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.
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.
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.