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.
Item! Wednesday is back! Hot!
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.
Alright.
I know we ended on a cliffhanger yesterday (and I promise we’ll get back to that exciting story tomorrow) but it’s Wednesday.
Also, my brain is tired and I can’t write straight.
And am also completely distracted by all the smart, funny, weird, interesting things on Twitter, which is partly why these Item! posts exist, because otherwise all this stuff just vanishes.
Item! Post No. 24 in a series that still has no point but has become (for me, at least) weirdly addictive.
Item! Care for your introvert!
Loved this Atlantic article by Jonathan Rauch.
Not because I necessarily agree with everything (or even a lot of) what he has to say but because it’s helpful for me to remember that other highly sensitive people have it hard too.
We’re sensitive mice.
And sometimes it’s nice to have permission to stay that way.
“Second, when you see an introvert lost in thought, don’t say “What’s the matter?” or “Are you all right?”
Third, don’t say anything else, either.”
Item! Best. News. Ever.
Okay, so I don’t have a television, but no, that does not stop me from being madly obsessed with the short-lived series Arrested Development.
I think I’ve seen every single episode at least twice. And the ones with Liza Minnelli in them? Way too many times and still not enough.
So it was pretty cool when I saw the trailer for the new Arrested Development Documentary.
Be happy for me!
Item! Sometimes people want to give us money and we don’t let them!
Nice post from Sparky Firepants about wanting to give people money and not getting to.
It’s called … Hello? Is anyone there? Can I give someone my money here?
And yeah.
This situation is totally a thing. I notice at least a few times a week that I’m really wanting to give someone my money and they’re (accidentally, I guess) making it extra hard on me.
And goodness knows I probably am guilty of this too. Useful.
He’s @sparkyfirepants on Twitter.
Item! Two lovely posts about a Sad Little Ghost.
The first post is a conversation post which references an earlier post which references me.
She’s doing the whole “talking to her stucknesses” thing.
Very good stuff.
“My Sad Little Ghost isn’t haunting me because he wants me to feel bad about myself. It’s a Sad Little Ghost because he’s just trying to get me to the things that he knows (and for that matter, I know) would make me happy in the long run. He’s sad because I don’t listen to him.”
Go read the rest.
She’s @supercareo on Twitter.
Item! This is nothing short of miraculous but maybe you could end up coming to Taos?
The amazing Jennifer Louden — who is not only smart and inspiring, but is also pretty much the only self-help-ey author that I actually listen to) is doing her week-long women’s writing retreat in Taos, New Mexico.
I crush so hard on everything she does that it’s just embarrassing.
And, incredibly, I’ve been invited to be a kind of scholar-in-residence there, teaching destuckification and epiphany-generating wackiness and gentle yoga and maybe even some emergency calming techniques.
And of course it sold out early because this is basically the best thing in the entire world.
But now, even more incredibly, two people can’t make it and there is an opening and ohmygod you should take it if you can.
Seriously. The opportunity to learn from someone like Jen in person is heaven. Add to that the prospect of getting destuckified with your writing and finding your voice again and devoting time, energy and love to healing the stuck bits …
I can’t even describe what an outrageously life-changing opportunity this is so I will stop stuttering and just give you the links already.
So first you want to read the long but useful page that describes the course and then you’ll probably miss the tiny, tiny, tiny almost-invisible link to where you actually sign up for it so yeah, this is where you do that.
Item! I I’m not the only one who makes fun of Stu!
About ten different people sent me the link to this picture.
Because I rant about Stu (my McCarthy-ist voice-to-text software) and his curious and malicious misspellings every single Friday.
Awesome.
Item! Comments!
So it was really cool the other day when I was working on my practice of how I ask for stuff and then I made a very specific request for the kinds of comments I wanted to receive.
And that totally felt awkward and weird.
But the cool part was that people really got it and all the comments were so lovely … and I realized that I’m actually making life easier on everyone when I’m specific about what I want and what I don’t want.
So I’m going to try it again!
Here’s what I want:
- Things you’re thinking about.
- Things you think I should read.
My commitment.
I am committed to giving time and thought to absorbing everything that people say, and I will interact with their ideas and with my own stuff as compassionately and honestly as is possible for me.
That is all.
Happy reading.
And happy Blustery Windsday. See you tomorrow.
Scissors.
So the other day I’m in the surgery room waiting to have stitches taken out —
— and before you completely freak out because you are my mother, let me reassure you that it was not a big deal at all and it was just a thing being removed by the dermatologist and it was completely benign and I’m okay mom, I promise —
and I can hear the doctor (it’s a he*) talking to the nurse (a she) in the next room.
