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.

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.

Very Personal Ads #49: speaking of “wah!”

very personal adsPersonal 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 weekly ritual for clarity and remembering and stuff like that. Yay, ritual!

Let’s do it.

Thing 1: rest.

Here’s what I want:

I am completely wiped out from the madness of opening the Playground plus teaching all weekend plus I’ll be teaching all week.

So: all things restorative are of vital importance at the moment.

Ways this could work:

Go back to the “in bed at nine, lights out at ten” thing that was so helpful the last time this happened.

It is time for some Old Turkish Lady yoga. Oh yes.

Also: bed. And more bed.

Related: I have an official Pirate Queen Holiday (aka non-Emergency Vacation) coming up in a few weeks. Spending some time mentally and emotionally preparing for that could be useful.

And maybe I can cancel or move around some things this week. My little monsters are not loving this suggestion but we’ll see.

My commitment.

I will take this seriously.

Shavasana.

Being with water. In many possible forms. Tea. Mineral pool. Hot tub. Long bath.

I will peek at the Book of Me to see if there’s other stuff like this that I’m forgetting.

Thing 2: movement with a pattern.

Here’s what I want:

There’s a particular pattern in my life that needs some attention right now.

It has to do with sovereignty. And with containment. And with making choices.

And I can’t tell you a whole lot more than that right now because my head is full and the clarity isn’t happening.

Ways this could work:

Regular Shiva Nata, of course.

It is time to resume flailing.

My commitment.

Ten minutes a day.

Tp be followed by writing down whatever comes up in response to the question, “What do I need to know about this?”

Thing 3: help implementing some shivanautical epiphanies!

Here’s what I want:

This weekend of teaching at the Playground was awesome.

I had about nineteen thousand amazing ideas. And some pretty outrageous and astonishing realizations.

And now I want to do stuff with them. And am kind of afraid I won’t.

Ways this could work:

I could set some time aside to review what came up and decide which baby ideas need the most love.

They could just sort themselves out.

I don’t know.

My commitment.

To read over my notes.

To tread gently with whatever tiny, sweet things are being born or imagined there.

To ask: what is needed here?

Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.

Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.

The really big thing I wanted was a solution to the floor problem, and we ended up just putting down a bunch of rugs. So it wasn’t really that big of a problem after all.

And we’ll get the wood floor in there in a few weeks.

I also asked for more wondrous brunching excitement for the Playground, and lots of Fun Brewing specialness. And I feel good about that.

Hiro posted a conversation with me (in which I wax incoherent about my love for this fabulous, kooky space). My Bitchy Boozy Coaching class filled up and now I have to remember to set up a new one at some point.

But the main thing is: you guys have been so happy for me. I feel really loved and supported. Thank you.

Other than that, I just wanted “to maintain calm and steadiness and a sense of fun”. And that totally happened.

So that’s brilliant. Well asked, me-from-last-week!

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 #96: let us say wah!

Friday chickenBecause 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.

Ohmygod.

This week.

Was the crazy.

To the point that by Toozday afternoon, we were already pretty sure that the week was over already because of how much tired. Yeeeees.

The hard stuff

The busy.

Oh, the insanity of running a business while opening a studio while preparing to teach a retreat while meeting deadlines while having repairs done to Hoppy House.

What?!

But so busy.

I think the last time I had a week this intense was when I was working at two bars at the same time, but at the wrongest times.

So I’d close out one place at six a.m. and be at the other one at noon to open.

This was kind of like that but without alcohol or caffeine.

Speaking of busy, have you seen my calendar? Good grief.

Remember how last week bizarre circumstances lead to two canceled client calls?

Well, the earliest calendar opening to re-book them was end of August.

So even though I’d cleared out this week for Playground-ing, I just didn’t want anyone to have to wait three months for an hour of my time.

That’s why I have to hide my Hire Me page. I’m not even kidding. Somehow people still find it.

