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.
Tis the season.
‘Tis the season when it’s customary for anyone with a blog to reflect — either on “the year that was”, or on their own ambivalence about said custom.
The last two weeks of the year, I put the business ship in dry dock, and do some “cheshbon nefesh” (literally: soul accounting).
I think about what’s working and what isn’t — and if/how I want to change course.
This usually happens in my head and on paper. But this year I’m going to do some of this here too.
What I’ve been working on this past year.
Agility.
Autonomy.
Actively practicing curiosity as a form of play.
Learning about trust, a thing that does not come easily to me. Understatement.
What Hiro calls “perfect, simple solutions” — not just finding graceful and elegant ways to meet challenges, but allowing for ease in the whole process.
Ease is also not really my area, so I’ve had a lot of work to do untangling tightness and unlearning my tendencies to over-complicate things.
Being a better super secret spy. See: above.
Noticing where I’m getting tripped up (and what I’m tripping over).
Finding the useful in the hard, while still giving myself permission to not want to be there.
That’s the essence. How it translates is more complicated.
So, for example, agility shows up in taking breaks.
In calling a twenty minute Drunk Pirate Council a few times a week instead of a dreaded weekly meeting that drags on for hours.
In taking my challenges to the trampoline, to the bath, to the cafe… instead of trying to figure it all out in my head.
In making structural changes to the Kitchen Table program.
Or like this: curiosity and play are the qualities that are helping me as I learn (again?!) and really begin to internalize the fact that people will always be in their stuff.
You can create safe environments for them to process their stuff, and you can build a culture that is unbelievably loving and welcoming.
But people will still be in their stuff, and you have to just let them be in their stuff. And not all of them want to work on their stuff. And baby, that’s how it is.
This is frustrating for me. And so I play. Play, ask questions, play some some.
Where I got the most stuck this year.
The usual place.
Wanting things to be different than they are.
This is where the trust thing came in, and simplicity, and my practice of Finding the Useful. It was pretty slow going at times, but at least I knew what to ask.
The questions that helped me the most this year.
What’s useful?
“What is — possibly, theoretically, maybe — going to turn out to be useful about this thing I’m hating so much right now? Without having to like it or appreciate it or be grateful for it… is there any possibility that some aspect of this is going to turn out to be helpful?”
What does the culture know that I don’t know?
“If it’s true that culture is self-sustaining — that it holds itself — how is the culture of the pirate ship going to solve this problem?”
Where is the ease hiding?
“If there is a perfect, simple solution, an easier way to do this… what might that look like? If I start from the assumption that I’m over-complicating things, which I probably am, what’s the perfect, simple solution?”
What would make this more fun?
“If I’m struggling with something, that’s a sign that it’s not fun and not playful. That it’s not in alignment with the culture of my business. So what’s going to change that? Blanket fort? Magic markers? Dance party?”
What would I advise?
“If one of my clients had this problem, I would totally have smart and creative things to say about that. So what are they?”
Where is the safe space?
“Am I taking care of my tiny sweet thing? Where do we need to build in more comfort, more safety, more hiding?”
Am I shepherding?
“Because that’s probably where everything is going to hell. How can I step back and not shepherd, and lead by holding the culture of the land, instead of trying to make life better for individual creatures?”
So. We’re in dry dock.
In decision-making-mode. Tearing some stuff up. Building some new parts. Mapping and charting. All that good stuff.
But mostly it’s a lot of asking questions and then drawing with crayons.
If I were to give one piece of advice, it would be this:
“There is no biggification without destuckification.”
I see a lot of people compartmentalizing these. They work on their stuff and then they work on their business. As if it were two distinct processes.
Really, whatever isn’t working in your business is mostly made up of — and directly related to — everything that is stuckified for you in general.
And one of the things I’d gwish for in the coming year is to do more actively demonstrating why this is true. About how to work on both simultaneously.
Play!
Comment zen as usual: we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff.
We let everyone else have their stuff and their own experience. We think creatively. We make stuff up. We don’t tell each other what to do.
There are cookies.
Post-scripting!
So you know! There are — astoundingly — a few spots left for the 2011 Kitchen Table (we’re about to enter our third year and it is my favorite place in the entire world). You’ll need a password for the backdoor page. Here: speedymouse. That’s all.
Very Personal Ads #76: no more trombone references
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.
Because we already did Seventy Six Trombones, and hardly anyone got it then either. Poor me. I guess it’s on to spirit of jokes.
