No beating yourself up. That’s not allowed. Be patient with yourself. It took you years to form the bad habits of thought that you no longer want. It will take a little time to form new and better ones. But I promise you this: Even a slight move in this direction will bring you some peace. The more effort you apply to it, the faster you’ll find your bliss, but you’ll experience rewards immediately. — Holly Mosier
This is a means to an end. As a journalist serial entrepreneur and author, my mission is has always been to inspire others to be the best version of themselves that they can be. It’s something I’ve done my entire career, my entire life actually. Now, I’m ready to take some bold steps.
On the homepage of this site, you’ll find articles I’ve written for publications including interviews with bestselling authors for Costco’s magazine, The Connection, feature pieces for The Washington Post, articles for USA Today, alumni magazines, the National Press Club, and more. You’ll also find videos, podcasts — and inspirational thoughts and ideas that will hopefully help you think bigger. Scroll down for some of my favorite pieces, and click around for additional information. Thank you for visiting Powered-by-Hope!
November 15, 1917, 5am — “She drew on her black stockings, which seemed grotesque in such circumstances, and stepped into her high-heeled shoes adorned with silk laces. As she rose from the bed, she reached for a hook in the corner of her cell, where a floor-length fur coat hung, its sleeves and collar trimmed with another type of animal fur, possibly fox. She slipped it over the heavy silk kimono in which she had slept.
“Her black hair was disheveled; she brushed it carefully, securing it at the nape of her neck. On top of her head she perched a felt hat and tied it with a silk ribbon, so the wind would not blow it out of place as she stood in the clearing where she was being led. Slowly she bent down to take a pair of black gloves. “Then, nonchalantly, she said in a calm voice, ‘I am ready.’”
So begins “The Spy,” a new book by best-selling Brazilian author Paulo Coelho, which brings to life the story of Mata Hari — the world-famous Dutch exotic dancer and courtesan who was convicted of being a spy during World War I.(more…)
YOU’VE GOTJUNK E-MAIL!In a point-counterpoint piece that ran in the Feb. 25, 2000 Business section of The Post were two points of view on AOL, just as it was starting to fall out of favor with the masses. Hope Gibbs provided the insight into the down-side of an AOL account, while fellow reporter Bob Massey offered the slightly rosier point of view in his article, “Why AOL? Name Recognition.” Illustrations, by Dave Sullivan, provided additional comic relief.
MY FRIENDJOHNTOLD ME a few weeks ago that he had just signed up for America Online. I was not too supportive: “Don’t you know most people hate AOL?” Yes, he knew. In fact, he really wanted broadband cable access-but his cable company wasn’t going to connect his neighborhood for another three months. “I had about a dozen of those 100-hours-free disks from AOL piling up in my desk drawer,” he explained. “While I am waiting for broadband, I figured I’d try one. It’s free, after all. How bad can it be?” (more…)
Spring sports are over and fall activities are still a few months away, but that doesn’t mean your body gets the summer off. The best athletes train all year round, says superstar gymnast Shannon Miller, who has won 60 medals in the last five years.
The first thing she does every morning is get down on the floor for some stretches.
“Splits are my favorite because they keep me really limber, the 18-year-old says. She says most kids can get the same results with a partial split. (That’s where you sit and stretch with your legs in a wide V-shape, rather than push your legs down into a full split). “In time, their flexibility will increase.”
If you want a different daily stretch, Janet Seaman of the American Association for Active Lifestyles and Fitness suggests, “While standing, do a long leg stretch by bending down to touch your toes. Try this five or 10 times.” (more…)
He proposed on Valentine’s Day, 1991. After a candlelit dinner, he gave me a homemade valentine with a map of our apartment hidden inside. He kissed me very softly on the lips before sending me off to look for the treasure.
I found it inside a pink velvet box that was tucked under one of his neatly folded navy blue socks. A big, shiny round diamond mounted on a thin gold band sparkled up at me. From the moment he slipped it on my finger, I sparkled, too.
My little girl dream of discovering the prince who would carry me off to the altar became my reality. Every day, I would caress the band on the palm of my hand, and it felt so very real. He was an artist, after all. Our love would last forever.
We set the wedding for August. Six months to plan and prepare. I happily trotted off to buy a romantic wedding gown that kissed the floor when I walked, off to arrange the hall and the caterer and the rabbi that would marry mixed couples.
We made the invitations ourselves. In wedding text font, we invited his relatives from Kentucky, mine from Philadelphia, and all of our friends in between. We rolled each piece of fancy paper into a scroll and tied it with a red ribbon. He took the mass of them off to the post office, choosing the LOVE stamp as postage.
At the jewelry shop, we picked out his and hers matching wedding bands of gold. I inscribed his: “All my love, always.” Inside mine he wrote, “Now there is Hope in my life.”
It was on a sunny July Saturday, a week after my bridal shower, that the fairy tale started to melt. I had gone out with my best friend Kevin to buy $1000 worth of champagne and hors d’oeuvres at Costco for our do-it-yourself reception.
When I got home, a three-page letter scribbled on loose-leaf paper greeted me instead of my fiancé.
The note said he was sorry, that he just couldn’t go through with it. All this hurt him, too, he said, but it wasn’t going to work out. It wasn’t what he wanted. I wasn’t what he wanted. He signed it, with love. (more…)
I love my husband. I always will. But on Thanksgiving 2005, I knew I couldn’t stay married to him. We’d wed 10 years earlier, and for the next decade, I struggled long and hard with a single burning question: Why Divorce?
What happened that night is not as important as the fact that for the first time in our marriage I saw with pained eyes that we loved differently, played differently, and looked at the world through very different lenses. Rather than our unique perspectives bringing us closer, it became increasingly clear that we were living separate lives. Had our two kids, two freelance careers and a five-bedroom house in the suburbs snuffed out the passion that once bonded us? If so, could I live without the true love I longed for — for the rest of my life?