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.
Exit the middle.
When I was a yoga teacher in Tel Aviv, there was a class I liked to attend that was just incredibly slow.
The simplest, most basic poses. Transitioning in and out of them at an extraordinarily slow, almost ritualistic pace.
It was, technically speaking, what you could call an “easy” class. But I wouldn’t have called it that at all.
The place of no middle.
This slow-slow-slow simple-simple-simple class was usually attended by absolute beginners.
And me, along with the owner of the yoga studio and occasionally another teacher.
At the end of class, we’d be pouring sweat. All of us. Wiped out.
The beginners would be sweating from the exertion of being at the beginning.
Where it’s all new and challenging. A million things to notice, feel, examine, experiment with, process.
Those of us who were teachers were sweating because when you have an advanced practice, you bring it everywhere.
We were bringing all of ourselves into each rudimentary motion, all of our curiosity and attention into each stretch of a limb.
We were in it. And so it was as exhausting and challenging as a hard physical practice, maybe even more so. This class became about immersing fully in each sensation, which is intense.
The middle.
If you caught a glimpse of us after class, red-cheeked, sweat-stained and blissful, you’d have no idea which of us were the advanced students and which the beginners.
But you could always tell when people in the middle were there.
They weren’t sweating, for one thing. Because it wasn’t hard for them.
Also, they were complaining. About how it wasn’t hard, how boring it was.
The problem with this class, according to them, was that it wasn’t a challenge. But only because no one gave them a challenge.
The problem with the middle.
Beginners don’t need anyone to hand them a challenge. Because everything is challenging.
People with advanced practices also don’t need challenge. When you have an advanced practice, you find challenge everywhere because you’re curious and intentional about every aspect of what you’re doing.
Your challenges reveal themselves naturally. You experiment. You play and explore. You intentionally choose to interact with everything in a conscious, curious way.
You don’t need to wait for a perceived authority to tell you how to make something harder. Or, if necessary — and often this is necessary! — how to make something easier. You trust your own ability to solve this.
You make adjustments. Because you’re in it. You’re there. Consciously engaging with the world around you as a way of being.
This post is not actually about yoga.
I mean, in a sense it is. In the same way that all my posts are actually about yoga.
But it isn’t about yoga.
The middle exists everywhere. In business. In the blogging world that I inhabit. In gyms and coaching programs and on Etsy and on Twitter.
Everywhere you look: middle.
How the middle works.
In the yoga studio, the people in the middle are the ones who want harder poses. More exertion! More challenge! More fixing!
In my own classes, the middle doesn’t show up nearly as much because the basic premise is a) we’re supposed to be doing it badly, and b) the whole point is seeking out challenge.
But you still see it. It’s the people who want you to challenge them instead of finding new ways to challenge themselves. Or it’s the people who want you to tone it down, instead of giving themselves permission to do less.
In business, the middle is filled with people looking outward to find out what the “internet famous” people are doing, instead of inward to find out what is theirs.
Instead of innovating and making (or playing with what’s there in order to make it your own), the middle copies what already exists.
In the middle is all this wanting to be there already. It is not fun, being in the middle.
No one is keeping us there.
Most people think the middle is where we are until we get good, until someone tells us we are ready or gives us a grade. No. There are no grades, and external sources of legitimacy are not relevant here. The middle is where we are until we remember we get to be conscious.
Staying in the middle means being cut off from sovereignty.
In the middle, you need other people to show you what to do. You’re constantly waiting for other people to deliver. And constantly disappointed when what they give you doesn’t live up to your expectations.
Once we step out of the middle, we get to make conscious decisions about what appeals to us, what we might want to try.
The way to exit the middle is not by doing something or accomplishing anything or getting anywhere.
You just decide.
You just decide. You say it:
Here I am. I’m ready and willing to consciously engage with everything in my life, with the ecology of my life.
I’m open to finding challenges in the places where challenge is needed, and challenging myself to find ease when ease is needed.
That’s it. We’re out of the middle.
Comment zen
I have a lot more to say about this, unsurprisingly. Examples. Ways to apply this. Caveats and disclaimers and so on.
But it was starting to turn into way too much to digest in one post.
So take this as a beginning: a useful concept to start playing with.
As always: we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff.
And if I accidentally stepped on your stuff while processing my stuff … I apologize. Not my intention.
In the meantime, if you want to think out loud about about situations where the getting out of the middle is the best thing to do (or other ways to exit the middle), I’m here.
