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.
A smart thing, a happy thing, a ridiculous thing and a word.
Okay. It’s getting to be slightly absurd the way I have been disclaimerizing all my posts this week.
So this one? Also not really a post. Whatever that means.
More of a … oh, let’s call it a summing up.
This week of teaching at Jen Louden’s life-changingly great Laughing Crying Writer’s Retreat in Taos has been so full of fantastic.
And there are all these bits and pieces I want to talk about with you! Will try to throw as much as possible into the Chicken tomorrow.
But maybe just a couple things for now. A smart thing, a happy thing, a ridiculous thing and a word.
A smart thing!
Remember in the Very Personal Ad Sunday when I decided to not work on the book but instead on my relationship to the book?
So. This turned out to accidentally be the most genius thing in the entire world.
So much freedom, so much permission, so much playful silliness! And no struggling, because there was always stuff I wanted to write about:
What I know about hanging out with Writer Me. Getting Metaphor Mouse to rewrite some problem concepts. Interacting with my monsters and my various stuckified patterns related to being someone who writes.
The results were huge. Not only did I destuckify like mad, I was able to thoroughly document everything I do when I work on my own stuff.
As I untangled my own patterns, a ton of the techniques that I use with my clients and in workshops got … written down. Which is what would have happened had I actually worked on the book, only it would have been way more tortured and agonizing.
So the choice to process the process instead of doing the process made room for all sorts of brilliant things to happen.
Sneakified mouse = me! Oh boy!
Also, the shivanautical moments of bing are coming so fast and with such intensity that it’s really all I can do document them before the next flood begins. So much for my fear of not knowing what I want to say.
A happy thing!
I spent a lot of time this week trying to discover (or remember) the word that describes the flavor of happy that I have been experiencing.
The word for that … teary welling-up. When you’re so ___________ to be alive and be here and be now that you could kiss every pebble and gaze adoringly at your own fingers and how wonderful they are.
It has gratitude in it, yes, but that’s not really the whole of it.
Bliss is close, but bliss has sadly gone in the direction of “I followed my bliss and became a therapist” or whatever, so it’s lost that essence.
That thing! That tingling, joyful thrum of anticipation and wonder.
I’ve decided to call it ELATION.
That is the closest. And it has been a very long time since I’ve felt this sensation for more than odd moments. Significant chunks of this week have been spent in a state of ELATION.
Grounded and centered and conscious. Not giddy. Not high. Not buzzing. Just a deep, rich I AM HERE AND I LOVE YOU, MOUNTAINS that I have not felt in so long.
Obviously a lot of this is from all the Shiva Nata and the hot buttered epiphanies and the Old Turkish Lady yoga and the writing writing writing writing. And some of it comes from the green chiles.
But this …. ELATION. Oh, it is a beautiful and hard-to-explain place to visit.
A ridiculous thing!
I couldn’t get much cell reception this week (and the writing was tugging at my hand), so I didn’t get to talk to my gentleman friend. We mostly communicated by Direct Message on Twitter in the form of a ridiculous game that made itself up for our amusement.
I don’t know if this could possibly be funny to anyone other than me (it’s based on his knowledge of my bordering-on-phobic dislike of the word “caulk”). But it ended up being a useful Retreat Survival Tactic.
My Gentleman Friend: So I won’t mention the upcoming caulking project.
Me: Ew. Gross. What’s WRONG with you? I baulk at your caulk.
MGF: Well, don’t just sit there and saulk! #jonas
Me: Don’t forget to deal with those celery staulks.
Also those seagull waves in your hair are just a bit flaukish. #80s
MGF: Now you’re just maulking me. In a sort of insincerely maudlin way! #mawkish
Me: Also, you’re INCREDIBLE. Like the Haulk. #hawkish
MGF: Wagnerian, even. #rideoftheVaulkeries
Me: You might have to take a short Waulkeries off a long pier if you keep that up. But if you paint, wear your Smaulkeries! #butnotdungarees
Me: Or are you thinking of the Thirteen Claulkeries #thurber
MGF: You’re close – I was actually thinking of the children’s rhyme. Hickery Dickery Daulkeries.