Anyway. Sunday. Very Personal Ads. And you know what? Ever since the post on gwishes (things that are not goals and not wishes), I have been overflowing with things to gwish for.
Very interesting. Let’s see if some of them turn into VPAs.
Thing 1: A word.
Here’s what I want:
I need a word for a thing that’s not as boring/stressful a project and not as big as a mission.
Something that breaks down into components. Something that is an adventure.
Ways this could work:
Talking to metaphor mouse, of course.
Figuring out what some of the elements are. So far I have:
[+cycle] [+swift] [+made of pieces] [+sequence] [+series] [+fun] [+experiment] [+shivanautical]
Could it be part of a voyage? A passage? Crusade?
My commitment.
Do lots of Shiva Nata until it comes to me. And then share it with you, of course.
Thing 2: The great Desk Switcheroo!
Here’s what I want:
I need someone (either an organization or two-three very strong persons) to come take three giant metal desks we have at the Playground.
And then I need to find two new desks and a small table to replace them.
These should be lower to the ground, made of wood, easy to move around.
Ways this could work:
Not sure.
I’ll put it out here first and then see what happens.
Maybe Dana will have an idea.
My commitment.
To keep wishing. To stay with what I know is congruent for the kind of space and culture I’m trying to build.
To be creative with this.
To remain receptive to a wide variety of ways that this could work out.
Thing 3: A schedule that has my best interests at heart.
Here’s what I want:
I keep getting stalled on my 2011 schedule. And I’m pretty sure I know why.
My 2010 schedule was created in direct response to the chaos of 2009, and it had two goals: a) have enough Pirate Queen Holidays built in so as to avoid the disaster that is Emergency Vacation, and b) have crazy fun.
It worked. Until the last quarter.
This year’s schedule needs to be about my big Thing-That-Is-Not-A-Project, and how I’m going to take care of myself while in that process.
Ways this could work:
I need to do this at the Playground.
With magic markers and music and skipping around the room.
I need to talk to slightly future me and ask for advice.
My commitment.
Curiosity, play, wonder, trust.
To ask as many questions as possible.
To remember that building a year around what I need instead of what I think the business needs, while admittedly kind of subversive, is actually a smart move. And to have the balls to just go with that.
Thing 4: Seclusion.
Here’s what I want:
I need some time to myself.
A little hibernation. A retreat for meeeeeeeee.
Ways this could work:
Hide out at the Playground.
Build a blanket fort!
Wander.
Write.
Avoid.
My commitment.
To say no to whatever needs saying no to.
To say yes to whatever needs saying yes to.
To trust myself when I’m not sure.
And… some tiny VPAs for today!
Here’s what I want today:
A repeat of last week’s asks, which were somehow the exact right thing.
A long walk.
Two hours of writing/decorating/attention for the Cultural Tour Guide.
Ways this could work:
I’m committing to it right now, and waiting to see what comes from that.
My commitment.
Experimentation. Observation. Receptivity. Love.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
Let’s see. I wanted to stop feeling like crap. That took most of the week, to be honest. But yesterday I was able to bounce again.
Then I wanted to make progress on a Book of You Slumber Party, and I’m pretty excited about that. We’ll be doing a special Rally for that, and I’m going to build it into one of the days of the Week of Destuckification.
I wanted back into my routines, and it happened. Piece by piece. It was useful to see how grounding and supportive it is just to know when everything is again. We even made progress on the new Shiva Nata manual, which has now turned into this.
And I wanted congruence, which has kind of been my theme for the week. Not sure if I’d say that it’s happening, but I’m paying attention. It’s a good place to start.
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! So glad for everyone doing this with me.
Friday Chicken #124: let’s orbit
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.
For the first time, in … let’s see, one hundred and twenty four weeks, I’m not in the mood to chicken.
In fact, my impression right now is this: I really did not enjoy this week.
But I know that when things aren’t working, I can always come back to the culture of this blog and the rituals of the week, since both the culture and the rituals are things that hold themselves.
Self-sustaining. Like a yoga pose. Or a sea chantey.
And I’m hoping that working through the hard and the good will remind me of some of what did work.
Or at least help me be more present with whatever is going on under the surface.
The hard stuff
Agh. Of course. The worst week. Always.
There’s something about the end of December and the ambient cultural gunk about the holidays and the approach of the new year.
It’s just not good. And there’s no escaping it.
I have been hiding out in my force field, but man, there’s a lot of general bleargh in the air. Depressing.
Completely and utterly overwhelmed.
Possibly related to the above.
