Read this profile on my upcoming book on “3Gs,” or grandchildren of Holocaust survivors.

Reporter Matt Lebovic did a beautiful job of bringing together all of the components of my story, and of the larger story of my generation and three generations in the aftermath of the Holocaust. 

<– P.S. The picture they used was taken in 1993 at my graduation from the University of Pennsylvania.

Your miracle. It’s coming.

Even when you don’t see it or a hint of its light.

It’s on its way. And there isn’t much you have to do to make sure it finds its way to you. That’s part of the miracle, like it knows.

It’s hard to remember, when things seem shitty or off-course or very un-miracle-like. And maybe you are expecting a Miracle with a capital “M” — fanfare, maybe a band and a big announcement? Or maybe you think that everyone else except for you is all awash in miracles. When will it be your turn? Why not you? Have you been forgotten or overlooked? I thought I deserved it more.

The thing is, it is your turn. Sometimes miracles come in softly, with pitter-patter of feet rather than stomping of boots. Privately instead of broadcast all over Facebook. Dressed a little differently than you’d anticipated. Simply, with dignity and subtlety.

It’s in the little things: The food you eat, the air you breathe, the thud of your feet hitting the floor first thing in the morning. The steaming coffee or tea, the unexpected “I love you” from your teenager, the incredible feedback from a client you worked so hard for. It’s in the finished project that took so much longer than you’d expected, in your honey coming home early from work and surprising you. That thing you finally crossed off your to-do list. It’s in your ability to laugh at it all, even when it really seems to suck. It’s in going to sleep tonight and waking up tomorrow morning.

All of that is your miracle. Maybe it isn’t fancy or sexy. But it is yours. And it is miraculous. Yes, I daresay, you are living your miracle in any and every given moment.

It’s coming. And, it’s already here.

You cannot do everything today. 

Period.

You cannot finish it all. You cannot be everything to everyone. And despite what you expect from yourself, you cannot go at a super-human pace without taking a breath.

Not today, and probably not tomorrow, either.

But you can do one thing today. And then one thing after that, and again after that.

One thing. 

I used to pile-high my daily to-do lists with enough to occupy three people over two weeks. And then I wondered why I seemed to have no time, why I was always tired and why I never managed to finish my lists and meet my own expectations. I was never happy with my output, always dissatisfied with my performance.

It was never enough.

It was too damn much.

Now I work on focusing on one little thing at a time. And when I find myself spinning out of control, wondering why nothing is getting done because I am trying to do everything at once, I stop myself. And I go back to one little thing.

Sometimes that one little thing is really important, like a chapter for my book or a client’s project. Sometimes it is something fun like finding new cool raw food recipes or reading one of my home design magazines. And sometimes that one little thing is a no-brainer like checking out Facebook or my fantasy football scores. But no matter how you slice it, one little thing is one little thing.

Because one little thing is all you can do at any given time.

One little thing is where you will find your focus, and your pace and your answers and your bliss. One little thing is one of the best ways you can honor yourself every single day and, yes, get things done.

One little thing.

Not two. Not 10.

One.

“By letting it go it all gets done” ~ Lao-Tzu

There is letting go. And then there is LETTING GO. The kind that frees you to your soul. The kind that came about from baby steps but feels like the most massive, unimaginable progress. The kind that came about from forgiving, most of all of yourself and from loving, most of all for yourself.

LETTING GO is when you can give a little chuckle about the thing or the one that might’ve plagued you in the past.

LETTING GO frees you to focus on what really matters.

LETTING GO allows you to say goodbye to ruminating and dwelling and making movies in your head.

LETTING GO brings you to now and right here.

LETTING GO is the greatest progress you could hope for. Even when it seems like just a little nothing.

LETTING GO may very well be the greatest gift that could come your way.

LETTING GO is about welcoming your future. LETTING GO is about cherishing your past.

LETTING GO has its own time. Its own schedule. Its own way.

LETTING GO means you chose YOU over it or them or that thing or him or her or that time or once upon a time.

LETTING GO is a signal that it’s “go time” for the rest of your life.

LETTING GO happens every day, in tiny miracles and in big deals.

