Pink Is Everything!

The book that's demanding to be written.

Detail of “Pink Is Everything!”

I promised my Pink story, so here it is. It’s a rather long one.

It was about 4:00 in the afternoon on January 11, 2015. Cozy in my worn leather chair, I settled into my meditation. I was living in the city, surrounded by construction, and so I donned my noise-canceling headphones and an eye mask. I think some Frankincense was burning.

I must have been blissfully gone to wherever it is that meditation sometimes takes us when suddenly I heard and saw the words,

"Pink is Everything!" exclamation point and all.

Well. What was that about?

I was completely confused. I’d never been a Pink kind of person, not even as a little girl.

But I knew this message must have significance, so I jotted down the date and some notes in my journal.

The Voice kept repeating it over and over like a mantra.

“Pink is Everything! Pink Is Everything!”

The next day I hopped on my bike for my morning ride by the river.

Side note - my bike is Pink! My kids bought it for me many decades ago for Mother’s Day. I’m guessing my daughter got to choose the color. I remember thinking, “Pink??”

I was breezing along down the boardwalk when I heard The Voice say,

“Pink Is Everything! You need to write the book!”

Nooooo. I did not want to hear that. I know it’s probably odd for a writer to have zero desire to write a book, but I really didn’t. I really don’t.

And a book about PINK? I don’t think so.

But, The Voice persisted.

“Buy the domain, pinkiseverything.com,” she whispered.

And so I did.

Something that I had no interest in doing (writing a book) started to consume me.

Eventually, I started to wonder. Why Pink?

I looked around me and laughed.

When I moved across the river from Manhattan to Jersey City, I got a nudge to paint my bedroom Pink. :) I was slightly obsessed with a Pink house/condominium building in the West Village owned by artist Julian Schnabel.

When I rode my bike on the NYC side of the river, I could see it from the bike path. It was the most delicious shade of Pink.

Because let’s be honest. There are Disney pinks, and then there are Pinks that are so much more.

I settled on Benjamin Moore Coral Essence for my bedroom walls.

And although Pink was still not my favorite color, I started gathering more evidence of Pink in my life.

Pink stories.

Pink serendipities.

I had brought an old green rug with me when I moved, and it fit nicely in my new loft. But one night, I had a dream about a beautiful deep Pink Persian rug. I woke up wondering what that was all about.

Shortly afterward, I was in the city and found myself walking past ABC Carpet and Home. While this was one of my favorite stores in the city, I mostly ventured there to take photographs because it was so expensive. Total eye candy for an artist.

I saw from a sign in the window that it was the last day of their big sale. I thought, “What could it hurt?” and made my way up to the 6th floor, where the area rugs were sold.

The elevator door opened, and I kid you not, lying in front of the elevator was the deep Pink Persian rug from my dream! I literally gasped.

It was larger than the rug I had at home, and with trepidation, I turned over the tag to see the price. I was shocked to see that it had been marked down thousands of dollars. Not that it was cheap, but it was definitely/sort of affordable.

A saleswoman came over and said to me, “I don’t understand why it’s been marked down so much. There’s nothing wrong with it, and it’s one-of-a-kind.”

Holy Pink synchronicity!!

I was able to sell the green rug and bring more Pink into my apartment. Mind you, all of this had happened - the Pink bedroom walls and the Pink rug, months before the meditation.

The Pink Dream rug.

When I moved here to this tiny house, I thought for certain I would have to say goodbye to my Pink Dream rug. But I asked my landlord to measure my bedroom loft, and the rug fit! So, she is still a part of my Pink story.

In a recent post titled Grief and the Yellow Door, I mentioned the story about my Pink scarf. Just the other day, I found it hanging on a hook in my bedroom.

I remembered that years before, at a workshop in the Sonoran Desert, I was making a dreamcatcher, and the Native American man showing us how to make them told me I should use Pink because it would bring more Divine Feminine energy into my life.

Pink was even showing up in iPhone camera mistakes.

At first, the thought of writing a book terrified me, bored me, and annoyed me. I tried to ignore The Voice, but every time I hopped on my Pink bike, it would whisper to me

Start writing stories.

Instead, I distracted myself by making a piece of art (above.) It’s one of the few pieces I brought with me here when I moved.

And then, slowly, the stories started to make their way onto my typewriter. Did I mention I have a Pink typewriter that I bought at a flea market?

I covered the wall in my studio with them.

I had to get over myself, thinking that no one would care to read these stories from my life.

That year on my birthday, my friend Phaedra, who was also my web designer, brought me a dozen Pink balloons to inspire me to write the damn book.

As the helium slowly leaked out, the balloons drifted to the ceiling.

And then, the funniest thing happened. I would come home and find an errant balloon hanging out in front of one of my paintings.

Or sitting on my computer keyboard.

One night I went to bed, and there was one hanging, looking like a semi-deflated punching bag.

A year later, still procrastinating, I went to a birthday lunch with a friend at a Pink restaurant in Nolita.

On our way home, we stopped at the Balloon Saloon in my old neighborhood to buy a dozen Pink balloons. I needed fresh inspiration.

I had thought that the subtitle of the book would be “The Healing Power of Color,” but it just wasn’t lighting my fire.

The new set of balloons became wizened, deflated, and sad-looking, but I refused to throw them away until I wrote the damn book. Still, I procrastinated because a chapter book was so uninspiring to me.

And then, On 1-11-2017, exactly two years later (I'm not making this up!) I was, again, deep in my afternoon meditation when The Voice spoke to me and said

Forget a chapter book!

Make it an art book. Fill it with your drawings and photographs and poetry and, yes, your stories!

Finally, excitement about writing the damn book!

Look where one of the balloons had drifted

If you're wondering what's up with all these 11's, well, my life path number is 11 in numerology. The date of the first message on 1-11-2015 is 1+1+1+2+0+1+5 = 11.

I continued seeing Pink everywhere.

A wall in Ireland.

The Pink Cherry trees in spring.

I was driving on a trip with a friend once, telling her about the Pink book dilemma, and she said to me:

“Do you know that Pink is the color of the high heart?”

I love that.

I also feel like Pink is a sign of Hope.

Detail from “Pink Is Everything!”

Let me just interject right here right now that I have so much gratitude for The Voice. You can't make this stuff up even if you tried.

But the year is now 2023, and still, no book is in sight.

The procrastination continues.

Procrastinate

Pink still seems to jump out at me wherever I wander. So, I guess The Voice has not abandoned me yet.

I think I place most of the blame on my lack of organization.

And follow-through.

The Vata-Sagittarian. It totally makes sense.

When I started this newsletter, I thought about naming it “Pink Is Everything!” but The Quaking Poplar 🌳 was not having it.

I need to wrap this up. I want to do it with a plea to you, my fellow Substack writers and readers.

Do you have any advice for me? Other than “just keep writing” because I’ve been strangely productive all fall and winter.

At this point, I sometimes feel like it won’t happen until my next incarnation.

I do love writing here on this platform. It’s so darn easy. Thank you, Substack!

But a real physical book? Total overwhelm.

Any and all suggestions are welcome. Just know that I am a total control freak when it comes to anything creative in my life. :)

And, if you made it to the end of this long Pink tale, many thanks for reading and/or listening.

Much Love,
Barbara