0. The Fool

The Hero’s Journey or The Healer’s Journey, they’re one in the same …

The Hero’s Journey is a monomyth as old as time, passed down in various renditions throughout the ages in the form of fireside chats, folklore, mythology, books and film. It epitomizes the realization that we are the main character of our own lives, the captain of our ship, the author of our destiny. The hero’s journey is a step out of victimhood and into empowerment, the acknowledgement that we are writing our own story and its subsequent outcome through our thoughts, words and actions.

Much like the Major Arcana in the Tarot, the Hero’s Journey takes us on an arc of departure, initiation, and return. The Fool, card zero in the Major Arcana, begins this journey with a leap of faith. The message here is that if you spend your whole life at the cliff’s edge, contemplating all the risks involved but never jump, your journey can never begin. This leap of faith is often illogical to the mind but imperative to the heart; something that can’t be explained and therefore cannot be understood by those around you. Something deeply personal.

This is where the title “The Fool” comes in, for the soul says you must be willing to look foolish in order to follow your dreams. You must be able to withstand the naysayers and the doubt from both self and other. You must trust the compass of your heart over the consternation of those around you or the “play it safe” logic of the mind. Because in truth, you know it is far more foolish to let fear rather than faith guide this journey of your one life.

Think about it - anyone who has ever achieved anything has had to go through the experience of being called a fool by someone along the way. Any famous musician, artist, writer or entrepreneur first had to go through struggle before success. And in that period of uncertainty there were those around them who said they should give up. That they were naive, living in a dream world, impractical. This fear-based, “logical” mind is a part of everyone’s brain, and would surely shoot down the dreams of people like Oprah, Barack Obama, Dolly Parton and Elon Musk (questionable character but amazing outer space endeavors!). Dreams that are too big, too wild, too illogical, too impractical … too foolish.

Can you imagine if the discomfort of feeling foolish or the opinions of others stopped these people from following their dreams? What a loss that would’ve been to our world! The Fool stands strong in the face of fear because they know that their journey is not only about themselves. It is linked to something far greater and bigger than oneself. It is about sharing the magic you are being asked to step into with this world - to bring more joy into it, to uplift, to inspire, to help and heal through your own passions.

The Healer’s Journey tracks right alongside the Hero’s Journey. Often we don’t realize that we are setting out on both journeys simultaneously, that the path towards our dreams is also the path to healing and integration. A path that in both cases, will ultimately lead you home. Home to yourself. Home to your spirit. But before there is a homecoming, there must first be a homegoing - a step away from that place called home. A leap of faith into the unknown. ‘Into the great wide open,’ as Tom Petty would say …

My California dreaming screensaver circa 2008

My own homegoing was a call to California. A place I had been only once for a few days when I was 18. The decision to move there after college was based on a “feeling.” Nothing I could describe logically at the time, something that my professors and advisors reminded me was illogical. All of my connections to the fashion world were in New York City. Our campus in upstate NY had affiliations with some of the big name designers and could help place me in a career there; it made sense. I was reminded that they had no connections across the country in LA, the alternative fashion capital I had decided on. That I would be “on my own” if I decided to go in that direction.

Luckily, this didn’t deter me in the least. I had already felt very much on my own that last year of college. I had decided to make my senior collection “green” - meaning designed using exclusively organic and vintage fabrics with low impact dyes. This was a newer concept at the time, it was 2008. Nobody else at my school was doing this. However, instead of being embraced or encouraged by my professors, I was told once again that I was on my own if I wanted to go in that direction, that they had no resources to help me with my eco-collection and I would have to figure it out myself.

When it came time for the end of the year fashion show, the head of the department even went so far as to say I wasn’t allowed to have a special note in the brochure mentioning that my collection was eco-friendly. That it would be “special treatment” and an unfair advantage in the judging process, because no one else was allowed to give extra information about their collection. That the clothes would somehow have to “speak for themselves.” So with less than two weeks until show time, I worked late every night in the fashion lab creating embarrassingly tacky purses I loathed that had “Go Green” embroidered on them as a “voice” for my clothes, only to be told at the last minute: Okay, well we will make an exception for you this one time.

So when I was told that trying to get a job in fashion design in LA was crazy, irrational and foolish, I was pretty sure I knew who the real fool was here. As someone who had just spent the last year designing an eco-friendly collection, I felt confident that if I was looking for fellow dreamers, pioneers and people who understood me, they would be found in LA.

