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.
Turning points.
A client of mine has been going through a hard.
Some seriously menacing dragons showed up in her space to breathe fire at her. And they wouldn’t let her build a castle.
It was crappy.
We decided that we would outwit the video game by not doing any of the normal things (i.e. panicking, running away, being paralyzed with fear, pouting, raging, yelling, fighting, etc).
We would subvert the tired fight-vs-flight dichotomy by choosing none of the above.
And we decided to consciously, intentionally walk in a new direction until the perfect spot for her new bad-ass castle revealed itself.
Anyway. I am of the opinion that this (extremely hard and not fun) situation is sure to become one of her crucial turning points.
So now I’m thinking about turning points.
Except that turning points are so often easier to see in retrospect.
When you’ve gone far enough past them that you can see where and how the turning happened.
So I thought we could try to pinpoint some of the turning points in my own business, and maybe we’ll be able to reverse-engineer some bits of usefulness.
Maybe.
The first point of turning.
Not getting the domain I wanted! Drama!
You can read about this in How The Fluent Self Got Its Spots.
There were two turns in this one.
The first was consciously deciding that I was not going to do the usual thing and be pissed off at the world about the unfairness of it all. And instead I was going to find something that worked better.
This felt very weird and uncomfortable and not me. But also open. Full of possibility.
And the second turning was the way not getting the thing I wanted turned out to be the best thing ever.
Because now I get to be the pirate queen of The Fluent Self, Inc, most fabulous ship on the high seas. With a duck. Take that!
As opposed to being the duck-less president of a super-boring thing whose name is too embarrassing to ever be mentioned.
My own turning points …
Here are the ones that come to mind when I think about how my business has grown and transformed over the past five years.
And please bear in mind, this stuff was hard and frustrating and took time. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Etc.
Bringing Selma into the business.
I don’t remember exactly when I stopped hiding the fact that yeah, I have a duck.
But I do remember the concerned expressions of the expert-ey people who said or implied that it didn’t look professional
Which, at the time, was my biggest nightmare.
Apparently, there are people who believe that if you want to make money, you can’t tell the general public that your business partner is a toy.
Pfffffft. Selma is hardly a toy. So I didn’t listen to them. That turned out to be a good thing. A really good thing.
For one thing, Selma is the best red velvet rope ever. And I probably wouldn’t have ended up on the front page of the New York Times Style section without her either.
Signing up for my first class.
When I first started my business, I had no money.
So any business advice I got was gleaned from newsletters and articles and any freebie resources I could get my hands on.
And after a while this became a matter of pride. Like, why would you pay for help when it’s all over the internet?! And anyway, everything I made was being invested back into my business.
When I finally took a class (with Andy, who is brilliant and wonderful and hysterically funny), I realized how stupid this was.
First of all, taking classes is investing in your business. Second, you make connections in classes that change everything. Third, the best way to learn how to run your own online programs (and how not to) is to take someone else’s.
Fourth, you meet biggified people who will later give you testimonials for your stuff.
Launching my first product.
Not that it made any money for a while.
Because it took its sweet time before we got to the point where product sales were paying my salary.
But because having products made me look crazy biggified. And all sorts of useful things came out of that. Wish I’d done it sooner.
Cutting out workshops.
When I started my business, it was based on live teaching and private coaching.
So I was constantly in the process of setting up workshops, teaching workshops, recovering from workshops.
I had to do them, since they were awesome. And since that’s how I got clients.
But it was exhausting. And at a certain point I decided we had to take a break. And that Selma and I wouldn’t do live teaching again until we were famous and people were standing in line to do a class with us.
And that’s what happened. Good decision.
Getting on Twitter.
I was hugely resistant to this one.
But about two and a half years ago, someone talked me into it.
And thank god for that. Because it’s my favorite bar.
And because it’s the magical place where I never talk about business but where most of my business comes from. Crazy and wonderful.
I’m @havi. Say kazoo!
Starting the blog.
That was two years ago. And it was the smart thing to do .
Thank you.
Dropping the noozletter.
I really dreaded writing the noozletter.
And I didn’t like having a list. And all the pressure to have it and build it and do things with it.
Not having one went against every piece of business advice I’ve ever been given, but I just didn’t care anymore.
Anyway, I don’t have a list. And we still make a very good living.
