Say F**K it to a book deal

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A couple of months ago I said F**K It to something quite major and I didn’t tell you about it because I worried I’d made a big mistake. I was worried that it was a sure sign that self-help had made me crazy.

In April I was offered a book deal and I turned it down.

I was offered something that I’ve dreamt of my whole life and said ‘No, thanks.’

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How holding your arms out can show you what you’re meant to be doing in life – more conclusions from F**K It week Italy

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In yesterday’s post I faffed for about 1500 words trying to sum up the F**K It week. Then one of my new F**K It friends put up a comment on Facebook that summed it all up perfectly in a couple of paragraphs. Here is is. Thanks Charlotte von Roij for letting me share it:

Some time ago a friend of mine and me discovered the philosophy behind YOLO, you only live once. This probably makes you think about 16 year old girls who get drunk (’cause YOLO). But when you think of it, it’s true of course… You only get one life. But do you ever stop and think about what you really want out of life? I find that most of us just keep going and going. We push ourselves to work harder, make more money, buy bigger cars. It’s just never enough. Picture your life 10, 20, 30 years from now. What do you want to look back on? Are you really doing something that you like? Do you ever really relax? Or do you find yourself worrying about the most random things?

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Self-help in the sun. With wine. What’s not to like? My F**K it week with John C Parkin

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Well I’m back from my F**K It week and I don’t know what to say except it’s been emotional. Much more than I was expecting. I thought the week would involve standing in the sun shouting ‘F**K It’ with a bunch of strangers and then maybe doing some sort of embarrassing dancing. And maybe some tree-hugging.

As it turned out there was no dancing and only one tiny little bit of shouting, right on the last day. There wasn’t even much swearing, actually. In fact it was more deep and beautiful than boisterous and funny (the tone of the book) and that’s a good thing. Although I did hug a tree – but that was for a laugh. The tree did not laugh back, which is a relief.

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Swearing in Italy. Introducing F**K IT THERAPY by John C Parkin

Ciao bellas! I’m in Italy! The sun is shining, I am sweating and all is well with the world.

I’ve just had coffee with my cousin in Milan, who I’m staying with for a couple of nights before heading to the F**K It retreat, which starts on Sunday.

And look what they do the coffees here:

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They make hearts and smiley faces and stars! Hurrah! Hurrah!

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I reject myself

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Hello! hello! It’s Friday, it’s sunny and REJECTION THERAPY IS OVER. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah.

I’d like to say it’s been a triumphant month but it hasn’t. It was so un-triumphant I stretched it over two months and even then I bombed. Oh well, such is life…

When I started it,  I’d planned to do all sorts of wacky things – audition for a show! Go to Claridge’s and ask them to let me take a nap (thank you Victoria for that idea), phone up Buckingham Palace and ask if I could come to their garden party (again, thank you Victoria).

But as it turned out, I could not make myself do any of this.

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Talking to strangers in London. Whatever next?

 

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(I found this fantastic picture by Zerflin on art.zerflin.com)  

 

I’ve always been a smiley person. Even when I’m miserable, crying and being given anti-depressants by the GP, I’ll muster up some kind of raised lip position. It’s my default expression, especially if I’m one on one with someone.

But smiling at strangers on the street it’s a different matter. In London it’s just not the done thing. Not the done thing at all. People look at you like you’re crazy/stupid/after something – or they just plain ignore you.

But as part of rejection therapy I’ve been going for it. I’ve been smiling at at least three strangers a day for the last month.

I won’t lie, it’s quite hard. A lot of people look at you like you’re nuts, some pretend they haven’t seen you and others look like you’re about to nick their bag. On days when you’re feeling a bit low, these snubs feel like a personal rejection. Especially, of course, when it’s guys that do it. Then I do my usual though spiral of ‘he thinks you fancy him/he thinks you’re ugly/he thinks…’

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