My eco-friendly senior collection, cue runway song: M.I.A. Bamboo Banga

But the real reason I chose LA wasn’t based on any kind of intellectual rationalizing, it was more about the intuitive feeling I had. I had never even been to LA, but I remembered how good I felt in California the few days I spent there for a wedding when I was 18. And I knew that I didn’t feel good in NYC. At that time, I didn’t know anything about energy on a metaphysical level. I just knew that the city felt hectic, overwhelming and chaotic and that I always felt drained instead of energized after leaving. I knew NYC was somewhere I did not want to be.

So, I started applying to jobs at eco-fashion companies in LA. And to appease my parents, I started applying to jobs in NYC as well. It was “the right thing to do” from a parental perspective – logical and rational, it made sense. Being unemployed and dependent on my parents in the midst of a global financial crisis, there wasn’t much of a choice there, but I intuitively knew that NYC was not the place for me and said a prayer that LA would win out.

Throughout the process there was one top choice that stood out in my mind. It was a company called Alternative Apparel. Earlier that year, when I was in the local Barnes and Noble flipping through fashion magazines in the name of research, I came across one of their ads in Nylon Magazine. Out of the thousands of ads I came across that night, something about it stood out. Again, nothing that could be described logically, but rather, a feeling. It was so strong that I bought the magazine, tore the ad out, and put it up on my wall in my dorm room. I looked up more about the company online – Los Angeles based with a dedicated green line called Alternative Earth. Yes and yes. “That’s where I’m going to work,” said a small but clear inner voice.  

When it came time to apply to jobs after graduation, Alternative was at the top of my list. I remember how much time and effort I spent crafting the perfect cover letter to accompany my resume. I’ve always enjoyed writing and wanted to convey in a more personable way my excitement about the company’s ethos and shared appreciation of their eco-friendly focus. When I did receive a response a couple weeks later, I was thrilled to find that the head of HR loved my letter, but deflated to then hear, “Unfortunately, we don’t have any openings at this time. Try back in a few months.”

Not the exact ad, but speaks to the ethos/vibe of Alternative at the time!

Time was not on my side. I didn’t have a few months, I needed a job and the money that came with it now. Disheartened but not deterred, I continued applying to my other top choices – companies that were either exclusively eco-friendly or had a green line. But as the weeks wore on and the rejection letters started coming in, I began to feel the pressure and the mounting panic of my mother. The push to “get a job!” and just apply anywhere. My own faith in myself and my dream was wavering. I began applying everywhere – places I didn’t want to live, jobs I didn’t want to take, lowering and lowering of my standards, smaller and smaller, further and further away from my dream.

Perhaps if you’d tried online dating you know the feeling? You start with high standards – what you want, what you will and will not accept, what matters to you on a soul level – and then as time goes on and no matches appear, you begin to lower your standards … bit by bit, settling more and more, lower and lower … until eventually you’re on a date with Chad who has cartoon tattoos on his ribcage and rides a motorcycle without a helmet.

Again, not understanding energy or intuition at that time, I didn’t know how to describe what I was feeling as I applied to jobs I didn’t want out of pressure and obligation, other than not good. Like trying to swim upstream. Going against the grain. Going in the wrong direction. It did not feel good to be operating out of this desperate energy, applying to jobs and places I didn’t want to live or work.

Luckily, no one was biting. Intuitively, I still felt that deep knowing that it would all work out and I would end up in LA, but the pressure of needing to make this happen within a three-month summer timeline had me stressed out in a big way. “The quickest way to kill your dreams is to give them a timeline,” a truth I now know too well. The spoken and unspoken panic from those around me and the news headlines about the economic crisis began to seep into my subconscious. I wasn’t sure if it was my own doubts or theirs that shouted, “You’ve picked the wrong career, the wrong path, you’ll never make it – there’s no jobs, you’ll live at home forever!!”

