by Gabe Berman – the author of Live Like a Fruit Fly


The summer’s sun is now but a memory.

And like everything else which we once loved, it has left us too soon.

The seagulls have reclaimed the beaches and I feel like an old ghost walking amongst them on the shoreline.

The days are getting darker, earlier, and the cold winter is foreshadowed in this breeze.

I imagine the seagulls are angels in bird bodies as they screech to me.

“Like everything else, summers come and go but always remember to be the source of your own light,” they say.

I smile a slight smile and walk on.

– gb

What’s My Purpose?


You Have No Choice About This


Today’s Soundtrack

It’s the sound of samurai swords clashing.

It’s the sound of six-gun carrying, lone cowboys riding horseback across the Great Plains.

It’s the sound of space battles.

It’s the sound of star crossed lovers seized in their first or final kiss.

It’s Scheherazade by Rimsky-Korsakov.

The word “epic” is thrown around and overused like an old beach towel, and therefore would almost devalue and diminish the sheer magnitude of this colossal, classical composition. But “epic” unquestionably is the only word which fully encompasses how this music feels.

It’s the goddamn sound of sun rays after a violent thunderstorm.

And, it’s tied for first with Brubeck’s Take Five as my dad’s favorite piece of music of all time.

I found his old Scheherazade CD this morning and slid it into the Saab’s stereo. With the convertible top down, I glided to the beach accompanied by a subtle breeze, roadside flowers, epic melodies and of course, epic memories.

“In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.”―Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success



The Master Is The Apprentice

“I’m feeling really anxious/shitty/scared. Can you tell me something good please?”

I received this text from a friend a few nights ago.

I instantly responded, “It’s an illusion. It’s mostly all an illusion. And the fraction that isn’t, truly loves you. So just sit there, do nothing, and receive.”

I was just riffing, thoughtlessly riffing. But that doesn’t make it any less true. In fact, probably more true. Light years more.

She courteously thanked me for taking the time to respond. And then thanked me wholeheartedly the next morning because she was breathing more easily. Feeling more free.

I’m not sharing this with you for plaudits, I’m sharing it just to share.

Because we teach what we need to learn. And/or, remember.


If you haven’t read my book, it’s officially time to:


It Doesn’t Matter


A Love Letter

Dear Reader,

I love you.

Yes, you.

The person reading these words right now.

I don’t care if you’re male or female, old or young, straight or gay, white or black, yin or yang, I love you.

Really, I do.

I am so in love with your essence, just thinking about it simultaneously wrecks and rebuilds me.

What do I mean by your essence?

It’s that mysterious force which animates all of life. It flows with such gentleness. Such grace. And yet, such power.

And, in this moment, it’s all I sense in you. Because it’s being sensed with the exact awareness created by the same mysterious, all pervasive force.

But let’s not get anchored with concepts.

Please just know, down to your bones and beyond, you are loved.

Right now, regardless of how you feel or what you’ve been told, you are loved.

Unconditionally. Unequivocally. Unrelentingly.

Underneath all of your feelings, emotions, thoughts, reactions and judgments, you are loved like a mother loves her child. Like a poet loves his poems. Like sunbeams love flowers.

No questions, exceptions or expectations.

Please allow yourself to allow me this.

Although, I will love you anyway.

Every way.

Thank you,


The Pan

My shadow moved with precision on the bathroom wall as I flossed my teeth and I focused fully on my ghostlike projection as if it was the most important thing in the universe at the time.

I breathed it all in as if a great answer might be revealed out of the subtlety of the absolute mundane.

But no answer was revealed.

Because the attention I brought to this moment, is the answer.


Father’s Day

If I had access to a time machine, and could only use it once, I know exactly where I’d go.

A few years back, sitting on the couch with my dad, listening to Pat Matheny through his huge speakers at unsafe decibels (as if we were in that old Maxell commercial), looking at each other and smiling as children do.

We’d sit there until my mom yelled at us.

And then we’d sit there a little longer.

With that, tomorrow is Father’s Day.

My dad left me a few years ago and those speakers washed away in the hurricane.

And here I sit in Starbucks, listening to Pat Metheny for old time’s sake, and thinking – what’s the point of it all?

But I knew the answer before I asked.

The point is, further.

Keep moving further.

Because I know deeply, down to the depth of my neurons, more moments that will turn to monumental memories are on their way.

So, I’ll keep my head up.

And keep moving further.

I owe that to him. And to myself.

(This is a chapter to a new book I’m writing which I may or may not finish – thanks so much for trading your time to read it – PLEASE share it with your friends)

“In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” — Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success


June 14, 2015

“My dad’s tackle box
sits in my sister’s garage,
filled with memories.”

– gb

My dad, Harold Berman, was born seventy-three years ago today.

I’m sitting in his seat in the cabana, looking zen-like at the ocean as he would.

(thanks for reading my words, especially today – I’m grateful for you)


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