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.
Very Personal Ads #50: equilibrium
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: maintaining sovereignty in the midst of intense movement.
Here’s what I want:
Okay, so I have the most outrageous week coming up.
Six days straight of non-stop teaching. Teaching really fun things, but a lot at once.
My wish: to stay grounded and centered.
To stay connected to myself and check in on what I need.
To maintain sovereignty and keep that crown on.
Ways this could work:
Mindfulness as an extreme sport.
Noticing everything that’s not working and making adjustments as necessary.
Noticing everything that is working and breathing a sigh of happy appreciation.
Help from the lovely Hiro.
My commitment.
To take slow, deep breaths.
To laugh.
To use the stuff I teach.
To be as flexible and adaptable as possible.
To remember that chaos is my friend.
Thing 2: Patience.
Here’s what I want:
I’m going to be having some seriously huge shivanautical epiphanies this week.
The Dance of Shiva teacher training alone is going to set off all sorts of big, crazy understandings.
But I won’t be able to do anything with them for a while, because of all the busy.
So I need to be able to trust that whatever gets seeded this week will grow into the next thing, whether I have time to deal with it or not.
Ways this could work:
I can keep a “moments of bing” notebook. If I remember to pick up a notebook.
I can write the word TRUST on the palm of my hand with my finger.
And wonderful, unlikely surprises can happen.
My commitment.
To maintain a state of containment on the one hand, and receptivity on the other.
To remind myself that I don’t need to know where this is going yet.
To be patient with my lack of patience.
To not have to have everything make sense, including that last sentence.
Thing 3: Serious self-care. God that sounds so cheesy. But it’s what I want.
Here’s what I want:
To notice when I’m starting to feel depleted.
And to do something about it.
To treat myself as lovingly as I do my students.
To stop. Check in. Find out what’s needed. And do it. Or at least do part of it.
Ways this could work:
I don’t know.
But that’s the intention.
My commitment.
To pause more often.
To say oh sweetie maybe we can’t fix everything but is there one thing that would make life sweeter, softer or easier for you?
To ask for help. Even though I suck at this.
Thing 4: Sovereignty Kindergarten
Here’s what I want:
Hiro is teaching a six week course on how to keep your crown on, even when other people insist on trying to knock it off.
You know, how to not care when people throw shoes. And how to protect yourself from people who invade your space. And how to take care of the queendom (or kingdom) of your life.
It’s basically going to be the best thing that ever was.
I would love to see this class fill up with amazing people.
Ways this could work:
The magic of the internets, of course.
My commitment.
I will write a blog post on stuff I know about sovereignty. It will definitely be useful for me. It will probably be useful for you. And maybe it will help Hiro as well.
Also, I will give you the link to her class: Sovereignty Kindergarten.

Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I asked for rest and got plenty of it. In fact, I kind of spent most of the week in bed, so that was awesome.
The recovery period was kind of brutal though, so next time I’ll also ask myself for more ease and patience with that.
I also needed stuff to start shifting in relation to a pattern I’m working on, and there’s been some serious progress with that so yay.
And I needed help implementing epiphanies. Which sort of happened and sort of didn’t. It needs work. But I’ll dance it up tomorrow and find out what is next.

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! Thank you for doing this with me.
Friday Chicken #97: FBOTW FTW
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.
Friday is clearly wearing extra-soft sneakified ninja slippers because ohmygod here it is and I didn’t even hear it coming.
I would protest. But I’m too tired.
The hard stuff
Being so completely wiped out from last week that I missed this week.
After that crazy week of getting the Playground ready to open, and then teaching all weekend, I crashed ridiculously hard.
Went to bed Sunday at two in the afternoon.
Stayed there until Wednesday at noon. Getting out of bed to teach teleclasses and then crawling right back in.
Having way too much to do.
And no energy to do it.
Body, meet brain.
Off my yoga practice. Off the morning walks.
A little Shiva Nata to stay sharp, but other than that really missing my body.
It’s all part of this new thing, but some adjustments are necessary and I’m really feeling that.
Blah, blah, transitions.
And the mini-identity-crises that come along with them.
The good stuff
The opening of the Playground: outrageous success!
Despite all the last-minute things and the running around, the Playground looked fabulous by Friday morning.