Me: And please no references to New Kids on the Blaulkeries. #shazam
MGF: In that case, how about references to Columbo, a disputed island near Argentina & a British holiday involving flames & fireworks? #shazoom
Me: Yooooooooouuuuuu! I should claulk you. Or maybe blaulk you — on Twitter.
MGF: I’m just going to waulk away, veeeery slowly now. Or perhaps we should taulk it over?
Me: Yes, you’d better give up completely. Laulk staulk and barrel!
MGF: Laulk. Now THAT is gross.
Me: You’re hilarious. But not really one to taulk. By the way … knaulk knaulk! …
MGF: Who’s there? (he asks trepidatiously)
Me: Doctor.
PAUSE.
PAUSE.
MGF: Ach Du scheisse! #doctorhulu
Me: No. You’re wrong. It’s Doctor Spaulk.
MGF: Ha! Hmm. I was always more of a Mr. Spaulk guy, myself. #ears
Me: What a craulk.
MGF: #craulkodiletears
Me: Well, chaulk it up to experience.
MGF: Don’t raulk the boat, I always say. #seewhatyouvedone
Me: Don’t knaulk it til you try it, I always say. Though I ALSO always say: avoid electric shaulk.
Anyway, it just deteriorated (or should I say: ran amaulk?) from there so I’ll stop. Yes.
The best word ever!
Yay.
The word is WACKOPANTS, courtesy of the lovely Christina, who lives it. I will now be saying this all the time.
Mainly because I over-identify with it, being a huge wackopants myself.
That’s it for now.
Tomorrow we will chicken it up and there will be more.
In the meantime, I wish you a day that includes elements of ridiculousness, contemplation, and at least a couple of thoroughly wackopants moments — maybe even some that lead you to a bing or a thrum or that elusive thing that I’m calling elation.
Waving to all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers, everyone who reads. Back to “normal” posting (uh, talking to walls and mindfully biggifying) soon!
On PTSD.
Yesterday morning I had a moment.
The simplest trigger: at a cafe, an old framed portrait on a white wall that reminded me of something from then.
And I was off. Cycles of panic, terror, helplessness, pain, fear.
And then I came back. Doing the things that help me be here.
So yes, I’ve had a fairly messed up life in some ways. I’ve had hard things happen to me. And I’ve lived in difficult places, difficult situations.
But everyone has hard. Everyone has pain.
I don’t know whether you also get knocked out of your space the way I get knocked out of mine. But I am documenting some of what I do in these moment of hard, with the hope that some of this is helpful.
Being in my body. Or: being with my body.
In this case, walking outside in crisp air for forty minutes was the exact right thing.
Sometimes I can’t do that.
But anything that helps me reconnect to my body in a way that feels safe and grounded is good.
Rubbing feet. Drawing words on my arms. Kissing the palm of my hand. Touching the ground. Acupressure points. Any yoga pose that uses a wall.
Talking to me-from-then.
And creating safety.
I tell me-from-then the following things:
- Things are different now.
- She is allowed to be scared. Whatever she’s feeling is completely legitimate.
- Her work is done. She does not need to take care of anything ever again. It is her turn to be taken care of now.
- She has protection. I am here now. I am a pirate queen. I have skills, resources, allies and superpowers that we didn’t have then.
- Everything is going to be taken care of for her and she doesn’t have to do anything except experience safety.
Then we create the safest, most perfect space for her.
We put locks on the doors and assign these badass lions to guard the entrances. The lions are beautiful, graceful, powerful, devoted to her.
We fill her safe space with whatever she wants — books, music, cushions, an enormous punching bag, borekas. Whatever she wants in there, we make sure she has it.
And then I ask her to listen in from her safe space while I do the separation exercise and the alignment exercise.*
* See the next two bits — these are exercises I came up with several years ago that have been helpful in all kinds of situations.
