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.
Gwishes.
I am not very good at goals.
Mostly because I do not like them.
Navigating and mapping and adventuring are more my style, not surprisingly, because those are things that pirates like.
And I’m mostly okay with wishes as long as I pretend that they’re Very Personal Ads.
Anyway, I needed a word.
For the thing that is not a goal and not a wish.
And not a dream and not a mission. And not a project.
It’s a gwish.
Because it’s fun to say. Gwish gwish gwish gwish.
And because it isn’t as scary to talk about a gwish as it is to share a tiny, sweet thing that is vulnerable and in need of protection.
Gwishes make it through the cracks.
When you tell someone your goal, they might come up with all the reasons it could be a disastrous disaster to end all disasters.
Because they worry about you, just like your fuzzball monsters.
But they don’t worry about your gwishes because no one worries about gwishes.
Gwishes are buoyant and sparkly. They sneak past fear because fear forgets to take them too seriously.
It feels good to have a gwish.
It feels even better to get excited about someone else’s gwish.
At our day of pattern-mapping and destuckifying in Sacramento, we shared all kinds of gwishes.
But we made them up. Silly, beautiful, unlikely, made-up gwishes.
We experienced what it feels like to share a gwish and have that gwish be met with unconditional love and acceptance.
We practiced radiating joy for other people’s gwishes, and saying whee! and right on!
We created a tiny, awesome culture of welcoming and belonging for the gwishes to hang out in.
Some of the gwishes we admired:
- To hear the trees and know what they want.
-
To build a giant tree fort where you can sing songs — with a bathroom in the tree!
- To create a cat circus.
- To find a home for all who need one.
- To be a ballerina.
- To cure epidemics of belly button lint.
- To be a fairy in a red crystal ball.
- To live in a haunted house at Disneyland (with a singing graveyard, of course).
Some noticings about giving people room to have their geishas.*
* Edit! That was supposed to be “gwishes”, not geishas. But a typo that fabulous must stay.
It changes the room. The quality of the air is different. More spaciousness.
It’s easy to get excited about someone else’s gwish, even when it’s something ridiculous or impossible. That kind of creative, expansive joy is contagious.
Listening to someone talk about their gwish… my whole body is engaged. I am animated. I want to celebrate it and be a part of it and make it happen.
It is so much easier to be filled with loving-kindness over someone else’s gwish.
I can’t always do that with my own.
With someone else’s gwish, that hesitance and reticence is gone.
I see all the reasons for yes. Why it could work instead of why it couldn’t.
As if all your spine fluid essence was pure creativity. The life force as undiluted creative play. Yes.
It’s good for you.
Not just cultivating gwishes of your own, but actively letting other people have theirs.
Without trying to change the gwishes. Not needing to fix them or do anything with them.
Just giving them legitimacy. Room to exist.
What do my gwishes need to feel safe and supported?
Play and playfulness!
Time and space to emerge in whatever form they want.
Friends (like Hiro and Cairene and Michelle) to clap delightedly with me.
They want to be welcomed and rejoiced over.
They want their birth to be the most happy thing that ever was.
They want flowers and flowers and flowers, and a secret garden just for them.
They want more room than it seems like they’re going to need. And to know that they are loved.
What can I do to help my gwishes feel welcome?
I can listen to them.
And ask them what they want.
I can make destinations and landing spots. I can write signs and give them names.
And safe rooms! Places to live so that even when I’m not with them or giving them attention, they feel comfortable and at home.
Dance. Movement. Trust. Walk the patterns. Map the patterns. Interact with the patterns. Untangle the patterns.
But mainly to say it:
YOU ARE WELCOME. YOU ARE ALLOWED TO BE HERE.
Play with me! It is fun to make gwishes and to have them.
If you would like to play, you are welcome to.
- To invent silly gwishes and get to know what it’s like to have them be welcomed and respected.
- To share a real gwish, if you like and if it feels safe.
- To ask any of the questions that I did, and see what comes up.
- To welcome other people’s gwishes.
As always, we all have our stuff, and we’re all working on our stuff. We let other people have their stuff and their experience, because that’s part of this too.
Very Personal Ads #75: slumber being the operative word here
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: Oh, to stop feeling like crap. That would be good.
Here’s what I want:
The last teaching trip combined with visit to un-laws really knocked me out.
I am ready to get out of what feels like a permanent state of fog-head and get back to myself.
Ways this could work:
Committing way more … aggressively? intentionally?… to taking care of myself.
Not doing things that are not directly connected to helping me get better.
Seclusion.
Yoga. Slow, inquisitive old Turkish lady yoga.
