What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
Visions #161: and it was resolved that it was resolved…
Personal ads. They’re … personal! Very.
Each week I write these Visions of Possibility and Anticipation to practice asking for what I want. And to get clarity on what that really is, even when asking feels conflicted.
I always get useful information about my relationship with various aspects of the ask. Join in if you like!
Okay! I just got a pretty terrible piece of news today and am kind of reeling, so I think most of my wishes are going to be related to that.
To it getting resolved. Peacefully and easily.
Heart sigh for that.
Alright. Let’s do this.
Thing 1: An ease-filled speedy resolution — and MIRACLE.
Here’s what I want:
Situation X needs to sort itself out immediately.
This needs to happen smoothly and easily.
Ways this might work:
I have not even the slightest idea.
I’m playing with…
Faith and trust, at deeper levels than previously experienced.
Asking for miraculous and simple solutions.
Risk-taking.
Wishing.
Taking it to the beach and letting the ocean help.
Doing shiva nata on it.
Asking incoming-me for advice.
Finding the good and/or the useful inside the hard.
And, of course, silent retreat.
Thing 2: Ballsiness.
Here’s what I want:
I need courage for a thing like I have never needed it before.
And it needs to be courage mixed with mojo mixed with sheer crazy audacity.
Ways this might work:
Being around people who are like this. Like Jason. Or Sixpack.
Thinking of other people I know who can do this and calling them.
I’m playing with…
Feeling lucky.
Thing 3: Find the missing piece of paper. Or give up and re-invent.
Here’s what I want:
There is a piece of paper. Or a document on my computer. I don’t know.
But it has the piece of information that I need, and I do not want to have to reinvent the wheel. Don’t make me come up with this stuff again!
Ways this might work:
“Everything that is mine returns to me.”
I’m playing with…
Looking in the least likely places, just because.
Thing 4: Inhabiting the Hypothalamus.
Here’s what I want:
The Hypothalamus is my new office at Stompopolis that I am avoiding, even though I am the Director.
I want to spend at least ten minutes there every day. Maybe take a cat nap or something.
Just to get used to the idea that this space is mine.
Ways this might work:
I could …
Invent a ritual! Do an OOD! Sing a song! Make it fun! Have a costume!
I don’t know.
I’m playing with…
Remembering that this process has happened lots of times with lots of spaces, it’s how I ease into things. It won’t always be my way, but it is right now.
And that’s okay. And I also don’t have to like it.
Thing 5: Observing scripts and de-activating them.
Here’s what I want:
This weekend there have been a lot of triggers, and so I have been noticing a lot about thought patterns.
Then shiva nata gave me some epiphanies about why those patterns are the way they are, and what I might do with them.
Ways this might work:
A notebook of script-noticings, and then doing silly things to lovingly interrupt the patterns before and once they are engaged.
I’m playing with…
Playfulness. Presence. Patience. Wonder.
Thing 6: Like a fairground stripper, baby.
Here’s what I want:
If you read the Friday Chicken this weekend, you know that I am really into doing things LIKE A FAIRGROUND STRIPPER. Whatever that means?
So I want to do that.
I want to do things with a hip walk and a strut and a swagger. With attitude and sass and other things that feel woefully unfamiliar right now.
Ways this might work:
There is a part of me who knows how to do this!
I can talk to her.
I’m playing with…
Working it. Rowr.
Thing 7: Progress on the Chronicles.
Here’s what I want:
To make note of things that are noteworthy.
Ways this might work:
Ten minutes a day.
I’m playing with…
Sweetness. Playtime. Love.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
Okay! I wanted sweet delicious focus, and I got it. To a large extent.
Then I wanted to take lots of photos and I did. Of me! And it was scary, but I am getting better at it.
Next I wanted to disrupt the pattern of Everything Is Ruined, and I got really really good at that. So yay.
And I wanted ZOOM and there was ZOOM. Not enough. But it happened.
Playful playing. Shelter for the comments.
What’s welcome: Your own wishes, gwishes, visions and personal ads, small or large. Updates on past ones if you like.
Here or on your own or in your head. It’s all fine. Or call silent retreat!
I’m receptive to warm wishes for the things I’m working on and playing with.
If you’re looking for suggestions or heart-sighs or anything else related to your wish, you will need to ask for that because our default mode is giving each other space and spaciousness for the process.
