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 #74: If Dr. Seuss wore a hat, he would hang it 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.
Also, is it really Sunday?
Somehow that seems completely preposterous. I protest!
Thing 1: a completely ridiculous coat rack or hat stand or something.
Here’s what I want:
Now that it is winter in Portland, we need a place at the Playground to hang rain coats.
And possibly to stick umbrellas. People who live here do not own umbrellas, but we will have visitors and they will most certainly want umbrellas.
I am picturing a delightfully kooky stand that is somewhat … odd looking. Now we need to find it!
Ways this could work:
Selma and I can prowl the consignment shops when we get back from teaching in Sacramento.
You guys might have ideas or suggestions, or maybe one of my readers knows the coat rack in question and can introduce us.
My commitment.
To stand for hats! Because I do.
Thing 2: brunching!
Here’s what I want:
I have several upcoming things that I need to announce to the Havi’s Doing A Thing list and the Frolicsome Bar and to the blog in general.
Of course we are totally way behind schedule. Which is actually fine.
But at some point in this coming week, the pieces need to fall into place.
Ways this could work:
I’ll get help from Hiro, my sister-in-silliness.
And do some processing the process. We’ll need to have at least two Drunk Pirate Councils, of course.
And it could just work. Whatever needs to come together could show up.
Or I could have a shivanautical epiphany that would help with the remaining steps. That would be good too.
My commitment.
To pay attention to what is working.
To ask what I need.
To do way more stone skipping than I think is required.
Thing 3: there is a thing I really want to write.
Here’s what I want:
Oh, this thing I want to write!
But right now I am far too upset about the topic to sit down and write it.
So either I need to figure out a way to get some emotional distance. Or be okay with not writing it for a while.
Or just write it while I’m mad, and then edit out the mean.
Ways this could work:
I’m thinking this will need some time tramping (on the trampoline).
And walking it out and talking it out and dancing it out and talking to the various monsters involved.
Or maybe there is a perfect, simple, elegant solution that I haven’t thought of yet.
My commitment.
To poke around (gently) and ask questions.
To be as patient with myself as I can stand.
To find the love, because it’s got to be in there somewhere, right?
To make room for all the parts that do not feel like love, because they’re legitimate too.
To remember that I can’t get this wrong, because it’s an experiment and I can change any variable at any time. To play.
Thing 4: salvaging? resolving?
Here’s what I want:
A massive administrative nightmare was uncovered this week, exactly at a moment when the First Mate and the rest of the crew weren’t able to do anything about it.
Some behind-the-scenes tech changes resulted in a day or two where the First Mate wasn’t getting all the incoming email. And just when we thought this was sorted, it turned out that our spam-filtering system had been updated too.
And on Friday it was discovered that there were HUNDREDS of unread (and increasingly agitated) emails that we didn’t know about because they had fallen between cracks that weren’t supposed to be there.
I don’t know what’s more depressing:
How terrible I feel about this, how upset people are, or the fact that we get so much incoming email that not getting a few hundred isn’t really noticeable.*
* And that’s why (cue hysterical laughter) I’ve been on permanent email sabbatical for the past two years.
Ways this could work:
So the First Mate has already responded to most of the pile.
We can apologize. A lot.
We can hope for the best.
We can consult with our tech pirates.
My commitment.
To trust that good things will come from this screw-up.
To wait and see.
To put someone else at the front of the V.
To write love letters to my business and my monsters and find out what they need.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
Ooh, I wanted slippers! And you guys gave me all sorts of excellent recommendations, including fabulous I-am-a-jester slippers.
And then I accidentally found the most perfect ones ever down the street from the Playground, and I am in heaven.
Then I asked for order and ease, and those were definitely the theme of my week. My year, really. Very interesting.
I also wanted pockets of weekend in my week, and had no idea how that was going to happen.
But then my uncle came for three days of visiting, and for him I will always make pockets. So they appeared. And it was blissful.
And I wanted to memorize some passwords and I am so there with the two really important ones. Avoiding the others, but I’ll do some Shiva Nata with them and make it happen. Whew.
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 #122: it’s short for Jamaica.
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.