*Not because it matters to the story. Just so you’ll know who I’m talking about when I use a gendered pronoun later.
It’s not related to anything in particular, but I absolutely have to share this conversation with you because it was so completely insane.
Not even exaggerating. More insane than the conversation I had with that cab company in Texas.
And then I have to tell you about the other thing that happened. Because that was pretty great too.
The conversation in the next room.
The doctor: Don’t we have any scissors around here?
The nurse: I don’t know.
The doctor: It really seems like we should have scissors.
The nurse: I don’t know. I don’t see any.
The doctor: Didn’t we order some scissors?
The nurse: Oh, that’s right. We did. We haven’t picked them up yet.
The doctor: Well, we’re going to need scissors, you know.
The nurse: We should have some somewhere. They’ve got to be around here.
The doctor: Yes, scissors. I need scissors.
The nurse: I think they’re around here somewhere. Wait —
Sound of crashing and stuff falling over.
Me (in my head): Oy Vavoy.
The doctor: Oh dear.
The nurse: Well, I just walked right into you, didn’t I? Dear me. Well, at least the floor is clean.
The doctor: Do we at least have suture scissors?
The nurse: What?
The doctor: I need suture scissors.
The nurse: Indeed you do! You have a patient waiting in surgery in room 3.
Me: Uh oh. That’s me. Room 3. Crap crap crap. They don’t have scissors. What am I doing here?
The one-sided conversation in my head.
This is me, talking to myself. But when I say talking to myself, I mean talking AT myself.
Okay, sweetie. We’re good. We’re good.
What do we know about this situation? We know that you’re feeling nervous and needing some reassurance. And that’s legitimate. It’s understandable.
We know this doctor is very competent. You wrote a personal ad for him, remember? He did a lovely job putting the stitches in. You like him.
Sure, the nurse is a bit of a flakerooney, but at least she’s really nice. And anyway, you didn’t say anything about that in your personal ad, so yeah, you know …
Kind of funny, actually, because weren’t you just telling your Kitchen Table-ers about how important it is to be specific?
Okay, sorry. That was kind of obnoxious. I don’t mean to be lecturing you. I guess I’m just nervous.
Maybe we can just work on making this whole experience more comfortable. What can we do here? What would help?
Yoga breathing. Check. Mudra. Check. Grounding. Check. Centering. Check. What else?
The two-sided conversation in my head.
This is me, talking to myself. But when I say talking to myself, I mean talking WITH myself. Like group therapy, except that everyone is me.
Kind Sensible Loving Me: Okay, what are we feeling? What are we noticing?
Scared Tiny Me: Fear.
Curious Me: Is it ours? Does it belong to us?
Observer Me: Some of it is. A little. The rest is just residue. It’s in the room. It’s other people’s fear that they’ve left here.
Healer Me: Is this something that has to be here? Can I get permission to clear it out? Or to let it be cleared out?
Unsure Me: Maybe. Hmmmm.
Cruise Director Me: Alright. Anything that isn’t ours? Anything that doesn’t need to be here? You can go back to the earth and dissolve. You don’t need to be here anymore.
Twenty-five Year Old Me: Man, you are such an embarrassing hippie freak. How can you stand to be around yourself?
Right-Now Me: Sweetpea, I know this is hard for you when I’m all kooky and weird. I’m just going to remind you that we don’t have to believe in this stuff for it to help.
Reasoning Me: You know what it’s like when the energy of a room changes. Is there a reason why we can’t let that happen now?
Scared Tiny Me: Because I’m scared.
Kind Sensible Loving Me: Oh, my love. Oh, that’s hard. I am not going to try to talk you out of feeling what you’re feeling. Come sit here and be loved.
Long story short.
I finish talking to myself.
I clear the fear and the discomfort out of the space.
Then I remember how Hiro suggests calling on your allies in situations like these, so I asked for some helper mice to come to the rescue. Or at least to keep me company. To help me feel safe and supported.
There was some eye-rolling from my inner sarcastic zebra (don’t ask), but we got there.
My helpers and allies showed up. And we waited. Together.
Nu? So what happened?
The nurse comes in to take out the stitches.
Me (in my head): Nooooooooo. She’s doing it? Oh, disaster.
And then she starts to take out the stitches.
The nurse: Oh dear! Oops-a-daisy.
Me (in my head): Breeeeaaaaathe.
The nurse: It’s like I just can’t seem to focus my eyes. I should really have them checked.
Me (in my head): ?!??!
The nurse: Let’s put you at a different angle. Maybe it will be less blurry that way.
Me (in my head): Oh. My. God.