I fought this voice with the best guide I could’ve asked for, Wayne Dyer. His book, Wishes Fulfilled: Mastering the Art of Manifesting, was my first foray into the self-help/spiritual world. My mom was actually the person who introduced me to Wayne. Despite her own inability to apply his mindset to the present situation, she had leaned on him in the past to get her through her own insurmountable obstacles, particularly her battle with breast cancer when I was 12 years old and she was only 38. I can’t remember exactly when she introduced me to his books, but I feel like it was sometime between the end of high school and my college days. I definitely didn’t lean into it at first, because all I remember about those days and times was feeling like I was flying by the seat of my pants on an anxiety rollercoaster with absolutely no grounding tools whatsoever.

As seen on public TV!

Somehow, someway that book found me that summer. And despite my mom pushing the panic button and igniting all my self-doubts, she had also led me to Wayne, and Wayne was my anchor throughout the turmoil of that time. I also understand now that my mom’s panic and inability to emotionally support me at that time may not have only come from financial fears, but also from a fear of loss that was much deeper. Something that she couldn’t or wasn’t willing to acknowledge. The loss of her only child moving across the country.

I was grateful to her for leading me to Wayne, who could be that calm, steady voice of support and reason that I needed. Wayne reminded me that I was not crazy or foolish. That people do crazier things every day! That if I can believe it, I can achieve it. That with God all things are possible. That it’s not even blind faith, it’s science. Quantum physics, the magnetic pull of like attracting like.

What I remember about that book was that it contained a chapter by chapter outline of how to manifest your dreams. It gave me a roadmap. It gave me an anchor. It gave me advice on what to do when fears and obstacles and doubts arose, as they inevitably did. It helped me to keep the faith even when those around me were questioning, doubting, or calling me foolish.

I remember my favorite aunt, Auntie Kate, who was and always has been my biggest cheerleader, trying to help me out by connecting me with her friend’s son who worked for Balenciaga. “Just a phone call, please! Some advice would be so helpful.” I clearly remember that phone call. My nerves on edge, about to talk to this professional with such an esteemed job in the industry. Trying to make myself sound so mature. Clearly conveying my deepest gratitude and respect for him taking the time out of his busy day to talk to me – a lowly recent grad, a fashion-insider wannabe.

I had my notebook and pen ready, prepared to write down any insider advice he was willing to share. I quickly realized I did not need a pen for what he had to say. His expert “advice” was that unless I was willing to take an unpaid internship, I should probably start looking in another industry because it was going to be impossible for me to find a job in fashion at this time. He reminded me that the economic crisis was hitting the fashion industry hard and that there were no jobs available. And LA? A ridiculous idea that I should give up. The opportunities and connections were clearly in NYC, and if you don’t have connections in this industry, you don’t have anything.  

I held it together to say a brief thank you for his “advice” and then promptly burst into tears when I hung up the phone. That whole summer, despite their multitude, no rejection letters had brought me to tears like this. I never felt as completely defeated or deflated as I did in that moment. This “industry expert,” this person I didn’t know, so confidently assuring me that my dreams were unrealistic and unfounded, felt like a slap in the face. It hurt, but thankfully my deep inner knowing said it wasn’t the truth, don’t believe it.

I’m so thankful that this small voice of reason inside of me – my intuition, my instinct – has always been louder than the voices of doubt around me. My father, someone who worked in the world of sales his whole life and certainly knew about rejection, was also someone who always encouraged me to keep going, reminding me “Not to take no for an answer!”, that there’s always a way over, around or through.

Great advice, though sometimes difficult to apply. Particularly in my high school years when this mindset had me cringing as my dad informed me that I must go talk to my Geometry teacher and figure out how to move my C (my first ever!) to a B. Mr. McGow was an ex-NYPD cop, and not the most personable character. But, much like Cher in Clueless, I managed to win him over with my persistence and various extra credit projects that did eventually get my C moved to a B. Further cringing was induced when my dad told the vice principle of our high school that he was not getting off the phone with her until she changed her mind about issuing me a three-day suspension. This was the proposed punishment for me leaving campus during my lunch period, which I told my father was to simply get Tylenol out of my car for my period cramps, since the nurses were no longer allowed to hand out painkillers. In truth, I went with my friend Amy to the mall. I thought I would sink through the floor and die of embarrassment as I heard my dad vociferously advocating for my menstrual rights, knowing it was all a lie. True to form, he succeeded in getting me off the hook and thankfully, years later, when I told him the truth, we had a good laugh about it.