This is a place of safety for creative play and exploration, with a very non-dogmatic approach. We don’t tell each other how to ask for things and we don’t give unsolicited advice. We make space for people’s wishes.
That’s it. Let’s throw a bunch of things in the pot!
As always, amnesty applies. Leave a wish here any time you want.
xox
Friday Chicken #210: like a fairground stripper. Like a what?
In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of ritual and self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
I’m sitting writing this in the big red chair in the Hypothalamus.
That’s my new office at Stompopolis.
I say “new”. I’ve had the keys since March. But I don’t go in there.
I have issues with space. Issues with not having it. Issues with having it.
This is not new.
But that was the theme of this week, and so here I am, practicing. Hello, beautiful space that is both open and contained, that is just for me, that I have so much trouble growing into. Hello. Let’s look at the week from over here, and see what happens.
The hard stuff
The second saddest letter.
So last week I got the saddest letter.
And then one week later, at the same time, the same person sent a second letter that was basically an apology for the first letter.
A sadness-filled apology for how sad the letter was, for how sad this person feels that they wrote it, for how I must be feeling (sad!), for the entire situation (which, in case you hadn’t figured this out yet, is sad sad sad).
With — wait for it — even more apologies about the fact that they still stand by all the original sad things, despite the fact that yes, sad.
Ugh. The fact that this letter changes absolutely nothing might be even more sad than the letter or the situation or any of it.
Sad.
More sadness.
Last Friday I did a hugely important, meaningful thing that I have been looking forward to for months. An amazing and transformative moment in the life of Havi.
And there were two important people that I had really been [hmmm. hoping? expecting to? some kind of happy verb!] to share this with.
Except neither of these people is really speaking to me right now. Because stuff changes and things die.
So. That was kind of lonely. And I felt sad again.
Luckily my playmate kept me company and was there to be excited for and with me. To appreciate what a big deal this is.
Thank goodness for that or I would have probably cried my way through the whole thing.
The week of misunderstandings and possible misunderstandings.
And worrying about misunderstandings!
This is huge core-Havi-issue pain, being misunderstood, and this week had so many misunderstandings.
One of these in particular triggered a massive attack of insecurity freakout, where the prevailing script was I ruin everything, and of course it was totally in my head, and of course it erased everything else.
So that took a while to untangle.
I am so upset about this!
Someone just wandered into Stompopolis off the street while I was deep in the zone of of working.
Someone who was not supposed to be there. Who shouldn’t have even been able to get into the building. In my space. In this sanctuary of magic that I have built for only beautiful things. With their shoes on!
I wasn’t prepared for it. I didn’t know what was happening.
Figuring out new signage and new protocols and new everything, but ohmygod I am upset about this.
Also all mechanisms fell through. Pirate crew were there but couldn’t figure out how to take charge of the situation. Because I hadn’t trained them to?
I had to run around for a while yelling in my head: No! I am the one with the ball! You guys have to tackle anyone who comes near me! Your entire thing is to help me stay invisible so I can do my important work of radiating culture from behind the scenes! Please help meeeeee!
And that was my stuff, and I had to go do a lot of work with it.
But mainly it was just another piece of information about SPACE, which was the pattern of the week.
Speaking of that…
The new version of Incoming Me showed up this weekend. Which was great. I’d been waiting for her and wondering about her and expecting her ever since Havi Bell landed last week.
Except.
Except she woke me up at 3 in the morning with a long list of things to do.
And her whole thing, as she told me, all perky and happy in the middle of the night, is helping me become the version of me who joyfully takes up her space.
So yes, that.
And then all hell broke loose this week as every single issue I have around space came rushing to the forefront.
At dance class I got squeezed out of rows, relegated to edges, every single time.
That thing with the building. Things online. Everywhere. That was what showed up. And I hated it.
Harmony (that’s what she’s calling herself, because she’s hilarious) said that this is my obstacle course. I don’t WANT an obstacle course!
She said I could make it a lot easier if I took the answer to one obstacle and applied it to all the rest, and I didn’t want to do that either, even though she is right. She’s hoping I will eventually take this as a fun challenge. Not happening yet. Still in my stuff.
So much grieving left to do.
Releasing and releasing and releasing.
Sometimes it feels like I will never be done crying for things that happened THEN.
This week was all about uncovering new wells of pain about loss. Layers that I didn’t know about.
