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 #59: where is my hammock?
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: Progress on a HAT!
Here’s what I want:
A HAT, as you probably know, is Havi’s Announcing a Thing.
This is what is generally called a “sales page”, but that particular turn of phrase puts me into complete paralysis. Luckily I am okay at casually announcing things. On a page. Yes.
Anyway, it is high time that I finish the one for our Week of Biggification and Life-Changingly Astounding Things in Asheville that’s coming up in November. So I can officially announce it.
Especially since it’s almost half full already.
Ways this could work:
I am going to use the Rally (Rally!) to work on it.
Please note that now the Rally has its own HAT! Last week’s VPA totally worked.
Also Shiva Nata for the necessary insights and epiphanies.
And having conversations with the me-who-has-already-done-this to see what pearls of weird-ass wisdom she has to share.
Usually that’s pretty trippy. And useful.
My commitment.
To be receptive to this happening in fun, playful, silly, non-stressful ways.
To be in the excitement, because this really is the most exciting thing I’ve taught, in a location that is very special-to-me, as well as intensely fabulous in general …
And to let my big crazy love for this thing be the source of whatever I end up having to say about it.
Thing 2: Rest.
Here’s what I want:
It is a hectic week.
What with the Rallying (Rally!) and pirate councils and the folk festival and visitors, it is a lot. And now I must say WAH and marvel at how much doing that involves.
So I would like rest and resting and restfulness to accompany the doing.
Or, better said: rest and resting and restfulness to partner with the doing.
Ways this could work:
I could book a massage or some goo-slathering (this might require more conversations with Phobic Me and Non-Phobic Me … but that’s okay).
And begin the Old Turkish Lady yoga sessions early.
Carve out time to take meals by myself.
Maybe a visit from Metaphor Mouse!
I don’t know.
My commitment.
To keep reminding myself that this is important.
To remember what I learned in the labyrinth in Taos: that rest is not only the duty of the queen, but the first duty of the queen.
And to play around with words and ideas and possibilities so that I can turn this resting thing into something that is workable and meaningful and fun.
Thing 3: Some right people for Hiro’s call.
Here’s what I want:
My dear sweet friend and sister-in-silliness is doing a freebie teleclass to teach interesting things, as a taste of some of what will happen in her Become Your Own Business Adviser course.
It’s going to be a guided process that helps you get in touch with something you really, really want to create in your business (possibly something you don’t know about yet or maybe you have an idea but you’d like to know more).
And about how to make the decisions that will help that good stuff happen, but not decisions based on depletion and freaking-out. Decisions that come from fullness.
Hiro is brilliant at this stuff. I’m sure I never would have been able to create the Playground without the help of this very class that I took last year.
In order to make the Playground happen, I had to also become the person who could handle it. Which meant developing aspects of myself and abilities that were new to me.
So much clarity and enthusiasm and knowing — that’s what I got, and also the insights needed to grow my business in the way that I wanted it to grow.
Anyway, I’m pretty insanely enthusiastic about Hiro’s work. And I would love to see a gazillion people sign up for her call.
Ways this could work:
I might bug her until she writes a post about it.
I can tell you about it, and also tell you that it doesn’t cost anything and that it will be full of usefulness even if you have no intention of ever taking any of her programs, and also where to go to sign up (on that page: the box in the right-hand sidebar).
Or maybe it will just be the right time for the right people.
My commitment.
To love my friend and appreciate her and be one of the people who waves her flag because her mission is linked to mine, and we are pirate queens sailing the same seas.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
My first ask was for a trial-run Rally (Rally!) to come together. And it did.
We have a tiny group of fun people. Lots of enthusiasm and giddiness.
And we are rallying it up starting tomorrow evening. Which is awesome because it really should be illegal to announce a thing a week before it happens. Yay.
I wanted help with the homecoming and an easy landing, and that actually went pretty well.
Mostly in that I was easier on myself about transitions. And also yelled at anyone who wanted me to get back to work. And took things slowly and easily.
And we were also looking for a small refrigerator for Hoppy House and a tiny one for the Playground, and I think we’ve found both. Though nothing has been purchased yet.
Still, it’s good to know what you want. Thanks to everyone who made suggestions!
The last thing was a more conscious relationship with going online, and that went really well for the most part. I have been remembering my kooky little rituals.
Will keep working on this one (you’ll probably see another incarnation of it in a future Very Personal Ad) but I’m feeling pleased about the general direction.
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!
What I’d rather not have:
- The word “manifest”.
