Are You Missing the Most Important Steps in Creating Your Vision Board?

I have a rash and I can’t quite figure out why. Do I have an infestation of the dreaded bed bugs currently humping their way across the Midwest? Or… (bear with me here), could it be the way that I envision my dreams? Is it an allergic reaction to the dust on my Vision Board? Or, perhaps, it’s my inner critic causing these hives?

For months I’ve been daydreaming about my home in San Francisco. Each night, before I fall asleep, I picture the color scheme of my kitchen, where my Wolf stove sits, the dear friends laughing around my dining room table, and the commissioned artwork that hangs above my fireplace. So when the ball dropped into 2011 I didn’t worry too much about updating my Vision Board. I was busy working with Lissa Rankin on a product for Owning Pink and I was “visioning” my dream home every night anyway. Not to mention the fact that there were big gaping holes in the success of my Vision Boards of the past. My understanding of “The Secret” had been that you cut out your little pictures representing what you want, paste ‘em up, and forget about them altogether. Hence the dust.

But, as it so often happens, the Universe decided to give me a leg up by timing the work on my 2011 Vision Board with the contents of  Lissa’s first-ever eCourse and the reviewing of affiliate programs.

I realized that, in the past, I’ve been missing some very key components of true manifestation. Namely the “correct visioning” and the “feeling” portions. Apparently there’s more to it than spending three days searching for the perfect picture of your new Volkswagen Beetle and having fun with glue sticks and silver tacks.

Feelings, Nothing More than Feelings:

In my review of the Owning Pink Affiliate Programs, according to Danielle LaPorte’s Firestarter Sessions, “knowing how you actually want to feel is the most potent form of clarity that you can have.” And, yup… that goes for your Vision Board too. Instead of just pasting up that picture of my black convertible Beetle I need to know how I want to “feel” in that car.

And that’s not all.

Visions of Sugarplums, or, whatever…

Another integral part of the actual “getting” of that little racy car is envisioning myself in it. As Lissa says in her eCourse I need to play the movie reel in my head and get very, very specific about the way I want to feel. I need to see myself driving that car, feel my hands on the steering wheel, feel the wind blowing in my hair, picture the flowers held in that little patented VW Beetle cup holder. All of it.

So with those new tactics in my arsenal I tore off those cut-out dreams of 2010 that no longer fit me and began to compose my dreams of 2011.

I decided that my first step would be to look for a picture representing my dream house in San Francisco. Well guess what? (You’re never gonna believe this. Truly.) I logged on to Trulia.com and the second house I clicked on just happened to be the EXACT house I’ve been picturing in mind for all of these months. We’re talking that Wolf stove was sitting in the exact same spot in the kitchen from my mind. The dining room fireplace was a replica of my daydreams, all I had to do was hang my artwork above it. I nearly shit my pants.

I printed those pictures out and started placing them on my vision board with a fury, I felt like it must be some sign. And then I did the thing I’d never done before. I added those missing components of “visioning” and “feeling” that I had learned from Lissa and Danielle and I imagined myself in that house.

I saw myself cooking at that Wolf stove, I was making dinner for a group of new and old friends who actually wanted to spend time with me outside of a bar. While the cream of leek & celery soup was simmering in my mind I picked up So-Kr8z, my furry soul-mate, and we did a waltz around that kitchen and I allowed myself to feel profound joy such as I’ve never felt before. We walked out on to my beautiful new deck and I looked over the city skyline towards the Bay Bridge and I hugged So-kr8z so hard that he squeaked. I put him down on the patio and he ran through the yard smelling the pink Bleeding Hearts and rolling through the mulch. He glanced up at me, his tongue lolling out, and I saw the sparkle of joy in his eyes too. We were home.

And, just like that, the next day I woke up with a rash such as I’ve never felt before. Little itchy red bumps that looked like mini mosquito bites covered my chest, my thighs, the backs of my legs, my ears, my toes. I wanted to claw my face off. As I’m wont to do whenever some mysterious health issue arises within me I went straight to my bookshelf and pulled Louise Hay’s You Can Heal Your Life off my shelf.  Here’s what she had to say about my condition:

“Desires that go against the grain. Unsatisfied. Remorse. Itching to get out or get away.”

Well f-ck! Now, not only was I itching like an 18 year-old with crabs, I was questioning every. single. thing. I had just placed on my vision board. Was my desire to go to San Francisco and live in my dream home a bad idea? Not meant to be? Going against the grain? Am I not appreciating where I am, what I have? Am I not grateful enough?

My inner critic, whom I imagine as a cross between Roger Ebert while reviewing the new Dukes of Hazzard and Simon Cowell listening to me sing “Surry with a Fringe on Top”, had an absolute field day.

Conversations with the Inner Critic:

Inner Critic: “You absolute complete and utter TWAT. What could you possibly be thinking? That house you found, that little Victorian that you think is the replica of your dreams, is 1.4 million dollars. ONE. POINT. FOUR. MILLION. DOLLARS. Are you on crack? How in the hell would you ever come up with the money to buy that house?”

Me: But… Well… Um… But, I deserve it. I’m 40 years old renting an apartment surrounded by three strip clubs. I can’t even take The Kr8z for a walk at night in this hood. I have no retirement, no assets, nothing. I want a home where I feel utterly joyful, completely safe, secure, blissfully happy, and absolutely abundant.

Inner Critic: You’re lucky to have the apartment you have after leaving your husband and your family to live this life you wanted so badly. Suck it up. You made your messy bed, lie in it. Appreciate what you have and stop being such an ungrateful bitch. You’re never going to have a home of your own, a retirement, none of that. You gave that up when you packed up that U-Haul with your books and your stained single twin mattress. You had a house. You had forks. You had a fucking Kitchen Aid Mixer, for hell’s sake. You left all that and you don’t deserve to ever get that back.

Needless to say those feelings of unadulterated joy that I had allowed myself to feel while I was tacking those pictures up on my vision board were more than “in question.” That cream of leek & celery soup from my mind was nothing more than blackened sludge on the bottom of my new gleaming stainless steel pot.

That rash and every little tiny itchy bump was my inner critic popping out on the surface of my skin to rebel against these dreams I have for myself. All of my little fears came out and laid there on my chest, my arms, my legs, to remind me that I’m not worthy. That grain that I was going against was me breaking that pattern from my past and dreaming so big that I allowed myself to actually “feel” those dreams. How could I not break out while trying to break out?

Frankly, I was scared.

Still am. As I dabbed a bit of Calamine lotion on my ears and recalled the words of my inner critic, I realized that I have a choice. I can let those fears consume me and lie dormant under the surface of my skin until I decide to dream big again. I can stay put — unhappy and alone and I can start going to bars again so I can actually hang out with friends here. Or I can buy a few backups of Calamine, ask for a sign, and take a single small step.

As I clawed at my thigh I decided to ask for a sign. I prayed hard and I told the Universe: I just need a sign that moving is the right thing for me, even if you deem it unnecessary for me to know where it is I’m supposed to move to right now.

I shit you not, 45 seconds later, just like that, the Universe smote a Two Men & A Truck moving van right on to the road outside my apartment window. I’m going to need some boxes.

Itching with Glee,

Melanie