The separation exercise.
I list ten things that are different about now.
They can be related to whatever was going on then, but they don’t have to. The point is just to create space. Distance and space.
- I own and run a successful business. And it’s a pirate ship! With an (imaginary) island!
- I have a home.
- It used to be that I didn’t know how many options were available to me at any given moment. It was easier to end up in situations that couldn’t be gotten out of, because I couldn’t see any of the exit points along the way.
- Now I know about things like deguiltifying, compassion, being my own true friend.
- I have a lot more experience with mindfulness, alertness, paying attention to cues.
- I know about sovereignty, and so I approach every situation differently. I assume that my space gets to be mine.
- I’ve had X more years to practice things (everything from standing up for myself to believing I have a right to).
- I speak German.
- I work at a Playground.
The alignment exercise.
Ten things that me-from-right-now has in common with me-from-then.
We’re on the same team, so she needs to know that she can trust me. How are we the same? Where is the continuity?
- We both love to walk.
- And to nap.
- And to read.
- We talk to trees (and now they talk back too).
- We are both writers (except that I don’t hide it anymore).
- We like to dance.
- We get annoyed when people tell us what to do.
- We care about words.
- We collect funny names.
The naming exercise.
This is where you name everything you see to remind you that you are here.
Poppy seeds. Bagel crumbs. Empty glass. Pink soap. I am here. Cracked sidewalk. Tall fence. Blue backpack. Worn clogs. I am here. Pirate flag. Flowered tablecloth. Old lamp. Cross-eyed cat. I am here.
It helps.
Remembering to access external support in addition to internal support.
Getting out of isolation is really helpful for me.
I need someone who isn’t going to ask questions or make me talk about it, but who is up for going for a walk with me, or sitting with me while I process stuff with myself.
Generally I try to figure out who these helper mice are when I’m not having a moment, because once I’m panicking, I can’t really think straight.
Always! Asking what’s needed.
In this case it was:
trust, safety, sovereignty, reassurance, perspective
And then giving it to myself in some form.
If that’s what I need, how do I get it?
I give myself a dose of trust by writing it on my heart with a finger. By writing a request for it as a Very Personal Ad.
A dose of safety by locking myself in my office and meditating.
A dose of sovereignty by mentally reconfiguring my force field and by putting on my tiara.
A dose of reassurance through listening to one of the Emergency Calming Technique recordings.
Bringing in the new pattern.
I dance the awe-full wrathful dance of anger. I dance the patterns without knowing what they are. I flail and fall and make mistakes.
Mainly, though … I try things.
All the time. And every time I try things, I take notes.
What’s this like? How does it feel? What’s missing? Is there a way to make this more useful, more accessible, more fun?
And then whatever you learn goes in the Book of You for next time.
You never have to use techniques that you don’t like. And you never have to stick with something that isn’t a good fit. It’s your video game. Your practice. Taking care of yourself is the most individual thing there is.
And probably the most important.
Comment zen.
The one thing we definitely all have in common is that we all know pain.
Beyond that: People vary. Pain varies. Experience varies.
We tread gently with pain. We do what we can to meet people (ourselves too) where they (we) are. Sometimes this is hard and annoying. That’s why it’s a process.
We let people have their own experience, which means: we can talk about what works for us, but we don’t give anyone else advice unless they specifically ask for it.
Wishing you all kinds of love and support and whatever helps right now.
Making space.
Disclaimer!
This post is … not really a post.
And it’s very much not the sort of thing I would normally put here. It’s a bit messy. A bit complex. A lot more yoga-ey than anything I might say if it were just us.
(Translation: Jon, don’t read this one.)
But it’s here. Because there is usefulness in this.
I’m teaching all week at Jennifer Louden’s Writer’s Retreat. What follows is a (very) loose transcript of what I said at the beginning of our Shiva Nata class yesterday.
Making space.
Creating space is one of the things we do when we are on retreat.