EDIT: Here’s the follow-up post with more thoughts on all of this.
Talking to the Book Monster.
I talk to my monsters. Kind of a lot.
Last week I talked to the one who doesn’t want me to go on Skabbatical. This time: an especially bizarre conversation with the most giant monster of all: Book Monster.
Usually I get a Negotiator to show up. But the only one who is intimidated by my book is me.
So it was clear that I’d need to do the negotiating on this one because no one else can even see this monster.
Also: usually my book monsters are the scariest, most doom-filled, threatening, “you don’t deserve this and you’re not good enough and everyone will hate you and you will FAIL” monsters ever, but that’s not at all what happened. Anyway.
A very unlikely beginning.
Me: So. What happens if I write the book?
Monster: Gaaaaaaaaah. Disaster!
Me: Tell me more.
Monster: (sighs) Where do I even start? First of all, you’ll get fat.
Me: Huh?!?! Where did that come from?
Monster: Look at all your friends who gained weight like crazy while working on their books. It’s like a pregnancy, but worse. Especially since no one ever says, “oh, you’re eating for two” when you’re writing a book.
Me: (cracking up) You’re kidding, right? That’s what you’re worried about? You know, I wasn’t sure what you were going to come up with but I DEFINITELY wasn’t expecting that. Really? That’s my fear about writing a book? That I’ll gain weight?!
My monsters like to know that there’s a plan.
Monster: (tries to be menacing) And never take it off! And you won’t get any sympathy! From anyone!
Me: You know, I have to say … I’m not completely sure I believe you. I think you’re probably trying to distract me. But I did write a section in the monster manual about how it’s good to treat monster objections as if they’re legitimate. So … okayyyyyy.
Monster: Nu?
Me: Alright. Can we come up with a plan for this?
Monster: What kind of plan?
Me: I don’t know. What if we walk for 45 minutes after every hour of spending time on the book?
Monster: That would be good.
Me: So what, you’re not worried?
Monster: Not if you have a plan.
Me: This is really screwed up.
Monster: Just tell me you have a plan.
Me: Alright! Good to know. I have a plan. What’s next? Give me some more objections. Why is this book a Very Disastrous Thing To Be Avoided?
Monster: You’ll turn into an annoying pompous asshat once you’ve been published.
Me: You believe that?
Monster: No. But it happened to so-and-so. And also that one person.
Me: Okay. I’ll come up with a plan for that one too. Actually, I’m pretty sure there is something about that in my Pirate Queen Vacation notes.
Monster: Fine.
Ah. Here comes the Doom!
Me: So what else? What do I need to be worried about, in your opinion?
Monster: (frowns seriously) You might not finish it. You do, after all, come from a long line of people who don’t finish things. It’s your heritage.
Me: First of all, that’s hardly true. And even if it were, what happens if I don’t finish it? What’s the big deal about not finishing?
Monster: DISASTER!!! DOOM!!!
Me: I know, I know, but what kind of disaster? Is it the shame and humiliation I should be worried about? Or other people’s criticism? Or self-doubt? Or is it that I’ll get paralyzed and won’t start other projects missions? Or the world will have expectations of me that I can’t meet? Or …?
Monster: Yes.
Me: Yes?
Monster: All of that.
Me: And … what if I’m okay with the possibility of not finishing it?
Monster: What?! WHAT?! Are you trying to break my head into a million pieces?! I do not even understand your question but I DEFINITELY DON’T LIKE IT.
This is The Book we’re talking about.
Me: So you’re saying it’s unacceptable to not finish things? Or, alternately, do you meant that it is impossible that I’d be okay with it?
Monster: Both.
Pause. We look at each other.
Monster: But more the second one. I just don’t see it. Why would you be okay with it?!
(That last bit said with such utter disgust you’d think I’d not only suggested eating worms but insisted that putting olive oil on them makes them more tasty).
Me: Huh.
Monster: Anyway, I wouldn’t let you be okay with it.
Me: I know. That’s why we’re having this conversation.
Monster: Which I didn’t want to have to begin with.
Me: I know, honey. And I appreciate it. Thank you.
Monster: Hmmph. Don’t try to be nice to me. It disrupts the order of the cosmos.
Me: Clearly. Anyway, why are you so determined to not let me be okay with starting a mission and not finishing it?
Monster: Are you kidding me?! This is The Book we’re talking about. The Book! If you start being okay with abandoning your dreams, we’ll have total chaos around here. End of Days! Doom!