The nurse: Nope! It’s just me. Okey-dokey. Let’s see here. Is that two stitches or three at the end there? It’s certainly hard to tell!
Me (in my head): This is going to be really funny later, sweetie. I promise. In the meantime, just keep using your techniques and we’ll get you through this.
The nurse: Gee, I hope I’m getting them all. I might have left in one or two. We’ll ask the doctor about it.
Me (in my head): Oy.
But that’s not even the funny part. Or the strange part.
I look around at my circle of allies and helpers.
And they’re laughing so hard they’re on the floor. They’re just cracking up completely.
Falling apart.
And wouldn’t you know. That’s when all the really bizarre stuff started happening.
To Be Continued …
p.s. The stitches came out fine. No pain. It looks great. No worries.
I’ll call, I promise.
[Okay, if you missed the follow-up post, it’s right here: Scissors, Part 2. Enjoy!]
An itty-bitty personal ad.
Confession: my obsession with writing personal ads for things that no one would ever write a personal ad for is spinning slightly out of control.
First I wrote a personal ad for my ideal home… which is how I came to live at Hoppy House. Hoppy House! I love Hoppy House. Plus it has blueberry bushes.
Then Kelly wrote a personal ad for a copywriting assistant… and I ran it for her here and that ended up completely transforming her business.
But then lately I’ve been writing really, really little ones and not putting them up on the blog. Not even telling anyone about them. And here’s the weird part. It’s still working.
I don’t get it.
But I also don’t really care because hey, look at that, it’s working.
And so I’m writing personal ads.
That’s how I found a really great dentist who is smart and sensitive and caring and considerate (all the qualities I asked for).
And a dermatologist who is sensible and down to earth.
And a great space for teaching workshops.
And it’s not just me.
My clients and students and Kitchen Table participants are knocking me over with the way they are finding what they need while using this extremely unlikely and “soft” technique.
Houses. Jobs. Relationships.
But also smaller things… like a home for a puppy. Or a good book to read on the plane.
So I’ve decided to start writing itty-bitty personal ads for things I need and want that aren’t big, crazy things to ask for.
Just to see if the process of finding them can be made that much easier.
A tiny personal ad for hangers.
I am a person without a lot of stuff. I don’t have a car. I don’t have a desk. I have two pairs of shoes.
So simple living suits me. And at the same time, I somehow don’t have enough hangers in my closet.
Here’s what I want:
Sturdy clothes hangers, made of wood or metal. Some of them should have clips for hanging skirts on them.
Here’s how I want to get them:
I am more than happy to pay for them. I just don’t want to have to go look for them.
And I prefer used to new, to not have to be part of that endless cycle of more crap being created.
Ways they could come to me:
- A friend or neighbor could want to give them away.
- Someone might see an ad on Craig’s List or Freecycle and tell me about it.
- I could happen upon them somehow. (This makes me think of Mr. Micawber and his waiting for something “to turn up”!)
- Any other possibility. I’m willing to be surprised.
My commitment.
I will treat these hangers well. I will appreciate them. They will be loved.
A tiny personal ad for a place to donate old clothing.
Again, I don’t have a lot. But some of it is stuff that no longer needs to be with me.
I’ve gone through my closet and asked “Is this something that the Pirate Queen or one of her consorts would be happy wearing?”
And now I have a bag of stuff that isn’t. And it would like a good home.
Here’s what I want:
I want to know where to take this bag of clothing, without having to do a bunch of time-consuming research, or calling everyone I know to ask.
Here’s how I want to receive the thing I want:
- Someone reading this could leave a comment here with a useful suggestion.
- The next time I’m hanging out with a friend, I just remember to ask and they have the exact right answer.
- I type my question into a search engine and the first thing that comes up is perfect.
- The right answer just comes to me.
- Any other possibility. I’m willing to be surprised.
My commitment.
I will take this bag of clothing to the right place once I find it. I will give these things joyfully and appreciate the new space in my life.
And … I’m out of personal ads for now.
But I’m sure I’ll think of other things I want to ask for.
I really like the clarity that asking gives me. I like the ritual of it.
And I like the idea that a personal ad doesn’t always have to be for some big life-changing thing.
That it can be tiny and hopeful and personal.
That’s what I’m going for.
And since I’m already asking …
I am going to also try asking today for what I would like to receive in the comments, and that way, if you feel like leaving one, you’ll be part of this experiment too. 🙂
Here’s what I want:
- Stories of things you’ve asked for. Or are asking for. Or would like to ask for.
- Helpful thoughts and ideas you have about the two things that I have asked for here.
- Ways that you’re thinking about this concept and how it could be applied to interesting things … or questions you have about it and how to apply it.