Rock on.
Email sabbatical.
Born of desperation, it was hard and frustrating. And pissed some people off.
But my life is seven thousand times better now. So yay.
Okay, figuring out what these turning points have in common.
Reverse-engineering time.
Or at least looking at the elements.
Here’s what I see. They include:
- that moment of realizing that I’ve been wrong about everything.
- permission to follow a want
- permission for the want to be stronger than things like say, common sense, or what everyone else is telling me to do.
- connection over isolation
- but also removing myself from situations that are painful or uncomfortable
- safety and sanctuary
- sovereignty
And … where to go from here.
I don’t know if it’s useful to know that a pivot is happening as it is happening.
I don’t know if we need to necessarily be able to recognize the turns.
But I do think it’s useful to play with the elements.
Because I’m planning on taking many more turns. And I’m planning on these turns getting easier.
More smoothness. Less agonizing. More effortlessness. Less questioning. More fun. Less predictability.
Anyway, I hope some of this is helpful.
And I hope that some of your dragons turn into helper mice.
And that you see turning points everywhere.
The Fox Who Designed Video Games
I have all kinds of things I want to say about this fox.
But if this is going to even slightly make sense, I have to explain the Video Game Technique.*
* A useful thing my students/clients use to simultaneously practice several of the principles we work with. If you’ve never played a video game, just pretend. No video-game-secrets needed in order to get this.
The Video Game Technique.
You’re playing a video game and you run into a wall. Smack. Ow.
Well, your avatar ran into a wall. You’re still on the couch. But still.
A massive wall. Right in front of you. Blocking your progress.
What do you do? You look for options.
It’s a video-game world, so you know there’s a way past it.
You try to go over it, under it, around it, through it.
If there is absolutely no way over the wall, you go left or right. Or you go back and try something else.
If over the wall doesn’t work, you don’t just keep trying to go over it seventy two more times. You look for a different way to get past it. You try new things.
How this is different from real life.
In real life, we are constantly running into walls.
Here’s what most of us do when we run into a wall. Smack. Ow.
Then we run into it again. Smack. Ow. Hey, look. The wall is still there.
We might try to get around it. But then we run into it again. Smack. Ow.
We step back. And then forward. Smack. Ow.
Then we cry, rage, complain. We tell our friends and our therapists and anyone who will listen about how much we hate this stupid piece of crap wall and how it won’t just go away.
And it doesn’t even occur to us that there might be another way past.
Ask most people if they’ve tried going left or right yet, and they don’t know. They don’t keep track of how they’ve approached the wall – they’re just stuck in a rut. Smack. Ow.
When you use the video game technique, here’s what happens.
You get sharper. More alert.
For one thing, the wall is a challenge. Not a sign that your life sucks or that you’re an incompetent loser.
Also: you’re keeping track of what you try and how well it works.
Under doesn’t work, around doesn’t work, over doesn’t work.
Okay, am I correct in assuming that I even need to get past this thing? What are the options that I haven’t tried yet? Have I missed anything?
You’re curious. You’re intrigued. You’re ready to try new stuff.
This is good.
Why it’s so important.
The video game technique is a classic destuckification tool because:
- it’s about awareness — being conscious of how you’re relating to yourself and the world around you.
- it’s about acknowledgment — letting the hard stuff be hard without being impressed by the hard or thinking that the hard defines you.
- it’s about possibility — taking information and making conscious choices.
- it’s about patterns — recognizing how things fit together and intentionally mixing things up.
- it’s about flow — moving away from things that result in paralysis, and reconfiguring.
- it’s about sovereignty — owning your space and making decisions about what you do with it.
It gives you flexibility, agility, adaptability, grace and all sorts of other useful things. And most of all, it shows you options.
Back to the fox.
Where we tend to get messed up with the video game thing is this:
We forget that this is about Very Interior Design.
We forget that it’s our video game. Which means that there are always more options available than you might think.
At our retreat earlier this year, some people were scared of their own video game.
Because it might be a trap. Because what if you got to a point in this learning-about-your-stuff experience where you ended up stuck behind that wall and you were never able to get out again?
An infinite loop of stuck.
That would not be fun.
So, here’s a question: who is on your video game design team?
What about a fox?
Foxes have a severe dislike of being trapped. Understandably.