So when my father suggested I join him on a business trip to LA at the end of summer to maybe just “show up” at some of the places I had applied to and see if they had the time to talk to me, it was just the injection of hope I needed. We headed out the first week of September with two main objectives on my agenda – Alternative Apparel and a now defunct eco-company that I can’t remember the name of. I recall renting a convertible and the excitement (if not slight embarrassment) I felt driving with my dad with the top down through LA, land of my dreams!

Bleach blonde hair prerequisite to California Dreaming lifestyle …

Our hotel was situated at the corner of Hollywood and Highland, with our room looking out to a view of the Hollywood Hills. I clearly remember opening the curtains that first day and looking out to the houses in the hills across from me saying, Someday, I’m going to live there. You can imagine the shock and thrill I felt years later when I moved into my new apartment, opened the blinds and saw that hotel down the road staring back at me. I had completely forgotten about that moment, but clearly my intuition and fate had not.

The first place on the list that lined up with my dad’s own business agenda was the eco-company in the valley. Again speaking strictly in vibes and feels, I did not get a good vibe as we pulled up to the building. For one, it was in the middle of nowhere, about 45 minutes outside of LA. At that time of my life I wasn’t adept at discerning where a bad feeling was coming from – Was that my intuition or just normal nervousness? – so I chalked it up to nerves and boldly knocked at the front door, unannounced and unprepared for what I was walking into.

I was granted entry and introduced to the manager after my, “I flew all way from NH and I’d love to talk to someone” monologue. The manager asked a few more questions about my background – Do you know how to sew and cut patterns? Yes? Hmm, well we might have something for you, let me show you around. My hope surged at this first door opening for me, but was quickly dashed as the tour began and we walked into “the factory,” which was more like a glorified sweat shop … people bent over sewing machines crowded together under huge fans … loud, dusty, not well ventilated … the bad vibes were sounding off loud and clear!

The tour ended with the manager telling me the “good news” that they could offer me a position as a seamstress if I was interested. I politely feigned gratitude for the offer as my gut instinct screamed Absolutely not! and said I would need some time to think it over. My dad, who had been patiently waiting for me in the car for the past 45 minutes, looked at me with hopeful expectation as I got back in. “In there for awhile huh, good news?!” “Well, the good news is I was offered a job! The bad news is that it’s not in design, and it would be as a seamstress in what looks like a sweatshop. So, I’m thinking no.” My dad shared my horror and we had a laugh about it, hoping for better luck at Alternative the following day.

Our more immediate concern at the moment was finding somewhere to have lunch in the desolate valley town we found ourselves in (Canoga Park circa 2008!). Driving down the main boulevard, past run down shops and food trucks, we finally came across a welcoming looking restaurant aptly named, Follow Your Heart. It felt like a sign, and I felt the good vibes flowing immediately upon walking through the door. My dad was feeling it too, until we sat down and looked at the menu. Upon which point we realized it was all vegetarian. Not a problem for me, as I was already intuitively feeling a switch to a vegetarian diet would be part of my new CA lifestyle, but not my dad’s first choice! However, he proved to be a good sport when he ordered “The Rueben” and said it actually wasn’t too bad for a fake meat sandwich.

Synchronicity and fate aligned again just a couple months later when I found myself living in this “desolate valley town” as a new resident and new vegetarian. I had completely forgot about our lunch at Follow Your Heart that day, and as I looked online for vegetarian places to eat (the days of Happy Cow as a guide, if you know you know) I laughed out loud when I saw that special spot was right down street from me. Follow your heart indeed! It was all lining up.

Follow Your Heart in Canoga Park, alive and well since 1970!

The day after the sweat shop debacle was my time to try at Alternative. This one felt like much more pressure because of how badly I wanted it. In the back of my mind I could see the ad I’d torn out of the magazine. And I could hear that intuitive voice within still saying, “This is the place.” So I was rather shocked when we pulled up to a strange set of rambling buildings carved into the hillside along Cahuengha (Ca-wang-gah for the non-LA natives) Blvd. These concrete blocks looked more like storage units than offices, with no windows facing the street except a couple small prison-style openings at the top. Not a good vibe from the look!

