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.
Friday Chicken #92: Moonshine Tailbeams Waterloo Jones
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.
It’s been kind of a tornado of a week.
I feel a bit stunned, actually.
Hi. Friday.
We’re here. We’re chickening. Let’s do it.
The hard stuff
A lot of hard news.
Actually, it wasn’t even so much the hard news itself as the back and forth between hard news and hopeful news.
Followed by more hard news.
Huge ups and downs. The hards were really, really hard. And then when it wasn’t hard, everything still felt unsteady. Shaken up.
Related body stuff.
All that mental and emotional roller-coastering isn’t good for the rest of me.
Feeling the wear and tear.
Worrying about my gentleman friend.
He has been having a more challenging time with the hard news.
And then even if I don’t get sucked into the anxiety loop, there’s the loop-next-door of wanting him to feel better.
You know what helps with the hard? Yoga.
And Dance of Shiva. And meditation. And rituals.
Wanting more of all of that than what I was getting.
Especially when it was clear that this is the time to be focusing on the stuff that helps.
Can we move onto the good stuff now?
The good stuff
We got the lease for the Playground!
I know!
EXCLAMATION POINTS!
After three long weeks since making the offer — and months since I wished for the Playground here — we got it sorted out.
Two years of happy play in a gorgeous, perfect space.
I cannot wait to get in there and start decorating for you guys.
A beautiful hopeful unexpected moment of pure possibility.
Among all the hard news, there was this one moment of gleefully good news (which now might not be happening).
But in that moment, it was completely hopeful and beautiful. It was a wonderful, shiny day. I am hoping that it will come back again.
And no, this is still related to the kind of tiny, sweet thing that is a concept. I’m not about to have kids and move to Bolivia.
Staying positive despite all the hard news.
I used every technique I have. And got some Hiro magic.
Letting myself be in the hard without being defined by the hard.
And slowly getting to know that thing called “faith” a little better. Good timing for all of that.
Brunch with dear friends!
Yes!
Literal actual brunch where there are fried egg sandwiches and gooey things made with potatoes. Yum.
Proud momma hen.
Sometimes the member mice in my Kitchen Table program just … step up for each other in the most beautiful ways.
We’re repairing the world in there. It’s just so big sometimes.
Makes me cry.
Progress on updating the Shiva Nata site.
Made a bunch more changes that you might not notice.
Also, we now show up as the number two google search result for “Dance of Shiva”.
Which is pretty flipping hard when you’re competing with things like Wikipedia, physicists, and people writing about Indian art …
Nice. Win for the Shivanauts!
Naming my chickens and iguanas.
Chickens are things I’m working on.
While iguanas are things I’m working on that I do not feel like doing.
This week I discovered that if you name them, they go faster.
Not naming them like “Chicken #1”, though that works too. But actual names. People keep telling me this is crazy, and they may be right. But damn, I got a lot of things done this week once I started handing out names.
My chickens this week were Ralph, Snooky, Nitzan and Dee-Dee Shazam. They were awesome.
And then yesterday my iguanas were Sammy, Thumper, Maudie, Sammy Danger and Moonshine Tailbeams Waterloo Jones.
That last one kind of sounds like she used to play for one of our Fake Bands Of The Week.
Speaking of which …
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?
Inflatable Om.
I loved that one album where they do a cover of the Crocodile in a Turban song.
Of course, it’s really 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 weekend. And a happy week to come.
Where’s Waldo? Inside of a jack-o-lantern, wearing Invisibility Cloak Love Potion Number Nine. Apparently.
Asking the name to reveal itself.
So I was talking to Hiro about my upcoming program-without-a-name that I’m so looking forward to teaching.
And learned all sorts of interesting things.
Hiro said it needed a name.
But then it wouldn’t tell us what it was. It was hiding.
I do that sometimes too.
We let it hide.
Finding the image.
I was describing some of what we’re doing at the event and some of the themes we’ll be dealing with. And she was seeing it.
I talked about the pull between wanting to be seen and not wanting to be seen. About stepping out of those old patterns and watching them turn into something new.
About accessing the kind of visibility and protection magic that lets you be found only by those who are right for you.
About dissolving fear of biggification to the point that there isn’t anything to get in the way of doing what needs to be done.