Doing the Shiva Nata patterns in my head, since my body can’t do them right now. Just being in the bath of patterns.
Also in the real bath.
My commitment.
Taking notes.
Remembering how much this sucks so I can not get myself into this situation next time.
To go to where the water is.
Thing 2: To work on the Book of Me at a slumber party or some other unlikely gathering.
Here’s what I want:
The truth is, the feeling-like-crap was predictable. I did things that went against every single piece of smart advice that belongs in the Book of Me.
I went and broke all the absolutely absolutelies.
I knew what was needed but I either forgot or didn’t take it seriously enough.
So it’s time to revisit the Book of Me. And the dammit list.
And I want to do that in a more formal way. Because if it was easily accessible (like my fabulous Pirate Queen Anthology), I could have consulted it.
Ways this could work:
A Rally! I can throw a special Rally that’s just for working on and assembling the Book of You.
Or fit a Book of You unit into the Week of Destuckification program.
Or a slumber party at the Playground.*
* Not really a slumber party, of course, because my personal Book of Me has way too much accumulated evidence to show that staying up late is a disaster in the making. But a gathering of fun.
My commitment.
To get silly and creative with this.
To use magic markers.
And I can try out Maryann’s Secret Playdate (on Toozday) as the place to start.
Thing 3: Back into my routines.
Here’s what I want:
Now that I’m not traveling, I want back in!
My morning walks and tramping and the various rituals and everything else that falls under the category of here’s-how-we-do-things.
Everything that supports me.
I have missed it so much.
Ways this could work:
Slowly.
Piece by piece.
With love and sweetness, not with guilt or impatience. With creativity and curiosity.
I can remember why each routine became a routine to begin with. I can invent new ones. I can be open to being surprised.
My commitment.
To stay connected to the qualities that these routines and rituals give me:
Support, comfort, trust, reassurance, stability, play.
And to figure out what else I need.
To go at my own pace and see what happens.
Thing 4: Congruence.
Here’s what I want:
This is a Hiro-word.
I’m not sure how to talk about this yet, but I’m in the process of observing my life and my space, and moving out all the things that don’t match. Everything that doesn’t fit.
Ways this could work:
With the magic wand, of course.
I’ll see what it wants to point to.
Or with writing, my usual way. That works too.
My commitment.
To remember that it’s a process. To remember that everything moves. To notice the points where I want things not to move.
And… some tiny VPAs for today!
Here’s what I want today:
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 a completely ridiculous coatrack or hatstand for the Playground. And we got tons of suggestions from the commenter mice and at the Twitter bar.
So thank you.
There were things that needed brunching (announcing), and I got sick and that didn’t happen. But I have been doing a lot of thinking about how and what and when. Useful.
I wanted to be able to write a thing that I couldn’t write, and big progress has been made on that. Still upset, but I’m writing.
And we had an administrative nightmare that was very nightmarish, but it’s slowly getting sorted, and people have been very patient and understanding about it, so yay.
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 #123: it’s actually Thursday but someone had to stop this week before it went too far and that someone is going to be me.
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.
So yes, it’s not exactly Friday yet. But I’m so damn glad this week is over that we’re officially ending it early.
You heard me, week. We are through.
Yes.
The hard stuff
Exhausted and miserable.
Too much traveling. Too much working.
And now I’ve had four days of foggy-head where my brain doesn’t function.
Body is protesting.
And very loudly at that.
It is not fun.
Piles and piles of things wanting me to make decisions on them but my fog-head can’t make decisions right now.
Knowing that people are waiting on these decisions and wanting to give them… so hard.
And the longer I wait, the more things need deciding.
It’s getting to be kind of ridiculous.
Upset with myself for not taking care of myself.
And then paying the price.
Tried to fit too much in. Too much traveling, teaching and visiting of people.
Overdid it. Did not respect the bedtime.
And now everything hurts.
Unhappy about something.
But not able to talk about it yet.
And yes, pulled over in the airport line again.
Though not personally searched, gott sei dank.
But still. Every damn time. I can’t go through without them taking my bags apart.
And then they had to think out loud about the channukiah:
“Well, a menorah IS a religious object, so that should be okay, I guess. We just have to check that you can’t hurt anyone…with this gigantic hunk of metal…”
Nice.
The good stuff
Everyone loves the sovereignty boots.
Including, as always, the TSA. This always makes me laugh. And it makes the hassle of having my bags searched yet again somewhat less irritating.
It’s usually the TSA ladies who drool over them but this time it was the boys.
TSA guy: “Wow, those were some boots you just took off.”
Me: “Yup!”
TSA guy: “Nice! Those heels are awesome. Are they comfortable?”
Me: “Very!”