Auuuuuuuuuuuugh the heat.
I do not do well in the heat. I am not that kind of flower. I wilt.
This week was way too much hot. Things annoyed me, which is a sure sign that it is too hot for Havi.
I actually slept with all the ice packs from the freezer, in a little circle around me.
Writing a difficult letter.
Headache via Bolivia.
The two year old next door has transitioned from late night screaming temper tantrums that last for hours into a new thing.
The new thing is somehow, impossibly, even worse.
It is excited squealing and yelping that starts at about four in the morning.
It’s a good thing he’s cute. I will say that.
It has not been fun. Also, it seems like one of the main perks of not living in Bolivia is that you get to sleep whenever you want. So I am extra annoyed about this right now.
People not taking responsibility for their stuff.
And bringing it to me when it is not mine. All week long. And bringing it into my space, on twitter and facebook and in other forms.
Sometimes even people who have studied with me and therefore know that the main precursor to everything thing I teach is: Hey, sweetie. OWN. YOUR. SHIT.
Except they forget that part. Which is kind of the most important part, because without that you can’t do the part about process and play and exploration and creative discovery. You have to start from safety and sovereignty.
So there was boundary stuff aplenty this week, and that was exhausting.
Wait, another misunderstanding!
Sometimes people you care about are in their stuff!
And sometimes you want them to not be in their stuff.
Which is, ta-da!, your stuff.
So then you have to work on your stuff. You have to remember that it’s not your job to make it all better for them. That there are lots of ways to be present with someone who is in their stuff without taking it on.
Such is the work of life. Sometimes I feel really relieved that I have been in training for this for so many years. But man, misunderstandings are so painful.
The good stuff
Move those hips.
The beautiful cheetah of a dance instructor in my class is my only source of pop culture information. Apparently Elton John called Madonna a ‘fairground stripper’? Okay.
Anyway, that was the theme of his dance class, and it was awesome.
“I want us to dance like fairground strippers today! Kick it, ladies, like FAIRGROUND STRIPPERS! Let’s get those legs up, like fairground strippers…”
I have no idea what a fairground stripper is but that was a very fun class.
And now I am walking around swiveling my hips like a fairground stripper, it’s kind of great.
Plus you can add this sentence to anything. Kind of like adding “in bed” (or “except in bed!”) to fortune cookies.
It’s very entertaining. Much like a fairground stripper…
See?
The coronation.
It went beautifully and smoothly.
All my wishes and asks came true.
Including the most unlikely ones. Specifically:
1) I asked that the experience be palpably better for everyone else involved because I was there.
Then we were all waiting in this cramped corridor and everyone was irritable. So I did a peacefulness meditation for the room we were going to enter. And the second I felt it fill completely with peace and knew that my work was done, they opened the doors and said: “The room is ready for you!”
And everyone was instantly happy, and someone even said, “Wow, this room feels so peaceful…”
Yes. Yes it does. Yay.
2) I asked that my process be differentiated in some way, that it stand out.
And it did. A highly unusual thing happened when my name was called, and it was very exciting! Almost as exciting as… a fairground stripper.
But really the whole thing. Doing it alone, on my own. Having the company of my playmate. Searching for clews. Taking pictures. It was perfect.
Playdating all the playdates.
Another week of being in play, as play, through play, with play, all forms of play. Almost as if I were a fairground stripper…
This week’s play had questions and answers, intimacy, shelter and sheltering and being sheltered, wonder, creativity and patience.
Play is changing things. And committing to playfulness is too.
Dance class, at least when I wasn’t in my space-related pain.
Beautiful subtle nuanced movements, new understandings, new inspiration, a new level of being able to be in movement.
Took a million classes this week. Like a fairground stripper…
Ez.
Talking to Ez this week. Pronounced E-Z. Like a fairground stripper…
We don’t talk that often but when we do, we end up collapsed in giggles for an hour, being the funniest and having all the words.
My brother. The best.
Ahahahahaha of course.
There was no misunderstanding. Of course. Usual error! It all happened in my head! No explanation was necessary! Which is good, because I broke the pattern and didn’t try to explain.
I had the superpower of Everything Is Okay. Like a fairground stripper…
Physical therapy.
Well, it’s more like emotional therapy, that just happens through the body.