And I read somewhere once that a fox digging a hole or a tunnel will always create a second exit.
This may or may not be true, but it’s useful.
Since it’s your video game, you get to decide who you want on the design team.
I want a young Marilyn Monroe, for sass and determination. And a structural engineer, one with a sense of humor. And Shiva, for endings and new beginnings.
And I always want a fox.
The whole point of Very Interior Design is that it happens inside of you.
If being trapped is not an option, set things up so there is no way to be trapped.
We can’t control external circumstances, but we have a lot to say about how we interact with them. And we have a lot to say about what filters we perceive them through.
And we have a lot to say about how we navigate our internal spaces.
If safety is vital because you’re scared of what might happen when you encounter your monsters, then by all means, let’s make safety the hugest priority of your video game.
Let’s get some safety experts on your video game design team. Let’s get you a bunch of negotiators. And an ideal family. Let’s get you places of sanctuary. And canopies of peace.
And a fox. Because it’s your video game. And it’s your experience.
The fox is smarter than the wall.
In fact, the fox might even know that your walls are only there because they think you need them.
And that walls can be spoken to. And you can interact with them in a variety of ways.
The fox knows that exit points are as important as entry points.
The fox knows that intelligence wins out over brute force.
The fox is there to try things.
Which, really, is what this is about.
Creating safety. And then trying things. Creating safety. And then trying something else.
So that it’s not just an endless parade of smack-ow-smack-ow.
You make safe spaces in which to practice. You find out what your options are. You take notes. And you take care of yourself. Because this world is yours.
And comment zen.
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We let people have their own experience, which means that we’re supportive and kind, and we don’t give advice (unless people specifically ask for it).
You’re more than welcome to share stuff you’re working on, things you’re thinking about related to foxes and video games and destuckification and Very Interior Design.
Love to all the commenter mice and the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads. Besos.
Very Personal Ads #55: computer in a coma, I know I know it’s serious
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 eeet.
Thing 1: refuah shlema* for my poor computer.
Here’s what I want:
My beloved laptop had a heart attack on Thursday evening.
It is now at the Apple store, undergoing various complicated operations.
And I won’t have it until Friday. At least, I hope I’ll have it Friday. Because then I’ll be in New Mexico for two weeks.
Anyway. I want healing and safe recovery (both of the poor pooter and of the information on the hard-drive, yes?). Or another perfect, simple solution.
We have a complete back-up of everything through Toozday evening, so this is not a CRISIS. But I would like this to get resolved with speediness and ease. And either way, what I’m really asking for is the ability to keep getting done what needs to be done, remain hopeful, and not commandeer every computer in sight.
* Literally: a whole healing, complete recovery, full wellness. Colloquially: may you get better!
Ways this could work:
Maybe it will turn out that computer-sharing is the way to go and I’ll never go back to having my own. It could be like email sabbatical! Though I find that pretty hard to imagine.
Maybe another computer will miraculously show up to rent or use.
Maybe things can work out much more easily than I can currently imagine.
Or …?
My commitment.
To do what I can to get better at trusting that yeah, things work out.
To take this in good stride. Or, if I can’t, to be sweet with myself about the fact that I’m falling apart completely.
To do some writing about my relationship with technology … see what turns up.
Thing 2: timing!
Here’s what I want:
So much needs to happen this week.
I have a HAT to write (a Havi Announces a Thing page). And a class on copywriting to teach, how convenient!
Preparing for teaching at the Writer’s Retreat in Taos. And a million other things.
All without a computer. Hilarious!
I don’t know how things can fall into place, and happen in good timing with grace and smoothness, but that would be pretty awesome.
Ways this could work:
Hahahaha. I have no idea.
But I’m okay with being surprised.
My commitment.
I will do crazy amounts of Shiva Nata to untangle some patterns and start writing new ones.
I will ask for help.
I will laugh. A lot.
Thing 3: simplicity
Here’s what I want:
At the moment, most of what I’m working on, both in terms of internal stuff (Very Interior Design) and external stuff is all being complicated by … well, complications.
Actually, I suspect that I am making things more complicated than they need to be.
So what I’d really like this week (and in the weeks to come) is some clarity related to cutting to the chase, and where this is needed.
Not the shortcuts that come from avoiding the process that needs to be experienced.