Wow, what a crazy, wonderful week.
I am in Sacramento and we are having a day of great fun, and whee.
In the meantime, let’s chicken and close out the week…
The hard stuff
I’m not really sure, it all happened so fast.
Seriously, this week was kind of insane.
The busy: it hurts my head.
It’s like everything was spinning just a little too fast.
And I’m constantly catching myself worrying about who or what I’m forgetting at any given time.
Wanting to catch up and not knowing how or when.
So many things! To be done! And they all will be done.
Just not this week. And that is frustrating.
Adjusting to new ways of doing things (and new ways of being patient about not doing them yet), and this is hard.
Really not in the mood for traveling.
I know it’s a tiny, tiny trip. And my last one for a while.
But I just was in New Mexico and North Carolina and teaching a bunch of Rallies (Rally!) and if I have to travel anywhere, why couldn’t it be recovery time?
Like… Hawaii?
Anyway, I am so done with being smooshed into airplanes.
Really, California?
The whole point of my annual teaching trip there is to be somewhere that’s not cold and rainy.
Sac has had some days where it’s actually been colder than in Portland, if you can imagine that.
The good stuff
Svevo was here!
My favorite uncle, about whom you have heard me tell many delightful stories, came by train to spend three days with us at Hoppy House.
We went for walks and cooked and laughed and played and hung out at the Playground.
Also we went to breakfast at a cafe and I had just written that post about how I get flustered when people want to know my name and say “Jam!” when people want to know what I’m doing for Thanksgiving.
Anyway, we ordered our food and I gave my name as Penelope and he gave his name as Jam. Yes, Jam.
He is the best person ever. I completely cannot believe how lucky I am that we are related.
Also, when he says he’s drinking hot tea, he means that there are chili flakes in it.
Hannukah!
Eating levivot and watching the candles burn.
And just everything being better and prettier and shinier because the holiday is here.
Huge progress made on annoying administrative stuff. Yay.
Reworking giant sessions of the Pirate Log.
Time-consuming, but really, really important. It feels so good to have movement on this.
Being in Sacramento.
Going to Dad’s (no, not related to me, sadly) for sandwiches! The best sandwiches.
I have been missing this place for an entire year. These sandwiches are pretty much the entire reason I agreed to teach at this yoga teacher training, aside from getting to see my beloved sisters-in-crime.
Seeing Michelle and Madeleine.
Being with the people you love. It really is that great.
What a … I don’t even know what the word is. It’s a treasure. Just so lucky to have these women in my life, even if we don’t get to live in the same place, you know?
In the zone.
I’ve been doing all this work on my stuff, with the themes of order and ease.
And at some point towards the middle of the week, I just got into the flow. That thing about waiting to catch the next wave? I caught it, big time.
Possible side effect?
Imagine this extremely unlikely (for me) state of everything working out in ridiculous, impossible, easy ways. To the point that it was kind of creeping me out.
The most perfect shoes in the entire world? One pair, just my size, perfect fit, and at a 30% discount. On the same day my old ones decided to fall apart.
A thing I was looking forward to was canceled, but they hooked me up with a massage instead — with my very favorite person in Portland for all things touch-related.
Oh, and a new therapist was going through a training there so I was given a twenty minute foot massage so I could be the guinea pig. I know, what?
Twitter to the rescue.
It really is the best bar.
Here was my original question:
“I need a word for THIS: someone has solved a problem that *looks* like your problem and wants you to solve yours the same way.”
I got so many answers that I didn’t even know what to do with them. Some of my favorites:
helpiness, hammer-heading, solutionary projection, narcassistance, narcissolution, Aunt-peggery, imposolutioning, faux-lution!
Yay..
And mine: roundholier-than-thou… for people who try to fit square pegs into the nearest available round hole.
I think I’m going to go with solutionary projection for now. It has that lovely combination of being both mock-jargon and something completely true at the same time.
Wonderful presents that arrived this week.
AGAIN, thank you to Karen for the amazing monster pillow, that I love and adore. Also, Karen is a super neat person and you should all hang out with her as much as possible.
I have warm and gorgeous socks, thanks to Yael.
