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 #129: Drum roll! Doldrum roll! Sit. Roll!
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.
I am back from five days off hiding in the woods at my uncle’s place.
It feels kind of weird to be here. But good. Weird-good.
And now it’s Friday. So we chicken.
The hard stuff
Sleep magic disappearing.
Usually when I’m at Svevo’s I do nothing but sleep.
Naps happen all day long, with much early-going-to-bed and luxurious dreaming under the covers, with the rain tap-tap-tap-tapping on the skylights.
This time I didn’t sleep. Maybe I couldn’t sleep. Not really sure.
Partly I didn’t want to and partly I forgot how.
So lots of empty hours in bed, not asleep and not ready to be awake.
But sleep magic is connected to other kinds of magic..
It turns out that all those other things I look forward to about these visits are related to being well-rested.
The amazing air and the gorgeous trees were still there, but the effect was not the same.
Usually I feel unbelievably refreshed, peaceful, at ease, clear-headed, energized, hopeful and full of purpose.
This time everything was heavy, lethargic and full of fog. Probably because of the not sleeping.
Adaptation.
Adaptation is our first quarterly theme at the Kitchen Table this year, and my people are really struggling with it, for the most part.
So I got to go through that too this week, with many experiences being different than I had imagined.
Including realizing that the reason I had gone to the woods wasn’t going to happen, and that this was the time to discover what the new reason was.
And then again with our local Roller Derby league having gone through changes that result in three of Portland’s teams being evenly matched, with our team left at an absurd disadvantage.
It’s been super interesting.
The monsters, they are loud.
We are crazy behind on a number of projects, thanks to all hell breaking loose while we were renovating two of our websites.
The external pressure is loud, but the internal pressure is so much worse.
Spent most of this week in monster negotiations.
The good stuff
Being gone.
And not just being gone, but being in the best place.
Even sleepless and headachey, I’d still rather be at my uncle’s than just about anywhere.
The pace is slow, the fire is warm, the conversation is lively, and I get to spend time with my uncle, who is just about the most wise, admirable and sovereign person ever.
We cooked delicious food on the wood-burning stove, roasted hazelnuts, invented stories and generally had a marvelous time.
Going for walks in the woods with the dogs..
So beautiful!
I went on holiday and nothing broke.
This is always a good reminder.
Regaining the love for something that wasn’t working.
At some point during the sleeplessness, I thought:
This is burn-out. This is what they mean. It’s all burnt. Out.
But then I watched the blackened husks of the old thing fall away, and I remembered why I love what I love and how I love it and what it feels like to love it.
Something came back. Except that it was new.
And this was good.
Getting things done.
At a pace that was sometimes glacial, but still without forcing.
Movement. Timing. Patience. Courage. Rest.
I’m piecing things together and this is also good.
Being cared for.
Having the gentleman friend to make me tea and tuck me in makes things better, even when they’re hard.
Dogs!
Obviously I’m not allowed to have dogs because I know myself and we all know exactly what would happen, which is this: *
This blog would cease to be the front door of my company and would instantly turn into a photo gallery of dog pictures, and the occasional incomprehensible amusing-only-to-me dog-related story.
Really, I wouldn’t write actual posts here ever again, and all you’d see would be scribbled notes saying schmoo schmoo schmooo look how cuuuuuuute they are when they do this and how good they are when they do that oh who’s a good boy now.
* Actually, there are dozens of reasons for why I can’t have a dog, but this one might as well stand in for all of them.
Anyway, getting to play with Bobby and Gus is always one of the highlights of visiting.
All the great results from Rally.
Last week’s Rally (Rally!) was so astoundingly great, and I am still processing many of the neat things I learned.
Plus reading about the breakthroughs, insights and new projects of the Rallions this week has been marvelous.
I am super excited for the one starting Monday. If you haven’t signed up for that one, there may still be a spot open. I’m pretty sure that February is full, though, so either talk the First Mate into letting you in, or grab a spot for March.
Rally! I love Rally so much I can hardly stand it.
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, inspired by a pair of dueling corner store Dari Marts (gah, it hurts just to type it) is a local musical act, known in these parts as:
Sad Illiterate Cow.
They’ll be here all night!
Guess what, though? It turns out that it’s actually just one guy.
Lovely things I read this week.
The book City of Thieves, by David Benioff.