Other TSA guy: “Well, they look great.”
Me: “I hear that every time I fly…”
First TSA guy: “I’m not surprised. They’re so pretty!”
It’s not always easy being a pirate queen, but the boots totally help.
Body protest turned out to be a good thing.
In a bold and daring coup, my body decided that it should get to be the CEO of my business for 2011.
And, weirdly, everyone was on board with that, so yay.
And even though the mandatory three days in bed was extremely frustrating, it turns out that having my body making all the executive decisions is kind of fantastic.
More about how that all came about next week.
Teaching in Sacramento was great fun.
Selma and I got to spend a brilliant day with three amazing women, working on their businesses in silly, unlikely, screwball ninja-fied ways.
And to teach Shiva Nata with a lovely group of people from all over California.
And a very fun afternoon with Michelle’s teacher-trainees at It’s All Yoga, teaching mindful biggification, destuckification and other good things.
They were also completely unfazed by the fact that I spent four hours pretending we were actually at a hamster tightrope-walking teacher training.
Which means Michelle must have warned them about me. Ahahahahahaha.
Love it.
Food!
Traveling kind of sucks because no matter how good the food is, it’s no match for the stuff my gentleman friend cooks.
But I still got to eat all sorts of delicious things and it was fun.
And then when I finally made it home, it just got better.
Being home.
My bed! My glorrrrrrrrrrrrious bed! My kingdom for my bed.
With flannel sheets and giant comforters.
Oh, there is nothing like bed.
And then to be back in Hoppy House, knowing that I don’t have to go anywhere for ages. Joy.
The new Timbers kit.
Because the only time you’ll hear me talk about fashion (my hot hot sovereignty boots aside) is when it’s football jerseys or roller derby drag.
Love the new jerseys. Love. And that’s not something you get to say a lot in Major League Soccer. Can’t wait for the season to start!
Hannukah.
Lights and pretty.
It’s a good holiday. Just in time.
There are a bunch of things I’m supposed to announce but I can’t remember what they are.
But I do know one of them.
This Toozday I’ll be doing a teleclass on how I process the process — that is to say, how I work on my stuff while trying to get stuff done.
It’s for people who have bought the processing the process ebook (this is a page I have never linked to before), and anyone who gets it by the end of the weekend will be invited to the call. So if you don’t have it, now is the time.
When my head clears I’ll try to remember what else is going on.
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.”
I’m not sure what they sound like but I’m sure it’s rocking.
The Badass Bagel Brigade.
Best. Band. Ever. Except of course that it’s really just one guy.
And some of the lovely presents that arrived this week.
I haven’t been to the post office yet, so I have no idea what all is there.
But we have candles and sage and duck soap (from Michelle), and fabulous hats.
I will take them to the Playground tomorrow and there will be much rejoicing.
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.
Ten things gone.
While I was teaching in Sacramento last week, I got to do lots of fun Sacramento things.
Like breakfast at Magpie with my Michelle. And Selma. And giant, happy sandwiches. Happy! Sandwiches!
And I dragged some of my clients to the awesome park where there’s an alien spaceship. On a giant pole!
Happy hour.
But the best, as always, was going to Beer’s.
It’s a bookstore. Called Beer’s. They do happy hour, when books are cheaper.
Once a month it’s happy hour all day.
And they have a cat named Raffles who basically owns the place.
If it weren’t for the fact that I live in Portland, home to the unbelievable place that is Powell’s (heaven!), I’d probably never leave.
Anyway.
I bought a Barbara book (that’s Barbara Freaking Sher), because while Barbara is a wise, hilarious lady who is madly adored by me, I haven’t actually read her stuff, outside of the wishcrafting.
She had this brilliant bit about how we put all this pressure on ourselves to declutter.
But it’s all pressure and nothing else, because then we wait for that perfect expanse of unscheduled weekend to make it happen.
Her solution is:
Get rid of ten things. Whenever you happen to remember.
Of course it is.
I love this because it’s so Barbara. She goes right to the practical and the deguiltifying.
And because it’s like what I already do — just one thing.
Except, you know, ten.
Here are my ten.
- The red rainboots that don’t fit and have a hole. Goodbye, rain boots!
- Disgusting fish oil capsules from my acupuncturist that I am never, ever going to take. Goodbye!
- Oh, so many past-expiration-date vitamins.
- Cushions that do not really belong in Hoppy House. They’ll go to the Playground. Bye, cushions! See you soon!
- A gift I didn’t need: to someone else.
- Old, falling-apart slippers from when I still lived in Germany. That is a long time ago.
- Keeping half a box of matzah for sentimental value does not really make sense. Ooh, pasta consolidation too!
