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.
Very Personal Ads #81: letting heavy things be carried away
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!
Let us dooo eeeet.
Thing 1: Announcements! May they happen.
Here’s what I want:
There are two (possibly) three big things that need announcing this week.
They have most of the elements in place.
And now it’s about timing.
Ways this could work:
The Rally (Rally!) this week could do its magic, so that everything can roll into place. With a schnooooook sound. Like the last ball on the pool table.
I can talk to the monsters and switch up the front of the V.
And I can play with trust and trusting.
My commitment.
To be curious and inquisitive about every aspect of the process.
To ask lots and lots of questions.
To say wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
To acknowledge the hard and appreciate the good.
To dance dance dance, no matter what happens.
Thing 2: Much needed improvements at the Playground toy shop.
Here’s what I want:
Oh, so much thought has gone into this! So many hours at my beloved Playground, looking at what is and what could be.
I have pointed my wand at the walls, and I have dreamed on this. I have drawn pictures and scrawled maps and made gwishes.
At first all I knew was that the way it is needs to change. But now I know how.
For this to happen, we’ll need: money, time, resources, and strong people who can carry desks (see next ask).
Ways this could work:
I don’t know.
How do you move from the thing you see in your head into it being a reality? That was the problem I had to solve when I first envisioned the Playground itself.
And it’s the problem I am so often solving. My favorite puzzle.
How could it work?
With patience. With singing. With Dance of Shiva, of course. With bringing it to the Rally and projectizing the hell out of it.
With love.
My commitment.
To love it now and love it when we get there and love the process.
To ask smart questions.
To stop and breathe.
To connect to its essence and say thank you.
Thing 3: Movers!
Here’s what I want:
Some strong people to help move desks. Or mover recommendations.
People who will take the giant desks away.
Ways this could work:
I know of a way but I don’t like it, so I could work on finding out how to make peace with that.
Or I can ask Hope for recommendations.
My commitment.
To be receptive to being surprised.
To stay open to the idea that a perfect, simple, elegant solution could reveal itself.
To work on my stuff about moving.
To be thrilled when something works out.
Thing 4: Help Tobi help lots of people!
Here’s what I want:
Tob is the sweetest, most wonderful person. And she’s a terrific photographer.
Through the end of the month, she’s donating half the proceeds on the gorgeous prints of her work to Donna’s Good Things, which is a sweet organization doing really terrific and important things.
I would love to see this worthy project get some attention and love.
Ways this could work:
I can tell you about it.
And maybe you can pass the word.
The magic of the internet can plant some seeds, I hope.
My commitment.
To support Tobi and admire her dedication.
To remember that there are many, many ways we can bring love and support to things we care about.
To be receptive to a variety of possibilities.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I was just rereading last week’s asks and finding so much cool stuff in there.
Still no word on kids furniture, but I did come up with an alternative way to set the Toy Shop up while we’re waiting on it.
I also haven’t found a photographer yet, but I will keep asking.
The thing with the stowawayship was easily resolved, and I was able to put out the word about Hiro’s How to Rule Your World program.
The main thing I’m noticing is that each week’s Very Personal Ads stir up themes that end up getting worked on in one form or another over the course of the week.
And I’m always surprised to discover how closely my internal destuckification work parallels elements of these asks. It’s such a useful practice, even when (or maybe especially when) I learn that I didn’t want the thing I thought I did.
Also I love the constant reminders that the symbolic element of the ask is at least as powerful and important than the literal one. Bonk! There I go tripping over things again.
But no, the title is not one of those. That was intentional.
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.
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.