Ooh, and thank you, Alexia and Willie for the wonderful monster journal!
And the Guns N Rollers for the awesome autographed and framed team picture that now lives in the Treasure Room at the Playground.
Beautiful things I read this week.
This post from Shannon describing the Rally:
“I sat under a tree and had a brainy new idea. I picnicked on the floor and drank out of robot mustache glasses. I admired art about getting drunk and eating waffles.”
And I happen to know that this particular tree was a pirate monkey tree!
Speaking of Rally (Rally!), a brilliant piece from Rhiannon about her experience there — with a picture from the Galley, too.
And I wasn’t going to link to Maryann this week because I have been going on and on about how smart she is, and while I am completely right, I was going to spread the love.
But this post! This post! And all the amazing posts of hers that are linked to in it. This is the thing I am always trying to explain about how Shiva Nata makes you a wiser and more connector-moused-up version of yourself. Ahhhh.
And I am so in love with this amazing chair. And so sad that it only sold for $80. Tragic and wrong. But my god the chair.
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?
Dancing on Bubblewrap.
They’re playing in town all week. Except that it’s really just one guy.
Thank you, Edwin and the Rallions from the Great Ducking Out last week.
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.
And also a chag urim sameach to anyone who is celebrating. Sufganiyot for everyone! Except for me!
I am five years old.
Everyone in the building where the Playground lives wants to know what the Playground is.
They see us wandering the halls in our stocking feet (or stripy-socked-feet or bare feet or sparkly legwarmer feet), wearing ridiculous hats and sometimes wings.
They hear us laughing.
They are, understandably, not that clear on what we are doing, or why there is a pirate duck on the door or who we are. Or why we are having so much fun.
It makes sense that people are curious.
There’s a lot of wackopants stuff going on, though they don’t see any of that.
It’s just … the stuff we do is not really the kind of thing you can explain. It’s play. It’s very wax on wax off.
Describing it in words doesn’t transmit the essence. Or the magic. Or the experience.
The more I try to explain what it is, the more the essential nature of the Playground is obfuscated.
But people like having explanations. And I like buffers and spaciousness and canopies of peace.
So I hide, of course.
But then Maria told me about being five years old.
Maria is so wise. And so is her five year old, apparently.
Here’s how it works.
You pretend you’re five years old. You are a kid doing kid-stuff, busy at play.
You’re having such a good time playing that there’s really nothing to be explained. So obvious questions get answered with obvious answers.
Like this.
Person: What exactly do you do here?
Five year old me: Playground! I have a playground!
Person: What’s a playground? What is it?
Five year old me: Where you play!
Person: What kinds of things do you play?
Five year old me: Pirates!
Person: Pirates?
Five year old me: And monster tag. Sometimes.
Person: What’s the point, though?
Five year old me: Getting to play!
Person: Who plays there?
Five year old me: People! People who like to play!
Person: And what do you do there?
Five year old me: I’m the queen! I drink juice!
And then!
And then you put on your grown-up costume, and ask them about their business, and you start talking about the building and the heating and the weather and how much good food there is in the neighborhood and it’s awesome.
Grilled cheese for everyone!
Unless you don’t eat cheese, in which case that’s still okay because we’re in Portland, so… vegan gluten-free grilled cheese for whoever wants it.
One day I will have an open house.
Or an open Playground.
And I will invite my neighbors in the building to come and drink juice out of our zombie apocalypse juice glasses.
To build blanket forts or sit on pirate monkey meditation cushions.
To be old Turkish ladies, if they like. To wear clip-on tails from the Costumery (costumes!) and to carry wine glasses full of pretzel sticks.
To plug their phones into the Creative Outlets.
To rise up in unison against injustice! Et cetera.
But in the meantime, I am five years old and I am hiding and I have the best blanket fort ever.
And … comment zen for today.
There isn’t a right way of doing things. There is the way that is right for you. Or really: the way that is right for you in this moment. Better for you is not better in general.
Since this is our safe space to play, everyone here commits to making room for people to have their own experience and their own way. It’s a practice. It’s playing at the practice of practicing playing.
Grilled cheese for everyone!
