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.
Friday Chicken #135: naming the hedgehog
Because it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
Huh. Apparently it’s Friday. That’s not crazy at all.
Let’s see.
The hard and the good are pretty much all the same things this week.
Except for the hedgehog part. Everything hedgehog-related goes straight to the good category. At least right now.
The hard stuff
Body is creaky, tired, achy.
Poor me.
Body is older.
This whole upcoming birthday thing combined with all my routines having disappeared this week is leaving me feeling uncomfortable in my skin.
I can’t wait to get back to walking, tramping, dancing, moving, stretching, all of that.
Everything is older. And more tired.
Not once did I get carded this week.
And then six different people asked me if I have kids, and told me how haggard I look, in the same sentence.
Oh and at the grocery store, the cashier told me, “Get some rest, okay? I’m worried about you.” And I told her I was running away.
And then she asked if I had kids and I said no and she said, “Oh, that’s a relief.” And the other cashier said, “Just be safe.”
That’s great.
Hitting the no return point of tired.
You know, when you’re just mumbling to yourself.
And when total strangers feel the need to intervene.
Emergency Vacation is ending and Inowanna!
The past three days of Emergency Undisclosed Location Vacation (aka Going Dark) have been so wonderful.
I don’t want to come back.
No. That’s not true. Of course I do. I miss my gentleman friend and my clients and Hoppy House and the Playground.
But oh for some more of this. So sad.
The good stuff
Emergency Vacation was just the thing.
Of course it was. It always is.
The hotel, the drinks, the view, the spaciousness, the being alone.
It was all so good and so perfectly what was needed.
Thursday.
I hung out with Cairene and we ate yummy street food.
And then I sat in a cafe and wrote.
Sitting in the sun, walking in the rain, going to the bar. And writing.
Why can’t more days be like this?
Transitions, once they’re actually happening, are okay.
My birthday is Monday. And I’m always over my pre-transitional-freakout by the time the day itself actually rolls around.
So if I can just get through the next day or two of over-thinking everything, I’ll be in party-mouse mode.
And the good part about getting older.
A couple more years and people will maybe even stop asking me about Bolivia all the time.
More of this vacation thing.
Not just scheduling it. Actively taking it.
I have a plan. And it is a good one.
Coming back.
To all the good things.
I have a hedgehog!
He is a toy hedgehog and he is cute as a button. Button!
But that’s not his name. His name is Scootch. I will take a picture so you can meet Scootch.
He is the most adorable and the most soft and I love him. Scootch!
And … playing live at the meme beach house it’s the Fake Band of the Week!
My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”
This week’s band is brought to you by all the suits at my hotel who kept flooding the bar at unlikely hours, so I had to go Emergency Vacate in my room, which is way less fun.
I would have called the band Booze to Go, but I’m pretty sure that already is a band.
Flock of Bastards.
Or FOB and the Watches, as they were known in an earlier incarnation.
You can catch their show anywhere on the west side of the river. The weird part?It’s really just one guy.
That’s it for me …
And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.
Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?
And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day and a restful weekend-ing.
And a happy week to come. Shabbat shalom.
A conversation with me who is toast.
Talking through the burnout.
And yes, I’m talking to myself.
What is needed?
What do you need, sweetie?
More stopping.
More going dark.
More hiding.
Acknowledging the hard. And finding the useful.
What is useful here?
Obviously, burnout sucks. Without having to appreciate the burnout or be grateful for it because that would just be annoying, what is useful about having reached this extreme state of it?
Well, I can take notes about what it’s like, and and put them in the Book of Me.
When I plan things for future me, I can build in time for unexpected craziness.
And I can seed vacations. Plant them into the calendar. But actually take them. Not like the ones that are on my calendar now that just get ignored.
Also holidays that come before the work and not just after.
Schedule in both planning time and down time. Time for being OFF.
Teacher me needs to be rested and replenished before running events. She needs to be alone.
She needs to be thoroughly rested and cared for. To retreat into a cocoon and emerge new and refreshed. It’s a better for what is being taught to come into the world.
Now is not then. So how is now not then?
This state of intense wiped-out over-done tired is really reminding you of your last teaching trip to Berlin two years ago when you fell apart completely. Except it’s not like then. How is now different from then?
That burnout came from weeks of endless auditory and energetic assault on my senses, along with a number of extremely stressful and problematic situations that were beyond my control.
This round, on the other hand, comes from working too much at things I love that are highly successful. Different.
That burnout happened during a much bigger transition period, in a time of (perceived, at least) considerably less support.
The infrastructure wasn’t there. We thought we were going to have to leave Hoppy House. We didn’t know what was coming next. Everything was shaky and up in the air.
And I didn’t know anywhere near as much about how to take care of myself. I didn’t have my morning rituals and my stopping rituals. So the falling apart was that much more violent and drastic.