- Tea supplies we don’t use: to the Playground where the Rallygators will enjoy them!
- The first ridiculous bottle opener (bless the Tiki Plumber) must stay. We need him. Not so much for bottles as for sheer fabulousness. But the second one? Angry shark can go to the Playground too.
- Yoga mat ties: to a friend.
Noticings!
So much more challenging than I expected.
But also more fun than expected.
The giant permission slip of “just ten for now, not the whole damn house” made it into more of a game.
I can easily see how this could become the best habit ever.
Most surprising to me was how hard it was for me to figure out what things, even though I only needed to find ten of them.
This was both terrifying and tremendously reassuring.
Terrifying.
Mostly because it made something clear:
The narrative in my head about how the house is a disaster and when are you going to take the time to take care of things is obviously and demonstrably false. False and ridiculous.
I have a pile or two that need de-piling, and that’s pretty much it. What?!?!
What a crazy thing to realize. This thing I think to myself at least once a day is not accurate, useful, helpful or relevant to real life.
And reassuring.
Because catching unexamined assumptions and proving them wrong is delightful.
Plus, now if that mythical, magical, empty weekend ever shows up, I can use it for cat-napping.
Play with me?
Ten things or three things or one thing. Or no things. It’s all fine by me.
Thinking about any of this counts.
As always:
We all have our stuff. We’re working on our stuff. We let everyone else have their stuff.
As Paul says, people vary. The only constant is that we’re committed to nonviolent change. And that trumps everything, including the “people-vary” rule.
In other words: whatever works for you is cool, up to the point that it doesn’t involve self-abuse. If we try to change our patterns through hurting ourselves, that is the pattern that needs loving attention.
More on that some other time.
In the meantime, play with me! If you like! What are we keeping, recycling, giving away, saying goodbye to? Noticings welcome.
Jungle gyms everywhere.
We did a thing at the Week of Biggification in North Carolina that was pretty great.
In addition to optional afternoon old Turkish lady yoga, we had optional morning classes that were … oh, unconventional is as good a word as any.
And on this particular day we played let’s turn the room into a jungle gym!
Because it’s there.
The idea was this:
Go somewhere in the room.
Use that spot as the setting for interacting with (some part of) your body.
Interacting could mean: stretching it, strengthening it, moving it, being in stillness with it, listening to it, touching it.
Then go somewhere else in the room and play with that part of the room.
It was awesome.
We turned the room into a jungle gym!
Which was a pretty unlikely thing.
I mean, fancy hotel conference room. There wasn’t all that much to play with.
Not like the Playground, which is full of blocks and toys and hiding places. A conference room.
But we used the walls. The stage. We flipped chairs upside down and rocked on them.
We leaned up against tables.
And pressed into walls and wriggled into corners.
Sometimes you would hear giggling as someone discovered the perfect way to play with something that seemed unplay-with-able.
Our breathing became deep and slow.
Each movement was intentional and playful at the same time. We were channeling that deeply creative, passionately intent silliness that is experimentation. Play through curiosity.
We were like kids and dogs. We were free.
Jungle gyms everywhere.
Right now I’m at another hotel, but in California.
The bathroom has a window seat and a spectacular view.
This morning I turned the bathroom into a jungle gym.
Sink and bathtub and closet. Walls and doors. Arrangements of towels.
I stood here and there. I went under and over.
But mainly I pressed and twisted and leaned and reached and bent and peeked.
But really, everywhere. To some extent.
Even on the plane, there are ways to be in jungle gym mode.
It’s hard. You have to be like a monk in a cell. Movement is limited. But how I get to interact with space is less limited than I think.
The play becomes more concentrated. How to move in small ways that are unobtrusive.
My focus draws inward: more about internal space. Breath. Vertebrae. Length. Roominess. Spine. Heart.
Many variations on wiggling of toes.
That’s probably my least favorite jungle gym.
But looking for unlikely options to interact with my body and the experience of being there is how I get through it.
Today I’m going somewhere that will be challenging for me.
Of course, I won’t be able to really play, because it’s not the kind of place that approves of that.
But I can sort of turn it into a jungle gym anyway.
By sneaking stretches in unlikely ways and unlikely places.
And I can turn it into a mental jungle gym by being curious and inquisitive. By experimenting with how I react to the video game.
By doing things that I wouldn’t normally do, to see what happens.
It gets easier I can remember that playgrounds are everywhere and playtime is there for me whenever I want it.
And if it sucks, I get naptime when I’m done.
Play!
More jungle-gym-ing! More ways to turn things into playgrounds! Yes?
And, as always, we let everyone have their own experience and we don’t tell anyone what to do, because that’s how we play here.