Tell me more.
Me: Tell me more.
Monster: If you abandon a dream, it sticks up the works.
Me: The “works”? Are you speaking metaphorically.
Monster: Maybe. The point is, you really shouldn’t abandon dreams. It’s very bad for the system.
Me: The system.
Monster: My job is to make sure you don’t abandon the important dreams. But also that you don’t make progress on them. That way at least we maintain the status quo.
Me: Riiiiiiiiight. I have to say, this conversation isn’t going where I thought it might. Let me get this straight. You need to keep me from forward progress on dreams. While still making sure I don’t abandon them.
Monster: Yes.
Me: And tell me again why this is so important.
Monster: Oof. I told you.
Me: You said abandoning a dream sticks up the works. But what about moving forward? That sticks up the works too?
Monster: (extremely agitated) It disrupts the balance!
What do I know about balance?
Me: And balance is important because …?
Monster: What the hell kind of yoga teacher are you? Balance is an Extremely Important Principle!
Me: You’re right, at its essence. But this isn’t balance. It’s limbo. It’s living in limbo. Though this does kind of explain a lot of things in my life.
Monster: (suspicious) Limbo? Like sticks?
Me: No, like purgatory. Frozen. Paralyzed. In between.
Monster: (relieved) That’s what we’re going for, yes.
Me: But that’s not balance.
Monster: (narrows eyes) What do you mean?
Me: I’m a yoga teacher, remember? So I know about this stuff. Balance is related to flow. Things that are in a state of flow can achieve balance, which they do by reacting and adapting to new input. Paralysis isn’t balance. It’s stasis. It’s stagnation.
Monster: What are you saying?
Me: You’re not helping me achieve balance. You’re keeping me from achieving balance.
Monster: Oh no! Are you sure?
Me: Yeah.
Monster: Uh oh. Because I’m definitely supposed to be working in service of balance.
Remember San Francisco?
Me: Remember San Francisco? How the buildings are flexible instead of rigid so they can withstand earthquakes? That is balance.
Monster: (hangs head) Oh.
Me: Okay, so back to The Book. Assuming I’m in a state of balance that is informed by flexibility and flow … what if I start the book and then realize that another mission is actually a better use of my genius right now?
Monster: Where are you going with this?
Me: Well, maybe that wouldn’t count as “abandoning a dream”, would it?
Monster: I guess not. I hadn’t thought about it.
Me: So what if I stop treating the book like a dream that has the power to hurt me? And start treating it like a project mission that is related to stuff I’m passionate about?
Monster: I don’t know. That sounds really vague. And stupid.
The factory.
Me: Alright. What if we invited metaphor mouse to help come up with a better way to describe it?
Monster: (rolls eyes) As long as I don’t have to be there for that part, I don’t care.
Me: Right on.
Monster: Are we done? Can I go home now?
Me: Home? Where’s home?
Monster: The dream factory.
Me: You live in a dream factory?
Monster: The dream factory. What’s it to you?
Me: You know, usually I really dislike talking to you, but I think I’m kind of starting to like you.
Monster: You better not try to hug me or say namaste to me or something. You pull any of that hippie shit and this is our last conversation ever, sister.
Me: It’s cool. No hugging. I promise.
Monster: That was close.
Me: It so was not even slightly close but whatever, I’ll see you later.
Monster: Maybe.
Comment zen for today.
Talking to monsters is so hard. And challenging. And intimidating.
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We’re here to support each other. And part of how we let people have their own experience is by not giving advice — unless someone specifically asks for it.
This is an incredibly personal thing I’m sharing here — not to be told what to do with it, but in the hope that someone else gets a glimpse of something useful. Love, as always, to all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads.
The Rally.
When you’re close to someone, you learn all sorts of things about subjects you might not normally be interested in.
My gentleman friend is hugely knowledgeable about yoga because of me.
Thanks to me, he knows how to make really good hummus. Shares my strong opinions on permission marketing. Knows his way around east Berlin.
Thanks to him, I know way more than I ever imagined possible about the history of the west coast, motorcycles and the San Francisco Giants.
I also now know about birds, ukuleles, the Trade Winds, typefaces, why things break and eighteenth century sailing.
It’s all interesting. Mainly because someone I care about finds it interesting. But one thing I really love hearing about is the Rally.
I need to tell you about the Rally.
My gentleman friend is a long-time scooter guy.
