Geo-politics aside, the story of the Exodus is a brilliant archetype about our journey as humans. As spiritual beings.

What’s not to love about a breeding cat-fight between two women and their respective hand-maids? The resulting twelve brothers, sons of the iconic Jacob (Ya’acov) / Israel, sell the favored eleventh into slavery. A series of political misadventures and supernatural intrigues compel him along the plot line from disfavored prisoner to Vice Regent of all that is Food for Egypt, Inc, the biggest nation on the block in its day. Worldwide famine hits; band of duplicitous brothers schlep to BFE to find food. Disrespected though once-again-favored bother reveals himself much to their shock. Hugs all around, loads of forgiveness and tadah, the Israelites find themselves safely protected and fed in Egypt. After all, one of their own had effected the largest transfer of wealth into the Kingdom which had ever been known. (Turns out the ability to foretell the future coupled with food supply logistics is a sound combo.) You have just met Joseph / Yosef — the guy with the ‘colorful’ cloak.

The Israelites prosper in Egypt, stout breeders though they are.

Four hundred years later, a new Pharaoh is in power. The Israelites are hearty and prolific. Pharaoh 2.0 fears a coup and institutes a power grab. In a ploy to knock the snot out of their collective will, he subjects the Israelite nation to slavery. Pharaoh 2.0 mandates the murder of all Israelite boys, two and under. From favored status to brutal slavery in four centuries. One baby’s mom is unable to follow the directive: rather than hand her son over to those who will murder him, she seals him in a woven, reed basket and launches him downriver in a current of hope and sacrifice. Better the unknown than certain death.

Sometimes our best option is the least icky of two choices.

The next bit is a twist I particularly love. The baby’s sister follows along the bank as her baby brother floats downriver. The floating package is retrieved by, of all people, Pharaoh 2.0’s daughter. When he is retrieved, the girl hollers across to the Princess that she knows a woman who would be able to suckle the child. Thus it is that the Israelite boy is raised as an Egyptian right under Poopyhead-Pharaoh’s nose by his own mother. (I’ve often wondered how much she revealed to him about who he was.)

By all appearances, he is Egyptian. The boy learns the ways of the kingdom–he is, after all, a son of the Pharaoh. During a critical management training, the now man sees one of the Israelite slaves brutally beaten. Without thought, he lashes out, killing the abuser. Fearing he will be found out for being a sympathizer, he escapes to the desert, marries, and learns the ways of the herds. After 40 years, he is instructed to return and be his people’s redeemer. By a burning bush. He is reluctant. He likes his peaceful life. And that would be Moses / Moshe.

Whatever your view on the Biblical narrative, these characters paths’ provide great insight on for those wanting to travel the road to great impact. Through geo-political circumstances beyond their control, they spent long seasons of waiting in deserts and jail cells; they lived among foreigners instead their own tribes; they were conflicted about their tribal loyalties; yet because they were showed up everyday and did what was in front of them despite the vagaries of life, their meteoric  status-changes gave them power to dynamically benefit the people they cared most about.

Joseph was betrayed by his family and sold as a slave to a band of traveling foreigners. He ended up second in command in the largest nation in the world. Moses was sent downriver by his mom to avoid having to hand him over to the Pharaoh’s assassins. He was raised in the very household of the man who tried to destroy his entire bloodline. He delivered a nation of slaves out from under its oppressors. (Estimates are 600,000 men, plus women and children. No US aid convoys).

You have a call for greatness and impact. It sounds arrogant, but it’s true. It shouldn’t. We are amazing creatures with the capacity for big things. We won’t all follow our real soul paths. It is hard. But inside each of us is a mom who will choose the unknown over our children’s deaths; each of us is a sister who will approach a Princess to see our brother is cared for; each of us does stints in the enemy’s house to get the skills and connections we need; and each of us has seasons of wondering ‘how the hell am I going to get there from here?’

I’m not advocating that we settle for lessons learned only from suffering and trials, isolation and doubts. But I am encouraging all of us to remember that until we are ready to embrace our charges and start walking steadily toward them, our difficulties are what forge our character, get us emotionally vested. For that is the backbone on which our impact will build.

