Mark: Alright, Michelle, we’re diving into a book of reflections, prayers, and meditations today. I asked you to come up with a five-word review. What have you got? Michelle: I’ve got it. My five-word review is: "Okay, I need a nap." Mark: A nap? That’s your takeaway? Michelle: It’s just… so much thinking! The title is literally I’ve Been Thinking.... It’s gentle, it’s wise, but it’s exhausting to be that self-aware. My brain needs a break just reading it. What’s yours? Mark: Mine is: "Thoughtful, gentle, surprisingly strong wisdom." Michelle: See? Strong wisdom. That takes energy. But I get it. This isn't your typical self-help book. We are talking about I've Been Thinking...: Reflections, Prayers, and Meditations for a Meaningful Life by Maria Shriver. Mark: Exactly. And to understand this book, you have to understand who she is. This isn't just a celebrity author. This is a Peabody and Emmy-award-winning journalist, a former First Lady of California, and, of course, a member of the Kennedy family. She has spent her entire life in the public eye, under immense pressure to be, well, perfect. Michelle: That’s a crucial piece of context. It changes the lens completely. It’s one thing for a lifestyle guru to talk about finding peace, it’s another for someone who has navigated that level of public scrutiny and family legacy. So, is this book her secret to surviving all that? Mark: In a way, yes. But her answer is probably not what you’d expect. It starts with dismantling the very idea of a perfect life.

Michelle: Okay, let's start there. The "perfect life" is the ultimate currency of our social media age. If you’re not projecting perfection, you’re doing it wrong. How does Shriver push back against that? Mark: She pushes back hard. One of her core arguments is that a meaningful life and a perfect life are not the same thing. In fact, they’re often in opposition. She says, "A meaningful life doesn’t mean a perfect life. It means making mistakes. It means getting up and trying again and again." Michelle: That sounds nice, but it can also feel like a platitude. What does that actually look like in her world? Mark: She gives this incredibly vulnerable and, honestly, kind of funny story from her time as the First Lady of California. She’s at her son's school, and a teacher pulls her aside, whispering with this grave concern, "Mrs. Shriver, I just wanted to let you know… your son’s shoes have holes in them." Michelle: Oh, the horror! A Kennedy with holey shoes! Mark: Right? And Shriver says in that moment, she felt this wave of humiliation. Here she is, trying to project this image of having it all together, and she's being called out for her son's worn-out sneakers. She knew about the shoes—they were his favorites—but the judgment, the crack in the facade of perfection, was mortifying. Michelle: I can see that. But hold on. Let’s be real for a second. For someone with her resources, a hole in a shoe is a style choice, or a minor oversight. For a lot of people, it’s a genuine financial problem. Does she acknowledge that privilege? Mark: She does, but her point is less about the shoe itself and more about the illusion we're all chasing. The teacher wasn't just seeing a shoe; she was seeing a failure to maintain the image of a perfect family. Shriver’s realization was that her life wasn't perfect, and that trying to pretend it was, was the actual source of her suffering. The real work wasn't buying new shoes; it was letting go of the need to appear flawless. Michelle: Okay, that lands better. It’s about the internal pressure, not the external object. It’s the feeling of being exposed as imperfect. Mark: Precisely. It connects directly to a quote she uses from Carl Jung that’s central to the book: "I am not what happened to me. I am what I choose to become." The teacher’s comment happened to her, but she could choose to see it as a reminder to embrace a real, messy, meaningful life over a fake, perfect one. That’s the shift. It’s not about circumstance; it’s about choice. Michelle: That’s a powerful distinction. It moves from "my life is flawed" to "I am choosing a life of meaning, which includes flaws." It’s active, not passive. Mark: Exactly. And that active choice is what she defines as the foundation of a meaningful life.

Michelle: Okay, so if we're giving up on the chase for perfection, what's the new goal? Is it about gaining power, control, influence? Because that feels like the other side of the coin. Mark: That’s the perfect question, because she flips our definition of power on its head. She argues that we’re all chasing the wrong kind of power—the external kind, like titles, wealth, or fame. She learned about true power from a completely unexpected source: a community of Benedictine nuns in Erie, Pennsylvania. Michelle: Nuns? That is not where I expected this to go. Mark: Right? She went to visit them and was just blown away. These women had no money, no status, no public profile. They worked in inner cities, largely unnoticed. Yet, she says they were some of the most powerful people she’d ever met. Michelle: How does she define their power, then? What did it look like? Mark: She called it "intestinal fortitude." It was an unshakeable inner strength that came from their faith, their purpose, and their service to others. They weren't trying to influence anyone; they were just living their values. And because of that, they radiated this calm, steady energy. They were intellectually curious, deeply empathetic, and completely fulfilled. Their power was internal, and therefore, it couldn't be taken away. Michelle: I love that concept, "intestinal fortitude." But it also sounds a bit abstract. How does a regular person, who isn't a nun, cultivate that? How do you practice that on a chaotic Tuesday afternoon when your inbox is on fire and your kids are screaming? Mark: Shriver’s answer is surprisingly simple: The Power of the Pause. She says that intestinal fortitude is built in the small moments. It’s the pause you take before you send an angry email. The pause before you judge someone online. The pause before you react with fear or anxiety. In that pause, you have the chance to get calm, to connect with your own values, and to choose a response from a place of strength and love, rather than weakness and reactivity. Michelle: So the pause is like a mini-meditation. It's a space for choice. Mark: Exactly. She talks a lot about prayer and meditation, not as some lofty spiritual goal, but as practical tools. Prayer is talking to God, or the universe, or whatever you believe in. Meditation is creating the silence to listen for the answer. The pause is the doorway to both. It's where you stop being a victim of your circumstances and start becoming the architect of your responses. A friend of hers, Elizabeth Lesser, calls it "muscular" love—it takes strength to be that intentional. Michelle: "Muscular love." I like that. It’s not soft. It’s disciplined. It’s a workout for your soul. Mark: That's it. It's the strength to not get swept up in the negativity, which she saw everywhere in media and politics. Instead of fighting it, she chose to focus on building her own inner calm. That, to her, is real power.