(Though right now he mostly rides his motorcycle — a gorgeous 1976 BMW that’s the newest bike he’s ever owned, in case you were wondering).
So even though I don’t ride, I’ve learned all sorts of things about scooter culture.
And my favorite bit is the Scooter Rally. It is a marvelous thing. A thing I need to tell you about.
What happens at a Rally.
A rally is a ride. A group ride.
But it’s so much more than that.
It’s a big, complicated, crazy event. Attended by scooter enthusiasts. And full of madness and hilarity and wonderfulness.
And because I cannot do it justice, I made my gentleman friend answer a bunch of questions.
An Interview with my Gentleman Friend about the thing that is the Rally.
A Rally reinforces the culture.
Me: So the way I understand it, one thing people like about scooter rallies is how they’re an excuse to get together and hang out.
MGF: Right. It’s important that everyone have this thing — riding — in common, but riding isn’t the thing. Or: it ends up not being the most important thing.
I mean, it’s vital that there be a riding component, but there’s way more time talking about riding, thinking about riding, socializing, making contacts, playing goofy games…
Me: And what you get from a ride is …?
MGF: They reinforce the culture.
Once the rally is over, you’ve been immersed in this bath of people who are totally nuts in pretty much the same way that you’re totally nuts.
So when you go back to the world of people who aren’t nuts the way that you are, it’s still with you. You carry with you that glow of approval and camaraderie.
And a patch! Really, I can’t stress enough how important the patches are.
There is much accumulation of swag.
Me: A patch. Got it. And a t-shirt?
MGF: Exactly. Vital.
Also a pint glass. Because drinking reigns supreme. That is actually the most important part of the scooter rally. The drinking.
Which doesn’t seem like it would go with, you know, piloting a vehicle. That’s why the riding is in the morning.
You find your people.
Me: So how long is a rally generally?
MGF: Usually it’s a long weekend. Or just a weekend. Or a day, depending on the club.
Me: And do you know people before you go?
MGF: There’s generally a rally at the same time in the same city every year. It has a name.
So maybe the first time you go you don’t know anyone, so you feel kind of … hesitant, But you’ve probably been reading about it, or connecting online, so you’ll recognize names and faces.
And bikes. If it’s in your town you’ll recognize people’s bikes. It’s a great excuse to talk to people. And once you’ve gone to one, you’ll know a ton of people the next time.
And something happens. Various crazy, wonderful things.
Me: So you go for the ride but really you go for the bigger experience.
MGF: Yeah. I’m really the wrong person to be talking to about this part though, being admittedly an anti-social weirdo.
Me: No, that’s good.
MGF: Well, it’s just that I don’t have as much of a social experience as other people do.
But I just love the rides. It’s such an unlikely, exhilarating experience to be in a crowd of a hundred vintage scooters, just riding. It’s your people. Doing crazy, wonderful shit.
Me: What kinds of crazy, wonderful shit?
MGF: Oh, it’s almost a rule that there be crazy, wonderful shit.
For example, there’s usually some kind of competition, like a rodeo or an obstacle course or some weird, ridiculous, impossible game that you play on scooters but is actually not something anyone could do.
Involving, say, teeter-totters and refrigerator boxes.
And there are lots of awards: farthest traveled, most beautifully restored vintage, crap scooter, and so on.
What makes rallies so Rally-like.
Me: What’s the coolest award?
MGF: Oh, I’d have to say Best in Show.
[Here he pulls out a bunch of back issues of Scoot! Quarterly — he used to be their design person — to show me the Rally Review sections, and starts waxing nostalgic.]
Me: So back to why rallies are so Rally-like. The good stuff.
MGF: They have names. And costumes.
Like the Portland Dirty Clown Run. Mile-High Mayhem. Or the Poke-and-Dragger, a cross-dressing poker run (a traditional motorcycle-ey event that’s sort of like a motorized card game).
Me: What else?
MGF: All kinds of ludicrous games, winning stuff in the ludicrous games, drinking, mayhem, companionship, goofing off, much letting-down-of-hair.
Making new friends, seeing old ones.
Me: It’s fun.
MGF: Uh, yes. That is the whole point, really.
Me: I love it. I want a Rally! I want a Rally!
This is the concept that I have been searching for.
I’ve been aching to do an event that is completely different from the types of events I usually run.
Usually I teach stuff. And we go through wacky, transformative processes together. And there is time for integrating all that good stuff.