- Shoulds. As in, “You should be doing it like this” or “That’s not the right way to ask for things — instead it should be like x, y and z”
- To be judged, psychoanalyzed or given advices.
Wishing love and good things for your Very Personal Ads! So glad for everyone doing this with me.
Friday Chicken #106: teen candles
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.
Yes.
One hundred and six. Teen candles.
Also: it’s Friday. And it’s about time because I’m exhausted. Let’s chicken.
The hard stuff
Transitions.
Transitions. You know they’re going to suck so you (for once) build in lots of recovery time.
But you know what? They still suck.
Ugh.
Horrible. Do not like.
A horrible day.
It was a funk. I was in it.
I woke up hating the world and it just went downhill from there.
The number of people who pissed me off this week is extremely high. No, not you. Don’t worry.
People ordering me around.
I really cannot emphasize enough how much I dislike that.
The way I see it, the raison d’être of running your own business is this: random people don’t get to tell you what to do.
When they start doing it, I get irritable.
Foggy and headachey.
Just part of this whole transition thing.
Wanting your routines back and yet not really being capable of being in them.
Timing.
Because it wasn’t insane enough to announce a program (Rally!) a week before it starts, I didn’t bother writing an actual sales page until yesterday.
Which seems to point to me wanting a very intimate Rally, apparently.
That part is fine. The hard part was just watching myself be all tangled up in the shoulds of it all and then having to find my way out of it.
Taught a terrible teleclass. Sorry.
I was supposed to teach this class about systems in my business for my Kitchen Table program.
And had just gotten back from New Mexico and someone had changed the passwords so I couldn’t get into my systems in order to talk about them.
I gave a not good, flaky, ridiculous class and still feel kind of crappy about that.
Luckily I may have accidentally said some wise things, so maybe there was a moment of redemption in there. Still. Yuck.
The good stuff
Realizing that 95% of the stuff I was upset about had nothing to do with me.
It never does. Because it’s basically just other people’s shoes.
But it’s always a relief to remember.
Being home.
Being back in Portland again and rejoicing over little things like the rose garden and walking in the morning and wearing a hoodie and doing yoga in the living room and eating foods from the garden.
And being filled with love and appreciation for Hoppy House and what a wonderful it is to live in.
Also: my exquisitely comfortable bed and the way it says come sleep in me right this second.
I talked to my favorite uncle on Wednesday.
He’s coming to visit soon. Hooray!
Also, talking to him is always the best thing ever. I’m not really used to having someone in my life (other than Selma and my gentleman friend) who can just be happy for me when things are good.
Just happy. Not: happy and expecting things. Not: happy and concerned about what this means and what could go wrong. Not: happy and wondering what will happen next.
It’s so amazing. None of that “yeah that’s great but what about this other thing” stuff. Pure simple joy that something good is happening in my life.
It’s probably kind of screwed up that this strikes me as so COMPLETELY out of the ordinary. But it does. And it feels really good.
Speaking of visiting…
Visits! All over the place!
First I got to spend a long lazy afternoon with Tei (and show off the Playground to her). Then my darling Amna pops into town for brunch.
And my wonderful childhood friend Jon Berman (whose name I still think of as Jonberman one-word) is in town and I haven’t seen him since a mutual friend’s wedding ten years ago, and this is great.
Then there is Rally all week! RALLY! And then my friend Jane comes too. Oh the good. And other good things coming up too!
Like this extremely awesome weekend of Roller Derby.
The Bay Area Derby Girls (BAD Girls) and Gotham are in town, as is our neighbor to the north Rat City (Seattle) for the Hometown Throwdown.
Lots of our girls from the team I sponsor will be skating for Portland’s bad-ass Wheels of Justice and it will be hawt. Trash will be talked. Capes will be worn. Beverages will be consumed.
Of course we’ve beaten Seattle so thoroughly the past three years that you’d think it would hardly even be interesting at this point but I don’t at all mind watching that happen again. Sorry, guys.
Obviously we’ll get completely destroyed by New York (though not as embarrassingly as Seattle will) but I think we can definitely take out the BAD girls and maybe go up in the national rankings.
Note: I will have no voice left by Monday.
And then … Portland Folk Festival, people! This coming week!
I’m still kind of annoyed that among that crazy selection of terrific music at amazing venues there is no shantey singing. What’s up with that, city that has an actual port?
But even though I don’t get to sing songs of the sea, it’s going to be brilliant. If you’re in the area or attending my Rally, get tickets. They’re super affordable.
