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.
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.
Processing the process. Rallying the rally.
For the seventeenth time this month: a post that is not a post.
I need to either stop saying that or figure out what my incredibly narrow definition of a blog post is (possibly with the help of Metaphor Mouse).
Anyway.
Two announcements. Announcements!
Thing #1: Processing the process.
These two lovely weeks I’ve spent in New Mexico teaching and writing have been all about process.
In other words:
- what I do to (mindfully, sweetly) observe how I work on a thing while I’m in it
- which bits of magic I use to destuckify when things get rocky or shaky or blah
- how I choose which destuckification tool is the right one for the job
- how I talk myself down when the going gets gaaaaaaah horrible
- what I do to stay in the process of being in the process, without forcing it and still keeping it fun, silly, lighthearted.
Among other things.
Doing and documenting.
So I’ve been doing that and taking notes. Lots and lots of notes.
And writing out various exercises, the thoughts behind them, and carefully documenting the experience itself.
There are at least thirty blog posts in there. Thirty finished blog posts, and all sorts of other musings, thoughts, ideas, and insights.
I’m not going to publish these on the blog.
They want to stay together.
So I’m letting them turn into a kind of accidental ebook.
It’s not an ebook on “here’s how to process your stuff while working on a project”.
Unless you’re a spy.
Because it takes a fairly intelligent and thoughtful person to appreciate the power of getting to be the fly on the wall.
You get to watch me as I work through my stuff and talk about what I’m doing and why.
You get the perspective, the insights, the what-I’m-really-thinking (this is my journal, after all) — and then you apply it. If you’re not the kind of person who can spy on my process and apply it to your own stuff, maybe skip this one.
Anyway, the book of me Processing my Process (with monsters! and hilarity! and unpooblishable weirdness!) is a) really great and b) now a thing.
Yes, it is a thing (well, a pre-order-able thing), and all monies made on it will go to support my Playground. That is all.
Thing #2: Rallying the Rally.
A Rally, if you haven’t read the explanatory post (which I recommend because otherwise this will make even less sense), is the most awesome thing in the entire world.
If you need some serious projectizing time to work on a project or get something done, going on a Rally is basically the most fun, hilarious, crazy way to do that.
I am throwing a trial run rally to see what happens. Run, Rally, Run!
What doesn’t happen at a Rally.
It’s not a retreat or a workshop or a seminar or a whatever.
I will not be teaching. (Except the first evening when I impart the absolutely most useful and unlikely tricks for destuckifying for you to use during the Rally).
There are no activities. (Except the completely optional yoga and brain training.)
There is absolutely no having to share things. (Unless you happen to feel like it.)
It’s you and your project and your process, in a supportive location with terrific people and some highly unusual, extremely great techniques.
What does happen at a Rally.
You have designated time and space to work on your project. The Playground will be open all day, so you can write or brainstorm or hide out in the Refueling Station.
We’re located on a street that is full of great cafes and places to sit, so you can be with your project outside or inside or wherever you like.
There is daily (optional) Shiva Nata to deliver epiphanies and rewrite your patterns, and daily (optional) Old Turkish Lady yoga to relax and make your body feel loved and rested.
There is schwag. This is the first time so we haven’t decided yet what exactly you’re getting. But it will be fabulous. And quite attractive, since I have the best designer in the entire world.
Selma will be there too.
It’s really all about the connector mice though.
Everyone there will be amazing. Because the people who come to my events are always the best people ever.
And there will be bulletin boards and other ways make arrangements to hook up with other … uh, Rallians? Rallyscallywags? Rallyateurs? …. participants.
And by “hook up”, I mean:
- Find other people who want to eat crepes for lunch or who want to talk about their projects together.
- Set up a trade with someone: maybe you’d be willing to give an hour of editing and feedback in exchange for some light coaching.
- Arrange brainstorming groups, partner up on things or take a field trip to Powell’s!
- Anything you like.
And if you think you’re going not going to be up for any of that, no worries. Full permission to be a lone wolf (that’s how I’d do it) or to stay close to me and Selma.