The shortcuts that were always there but magically appear when you clear out a lot of junk.
Ways this could work:
Obviously I’ll be using Dance of Shiva for this one. Because that’s the best thing for showing you what your stuff looks like, and bringing the options you couldn’t see before right in front of your face.
And I can make it my theme/intention for writing and yoga and various other things that I practice.
My commitment.
To be receptive to the idea that simplicity is not cheating. Interesting.
To play around with different ways that things can be simple.
To look for meaning and elegance in simplicity.
To take notes about this new relationship.
To go easy on myself if I can. And to notice that I can’t if I can’t.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
To update y’all on what’s happened since last time.
I wanted support with projects and, while I’m definitely still working on that, progresses were made.
Writing about the Rally was super helpful. And things are moving.
I also wanted resolution to a sovereignty issue.
And that was super interesting. Because it got resolved quickly and easily. And instantly another one showed up. And another one.
Basically the whole week was interacting with the Hydra of sovereignty challenges.
I’m pretty sick of it. But I’m also getting way better at it. Which was kind of the point.
And I wanted time for projecting. That did not even slightly happen. But other things happened. So I’m going to have to rethink that ask and see what comes from it. A very interesting week, in hindsight. Stupid hindsight.
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 to have everyone doing this with me.
Friday Chicken #102: mind in the dinosaur gutter again
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.
I know I ask this every single week but seriously, how is it Friday?
That makes no sense.
And yet, here we are. So let’s chicken away.
The hard stuff
Curse you, Devilish Mosquitos!
Gaaaaaaaaaaaah.
Everything I hate about summer.
Walls of gnats. Having to claw your way through acres of spider webs just to get out the door.
Those awful baby crows with their endless evil adolescent raspy cawing.
Way too much to do.
And it keeps building up.
And I wasn’t able to work on any of the really important things this week because of the distractions.
Distractions of the worse possible kind.
People needing stuff from me, always when it wasn’t a time or a situation where I could give it.
Mini-project-ey things coming up that I didn’t ask for and didn’t want but turned out to be unavoidable.
My stuckification around not wanting to do these things making them take longer.
Lots of people in my space. All kinds of resulting sovereignty challenges. Getting irritable and impatient.
One thing gets resolved and another gets borked.
Each time I’d put on my imaginary crown and my super hot sovereignty boots, and solve the thing that wasn’t working.
And then, no sooner than the problem du jour got zapped into being okay, the next sovereignty challenge showed up.
It was like a very not fun video game.
Also, I suck at estimating times, it turns out.
So each time I’d finally get a window to work on that thing I thought I needed twenty five minutes for, it would turn out that it was actually a fifty five minute thing.
Or I’d avoid something because I knew it needed half an hour of uninterrupted time but then it really only needed ten minutes.
Very frustrating.
Drunk Pirate Council.
So I love having Drunk Pirate Council instead of the dreaded “meetings” we used to have avoid.
But what with my crazed teaching schedule, we haven’t had Council, drunk or otherwise in nearly two months.
As if my own Piles of Doom were not enough, the first Council back was hardcore.
We put a time limit on it but it was still way too intense.
The good stuff
We’re back to Drunk Pirate Council!
Everything goes better when there’s a) someone present to help me, b) someone to tell me what to do, and c) whiskey.
Cheers to the First Mate, who does a remarkably admirable job of putting up with my fits of despair.
Genius advice (and help) from Hiro.
I’d been dealing with two different but equally challenging situations that were basically the same thing.
People abdicating responsibility for their choices and the consequences, then blaming me for it and then playing victim.
I turned to Hiro, who did a bad-ass healing for my related stucknesses and then, full of wisdom, as always, suggested:
Give them their blame back. They can do whatever they want with it. You don’t have to accept it into your life and you don’t have to resist it.
Just hand it right back to them and let their little gift-wrapped packages stay with them where it belongs.
This is really what my cousin Anat always says — “just because someone hands you shit doesn’t mean you have to take it from them”.
But this time I think some deeper part of me actually got it. Progress. Yay.
World Cup.
This really needs to be in the hard and the good. But I guess mostly the good.
Also the being done of it is a good.
Oh man. I love it with a passion and yet it hurts so much.
But it’s so beautiful. But.
Exactly.