The Grumble Thrum Collective.
I was at the Great Ducking Out last week, projectizing a project.*
* A project of the kind one avoids because it is so very dear to one’s heart..
And about twenty minutes in, bam! I hit the first wall.
Well, I thought it was a wall.
But then when I got closer, it turned out to be a conglomeration of fuzzball monsters, all wringing their hands and grumbling in unison.
I couldn’t tell what they were grumbling about — just chaotic hubbub. A mob of worry.
So I stopped to listen. Grumble thrum grumble thrum don’t do it don’t do it.
Confronting the Grumble Thrum Collective.
Me: Whoah. Hey, conglomeration of monsters. What’s going on, guys? Can I help?
Monsters: We’re not monsters! We’re editors!
Me: Oh, is that right? Well, I don’t mind a little red pen here and there, but that sounded like a lot of grumble-thrumming. What’s the deal?
Monsters: Hrmmmmmmmmmm.
Me: Oh? Really? You don’t want to talk about it?
Monsters: No, we totally want to talk about it. We just don’t know where to start.
Finding out what is true.
Me: Nu?
Monsters: Okay. It’s kind of like this:
If you write this, you will be different.
Me: Yes, that’s true. In one sense, it is true. Writing this will change me. Of course I will also still be me. A stronger me who has more certainty about this. But me.
Monsters: That’s good. We like the idea of a more confident and happy you.
Me: You do?!
Monsters: Yes, but we don’t want confident to turn into cheeseball. Stupid writerly things. Don’t do them. Just be yourself. No cutesy titles. Make it more like you.
Me: Okay, that’s legitimate. What else?
Monsters: You are still going to be kind, right? But you’re also going to be snarky and not too kind, right?
And getting to the fear.
Me: Of course. That’s a given.
Monsters: So you are kind and confident and sometimes funny-mean. But not cheesy and not predictable and not boring.
Me: Yes. I am committing to that.
Monsters: Do you want to know what we are really afraid of?
Me: Uh, yes. Of course I do.
Monsters: You are REALLY SPECIAL. But you’re also a total kook wackopants. Is the world ready for that? What if they stifle you? Or mock you? We are having outsider complex!!!!
Me: You’re right. I am rather special. And you are right that some people won’t get it. And that some people will have no context for it. And that maybe some of my goofiness will get toned down.
But all of those things are okay. This new project will be different and special and I can do it. So let me try. Let’s see what happens.
Monsters: We fear rejection! We fear what will happen to you. What if you get rejected and shut down and then you never try again?
Deluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuusional!
Me: There’s really no way that can happen.
Monsters: You’re deluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuusional!
Me: Listen. The project we are currently projectizing is going out to people who have already vocally expressed interest in it.
Monsters: If they change their mind?
Me: Many people are interested. This is doable. And it’s important. And anyway, the me who shuts down isn’t here anymore. She willingly chose to retire and live in a safe room, remember?
I am not going to shut myself down. But I appreciate that you want me to be safe. That’s very sweet of you.
Monsters: That’s all we care about.
Me: I know, guys.
Monsters: So can we have a Letter of Reassurance?
The Letter of Reassurance.
Me: I don’t know. Possibly. What would it say?
Monsters: It would say grumble thrum grumble thrum.
Me: Wait, what?
Monsters: It would say:
DEAR MONSTERS, EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY. WE’RE DOING THIS IN A SUPER SECRET NO-REJECTION WAY AND BEING SAFE. THE END.
Me: Seriously? That would work? You’re kidding.
Monsters: That’s what it should say.
Me: Okay then, let’s get out the magic markers. Anything else?
Monsters: Helper mice. You need helper mice. And metaphor mouse. And your friends. And a new chair. And yoga. And nothing that makes you itchy.
And then I agreed and they all scurried off, and I went back to working on my thing.
Of course, we still weren’t done.
This was the first of many monster conversations over the course of the Rally (Rally!).
Those conversations had negotiators and also (for the most part) made more sense. But I think this one was the most entertaining.
And yes, I’m pretty sure that the Grumble Thrum Collective is just one guy.
And … comment zen in the comment blanket fort for today.