It’s an experience. A big, powerful, everything-is-different-now experience. And it’s awesome and I love it.
But I also want a new thing: something that’s not about learning or processing or experiencing. Something that’s about doing. Your own thing. But in community.
Not a retreat. And not a seminar.
A space to show up and get a bunch of stuff done on a project that you’re already working on. Movement!
With panache. And fabulousness. And costumes. And being extremely silly.
A Rally!
So I’m going to arrange a Projectizing Rally.
It doesn’t have a name yet.
But everyone will show up with a project they’re working on, and there will be playing.
And drag names. And costumes. And badges. And pie, of course.
Comment zen for today….
This is a new-ish idea, which means that it’s still a tiny, sweet thing. Which means we need to tread gently with it.
So I’m not ready for all the ways this could go wrong or not work or whatever.
What I would love is excitement! And drag names! And things that we could take from a Rally and apply to other things! RALLY!
EDIT! Also: go ahead and invent drag names for yourself and leave them in the comments. I need some help with the brainstormings. Selma is going as Duckface a l’Orange. Probably.
Very Personal Ads #54: Car 54, where are you?
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 do it.
Thing 1: Progress, baby.
Here’s what I want:
I have crazy work to do right now.
And some projects that need serious attention.
Ways this could work:
I have no idea but it kind of has to.
Possibilities:
- I will use The Game That Still Has No Name
- Or I could write about the Rally and how I want one
- Lots of Shiva Nata for unexpected and unlikely epiphanies
- It could stop being so damn hot for five minutes
- Surprise me.
My commitment.
To watch and wait and hope and stay connected to myself.
To ask smart questions.
To go back to bed when necessary.
Thing 2: Resolution to a sovereignty issue.
Here’s what I want:
This is a situation that demands from me a gracious, loving, sovereign response.
It is apparently time to step up and claim what is mine and be in my me-ness and my queen-ness.
It is also a somewhat challenging and slightly sticky situation.
And I need a way to be generous and supportive on the one hand, and firm and clear on the other.
Whatever action I end up taking needs to be very grounded, and also full of warmth. And, ideally, it is the perfect-for-everyone-involved solution.
Ways this could work:
Wow. No idea.
But it kind of has to.
I can do Dance of Shiva on it. I can take dictation while conversing with my various monsters.
I can book some sessions with Hiro, who knows all sorts of wise things about being sovereign, and who can work some pretty serious miracles.
I can ask for a perfect, simple solution.
My commitment.
To be receptive to the possibility that there are many ways in which this can be resolved, without having to Take A Stand.
To be willing to Take A Stand, should said stand need to be taken.
To meet everyone involved (including myself) with as much compassion and patience as I can muster.
To throw a tiny temper tantrum by myself, if necessary and as often as necessary.
To celebrate with berries when this thing is over.
Thing 3: For time to be on my side.
Here’s what I want:
There are several lovely projects treasure hunt missions that are wanting my attention this week.
I need things to kind of magically work out.
And the getting done part needs to coincide with the not going completely stark raving mad part.
Ways this could work:
One mission per day.
Designated time.
Rituals in. Rituals out.
Asking for help. Using the Deguiltified Chicken Board at the Kitchen Table.
Taking notes.
Breathing.
My commitment.
To notice what I need.
To remember to rest.
To dance up a storm. To take long walks.
To be in the zone when it’s there and to turn off when it is time for turning off.
To get better at trusting.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I asked for a word that was not Sabbatical and found it (Skabbatical!). And to get better at believing in the possibility of such a thing.
Huge progress. I spent two hours transcribing monster conversations as they happened in my head. And here’s what happened:
- None of those conversations were even slightly what I expected.
- I’ve resolved some Enormous Stucknesses: I’m okay with Skabbatical, I’m looking forward to working on my book, and if I can raise the money, I’m going to do a really nice Skabbatical, even if it takes me a while to plan it.
- My monsters are totally on my side. And way more than before. They weren’t even that mean. Or maybe: it’s the sovereignty thing. Maybe the stuff they say is just as harsh, but I’m not taking it as seriously.
- Knowing what you’re scared of makes it so easy to avoid it, plan for it, reframe it, change it. The monsters’ power is What-iffery. Get the information and they have no fear-hold on you.
- I kind of want to go on Monster Skabbatical, and just talk to monsters all day. Because it’s — weirdly — kind of fun. And it’s like Carolyn sessions: menapetzet all of my stucknesses. Yay!
