YOU. To the Front of the Bus. NOW.

This week I have pondered nervous-system safety, my dearly departing thrusters and the exact point where scratching a yellow-jacket sting becomes almost orgasmic.

I have also needed confirmation that twelve tablespoons is three-quarters of a cup.

Because apparently a woman can be balls-deep in the meaning of her own existence and still need help with salad dressing.

I contain multitudes, babe.

But here’s what’s been clanging around in me: My aliveness is done waiting.

She’s been tapping me on the shoulder like, Ummm hello..... Beth? We gots shit to do.

And I feel her.

She wants more room. She wants to make cool shit, say the thing and walk right into places where I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing yet. Alluring ain't it!

She may even want me to gather a gaggle of women for a few hours and put some hot mutha questions on the table.

Questions like:

Where did you learn to turn your own volume down?

What do you keep calling “not the right time” that is actually scaring the pants off you?

Are you living your life—or doing a very convincing impression of someone who is?

WHAT?!?!

Holy fuck. That last one.

Of course, my head heard about this possible offering and immediately shoved its way to pole position:

Who the fuck would want to come listen to you, Beth? You ain’t no expert.

Easy there, Jackie Chan!

I said I want to get some women in a room and wake some shit up.

I know how to do that.

I know how to ask the question nobody wants to answer until somebody finally does—and then the whole room exhales. Booya to that magic...always!

This isn’t about becoming shinier, better or more evolved.

I want to know where the hell we went.

I want to know what we shoved down to keep everything running smoothly.

And mostly, I want to know:

What would happen if we called our aliveness to the front of the bus and let that babe have a say?

Self-love might come along for the ride. Fabulous. Bring some snacks.

But she isn’t the whole friggin' point.

The point is that we are here.

Still breathing. Still wanting. Still feeling the pull.

And I, for one, am done acting like that’s background noise.

Scooch over. My aliveness has places to be.

You comin'?!?!

Let's go!