Rally details.
We’re calling it Sally the Rally the First.
Or really, any variation on that.
When Harry the Dairy Met Sally the Rally the First.
Or When Rand McNally Saw Sally the Rally the First.
Or just Sally. Sally the Projectizing Rally.
- It’s in Portland, Oregon. At the Playground (my glam-pirate zen-fabulous center). And soon!
- We begin Monday, AUGUST 16 at 5pm and end Thursday, AUGUST 19 at 7pm.
- It will be crazy fun. If you can make it, yay. If not, we will rise to rally again! I just don’t know when.
What you need to know.
Both of these weird, wonderful things are going to support the Playground fun-brewing. So we can get the Playground a couch and a refrigerator and a bunch of other things it needs.
And there’s kind of a twist. Well, a twist and a half.
I haven’t written any copy for these yet. The HAT (Havi Announces a Thing) page doesn’t exist.
Right now the only way to get access to either of these is through the I-haven’t-written-copy-yet page. So.
If you get the Processing the Process ebook and/or apply to join us for Sally the Projectizing Rally before I put up a page about why they’re so great ….
Well, there is a significant discount for that.
It’s like an early bird pricing thing, except that it’s really an expression of appreciation.
That is to say, appreciation for you being the kind of person who knows my stuff will be great anyway despite the fact that I haven’t gotten around to explaining why yet.
Because that really means a lot to me. Thank you for that.
That’s it.
Here is the link to the I-haven’t-written-copy-yet page (with special I-haven’t-written-copy-yet prices):
If this is your thing, you are so so so welcome to be a part of it. And maybe I’ll even get to hug you in person, which would be wonderful.
And if none of this is relevant to you, regular posting will resume post-haste!
Comment zen for today!
You can share excitements, ask questions, say yay for me that I gave myself permission to not write HATs while on holiday.
Or come up with ridiculous things to call Sally the Rally. Or brainstorm better ways to refer to the kind of person who might attend a Rally.
Or give each other flowers. Flowers are lovely. I give you a daisy!
Very Personal Ads #58: homecomings and things like that
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’s doooo eeeet.
And let us say WAH.
Really, everything is better when you say WAH. At least, that’s my experience.
Thing 1: Rally!
Here’s what I want:
I am fascinated by the thing that is the Rally. Also, I really like saying Rally. Rally!
So I threw together a trial run Rally that I haven’t announced yet.
Well, except to the lovely people who have requested to Kindly Be Informed When I Am Up To Something.*
It is happening ridiculously soon. Like, a week from tomorrow.
So it would probably be nice if I tell people about it before it happens.
What I’d like: to write some copy, make some announcements, and have it be fun as hell. Okay, fine. It can also be not especially fun. At this point, I’ll take it either way.
* The way to become one of these people, should you ever feel like it: there is a tiny sign-up thing on the events page.
Ways this could work:
It just could.
I can have a conversation with the me-who-has-fun-doing-things-like-this.
And/or I can have conversations with the me-who-doesn’t-feel-like-it.
I can write love letters!
While wearing a costume. COSTUME!
And decide what kind of schwag we will have.
My commitment.
To make this whole thing as playful and silly as possible.
To be genuinely curious about what I need, what it takes for this process to be pleasurable, and where I have resistance to that.
To practice patience when I can, and patience with the fact that I suck at being patient when I can’t.
Thing 2: Coming home.
Here’s what I want:
Selma and I have just come back from two incredible, beautiful weeks in New Mexico.
I would like a steady, stable, comfortable transition back into my life in Portland in general and in my beloved Hoppy House in particular.
Into my work as Pirate Queen of The Fluent Self, Inc , and into the specific projects treasure hunts and Expeditions that need my love and attention this week.
I am kind of terrible at transitions, so it would be very much appreciated if this one could be smooth, conscious, mindful and supportive.
Ways this could work:
I don’t really know. That’s why I’m VPA-ing it.
My hope is that bringing more attention to the qualities that will help me stay grounded and supported (rest, sovereignty, awareness, expectancy, trust, safety) is the thing that will do it.