It was a pumpkin, as it turned out.
She looked at the event and saw a giant jack-o-lantern.
But not a scary one. Kind of sweet.
Demure looking with lowered eyes and a Mona Lisa smile.
Pretty carved patterns, like tattoos. The light radiating out from inside of it, but also contained and held in the sturdy home of the pumpkin.
Sitting on a porch. Radiating light out in these beautiful, cryptic patterns. Invisibly visible.
A conversation with the thing that has no name.
Hiro talked to the event in soothing tones, saying wise Hiro-things.
She was very sensible:
“You know, you can land without having a name. The name will come when it comes.”
And I agreed.
The event without a name did not agree. It had issues.
The event without a name: “I’m not ready! I don’t want to be the first kid on the playground!”
Me: “You’re not, sweetie. I’m holding a private weekend there for some clients. And then the Shivanautical teacher training is the first open-to-my-people thing.”
The event without a name: “But I don’t want it to be like this! I want it to be like Where’s Waldo! It should be like Where’s Waldo!”
Me: What are you talking about?
The event without a name: Where’s Waldo!!!!!
Hiro giggled sweetly.
Ha.
Yes, my event about invisibility wanted to be invisible.
No wonder it wouldn’t give me a name.
It wanted me to come find it.
The finding of Waldo is about mystery, camouflage and play. About hide and go seek. About inviting your people to look for you so that you can play together.
All of which is kind of hiding at the core of what I’ll be teaching there.
Safety. Play. Biggifying your thing through actively being quiet and awesome, not by having to learn to how to get louder.
Instead we’ll be learning about (and experiencing) smart hiding, sexy hiding and the art of hard-to-get marketing. How to do it. And how to destuckify along the way.
Playing with secret veils, magic cloaks, pirate tricks.
Transforming the fear of being seen (and the fear of not being seen) into the ability to shine a strategic light from a place of complete safety.
How to be visible and invisible at the same time. Like the jack-o-lantern.
But still no name.
I knew even more now about the personality of the event-without-a-name.
And about the essence.
Ninja Invisibility Training. Combined with shining your light in a non-cheesy way. Combined with serious safety and protection.
But still no name.
Hiro and I went on one of our adventures and wandered into one of my internal patterns of creating.
And met the dragon who dreams of leaving his horrible cubicle job.
A cave in a cliff on a hillside. Blistering sun outside. Inhospitable.
At the mouth of the cave stands a tired, worn-out dragon. Except it’s not really a dragon. It’s a something. Wearing a ferocious costume.
Now and then it has to puff itself up and breathe fire. It finds the whole thing extremely tiresome. Its heart isn’t in the scaring.
Like one of my monsters, except that it’s in on the performance. A dragon in drag.
What is the purpose of the dragon?
I didn’t get it so I asked Hiro.
She said:
“The dragon is all the drama around creating things that has happened in your life. All the heroic tales you’ve lived through … of overcoming impossible odds and slaying dragons.
It’s been powerful and big. And none of that is real for you anymore.
This whole world of the “hero’s journey” and “overcoming obstacles” is something you’re done with. That’s not how you’re creating now.”
What is the new way?
Hiro says the new way is about wholeness.
It’s about a new kind of power that is gentle and sovereign. It happens without drama and without having to go on big journeys and missions.
I can live with that.
Meanwhile, the poor little dragon clown just wanted to give notice. Permission to leave granted!
Hiro said:
“The truth your dragon knows in his heart is that creation is not a personal act.
It’s just something that’s happening. All the time. And you are a part of it. You participate in it but it isn’t about you having to make stuff happen. So there’s no hero. No drama. No journey.
And he has been playing out his role until you learned that. Which you have.”
So the dragon impersonator really liked this. A lot.
He ripped off his costume and went tearing down the hill butt naked (according to Hiro — I didn’t see any dragon butt) to go play in the water with his friends.
Play! Play! Play!
And then there was a giant earthquake and then some extremely trippy stuff started happening that doesn’t really have to do with the thing I wanted to talk about today so I’ll skip that part.
So back to the event-without-a-name that wants to play Where’s Waldo with me.
The event that I don’t have to create because it already is.
Is your name … RUMPELSTILTSKIN?
Me: What’s your name, sweetpea?