Ah. Relief.
Got an extremely scary-looking envelope from the Bannister (what I call our business attorney, because having an attorney is weird and because the word barrister is funny).
But it turned out to be just a receipt for payments made, etc.
And exhale.
Everything I love about summer!
Sitting on the porch swing! Smelling the roses! Oregon cherries! And raspberries! And blackberries!
Hoppy House is just the perfect place to live in the summer.
And our blueberries are full of love.
I can’t even tell you how happy our vegetable garden makes me. Just hooray for all of it.
Teaching something fun.
I asked Mariko to co-teach a class with me at the Kitchen Table on the art of cutting your losses.
It’s called something like Sunk Costs, Saying Goodbyes and Getting Out of Dodge.
Anyway, really excited about this, since it’s something I keep learning the hard way. And I’ll try to post some notes here as well about some of the stuff we’ll talk about. Excellent.
Selma is a superstar! Again! Sort of.
One of our readers — inspired by Selma — used a duck in his short film, to spice up scenes with one of the characters.
Worth seeing if only because it also features my all-time favorite German-ism — Haaaenh?!
Here’s the video! That’s Michael’s. Right on.
The first official Shiva Nata class at the Playground is here!
Tonight!
And people have been doing figure eights in the air, as we say in Hebrew, to get there.
Various lovely Shivanauts and the shivanautically-curious are making their way to Portland, Oregon to spend two hours with me and Selma, workshop-ing it up.
So Elana went through hell trying to get here from Vancouver, but wild horses etc.
And then Léan was in California (she lives in Dublin) and talked her monsters into letting her have a secret sale to raise the monies to make it the rest of the way.
Miraculous things happened, the power of community, the magic of the Twitter and so forth. And she’s coming too!
Excitement.
(If you still have no idea why Shiva Nata is the best thing in the entire world, we need to change that.)
A wonderful thing I read this week:
This piece of extreme fabulousness is the very first post ever from Michelle (who is @shellbelle on Twitter.
I freaking LOVE the grey box at the top that says AAH OH GOD WHAT IS THIS BOX FOR NOW. And the title. You should go read it and welcome her to the world of blog because we like her.
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 is a bit … uh, salacious-sounding. But their music rocks.
Slow Motion Dinosaur Sex
What a show, if I may say so. Except that in the end it turned out to really be 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.
More thoughts on exiting the middle.
I wrote yesterday about how hugely important it is when we exit the middle.
The short version:
Beginners don’t need to be given challenges because everything is challenging.
In an advanced practice, you find challenges, because you have a conscious, intentional relationship with yourself and the world around you.
It’s the middle you want to watch out for. When you need other people to create challenges for you.
Most people think the middle is where you are until you get good, but the middle is where you stay until you decide it’s time to be conscious.
And … lots more to say that I didn’t get to.
So. Some answers to questions, and more thoughts on all of this.
What about rest? What if I’m used to resting in the middle?
Rest is a big deal.
And an advanced practice isn’t about straining. It’s about being present and having a conscious relationship with everything you do. So of course rest gets to be a part of that.
You can be engaged and still allow yourself to rest. In fact, you can be engaged in the process of resting.
Example!
In yoga (yes, again with the yoga examples), it’s the beginners and advanced practitioners who prioritize rest and the middle who scorns it:
Someone coming to a class for the first time will totally take you up on that offer to “take a child pose”. And people with advanced practices have enough awareness and sovereignty to know when they’re worn out, and to take a conscious, intentional pause.
Beginners love shavasana because they’re exhausted. In an advanced practice you love shavasana because that’s what you’ve been building up to.
But if there has been safety and rest (or other useful qualities) in your experience of the middle, you definitely get to take these with you when you leave.
What if you’re gifted so you sail past the beginner stuff and land in the middle?
This was Sheridan’s question, and it’s a good one.
We need to differentiate between the material you encounter at the beginning of learning something, and the approach of being a beginner.
When you bring the qualities of the beginner — genuine curiosity, receptivity, willingness to be wrong — to whatever it is you’re doing, it’s conscious.
And once your relationship to what you’re doing is conscious, you have an advanced practice.
You can still breeze through the material, but as long as you’re having a conscious relationship with it and yourself, you’re not in the middle.
In fact, by asking that question, you’re not in the middle.