For the record, I adore my clients and they are super fun to work with. So it wasn’t the sessions that was the hard. It was looking at my calendar that was the hard.

No drunk pirate council for two weeks already.

Because we’re doing stuff.

But I miss Drunk Pirate Council (that’s what we call our “meetings” because otherwise I’ll find an excuse not to show up).

I don’t even want to know how much stuff is piling up there. Don’t tell me.

Various Playground-sustained injuries.

Mostly from getting in and out of tightly packed cars, carrying things up flights of stairs, moving heavy furniture.

And yes, the irony does not escape me.

This lovely place of relaxation and Old Turkish Lady yoga making me hurt. Ow.

Someone trying to bully me.

Which is stupid, because here’s what happens when people try to bully me.

I switch from sweet yoga teacher mode to bartender in south Tel Aviv mode.

And that is not fun for the people wanting to push me around.

You see, I know what it’s like to have a vodka bottle thrown at my head. I am good at ducking. And I am good at throwing things back. And I’m not afraid to get in a fight. Annoying.

The good stuff

Coming up with the perfect thing to say.

So as we know, I really dislike being asked what I do.

And since we’ve been running around all week picking up bizarre things (pirate chest! juice glasses with mustaches on them!) for the Playground, we’ve gotten all kinds of questions.

Here’s what I don’t want to have to say:

“Well, my duck is kind of an internet celebrity. And I write a blog? About personal development stuff? Kind of like, non-cheesy not-embarrassing self-help that also doubles as business advice?

“Anyway, Selma and I lead retreats and workshops and whatnot. And so we’re opening a studio so that we can stop traveling all the time. Also, there are pirates involved. And monsters. Never mind. It’s complicated.”

So then my gentleman friend started explaining that we’re opening a pirate-themed yoga studio.

Which is awesome because then people just go, Oh.

Also, my business cards say pirate queen, so it works.

It’s still kind of a terrible explanation since I personally would be appalled by the thought of a pirate-themed yoga studio. But it’s also hilarious. And cuts down on conversation. Whew.

Speaking of pirates. Pirate me! In German!

Timm wrote this awesome piece about me. Well, about metaphors. But using my whole pirate queen thing as the primary example.

If you read German, you should read it. And if not, you should go look at the extremely hot photo of some woman who is not me.

I need to dye my hair red immediately.

Everyone is so great!

The help with the Fun Brewing! The love and sweet wishes! The way so many people have volunteered to help in so many different ways!

My people are the best. You guys are amazing. It’s out of control.

Playground!

It’s ready.

After five months of singing it lullabies, we finally get to be together.

And I am over-the-top happy about it.

Today!

The first ever workshop at the Playground starts today at noon-thirty and ends Sunday afternoon.

And you won’t find it on the events page or the main fun-brewing page, because it’s a private retreat for one of my ongoing programs.

I am so completely excited.

These are some of my favorite people in the world. And we are going to do some serious damage this weekend. But in a good way. Yay!

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?

Jungle Jim Jay Walking Suspicious Lee

Sometimes known as The Jungle Jim Jay Walking Suspicious Lee Trio.

It does sound like three people, yes. But it really is … just one guy.

(Though I really did want to call this band Peter Doubt and Rock Doubt. Tee hee.)

* Thanks to Tara the Blonde Chicken for letting me borrow her husband’s fake name too.

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.

The Day Before.

Background?

Back in January. I was in Monterey, teaching a six day Destuckification Retreat, having a ridiculously good time, and also getting pounded by some hardcore shivanautical epiphanies.

Anyway. I knew we needed a Playground. And so I wrote it a love letter.

And we were off!

And now it’s the day before.

This whole time, whenever things got a little insane, I’d tell Selma and my gentleman friend that it’s just like putting on a play.

It never seems like it will be ready. And then boom last minute dress rehearsal opening night curtain goes up and all of a sudden you have a play.