I am going to actively look for ways to bring more of these qualities into my week.
And in the meantime, trusting that even though I don’t know how this is going to work yet, something about the asking will keep my attention there.
My commitment.
To notice when guilt and rushing and pressure show up, and to give them legitimacy to exist without being impressed by them.
And without thinking they are the one and only truth of my life.
Thing 3: the right refrigerator. Actually two refrigerators.
Here’s what I want:
The Playground needs a tiny dorm refrigerator.
And Hoppy House is in need of a new refrigerator. It should be:
- small-ish
- preferably undercounter
- energy efficient
Maybe around six cubic feet.
This has been really hard to find in the States what with the ridiculously massive appliances here.
We mostly eat from our garden and walk to the store for other items, so we’d like a small, quality machine that is elegant and not wasteful.
Ways this could work:
I do not know.
If you have suggestions, ideas or recommendations, that would be lovely.
My commitment.
To hope and wish and ask around.
To put out an ask at the Twitter bar and in my Kitchen Table program and anywhere else I can think of.
Thing 4: A new relationship with being online.
Here’s what I want:
These past two weeks of traveling have been brilliant for not overdosing on internet .
Somehow I was able to remember each time that there is a specific way that I want to interact with the internet:
To start with an invocation. To make a list of what I want to do online and stick to it (or add things if they come up). To physically turn off the internet connection when I’m done.
Feeling (not unreasonably) anxious that this is going to cease now that I’m home, when I’d really like it to become habit.
You’d think that since rewriting patterns and changing habits is basically what I do for a living, that would somehow make this easier. But it’s actually making it more stressful.
Like, come on you know how to do this so do it already!!! Sigh. That’s not how it works, sweetpea. Remember?
Ways this could work:
It either will, or something else will happen that will be equally interesting and give me whatever useful information I need for the next step.
My commitment.
To appreciate what a big deal it is that I want to make this change, and how big of a change it is.
And that I want to do it in a loving, nonviolent way, which means not rushing it.
Even though I’d like this to already be a part of my life, this is where I am right now. I don’t have to like it. And I also don’t have to be somewhere else until I feel like it.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I had an ask that was related to maintaining the state of joy and elation from my time teaching at Jen’s Writers Retreat.
And that didn’t happen. But something else did and that something was really important. And now that I’m back home, I’m connecting to joyfulness again. So feeling okay with that.
There was an ask about the Rally, which I’m going to call a success because even though I haven’t told you guys about it yet, a lot of progress got made on the making-it-happen front.
And I wanted lots and lots of rest. With goo-slathering!
And not only did the goo-slathering happen but it was intense and crazy and wonderful. And this was by far the most restful week I’ve ever had … doing nothing but writing and sleeping and eating green chile stew. So thank goodness for that.
There was also an ask related to the Delightineering thing that Chris is doing, and we’ll have to ask him how that went.
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 #105: raunchy pirate goo
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.
Oh, sneaky sneaky Friday.
Acting like it’s no big deal that it’s Wednesday and then zoom showing up uninvited.
I’m fairly certain that Thursday didn’t happen.
But either way. Sneakiness is afoot. Clearly.
The hard stuff
So tired.
Still.
This week was supposed to be about recovery from teaching at the Writer’s Retreat all last week.
Recovery and rest and reintegration and other transition-ey things that begin with R.
And that happened, yes. But I was just wiped out for all of it. Really low energy.
Combine that with high altitude, high heat and wanting to do things but not being able to, and you have one cranky mouse me.
In a funk..
The usual coming-off-of-retreat down.
Missing the fun. Missing being the amazonian goddess queen.
Just in the blahness of being uninteresting and uninterested.
Also, a sidenote for my personal edition of the Book of You: Knowing that this is normal? Doesn’t always help.
Wanting rest.
And realizing that even though all I want to do is rest, I don’t even really know how.
This is a rather depressing realization for someone who has been teaching yoga, destuckification, meditation, non-cheesy self-inquiry things for the last six years.
