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.

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!

Friday Chicken #85: this vacation is on purpose, baby

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.

Still weirded out that I managed to pull of a non-emergency-breakdown vacation. One that’s actually supposed to happen while it’s happening.

Planned! What’s that about?

Go me, for being an adult. Kind of.

The hard stuff

Making a huge, horrible, stupid mistake that totally didn’t need to be made.

And then the resulting confusion, agony and shame of that.

It was a fairly straightforward administrative mix-up (fall-out from the First Mate switcheroo last month, combined with an oversight on my part).

Except that the consequences were big and our shopping cart charged people money who weren’t expecting to be charged at that time.

Oof.

Everyone was amazingly understanding about the whole thing and my new First Mate was incredibly speedy at getting it all sorted, but I felt absolutely terrible about it.

Being crazy busy.

And tired.

Interrupted sleep stuff.

Combined with the time change thing, which always throws me into kind of a mini-jetlag stupor and just generally gets on my nerves.

Stupid St. Patrick’s Day.

Well, stupid me for trying to start my Non-Emergency Vacation on St. Patrick’s Day.

And for staying at a hotel named for an Irishman.

Between the obnoxious kids, the obnoxious drunks, the obnoxious (and tall!) leprechauns and all the noise, it was a long, annoying night and a tired, cranky, not-loving-vacation me.

My monsters had strong opinions.

Particularly, they were tearing into me about not going to SXSW and all the opportunities I was missing.

And how I’m selfish and irresponsible for neglecting my business just because I’m highly-sensitive and a big baby.

Luckily they tripped up and used the phrase “you’re leaving money on the table”, which is something I would never say, not in a million years. So then I knew for sure that it was my monsters and not me.

And I talked them down. But yeah. They had a lot to say this week.

The good stuff

Not being impressed by shoes.

Some people said some pretty crappy stuff to me this week.

But somehow the shoe-throwing didn’t hurt.

I could see the shoes. See them being thrown. But they weren’t landing.

It was weird and great.

In the Schwung.

Oh yes.

Absolutely massive amounts of Getting Stuff Done.

I went into crazed production mode and wrote two ebooks from start to finish.

And finished my brand new Monster Coloring Book project (details coming soon).

That would normally be about three months of work. So it kind of blew me away.

Thank you, Dance of Shiva. Yet again you deliver the putting-me-in-the-zone goods. Amazing.

Realizing that not having gone to SXSW was really fortunate.

Because all that stuff I got done?

Never would have happened.

And now I’d be in recovery mode instead of on vacation. So yeah, that was a good decision. My monsters are looking bashful now. It’s kind of cute.

Mensch points.

This is a Steve Krug thing. He talks about how people in your business are constantly rating you in a mostly unconscious way, based on their experiences with you.

When you screw up, you lose points. When you do stuff right, you gain.

He’s talking in terms of website design (for example, sending people to a link that doesn’t exist puts you into negative mensch points). But it applies to the entire experience of how someone interacts with what you do.

Anyway. With our big screw-up this week, I was really really glad to have been building up mensch points with my people for such a long time.

Because even though we messed up in this huge way, everyone was so great about it.

Which means (to me) that we’ve been doing most things right. And that means a lot to me.

I got a flower! From a boy!

Okay, so he was about seven. And shy.

And it was a dandelion.

But still. So sweet. Spring! Being accosted by (extremely) young men on the street and given flowers! Totally counts. I haven’t lost it.

Ha. Vacation.

It’s fun.

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?

Terrible Mustachioed Rhubarbarians.

But it’s really just one guy.

This is actually from when I started going crazy at a workshop (not mine) where people were coming up with the worst book titles in the history of the world, but they didn’t know how supremely awful their ideas were.

And I had to distract myself with Terrible Mustachioed band names to keep from saying something out loud:

  • Terrible Mustachioed Frank and the Two Timers
  • Terrible Mustachioed Lemon Bark Pie
  • Terrible Mustachioed Monkey Slugs
  • Terrible Mustachioed Fairy Horned Mustardized Jam
  • Terrible Mustachioed Pink The Rebellion
  • Terrible Mustachioed Dancing Figurines
  • Terrible Mustachioed Turtlenecks
  • Terrible Mustachioed Fruitfloops Loops
  • Terrible Mustachioed Stranger In A Rocking Chair

Luckily, all of these bands are 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.

My year without email. Part 1.

On January 12th of 2009, my duck and I decided to go on Email Sabbatical.

The plan? To not read, write, or think about email.

