Michael Jackson and I shared at least one thing: we were both born on August 29th. He was always first on the list of "Famous People Born on this Day."

While I could appreciate his talent and liked a few of his songs, I never bought one of his albums. I would not consider myself a fan. I heard of his passing while in the middle of a softball game and my only thought was "oh, that's interesting." 

I asked my 20-something teammate about the rumor I'd seen on Facebook. Had Farrah died today too, I asked?

"Farrah who?" he replied.

"How many Farrahs do you know?" I asked with a smile, assuming he was playing with me.

"None," he said matter-of-factly.

He wasn't joking. He'd never heard of Farrah Fawcett. When I thought about it, why would he? He'd never seen the Charlie's Angels television show, the apex of her career arc. An actress known mostly for her beauty, her fame did not transcend generations.

But my young teammate certainly knew Michael Jackson's songs even though Thriller came out five years before he was born. Michael Jackson was among the most famous people in the world. Certainly some of that fame came from notoriety, but the bulk of his fame was rooted in his talent as an artist.

Where Farrah was icon, Michael was an artist.

Artists move people. Artists transform the world. Art transcends time and lives on forever.

For what it's worth, here's what I took from Mr. Jackson's death…

In this life, know your art.

Practice it.

Share it.

Live it. 

Try to get paid for it.

It does not guarantee a happy life (Mr. Jackson was proof of this, too), but there are few things as powerful as touching someone's life in a positive way by doing something you love to do.

 

P.S. While Mr. Jackson's death did not affect me emotionally, I know it can be a real drag when an artist you love checks out. I know millions of people have heavy hearts, feeling like a little piece of themselves died yesterday. To those people, I say go back and listen to the music. That's what it's there for.

Just home from a long weekend trip in New Mexico. Wonderful place. Superb company.

I've been thinking a lot of about presence, about consciously taking up space in the world. By this, I mean projecting a bigger aura of energy out into the world. You can think of presence as having the "it" factor, the je ne sais quoi that makes someone really attractive, or the kind of energy that draws attention when it enters a room.

So as my trip began, I was conscious of how I walked through the airport (with shoulders straight and back) and I made an effort to smile more. All of this felt good, but having presence is really more of a"being" state than a "doing" state. I played with the idea of extending my energy field (which usually envelopes my body and projects outward about a foot or two) twenty feet around me. If this sounds strange, all it really requires is a little bit of focus and a drop of imagination.

The reason for expanding your presence is simple: If you want to live in abundance, you must be a vibrational match for abundance. Nothing more. Nothing less. But to live in abundance, you have to be willing to take up some space in the world. You have to project a big, open, attractive energy. Staying small and hiding is not an option.

You can either be the person who gets lost in the crowd, or you can be the person that draws eyes and attention. It's up to you — this is absolutely a choice — but the  catch is that in order to expand, you have to be willing to be seen. For many people, this brings up some discomfort, but if you can get past that, life can become downright cool.

I can't say that I noticed people falling over themselves to help me or behaving much differently around me in the airport. This was okay, I was projecting a bigger energy to feel more aligned, not to change other people's behavior. Yet I was looking for some feedback as well.

On the plane I ordered a beer to celebrate the start of the trip. A $5 Heineken. It was cold and lovely. I nursed it for close to an hour. I began contemplating whether to have another as I raised the can to my mouth and swallowed the last sip. As I returned the empty to the tray, the flight attendant appeared behind me. She picked up my empty can and replaced it with a full one. 

Surprised at her telepathy and her timing, I thanked her and began to reach for my wallet. She shook her head, smiled warmly, and disappeared.

Sure, it was just $5 beer. 

But in that moment, I felt like a king. 

More of this, please.