Without our own buy in, we cannot step on the path of greatness and impact. And until we learn to deal with the weirdness that comes our way, we can never become great.

Forget trying to figure out why you feel stuck. You just do. Welcome to the human race. Feeling stuck is a signal that we are facing some consequential changes. When we don’t feel ready for those changes — when we aren’t to the point of clarity from which action comes, we enter into a state of stuck.

The more you resist being stuck, the more stuck you get. Think monkey’s hand in the bell jar. Rather than magnify the self-loathing because you feel stuck, try this: “Hey, I’m stuck. I don’t like this feeling, but it isn’t going to kill me. This is part of the experience. I don’t have to figure it today. I’m just going to floss.”

Unsticking from a long term state of stuck takes time, gentleness, and soul-searching. In the meantime, here are 15 simple tasks you do that will break inertia’s Kung Fu death grip on your motivation.

1) Floss. Get the kind that doesn’t fray between your teeth. That would stop anyone in their tracks. Then brush. A clean, minty mouth never stopped anyone from greatness. Resist plucking chin whiskers — you can lose days here. Buy some Nair.

2) Mercilessly show that bitch, Junk Mail, who’s boss.

3) Spend an hour making a racous playlist for the gym. You have good music. It brings back good memories. And you’ll need some good playlists for the gym.

4) Go to the gym. Promise yourself you only have to walk, flat, at 2 MPH for 20 minutes and then you can leave. If you leave after 20 minutes, you get a hard man point. If you stay longer, you can add bragging rights. Just because you did more than the goal today doesn’t make you a failure if you just hit the goal tomorrow. And if you don’t make it to the gym tomorrow do the following.

5) Do ten girlie push ups. Or frog squats. Or plank for 30 seconds. Add two a day. Or five seconds a day. Feel empowered:  this baby step is activating your muscles.

6) Clean off your night stand. Dust it. Five minutes tops. You only get to keep two books on it.

7) Set the time for twenty minutes and organize your book shelf. This will remind you that you are freaking smart and you have interests and areas of competency. Also: BOOKS! Pick one to read by the end of the week. Turn off the TV and do it. Bonus points if it’s a book that makes you feel expansive. You are hereby forbidden to compare yourself with the success of the author in any way.

8) Wrangle your laundry. And by wrangle I don’t mean get it all done, I mean separate clean from dirty. If you feel like taking the next step here, pull out the clean towels. Fold them and put them away. Call that good. Feel virtuous. Might as well through a load of dirties in while you’re there. Moldy laundry in the washer? Easy. Load it up with water, more soap, and toss a cup of vinegar in. You don’t have to do every load of laundry on planet earth into eternity future. Just this one load.

9) Hydrate. Drink a real glass of water. Try this every hour or two. While you’re there, offer to get a glass for someone else too.

10) Do something small and unexpected for your neighbor. Even if he’s an ass. Offer to pick up something from the store. Go to the store. Buy the Nair and three postcards that make you feel happy and whatever your neighbor asked you to pick up. (Ideally you should get dressed for this. If your pants don’t fit anymore, feel okay about sweats. Hey, you’re vertical!)

11) Call an old friend. “I’ve been stuck in my head. I miss you. How are you?”

12) Make a clemency list: all the things you feel guilty about having not done. Feel okay about writing it. It’s just a list. Assign yourself five points for bravery.

13) Buy three post cards. Write brief thank you’s to three people that helped you or inspired you this week. Send the post cards. Expect nothing in reply.

14) Think about the person who really ticks you off and come up with one way he or she has helped you. Did he reflect something to you about yourself that may not have been uncovered without his poking; did she piss you off to the point that you were willing to leave an abusive environment even if it was earlier than you were prepared for? Do you need to rearrange the power of the relationship so that it is more equitable? Just ask the questions. you don’t have to have answers right away.

15) Without the need to answer the question, ask yourself: am I genuinely stuck or do I feel stuck? Let that rattle around in your head for awhile. As all the ideas come up, don’t judge them and don’t give them the power to condemn you. Just notice their insights.

Pick two or three of these to do each day.

Let me know how it goes.

I trust my heart in making decisions.

I work with likeable, competent, collaborative people.

I confront verbal abuse with, “What did you just say?”

