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.

The Book of You

So. I get cranky when I don’t get a walk in the morning. Yes, that would be today.

If Selma and I remember to make the bed (a thing we got from Gretchen), everything about the rest of the day is better. Even though that makes no sense.

If someone says “really, there’s no sugar in here”, it’s good to smile, say thank you and DON’T try it. Because if there is sugar or honey or agave or something (and usually there is), my head will explode the next nine hours are shot to hell. It’s so not worth it.

All this?

Information for the big book of me.

What goes into the Book of You:

Anything that’s useful.

All that stuff you think you’ll remember but actually you don’t.

A working hypothesis you’re currently testing (“Is it true that I feel better when I go to bed before ten or is that only true when I’m over-worked?”).

Or an aspect of yourself or your life that’s currently under investigation (“What do I know so far about what happens to me when I’m in a crowded space?”).

Why it’s helpful to have a Book of You:

It’s kind of like the dammit list.

It reminds you that you are in the process of working on your stuff. And it shows you how much you’ve already implemented.

It helps you keep that experimental scientific outlook.

It’s a mindfulness practice that isn’t annoying.

And it helps you come up with better red velvet ropes, and track your mini-epiphanies.

Some useful guiding principles for the Book of You.

People vary.

That’s why it’s the Book of You and not the Book of Humanity In General That Is Also Known As The Book of All Things For All People At All Time.

All the biggified people on the internet shouting about how you have to write in the morning and you can’t have more than three projects and how you always have to do X to get Y?

They’re not talking about you. They’re talking about themselves. They are sharing some of the information from that big Book of Them.

In fact, lots of things vary.

Just because something is true for you right now doesn’t mean it’s always going to be true for you.

The Book of You isn’t about absolutes. It’s about taking various factors into consideration, and figuring out what you can extrapolate from what you know. And then testing.

How you might set up the Book of You:

That depends.

Some of my clients and students like to have a pretty book to give it some formality. Some of them like a messy one with lots of scribblings to remember that it’s a work in progress.

Some of them keep a binder so they can tuck pages in and take pages out.

See what works for you. You can always start a new one. I mean, it’s your book.

Personally, I like to keep one item to a page.

That way I can add notes and exceptions. And questions.

For example, I have a page that says something like this:

“Sweetie, you are so much happier when you get a morning walk. The entire day goes better. This has been tested. Seriously. Just do it.”

But then I’ve added all sorts of things to this page. Like this:

“Okay, but what if it’s pouring rain in the morning because you live in stupid Portland? Does it help if you sit on the porch swing and watch the rain, so you’re at least outside?

Or is it better to do some bouncing to at least get that aerobic effect thing? Or is it better to just pull on rain pants and go jump in puddles for a couple minutes? I mean, what are the aspects of the morning walk that are most vital here?”

And then I experiment. And take more notes. In the big Book of Me.

And a couple other things to keep in mind.

Test things.

Does eating mango always make my arms itch? What exactly is it about Dance of Shiva that clears my head? What happens if I reverse those steps? What happens if I bring in Metaphor Mouse?

Something I try to remember: part of destuckifying is having a conscious relationship with yourself, so you can bring more awareness to your patterns (detective-style).

And no, you’re not arrogant or self-absorbed if you make a commitment to learning stuff about yourself and taking notes.

That’s it. Play with me!

You don’t have to know anything about what goes in the Book of You to start.

Most people start by just taking some notes. Whatever comes into your head.

Then you see what it’s like to go through your day as if researching the Book of You was your job.

You see what’s surprising. And what isn’t.

Comment zen for today.

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff.

So. If you want to throw out anything you’re working on, noticing, observing, messing around with, that’s lovely.

If you’ve been working with this Book of You thing (or want to), yay!

You can also throw out general suggestions based on stuff that works for you — as always, we try to keep it to personal experience instead of advice.

Big love to everyone (and Jessica Rabbit kisses to the Beloved Lurkers).