The event without a name: It doesn’t really matter. I just wanted to play with you.
Me: I LOVE playing with you. That’s why I just gave birth to a Playground. To play with you!
The event without a name: Oh. I didn’t know that.
Me: Mmmhhmmm. That’s right.
The event without a name: You could call me Visibility and Protection Magic School! Or what about Enter The Dragon! Or Camp Biggification!
Me: I could call you Waldo Schmaldo Muffin Head!
The event without a name (giggles): Nooooooo. That’s stoopid.
Me: Can it be like the scouts where people earn their invisibility cloaks?
The event without a name: Awesome.
And then it scampered off and hid in the Angel Refueling Station and I pretended I couldn’t see it, even though its foot was totally sticking out from under a cushion.
Until its laughter was so gleeful and so completely charming and irresistible that I had to run after it again so we could play.
Camp Biggification: Earn Your Invisibility Cloak!
Yes, you get your own invisibility cloak. Though keep in mind that it’s … invisible.
And magical, which is even better. It’s reversible and multi-layered so it can help you be both more findable by your people and more protected from anyone who doesn’t need to see you.
It’s a filter. It’s a concept. It’s a charm. And something you’re going to internalize in a deep, meaningful way so you can feel truly safe doing your thing.
It’s also dry-clean only, so try not to get pie crumbs and hot buttered epiphanies on it. Kidding. It’s self-cleaning. Have some pie!
And it’s already half full. Not the cloak. Camp Biggification. You can apply right here if you want to come play.
And comment zen for today …
Dragons! Cloaks! Invisibility!
You’re allowed to want to hide. And you’re allowed to want to be seen. Both of those are fine by me. Always.
Invisibility hacks. Three of them.
We talk a lot here about how scary it can be to be seen.
Also about the longing to be seen — seen by certain people. To be acknowledged for what you have done or who you are.
The safety of not being found versus the desire to be found.
I’ve written about when you don’t want anyone to look at you.
And ohmygod what if they actually read something you wrote? About sneaking around the whole vulnerability thing.
And about reclaiming the power of being invisible.
The wanting. And the not wanting. The hiding and the seeking.
All of it. It’s not easy.
Especially online. Quadruple-especially if you want to (gasp!) make money, and you need your right people to find you.
Just like with anything we work on, there are steps you can take “in the soft” (symbolic, under-the-surface, inside stuff), and then there’s everything that happens “in the hard”. The practical, tangible, real life stuff.
Today is about three things you might want to try in the hard. Three hacks.
Three ways to have a symbolic online invisibility cloak that still lets you be accessible to the people you want in, without necessarily showing yourself to the rest of the world.
Invisibility Hack #1: The super-secret hidden services page.
The situation:
You have a thing you want to offer but you’re not ready to tell the whole world all about it.
Maybe you’re not sure how it relates to the other things you do right now, or to the types of things you want to blog about.
Maybe you’re not sure if it’s something that anyone would ever want ever. Or you just feel self-conscious.
What you do:
So you make a private page. You can even password-protect it if you like.
Then when someone emails you saying ohmygod I wish you could help me with that one thing, you can tell them that actually you do but it’s a private thing and please don’t tell anyone.
Or you send a little note to a few trusted people, and tell them to please only pass it on to people who are awesome.
And, of course, you can tell me here, and if I know someone who might be a right person for your thing, I can sneakily send them there.
Why it’s brilliant.
A number of my clients have done this, on my advice. With terrific results.
Everyone likes going to a secret page and feeling special. And you get to skip the energy suck of dealing with “leads” and “following up” with random people.
Plus you feel safe in your invisibility cloak. And it’s that safety that (paradoxically) allows you to expand into being biggified.
Invisibility Hack #2: Comment zen and the comment moderation tag-team.
The situation:
You write stuff but don’t publish it.
Or you publish it, but secretly.
Or you publish it, but you live in debilitating anxiety because you know that all it will take is one mean comment to stifle your creative fabulousness for years. If not forever.
What you do:
Two things.
First: you write a very clear request that goes at the end of every single post, stating exactly what you want, and — more importantly — what you don’t want.
Like this:
“This writing is part of my practice of expressing myself creatively. This is something that’s hard for me and requires love, patience and compassion.