Possibly related to the giant piles (both literal and metaphorical) waiting on me.
Some of these piles are filled with iguanas (very metaphorical), and that just makes the whole thing harder.
“Behind.” Whatever that means. Being behind. An awful feeling.
This is a phrase I dislike. It’s not helpful. It’s not a useful way of thinking about things.
But still I find myself looking at all the stuff I’d gotten ready for the new year by this time in 2009. And shaking my head.
This year has been full of interesting challenges. I’m sure something good will come out of this “behind” thing.
I just don’t know what it is yet and right now there’s some tightness there.
Sickness still taking its time.
Flannel handkerchiefs = yay.
Running out of flannel handkerchiefs because they’re all in the laundry = something that has never, ever happened.
You would not believe the amounts of goo I have watched leave my body over the past two weeks.
Applications overload.
We had so many people apply to the Kitchen Table from the waiting list, it has been completely insane.
I thought I was almost done with reading applications but then this week I think I read something like another seventy billion pages and also my brain exploded.
Still not back into routine.
This might be related to the “everything is getting on my nerves” part of this week.
Feeling a strong need to clear the decks.
I know this feeling. This usually doesn’t bode well.
I mean, it generally results in good things after the storm. But right now I need to take a bunch of things apart.
The good stuff
Looking forward to Zombie Yule.
Barricading myself in and avoiding the world: not just my tradition anymore.
Haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet, but Zombie Yule!
Orange hat.
It’s so orange!
Blindingly orange.
I love it.
Car cleaning!
The inside of my gentleman friend’s car has not seen a vacuum since something like 1992.
As of this week, that is no longer true. And there was also shampoo.
I am disproportionately happy about this.
Getting excited about the new group of Kitchen Table mice.
The Kitchen Table is where we practice all the stuff we talk about here.
And where we get to experience what it’s like living and breathing inside a culture where you’re allowed to have your gwishes, and it’s safe to be yourself, and everyone else is working on their stuff too.
Being around thoughtful, curious, loving, fabulous people. It’s a haven. And I can tell that our third year is going to be absolutely amazing.*
*And there are a few spots still open so even if you didn’t make it to the waiting list before it closed… you might still have a chance. If you want to apply, go to the secret backdoor page (password: speedymouse).
Workless Wednesday.
Even if it was only half workless.
Yay!
Secret Play Date!
This is Maryann’s beautiful thing.
I love it so much I can hardly stand it.
Read the post about it and get ready for Toozday. Or do it now. That works too. Secret play date is my favorite part of the week.
She’s @maryanndevine on Twitter.
Ohmygod my clients are doing such amazing things.
And I’m watching them develop business cultures that are so … subversive and revolutionary and fabulous.
So much progress and so much brilliance.
It’s really very exciting to be me right now.
Now, let’s orbit.
Somehow in a week where NOTHING was amusing, this fabulously inane commercial that really should not be funny at all managed to zoom in on my funnybone.
That sentence made my week.
Video at the bottom.
Fun presents that arrived at the Playground this week.
We got crazy sparkly superhero gloves from @judespacks (with fringe!). That she made. Very, very cool.
An album of songs! Songs! From Blue and her band Hello the Future. I am the luckiest.
And someone in Hawaii sent these very cool surfer light-switch things! I have no idea who you are, but thank you. They’re fantastic.
Also a giant bunny from an anonymous bunny-giver. Not in Hawaii, though. Yay, giant fluff-bunny!
And … playing live at the meme beach house!
Yes, that’s a Stuism too.
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:
George Michael Roger That.
Oh, they are marvelous. Maybe you saw them open for Recursive Angst. Except that of course it’s really just one guy
* Hat-tip to Jeff (@jmoriarty) for Recursive Angst. Which is also just one guy. As is Jeff.
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.
This is for you!
Anatomy of a (half) day off.
A few years ago, one of my mentors got a bee in his bonnet about how Selma and I needed a day off.
And not once in a while. Not right before I was about to fall apart.
A regular thing. A weekly thing.
I knew he was right. And everything in me said this was a Wise and Sensible Plan. But it wasn’t happening.
Since I often say that there’s time and that good things often do take time, I thought I’d map out for you the super long process involved in getting to the point where this is mostly a thing.
Phase 1. The seed is planted.
Over and over again.
My business mentor levels the arguments:
- I already work weekends because that’s when I teach.
- That we all have to live by what we teach, and a radical subversive practice of being mindful and curious about taking care of ourselves is part of what I teach.