Very Personal Ads #39: napfest with ketchup

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 Sunday ritual. Yay, ritual!

Let’s do this thing.

Thing 1: napping! A way to make it actually happen.

Here’s what I want:

The best thing about my Not Even Slightly An Emergency Vacation last week was the unapologetic daily napfest.

I made a little vow that once I was back, the naps would stay.

But they’re not happening.

Not because I’m not making time for them. Because I am.

It’s just that now that I’m back, there is always something that is on my mind.

Oh look there’s a conflict at the Kitchen Table.

Oh look there’s something we screwed up and now we have to write an apology letter.

Oh look this person is upset because of such and such.

I can’t nap when there’s stuff like this going on!!!

It’s not that I have to go to work or whatever. I can totally not work on it. But I’m still processing it and thinking about it and brainstorming. Which isn’t conducive to the sleeps.

Here’s how this might work:

I can ask my First Mate to not share anything with me until after nap time.

I can not log into any of my company sites until after nap time.

Nap time can go onto the schedule with a clear “do not disturb, mentally, emotionally, energetically or otherwise” directive.

Other possible solutions … hmmm.

I can try and get some Dance of Shiva insights on this. Do some journaling. See what comes up.

Put out the ask.

My commitment.

To pay attention to whatever patterns and stuff come up around the napping and related themes.

Without judging myself for having stuff or for being in my patterns.

To notice what I need, and when and how I need it.

To take notes.

To try stuff. And when it doesn’t work, to try other stuff, until something works. To keep this as a top priority, dammit.

Thing 2: ketchup.

Here’s what I want:

Man, there is big crazy catching up to do after the ridiculously long not-working thing.

Piles.

Deadlines.

Things that people are waiting on. Things that I am waiting on.

So I need serious progress without burning out.

Ways this could work:

Slow and steady.

With lots of yoga.

Use iguanability to stay accountable and keep it fun.

Use my First Mate and my fairy godmothers and whatever else can help.

Stay focused.

My commitment.

To make my first priority my own state of mind.

The napping thing again.

Lots of Shiva Nata for those mini-epiphanies.

To pay attention to what I need, what’s working and what isn’t.

Thing 3: oy, pesach.

Here’s what I want:

It’s freaking Passover like, tomorrow.

I’m still not done cleaning the kitchen. Never mind the cooking.

And, as we know from Thing 2, all sorts of other things are lined up for this week as well.

So it just has to work.

Ways this could work:

My gentleman friend will help.

I imagine there will be lots of hysterical laughter and some tears as well, but maybe it can work despite the crazy.

I don’t know. We’ll see.

The point is, I want smoothness and things getting done. And a beautiful holiday.

My commitment.

To stay connected to the essence of Pesach, which is liberation and safety.

Liberation. And safety.

And to try and bring more of that into my week and my life.

While wearing a pirate apron and throwing things around the kitchen.

Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.

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

I asked for rest. And got it. In spades!

That was probably the best VPA ask ever. I seriously did nothing but sleep for a week and it was awesome.

I asked for insights about belonging and got them (thanks Shiva Nata!).

And I asked for help finishing a project and totally didn’t do anything with it.

But I did get renewed motivation to interact with it, so that counts for something. We have Drunk Pirate Council tonight so I’ll poke at it some.

Comments. Since I’m already asking …

I am adding to my practice of asking for stuff by being more specific about what I would like to receive in the comments.

Here’s what I want (just leave them in the comments):

  • 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 would rather not have:

  • Reality theories.
  • 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 or psychoanalyzed.
  • Advices.

My commitment.

I am committing to getting better at asking for things even when asking feels weird.

Thanks for doing this with me!

Friday Chicken #86: this time I mean it

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.

Last week’s intentional non-emergency-breakdown vacation was way less fun than either imagined or predicted.

So we started over. Me, my duck and my gentleman friend.

Off to the woods to visit my favorite uncle and hibernate!

The hard stuff

So. Much. Tired.