But honestly? I was still not completely convinced it would happen for us.

We open tomorrow. Yesterday morning we still didn’t have lighting, rugs, or a finished stage.

And still. Somehow, it’s all coming together.

At the last minute, exactly as it should.

We magically found the exact right number of eco-friendly carpet remnants to cover the stage.

Which saved us $160. And that turned out to be perfect because that was exactly how much we needed for the ancient, fabulous, insane floor lamps.

Then my gentleman friend found the most perfect pirate-ey chest at a consignment shop.

The right tablecloth turned up in a grocery store, of all places.

The beverage dispenser thing-ey needed to be raised and there was nothing to put it on. But then I found the exact right sized box.

And remembered that half yard of goofy sailing ship cloth that I bought just in case of something something. And it worked.

We oozed our fair share of blood, sweat and tears, but by late last night we had something that looked more or less like a Playground.

We’ve done the hard part.

All the internal and external stuff to prepare for the arrival of something you really want.

All the things you have to make safe for a tiny, sweet thing with tiny, sweet toes.

I had to make room for the part of me who thinks that if something good happens, something bad must follow.

We invoked some serious protection.

Then there was the first welcoming. The almost-baby shower.

And the pirate monkey barn-raising that turned into a fun-brewing party.

And everyone has been helping.

Our sweet Willie illustrated monsters!

And Malwina made us pirate-ey cushions and is sending them from The Netherlands.

Tara the Blonde Chicken is teaching a class on pricing to raise fun and funds for us.

You guys have sent love and wishes and jumped up and down with happiness for me. You’ve sent monies and cards and sometimes even sock monkeys.

Plus extraordinary help from Hiro (whose clairvoyant abilities also helped us find the space to begin with).

I thought I knew what grateful felt like.

But it’s like discovering a new color. The warmth in my heart is so … huge. Thank you.

Also my gentleman friend.

Thank you, my love. For many things. But especially for:

  • going along with my hare-brained schemes, often even enthusiastically.
  • painting and scrubbing and lifting and arranging and doing mysterious things with power tools.
  • building the most beautiful stage a Shiva Nata teacher could ever want.
  • talking me down from some scary places.
  • appreciating my kooky ideas and for making me laugh.
  • believing in me and my work.

Tomorrow at noon we begin.

There’s still a lot to do. Cue hysterical laughter. Yeeeeees.

The ship’s wheel arrives today. The meditation cushions are late. We have to drive around the city picking stuff up from PDX etsy-ites.

And buy curtains. And put up shelves.

Also, at this point I could probably write volumes about the difference between an internet business and having a live space.

So many things you need that I hadn’t even thought of. Like a vacuum cleaner and a really tall ladder.

And seventeen thousand pairs of scissors because somehow you can never find one when you need it.

So there’s a lot to happen before collapsing in bed tonight.

So it’s not about being done.

Because hahahahahaha. And also because we still need to put in the yoga floor before the next group arrives.

And get more supplies.

So yes. There is still much raising of fun and funds to be done, and so the fun brewing extravaganza continues.

But this feeling of hey this is really and truly working is here. It showed up last night around 9:00 pm, and I still felt it this morning when I got up.

I’ll try and post pictures tomorrow or Sunday. In the meantime, thank you for being a part of this with me.

Whenever things got hard or weird or overwhelming, I thought about the crazy great thing that is this space.

How much I adore you guys.

And what a safe, comfortable, loving place we’ve built here. And that if it’s possible to do something like that online, whatever would happen in person would be incredible.

That’s it.

I have to go do a thing with Hope the realtor of hopefulness. And decorate the Refueling Station.

And pick up juice glasses and buy lemons and clean clean clean clean clean.

Oh, and I’m also teaching a teleclass today for some reason. So yes, that’s hilarious.

In the meantime, I will be here too.

Thank you for being with me while I do this. It means everything to me.

You guys!

The Fluent Self