We create the space for the experience itself, by choosing it. And through everything we do to set the container.
We create spaces during the experience of retreat — through rituals, transitions, entry points and exit points.
We create space in our bodies, through moving, stretching, breathing.
We create space in ourselves for wacky, beautiful, transformational things to happen.
We create space in our hearts, to breathe. To come back to ourselves.
We create space when we interact with ourselves.
Every time we acknowledge our pain, engage our monsters in conversation, ask questions about what we want and need … space is created.
Every time we consciously choose to do that with genuine curiosity and compassion, standing in our own power … we make space for wholeness.
Wholeness.
We intentionally create separations. We open up gaps and spaces.
In our breath. Inside of our patterns. Between ourselves and the familiar stories we tell and retell about our experience.
We create these spaces in order to get closer to ourselves. To be in wholeness.
Look at all the beautiful space we create in our writing:
The physical space for writing to happen. The time. The energy container (that’s the force field exercise we’ve been practicing all week).
The emotional space that gets bigger and bigger each time we talk to the parts of ourselves who criticize us out of a desire to keep us safe.
Mental space. Spiritual space. Internal and external space.
And all this space is what allows us to get closer to ourselves.
To get closer to that voice.
To get closer to what we have to say.
Space and spaciousness.
It is space and spaciousness that bring us to closeness and intimacy.
It is separations that — paradoxically, maybe — bring us to wholeness.
Separations are arbitrary constructs, yes. They serve a purpose though. Because each time we consciously step back to interact with part of ourselves (say, when we talk to walls), we become more intimate with our internal landscape.
We become more whole.
Separation and coming together.
In the Jewish tradition, this idea of separation is a hugely important concept.
On the surface, this seems … a bit odd, since, like with most religious and spiritual traditions, you’d expect the focus to be where it usually is: wholeness and unity and connection.
But the idea (or one of the ideas) is more like this:
When we mark out these spaces in life, we bring elements of ritual and specialness and holiness into each thing being separated.
We separate so that we can see the beauty of that particular space, and that is what brings us deeper into wholeness.
Spaces and the Dance of Shiva.
In our retreat, we create spaces.
Spaces and spaciousness that allow us to get closer to our writing, closer to our voice, and closer to ourselves.
And we use Shiva Nata in order to intentionally create spaces in our patterns, openings and passages, spaciousness in our consciousness.
We open up these gaps in our patterns because it gives us the power to move the pieces around. To deconstruct and rebuild.
To find the spaces that are waiting for us, and to bring in more of ourselves.
But we don’t actually create these spaces.
We just find them.
Because they’re already there.
We contain all of this space already.
The passages are there. And then we use Shiva Nata — body poetry, liquid math — to take apart the patterns. Taking apart. Rebuilding. Deconstructing. Reconstructing.
Making space for these spaces to reveal themselves.
That’s it.
I mean, that’s not even slightly it.
And anyway, there is always more. Because then we danced to the Sexy Robot song. And we used words and numbers and patterns to do astonishing things.
And it was freaking transcendent.
And then we wrote and had epiphanies and I went out and ate green chile stew, and all in all it was one crazy, beautiful day.
So we are not done. Never done. Just experimenting.
And comment zen for today.
Being this … sincere … is hard on me. It’s especially hard for Pirate Me. Let’s tread gently.
You can offer me a hot mulled beverage. That would be nice.
What we mean when we say “try things”
We’re always saying it.
Try things. Try things.
And by try things, I mean: approaching everything you do with flexibility, receptivity, genuine curiosity and the willingness to be surprised.
But then a lot of people wonder, what things?! How do you just try things? How do you even know what things to try?
So I guess this is a long-overdue partial response to that question which comes up whenever I talk about exiting the middle and the fox who designed video games.
We can try things when it comes to habits and patterns, we can try things when it comes to business. Let’s play with work stuff for now.
Let’s say you have a store where you sell smoothies. Or an Etsy shop where you sell handmade scarves. Or any other kind of place, physical or virtual, where business-ey things happen.