I develop opinions of all people based on how they treat others.

I represent me in all of my dealings, and I do so consistently.

I value self-respect and soul purpose over profit and security.

I learn from the flow and the challenges, and I treat them both the with respect.

I reject blame, confusion, mind-reading, defining, controlling, arrogance and judgment. Mean people suck, and I won’t waste my skills supporting them.

I use my influence and skills to support the people and things that I believe in.

I admit mistakes, am gentle with myself while I am learning, and I strive to become more competent in areas that represent my strengths and giftings.

I contribute where my talents are recognized and valued.

I express my known’s with confidence and ease.

I don’t try to be what I’m not.

I demonstrate my character by living in alignment with these  principles.

Fuck you, scarcity.

Fuck you, fear.

Fuck you, resistance.

Fuck you, waiting for something else to happen first.

Fuck you, limitations.

Fuck you, stingy resource flow.

Fuck you, mean people.

Fuck you, judgers.

Fuck you, selfish interest.

Fuck you, small thinking.

Fuck you, assumptions.

Fuck you, needing to be perfect before starting.

Fuck you, inertia.

Fuck you, self-doubt.

Fuck you, soul-sucking decisions based on the need to survive and not thrive.

It’s my turn now!

© Kaley Perkins @ www.saggywithnipples.com

My boundaries come in two styles: tissue paper and well-armed turrets overlooking the kill zone. The distance between tissue paper and turrets is about the width of a switch. A really tiny but very distinct switch. A uni-directional switch. To excuse what may seem to onlookers (say ex-husbands, ex-employers) as an arbitrary shift in relationship, I offer up the caveat that by the time the switch gets flipped on, all your strikes (and those from the next batter) have been used up. If the switch has flipped on for you, you deserved it long ago.

That doesn’t mean we can’t parent collaboratively (in the case of my ex) or that I can’t work for you as an independent contractor (on more mutual terms), but in terms of taking anymore bullshit: switch on.

(My daughter is sitting on my lap with her knuckle up her nose, making very strange noises. She is trying to talk me into letting her make brownies. I’m a little scared. She reminds me of myself at that age. “And who’s going to clean the kitchen?” I ask.

“My robot monkey butler,” she answers without missing a beat. Why am I just now finding out we had one of those on staff? Because I have an elephant to eat and I could use some help.

I have this very realistic idea of what I want to do. Soon you will come to me and say, “Dahling (because we talk like that), here’s my idea.” And I will spin the rest of the marketing plan into place, turning you into a wildly successful solo-preneur. With my HR background, I’ll even get your structure built if you decide to scale without outsourcing. I’ll bring my team. It should take a week. Good thing you are well-capitalized because I’ll charge a ton, but it will be fun, value-driven, and entirely worth it.

Alternately, there’s the life alignment, shamanistic wise woman advisor track. It may involve the chewing of raw, organic kamut grass, the smudging of sage, and a deeper discernment of your soul’s mission at its stage. It requires connecting with the emotional side, the intuition bits, some training and more fairy woo woo circling, but I’m meeting some really cool people and I like the platform for making sense out of the spirit / soul / human connection. Kind of makes me want to rub my temples with pine and lavender…

To do the yogini thing, I’d need to start doing yoga and eating well, and high fructose corn syrup is kind of what’s getting me through this transition period. Plus I can’t afford the Sabbatical to transform. On the side of option #3 is my affinity for lentils, so there’s that…

The problem is I see the future and I want it today. I want to be the entirely comprehensive digital business coach; the fully intuitive personal life alignment coach and healer; the bastion of all that is raw extreme health. None of these comes without expertise, dues-paying, and heads-on confrontation of the high fructose corn syrup issue. I want to eat the whole elephant, not break it into bits. It’s not like my jaws unhinge, dammit. If you’ve ever felt like this  you know what a big deal it is: breaking big dreams into manageable, executionable pieces. Bites of elephant.

Here’s the good news: I found out about the robot monkey butler. I could use his help.

(Dear PETA, the elephant in the above story is a literary device; he isn’t  kosher. Why would I eat him? Get over yourselves! The robot monkey butler is more robot than monkey, so you can let that one go too.)