I called it the let’s see what 2009 will be like without email experiment.

A month later, we wrote about it. In a post called The Great Email Sabbatical Experiment.

And we haven’t written about it since. Well, other than the hints I drop all over the website.

So I was all set to do a hey it’s been an entire year update post on the anniversary but then we missed it.

Disclaimer-ey note: I am not trying to get you (or anyone else) to quit email. I honestly do not have an opinion on this.

First things first. Quitting email is hard.

Honestly, I thought the insane emotional addiction aspect would be the rough part.

But even once that passes, there’s still all the other hard.

It took a lot of time, tearing-out-of-hair and trying-of-stuff to come up with the systems and the work-arounds that make it work.

So. What didn’t work and what did. Like a Friday Chicken but for my email sabbatical.

The hard, the challenging, the stuff that didn’t work.

Finding ways to not piss people off is pretty much impossible.

Whenever you establish boundaries, there are always going to be some people don’t like it.

Their stuff comes up and they’re too close to it to see that it’s theirs.

And sometimes they’re really vocal about why they don’t like it (and how much).

This is the hardest when it’s friends and people you really care about. Their stuff triggers your stuff. Your stuff triggers their stuff. Hard.

Training someone to answer my mail was pretty complicated.

I have been fortunate to have excellent help. Both my first First Mate on the pirate ship and the current First Mate give great email.

The thing is, even with you have a someone — and even if your someone is as capable and delightful as my someone — there’s still a pretty intense learning curve.

You need strong, inspired, flexible, agile systems. And your someone needs enough personality and experience to be able to ditch the systems and respond from the heart when that’s what it takes.

Getting people to stop writing? Or expecting a personal response? Even complicated-er.

It’s not exactly a secret that I don’t do email.

It’s right there on my ironically named contact page. And in the FAQ and on Twitter.

Which has definitely slowed down the hundreds and hundreds of daily messages to something a lot less overwhelming and terrifying. But yeah. You exist. People have stuff to say to you. They will write.

It takes time to get everyone used to the idea that this is how things are.

Okay. There’s really no such thing as no email.

Because even when you don’t have access to an inbox or a program, you still get inundated with messages.

Between Facebook, Twitter DMs, LinkedIn stuff and everything else, there’s still a steady flow avalanche of asks, concerns and general wanting-Havi-time.

I love hanging out on Twitter (it’s my favorite bar). It’s just that I go there to goof off, and when we first announced the email sabbatical, Twitter became a customer service center and it sucked all the fun out of my life.

And sometimes it seems like its easier to just respond than to try to find a nice way to say “sorry I don’t do even non-email email, please send this to the support staff”.

And oy-va-voy to you if you do respond because then it’s all over.

So you need to build some serious systems.

And each time you tweak a system, people will find another way to sneak around it.

Plus, there will always be some things that your First Mate doesn’t know how to deal with. And those pile up.

And pretty soon, you have a full inbox. It’s just not your inbox. But you still have it.

The long, hard process of trial-and-error.

The short version:

Having good systems is a lifesaver. But creating good systems kind of hurts my brain.

Big learning curve.

It’s not cheap. It’s very not cheap.

Still worth it, of course.

Because the way I see it? It’s still significantly less expensive than the amount of therapy I’d need (and all that time lost to emotional breakdowns) when my entire day is spent dealing with putting out fires.

Not to mention all the internal work and blah blah processing process-ey process that needs to happen when people fling shoes at me all day.

But yes, big crazy investment. Especially at first.

Not IM-ing with Nathan.

Hey, Nathan! I miss you!

So. That’s a hell of a lot of hard.

And I’m going to save what did work for next week.

But I will tell you this much:

All that hard is still nothing compared to my life pre-email-sabbatical.

A year ago I kind of imagined that it would be really fun to go back to email at the end of my sabbatical.

That I would have worked through this stuff — and with my new, healthier relationship with the guilt and the shoulds, it would all be different.

What actually happened is the thought of going back to email makes me want to gouge my eyes out.

So sabbatical is now officially retirement.

And this whole being more conscious about respecting my capacity thing is no longer in “hey, what an interesting experiment” mode.

Comment zen for today.

I know this is a sticky topic, with a lot of built-in guilt and uncomfortableness.

And I hope it’s clear that my process is not in any way meant to be a “this is how you should do things”.

Here’s what I’d love:

  • your thoughts on process, systems, capacity, interacting with making changes.
  • other things that are rough about transitioning out of email (that I didn’t think of or forgot to mention).
  • support and acknowledgment for doing something challenging and hard.