“What I really appreciate: being acknowledged (and maybe even cheered on) for being in the process. I like it when you say yay, you!
“What I can’t deal with right now: any form of critique. I’m not interested in knowing about how I can do better or what I’ve misspelled. Maybe later on. But right now this is about me and my process. Thanks!”
Second: you find someone (maybe here) who also has a blog. You set up comment moderation so that comments-to-be-approved go to his email, and his comments come to you.
That way neither of you ever has to see anything potentially depressing.
Why it’s brilliant.
Clear boundaries make everyone happy.
Also, it’s way easier to delete someone else’s well-meaning hurled shoes.
What ultimately happens is that, by creating safety for yourself, you have more room to begin to deconstruct whatever internal barricades are keeping your creativity and you-ness trapped.
Invisibility Hack #3: Hiding your name.
The situation:
You’re launching a site for your new thing but holy crap you’re going to be findable on Google.
What if that creepy guy starts hanging out there? Or what if your parents or former co-workers find it and then start criticizing your tiny, sweet thing before it’s ready for that kind of attention?
What you do:
Activate ninja costume!
Put your name as an image in the header.
And nowhere else.
So while your site might announce your name in large letters at the top, it’s not google-able, because it’s hidden inside of an image.
Set up your posts to publish as “By [your first name only], and just use your first name everywhere else. Or a nickname, if — like me — your first name is ridiculously unusual.
Or by your DBA. Like, I could just be Havi from The Fluent Self. Or that one chick with the duck.
Why it’s brilliant.
You’re out there. You’re biggifying it up.
People actively looking for the stuff you talk about can find you. But any not-right people looking for stuff about you won’t get anywhere.
So there’s a sense of sanctuary.
And then, once you’re biggified and you realize you’re cool with being found under your name, lift the veil and start using your name everywhere.
The relationship between the hard and the soft.
All these hacks are things you can do in the hard to make room to start feeling comfortable. To make space for yourself.
The stuff you do in the soft is where you untangle stuckified patterns. It’s where you unravel what isn’t working and replace it with something better.
We all need both.
Working on my stuff helps me make practical changes in real life, which then get reinforced by doing more wacky transformational stuff to back up what I’ve done in the hard.
Doing things in the soft makes everything in the hard work insanely better. And, luckily, since this whole thing is an ongoing process, we get to play with it over time.
Earning your invisibility cloak. Spending some time working on this.
I so wish the how of shifting things in the soft was more readily transmittable by blog post. Because once stuff moves in the soft, it’s a lot easier to translate that into changes in the hard.
However, Selma and I will be devoting an entire day to destuckifying your visibility-invisibility thing in the soft during our three-day Camp Biggification: Earn Your Invisibility Cloak retreat-thing.
And then we’ll figure out what your next steps are in the hard and get you a plan. But one you’ll actually use because we’ve taken care of stuff in the soft like:
- ninja invisibility training (and how to turn it on and off at will)
- how to get in front of the people who do need to see you without feeling like an ass
- shining your light in non-cheesy ways and without feeling vulnerable and terrified
- secret veils, magic cloaks, pirate tricks
That’s all I have to say about that. There’s a lot more here if you’re interested.
And … comment zen for today.
We all have stuff. We’re all working on our stuff.
And our stuff takes different forms for different people at different times. Because people vary.
We give each other room. We don’t give advice but it’s cool to share something that has worked for you in the past or something you’re currently playing with.
And we blow kisses at the Beloved Lurkers. Hiding is totally allowed here. 🙂
Dear part of me who thinks that if something good happens, something bad must follow…
Yep.
More letters to the (internal) editor.
Let’s do it.
The letter.
Dear part of me who thinks that if something good happens, something bad must follow,
I’m noticing that you have a lot to say right now, double-especially since we got the lease for The Playground. Wow.
So I want us to be able to talk about this, and I’m also thinking it’s time to learn a little bit more about you and how you operate.
This is what I know about you. Is this right?
Obviously this: that you believe there is no such thing as good news that is just good.
Your experience tells you that things fall apart. In unexpected ways.
Your sense of your world is that this is a place that does not support you.
You live to caution me.
Don’t get excited. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch. Don’t have expectations because they’ll just get smashed. Don’t be joyful about good news because then the anvils start falling.