It’s not exactly HSP-friendly, but I found completely enthralling and un-put-downable. Loved!
This post by Jesse on vacationing in the scenic doldrums (some beautiful destuckifying).
Some notes on expressions from Lackadaisy. This page is so fascinating that I keep returning to it and finding new and wondrous things.
This site of extremely literal captions for New Yorker cartoons is the funniest and most awesome thing.
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.
Some things I have learned about sovereignty.
Unrelated but awesome! Today is Tu B’shvat. The birthday of the trees! So I will eat figs while thinking about sovereignty. Happy birthday, trees.
This is a very partial list. Some of these things I learned from my dear, sweet Hiro, my sister-in-silliness and calmer-of-worries.
Others are things I knew and taught before.
But the past two and a half years spent studying and playing with Hiro have given me a much deeper understanding of all of this.
These are in no particular order. You are welcome to add to the list!
- When someone throws a shoe, that’s their stuff. That person is a sovereign being, and as such is allowed to have their stuff.
- I’m a sovereign being too, and I have the right to respond to shoes. I have the right to say, “Hey, listen, it hurts when you throw a shoe and it lands on me. This is not okay.”
- Their shoes don’t have anything to do with me. The better I get at remembering this, the easier it is to see that they’re rarely even intended for me.
- Every time I work on my stuff, that’s a sovereignty win. Every time I remember that I am not responsible for their stuff, that is too.
- “Not everything requires a response” is a sovereignty practice.
- So is the practice of pausing.
- And the practice of letting people have the right to feel what they’re feeling. While giving yourself permission to feel what you’re feeling.
- Sovereignty provides spaciousness. And spaciousness strengthens sovereignty.
-
We do not get to impose our sovereignty on other people.
I can invoke sovereignty, and make room for everyone to access their own truth and wisdom by establishing a culture of sovereignty.
If I try to determine how things should be or feel for other people, it doesn’t give them the space to have their own experience — which is part of what this is all about.
-
Sovereignty is connected to freedom and responsibility.
For example…
Not an especially sovereign sentence: “You make me so mad!” or “I feel shut down.”
No responsibility, because I am not owning my own experience, or acknowledging the relationship between my stuff and my feelings.
And no freedom, either, because I have surrendered my power to you and given you the ability to make me feel or experience something.
I am the one who feels mad. I am the one experiencing shutting down. And I cannot put that on you, because it is my reaction and my experience.
-
Compassionate communication helps infuse each interaction with sovereignty.
For example…
“I felt upset and anxious when you asked me that, because I wasn’t sure if you were asking me for my opinion or giving me an instruction, and I really need to know that this is my choice. Obviously, this is completely my stuff. And any reassurance you can give me would be helpful.”
There is freedom because I am taking responsibility for what I feel and what I’m experiencing. Freedom and responsibility.
- Your sovereignty does not in any way diminish mine. And vice versa.
- The more sovereignty there is for you, the more there is for everyone.
- And the clearer you are about what you need, the easier it is for me to assess whether or not I can meet that need.
- Sovereignty creates more room for both of us to have our own experience.
-
Sovereignty is connected to caring and not-caring.
The practice of intentional not-caring leads me to not take it all so personally, which brings me to the practice of detachment, which actually allows me to be more compassionate.
That’s because the better I get at stepping out of my pain, the easier it is for me to meet your pain with love.
And if I can step out of experiencing your pain long enough to see what it’s like for you to be in it, that’s where I find the ability to truly empathize.
To be with you while you are in your pain and to remember pain and to love you in your pain, without going into my pain.
- You know who else is a sovereign being? Your project. That’s why we take the time to ask our projects and gwishes about what they want, what they need, and how they want to be put to bed at night.
-
A favorite sovereignty practice of mine is the comment zen here on the blog.
It’s a way to get clear about what I need, and to demonstrate how the culture of this space needs to work for us to feel safe, supported and loved.
- Another favorite is proclaiming SILENT RETREAT! when I don’t feel like talking.
- All of this takes time. But not as much time as you’d think. 🙂
- Any destuckification practice gets a little bit harder when we first start working with sovereignty, because it brings up all our stuff and rattles our world.
- Totally worth it.
These skills and this approach will bring more ease and flow into everything. But the starting? Oh, wow. It turns everything you know upside down.