With no clear entrance in sight, my trepidation was further ignited by the thought of somehow trying to scale the hillside in heels to find a way in. Which mind you, I was ready and willing to do, as I had just flown across the country for this! After further assessment, I saw that a door did in fact exist at the back end of the creepy subterranean parking area below building number one. My dad pulled over on the side of the road just ahead of the building and assured me, “Go for it!”, clearly unaware of LA’s history of cults and their affinity for nondescript buildings such as these. As I walked towards the door and contemplated whether I was about to enter a Scientology Center or a Wayne Dyer manifestation moment, I saw that the door had no handle. Hmm, another hurdle to clear. I timidly, and then more forcefully, knocked, hoping this was not signifying any kind of secret cult code for initiation to whoever resided on the other side of the door. After a few more moments I realized that probably no one resided on the other end of the door, as I was on a subterranean level and my knocks were likely not reaching any human ears.

I then noticed a buzzer. Oh, ok good. But also, awkward. What do I say?? I buzzed as I thought about my options. A voice reached through the speaker, “Hello, Alternative Apparel?” Phew, cult fears subsided, I was at the right location! “Um, hi! My name is Sarah Comer, I was hoping to speak with someone from the design team. I just flew across the country from NH. I have my portfolio with me, is there someone I can speak with?" To which the voice replied in a somewhat confused tone, “Um ok, hold on.” The buzzer sounded and the door opened, only to reveal a concrete wall in front of me. Was I in an escape room? A glance to the right appeased this fear, showing a set of stairs steeply inclined with no clear view in sight of the top step destination. Shaking in my boots (heels, rather) but trying to play it cool I ascended the stairs with Wayne’s voice of encouragement in my head. Manifest your destiny!

I found myself in the middle of a design room. Unlike my valley visit, this place did not feel like a sweatshop, it looked more like a tree house filled with lots of clothes. It had large windows all along the back of the building that opened up to a view of trees dotting the hillside, with a roomy upstairs loft space complete with spiral staircase. The main room I walked into was filled with giant cutting tables for patterns and fabric, with a couple of sewing machines whirring away to the right. Behind the tables were cubicle style offices decorated with bright fabrics and posters, populated by too-cool-for-school looking people working away with their headphones on. My east coast autopilot uptight nature immediately felt mellowed out by this California cool workplace setting … a vibe I could get down with!

The person who buzzed me in came up to me and introduced himself as Joe, the cutter, whose job was to cut out pattern pieces for the pre-production samples. I could see he was a little confused about what to do with me or who to send me to, so I reiterated again that I was here to talk to someone on the design team and show them my portfolio. “Oh, right! Hold on a second.” As Joe abandoned me to ascend the spiral staircase, presumably where the design team lived, I felt a bit self-conscious standing there in the middle of the room as everyone gave me sideways glances. I tried to play it cool but cringed inwardly as I heard Joe say to whoever was upstairs, “Uh, there’s some girl here from NH who says she wants to show you her portfolio?” Eek, okay here we go …

As I got the green light to ascend I kept my eyes locked downward, as my first step (quite literally!) in acing this impromptu interview would be making it up the spiral stairs in my heels without falling. Part one of mission accomplished, I looked up to find I was in another office space with a few desks, lots of clothes, and a several people sprawled on the floor working on what looked like mood boards. The person who seemed to be in charge sat at a desk to my right. “Hi, I’m sorry, can I help you?” She had jet black hair and didn’t smile as she talked. “Oh. Hi! Well, um, I actually spoke to Suzie in HR last month and she said she really loved my resume but there wasn’t any room in your department right now. But I figured, since I was in town this week, that I’d stop by … you know, just to see if anything has changed or opened up. I’d love to show you my portfolio if you’re interested?”

The spiral staircase at Alternative

She did not look interested. However, she did humor me by quickly flipping through my portfolio and asking me a few basic questions. “Well this is nice, but like Suzie said, we don’t really have any room here right now. The office is pretty full.” Deflated but maintaining an aura of bravado, I thanked her for her time and carefully began my descent down the spiral staircase, determined to keep my integrity intact sans wipe out.

As I reached the last step and breathed a sigh of relief for this small victory, I was immediately accosted by a small woman who emerged from the side corner office. “Hi, I’m Sam! Did you say you’re interested in a job in design?” Why, yes I did Sam! “Well I’m the Technical Design manager, and we could really use some help in our department. Do you have any experience with technical design?” As I debated whether the one-day class I had taken on technical design my senior year counted as “experience” I heard my mouth enthusiastically saying “Yes, I do, and I’m a quick learner!” Sam’s excitement (which I later learned was desperation) was palpable as she met my enthusiasm by ensuring me that she would talk to Suzie in HR (HR and the rest of the company aside from design was based in Atlanta, GA). That, even if we needed to put me in the closet, we would find a way to get me in!

