was.

Stylish but Shallow.

What the hell?

It wasn’t exactly the profile I had anticipated. I was hoping for “Warm and Grounded” or maybe “Slow and Steady.” I even went back and retook the test with honest answers to see if I could get different results. No dice. “Stylish but Shallow” slapped the self-righteous expression right off my face. I poured myself another glass of wine, doing my best to blow it off as I held back tears. I flipped open the lid to the recycling bin and threw in the $8 magazine. Try as I might to ignore my growing suspicion that the quiz makers at Cosmo might be on to something, it was too late. The seed had been planted. For the next several days, through the hustle and bustle of being a wife and mother of three, the words of that stupid quiz haunted me. Stylish…but shallow. I didn’t want to be shallow. I wanted to be AWESOME. Revered as graceful and loving, a humanitarian who was compassionate to mankind, a friggin SAINT! Even though I might not be particularly deserving of such a title…

“Haunted” turned into “obsessed.” In between shuttling kids back and forth from place to place, avoiding household chores and trying to convince my husband that Cosmo was a credible psychological resource, I found myself scavenging the Self-Help section at my local bookstore on a regular basis, searching for something to fill my newly discovered void. This went on for over four months, and by the end of spring, I had purchased no less than a dozen books aimed toward personal healing. I found myself growing more and more jaded with all the promises that left me wanting more.

“Uncover Who You’re REALLY Mad At!”

“Free Yourself of Low Self-Esteem!”

“Quit Eating Your Hate!”

“Find Your Inner Child!”

“Restrain Your Inner Child!”

“Become Your Inner Child and then BREAK that Child’s Spirit!”

I bought them all, even when the message didn’t apply to me in the least. I even got a book on how to quit smoking in hopes it might contain some nugget of wisdom that could help me with whatever I thought I needed help with. Since I don’t smoke, it goes without saying I got nothing out of “Quit Smoking in 37 Seconds!” Another $21.95 well spent.

I felt like I had read the first three chapters of every book written on the subject of “Healing My Inner [Whatever].” So when I spotted a workbook journal titled Discover Your Inner Goddess, I felt a tinge of excitement. Mainly because it was the only thing on the shelf I had yet to defeat, and I love a good challenge.

Oh, you think you can heal me? Bring it on, bitch.

At the same time, I was intrigued. There was something about the word “goddess” that resonated with me, even though on the surface I felt the need to belittle it.

Inner Goddess? It’s probably some bra-burning, hippie-dippie, feminist crap.

I bought it immediately, of course. I was skeptical, but deep down I hoped that maybe this would be “the one”—the key to unlocking the answers as to why I felt so empty when I was “perfectly happy” before.

But was I really?

I didn’t know it at the time, but in retrospect, I was wasting my days with boredom by watching TV, daydreaming about greener pastures, regretting unmet goals… Five o’clock was something to be celebrated on a daily basis as I poured myself a tall glass of whatever, in hopes it would help me deal with the stress of fighting kids and a messy house. This was the norm. Does that sound like a happy and motivated woman who’s living each day like it’s her last? No way. It sounds more like a woman who woke up each day, already looking forward to going back to bed. I was in a stagnant place in my life. But since I had little faith in myself and an extreme aversion to failure, I chose to live vicariously though the achievements of my loved ones while I remained safe within my comfort zone.

“No pain, no gain…and that’s just fine, because I hate pain, so screw the gain.”

This was my credo. It worked quite well. The downside was, eventually this route led me to the point where I felt nothing, and “nothing” was mistaken for “happy.” Then all of a sudden, there I was at my kitchen table, sobbing in my Petit Syrah because a superficial personality quiz told me I was shallow. This was when I realized that even the most positive of circumstances, like a supportive husband, joyful children and financial security, could only make up for one half of a whole. On the inside I was suffering, and all of the sunshine on the outside wasn’t changing it. It was like wearing a cheap, itchy suit that was three sizes too small, and I wanted to rip it off, seam by seam. It was undeniable: my transformation had to come from within.

I bought this workbook in May of 2010, frustrated with my life, not knowing the first thing about who I was or what it meant to love myself. As with all of the other self-help books I had purchased before it, I fully expected to roll my eyes and toss it to the side by the time I reached the third chapter. However, I’m glad to say, this is not what happened. Unbeknownst to me, committing to the lessons in this book would inspire a year of self-discovery, extreme discomfort, some new beginnings, a few humiliating moments, but ultimately, it would bestow upon me the most beautiful suit of all…the one I’m wearing now. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. Is there a particular lesson (chapter) that resonated with you more so than others?

2. Were you satisfied with the way the book ended?

3. If you could ask the author a question, what would you ask?

4. Did this novel teach you something about yourself that you didn’t know before, or bring something to light you would like to explore further?

5. Would you like to see a sequel—do you think there could be more story to tell?

Weblinks

»	Author Michelle Colston's web site

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