Something to think about.
And comment zen for today.
Oh, boy. This is probably the toughest destuckification concept there is. And the one that brings up the most stuff for us.
So instead of being in our stuff, we consciously make room for it to be there.
We can ask what is true and what is also true. We can recognize that our pain has the right to exist, and at the same time we can still be curious about all the things we’re wrong about.
We ask ourselves smart questions. We give ourselves room to make mistakes. We let everyone have their own experience.
And if you want to know more about how to really internalize this stuff so you can use it, I highly recommend Hiro’s new thing: How to Rule Your World.
Hiro has taught me more about wearing my crown than I ever dreamed possible, and so many concepts I’m passionate about have become ones I can now also live by, thanks to her help. I wouldn’t be the pirate queen without her.
Well, I would. But I wouldn’t know it.
Happy Thursday and so much love.
Respecting the Pause.
Just so you know, I am physically incapable of saying the word “pause” without making little doggy hands. Paws!
This is going to make writing this pause-centric post extra-challenging, but possibly also entertaining. If you happen to be in the room with me. Paws!
Anyway, back to the point. Selma and I interviewed fellow Shivanaut Diane Ripstein this week, purportedly about public speaking, but actually about life in general.
She was brilliant (as always) and gave loads of genius tips. Especially about the practice of pausing.
Which I am about to do now. With a dotted divider line. Like so!
Back to spaciousness again.
It’s funny, because — in my head — talking about public speaking was supposed to be an intermission (paws!) from the stuff I usually talk about.
But we ended up at so many of the same places.
Rest, mindfulness, conscious interaction, play, and spaciousness.
Pausing in the context of stopping, and reflecting, and interrupting patterns.
And now we were talking about taking that very practice into a public interaction.
So here are some of the wise things Diane said, and where they intersect with the themes I’m constantly thinking about:
The pause is a buffer.
The pause gives you time to think.
It lets you press the reset button.
It gives you breathing room.
A pause draws attention to the content, not the pauses.
So despite all the things our fuzzball monsters whisper to us about how we need to fill all that awkwardness with words…
Diane tells us pausing reads as thoughtfulness and intelligence. It seems deliberate, even when internally we’re worried about being perceived as lost or flailing.
And it signifies confidence.
I believe her.
The pause is what gives people time to absorb.
It’s the resting after doing. It’s shavasana after yoga or Shiva Nata.
It’s taking that extra moment in space and time to allow what has been said or done or received to really sink into your bones.
Pausing gives your people the opportunity to really take in everything that’s happening and the wisdom in what you’re saying.
To pause is to invoke white space.
Listening to Diane, I was contemplating how little I know about pausing.
How hard it is for me to stop. How I simultaneously crave and resist times of resting. And how many Emergency Vacations have had to happen in order for me to really, truly schedule time off.
But then she mentioned that pausing in speech is like white space on a blog.
And I got it.
In my writing practice, I’m constantly building in spaces, shortening thoughts, adding dividers.
I do know how to pause. I have been practicing the art of the pause for years. Now it’s time to learn how to translate that ability into other disciplines and other domains.
Pausing is about trust.
Trusting that the right people will keep reading, listening, following, caring. Even when we have moments of fumbling.
Trusting that we’re getting better at this ongoing experiment that is trying things.
Trusting that there is no way to fall on your face, because pausing is power.
Trusting that white space really does make it all more accessible, attractive and approachable.
Trusting that after the pause comes a step, and another step, and a pause and another pause. That the sequence will hold itself. The culture will hold itself.
Here’s what I’m taking from Diane.
This is directly from my notes, apologies to Diane if I’ve misquoted her:
“When the internal voice urges you to keep going, do the opposite.
Pauses are vital. And breath is nourishing. So breathe.
Commit to the practice of pausing.
Give each period its due.
And practice!”
And here’s how I’m practicing.
Mostly, I’ve just been doing this white space thing in my head. Slowing down my thoughts.
And then I’ve been trying to add a beat to everything. In casual conversation.
While brushing my teeth, during a stretch, getting up from a chair.
Sometimes it doesn’t work. I forget, or I feel really impatient.
But that’s not the end of the world. It’s a pause from the pausing. As long as I’m noticing it and interacting with it, I’m still in the practice.
And comment zen for today.