And everyone just loved it.
Oh, the joy.
Learning things from the first experience of teaching at the Playground.
Like that I need to completely rewrite the schedule for all my upcoming events.
And that Camp Biggification was actually too big and I need to divide it up (don’t worry — if you haven’t already heard from me, you’re fine, sweetie).
Every teaching space is different. And what you can do in it is different. That’s one of the main reasons for opening the studio: not having to get used to new spaces.
So. Learned a lot of useful, surprising things. Glad to have that information.
Teaching!
My group was amazing.
We did the most beautiful, wacky, transformational things. And jumped around. And laughed. And made things happen.
It was absolutely wonderful.
Plus I love the stage that my gentleman friend built. Having a home for teaching Shiva Nata is the best thing in the entire world.
My Bitchy Boozy Coaching day thing.
It’s turning out to be way too much fun.
I will have to do this again.
Epiphanies. All over the place.
I cannot stop scribbling.
So. Many. Good. Ideas.
Not worrying about the two things I’ve been the most worried about lately.
So that’s a huge relief.
Taking it easy.
I spent a lot of this week doing things that weren’t related to the business.
Staring out the window at the rain.
Writing.
But for me.
This coming week = yay.
There’s the Shiva Nata teacher training. And Camp Biggification!
The fun. It will be epic.
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 FBOTW (Fake Band of the Week — and also a dreaded acronym):
Metaloaf
And that’s Meta-loaf, not Metal Oaf, even though that’s also probably 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.
Putting iguanas to bed.
Iguanas = the things you don’t feel like doing.
Sometimes you have a mess of them. And sometimes a giant pile of iguanas and doom.
Calling them iguanas makes it easier. Kiss to Karen for the awesome Inowanna Iguana.
Also: wanting to avoid things is normal.

The hardest part of putting an iguana to bed.
It’s not the way they want another story and then another one.
Or having to remember to bring a glass of water IN THE BLUE CUP like they want it.
It’s deciding which iguana to put to bed if you only have time for one of them.
When all the others are crying and clamoring READ ME A STORY TOO. TUCK ME IN TOO. DON’T YOU WANT TO TAKE CARE OF ME TOO?
Oh, sweet iguanas that I avoid so studiously.
I wish you could please put your enormous-eyed sad-eyed glances to some other use because right now I can only deal with one of you.
And whichever iguana I choose, another one is super sadmouse mcgee.
But if I hesitate and waver, pretty soon a day is gone and not a single iguana has gone to bed.
So one. It will have to be one.
And I’m choosing this one.
Epiphanies without a filter.
My favorite thing about Shiva Nata is not even the ridiculously clear information it gives about everything in my life.
It’s not even the permission to be terrible at something (you have to be terrible at it because being terrible at it is the way you get the epiphanies).
And it’s not the way it makes your patterns so completely obvious that they actually bore you, and changing them becomes something playful and silly.
My absolute favorite thing is the way it zaps whatever filters I have that normally obstruct internal wisdom and keep it from getting to my conscious brain.

Answers without filters.
When I teach, we do ten minutes or so of mad flailing. And then I ask questions. And we write answers.
This is how I found the bridge.
And this is some of what I learned last weekend from my brain talking to me without filters:
In what situations do I avoid doing things that would help me feel more comfortable?
WIth authority figures. Or people I perceive as authority figures.
In public interactions. Like buying groceries. Fear of being judged, chastised, corrected.
Also when I teach. It’s as if a certain level of physical discomfort is necessary (when that’s clearly not true).
How do I make myself more comfortable in my business?
Permission to not have to do things I’m not ready for. Permission to find work-arounds that help me feel safe.
More ways to hide! More barriers. More grounding. More time talking to my business.
How do I help my people feel more comfortable without sacrificing my own sense of comfort?
Being welcoming. Clear forms and structures. Letting people know what’s going to happen next.
If I had a giant permission slip … what would be different?
I’d never go to another dinner party again.
I would buy a dining room table even though it’s — gasp! — not investing back into my business. I would do resting-ey things without guilt.
Be barefoot always. Go to a spa. Dance all day.
If I didn’t care so much what other people thought …
My daily practice would be my work. More integration.
I would write more.