Since last week’s not-at-all-relaxing vacation was all about the sleeplessness, this week was all about the schleepy.

And the recovery.

Which was good but it did involve being in a foggy daze for a while.

Stiff.

And achey.

And making creaky sounds. It’s a hard, hard day when a yoga teacher can’t touch her toes but has to be all yoga about it and meet herself where she is.

Stupid mindfulness! Be less annoying!

There was grumbling. And laughter. But also a lot of grumbling.

Being away.

I missed you guys.

Sunday.

There was so much I wanted to do!

Wonderful friends visiting from out of town. Getting the Monster Coloring Book finished. Walking around Portland in the sun!

And I was so worn out that none of it could happen and instead I had to stay in bed all day.

The good stuff

Bed, glorious bed! So many sleeps!

Not only did I get my five-hour marathon-Sunday-afternoon nap-of-bliss, but the entire week was pure, sweet convalescence.

Seclusion. Quiet. Surrounded by trees and covered in mounds of blankets. Listening to the rain beat on the skylights.

Bed at nine. Slept for eleven hours each night and then napped during the day.

Dreaming of everything and nothing.

And no one made me feel bad about it. Not even my monsters.

Yup. We were all on board with the sleeping.

And it was divine.

Napping.

I know I can’t stop talking about this but ohmygod.

What a brilliant invention. Sleeping! In the middle of the day!

It’s the most genius thing EVER.

Making all my Shivanautical epiphanies show up that much faster.

Writing.

My schedule was basically journal-nap-journal.

I wrote out my problems. Wrote out my wonderings. Wrote out my wants. Wrote out my questions.

Writing and sleeping. Best. Vacation. Ever.

A visit to Eugene.

I have the best memories from Eugene.

It was sweet to be back for a few hours.

Svevo!

My uncle Svevo (remember him?) is my favorite person in the world.

He is so wise and so kind and so wonderfully, reassuringly kooky. Being around him is good for my soul.

We walk in the woods and drink tea from cedar boughs.

Doing lots of delicious nothing.

Walking to the garden.

Walking to the creek.

Looking out the windows.

Scritching the cats and playing with the dogs.

Reading. More tea. Back to bed.

Evenings.

Svevo and my gentleman friend and I do yoga on the floor with the cats.

We cook food on the wood stove.

We talk about writing and business and creativity.

Svevo tells us stories about the woods and my grandparents and playing tennis with Gregory Peck in Switzerland.

And I didn’t bring my computer.

It was perfect.

And now it’s time to come home.

Which is kind of sad. But also good.

We get to go to Roller Derby tomorrow and watch Guns N Rollers (the team I sponsor — tagline: “Blood, Sweat and Queers!”) play the Breakneck Betties.

We get to come back to Hoppy House.

And I get to return to my beloved Pirate Ship and run things again.

And see you again!

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?

The Gustronics.

Though really, it’s actually 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.

Biggification: part of a map. And some circles.

We’ve been talking at the Kitchen Table about how to get clients and customers.

About how long it takes to biggify your thing. And help I don’t understand what’s wrong how come no one is signing up for my courses and programs dammit.

So I wanted to talk about this here.

But I need to do some explain-ey stuff first about how I perceive business.

It might seem a bit yoga-teacher-meditation-ey at first.

If that’s not useful for you, use this as a map. A piece of my (admittedly yogified) philosophy of business.

Imagine a series of concentric circles. This is your map.

At the very center is a concentrated flow of rays of light.

Points of light. Converging.

It’s beautiful.

As the light radiates towards the outermost circle, it’s begun to diffuse.

It’s light enough to see. Light enough to get a sense of the quality of the light. Light enough to not be in the dark.

But it’s nothing like the clarity and intensity of the light visible towards the center circles.

What lives in the circles?

Starting at the outside.

The outermost circle, where you first sense the existence of the light — where you just begin to step into it — this is the first encounter.

This is where someone first hears about the fact that you and your thing exist.

This is someone mentioning you on Twitter.

This is someone googling random stuff until they click on you.