You don’t have to do any of these things, but here’s some of what “trying stuff” could be:
Trying stuff in the hard.
- Walking across the street and look at your sign. Visible? Readable? Intriguing?
- Pretending that you have no idea what your shop is. Can you tell what it is (and what it feels like) from the entrance?
- How easy is it for me to give you money if I want to? Is it clear how much things cost and how I can pay you?
- What if I want to buy something from you, but not right this second: How do I stay in touch with you? How can I be part of your world without buying something … yet?
- If your business is on social media, do you talk about stuff that’s not business-related? Good. Keep that up!
- Do you have a knitting circle? Who is your support team? Who are your resources? If, as Barbara says, “isolation is the dream-killer”, who and what help you stay connected to yourself and what you need?
- Making one sentence on your contact page sound slightly more like “Hi, I’m an actual human being! Whooo!”
- Going to a meet-up. Or: be like me and avoid humanity altogether, but tell people that so that they can connect with you.
- Is your store or website a place where you would enjoy hanging out? What would make it more cheery and fun for you?
- Your right people include anyone who would like you and what you do. What kinds of things would you like them to appreciate about what you do? How do they find out about those things?
- How much do people know about you? Enough to get a sense of why they like you? Enough to know whether or not they’d like being in your world?
- Do you have multiple circles? Are you offering stuff that’s low-end and stuff that’s high-end? Experiment!
Thinking about stuff like this is what we mean when we say TRY THINGS.
Trying stuff in the soft.
And — of course — you don’t have to try any of these. They’re possibilities. Loving suggestions. Nothing more.
- Talking to your walls and your monsters. A lot.*
- Are you having fun? Are you getting enough sleep? This stuff is important. It’s investing in your business. The urgency monsters are very emphatic about how this is not a priority. But actually? It’s the thing that turns everything else around.
- Practicing Very Interior Design: finding out everything you can about the ecology of your relationship to money, to business, to “being successful”, whatever that means to you.
- Changing your vocabulary so that you use words that excite you instead of depressing you. Calling upon Metaphor Mouse if necessary.
- Oh, and speaking of words, if you catch yourself saying “shameless self-promotion” (whether out loud or in your head), find out what needs to happen so that you can stop saying it.
- Resting. Replenishing. Receiving.
- Examining your internal boundaries and limits. Who put them there? What’s true?
- Looking for patterns without judging yourself for having patterns. Patterns aren’t bad. They’re just information to use.
* Obviously I’m biased, but I am a fan of my useful monster manual (it comes with a coloring book!) and my badass Emergency Calm Techniques.
Taking care of yourself and learning about your stuff is also what we mean when we say TRY THINGS.
And the really terrible Green Eggs and Ham version!
This was inspired by Mrs. Peppercorn, the worst most enthusiastic poet of all time and my absolute favorite character in any book ever.
You can try things in the soft.
You can use a spray that wafts.You can try things in the hard.
Costumes, wands, a leotard.You can try things every day.
Exit the middle. Back to Wu Wei.You can try things upside down.
Use the video game. Abduct a clown.Try things here. Or try things there.
Do it with Naomi — it’s more fun if you swear!What happens when you wear that crown?
Call metaphor mouse. Write a new collective noun.Try to do it with reverse-engineering.
Try to do it once more with feeling.Or better yet, once more with flailing.
And on that pirate ship you’re sailing.Try it with style. Sing the milk song.
Go ahead and intentionally do it wrong.Try in on Friday. Try it with chicken.
Talk to your monsters and ask for permission.Try asking iguanas and talking to walls.
Ringing the bells and listening to calls.You’ll never run out of good things to try.
There’s always more time, more ways to ask why.If nothing is working the way that it ought
Switch gears and become a cosmonaut.Try stuff try stuff try stuff try stuff
You have what you need, and you are enough.
That’s it. Try stuff.
Ahem.
I do apologize for inflicting rhyming crimes against humanity on you.