Stuff I read/thought about/ appreciated this week.
- Mariko’s noozletter on sunk costs was a terrific follow-up to the class she did for my people. Very useful.
- Maryann is rocking it again, this time with the question “How am I all wrong?”, part one and part two.
- Jesse (Persnicket!) wrote this awesome post about the decision to rally called the power of the rally compels you. And I quote: “The Rally Cabal! the One True Order of the Rallions!” See how great?
- Jolie’s work was featured in Handmade Portland and that was neat. Yay Jolie!
- Also, Tara the Blonde Chicken is doing a test kitchen thing for her crafty (non-crafty people welcome!) business genius advice. I approve.
- And: “the most powerful thing you can do with a moustache is grab it and pogo.”
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?
Death Metal Librarians
I think they used to be known as Death Metal Professors (hit song: I am Irony Man).
But yeah. The Death Metal Librarians.
I’d go see them at the festival … except it’s really just one guy.
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.
The Playground!
So after all the complicated, agonizing, beautiful process of giving birth to a tiny sweet thing, I have been slow about sharing pictures.
Mostly because my lovely Playground baby keeps being added to.
Latest addition: a crazed pirate monkey on a tree!
But also because I have felt … shy. I don’t know.
Anyway.
It seemed like it’s finally maybe the right time to talk about this space that I love so much.
And a bit about what it means to have a physical home for everything I’ve been teaching both online and in various places around the world these past six years.
The Playground has its own style.
I’m not sure how or when it happened.
But after a certain point, the First Mate and I could assess in a second whether something was Playground material or not.
The Playground had somehow developed its own distinctive style that was really hard to explain and really easy to recognize.
You can see the elements but I’m still not sure if it’s … describable.
Let’s see.
Copper bells, 40s Hollywood-style lamps, pirates, trees, deep reds and oranges, dark wood, pre-school art, sparkliness but also very contemplative and meditative.
If you close your eyes, it feels deep and expansive, it feels like yoga, it feels like sanctuary.
It’s kind of like … Glam Pirate Zen.
Or, really, Glam Pirate Pre-School Zen.
Anyway, it’s awesome. And special. And it has its own way of being that is completely and utterly Playground-like.
The Playground is coming into itself.
It knows what it likes. It knows what it doesn’t like.
We are learning funny things about systems and boundaries.
When I talk to grown-ups I say that I have a Center where I teach.
If it’s people who seem pretty fun I might add that it doubles as a yoga studio for pirates. But that’s such a small piece of what it actually is.
Anyway, I can’t describe it at all. But it is my favorite place in the entire world.
Being there makes me happy. Showing people makes me happy.
11 things I adore about having the Playground.
In no particular order.
- It’s home.
- Everything looks exactly the way I want it to look.
- It is a place where silliness is a good thing.
- It’s like getting to go to pre-school. Except as an adult.
- I’ve definitely had a lot of business situations where I’ve come up with something brilliant and innovative and then other people take the idea and repeat it without doing anything to make it their own.
I find it tremendously reassuring that this particular thing is so completely mine and so completely uncopy-able.
- Now I have a place to go to when I write.
- It’s the perfect hey are you one of my right people experiment: people either ADORE it to pieces or they totally don’t get it.
- The ridiculously high ceilings and the fact that there are chandeliers and the general I cannot believe how fabulous this place is of it all.
- I can roll around on the floor all day long.
- Buying things like bubble-blowing solution and robot-dinosaur juice glasses is now a business expense. And since I don’t buy fun things for myself (yes, I know, working on it), having this baby to get presents for is a very good thing for me.
- As much as I love all the magical things that happen in the various online environments that I have created, there is something intense and powerful about being with your people, in one space, at one time. It’s just amazing.
And when it’s a special space — one that is charged up with all the Old Turkish Lady yoga and Shivanautical epiphanies and deep transformational play … even more so.
Would you like to see some pictures?
These were taken a while ago so we have various new additions since then, but it gives you a sense.
A peek!
That is all for now!
If you’ve been to the Playground and want to chime in about how delightful it is, you are so very welcome to.
And if you haven’t but you want to be all excited with me, that is lovely! Appreciated! Very, very much. I am a happy proud momma to this crazy, wonderful space.
[ALSO! I finally wrote a HAT for the Rally. The Rally! The Projectizing Rally! I am extremely worked up about how fabulous this is going to be. Also, it starts Monday so you still have a tiny window of a chance to join us. But read the page anyway because it was fun to write.]