With info exchanged, I headed out the door imbued with manifestation energy. My dreams were in reach!! I could feel it. Granted, there was still some settling involved – technical design was not the design team I wanted to be on, and a closet office wasn’t in my dream either, but, the vibe felt right. I felt good in the space. It felt exciting and creatively stimulating. I loved the company, their ethos, and everything they stood for. The office was in LA. I thought of this job in tech design more as a way in - a foot in the door - and rationalized that once inside I could work my way over to the design team and up the spiral staircase.  

I returned to NH feeling victorious, but my high hopes quickly began to fade as the days turned into weeks without an offer. All I’d heard from Sam were a few updates consisting of, “Don’t worry, I’m working on it .. stay tuned!” which didn’t help assure my parents that this was going to work out in any kind of concrete way. There was only so long I could wait for this offer to come through, my time was running out. I needed a job, like, yesterday.

In the meantime, I took a job in a somewhat related field at the local art gallery. As an artist, I felt that if I could at least be immersed in the beauty of art, I’d stay inspired during this interim time of interminable waiting. Unfortunately for me, the only job they had available was security guard. Never in my life has anyone looked at me and thought “Security Guard.” I look like probably the least threatening and least ass-kicking person you’d expect to see in a position of that power. However, I soon realized that “guarding” in this role was less Bruce Lee and more Sr. Barbara at our eighth grade dance. You see, Sr. Barbara used to walk around with a ruler, and if anyone was dancing too close, she’d put the ruler between them to signify some space was needed. My job, minus the ruler, was to enact Sr. Barbara’s fierce boundaries by making sure all viewers maintained a “safe” distance from the art. Anyone who got too close was given a warning and then asked to leave with a click of my walkie talkie to the real guards for back up if the offense was repeated.

This job had me standing for hours on end circling the galleries, with plenty of thinking to do. I remember my mind oscillating from fear to faith and back again. Fear – “Is this my life now? Will I ever get to LA? Will I be stuck in this boring job forever?!” Faith – “Hold on just a little bit longer. You already did the hardest part, you have an in at Alternative. It’s going to work out!” At home I continued to turn to Wayne for reassurance and do the manifestation and visualization exercises he outlined.

I clearly remember at this time having dreams about being pregnant as well. Thankfully, I wasn’t worried that this was any kind of literal premonition, as I was quite confident my college years had disqualified me from the honor of immaculate conception. But I do remember thinking it was so strange that I had to look up more about the meaning online. It said: On the precipice, on the verge of something big. About to give birth to your dreams or desires. New life coming in.

A good sign indeed, but not enough tangible reassurance to stave off the fears and doubt coming at me from all angles, which I continued to fight. The Friday of the second week of September found me at my grandmother’s house, cleaning for cash while she was out to lunch with her neighbor, Mrs. D. I remember being in the office, dusting around her many post-its, when I got the call on my flip phone. It was Suzie. They wanted to offer me a job as an assistant technical designer. Ahhhhhhhhh!! The wave of relief and excitement that came over me was tidal, but I kept my cool on the phone and said, “Yes, I’ll take it!!” upon which she said she’d email me the contract shortly.

Homegoing: Leaving home in NH for my new home in CA!

As I hung up the phone I jumped for joy and pumped my fists in the air, YESSSS!!! Mission accomplished! Destiny Manifested! Victory!! The realization that all the fear, all the doubt, all the difficulties and obstacles I had faced, all lead me here to this breakthrough moment – my ticket to ride, my foot in the door, my way to LA. As I let the magnitude of this gratitude fill my soul, I thanked that small still voice inside me for staying present the whole way through. For not letting anyone lead me off course, for not letting me give up on myself or my dreams. I knew there would still be many obstacles ahead, but I had cleared the biggest hurdle, the first big step, the one that felt the most impossible. I was on my way to LA to make my dreams come true. It was time to take the leap of faith and see what magic I could really do …

Beatrice Wood, ultimate fool icon and cliff jumper