I cried and processed grief, as always. He instinctively knew how to do all the right things, as always. It was as if our nervous systems were completely attuned to each other, we were synched up with both each other and the miracle of healing. It was intense and important and exactly what I needed. Like a fairground stripper…
What a connection. It’s kind of like what I have with my business mentor, except with the body.
Met the new Incoming Me! And she’s amazing.
I love her. She’s wonderful. Smart, funny, kooky, wise, says all the best things.
She’s been so much help this week.
We’re tearing stuff apart. Like a fairground stripper…
Beautiful beautiful beach day.
And it was warm!
For the first time since moving to Oregon, I actually wore a bikini on the coast. No sweater! No anything! Just a bikini. Like a fairground stripper…
Also, all the five year old girls were jealous because it is a total minnie mouse bikini.
Also the beach was gorgeous and mostly deserted (except for those five year old girls and accompanying cluster of adults). I walked for hours. Played in the Pacific. The ocean gave me a healing. It was a hell of a day.
Marisa is back.
I got to hold her hand and smell her hair and tell all the stories and hear all the stories, and everything is good because of this.
And I am taking her to the beach. Like a fairground stripper…
Stompopolis!
You guys! Stompopolis is so amazing and we are so close to opening!
I had the best time playing there this week. Like a fairground stripper…
And as of this week, we are getting ready to start sparking the sparks online, so if you want to follow Stompopolis and the secret delight-filled goings on via the Twitters or in the hidden room behind facebook or look at photos on Instagram, please please do that.
We would love to play with you some more.
Playing live at the meme beach house — it’s the Fake Band of the Week!
Background? Ez and I make up bands. Stu (retired Bolshevik-fearing voice-to-text software) once translated “people will hate me and be jealous” to “they’ll hang out at my Meme Beach House“. It’s just one guy.
This week’s band is totally my brother’s fault.
Easy Goat Zonkers.
Can I just say that this one might be my favorite band of all time?
Though, of course, as it turns out… it’s really just one guy.
Hallo Hallo! I am saying Hallo Hallo. Announcement time.
Picture me wearing that crazy hat…
Same as last time. The Monster Manual & Coloring Book.
Saved my ass a hundred times this week. And I watch people on the Floop use it to destuckify. You can absolutely tell who has the tools. It works.
That’s it for me …
Join my Friday ritual in the comments if you feel like it. Or call silent retreat!
We let people have their own experience. We’re supportive and welcoming. And we don’t give advice (unless people specifically ask for it).
Wishing you a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day, a restful weekend and a happy week to come.
Shabbat shalom.
p.s. It’s fine if it’s not Friday anymore. There’s complete chicken amnesty — join in whenever (or not) and it’s no big deal. Like a fairground stripper…
Shelter.
Whenever I am at the bus stop, I remember that its secret name is bus shelter.
And then I whisper: SHELTER.
I fill up on shelter.
I breathe it in, as a quality that lives somewhere inside of me and is sparked by this moment of remembering it.
Collarbone lungs.
Wally told me once that the lungs extend all the way up to the tips of the collarbones, even slightly over the edge, almost curling over them. I can’t remember exactly. He said it so perfectly.
God. Our lungs, our amazing, amazing lungs.
Breathing all the way down into the secret corners, all the way up into the secret nooks and hidden openings.
I love this.
Especially the moment of imagining.
Thinking about this makes me feel like a butterfly.
Even though butterflies don’t have collarbones. That sense of spreading, opening, outstretched.
This is what I am doing with SHELTER.
This is what I am doing with SHELTER.
Breathing it up into my collarbone lungs. Imagining that shelter is kissing my butterfly spreading heart.
I become so full of shelter that I am sheltered and I am sheltering and I am all the shelters.
Sometimes I can’t do that. But I can still stand under the shelter and remember: shelter.
It’s like being under the canopy. I love that word. Canopy.
Under all kinds of canopies — of stars. Of trees. Into the sukkah. Which is its own tiny temporary home. Making space through covering things. It’s a blanket fort, really. The canopy of peace, remember?
Hello, shelter.
I say hello to other things too.
I say hello to other attributes related to shelter, because all qualities share genetic material.
Hello, sustenance. Hello, grounding. Hello, protection. Hello, going inside. Hello, receptivity. Hello, presence. Hello, delight. Shelter allows for delight. This is something I learned from shiva nata.