And should you like to mail the Playground a love letter: you can send it via The Fluent Self, Inc, 1526 NE Alberta St #218, Portland OR 97211
xox
Phobic Me and Non-Phobic Me in the secret lair of weirdness.
Okay. This post will probably not make any sense unless you read Phobic Me and Non-Phobic Me go out for a beer, which explains the cast of kooky characters (uh, it’s just one guy).
But the short version is: I refuse to make certain types of phone calls and have zero issues with making other types of phone calls.
And this is often a problem in that odd thing known as In Real Life.
So I did some sneaky investigating in order to learn more about Phobic Me and Non-Phobic Me and discovered some pretty astonishing things.
And then I arranged for them to get together and have a conversation about this so I could eavesdrop and find out Useful Things for destuckifying this. And here we are!
The room.
I spent way too much time wondering what room to put them in, since they seem so different. Like completely different people.
But then I remembered that they both like isolation and solitude, and that they’re sisters and also that they said they work together.
So I asked to see their office.
It turns out it’s not so much an office as a … secret lair.
It’s in the mountains. A cave that you access by pressing on a certain rock. I’d tell you more, but I’m sworn to secrecy.
It’s cool in there.
Both in the sense that the air is cool and a tiny bit moist, as is the rock floor, and also that it is awesome.
There are woven rugs. And antique lamps. And light comes in through many cracks and crevices.
Phobic Me has a giant round bed all to herself.
In a very Austin Powers kind of way.
And she watches Shiva Nata being danced on the walls and the ceiling.
The increasingly complicated mathematical sequences show themselves in flashes of light, as if they are being danced by light sabers.
The spirals and squares and figure eights build layers and layers of light around her. Points of light.
She’s in a force field made up of … theoretical form: the possibilities of structure. The boundaries of chaos.
Not-at-all-Phobic Me has an office nook.
She leans back in a ridiculously comfy looking chair and puts her feet up on the desk.
She has tea to drink, notepads to scribble in and Selma to keep her company.
The conversation.
Apparently I’m an idiosyncratic nutjob.
Me: Guys? It would be really helpful if I could listen in while you talk to each other. I hope that’s okay.
Phobic Me: It’s cool.
Not-at-all-Phobic Me: You know, I think Havi is hoping that something about our situation will change once we’ve talked things out. But our situation is really good right now.
Phobic Me: I know! I wonder if what she really wants is permission to let it be the way it is.
Not-at-all-Phobic Me: Awesome. That would be funny.
Phobic Me: Seriously. People already know she’s an idiosyncratic nutjob. They should just be able to deal with it.
Not-at-all-Phobic Me: Totally. But what about the goo-slathering? Havi really likes getting goo slathered on her, and then you won’t make the call for her. What would help with that?
The patterns.
Phobic Me: Here’s the problem. Not enough structure. Not enough mapping out. Look at the patterns. (she points at the ceiling)
Not-at-all-Phobic Me: Oooh. Yeah. I see that. Interesting.
Me: (stage whisper) I can’t see!
Phobic Me: It’s important to have three treatments picked out that you might want. In order. And possible times.
Because what happens is they ask what treatment and then Havi answers and then they name an impossible time and she gets flustered. They think she cares about the specific treatment when she really just wants goo slathering in some form.
Not-at-all-Phobic Me: So it’s all about mapping out structures. That’s why I wouldn’t be good at that kind of call. Structure isn’t my genius.
Phobic Me: But it’s Havi’s genius. She’s the Head Shivanaut.
Not-at-all-Phobic Me: So it’s not about you learning to be more like me. It’s about Havi learning to be more Havi and use her strengths.
Pirate queens like maps, right?
Phobic Me: That’s what it seems like.
Not-at-all-Phobic Me: Pirate queens like maps, right?
Phobic Me: I believe so.
Not-at-all-Phobic Me: So she could draw a map for goo-slathering appointment-making.
Phobic Me: Yes. And let me take a nap.
Not-at-all-Phobic Me: And let you take a nap. That sounds good to me. Well, as long as I don’t have to arrange any goo-slathering.
Phobic Me: Tee hee! Don’t be ridiculous!
They fall apart in a heap of giggles
I exit stage right.
And then Phobic Me and Non-Phobic Me went out for a beer.
In the rain.
Under a gigantic rainbow-striped umbrella. Holding hands.
And I started mapping out maps for making the goo slathering calls.