So I had to re-learn it.
The usual things (naps and shavasana and slowness) were not working.
So I had to talk to the me-who-knows-about-rest and learn things. And take a lot of baths. Which was actually kind of nice.
No Dance of Shiva.
After a week of using Shiva Nata (or what I call Shivanauttery) to solve all my problems …
Doing it on the roof, in the bedroom, outside, inside, everywhere …
It just didn’t happen this week. And that sucks.
Other things happened. Like baths and walks and scribblings.
But not Shiva-ing it up. And that makes everything more sluggish and slow. And I know that. And it still didn’t happen.
The good stuff
Bananas!
I do love them.
And I never get to eat bananas because my gentleman friend and I both have very passionate thoughts about eating local food. It’s one of those on-our-dammit-list things.
It’s something we’ve done for several years, our only exceptions being salt, a couple spices and (for him) coffee. And a very occasional indulgence in the form of Colorado whiskey. Mmmm.
Anyway, being on holiday somewhere warm and beautiful is like permission to loosen up (or maybe it’s just the wenn schon denn schon effect.
But bananas. So lovely. Thank you, bananas!
Green chile tempura.
The yummiest meal EVER at Hiro Hobo in Arroyo Seco. New Mexican Japanese! Green chile + cilantro tempura! Edamame hummus! Extreme deliciousness!
Thanks to David for the recommendation.
And, in order to not make the Friday Chicken just a report of me obsessing over foods, I will stop here.
And yes, I ate green chile stew seven days in a row. And yes, it was that great.
Getting out of my funk!
I’m pretty sure it was because of all the goo-slathering.
Or possibly the nap I took on Wednesday.
Goo-slathering. Finally.
It only took me three and a half days to get over my phone phobia (and yes, there is a hilarious and very wrong blog post in there) to set this up.
But I did it and set up an appointment for delicious, decadent goo-slathering* at a lovely spa.
* Goo-slathering = body treatment where they smear oils on you. See my Very Personal Ad where I asked for help with this.
And it was incredible.
After all that monster-talk about how it wasn’t really necessary and I really should be writing instead, the goo-slathering ended up being The Thing That Got Me Out of The Post-Retreat Funk of Doom.
Take that. And please remind me the next time I go into conniptions over whether or not to goo-slather. Goo-slathering can (sometimes, apparently) move me out of the Funk of Doom. Noted.
New Mexico.
I still love it.
So much pretty.
Being wrong.
Realizing that I miscalculated and had another whole day here when I thought it was time to go.
Great stuff I read.
Jenny the incomparable wonderful Bloggess, saying this:
“Popular blogger is an oxymoron. It’s like being the sexiest National Scrabble Champion or the best local Newt Gingrich impersonator.”
So true. And now I know what to say the next time someone calls me one.
And I don’t think you can call this “great stuff”, but this (warning: appalling language! insanity!) inappropriate, raunchy, crazed version of a pirate song that is originally from an Icelandic television show for kids! Wow.
I have watched it … well, more than three times. And yes, apparently everybody knows about this but me.
And … playing live at the meme beach house!
Yes, that’s a Stuism too.
My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”
This week’s band has a name that sounds a bit … um, shocking, but I assure you it isn’t. Because, well, because I have context. Which I will share with you. But first, the band!
Finish The Woo Bitch
And, as it turns out, it’s just one guy.
They’re playing in town all week. Except that it’s really just one guy.
[Okay. Context. I was writing a whiny complain-ey piece about how I dislike my work being referred to as woo, especially when the woo is referring to completely sensible things like talking to monsters about cookies.
But then I got busy with something else and forgot. So I wrote myself a reminder note.
And promptly forgot what the hell I was talking about. So the note was a big source of confusion this week: who is the Woo Bitch? And how am I supposed to finish her?
Luckily, I remembered what I was talking about. So that’s good. And really, it does kind of sound like a band.]
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.
So then Phobic Me and Non-Phobic Me went out for a beer.