Sometimes I write on the palm of my hand with a finger: Shelter.
Sometimes I am a bell (Havi is a bell, Isabel is a bell is a bell is a bell), and I ring a a secret bell.
I ring the bell of shelter inside of me, and then I reverberate with shelter and being sheltered.
Or I ring the bell of shelter inside the shelter, and then the entire shelter comes back to being a source of shelter.
Sometimes I look for clews or wonder what I know that I don’t know that I know about shelter.
I claim the superpower of shelter, and then I take it with me onto the bus.
I take it with me.
Breathing it through my collarbone lungs.
Remembering that I am in the costume of a person riding the bus, but really I am riding this truth of shelter.
As a secret glowing heart of shelter. Safe inside of my shining force field shelter. Quietly humming the bus into peacefulness because this is what happens when I have SHELTER.
Notes, responses and murmurings. The commenting shelter.
Wally is my massage genius. His hands are always warm. He knows what is good. If you come to Rally (Rally!), definitely get a massage with him. He is in upstairs from Stompopolis and down the hall from the Hidden Playground.
Today I am receptive to: all the words! Words like: SHELTER. Or comfort. Or delight. Or if you have a word you would like to breathe in and you want to whisper to us what it is, that would be beautiful.
I am also okay with things that have been sparked for you or other places/situations where you practice or might feel inspired to practice this or something similar.
As always: we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process. We take responsibility for what’s ours, we let everyone else have what’s theirs. We tread gently.
Hello, sweet words. Hello, butterfly breath. Hello hello hello.
Visions #160: en theos
Personal ads. They’re … personal! Very.
Each week I write these Visions of Possibility and Anticipation to practice asking for what I want. And to get clarity on what that really is, even when asking feels conflicted.
I always get useful information about my relationship with various aspects of the ask. Join in if you like!
I’m having a little trouble getting clear on what I want right now because this crazy heat is cooking my brain.
Let’s see.
Thing 1: Sweet delicious focus please.
Here’s what I want:
There is so much work to get Stompopolis ready to open to the public! And it all needs to happen this week!
I need energy, focus, attention span and the superpower of Grounded Enthusiasm.
Ways this might work:
Well, I do have some focus in a spray bottle. We sell it in the Toy Shop at Stompopolis. A little goes a long way.
And! I can write about Grounded Enthusiasm.
Bed. Baths. Dancing. Shiva Nata. Doing some stone skippings. Talking to Incoming Me and getting advice.
Squeezing all the buttmonster butts!
I’m playing with…
Finding out what I’m afraid of.
Thing 2: The practice of: Let’s take more photos. Yes? Maybe?
Here’s what I want:
This past week I have been deep into the practice of changing my relationship with photographs of me.
Specifically: what is it like to not be paralyzed, phobic, insecure, unsure, ambivalent about being [whatever it is that I am perceiving in the moment] in this particular way.
This week I took pictures of myself. I let pictures be taken of me. I experimented. This is all new.
And now I’m taking this deeper, and encountering a lot of stuff.
So. As always: safety first! But I want to play some more.
Ways this might work:
Doing shiva nata on this. Specifically with some of the words involved. Like [+vision] and [+beauty] and [+vulnerability] and [+presence].
What else? Talk to Taylor?
I’m playing with…
Maybe I’ll do an OOD and learn more about where the resistance it.
And maybe I’ll rename it or come up with a proxy.
Thing 3: Disrupting an old pattern.
Here’s what I want:
I mapped this one out a few days ago, it’s an old, old script of “oh no I’ve ruined it!” Sometimes known as “everything is wrong!”.
It starts when I get disconnected. Then X happens (X can be anything). Then the primary pattern gets triggered.
Things that happen when it gets triggered: I get EVEN MORE disconnected. Right arm hurts. Panic. Tightness in chest that moves up to throat (hi, fourth and fifth chakras of love and communication, gee I wonder how you could be involved in this, ahahahaaaaa).
Then I go into what-iffery. Scenarios and stories. This is the end. This is the beginning of the end! Monster brigade then kicks into high gear with all the stories about those times when this instinct turned out to be correct.
So I did the pattern-mapping, and that was helpful. I marked all the possible interruption and disruption points.
I asked the right questions, specifically: What prevents and solves this?
Answer: ringing the bells.