- Further, we have a responsibility to model this way of living: basic self-care is part of that. Hell, extreme self-care is part of that.
- And without taking time for shavasana, a practice isn’t really a practice.
I know he’s right. And I’m not there yet.
I work on what I can do — meeting myself where I am. Being in the hard.
Phase 2. Parameters are defined, readjusted.
My mentor makes me choose a day.
I say Wednesday.
I have no intention whatsoever of taking Wednesday off. There’s too much work to be done.
So I keep waiting. Until there is no avoiding the fact that I’m about to fall apart. Then on the verge of a massive breakdown, a state of Emergency Vacation is declared. Awesome.
Phase 3. Naming is important, of course.
The Day Off is officially entered into iCal as The Day Off.
It mocks me each Wednesday, as I am obviously not taking a day off. Seeing the reminder is just too depressing.
So the name gets changed to Workless Wednesday.
This makes me laugh, even when I am working. I like the sound of it. It is a silly day.
I wake up Wednesday morning and think workless workless workless. My day begins a little later. It’s good.
Phase 4. Experimentation begins.
We mess around with Doing Slightly Less.
The official There will be no clients and no meetings and no teaching teleclassses on Workless Wednesdays ruling went into effect a little over a year ago.
This quickly became the No really, you may not schedule ANYTHING for Havi on a Wednesday ordinance.
Then Wednesday became take more time in the morning day. And then let’s go for a long walk before we start day. And then mmm spend the afternoon doing things around the house day.
Guilt-less napping and permission slips! I was starting to look forward to Wednesdays.
Phase 5. A spark of something.
About six months ago I decided that Wednesday needed a spark. An adventure!
Not just not-working or less-working, but something different. Something that would take completely me out of the usual routines.
I talked my gentleman friend into a weekly afternoon outing.
It could be anything or anywhere, as long as in some part of it we got to a) go somewhere we hadn’t been before and b) sit in a cafe and do some writing.
And now we have regular Wednesday outings. Every week.
We still put in a solid three hours of work in the morning. But in the afternoon we go off adventuring.
Phase 6. Learning through experience.
And taking notes about how the physical, emotional and mental experience changes things.
After the first few outings, I noticed that I was much less irritable during Drunk Pirate Council, the weekly meeting for the company that happens every Thursday.
And less wiped out on Fridays. More patient in general.
Also, that I get more done in those intense Wednesday morning hours than I do the rest of the week. It’s like a taste of what happens at the Rally (Rally!).
On the outings, I invariably end up talking and writing about stuff going on in the business, and ideas get born.
The outings aren’t just good for me. They’re good for everyone and everything I encounter. That was obvious before I started doing them, of course, but now this knowing is something I can feel.
Phase 7. Yesterday.
Yesterday I was feeling really, really anxious. Argh. Worst timing ever for Workless Wednesday.
A certain problem/challenge/difficulty that has been brewing over the past few months had come to a head. A solution was needed and I needed it now.
This was not the right time for an outing.
But it was already a ritual. Tradition. That’s what you do on Wednesdays.
We ended up at the Rocking Frog cafe, escaping the pouring rain. We drank warm things and ate hot pepper and gouda sandwiches.
I started taking some notes on the challenge-that-has-been-driving-me-crazy-for-three-months. And then it totally resolved itself.
And then I bought myself an orange hat. A very orange hat. An orange hat so orange that it’s practically obscene. It was a very good Workless Wednesday.
Phase 8. Now.
There are three things I know now.
- Invoking Workless Wednesday and using its powers on things that aren’t working is the most brilliant problem-solving tool ever, outside of Dance of Shiva. Worklessness activate!
- I cannot wait until every day is like Workless Wednesday. Two or three hours of focused, concentrated getting-stuff-done, followed by a delightful adventure. And some writing. And a nap.
- I can take my time with that too. We’ll get there. And when we do, it will be beautiful.
Fourth thing: the more time I spend working on the Book of Me, the easier it is to remember this stuff and the faster it is to implement it.
And comment zen for today.
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We let other people have their stuff. It’s a process.
We can talk about what’s true for us. We don’t give unsolicited advice. We help other people feel welcome and supported.
And! If you’re going to be in or near Portland the Younger* next weekend and you don’t have plans for Zombie Yule**, let me know in the comments.
I’m thinking of throwing together a tiny, cozy, Rally-like-thing where we can make big progress on the Book of You.
* As opposed to Portland the Elder, the original one, on the east coast. Thanks @annabarnett.
