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.
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.
Very Personal Ads #73: Slipper? I hardly even know her.
Personal ads. They’re … personal! Very.
So my itty bitty personal ads made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.
Even when the asking thing feels weird and conflicted.
Ever since I posted the first one asking my perfect house to find me, which united me with Hoppy House, I have been a fan of the madness that is personal ads.
And now it’s my weekly ritual for clarity and remembering and stuff like that. Yay, ritual!
Let us dooo eeeet.
Thing 1: it is the season for slippers, I believe.
Here’s what I want:
To find absurdly warm slippers.
These will be kept by the bed, so that the transition from cozy flannel sheets to hot bath can be slightly less jarring.
Ways this could work:
I can ask you guys for recommendations.
And prowl Etsy.
And do a little slipper dance.
My commitment.
Receptivity to finding the right thing in unexpected places.
Thing 2: order and ease.
Here’s what I want:
Another madcap week coming up (it does seem as though I say that kind of a lot, doesn’t it?).
Teaching and clients and recovering from the Great Ducking Out (which was awesome, by the way), and flying to Sacramento to teach some more.
There is so much ketchup and regular work-stuff that needs to happen.
I’m wishing for ways in which clean, organic, usable forms can emerge (order!) and for this to happen without resistance (ease!).
Ways this could work:
Not sure yet.
I’m open to surprises.
My commitment.
Lots of Shiva Nata, for the epiphanies, but also to help bring new patterns in and untangle the old ones. Lots of writing about that process.
Asking questions and finding out what is possible.
And playing at the Playground until it all falls into place.
Thing 3: little pockets of weekend, please!
Here’s what I want:
I’m not really getting much of a proper weekend this weekend because of a bunch of fires that need putting out (god, where is metaphor mouse when you need him?).
And next weekend I’m teaching in California and visiting the un-laws.
So I really need some weekend in this week.
Ways this could work:
Wouldn’t that be nice to know.
My commitment.
To go to where the water is.
To remember that rest is the first duty of the queen.
To trust that this can happen.
Thing 4: memorization.
Here’s what I want:
Oh, I have a few of my websites that I’m avoiding because they just got new passwords and I haven’t memorized them yet.
Ways this could work:
Use the plane ride.
Use the force.
Use music.
Use Shiva Nata.
Make a game of this?
My commitment.
To remember that the sooner this happens, the less stuck and resentment there will be.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I wanted spaciousness this past week, and that’s exactly what I got. The force field was totally working.
Then I wanted progress on next steps for the Great Rebrunching of my Kitchen Table program. And that happened too.
My big hope was to make progress on a big secret mission, and, thanks to the Rally (Rally!), progress was made. Not as much visible, external progress as I’d hoped, but so much internal movement.
So I’m ready for the next piece, and that in and of itself is a big thing. Hooray.
And I wanted superhero gloves, and still haven’t asked for them. Superhero gloves! Let’s do it.
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 #121: twenty won what?
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.
Is it Friday? I couldn’t tell.
Also, I don’t want to talk about it.
But here we are. Friday Friday Friday Chicken Chicken Chicken.
Hopa! That was me tossing a shot glass over my head.
The hard stuff
Busy busy busy busy. More busy.
Between closing out stuff for the year, the Great Ducking Out, teaching in Sacramento next week …
There’s just a lot going on.
I want a nap! I want to be tucked into bed! And to have someone bring me tea, please.
It was colder in Portland than in Alaska this week.
Come on, weather.
And then the heating stopped working at the Playground.
The day the Rally (Rally!) was supposed to start.
Chaos and confusion, much waiting around, and then some poor guy had to spend three hours on the icy roof taking care of it.
American Thanksgiving.
I know I escaped 99% of it because of the Great Ducking Out, but bleargh.
There was so much ambient cultural crappiness in the air this week. So much grumbly cranky resistance and unhappiness. It’s hard work just being around that, even when you aren’t actually in it.
Mack the Wife is not going to get better.
My poor laptop is on its very last legs. It is time to do something about this but I keep not doing it. Total denial.
Speaking of denial, I’m not ready for December.
No idea where this year went, but man, I need to magic up some time to take it all in.
The good stuff
The Great Ducking Out.
It really was that great.
Well named, me.
At the Playground!
Shivanauttery and epiphanies and projectizing and blankets and silly hats and superpowers and pie!
Yay.
All the lovely people I got to spend time with at the Playground this week.
What a joy!
Absolutely delightful people. Full of smart, interesting ideas. I’ve pretty much just been giggling the entire week.
Doing things my way.
Instead of falling into the pattern of my usual Thanksgiving plan of run awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
Taking the time to consciously set things up to be sweet. That was useful and important.
Also: I got to enjoy a hilarious, fabulous picnic on the Playground floor, with twelve fun people and extremely good things to eat.
Schmurphling.
It’s a thing we do at the Playground. It involves being really terrible at tossing stuffed animals and making whooshing sounds. It makes me happy.
The Rally isn’t over yet!
Usually we end on Thursday evening, but we started late so this time we’re going all the way through this afternoon.
More projectizing for meeeeeeeeeee! Plus some of the Rallions promised/threatened to bring growlers of beer to help us projectize. Best. Ever.
I discovered a new superpower.
That I have.
Which actually turns out to be not new at all, but I didn’t know I had it, so it’s extra neat.
Nice.
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 is the unfortunately named…
Catastrophe Catastrophe Disaster
They stick with what they know, I guess. Except it’s really just one guy.
And some of the lovely presents that arrived this week.
All sorts of neat things from the Rallions. And special Rally pie from Casey.
And a monster pillow from Karen (thank you!).
Probably other things as well, but I haven’t been to the post office because it’s minus seventeen million degrees outside and also I’m at the Rally.
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.
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