All this talking to monsters is hard. It just is.
I have an advantage here, which is years of practice. This stuff takes time. Sometimes they won’t play. Sometimes they are so mean that we can’t bear to be around them (which is why we need negotiators and/or the coloring book).
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We take responsibility for our stuff.
It’s a process, and you can’t get it wrong because it’s all a giant experiment. You do what’s needed for you to feel safe, you add stuff to the Book of You, you take notes.
Kisses to the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads.
I am a professional hider.
Oh, the art of avoiding answering direct questions. I find it thrilling, fascinating and exceedingly difficult.
Aside from answering a question with another question, and mastering the art of quick subject changes, it’s hard to know what say, other than Awkward Stuttering.
My goal is to eventually be able to pick and choose from a selection of responses that:
- are not rude and not boring
- do not actually share personal information
- allow me to change the subject quickly and easily.
Not there yet. But I’m playing.
And I’m playing by messing around and inventing ridiculous answers — that I don’t actually currently have the balls to give — to my five least favorite questions.
Well, the five that don’t have to do with how come I’m not moving to Bolivia.
My five current Least Favorite Questions.
#5. What are you doing for [insert holiday]?
Of course people are just being polite and making conversation. It’s sweet.
The thing is, I don’t actually like most holidays. And I don’t want to talk about why. Or about my plans or lack thereof. So I get flustered.
#4. Where are you from?
Amna has already summed up why this is such a distressing question.
And a complicated one for me personally to answer, even without the leftover outsider complex from having had a foreign accent in every language that I speak.
#3. What’s your name?
Okay. I realize this one is a completely innocuous question.
But. I have a really unusual name. And at cafes — or wherever people ask for your name so they can yell it out to get your attention, I feel uncomfortable.
Especially with the “internet famous” thing. If 30,000 people are reading this, at least some of them are in Portland. Maintaining anonymity is a big deal for me.
#2. What do you do?
Gaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
Why should I have to know that? I’m doing it right now. It pays the bills, I have fun, why do I have to define it?
#1. People pay for that?
This question is more funny than annoying, since this blog supports our entire household.
But I hate the idea of my people being asked this when they’re still experimenting with figuring out their thing, before they’re in the position to find hostile questions laughable.
Anyway.
My goal is to be able to smile, take a breath, say something, and then ask a curious, interested question that allows for a change in subject. It’s my practice. But right now I’m just being silly.
Here we go.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving (or holiday of choice)?”
Giving thanks.
Jam.
Being exceptional.
Playing Twister.
Watching people eat pie.
Have you ever ridden in a hot air balloon?
“Where are you from?”
Here.
A pirate ship.
I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.
“What’s your name?”
Singapore.
Valentine’s Day.
Harmonica.
Subliminal.
The Captain.
Surprise!
Blueberry.
Smurf.
Swoosh.
Twiglet.
“What do you do for a living?”
I play with dolls.
I wear costumes.
I talk to monsters. I collect monsters. I design monster choreographies.
I run a preschool. No, a secret preschool. No, a secret preschool for grownups.
I think about muffins. I’m a spy. I do things by proxy.
I have a secret benefactor. I am a secret benefactor. I like the word benefactor.
I whisper to plants. I am a product placement. I swim through air.
Do? I try not to do things.
I hide. I’m a professional hider. Yes, from things. But also hiding things from others.
I’m so sorry. I never tell anyone what I do.
I tell people about my dreams. Yes, they are very interesting dreams. No, I won’t tell you. That service is only available for paying customers.
I build castles. In the air.
I run away.
Oh, this and that.
“Do people pay you for that?”
There is only one answer to this that I know of, aside from laughing so hard you cry:
You’d be surprised.
And then you ask them what they’re doing for Thanksgiving. Kidding. But change the subject. Quickly.
And the not very zen comment zen for today.
We’re having fun today.
Anyone who is not capable of playing, or recommends resources for learning how to craft an elevator pitch, or variations on the tired “I help [target market X] [solve problem Y]” does not get to play.
I’m serious. Solving the problem is not the point. The point is play.
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We take responsibility for our stuff. That’s what allows us to play.