Mark: And that inner strength she talks about isn't built in a vacuum. This leads to the third major idea in the book, which really resonated with readers. She dismantles this very American ideal of the rugged individual who "goes it alone." Michelle: Oh, the self-made hero. The one who pulls themselves up by their own bootstraps, even if they have to invent the boots and the straps first. Mark: That’s the one. Shriver says it's a complete illusion. She writes, "Going it alone is isolating, overwhelming, and most of all, it’s unsustainable." She admits that for years, as the only girl in a family of boys, she was fiercely independent and struggled to ask for help. She thought it was a sign of weakness. Michelle: I think so many people feel that. Asking for help feels like admitting defeat. Mark: It does. But her brother challenged her on it. He told her she’d always had help, she just needed to learn to ask for it and accept it. This was a revelation for her. She started actively asking for help with her work on Alzheimer's, which is her big mission, and she was amazed by the support she received. She realized she had never accomplished anything of value alone. Michelle: That’s a huge admission, especially for someone from a family that is seen as so powerful and self-sufficient. Mark: It is. And it led her to this beautiful concept of "Faith Keepers." A friend of hers coined the term to describe their group of girlfriends. Faith Keepers are the people in your life who keep the faith for you when you can't find it in yourself. They’re the ones who remind you of your strength when you feel weak, who cheer you on, who see the best in you. Michelle: I love that term, "Faith Keepers." It’s so much better than just "support system." It feels more active, more spiritual. It makes me immediately think of the two or three people in my life who do that for me. Mark: Everyone has them, or needs them. And Shriver's point is that we need to consciously gather them, appreciate them, and be one for others. This is the antidote to "going it alone." It’s about building a community of mutual support. It’s about the courage to be vulnerable enough to say, "I can't do this by myself." Michelle: And it’s interesting, because the book became an instant number one bestseller. Clearly, that message—that it’s okay to not be perfect, to be quiet, and to need other people—was something a lot of people were desperate to hear. Mark: Absolutely. It’s a message of connection in a world that often feels very disconnected.

Mark: When you pull all these threads together—letting go of perfection, redefining power as inner strength, and embracing community—a clear picture emerges. The meaningful life Shriver is talking about is, at its core, an examined life. Michelle: It’s not about achieving a certain outcome, but about engaging in a certain process. The process of thinking, reflecting, and choosing. Mark: Exactly. And she leaves the reader with three profound, and frankly, lifelong questions to guide that process. They come in the epilogue, and they are: Who am I? Why am I here? And what is my purpose? Michelle: Those are the big ones. No easy answers there. Mark: None at all. But she argues that our life's work is to figure them out. And the book is her offering of tools and reflections to help you on that journey. It’s not a map with a destination, but more like a compass to help you find your own way. Michelle: I like that. A compass, not a map. You know, in one of the last chapters, she talks about her New Year's practice of making two lists: a "Bury" list of things to let go of, and a "Bring" list of things to carry forward. Mark: Right, like burying self-criticism and bringing in more gratitude. Michelle: Exactly. And it feels like a really practical way to apply these big ideas. So, maybe that’s the takeaway for our listeners. Instead of some grand life overhaul, what’s one small thing you can "bury" this week? Maybe it’s the habit of complaining, which Shriver writes a whole chapter about giving up. Or maybe it’s comparing yourself to someone on social media. Mark: And what’s one thing you can "bring"? Maybe it’s five minutes of quiet reflection, that "pause" we talked about. Or maybe it's a call to one of your "Faith Keepers" just to say thank you. Michelle: I love that. A small, weekly re-evaluation. If you try it, let us know how it goes. You can find us on all the usual social channels. We’d genuinely love to hear what you’re choosing to bury and bring. Mark: A beautiful way to put it. It’s about making your life a conscious creation. Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.