Now we have so much more stability and sovereignty.
Imagine. What will you say about today?
One day you will look back on these past weeks as the thing that changed everything in your life for the better. Why?
Hmmm. So this is how and when I learned to really and truly re-charge. And also to plan things to require less recharging.
The genius thing that is pre-vacation so you start everything super-relaxed? That came from this.
This is where I figure out the transitions. This is where I learn to respect my capacity and to over-estimate rather than under-estimate the amount of down time that is needed to do what I want to do in the world.
What happens once this shift has been made?
Once you know how to care for yourself, what happens to you and in your life?
I laugh more. I apologize less.
My teaching becomes even more grounded. I maintain boundaries better. I’m less worn out.
It’s easier for me to promote the next event because I’m not secretly wishing for a magical month of time off.
Recovery times get both easier and shorter.
I am full of love for what I do, not just while I’m doing it but before and after too.
Going on holiday isn’t about exhaustion, but about pleasure. Note: this concept is blowing the top of my head off, so I am going to need to sit with this some more.
Apparently my fuzzball monsters have some serious objections to the idea of doing anything for pleasure. But I’m also getting that the more I take this time for me, the less my monsterlets show up.
Because it’s only when I’m worn out and vulnerable like this that I start to think maybe they’re right about things. Interesting.
And comment zen in the comment blanket fort.
You are welcome to grab a cushion and play if you want.
You can answer any of the questions I came up with or make up your own. You can talk to exhausted you or past you or slightly future you.
You can sit around and listen. Whatever you like.
As always: we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We give people room to have their own experience and to that end, we don’t give unsolicited advice.
xox
Retroactive Emergency Vacation
It’s story time today.
Ten years ago this May.
I don’t want to write about this. And definitely not in the mood to go into all the details.
So. Ignoring the mechanisms, the how and why of my world falling apart, some relevant pieces:
In May of ten-years-ago my husband and I left our Tel Aviv apartment that I loved so much. Maybe even more than I’d realized, in retrospect. Oh, retrospect, you are always so late.
His parents had given us a flat they owned in the suburbs. Next door to them.
Except it was still being renovated, and I was working in the city.
My shifts at the bar ended late — too late for buses. And a cab out of town would eat up all my earnings.
My husband stayed at his parents in the suburb. And I stayed on various couches of girlfriends in Tel Aviv.
Time is funny.
It was supposed to be just for a month. We’d see each other weekends and in between my shifts at work.
We didn’t. Not really. Renovations took longer. My best friend went to London and I house-sat for a while, then took care of her ex-girlfriend who was going through a rough patch.
Three months.
I went to the States for a visit. Stayed with a girlfriend in Chicago. Went on a road trip. Place, perspective. Breathing room.
Four months.
Timing is timing.
I was scheduled to fly out of Chicago on September 12.
This was 2001, so September 11 meant there was no September 12. At least, not in any way that mattered.
Flights were canceled. Flights to Israel were canceled for even longer.
Another month.
Six months into seven.
Eventually I came back. The marriage, unsurprisingly, came apart. It was agreed that I would move out.
A friend of a friend was moving to Sweden. I could rent her apartment.
She changed her mind about if and when so many times that I lost count.
I stayed on more couches.
By the time I moved in, it was almost December. Seven months of couch-sleeping. Of not knowing when or where — or if at all — there would be home for me.
Why this.
This six month period is by no means the hardest or the shittiest thing that has happened to me.
It hurts to say: this doesn’t even make the top ten.
But that doesn’t mean this time wasn’t terrifying and painful, because it was.
And sometimes I talk to me-from-then. I invent vacations for her. I put her up in hotels and buy her books. I take care of her. It’s what I do.
Why now.
I have trouble taking time off. I have trouble stopping.
Until it’s an emergency, and Emergency Vacation is declared.
This is a known thing.
But to every absolute declarative “this is how things are” truth, there is always an exception. And here it is:
While I personally may be terrible at creating refuge for myself now, there is a version of me who knows how to stop.
It’s the me who invents vacations for past versions of myself.
Look at all the things I have trouble giving to me-in-the-present:
Time, space, money, attention, caring, forgiveness, comfort, reassurance, appreciation, protection.
And yet all of these I gladly give to me-who-went-through-all-that-crap.
Bless the loophole.
Yesterday, I took myself away on a holiday.
I took me-from-now and me-from-ten-years-ago, and we went on a little self-rescue mission.
We booked a gorgeous hotel room. We packed an overflowing picnic basket. Books and magazines. Slippers. An appointment for a facial.
Normally I would never do this for myself. But it’s okay, because I’m taking care of her. I’m taking care of her by showing her that now I can take care of myself.
She knows what I’m doing, me-from-then.
She knows this is my way of easing into being the person who can take care of herself in the moment and not just after the fact.