So. There is a me who has … oh, let’s say, issues about making phone calls.
And there is a me who does not even slightly have this problem.
And I know this because …
Well, according to the Book of Me, which knows all:
I have been known to put off calling certain people for weeks — even though I like them and want to talk to them — because the thought of picking up the phone makes me hide under the bed.
And I can also easily and gracefully jump on a teleclass where a thousand people are waiting to hear me say smartnesses, completely unprepared, and not even feel the slightest bit nervous.
Weird. Okay. Where do I go from here?
My clever, clever plan.
Obviously, the crazy best thing to do is to (nicely) lure these two selves into a room and eavesdrop while they have a conversation. And take notes!
But first I am going to make a list of everything I know about each of them.
And then I am going to ask each one to tell me more.
What I know about The Me Who Dreads Making Phone Calls:
She (especially) does not like to call:
- if it involves setting up an appointment
- anyone related to her
- good friends she hasn’t spoken with in a looooooong time
What informs the not-wanting? What situations hold discomfort for her?
- if there might be waiting or being put on hold
- anything involving confrontation
- possibility of questions that she can’t answer (or doesn’t want to)
- when there is no limit, no end in sight, no way to know how to end things
How she is feeling in this state of not-wanting-to-call:
- irritable
- anxious
- worried that other people will try to make her feel guilty
What else?
She has a lot in common with how I felt when I was a smoker.
In fact, sometimes I think I mostly smoked because it was such a good way to avoid things like making phone calls.
She likes safety, quiet, isolation.
What I know about The Me Who Has No Problem Whatsoever Making Phone Calls:
The calls she makes with such ease:
- client calls. Fun!
- teleclasses and teaching events
- her gentleman friend
- her best friend
The elements of these calls. What gives them so much ease?
- she is a pirate queen
- there is comfort for her: she is welcome, she belongs here
- there is nothing to defend
- there is either an agreed upon ending point or it’s no big deal to say okay gotta go
How she is feeling in this state of calling not being a big deal?
- relaxed
- gracious
- at ease
- comfortable
- safe
What else?
She also likes safety, quiet, isolation. But she brings those qualities with her.
And she also has access to other qualities, like radiance, groundedness and grace.
She has a lot in common with Teacher Me and Yoga Teacher Me and Shivanaut Me.
Okay, Me Who Dreads Making Phone Calls. What can you tell me?
She says:
I need more comfort. More! Comfort!
I do not need to be talked out of this or healed of this or … fixed. Don’t fix me.
Just give me space and comfort.
Things that help me: structure, form, order, certainty, lists.
Things that stress me out: mainly just not knowing how to get out.
I need another fox in my video game, you know?
Spaciousness. Protection. A better invisibility cloak. Lowered expectations. Trust.
Really, the best scenario would be if I didn’t ever have to call anyone. But if I could go away and someone else would do it for me, that would be okay too.
I say: Thank you for telling me what you need, sweetie. I will do everything I can to make sure you have access to these qualities.
And you, Me Who Doesn’t Have A Problem With Phone Calls? What do you want me to know?
She says:
You think of me as the strong one, but the truth is that both of us (the one who can make calls and the one who can’t) are strong.
And we both exist to protect you and to serve you and to make your life good.
We are sisters. And partners.
We are not as separate as you think. We exist together.
I say: Wow. That wasn’t what I was expecting. Thank you for telling me. Appreciated.
That’s where I’m stopping for now.
It just seems like a good place to stop.
But yeah, the two versions of me had a fairly entertaining conversation and then we all went out for beer.
I’ll post it here next week. In the meantime …
Comment zen for today …
As always: We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff.
You are more than welcome to share things you know (or want to know) about various selves or parts-of-you.
This is a safe space for us to be with our stucknesses, which means 1) we don’t try to push through fear, and 2) we meet people where they are and we don’t give advice (unless someone specifically asks for it).
I don’t put Phobic-Me out in public in order to be told what to do. I let her show up here so that none of us has to be alone in this. And for hopefulness and for the process of being in a process.
Internet hugs all around.