And I wanted ease of integration back from Official Pirate Queen Holiday and that mostly happened. Well, what happened was that I didn’t get any work done. But yeah, transitions.
Comment zen. Here’s what I’d love today.
- Your own personal ads, small or large. Things you’ve asked for. Or are asking for. Or would like to ask for. Or updates on last time!
What I’d rather not have:
- The word “manifest”.
- Shoulds. As in, “You should be doing it like this” or “That’s not the right way to ask for things — instead it should be like x, y and z”
- To be judged, psychoanalyzed or given advices.
Wishing love and good things for your Very Personal Ads! So glad for everyone doing this with me.
Friday Chicken #101: things to do on a rainy day
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.
Yeah.
A hundred and one.
Now nothing to get excited about until two hundred, says Eeyore.
The hard stuff
Back to work. Again!
I know, I know.
It’s part of life. Blah.
But growth periods suck. And so does recovery time.
Even though my Official Pirate Queen Holiday Vacation was supposed to be restful (and it mostly was), I’d also set an intention to learn about my relationship to biggification.
And so I had all sorts of huge understandings and big crazy epiphanies.
So I came back kind of exhausted.
And despite the enormous piles of doom waiting for me, I couldn’t get out of recovery mode. Lots of sleeping. Lots of bleary-eyed confusion.
Lots of waiting. Frustrating. Normal, but frustrating.
You know when you miss someone and then they’re everywhere?
And all it takes is a hint of Desmond Dekker in a cafe in Seattle and … you start to doubt things.
My favorite pair of pants died a horrible death.
Totally unfair.
Almost having seventeen thousand heart attacks because of World Cup.
Seriously, that stuff is not good for my health.
Stress plus pain. Not good. I have grey hair now.
But of course I also am incapable of stopping. Oh, the roller coaster.
I was super sad when Ghana lost to Uruguay. I’ve been rooting for Ghana the whole time.*
Even against Germany. And I never root against Germany. Except in basketball. And world wars.
Anyway. Gah. Way too much stressful. I can definitely wait another four years to practice breathing some more.
* Except when they played the States, but that’s really only because what the hell, I live here now.
Kyeli is having surgery.
Big scary surgery. Please send her loving wishes for ease and comfort and a speedy recovery.
The good stuff
Insane amounts of writing.
Twenty one pages of monster conversations. Unbelievable.
It was way less stressful than I’d been imagining (which is why I’d been avoiding them).
And they were full of unexpectedness. Usually it’s the same old yeah yeah you’re trying to protect me by being cruel and horrible blah blah.
This time they gave me all sorts of useful new information. Feeling really glad that I asked.
Feather boas!
The other day, I said something about how now all I need is a feather boa.
Well.
Two of my lovely, lovely blog readers (thank you so much, Danielle and Mariko!) each had the idea of getting me a feather boa.
So now I have two.
Which is awesome.
And now I’m wondering if I should get in the habit of saying “now all I need is …”, just to see if whatever it is ends up in my mailbox.
I am the luckiest lady alive. Also, yay blogging. Who knew? If they’d told me there would be feather boas in it for me, I would have started years earlier.
Now all I need is …
Pickles.
First I had the best (and largest) pickle of my entire life while on the tail end of Pirate Queen Holiday Vacation.
And then my gentleman friend gave me his pickle while we were out at dinner. Possibly only to avoid an argument but still. I took it.
I saw Alice in Wonderland.
And loved it.
I wasn’t expecting to, after the especially depressing New Yorker review.
But wow.
It’s weird how I don’t think of Tim Burton as someone who shares my message, but there he was, speaking my mind in color.
- That a little madness is not only okay, it’s vital.
- That even within extremely confined, predetermined situations, you own your life, which means you get to make decisions for yourself.
- That you don’t have to know how to do what is needed — it’s enough to claim your powers (or hold the sword) and the rest will happen.
A considerably more thought-provoking film than I had anticipated. Though probably more so if you’re obsessing over sovereignty and its applications. I’m so glad to have seen it.
Good things I read this week.
This wonderful bit from Fi about the Stuff-Lover’s lament.
Spam comment of the week! We look flippant to your order.
I can’t even tell you how much I loved this.
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[Spammy Spammerson]
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?
Oar Or Ore
Though I believe they sometimes add a question mark to it, so it’s more like Oar Or Ore?
Anyway. They originally started out as an a capella group made up of former Navy Seals. But last I heard, it’s 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.