She’s happy for me.
And I am happy for her.
Very specific comment blanket fort zen for today.
This is really, really vulnerable stuff I’m writing about. It’s hard to do.
What is welcome.
Your stories.
The versions of you who are in need of a Retroactive Emergency Vacation, whether you literally might go on one or not.
Spaciousness. Warmth. A glass of wine or a cup of tea.
What I am not okay with:
Not that you would do this, of course, but just to have said it…
I do not wish to be told what to do, psychoanalyzed, judged, given advice or given that thing which is called tough love but is not loving in practice.
I do not want to be told that I shouldn’t be posting here if I’m on vacation, or that I need to learn to take time off.
Thank you.
Happy Retroactive Emergency Vacation to me. And to all of your various verisons-of-you who need one too. Hug.
Except.
Something I find both incredibly frustrating and empowering at the same time is how there is at least one exception to just about everything I think is true.
So. No big surprise, but I’ve been using this thing of finding the exceptions as part of the destuckification practice.
Whenever I catch myself making some sort of declarative statement about myself, the plan kicks in:
Pause (paws!), and look for the exception.
There is a part of me or a version of me who knows what the exception is. A me who lives that exception. I just need to find her.
Like this:
Finding the exceptions.
The me who knows how to stop.
Exhausted me: “This sucks! I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to recover when I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know how to do this.”
Except…
When I was first training to be a yoga teacher and sprained my ankle in a non-yoga-related and completely ridiculous three-stooges-tripping-over-a-ladder incident?
Sprained ankle me knew how to stop and recover. She knew how to take time off. She knew about ice and elevation and not-doing.
So…right now I kind of have a sprained life. And here is the me who knows how to say this is the time to stop and recover. Or as Cairene says, reboot!
Trust.
Frightened me: “I don’t know how to trust. I never have. Trust is not comfortable. I have issues. And history. I hate this situation and I don’t trust anyone in it.”
And since there is always an exception, which part of me does know how to trust?
Oh. The me who moved from Berlin to San Francisco on the basis of a recurring dream and with no plan other than this is truly what needs to happen right now.
And the me who responds to “You can’t do that” with “Yeah? Watch me!”
Creativity.
Angry me: “I can’t stop being angry because if I do, I will lose my creative driving force. How can I make the world better if I’m not constantly upset at everything that is wrong with it?”
If there is a part of me who knows how to be in creative flow without being outraged, where is she?
The me who worked in the dairy. Between work and sleep, she wrote stories and read books and gave birth to ideas. Peaceful creation.
The me who traveled by ship from Copenhagen to the States. She watched the water, and was in the most remarkable state of flow, except that it came from total relaxation.
Rest.
Irritable me: “Ugh. Rest. I don’t know how it works. I get bored too easily. Stopping isn’t my thing. I’m no good at this.”
Who is my exception?
The me who worked in the orchard. She was tough, wiry, dirty and she lived in her body.
Those afternoon naps under the trees or in a tiny, cramped bed were some of the most delicious, sweet, refreshing pieces of my entire life.
I miss those naps.
Comfort.
Upset me: “I always take care of everyone else first. That’s my pattern.”
Except?
Broken-hearted me. And me who worked at the Horrible, Horrible Job.
They knew how to get me to the bar, meet up with girlfriends, seek out what was needed.
Their solutions from then might not work for me now, and their methods are not mine, but they took our broken heart seriously, and that’s important.
Faith that everything will be okay.
Anxious me: “But what if it won’t be okay?!”
Who knows about this?
The one who wrote FAITH on her body each day until it ended.
Sovereignty.
Tired me: “No matter what I do, people throw shoes. I hate this so much. Why aren’t we done with this yet?”
Except?
There is a me who doesn’t care what other people think. Dancing me.
When I dance, the whole world disappears.
Not every exception will make itself known.
Sometimes I can’t find it.
But the pause counts. There is something the stopping. In knowing that I am invariably wrong about things and that being wrong about things is usually good…
That is enough to lovingly, consciously interrupt whatever patterns and programming are running on cruise control. It all counts.
And comment zen for today.
As always, you are welcome to play with me.
You can find exceptions, ask yourself questions, wonder your wonderings, find out whatever you need to find out.
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process.
We let people have their own experience, and we don’t give unsolicited advice.
Kisses to the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads.
p.s. Many thanks to my beloved Hiro for constantly reminding me about exceptions, and the hidden vastness of my own knowing and experience. And also for booking a spa treatment for me when I was having a moment, and then making me go. Now that’s love.
Very Personal Ads #86: Recovery Monday. Can we make it official?
Personal ads. They’re … personal! Very.
So my itty bitty personal ads made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.
Even when the asking thing feels weird and conflicted.
