After three or four drinks, one rested on a pencil-lead-thin twig. A third zoomed in from behind me.

Nectar. In Latin, it means "drink of the gods." Originating in Greek, (néktar) is presumed to be a combination of nek, meaning "death," and tar for "overcoming." Surely for the little birds that must search out five times their body weight each day in minuscule droplets, nectar is a triumph over death.

However, for me, to have a halo of these jewels in flight overhead at 5:30 in the morning is the drink of the gods.

He's a sweet, gentle guy. When she first started dating him, she described him as "He's just a GUY" (all caps). He's funny, he's healthy, he doesn't take himself too seriously, and he has the most loving, easy to be around doggie ever!

Evidently, he cannot move here, because he has lived in Sedona before and has been burned/wearied/etc., with the 'fake spirituality.' The rest of us sharing lunch tried to come up with examples of 'fake' spirituality,

Leader (and personal  friend) asked, "How many fake cowboys in the town you're moving to?" There in that Arizona Western town, lots of peeps wear boots and hats and jeans, but don't rustle cattle. Just stylin' down Whiskey Row.

I was a fake cowgirl there last weekend. I went to the rodeo – America's oldest rodeo. Woot! I wore boots and a Western hat…No cow helped personally in any way to get me to the rodeo. The boots may have been a byproduct of your hamburger. And possibly the suede hat. The fun I had gussying up as a cowgirl was all mine!

Someone posited that fake spirituality might be the proselytizing kind. You know, the ones who tell you you aren't whole until you do this thing they've done. Or lead you in a guided meditation when all you wanted to do was give them a lift and go on your way.

Another drew ahs and mhs by suggesting "Any spirituality besides your own." Ha! Yes!

Or maybe it's just those of us who don't acknowledge our fakiness.

Speaking to the camera: "I reserve the right to change my mind tomorrow." (I think Martin Luther or some revered person…Ben Franklin? nah…) said that.

We're all fake, because we're all part who we want to be and part who we don't want to be. We enlist denial (or debilitating blame) for the part that doesn't fit the ideal "me." Whether we deem ourselves better than or worse than others, that judgy part is wedging us into a false place, and there we are fake, because we are not better than or worse than the next person. We are neither better than nor worse than our idealized self, because that self itself is unreal; it is fake.

I think my friend will be happy with her fake-adverse boyfriend. What he doesn't like about this town might even be fake only because he judges it so. No matter. I'm enriched by wrestling with the phrase and embracing my own fakiness.

Recognize and own your fake parts. You'll evolve and live from a higher plane.

Some of these "one things" are bright in my memory, probably responsive to the emotional intensity I experienced at the time. Some must be sought for, as sifting gravel looking for quartz crystal bits. I wonder if I can recall 100? I'll change the names of some people to honor the course their lives have taken…and some folks–I never got their names… To all of you: thank you, from the wealth and depths and breadths of who I've become, thank you.

1. Aunt Mozelle, the sister of my soon-to-be step-father when I was eight, who told my mother, "Virginia, it's all right. Let her call me what she wants to call me. Come on in Little Linny." No one confronted my mother. Not ever. And especially not a soon-to-be relative.
2. My father, who always called me Little Linny. Though I was very small for my age till somewhere halfway through high-school, this term of endearment always made/makes me feel special.
3. More than reading What to Say When You Talk to Yourself by Shad Helmstetter, I turned sections into exercises I performed aloud as I walked around the neighborhood park mornings. I learned to exaggerate neither the boon nor bane of my existence…to see my childhood self as my compassionate 40-ish self would see her…and comfort her…and love her…and if need be rescue her. I learned to not speak affirmations my mind would reject, nor to believe criticisms my soul would reject. Only truth is believable to the heart. Huge breakthrough. I could write chapters on how I did the exercises I invented based on reading this magnificent book, and how transformative they were. I place this book second only to the Bible.
4. The high-schooler who by showed me how easy (and appealing to others) daily showers could be.
5. Same person who impressed upon me the intrigue of having smooth-shaven legs.
6. The college professor who encouraged me to kiss a lot of frogs because they may be brothers to princes…it didn't exactly work out that way, but I learned to be more open-minded about dating and friendships.
7. The artist who demonstrated how a room with a yellow rock fireplace, pink Formica countertops and grey vinyl tile flooring could be pulled together with carefully-chosen curtain prints and craftily painted cupboards and doors!
8. The stranger who encountered me on the sidewalk at the entrance of the International House of Pancakes and 'recognized' me as a writer; though, we'd never met, nor have we yet met. His prophetic/recognition utterance encouraged me when I didn't know how much I needed encouragement.
9. The lover who pointed out I became sexually aroused when in a zone of prosperity, whether by accomplishment, talk or dream. That connected me to a part of who I am.
10. The elderly neighbor who asked me while achieving our common third-floor apartment building destination whether I needed help, and my off-handing my purse to him because my arm was in severe distress due to excessive or non-ergonomic computer use. It's ok to ask an elderly or  disabled person to assist you. They enjoy being needed. You need the help! Ask for it. Accept it graciously and gratefully.

What's your story? Who changed your life? What happened then – and now?

I wonder if I can list 100 1-things…stay with me, all right?