This is someone saying “oh, I think I know a person who could probably help you with that.”

Or saying something more like this:

“Ooh, if you like that kind of art, you’ll love the stuff my friend does”.

First encounters. Tiny seeds. Beginnings. A flicker. An inkling. A spark.

A website. A business cards. Where it starts.

The next ring.

This one is wider. Quite large, in fact.

It’s the largest, widest circle in the progression.

The light here is more palpable. Not bright, necessarily. But there’s a pull.

You can definitely feel that whatever at the center is real and powerful and … special.

This is where stuff gets shared.

It’s where people connect with the ideas, information, beauty, experience, techniques or whatever it is that you’re sharing with the world.

It’s what Mark calls the Second Journey.

For me and Selma (Pirate Queen aka Chief Eccentricity Officer of The Fluent Self and rockstar duck, respectively), this circle of light is the blog. And everything in it.

For you it might be a noozletter, or something else.

It’s the space or the way in which people regularly hang out with you and get a regular dose of you-ness. In the general orbit of your thing.

Where the light begins. Connection.

And moving inside.

Let’s skip — just for now — all the circles that make up the entire middle area between the outside rings and the center.

Let’s look at that inner-most space of concentrated rays of light.

That’s you. That’s your shining you-ness. That’s your place of safety and sanctuary — the canopy of peace.

No one gets to be there but you.

And outside of it is a semi-permeable membrane — a skin.*

* I got this membrane concept from Hiro, and it has made my life better in a thousand ways.

The job of this membrane is to let your light shine out into your world, while only allowing into your space the qualities that are useful for you (you know, stuff like grounding and support and sovereignty).

And it’s there to keep out anything that doesn’t help you feel safe, supported and loved.

The next layer out.

Just outside of this innermost layer of protection is where the circles of your business begin.

The circle closest to that center is where all the most magical things happen.

This might be your private coaching clients. Or a very tiny, very exclusive class. Or specially commissioned works of art that allow for total creative freedom.

It’s the stuff that involves the most you-time. And the most you-ness.

It’s the stuff that is the most expensive, the most desirable, the hardest to get.

It’s a small circle and it’s not for everyone.

This is where things go wrong.

When I’m talking with clients and students who have coaching or consulting businesses or who are artists in some form, here’s what generally turns out to be one of the main stucknesses.

There’s something missing between the inside and outside circles.

There’s nothing in the middle.

So you have your coaching at say, $200/hour. Inside circles. And a noozletter that shows up in people’s email inbox once a month. Outside circles.

Or you have a three month course that’s $900. Inside circles. And a freebie teleclass that you did once. Outside circles.

Or you have a gorgeous painting for $750. Inside circles. And your blog posts about your creative process and stuff you think about. Outside circles.

You’ve got great inside circles. And those are excellent outside circles. I love that you have them.

It’s just that all that no-man’s-land in the middle isn’t helping your people come closer to where the light is.

It’s too much space to ask people to cross.

Even if they’re drawn to you. Even if there’s a pull.

It’s just too far. Middle circles are a procession. An experience of coming closer. A way of testing how it feels to be in the presence of that kind of radiance.

To see how their light interacts with your light.

So you need stuff for the in-between.

If I’m going to hire you as my coach, I’d probably rather try a three-part class before I decide if you’re the one.

And I’d probably buy a homestudy of a class before actually taking one.

To have a way to connect with the stuff you teach without you seeing who I am or what my stuff is. Without having to be vulnerable or interact with other people.

And then when I am ready to work with you, I’d still rather try a, say, five-session package than signing up for some vague, amorphous, ongoing “until I’m done” thing.

If I’m thinking about buying your painting, it would be really great if I could pick up a print or a calendar or a something, while I’m saving up to have your art on my wall.

Obviously, these suggestions are EXAMPLES of possible middle circles. You don’t have to use these. The point is just that these circles of in-between are where everything happens.

Middle circles create spaciousness.

Room to breathe.

