“Don’t get this game,” my sister warned me, “it will ruin your life.” Well, my life wasn’t ruined like 13-year Lucas Chan, who spent $4300 on the notorious Candy Crush game in one marathon session.

It’s one of the healthy outlets for me to distract myself, come down from stress and chaos, from screaming kids, messy kitchen, homework projects, piles of laundry.

But in order to allow myself to escape into this virtual reality, I need to trust/control myself that I won’t spend too much time and money, and I’ll use this a break, not an escape. As a doctor of Natural Health, specializing in the mind-body connection, I know that there’s a root cause for this need to escape. So I have to know my reasons: What am I escaping from? When I feel overwhelming anxiety, I know I need a break, and if I go for a run or cuddle with my cat and play Candy Crush, I’ll come back with a different perspective on my family. But in order to know how to not let a break become a great escape, I need to be aware of the core emotion that driving me. So I ask:

Is there too much going on and I feel powerless and out of control?

These breaks can be opportunities to:
Shift gears from overwhelm to being at ease.
Remind myself that I am a mature, smart, resourceful adult who can handle my
family.
Know that I don’t have to do everything right now, that I can choose to take a break and do things because I want to, not because I have to.

So go ahead, indulge in your favorite game, whether it’s Candy Crush or list others because some distractions are actually appropriate. And you can demonstrate to your family a healthy, appropriate ways to deal with stress or overwhelm. All from playing Candy Crush. Who knew?

One night my indoor kitten snuck out, and for four straight hours I sat on the chilly, moon-lit deck meowing his name into the darkness. When the little rascal finally did come home, he taught me nine profound life lessons that will fluff up your heart and get your mind purring…

1. Don’t rely on me to feel good – I’m highly unreliable. Rely on yourself only. There is something inside of you, which is always reliable.
2. I’m here to mind my own business and do what pleases me, and so should you.
3. I’m not small and fragile, unsafe and unstable in the midst of a wild, cruel jungle-world. I’m solid and powerful, safe, and guarded, and so are you.
4. I’m never lost. Once I know Home, I can always find my way back, if I choose, and so are you.
5. I’m not helpless. I have installed mechanisms to defend myself if there is something or somebody rubbing me the wrong way; I’m free to hiss, scratch and leave the unwanted, and so are you.
6. I honor others with my presence and affection. It’s my gift to them to be cherished and appreciated, and so are you.
7. I don’t care about other people’s opinion of how, where and with whom I live and neither should you.
8. I don’t worry about others’ opinions about my appearance. I’m perfect in my own uniqueness, and so are you.
9. When I jump onto your belly and purr, I am letting you feel the love you already have in you.

Two days ago, I was flying back home from our family’s vacation in Boston, and my 9-years-old son was asking the flight attendant questions like “What movie are we going to watch tonight?” and “How long is the flight?” He was using a normal voice and was very polite. (During the 6-hour flight he asked maybe 3 questions total.) However, the flight attendant grew increasingly impatient and started snapping at my son, rudely: “Keep your voice down, young man” and “Stop asking me when we’ll arrive in LA, because the answer will always be the same.” Meanwhile, she was being super-nice to a male passenger and chatted loudly with him for half-an-hour. I found the behavior of both flight attendants out of line and lacking professional courtesy. It felt like discrimination against children on the airplane. And it made me wonder: Do they (our kids) represent too much happiness and aliveness, freedom and self-esteem to us (adults), who have forgotten these things?
Katherine Agranovich, Ph.D., author of Tales of My Large, Loud, Spiritual Family

What happens next freaks me out, even in my sleep. I am suddenly aware of a number of ghostly, transparent beings drifting in the air above the birthing woman. Shockingly, I realize that two of them are my grandparents: Grandma Asya is lingering close to the bottom of the woman’s huge, bulging belly, and Grandpa Zalmon is at the top, close to the diaphragm. Two angelic beings are there, too, right by my grandparents’ side. Standing eight feet high, they look like vertical celestial doves with a human visage, their wings spread open, pouring rays of brilliant light onto the oblivious mother-to-be.
Apparently, there is no privacy whatsoever in this delivery room, and no time for sentimental schmoozing between my grandparents and me; it seems I am here on business only.
“Help her!” the angel standing next to my grandma floats closer to me, and I immediately recognize the voice that woke part of me up. Hovering directly above the birthing woman, like some rescue helicopter beaming a spotlight, I’m like a music conductor moving her arms in unison with some interspatial, energetic symphony.
Tales of Large, Loud, Spiritual Family
Chapter 18
A New Year’s like no other

Everyone’s PR client Katherine/ Katya Agranovich was given excellent marks in New Consciousness Book Review of Tales of My Large, Loud Spiritual Family on the NCR website. 5 Stars in 4 Categories. Congratulations Katherine!

Read the Review Now: http://www.ncreview.com/biography/tales-of-my-large-loud-spiritual-family

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