If I spent more time giving myself access to the qualities that sustain me:
I would have a lot of alone time.
There would be more dancing.
My soul and I would be best friends and we’d hold hands and skip down the street.
Ironically, I know that this stuff is what feeds my business too. But my brain still says that it would be neglecting the business to care for myself.
This is the classic example of when you know what is true intellectually, and no amount of verbal reframing can change things. Because you already agree with all the points being made.
But your body is in resistance anyway.
This is the pattern. And this is what I need to do Shiva Nata on.
What creates containment?
- boundaries
- ritual
- acceptance
- reflection
- entry and exit points
- reflection
All of these things come together to create sovereignty.
Sovereignty = necessary for containment. And vice versa.
Or: Whatever brings you more containment connects you to your sovereignty.
What would bring me more containment?
Structure.
The Book of Me.
Having obvious structures/containers/rituals around things like going to bed.
Having the balls to say: “You know what? I changed my mind.”
Trusting that enclosed spaces are not prisons.
What do I know about useful boundaries? What boundaries are useful for me?
The one between me and my computer.
The one at the edge of my physical space.
Grounding.
Also nonviolent communication is a boundary: with words.
Doing Shiva Nata gives me that sensory perception of having a field of protection.
A moving circle of protectors.
Rituals that support me: what are some useful elements?
Music. Time. Writing. Having a prescribed end time. I need to know when it will end.
Separation.
If I were able to be more accepting of myself and my stuff …
I would have more patience with myself in this moment right now.
I would give myself a break.
Both in the sense of calling a pause, and in the sense of giving myself permission to fall apart a little.
There would be much acknowledging of my own hard. And some forgiveness.
What do I know about reflection?
Things are connected.
Sometimes I feel a rush of annoyance and I know it isn’t mine. That I’m picking up on someone’s thing and not making a quick enough clear enough boundary.
If I am filling my space with me, what gets reflected back to me is grace and beauty.
If I am not, what gets reflected back is other people’s stuff.
So it’s not like this:
“Here is a boundary exists to keep me from their stuff and to repel their stuff back to them.”
No. It’s about reflecting light as a general way of being — both so that I can be filled with me and so they can see that it’s their stuff.
So reflection is connected to fullness. Interesting.
Then what about depletion? What’s that?
–> Fullness is to reflection what depletion is to distortion.
What happens when I get depleted?
I go into distortion.
I need to fill up on me again.
Safety — for me — is found in going inward. This is not true for many of my people, for whom turning inward feels really unsafe.
Working with people who are curious about their internal workings — about Very Interior Design — means finding ways to create safety for this process.
Entry and exit points: what do we know about them?
They need to be more defined. They need ritual. Transitioning is special. Moving out and in is a space where things happen.
These spaces are … huh the word that’s coming is “blessed” that’s totally not something I would ever say but okay.
I did not know that.
These spaces need extra love and attention. Rituals to start. Rituals to end. Rituals of re-entry.
Where do I find protection?
In the dance. In my self. In Hoppy House. In teaching. In writing. In asking to get better at receiving it.

Comment zen for today …
This stuff is from my notes and unedited for coherency. 🙂
I’m not sharing this stuff because I’d like advice because I don’t actually. I’m sharing it because I think the process is useful.
And I think some of these questions are useful. So even if you haven’t done any Shiva Nata today or ever, you can play with these too if you like.
Old Turkish Lady yoga. Interior design.
Whenever I mention that there will be optional Old Turkish Lady yoga at one of my events, people invariably want to know what the hell.
The funniest, most delightful variation on that question came from a lovely reader who identified herself as someone who was an old Turkish lady and was dying to know what I was talking about.
And then yesterday, Claire wondered:
I envision two possibilities: creaky stiff old ladies being super mellow and gentle with their yoga OR totally badass little old Turkish ladies one might underestimate at first glance, but who are mighty and flexible: yoga ninjas.
So it’s definitely the first one.
But maybe some explaineyness. Because there are surprising, useful things to be learned from being an Old Turkish Lady.
Flashback to Berlin. Again.
The week after I finally got my international yoga teaching certification, I left Tel Aviv and moved to Berlin.
This was my much fantasized-over ticket out of a loooong ten year stretch of poverty and suckiness, and I was very clear on two things:
1. yoga was the cure to everything.