But seriously, I don’t know how to challenge people to think creatively other than a) modeling it in my business, b) teaching tools for destuckification, c) talking about why it’s so important that you challenge yourself and d) encouraging a culture of playfulness, curiosity and experimentation.
So that’s what I’ve got.
I hope it’s helpful.
And comment zen for today …
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. This can get pretty uncomfortable/touchy when it comes to business and biggification.
Especially when there’s urgency and stress and pain. And pressure to pay the rent. It sucks.
So I sincerely apologize if anything here stepped on your stuff. I definitely don’t mean to imply that any of this is easy, because it isn’t.
Love to all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and anyone who reads.
Very Personal Ads #56: Rallying it up
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 dooo eeeet.
Thing 1: Remembering what I already know, again.
Here’s what I want:
I managed to put myself in a mini-tizzy last week trying to figure out what to focus on in my own writing during the fabulous Writer’s Retreat I’m teaching at in Taos.
After going back and forth between six different (and equally compelling) options, I did some Dance of Shiva on it, which delivered the following mini-epiphany:
This week isn’t for the writing. It’s for learning about my relationship to the writing.
So. Instead of working on the book, I’m going to be writing love letters to the book. Having monster conversations. Using my own techniques and documenting them.
For the book, yeah.
But with the intention not of writing it, but of finding out more about my relationship with it.
And what I want is to remember this.
Ways this could work:
I can leave myself little notes.
Make this the intention of my daily shivanautical wackiness.
I can start each day’s writing by consciously choosing one technique that I want to play with. Like, what happens if I bring in Metaphor Mouse to learn more about different aspects of how I interact with writing?)
Or maybe it can just happen.
My commitment.
To do whatever needs doing to release some of that pressure to hurry up and create something meaningful right this second while you have a chance.
To be curious and receptive and inquisitive.
To ask smart questions.
To not take myself or any of this too seriously. Play! We will play!
To walk the labyrinth with Selma.
Thing 2: Maintaining space.
Here’s what I want:
I know about my tendency to overdo. And especially to over-give.
And it’s time to (sweetly) mess around with that pattern and see what moves.
Since I’ll be teaching all week, this is a good test environment to practice in.
Ways this could work:
Reminding myself that it’s time. I’m ready to get better at scooping out time and space for myself. On purpose. As a way of being.
And letting that be not only legitimate, but vital.
Clearly this calls for more Shiva Nata. And some talking to walls.
My commitment.
To pay attention. To notice things.
To not be impressed by the fact that yeah, this is still an issue.
To breathe breathe breathe.
To write about what I learn.
Thing 3: the Rally!
Here’s what I want:
Okay. So I still really want a Rally.
And haven’t had much time for this.
So. I’m going to try to throw together a first run version. Of the Rally.
A little messy, a little casual, a little hilarious .
Invite some people. Rally it up. See what happens.
Like a pre-rally rally. A taster rally. A starter rally. I don’t know.
And then we can expand it into something bigger and more formal.
Ways this could work:
No idea.
But I’m going to write about this and something will happen.
My commitment.
To stay receptive to different creative, fun, lighthearted, playful ways that this could be awesome.
To practice the things I’m already practicing.
To invent some new rally-related rituals.
To have the First Mate make inquiries about possible fabulous schwag.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I asked for perfect simple solutions for the computer-in-a-coma problem. And it was good.
My ancient iBook miraculously hung in there (I think I can I think I can!) and was able to mostly work. The Apple people fixed my laptop. We got through five days of stressfulness and nothing fell apart. Including me. So yay.
Then I wanted support with the enormous variety of things that needed to fall into place, and that also worked better than expected/hoped for.
A lot also didn’t get done, but there was more ease than I’d thought possible. And I had some outrageously great Shivanautical epiphanies. Nice.
And I had an ask about simplicity and elegance that is still … percolating. I think I need to ask this one again when I know a little more about this. Very interesting, in the mean time.
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.