Want to lose weight or stop that awful habit or be able to better focus or find that long-lost patience you once had? You can. But probably not as long as you are latched on so tight that your knuckles are white with the yearning to change that which will never EVER be changed. Not as long as you think IT (or HIM OR HER OR THEM) is the key to fixing it all. Not as long as you think there is a “magic pill” that will fix this clusterfuck of a mess in which you find yourself.

LETTING GO is about choosing peace over drama, choosing now over back then, you over anything and everything else. That means making conscious decision after conscious decision and committing to moving forward with your head held high. (And on the days that you just can’t hold it high, accepting that the best you can do is lay low and give yourself a break.)

LETTING GO is about letting the fuck go.

Expect realistic progress and have faith in miraculous transformations. Know that it is coming, that it is yours. But no one else can do it, think it, write it or put it in easy-to-digest-form for you.

They can hold your hand, but ultimately, only you can do the work.

The glorious, powerful and enormously hard work of being who you were meant to be.

LETTING GO is about choosing toward that which is both delicious and excruciating.

Enjoy it. 

You have healed…

When it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.

When you don’t care like you once did.

When a day goes by without it stabbing you in the heart or poking you in the brain.

When you let it go without having to tell yourself to let it go.

When you know you’ve moved forward and made progress.

When you know this path is a marathon and not a sprint…and you can live with that pace. (Thanks, Tracy.)

When what they did or what they said or what they meant doesn’t matter anymore.

When you can hear that song and not fall apart.

When you can hear that song and actually smile.

When you feel grateful for what happened, despite the pain.

When you feel grateful for the pain.

When you know the reason it all happened.

When you know how much better and stronger you are for all of it.

When you make different decisions next time.

When you take a different path next time.

When you have a different answer next time.

When forgiveness comes easier.

When compassion comes easier.

When loving yourself comes easier.

When you know you are not broken.

When you shine instead of hiding. When you hold your head up instead of cowering. When you’ve faced what needed to be faced.

When, in this very moment, you are OK. When it is all OK. When OK is all you need. Right now. 

…you have healed.

Yes, that is the truth. I have a really nice smile. Beautiful, in fact.

People I don’t know tell me this fairly regularly. In fact, I am told this in the majority of instances in which I am connecting with someone face-to-face, and smiling. I don’t do a ton of each, and I would imagine that I’d get this complement more often if I engaged in those two activities — connecting and smiling — more often.

The circumstances don’t much matter. The beautiful smile doesn’t even much matter, really. What matters is that I no longer respond with all the ways they are wrong or mistaken or off somehow. I don’t tell them, as I used to in response, that it really isn’t all that beautiful or that it used to be more beautiful when I was younger.

No, I no longer respond with all the reasons why my smile is actually not beautiful.

Instead, I now do my best to respond with a grateful “Thank you.” And smile even bigger. 

You know what? I do have a beautiful smile. So I am going to own it for as long as I can.

Your beautiful smile may in fact not be a smile. It may in fact not even be something physical or on the outside. It may be something you do or something amazing you are on the inside. It could be your humor or your ability to bring perspective to any situation or, yes, your gorgeous eyes or scrumptious smell.

I don’t know what it is, but I know you do. As you read this, I know you know what your equivalent of a beautiful smile is. People remark on it so often you have forgotten just how unique and special and beautiful is is.

You brush it off, like it is no big deal.

But it is a big deal. A huge one! One I wish you’d own. One I wish you’d see and love like all the others do.

It shines, and so do you.

So, could you do me a favor and share it more with all of us? In return, I promise to smile more.

Thank you.  

In this series, guests write their answer to the question “What’s Your Story?” Their story can be about a moment in time, an entire life — or anything in-between. If you are interested in contributing YOUR story, let me know.

I was so small. But I had an idea that motivated me to action: Freshly washed sheets! The smell was delicious. And, ooh, I loved those crisp edges, which were pointier than the smooth satin edge of my “blankey.” I could just curl myself in a tiny ball and concentrate on sucking my index finger pressed up against the roof of my mouth, allowing my thumbnail to casually rub along my top lip like a tiny windshield wiper, taking that pointed edge of the sheet with it for a ride. The smell, the feel . . . I loved to suck my finger with its ceaseless sensations. It tasted good and satisfied my urges.