** Yes, Zombie Yule.
The unhostile takeover.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. Ahahahahahahahahaha.
Yes. Like that.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. Ahahahahahahahahaha.
That was the sound my body made last week when we gave in to its firm suggestion that we sleep in until whenever. Until nine! Craziness!
It loved that we acknowledged how very, very right it had been about how much better we would feel.
It said, See? See?!
But it didn’t do a little dance, even though it looked like it wanted to.
An unexpected realization.
We — that is, the collective — were surprised. We hadn’t realized what an incredibly special occasion it was for the body to really be listened to.
We’d basically thought we were listening. All the time.
You know, being a yoga teacher. Running what we think of as a yoga-based business.
The body is such a major player in everything we do around here and how we do it.
It seemed obvious that the body always gets heard. A given. The body always gets a vote. Always.
The coup. It was a quiet one.
The body said, very seriously, “Not a vote. Not a vote.”
The room became very still. We were paying attention.
The body said, “Not a vote anymore. It wasn’t a vote. Executive decision. I made an executive decision. Thank you for trusting me enough to let this happen.”
Executive? Decision?
We weren’t used to thinking about things this way.
We tried to remember other times the body had made an ‘executive decision’.
Not a reactive one, like quitting sugar nearly eleven years ago. But a calm, assured, measured, this is how things need to work around here decision.
I want the job.
“What are you saying?”, we asked the body.
The body cleared its throat. Our throat. The body leaned into a wall for support.
The body said, “I want the job. And don’t pretend you don’t know.”
We looked at each other. We thought we didn’t know, but we did know.
Pirate Queen me spoke first. “Well. This is certainly unexpected, but I kind of like it! Who’s up for an experiment in radical trust?”
Cautious me said, “Wait, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Gleeful me: “This is BRILLIANT. Let the body be the Chief Executive Officer. Ohmygod. Genius.”
Business savant me: “Ha! Interesting. Show me some numbers. Let’s say it’s possible that this isn’t a terrible idea — I want to know why this is supposed to work.”
The body shows us a series of memory slides.
How permanent email sabbatical saved us from hating the business.
How tramping and walking make us more efficient.
How old Turkish lady yoga keeps us calm and focused, and Shiva Nata delivers epiphanies and mad pattern recognition, so that we constantly seem to be smarter than other people.
Writer me says, “I like it. Just promise me there will be time for writing.”
The Worry Council: “Wait! We want the scientists to be involved! There has to be a way to measure results so we can stop this madness if it becomes necessary!”
The body didn’t seem phased by any of this. It had a proposal. But it wasn’t a proposal. Executive decision.
The body’s nonproposal:
“Here’s what need to happen.
You give me a year to run things my way. We have daily chickening, so that I get to give you information and make recommendations. We have weekly council where we talk about what’s working and what isn’t.
A six month performance revue (not a review!) with dancing and frivolity.
And you trust me to know what I’m doing.
I can totally change our world and the business and take this ship to amazing places, if we all work together and you trust my instincts.
My methods are unconventional. You may worry at first about the amount of napping and the expense of the facials.
But we will turn this ship in a new direction, and the most magical, spectacular things will happen. Are you with me?”
Magic markers for everyone!
Everyone applauded. There was some general grumble-thrum that sounded like, “Yeah! Yeah! But we want to see some charts! But yeah!”
We got out the magic markers and started charting:
- What questions we need to ask the body each day.
- Possible checks and balances.
- What would help us trust the body’s messages more.
- Activities (breathing, yoga, assorted wackiness) to connect to the body in such a way that we’re tapping into deep knowing and not surface knowing.
All this to make sure we won’t be regularly intercepting messages of the I just want to eat nachos and cry all day variety
Or if we do get that message, we’ll know that this is the temporary but necessary course that must be taken for the next thing to happen.
And now there’s a committee too! But not really a committee.
It’s not so much a committee as — tee hee! — an executive decision-making body.
Yes, a body. That includes my body. My body thinks this is hilarious.
Anyway, this committee consists of… my body, of course. And Slightly Future Me and Pirate Queen Me.
My body still makes all the executive decisions, and the other two back her up.
There’s other stuff going on too, and I’d love to tell you more about it, but the body just told us to get off the computer and go for a walk.
So assume that normal comment zen applies (we own our stuff, we let other people have their stuff and we don’t give unsolicited advice). And you are welcome to play with me on any of this.
By executive decision, radical trust and the power vested in me by the collective, signing off for now. 🙂