Of course we still haven’t dealt with the Me Who Never Answers Her Phone (whom I suspect of also being the Me Who Doesn’t Turn Her Phone On For Days At A Time).
But that’s enough for now. It’s a start.
Postscript!
I did make the goo-slathering call. In fact, I made two goo-slathering calls, and the goo-slathering that resulted was life-changingly great.
And I developed a Quite Silly Process (it involves pirate maps and goofiness) for doing things I am avoiding doing. I’ll be teaching this at the Rally next week if you want to play.
And comment zen for today.
As always. We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff.
And part of how we let each person have their own experience is by not giving advice (unless someone specifically asks for it). Sharing your own experience or what works for you or what you’re learning about your stuff is absolutely fine.
Kisses all around, and wishing lots of safe and delightful rooms for your various phobic and non-phobic selves, if you have them. 🙂
Like dogs and like children.
One of the best things that happened to me in Taos was meeting Joseph.
Joseph was oh, probably eight years old. And a wild towheaded cutie. We sat near each other in a restaurant one early evening and became … co-conspirators of sorts.
He had superpowers and I am interested in superpowers. Oh, how I am interested in superpowers.
And he had them.
Get this. When he transmogrifies into Green Chile Man, he can shoot chile juice right out of the palms of his hands. And he can climb buildings. And be invisible. Ohmygod.
It was grand.
I’d love to tell you more. In fact, I really just want to write ten thousand blog posts that are just transcripts of our long and convoluted conversation, but he kind of swore me to secrecy.
Actually, he said it was cool if I shared our conversation with you guys, but then he added that it was opposite day.
And it might really have been opposite day, so I will respect his wishes and only tell you the teeniest bits and pieces.
But he did say quite definitely that I could tell you about Green Chile Man and his awe-inspiring chile and non-chile related powers.
Anyway.
You cannot imagine how enthralled I was. How refreshing his way of being in himself and being in the world was.
Especially as I was teaching at a writers retreat, spending a week with thirty women who were agonizing over their process and how to find their voice.
Process process process. Voice voice voice.
And I was teaching them how to access their superpowers and conjure their force fields and fill their space with their them-ness and their suchness.
Teaching the lost art of superpower-finding to people who aren’t sure if they have any (or if they even want them).
And then meeting this delightful boy who was completely matter of fact about his and about how awesome they were. Who already instinctively knew the stuff I was there to teach.
We talked force fields. We talked spells and wands. We talked about ways to invoke protection and how to take care of our powers and ourselves. It was great.
Like children.
Sitting with Joseph (or rather, sitting with my drink while Joseph climbed the wall next to me, talked my ear off and occasionally ran off to the bushes to deter his invisible archnemesis), I felt so alive.
And so bored with my blah blah process and this blah blah work.
Kids don’t need help with “process”.
They don’t need help finding their voice. They just have it. It’s their voice.
That’s what’s needed. The thing we need to remember and re-find.
The place where play and freedom and curiosity and wonder aren’t things you need to learn, uncover or access.
To know:
These are just the qualities of being alive. These are the secret allies who hold our billowing superhero cloaks out behind us and stomp with us through puddles.
The next afternoon the focus of the yoga class I taught was to see if we could do yoga like that.
Like children. And like dogs.
Dogs, like children, don’t need anyone to tell them to come out of an uncomfortable pose.
Dogs don’t need anyone to tell them when to exhale.
They’ll never wait, puffing up until some external authority in tight pants gives them permission to let go.
Dogs don’t move a certain way or another way because they care about alignment, or how something looks.
They move because it feels vital and alive and good. To go from comfortable to more comfortable. From engaged to more engaged. From resting to more resting.
To get inside of the spine and be that movement.
Paul, of non-sucky yoga fame, once said: “I worship at the altar of my spine.”
I hate to put words in dogs’ mouths, but I’m pretty sure that’s what they’re doing.
Curiosity without dogma. Receptivity without needing to receive one right way.
This is what I want to say about my time in Taos:
Like dogs and like children.
That’s how we wrote.
That’s how we danced.
That’s how we stretched.
That’s how we rested.
That’s how we played.
Three postscriptings
1. This post brought to you by Joseph, his alter-ego Green Chile Man, his sweet, sweet dad, and all the wonderful dog-friends I met in Taos, but especially Remy and Monday. I adore you all.
2. If you do get bogged down in the process process process, maybe you can come Rally it up with us. We will process the process in ways that are safe and fun and delightful, like dogs and like children.
3. If you are moved to do something doglike or childlike in the comments, that is welcome too.