You care about me tremendously. Even though I have trouble remembering this.
Much like my monsters, you’re okay with using fear, guilt and manipulation as long as it keeps me safe, which (in your opinion) justifies the means.
This is what I don’t know about you.
I don’t really know who you are or where you come from.
Are you a belief, developed over time in reaction to cumulative experience of things being crappy?
Because there certainly is a long list of those that you like to bring up.
Or are you deep internal programming designed to keep me safe?
Are you from the past?
Do you need to be here now?
Sometimes you seem so true and well-established that it’s hard for me to remember that you represent only one possible version of what is true for me. It’s like I get a glimpse of who you are and then I lose it again.
Your pain. It seems so painful.
You include all of the parts of me who have been through hellish experiences.
There is so much depth to your loneliness and despair and heart-ache.
I wish I could wave a magic wand and make everything hurt less for you.
It has to be really hard to only know about the possibility of things falling apart, and to not know about how sometimes there is no pit to fall into, no crash and no burn.
If we talk, I need it to be like this.
Here’s the thing.
I really do want to give you room to have your say. It’s just that this pattern we have where you castigate me for being naive and then I yell at you to stop being mean and controlling … it’s kind of not working.
So I’m going to take a break from this letter and interview you. For my blog. Yes, I’m giving you a platform. But it means I need you to speak in sound-bites, not lectures, okay?
Excellent.
A short conversation with the part of me who doesn’t feel safe having good things happen.
Me: So. You’re the part of me who thinks good things can’t happen without being taken away — or bad things happening that are so bad that all the good gets erased.
Part of me: I don’t think it. I know it.
Me: Tell me more about that.
Part of me: You don’t have a realistic sense of the actual danger involved in feeling good. It’s asking for trouble.
Me: Why do you believe that’s true?
Part of me: Wouldn’t you rather expect the worst and be surprised, instead of expecting good things and getting hurt?
Me: So you are actually hoping for good things to happen. You just don’t want to hope out loud.
Part of me: Of course. That’s just common sense.
Me: You know, when we live in this constant expectation of danger, I shut down. I can’t function.
Part of me: Why am I supposed to care about that? It’s still better than watching your poor heart break again. That hurts more than anything.
Me: What if my protection and safety didn’t come from fear and anticipation of horrible things that might go wrong? What if my protection and safety came from being mindful and attentive instead?
Part of me: That’s pretty unconventional. I don’t know.
Me: What do you need? What would help you feel safe?
Part of me: I need you to acknowledge that things can and do go wrong.
Me: Okay. I acknowledge that. Anything else you need?
Part of me: A worry room! I want a worry room.
Me: What happens in the worry room?
Part of me: I worry as much as I want! And then I get comfort. And cocoa.
Me: Oh. That’s kind of sweet.
Back to the letter.
Dear part of me who needs a worry room,
I get that you need room to worry. It’s how you process things.
Here’s what I need. I need a room to hope for things.
And that room needs space and light. It needs safety and protection.
Which means we need to agree that all of these things have the right to exist.
I will let you have your worry cave.
It will be stocked with the finest cocoa.
And whatever else you want in there.
Within this space, you can have great big worry parties, take naps, feel feelings.
And the rest of my internal space can have comfort, safety, and protection for the parts of me who need to feel hopeful, and thrive on anticipation.
This is my creative space.
It’s where I come up with the wild and crazy ideas that turn into the good things that have brought up so much fear for you in the past.
You’ll get to peek at my creative process. You’ll get to see how much is new.
We’ll get used to this weird world where anvils don’t drop from the sky.
In the meantime, cocoa. And waiting. Writing letters and making rooms. Faith that things change, and that all this change will be okay.
Let’s see how it goes.
xox
Havi
Play with me!
What is welcome:
Your own letters to internal editors (or to anything else).
Anything you’re working on or thinking about related to this.
Love to all the commenter mice and Beloved Lurkers.
Metaphor Mouse starts the best foodfight ever.
So. Exactly a month ago, I announced our big new fun-brewing thing.
It is gorgeous and wonderful.
How could it not be?
We brew fun to support the Playground, which is my tiny, sweet thing that is now becoming a big real-life thing.*
* Translation: My duck and I are opening a studio where we will teach destuckification and biggification stuff in real-time. And we are raising money in cool and weird ways.