Okay, so my brother and I will respond to everything we hear with a thoughtful expression and then saying, “That gives me paws!” Paws!
And I have been wanting to say it for the entire post. Ohmygod.
That gives me pause.
So please join me in that because otherwise I’m giggling awkwardly all by myself over here.
Other than that, the usual. We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process.
We make room for everyone else to have their stuff by being curious and compassionate, and not giving unsolicited advice. Big love to everyone.
A whispered conversation with my sore throat.
Me: Oh, honey. You’re in pain.
My throat: Yeah.
Me: What’s going on?
My throat: I don’t want to talk about it.
Me: *waits patiently*
My throat: I have things to say but I don’t want to say them.
Me: Mmmm. I have that feeling a lot.
My throat: I know. That’s why I’m so constricted and raw.
Constricted and raw.
Me: Oh, that’s really hard. I’m sorry. Tell me about this constricted and raw thing. Is it only from the pain of unsaid things or are there other things going on too?
My throat: There are other things, but I don’t want to talk about them.
Me: Okay. It sounds like it might really help to have some form of release. Is that right?
My throat: Not here! You’ll put it on the blog or you’ll write about it. No!
Me: Alright. That’s fair.
My throat: Thank you.
Me: So you’re saying any form of release would have to feel safe.
My throat: Yes.
Me: We can do that. What if we come up with a form of release that appeals to you, and then you can check anything I write and give me a yes or a no.
My throat: That could work. But I don’t have any ideas.
Wait, I don’t have any ideas?
Me: That sounds eerily familiar. That’s what I’ve been saying the past few weeks.
My throat: I know.
Me: It’s this thing about not wanting to say stuff at the Twitter bar or the Frolicsome Bar. Not being in the right headspace for writing blog posts or saying what I want to say at the Kitchen Table. But it’s not true.
My throat: What do you mean?
Me: It’s not true that we don’t have ideas. We’re shivanauts. We always have ideas. The truth is that we’re not feeling comfortable sharing or discussing the ideas that we’re currently spending time with.
My throat: You’re right. I hadn’t thought about it that way. So what do we do?
Me: Same thing we were going to do anyway.
My throat: Take it to the forest?
Me: See? You pretend you don’t have any ideas, when actually you know exactly what to do.
My throat: I was waiting for you to want to join me.
Take it to the forest.
My throat and I tramp through the wet and muddy woods, with Gus and Bobby (my uncle’s dogs) enthusiastically leading the way.
We look up into the giant moss-covered oaks and breathe in the smell of…I’m not sure what it is, but to me it feels like RESILIENCE and POWER and TIME.
We tell the trees all the things we’re so busy not saying.
We tell the trees about pain, hurt, sadness, fear, regret.
We tell the trees what our gwishes are.
And about how frustrating it is to want something, all the while knowing that you will still continue to give precedence to the thing you don’t want instead.
And then?
Me: Okay, so now I know more about all this pain, hurt, loneliness, sorrow, regret, fear, sadness. What’s the next step?
My throat: Find out what its truth is?
Me: Oh, right. What is the hidden essence of all of this pain and hard?
My throat: Its essence is silence.
Me: The good kind of silence. The kind where the not-saying is gentle and filled with ease. It isn’t about controlling pain, it’s about interacting with pain. It’s a loving kind of silence. It’s meditative. It’s shavasana.
My throat: And the distortion is when I silence myself because I’m afraid of my pain.
Me: So how do we move from the not-helpful self-silencing to the safety of not everything requires a response?
My throat: I want to tell you what I need.
What do I need?
Me: Tell me what you need.
My throat: Listen:
I need to go to the forest more often. Or the magical elevator shaft at the Playground. I need days off. Real days off. I need early bedtime and morning writing. I need you to notice when you are taking on responsibility that is not yours. I need to be appreciated and loved.
Me: That all seems reasonable.
My throat: And I want tea and lozenges and naptime.
Me: Okay. And here’s what I need. I need you to tell me when things aren’t going well in a way other than getting sick.
My throat: Will you pay attention?
I’ll try.
Me: I’ll try.
My throat: I like it when you talk to me.
Me: How are you feeling now?
My throat: A little better. Not as rough.
Me: Anything else you want to say?
My throat: If you put this up on the blog, please don’t use the things I said in the forest, and I would also like there to be a very clear comment zen thing, so that people don’t give you homeopathic remedies or tell you what they think your issues are.