And, since it gets triggered by disconnect, how do I make sure that I’m not putting myself into situations that lead to disconnect?
Ways this might work:
Investigate!
Bring in some negotiatiors.
Commit to giving Havi Bell enough sleep in addition to her wine. It’s not really wine. Metaphor!
I’m playing with…
Lovingly poking at this, in ways that appeal to me. Not having to solve it or resolve it. Just noticing and taking notes. Meeting it with patience. This is another part of Havi, and it makes sense and there is nothing wrong with Havi for having triggers and winding up in her stuff.
It’s from then. It’s old pain. It’s on its way out. And she has the tools. She can do this.
Thing 4: ZOOM!
Here’s what I want:
The superpower of mad getting stuff done.
Like at Rally (Rally!).
This is the week. Let’s do it.
Ways this might work:
I can use the Floop! I can use the magical crazy Chicken Board at the Floop!
I can rendezvous with Lady Chuck!
The thing I’m trying on Monday can do a magic!
It can all just work!
I’m playing with…
Wanting what I want.
Knowing what that is.
Trying things!
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
Oho! Last week was Romping and Collisions. And that totally happened.
I wanted to say yes to the opening, and YES. That happened too. Well, part of it is still on hold but so much progress.
Then I wanted to investigate useful things about stones, and that is what I did at Beach Day! Plus I put some here when I wrote about the beach.
I also wanted to exit July, and we did that too. Here.
Then I wanted bells for Havi Bell. And that was a big deal. Lots of miraculous things happened there, including my most secret hope-filled wish.
And then I wanted this past week to be FUELED ON PLAY. And it was! This is amazing. I am in awe. In fact, this past week was more full of play and playing than I have ever experienced, I think. Huh.
I need to keep asking for things. Clearly. Okay!
Playful playing. Shelter for the comments.
What’s welcome: Your own wishes, gwishes, visions and personal ads, small or large. Updates on past ones if you like.
Here or on your own or in your head. It’s all fine. Or call silent retreat!
I’m receptive to warm wishes for the things I’m working on and playing with.
If you’re looking for suggestions or heart-sighs or anything else related to your wish, you will need to ask for that because our default mode is giving each other space and spaciousness for the process.
This is a place of safety for creative play and exploration, with a very non-dogmatic approach. We don’t tell each other how to ask for things and we don’t give unsolicited advice. We make space for people’s wishes.
That’s it. Let’s throw a bunch of things in the pot!
As always, amnesty applies. Leave a wish here any time you want.
xox
Friday Chicken #209: crown as a verb.
In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of ritual and self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
The hard stuff
The letter that I didn’t want to receive.
Well, not the letter that I didn’t want to receive. That would have been unbearable.
But a letter of love that still hurt.
Being toast on Friday.
This always always happens after Rally, to the point that I pretty much just schedule it in.
But somehow it hit harder than usual this time.
Being toast on Saturday.
That was from not going to bed on Friday night.
Up until four in the morning.
Admittedly, up until four in the morning enjoying the hell out that. But Havi on no sleep cannot do conscious entry, and without that everything else kind of falls apart.
Havi needs her sleeps.
No regrets. Just a reminder for the Book of Havi.
Exhausted.
Worn out.
A difficult situation and I don’t know what to do about it.
Hmm.
It isn’t really a difficult situation. It’s just that I don’t want to deal with it. It’s a design problem, it has a design solution. Somewhere.
Not on my way to Boston.
Moments of sad to very-sad.
Sadness and old pain.
Yes.
Every time I didn’t do entry.
Seriously.
The worst.
Too much going on.
Still.
The good stuff
Found a new just-right cafe.
Thank you, hidden clew that lead me there.
A stone does an unexpected thing.
Hmm. Intriguing.
Playdate playdate and more playdate.
I will [silent retreat!] on the details and instead will just beam a radiant smile of delight and contentment about this.
Basically this entire week just turned into one long uninterrupted playdate of playfulness.
It made everything better this week. Over and over again.
Also it made a really hard thing that was going on so much more bearable.
I am happy. About this. And words are being weirdly useless right now, so just: know that.
Under the tree.
Yoga in the park with Danielle. Under a giant tree.
Pinecone shaped bruises. Tiny twigs everywhere.
Happiness and delight. Soft breeze. EARTH. My god.
I did not have to have any stressful horrible conversations this week.