But I realized that I never told you how we got to call it fun-brewing. And the story of the naming of things (like how The Fluent Self got its spots) is often useful.
When in doubt, ask a superhero.
I was at Drunk Pirate Council (because I can’t go to “meetings” or I’ll die), going over the “fund-raising plan” with Selma the duck and the First Mate.
And it was kind of a disaster because good grief if there’s one thing more depressing than fund-raising, it’s having a plan.
We quickly realized we couldn’t do this alone. This called for a) more pirate whiskey and b) invoking the mighty Metaphor Mouse to come and save the day.
This involved yelling things like “Metaphor Mouse power ACTIVATE!”
And singing I am Iron Man but singing it I am Metaphor Mouse, which weirdly didn’t get us kicked out of the pirate bar.
Anyway. Here’s what happened when we metaphor-moused it.
Unpacking my current relationship with this. (FUND-RAISING = ?)
What are the qualities, aspects and attributes of the thing that isn’t working (including what *is* working — if anything)?
[+ stress]
[+ awkwardness of asking]
[+ shame]
[+ ew “funds”]
[+ grownup]
[+ boring]
[+ I can do it]
[+ But aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh]
[+ power]
[+ board room]
[+ banquette]
[+ lectern]
[+ terrible music]
[+ agonizing]
[+ doilies]
[+ shoulder pads and blue eye shadow]
Learning more about my IDEAL situation (X = ?)
What sort of qualities, aspects and feelings does the thing I want contain?
[+ playful]
[+ carefree]
[+ fun]
[+ community]
[+ helper mice]
[+ not scary]
[+ me-ish]
[+ an adventure]
[+ ease]
[+ surprises]
And the name-storming begins.
What is this place that is not a fund-raising dinner?
Is it a fairground? A fun-ground!
Fun-raising instead of fund-raising. Hee.
Fun-generating
Fun-grounding
Play-grounding
Fun-growing
Fun-brewing.
Once we ended up there, everything fell into place. We came up with the wishing well and the whole fun-brewing page. And it was perfect.
Metaphor Mouse was a little disappointed at first.
Because what we ended up with is not technically a metaphor.
It’s just wordifying. Word-generation. You know.
Kind of like how I say brunch instead of “launch”. Because launching is weird. And brunching is fun. Mmmmm. Brunch.**
** Borrowed this from Tara the Blonde Chicken, and it’s so perfect that I can hardly stand it.
Metaphor Mouse was therefore of the opinion that he hadn’t helped.
We said, sweetpea, of course you helped!
But he thought he hadn’t helped enough.
He wanted to make stuff happen. Tear things apart. Do some damage!
So we let him crash a fund-raising dinner. Here’s what happened.
It’s the night of our big (completely imaginary) fund-raising event. Black tie only.
Champagne in fluted glasses. Waiters with impeccable hair. Chamber music.
I’m wearing a ridiculous dress. But I’m totally pulling off the hot Grace Kelly look. Oh yes.
Selma is wearing a fabulous scarf.
Suddenly Metaphor Mouse swings down a rope onto the stage. Bounds up a wall. Swings from a chandelier.
He sweeps me out of the way, trips the evil mustachioed marketing guy, snatches a pie from the waiter and pops it right in someone’s face.
The shocked silence that greeted his entrance is followed by excitable hub hub hub hub hub rhubarb rhubarb.
Who is this masked mouse and why is he so awesome?
Chaos, unsurprisingly, ensues.
Exactly.
The thing with metaphors is that one word builds an entire world. One word contains infinite possibility and endless variation.
And the thing with inventing your own is that these worlds are your own.
It doesn’t matter if fun-brewing doesn’t conjure up magic for everyone.
It only needs to speak to me and my people. And it tells us everything we need to know.
Where does fun-brewing happen? Is it indoors? No. It’s in a forest clearing.
Is it loud? No, it’s understated and kind of hidden.
But there’s also a lot of excitement. And magic.
And fun. And stuff to drink.
So we just keep going from there.
p.s. I have a big news.
Best. News. Ever.
As of THIS MORNING we have the lease for The Playground.
Fun-brewing is go! Crazy, beautiful things are about to happen! Be joyful with me!