Me: I think we can do that.
My throat: Thank you.
And comment zen for today.
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process.
Talking to our stuff is hard. And interacting with it in a curious, compassionate, loving way is probably the hardest.
So we practice and we give ourselves room, and we remember that there isn’t really a way to get it wrong, because it’s an ongoing experiment. And there’s time.
We let people have room for their stuff too, which is why we don’t give each other unsolicited advice. Stories and conversations and wonderings are always welcome. So much love.
Very Personal Ads #80: In the woods.
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 weekly ritual for clarity and remembering and stuff like that. Yay, ritual!
I am off hiding in the woods, as I sometimes do, visiting my wonderful uncle Svevo.
Time moves… not so much faster as differently here, and I am finding that each personal ad for this week has more to say than usual.
There were also some monsters that showed up, and needed some negotiating. This should be an interesting week.
Anyway, VPA! Let’s do it.
Thing 1: kids furniture
Here’s what I want:
We’re redoing the toy shop at the Playground and we need some child-size furnishings.
Mostly a few low wooden tables (round or rectangular), and maybe some play kitchen equipment too.
Ways this could work:
Maybe we’ll find something second-hand on Craigslist or around Portland.
Maybe one of my PDX blog readers has just the right thing in their basement or knows of just the right place to visit.
Or something could magically turn up.
Or there are other ideas I haven’t thought of that are going to find me. I’m receptive to many possible ways this could work.
My commitment.
To be willing to be surprised.
To remind myself that there are always more options than I’m aware of.
To draw messy crayon-pictures of how I want it to look.
To talk to the room itself and find out what it thinks, and bring it little presents of stickers and love.
Thing 2: a photographer of interiors
Here’s what I want:
We’re working on putting together a special website just for the Playground.
And of course we want to be able to post pictures of how beeeyootiful it looks, and the wondrous things that happen at Rally (Rally!).
Actually, I feel a little conflicted about this because the Playground is so unlike any other place in the world. And so much of its culture and personality and the experience of being there cannot really be captured on film.
But my hope is that we might find someone whose work can give a sense of the magic and the crazy and the fabulous.
Ideally this person:
- has experience shooting interiors
- will be excited about the Playground
- is in Portland or can/will be there soon
- will not feel hurt if we end up not using their photos for the site
Ways this could work:
You guys know people. And I know people and might remember someone who could do it.
Recommendations and suggestions welcome!
My commitment.
To stop and acknowledge all the new things happening at and with the Playground, and notice where I might be feeling uncertain about these changes.
To be joyful and appreciative about all the amazing help I have received and continue to receive.
To continue to love the Playground with all my heart.
Thing 3: Stowawayship Scholarship!
Here’s what I want:
You can still apply for the last Stowawayship Scholarship for the next Rally.
It goes from the evening of Monday the 24th through Friday the 28th (a full day longer than a regular Rally).
If you’ve wished for a Book of You, but your notes are disorganized and you don’t have time and you’re not sure how to set it up or if you’ll ever actually use it… this is the best thing in the entire world.
Though can totally come and not work on that at all — as always, you can projectize any project you like.
Ways this could work:
I’m telling you about it right now.
Deadline is Toozday!
My commitment.
To trust that the Sorting Hat will do its work.
Thing 4: support for Hiro’s new wonderful thing!
Here’s what I want:
Hiro is my sister-in-silliness and one of my bestest friends in the universe.
She has a new product called How to Rule Your World.
It is about sovereignty. Hiro knows more about this and how it works than anyone I know, she is a brilliant teacher, and her work has completely changed so much of what I do and how I do it.
My gwish is that this amazing body of work will find all of its right people with ease and grace.
Ways this could work:
I’m going to tell you about it and give you the link again.
My commitment.
To support Hiro in any way I can, because I love her.
And to celebrate the birth of this new and beautiful creation. Well done!
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I did find a green cleaning person who came highly recommended. And along with that, I spent some time working on the part about being okay with doing this.
Still a bit anxious about this but progress has definitely been made.
As for stompy and colorful rainboots: thank you for all the excellent suggestions! I have procured a pair and they are stompy indeed.
And I wanted the right people for Crossing the Line, and it totally happened. Yay, Very Personal Ads!
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.