Here’s what I’d rather not have:

  • Explanations of why email actually is really great or why it’s necessary. I’m not anti-email. I’m not anti-you-doing-email. I’m just anti-situations-in-which-Havi-has-to-do-email.
  • Shoulds about how I really ought to have handled things differently.

Thanks, guys. Jessica Rabbit kisses to the commenter mice and all my Beloved Lurkers.

Item! Special Metaphor Mouse edition!

Fluent Self Item!A somewhat goofy mini-collection of stuff I’ve been reading, stuff I’ve been thinking about and oh, some completely random crap.

Basically the stuff that never gets mentioned here because I’m not the kind of person who can just make some teeny little point. Not into the whole brevity thing, as the Dude would say.

Actually, I’m under the strict compulsion to write ten pages about anything on my mind. So this is me. Practicing brevity.

This is extremely exciting to announce:

I’m on my Extremely Intentional For Once Not An Emergency Having A Breakdown Vacation.

Starting oh, right about now. Well, in a couple of hours. It’s lovely. Thank you.

So I thought for this week’s Item!-izing, we’d look at some useful posts where people use my Metaphor Mouse magic to work on destuckifying things.

Metaphor Mouse power ACTIVATE!

Or something.

Item! Post No. 57 in a sometimes weekly series that has probably outworn its welcome but I really like saying Item!

Item! Metaphor Mouse turns to-dos into Missions!

Our brilliant Lucy has found a way to get stuff done by becoming a grand adventurer.

It’s especially inspiring because this one small change-of-word has allowed her to, as she put it, cast herself as the hero of her own story.

This is a sweet, thoughtful post that manages, between the lines, to say a lot of useful things about mindfulness, self-care and having a non-cheesy conscious relationship with yourself.

“I don’t get along with to-do lists, so instead of to-do lists, I’m giving myself missions.

To give you an idea of how thrilling the missions are, Mission One was to get dressed, eat breakfast, and decide what Mission Two would be.

They’re not designed to be big, overwhelming missions. They’re designed to be little, doable missions.

I’m on Mission Six now, and this part of the mission says “eat lunch and write a blog post”. I’m allowing myself an hour to write the blog post, and then I’m going to put it up, even if it’s crap.”

I love this!

Lucy is @lucyviret on Twitter.

Item! Metaphor Mouse turns writing into baking!

Tara uses my Metaphor Mouse formula to take on the dreaded Writing of Sales Pages.

And transforms the stuck into something she loves.

This post made me want to dance around the kitchen!

“What happens when there aren’t any expectations of what I *should* be doing? What does that look like?

That feels like I’m dancing around in my kitchen, as an adult (ie, not a kid doing homework), putting my favorite ingredients together, confident in my skill.

*bing*

When sales page = homework:
I feel:
like a kid
worried of getting in trouble
trying to please…the big kids? the experts?

When sales page = my baking:
I feel:
like an adult
responsible to myself
confident
free
I want to share all the tasty goodness!”

Nice!

She’s @blondechicken on Twitter.

Item! Metaphor Mouse turns “coaching” into something way better.

Emily, who clearly has some of the same issues with the word “coaching” as I do, despite um, being one but calling it something else.

She wrote a lovely — and very funny — post called Find your inner what? Who wants to remind themselves of a smelly gym?

Notice how she uses both the epiphany-generating magic of Shiva Nata, the power of journaling and the metaphor technique all together.

And notice how she’s able to completely detach from the “coach as sweaty guy with whistle” programming and to substitute something smart and magical instead.

“The inner curator knows about all my various collections: my thoughts, my ambitions, my secret dreams, my feelings.

And more than this, she understands the environment. If she notices some dry rot creeping into the textiles, she knows she needs to adjust the controls.

She can guide me to the parts of myself I need to be focusing on, and when I see a collection that I want to delve into in a deeper way, she can take me to the collections that are not on public display.

She also knows what might be missing from the collection…those things we should work to acquire to make our collection more complete. She knows our strengths and our weaknesses.”

Oh, and then read her next post to see how having that Inner Curator frees up her creativity all week. Wow.

She’s @emilyroots on Twitter.

Item! Comments! Here’s what I want this time:

  • Things you’re thinking about.
  • Things you think you’d like to metaphor-ize but haven’t gotten around to playing with yet.

That is all.

Happy reading.

And happy Blustery Windsday. But a balmy one for Claire!

The Fluent Self