Is that what people mean by “beginner’s mind”?
Kind of.
Beginner’s mind is about taking on the qualities of beginning:
Curiosity. Receptivity.The willingness to be wrong (or surprised!), the noticing of things, the excitement, the anticipation, the lack of attachment to any One Right Way.
When you’re in this state, everything is new.
And yes, the (obvious) implication: as soon as you choose to consciously invoke these qualities, you’re in an advanced practice. Engaging with beginner’s mind is an advanced practice.
Exiting the middle: pursuing “beginner’s mind” and going beyond it.
It’s the combination of choice plus conscious awareness that does it.
It’s not the mindset of beginning-ness all by itself. It’s the fact that you’re consciously choosing this state that negates the middle.
And choosing the challenge of being in it.
So an advanced practice is not just agreeing to approach things like a beginner might.
It’s making a decision to invoke the qualities of beginning, with intention and focus and maybe even with love.
But what if the middle is where I belong?
It is really tempting to stay in the middle. Because that’s where the struggle is. Where you’re constantly trying to get better.
And it feels good. It feels familiar. Striving for an advanced practice that doesn’t really exist, instead of choosing the actual advanced practice of engaging with where we are.
We all go through this — I have been in many a middle. In fact, I’m probably in all sorts of middle spaces right now. The middle is a place that we all stand sooner or later.
We just don’t have to stay. And the second we’re conscious of it, we’re already on our way out.
What about when you want so badly to be “advanced” that you can’t move forward?
It happens.
Back to the yoga example … my teacher used to say, “it’s better to do yoga with your head, not with your leg behind your head”.
And I knew he was right, but it was so appealing to keep striving to get there. So I stayed in the struggle of the middle, hoping that someone would help me (or make me) overcome something.
I knew, intellectually, that I could be the person who engages with her own relationship to something, instead of the person who needs to master something.
But I didn’t want to exit the middle.
What if I can’t stop judging myself for being in the middle?
That’s part of the middle. It’s part of being there.
We’re there because we don’t know that we don’t have to stay there. And we’re there because we beat ourselves up for being there.
The middle itself is not a bad place, necessarily.
It’s just that we don’t need to stay.
We don’t need our desire to be good at something to keep us captive in the struggle of trying to get somewhere. Because as soon as we decide to mindfully, compassionately find out more about where we are, we’re done being there.
But how do you exit the middle?
You choose it. The way out of the middle is choice. That’s all.
An advanced yoga practice does not require you to be able to stick your leg behind your head or balance yourself on an elbow.
That’s the stuff the middle strives for.
An advanced yoga practice begins in that moment when, say, standing in the post office, you begin to notice something about how you’re standing or how your’e breathing.
You are in a state of reconnaissance: observing yourself and your relationship to your surroundings.
You notice. You question. You make adjustments. You meet yourself with love. Or: you meet your inability to meet yourself with love.
It’s about saying yes. And asking questions.
I don’t care if we’re talking about business or gardening or embroidery, it’s all the same. You exit the middle by saying yes to this state of being engaged and present with what you’re experiencing.
So the challenge that we’re saying yes to doesn’t have to be big and super challenge-ey.
Having a conscious relationship with yourself and your stuff is the challenge.
It might only be the challenge of noticing where your breath is. The challenge of giving yourself permission to stop when things get hard. Or the challenge of paying attention to what you’re feeling and thinking in any given moment.
But it’s yours. And you choose it.
Confidential to CB.
And everyone else who hit a wall with yesterday’s post, or whose monsters are using this concept of the middle to make you feel bad about yourself.
You’re not in the middle, sweetpea. The middle is where we are when we choose not to consciously engage with our stuff.
If you’re asking yourself questions about your relationship to the middle, that’s conscious engagement. Which is already a very advanced practice.
And the thing is: consciously interacting with ourselves and our stuff is hard. And you are brave and wonderful for being in it. That is all.
And comment zen for today…
Oh, this is hard, challenging stuff. Working on our stuff is so full of things to trip over.
It’s a process. And sometimes it’s also kind of a pain in the ass.
Wishing you support with whichever part you’re working on. As always, we let people have their own experience, and we do this by being supportive and kind and not giving advice unless they ask for it.
Internet hugs all around, to anyone who needs one.