Ever since I posted the first one asking my perfect house to find me, which united me with Hoppy House, I have been a fan of the madness that is personal ads.
And now it’s my Sunday ritual for clarity and remembering and stuff like that. Yay, ritual!
Today is the day that will live on in infamy as Recovery Monday.
At least until next Monday. Oh, it’s so unfair.
Anyway. I am a leetle groggy. But here we are. Very Personal Ads. Let’s do it.
Thing 1: aaah I don’t know what this is called.
Here’s what I want:
You know when you go to a hotel and there’s always a binder on the desk that’s full of informational useful this-and-that?
There’s a room service menu and stuff to do and policies, and maybe a postcard or something.
I want to make one of those for the Playground, with general stuff that we always tell people.
But I don’t know what to call it.
And while I definitely won’t call it whatever it’s official name is, it would help me to have something to call it when I metaphor mouse it.
I’m assuming there’s probably a front of the house name that’s different than what the hotel staff call it. Maybe?
Ways this could work:
One of you might know what this is called! Maybe you’ve worked in a hotel. You could leave a comment and let me know.
Or I might stumble on the name.
Or I might never find out what this is called, but that lack of knowledge will miraculously stop driving me crazy because some other perfect name will reveal itself.
My commitment.
To appreciate how wonderful it is when you have the right word for something.
To never stop playing.
Thing 2: To create the thing I don’t have a name for, in a way that is not stressful.
Here’s what I want:
With or without a fabulous sparkly name and with or without knowing what that type of binder is actually called in real life, I am going to make one.
Since I have been me for many years now, I am aware of my inclination to make everything ten times more complicated than it actually needs to be.
And I can easily imagine this mission in particular turing into a big endless project.
So I want this to come together with ease and grace. Lots of perfect, simple solutions, not too much over-thinking. And done!
Ways this could work:
Not sure yet.
Just putting it out into the world in gwish form.
Maybe I’ll brain-dance on it with some Shiva Nata and see what comes up.
My commitment.
To stay with the essence of what I want to create and not get sucked into a million variations of what is possible.
To giggle when my patterns come up (if I can). Or to have a giant permission slip to feel frustrated if I can’t.
To give this as much time as it needs for now.
Thing 3: Solid recovery time.
Here’s what I want:
So between running the Shiva Nata teacher training and leading the Rally (Rally!), I have been on for twelve days straight.
Cue hysterical laughter and impending nervous breakdown music.
We need some Emergency Vacation, kids.
Ways this could work:
I have an idea but I’m not sure if I have the balls to pull it off.
There is also a version of that idea that is delightfully insane, and therein lies its extra-special appeal. So maybe I’ll do that. I don’t know.
My commitment.
To take care of myself this week, no matter what comes up. This is important.
Thing 4: color for Hoppy House.
Here’s what I want:
At the Rally last week, I was doing a lot of thinking about what makes the Playground so amazing, and how I can bring some of that into my home. What are the elements?
And one of the things that came up was COLOR.
The Playground is extremely colorful and cheery. Hoppy House is very subdued. Which I like.
But it’s time to change some of that.
Ways this could work:
Hmm. I’m looking at where this is already working:
There’s the deep orange duvet, that I love. The bright green of plants. A wonderful rug in the living room that, to quote the Dude, really ties the room together.
Where else would I bring in color?
The Wish Room needs some purple/violet something or other. Maybe I’ll start with flowers and see which colors bring the happy.
My commitment.
Curiosity, experimentation, receptivity, play.
Conscious, loving, wonder-filled interaction with this amazing place that is my home.
Lots of sitting on the window seat and appreciating the view.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
Last week I wrote tiny little love letters instead of VPAs. And that was fun. It felt good.
Also the comments were amazing.
I asked my week for spaciousness, ease, support, wonder and appreciation. And while it was hard at times, there was definitely a lot of that. So thank you.
Then I wished beautiful things for the graduates of my Shiva Nata teacher training.
Another love letter wish was for a personal situation to be resolved. And while it hasn’t, I also haven’t been worrying about it, so that’s kind of a big deal for me. Writing the letter definitely helped.
And I wished excitement for the March Rally (which is coming up crazy soon and is the one that comes with a head-shot for your blog, if you want one, that you don’t have to pay for). And I am excited.
I may need to wait until post-recovery to do more with that, but I’m glad for the letter of love. Mmmm. That was nice. I didn’t think re-reading those love letters would feel so good, but it did.
Comment zen. Here’s what I’d love today.
- Your own personal ads, small or large. Things you’ve asked for. Or are asking for. Or would like to ask for. Or updates on last time!
Stuff I’d rather not have:
- The word “manifest”.
- To be told how I should be asking for things.
- To be judged, psychoanalyzed or given unsolicited advice.
Wishing love and good things for your Very Personal Ads! I’m so happy to have people doing this with me.