Maybe I was three feet tall? I couldn’t yet reach my arm up or even jump high enough to hit the pull-chain dangling from the Chinese paper lamp in the hallway. In fact, I wouldn’t be for another two years—at which point I would knock that chain so hard that the lantern would rip, disintegrating into shredded spirals of wire. Score! But I was just big enough to reach the doorknob of the hall closet and climb up between the second and third shelves to where the folded sheets were stored and burrow in like a happy rabbit in the darkness of its hidey-hole. Peter Rabbit never had it so good. This was a far better place for an afternoon nap than the prison of the crib with its railings.

When Mommy couldn’t find me, she would open the door and have a look inside. Then she’d smile at me and shut the door again. You can’t get hurt amidst sheets after all. We had a tacit agreement to leave a little crack open, but not too wide a one. I liked the darkness. Sound was also muffled there.

Basically, at four I had invented the isolation tank!

You’d think I would have outgrown my closet. Well, I outgrew shelf number two around age six. But I didn’t leave. That’s when I discovered shelf three had more air space above it. There were some pillows there, and a box of first aid supplies, shoe polish, light bulbs, and a bag of dry cat food, among other items. There was also space for me to sit with a small notepad and pencil, writing little stories with pictures for little books that I’d give my parents. Mom would staple them together for me. To her this must have been the epitome of cuteness. For me making notes of my ideas and stories held the thrill of invention. Which words could I spell? “Restaurant”? I’d read that on the sidewalk. An A with a U? Go figure.

I also liked inventing commercials at the breakfast table holding different toiletries and food items. Toothpaste. Kellogg’s Cornflakes, with the scary chicken on the box: Now that was a box with excellent words on it! Just like on TV, just like the ladies on the game shows pointing to the prizes while a narrator read the description, I would display the box and read the promotional copy aloud. Already I knew the power of words to persuade.

Some people are born to read and write. People like me. We just think it’s good fun.

Stephanie Gunning, aka the Get a Book Deal® Coach, is an author, editor, and publishing consultant who has worked in many capacities within the book industry. She began her career at HarperCollins Publishers and rose through the ranks to become a senior editor at Bantam Doubleday Dell before establishing her own company in 1996. Her elite roster of clients since then has included bestselling authors, major publishing firms, top-caliber literary agencies, and innovative self-publishers. As the co-author and ghostwriter of over 25 books, she has been published by Hay House, New World Library, J.P. Tarcher, Perigee, Harmony Books, McGraw-Hill, Jossey Bass, Three Rivers Press, New Page Press, and Broadway Books, among other houses. In 2011, she co-founded Lincoln Square Books, a project management firm serving writers.

You may not have all the answers.

You may have no answers.

Many questions, though. But no answers.

You may not know what you thought should have been known by now.

You may look around you and feel like everyone else knows. (They so don’t.)

You may wonder when it will be your turn to know.

You think it’s unfair that you seem to be the only one. (Did I already say you’re not?)

You may be sick of the not knowing.

You may remember that not knowing is a luxury, but it doesn’t make you feel any better.

You may feel you deserve to know. You deserve something that looks and feels different from this gnawing uncertainty.

You may not even know what you are trying so hard to know. All you know is that you don’t know it. And did I say you are sick of not knowing it?

You’ve gotten real quiet, at times, to try and hear what you need to hear. You don’t think you have heard it. Or, maybe you have heard it? Who the hell knows.

At other times, you seek out the noise. Better to drown out that voice that keeps telling you that you don’t know. Because, let’s face it, you freakin’ know that you don’t know. No reminder needed.

The noise soothes you. The silence scares you. Somewhere in the middle might be nice, but you forgot how to get to the middle ground.

You don’t know. So what do you do when you don’t know?

You keep moving forward. One step after the next. In faith. In doubt. In both. With love and compassion and forgiveness for the person who matters the most…YOU.

I am totally free. Utterly and completely. And you know what? You are, too.

Make money however you choose.

Complain about the current way you make money, knowing full well you can change that way.

You can complain. Period.

You can decide to stop listening to others complain.

Name your kids whatever you choose.