You don’t need a lot of them. In fact, just adding one will change the entire map.
And if things aren’t working, it’s a great place to start.

END TRANSMISSION 🙂

Comment zen for today.

Businesses vary. Use what works for you and skip the rest.

Remember that this is only one way of looking at things. And that since we’re always changing perspective, different things take on different shapes at different times.

You absolutely do not have to adopt my philosophy of business in any way. I’m not married to this. It’s just what works for me.

We all have stuff. And we’re all working on our stuff. So we tread gently with everyone else’s. Thanks!

Very Personal Ads #38: fair seas

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 Sunday ritual. Yay, ritual!

Let’s do this thing.

Thing 1: rest

Here’s what I want:

I’m feeling completely worn out.

So far everywhere we’ve been for non-emergency super-strategic vacation has been noisy and stressful and annoying.

I want sleep. Good sleep.

Lots and lots of it.

Ways this could work:

Well, I expect everything will be better once we run away to my uncle’s house in the woods, which was the plan anyway.

But I’m also packing schleepy tea.

Too tired right now to figure out the rest of it, but I’m sure that as soon as we’re away from the city, things will clear up and I’ll know what’s needed.

My commitment.

To notice when I’m feeling irritable and remind myself that quiet and rest are useful.

To write little notes to myself.

To do my evening meditation thing that gets lost when I’m on the road.

Thing 2: something about home and belonging

Here’s what I want:

All the moving around from place to place is bringing up my stuff.

Feeling disconnected and … not right somehow.

Ready to get back to feeling that sense of home in myself.

Ways this could work:

I can write a letter to Hoppy House.

I can write a letter to myself.

I can do a session with Hiro, which always makes everything better.

I can give myself permission to be in the hard and the stuck for now, and let things unravel.

I can remind myself that given my history (moving countries three times, having no place to live, blah), this is normal. Still. Even though I really want to be done with it already.

Still a thing. And that still makes sense.

And of course, what this really needs is some Shiva Nata, so I can connect to whatever insights, epiphanies and understandings will bring me to the next step.

My commitment.

To dance, dance, dance.

Well, once I get some sleep.

In the meantime?

Five minutes of Dance of Shiva.

And then?

To ask. To question. To wonder. To write. To dream. To find out what’s needed. To try stuff.

Thing 3: to finish a project that’s hanging.

Here’s what I want:

This thing is almost done.

It needs very specific amounts of time and love, in very specific ways.

I can do it. I want to do it.

The time is now.

Ways this could work:

My gentleman friend could sit with me on this while we’re resting in the woods.

I can write a love letter to the project.

And make a list of all the things that might be stuckified around this so I can talk to them.

My commitment.

To be as kind to myself as I can stand.

To recognize that avoiding something you want is often a sign that you really want it and that it scares you.

To do a lot of writing and processing around the project and not just in it.

To ask for help.

Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.

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

I wanted smooth sailing in my business while on Not-An-Emergency Vacation.

And that’s happened. But I also wanted rest and clarity, which totally haven’t.

Luckily there’s still a few days of holiday left so I’m going to reformulate that ask.

I also wanted a way to keep the blog happy with posties, which has been way less complicated than I’d imagined (forgot about the huge pile of mostly-completed posts).

And I also wanted insights on my various projects.

It’s been more mini-epiphanies (“lil Piphs”, as Kimberlee named them) than gigantic knock-down moments of bing, but they’ve all been extremely useful.

Expect an update on that soon-ish!

Comments. Since I’m already asking …

I am adding to my practice of asking for stuff by being more specific about what I would like to receive in the comments.

Here’s what I want (just leave them in the comments):

  • 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 would rather not have:

  • Reality theories. The focus here is the process of getting clarity on what you want.
  • 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 or psychoanalyzed.
  • To be told that the thing I want is not actually what I want. Not helpful.
  • Advices.

My commitment.

I am committing to getting better at asking for things even when asking feels weird.

Thanks for doing this with me!

The Fluent Self