3 Minute Rant

There comes a time in life, when no matter how hard you successfully maintain a state of calm in the face of a hectic everyday life, every once and a while you find yourself overwhelmed by a flood of emotion. Thank God, there’s the 3 Minute Rant.

You’ve mastered the art of digging up the emotional baggage of your past, you’ve done the deep work, and you’re continuing to grow and expand every day, then it happens. Something unexpected catches you off-guard and still, with all the tools you have to master your emotional state you feel that rush of emotions and you’re ready to blow a gasket.

Then you’re quickened by the notion that you’re the master of your emotion, so you push it down with all your might (and good intentions) and try to ignore it’s there.

You know the consequences of harboring pent-up emotions, but you feel like full-on venting is beneath you or immature at this level of your own personal growth and expansion.

Not to worry. Thankfully, you can always take a break from real life and consider letting it out by engaging in the

3 Minute Rant

When you feel like you’ve reached the limit of your capacity for peace, harmony, self-control and you’re triggered to rage, no problem. Let your fury fly, full-on, unrestrained for 3 minutes, then regain your composure.

Ahhh, that feels so much better.

You can take some precautionary measures in preparation for your 3-minute rant. For instance, your rant is probably not fit for public exposure, so you should consider maintaining your composure the best you can until you find an appropriate time and place.

Once you’ve found a safe place to conduct your 3-minute rant and have a pretty good idea that you will have a full three minutes to let it out without being interrupted, have a method to time yourself. You can use a clock, use an egg timer, or set an alarm on your phone for three minutes.

Then let it all out.

Do whatever you need to do to get it out. Stop, hit a pillow (be careful not to permanently damage inanimate obtects), stop, shake your fist at the sky,  cry, scream, cuss, whatever… Just let it all out, without judgment, limiting yourself to 3 minutes.

If you’re like me, after about a minute or so, you’re pretty much done, exhausted, and/or find yourself giggling. If not at the situation which has you all wound up, certainly at yourself.

After you’ve released the pressure you can go about the business of managing whatever details are left to deal with concerning the source of your hurt feelings, anger, or frustration with the tools you have available for you to work with.

There is no need for you ever to harbor ill feelings within yourself,about yourself or anyone or anything else, let it out and let it go.

It is not a perfect solution, by any means, but the 3-minuterantcan get you from here to there bridging the gap between feelong helpless and hope of a brighter future.

Fear not, you got this.


Writer’s Block

The bane of every writer is that moment. The moment when you’re looking at a blank computer screen (or other device), the virtual (or physical) blank piece of paper with pen (or other writing instrument) in hand…

And nothing comes.

No flash of light. No bright idea, nothing. It’s as if time stands still, only you clearly hear the clock ticking in the background, otherwise silence. Well, not really silence, because you hear the refrigerator cycling, the rustling of trees in the wind outside and your stomach growling; still nothing.

You quickly type random characters and look for a keyword to launch an idea; nothing. Randomly scribble or doodle on the paper looking for an inspiring mark, again, only the void.


Next anxiety builds. You have made a commitment. You have accepted this responsibility, even if only self-imposed. It’s never as easy as it appears to others and now – in this moment – it is beyond our imagination.

Still nothing and self deprecation begins. Why did I take on this project in the first place? I’m not a writer. A real writer would write and I can’t even seem to do that. Who do I think I am? I’m not worthy. My life is a sham. (A writer who doesn’t write. Really?) Give me a break!

I need a break. That’ll do it. Get up, abandon ship temporarily. Get a coffee. Stop by the bathroom, look in the mirror, recite a litany of cuss words, and maybe even bellow out a frantic scream. Carefully place your oversized cup of coffee on the desk, then throw yourself face-down on the floor and act out a toddler-like tantrum. Get up. Shake it off. Sit down, and, here it comes…



I think about some of the authors I know. We’re cordial, congenial, compassionate and copacetic… and we read each other’s stuff… What stuff? I’m writing a big fat bunch of nothing! Zip! Nada!

Dear God! (oh, yeah, pray…) Why did you let me get into this mess? (oops, I meant, “pray”) Give me an idea, a glimmer of hope, a sign…

(tap, tap, tap…)

I’m waiting…

I knew it! There is no God!

Take that!

If You were there, and You wanted me to believe in You, then for Your sake, gimme a figgin’ break here!

This is all Your fault! You plopped us all down here and let us do all this reading and writing crap, now look where that’s gotten us. Well, me – in particular – right here and now. And you started all this!

It’s You and You’re all (in my best whiny sarcastic voice), “Oh, I’ll just let them loose on this friggin’ planet and let them think and fend for themselves, and sit back and laugh when they can’t think of anything to write.”


Oh, sure laugh it up, All Mighty. I bet this is a hoot. You’re up there texting whoever-it-is You text up there, with all Your: LMFAOs all over the wherever You are.

This whole thing is just one big joke.

Have I lost my mind?

Did I ever have one in the first place?

How’d I get myself into this one?

Somebody give me a friggin’ break!

Okay, you want something? Here you go, take this:


How’d you like it?

What was it?

It was a huge serving of NOTHING.

See how YOU like it.


How do you like it?


(You have got to be kidding me)

Nothing. Really?

Fa crine out loud.

(Raskum saskum low dowl mulhaskum)

Not one friggin’ thing.

That’s it. I’m done.

No, really.

Done. (Somebody, stick a fork in me.)

I don’t even care.

So there, chicken hair.