You can drive to work. You can walk up or down the stairs in your house to work. You can skip to work for all I care.

Support any political candidate you wish.

Walk into a store and buy plush towels, a comfy blanket, new underwear, a full tube of toothpaste.

You can eat meat. After you buy it freely in the store. Or you can decide you don’t want to eat meat. Not today, maybe. Not ever again, perhaps.

Wake when you want, go to sleep when you want, take a nap if you wish.

Drink beer. Or wine. Or water. Or nothing at all.

Stare into space. Walk on the beach. Stroll in the park. Go in circles.

Buy it online. Maybe on Amazon. Or get it at the library. Or pop into Barnes & Noble.

Buy the car that works for you. 5-seater. 7-seater. 9-seater. Whatever-seater. Fill it up with gas when you get close to empty. Freely use your credit card. Complain about the price of gas, no matter what the price of gas is.

Drink your coffee at Starbucks. Or at Dunkin. Or at home in your Keurig. Or decide you’re giving up coffee. Quit caffeine. Or don’t.

You can have as few or as many kids as you wish. You can stop when you want. You can decide never to start. You can use birth control. Or not.

Marry whomever you choose. Don’t marry anyone. Divorce if you so choose. Move on. Stay there. Complain about being stuck. Leap into what’s next. Your choice.

Get a dog. Or a cat. Or both. A fish. A bird. Some rodent-type thing. Or no animals.To go with your no kids. Or your many kids. Or your 1.7 kids.

Watch mindless TV. Complain about said mindless TV.

Stay home. Go out. Do both. 

Write a July 4th post about freedom on July 5th. (Like me.)

Live on a farm. In a gated community. In a condo. On a boat. The big city. The boonies. The ‘burbs.

Worship any god of your choosing. Or, you can decide there is no god worthy of your belief.

You are so fucking free it would make the heads of less-free people spin (and it does). I’d tell you to stop complaining about minor things (all of which you have the freedom to change) but you are free to do that to.

You are free. People who don’t have it would kill or die for it. And they do.

You are free. Don’t waste it.

This piece originally appeared on The Life Change Network

Balance: We want it. We strive for it. We read articles on how to get it. We follow people who seem to know more about it than we do.

And yet….it isn’t a realistic goal. Even the happiest among us wouldn’t use the word ‘balance” when describing our lives. Let’s face it: Balance isn’t a natural extension of the messiness that is all of our lives.

What if, instead, we allowed our definition of balance to change as we changed, to ebb and flow as our lives ebbed and flowed?

When I catch myself chasing that elusive balance, I try to remind myself of these following “musts:”

I must not strive for perfect. Really, balance is another word for perfect. Both are unrealistic and killers of happiness and self-esteem. And you know what else they are? They are like little gremlins whose life’s work is to take you out of the moment. And unfortunately, all-too-often they do a great job of it.

I must remember that I am my own best friend. Cut yourself some slack. You are doing an awesome job at…everything!  Yes, I know that mean voice in your head tells you all sorts of things about how imbalanced you are, about how uneven and imperfect your life is. Tell her (or him) thank you and carry on with your amazing self.

I must do more of what works. You know those days when everything seems to work great? You cross everything off your “to do” list, you make a great dinner for your family, you finish all your errands, you spend wonderful quality time with your significant other? Figure out what you do on those days that helps to make things happen so smoothly – then rinse and repeat. Did you get a good night’s sleep? Cut out certain foods? Stay off the Internet? Avoid people who suck out your time and energy? With the right awareness, you can make it happen again and again!

I must stop listening to everyone else. “Everyone else” refers to anyone who is not you. And anyone who is not you is not living your life, nor will they ever. They don’t know you better than you know you. And you know what else? Their lives aren’t perfectly balanced, no matter what they tell you or tweet or post to Facebook. Look to yourself, not to the outside, to find your answers and your realistic balance.

I must get know when I need to be in action, and when I need to rest. Does this one really need an explanation? There is a time to stop and there is a time to go. Knowing the difference is a sign of true wisdom. Reminding ourselves of this is a daily practice. And somewhere within this practice is, I believe, a morsel of something resembling the thing most of us call “balance.”