2. I was never going to work at a bar again for as long as I lived.
Like with most things, I was both right and wrong about both of those.
Anyway, I arrived in Berlin and immediately met up with the ear infection of doom that nearly took me out.
Yoga failed me. But then it saved me again.
Six months later.
I was weak and tired. But at least my hearing was back.
My regular yoga practice now consisted of rolling around on the floor and groaning.
My best friend from Israel dragged me to the Turkish Women’s Center to do yoga with the old Turkish ladies.
We used rugs instead of mats, which was awesome.
We did transcendentally simple poses. Holding. Breathing. Releasing. Resting.
It was yoga whose purpose was pure curiosity and experimentation: huh, what happens when I move my knee this way as opposed to that way?
Until I became an old Turkish lady myself.
The class after us was kickboxing and it was packed with our German lesbian artist friends and neighbors, drag kings and semi-ironic-cabaret kids.
We knew most of them and occasionally we’d get one to join us for Old Turkish Lady yoga first, but they never liked it.
So it was just me and my best friend and the Turkish ladies. Rolling on the floor. Hugging knees to chest. Stretching. Sighing. Laughing.
Slow, loving, intentional interaction with body, thoughts, feelings, muscles, breath, cells.
Women who had clearly never spent a lot of time in their bodies doing things that you don’t generally do in public. Or at all.
And so completely loving every second of it. I loved it too.
And another few months went by.
My body was healed. But I didn’t want to go back to an athletic, fast-paced practice.
I’d gotten used to the massive amounts of deep, internal work that could be done while hanging out in a soft, open pose.
You didn’t need your mental and emotional powers to keep you from falling on your face, so you could use them for other things.
Unlikely, wonderful things.
So when I was teaching Dance of Shiva, I’d throw in some Old Turkish Lady yoga after class. Everyone loved it.
And several years passed.
I moved to San Francisco. Started my business.
And then to Portland.
Became a pirate queen. And promoted myself to Director of Mad Flailing at what was now The Fluent Self, Inc. And opened the coolest studio in the world.
When the fabulous and super-famous Jennifer Louden asked if I’d teach destuckification tricks at her most amazing Writer’s Retreat in the world last year, I said wheeeeeeeee!
And when she asked if I could teach a week of daily yoga classes there too, I enthusiastically agreed, as long as I could teach Old Turkish Lady yoga.
It was crazy fun.
I’m doing it again this year. If you’re a woman and you even occasionally think about writing, you should come.
And then this week.
I was eating biscuits (biscuits!) with Kelly and we were talking about the Playground and how gorgeous and kooky it is.
And I remembered something I hadn’t thought of in nearly twenty-five years.
When I was little, my what-do-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up dream was to be an interior designer.
I was fascinated by colors and fabrics and placement of things. I read piles of books at the library. And took notes.
The dream fizzled. I have zero recollection of how. In fact, until the biscuit conversation with Kelly, all of this had been completely forgotten.
Which makes me think that this tiny, sweet thing had died the kind of horrible death that makes you repress the things that are most important to you.
And then.
It’s weird, I mused, that something as hugely important to me as interior design had been forgotten like that. Like I’d just tripped over something again.
“But that’s what you do for a living,” Kelly said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Interior. Design. You do interior design.”
I do interior design.
Very, very interior.
Like the stuff that happens when we do destuckification and talk to monsters and work on sovereignty.
The same deep work that happens when we flail around and generate shivanautical epiphanies. And the stuff we do during Old Turkish Lady yoga.
Very, very interior.
I am an old Turkish lady. And also an interior designer.
It’s good. Because actually we’re all old Turkish ladies.
And we can be interior designers too.

Comment zen for today …
“Yoga” is one of those trigger words. Like “feminism”.
It means a wide variety of different things to different people. So it’s something we can trip over.
Personally? When I say yoga, I’m referring to two things:
1) The art and science of learning about yourself and your stuff so you can meet yourself where you are.
2) A physical practice — that anyone can do* — that involves using movement and stillness to get better at paying attention to your sensations, your body and your surroundings.
* If you can breathe and move your fingers, you can do yoga. Look, you’re doing it right now!
That’s it.
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We try to let people have their own experiences.