So that was a new fun development that made this week different than the last several.
I was actually social this week, how bizarre, and it was fun, how bizarre.
This is highly unusual.
Aside from the one thousand nights of playdates. I guess that is a form of social too.
I finally had that drink with Lizz, eight months later. She’s great. She’s on a mission, you guys. Pay attention. Also her dog Oliver is my new best friend.
Also Jenny and I have ACTUAL PLANS to, I don’t know, paint the town red or drink tea and fall asleep, more likely. The point is, this is all new.
And I ran into Emily on the bus, and this was the most perfectly timed thing in the world.
Beach day.
With Lady Chuck.
It made everything better.
I’m actually glad I’m not in Boston today.
So that worked out well, I guess.
Friends.
One of the most painful of the many, many painful things in these past six months was the loss of a friendship that was incredibly important to me.
This week I leaned into friends.
Michelle and Marisa and Danielle and Chuck.
The best thing. Well, aside from playdating.
The tiniest of tiny children, at the beach, wearing a shirt that says Play Or Get Out Of The Way! And nothing else.
I approve wholeheartedly.
I wanted to write all week.
And I even put stuff here.
All the words.
Let’s start with eight, because I always start with eight.
How about vernacular and flash and reaction and romp?
Crossing, intensity, namings and tug.
Words are the best.
An amazing sparkling visit with my business mentor.
We speak a secret language, and we tear stuff apart, and it’s amazing.
Energy!
Me, on Wednesday: “I feel so excited that I can’t stop moving! I need to go aerobics and do fabulous cheesy 80s moves to disperse some of this! Okay, now I need to go to dance class! Wait, I still need more dancing!”
Me, Thursday: “No, still excited! More dancing? How about a two hour walk and then another couple hours of yoga, just to calm down a little?”
Me, Thursday night: “Why do my calves hurt?” … pause …. crash.
Today! Today is my secret royal coronation at the royal courthouse.
I have been waiting for this for a very long time. Today I am meeting Incoming Me, and maybe we are also going out to brunch. This is all because of shiva nata, and it is amazing.
Havi Bell! Come in, come in. Let’s reverberate. Let’s ring all the bells.
What a pleasure. This. Is. Pleasure.
From the archives.
Some old, weirdly pertinent posts that I don’t remember having written, encountered while looking for something else:
- This one called Memories and maybe a correction. I’d forgotten.
- Thinking about love. This is important.
- The difference between grinding wheels and not griding wheels.
- This one about something to believe in.
Tabstravaganza! Or: what’s Havi been up to with all those open Firefox tabs?
- Read this. Amy’s marvelous post about monsters and understandings.
- Our Eve is doing the most amazing thing.
- Okay, I am so very much out of the loop (out of all the loops) of pop culture, and I hadn’t even heard the Call Me Maybe song until last week. I’d only heard people bemoaning its existence slash all the covers. So this is probably the last thing you want to see but I don’t care because Cookie Monster! And also because “Snicker-doo-dell” is the best pronunciation ever. And also the line “please someone call the girl scouts”. This fills me with delight. Snicker-doo-dell.
Playing live at the meme beach house — it’s the Fake Band of the Week!
Background? Ez and I make up bands. Stu (retired Bolshevik-fearing voice-to-text software) once translated “people will hate me and be jealous” to “they’ll hang out at my Meme Beach House“. It’s just one guy.
This week’s band:
Bothered By Pomelos.
You might have heard their first album: LINGUAL COLLISIONS.
And yes, it turns out that it’s really just one guy.
I stole both of these excellent names from Nick.
Hallo Hallo! I am saying Hallo Hallo. Announcement time.
Picture me wearing that crazy hat…
I recommend the monster coloring book. It worked several miracles this week for pretty much everyone at Rally.
Also the September Rally is sold out, so try to come February.
That’s it for me …
Join my Friday ritual in the comments if you feel like it. Or call silent retreat!
We let people have their own experience. We’re supportive and welcoming. And we don’t give advice (unless people specifically ask for it).
Wishing you a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day, a restful weekend and a happy week to come.
I am lighting my candle. You can light one with me if you want.
p.s. It’s fine if it’s not Friday anymore. There’s complete chicken amnesty — join in whenever (or not) and it’s no big deal.
Soundtrack of this week…
Here you go. Dance it up.
That’s what I’m doing.