What I would rather not have:
- Theories about why it works.
- To be judged or psychoanalyzed.
My commitment.
I am committed to giving time and thought to everything that people say, and I will interact with their ideas compassionately and honestly.
What I’m noticing.
How weird/hard it is to just say what I want.
Really interesting.
That’s it!
p.s. Thanks for doing this with me. I really appreciate it.
Friday Check-in #47: the Expotition edition
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.
Oh boy.
Friday.
This has been quite a week.
And really, I should just tell you about it already.
And you should tell me about yours, because misery loves company. I mean, because I like you.
Not miserable. Just tired. Because of the Expotition.
The hard stuff
Stuff I don’t like that is sometimes also uncomfortable.
More dentist. Dermatologist. Opthamologist. Things that end in –ist.
Not happy about it.
Disappearing post.
The blog post that I meant to write the other day totally ran away.
I mean, I did write it and then it just didn’t exist anymore.
It was the most bizarre thing in the entire world and I also couldn’t believe I’d actually lost it because I am the most save-ey backing-up-ey person in the world.
So then I spend forever looking for it anyway even though it was clearly gone. And even more time mourning the lost genius bits.
And feeling bad about the time it took to write and the time it took to look for it … and that only took more time.
And, even though this whole thing is completely ridiculous, it really was an amazing, brilliant post that is no more. Argh.
Just kind of generally stressed out.
A bunch of little things that add up.
No one horrible stressful thing. Just lots of tiny little worries and challenges and things to trip over.
Some shoes being tossed. Stuff like that.
But hey, some good stuff happened too.
The good stuff
Sleeping in.
Okay, so normally I wake up between five and six, because that’s when my body likes to get up.
Which is great. That’s when I get my writing done. Well, first my wacky meditations and then my writing.
But every once in a while I actively try to sleep in (because it’s clear I need more rest) and I can’t. Annoying.
This week though I had two huge victories in that area.
One day I slept in until 7 a.m. (which hardly ever happens) and then the next day I slept in until 9am (which never happens). It was amazing.
And I give full credit to the Great Expotition for wearing me out entirely.
The Great Expotition.
You kind of have to know a bit about Portland to understand how completely insane this walk my brother and I went on was. But you really don’t.
Let’s just say that it was well beyond anything that should fit into anyone’s definition (however casual) of “going for a walk”.
We started in North Portland, because, you know, that seemed as good a place to start as any.
And then six hours and all five city quadrants later* … we collapsed and had a very well-earned dinner.
*Yes. You’re right. Quadrant should mean four. Please don’t ask me why Portland has five. I mean, I know why there are five, but I don’t know why we call them quadrants.
The basic description of the Great Expotition is this:
Ez and I made our way from North Portland to Northeast Portland. Crossed the river into Northwest. Stopped at Powell’s.
Walked from Northwest to Southwest. Got so far south that we were all the way to the Ross Island bridge (the second to last southern bridge) — and then doubled back and crossed the Hawthorne bridge into Southeast.
Oh, and then walked another 40 minutes or so to Sellwood.
In short, it was the longest, silliest urban walk I have ever been on. Expotition!**
**Hat tip to Winnie-the-Pooh.
Weird things happened that resulted in a surprise workshop!
In case you missed the announcement yesterday, I’m teaching a surprise (SURPRISE!) workshop in San Francisco.
This was a fairly exciting part of my week because it was a surprise even for me, and because it’s going to be absolutely fantastic. And because eight people signed up yesterday.
And I know some of them and they’re awesome.
[EDIT: Whoop! Already sold out. Sorry.]
Also, even if you’re nowhere near San Francisco, you should really go to the hastily-scrawled page and read my amusing rant about how the coupon code only works if you press the APPLY COUPON button.
Because oh, I’m hilarious.
Well, I amuse myself at least … and that’s something else that belongs in the “good” category. Good thing there isn’t a “wry” category, because it would definitely have to go there instead.
And … STUISMS of the week.
Stu is my paranoid McCarthy-ist voice-to-text software who delights in torturing me misunderstanding me. I can’t stand him.
My favorites this week were all of his pathetic attempts to “translate” the phrase compassionate communication, which Stu likes to call compassionate vindication.
(He also likes compassionate truncation.)
Anyway, the gems from this week, including Stu’s acetyl Freudian slips.
- now help for this is firming instead of “how helpful this is for me”
- print this please instead of “parenthesis”
- wheels so Foran instead of “feels so foreign”
- meritless things (also American listings) instead of “miraculous things”
- Cumber stations with monster’s instead of “Conversations with monsters”
- why Philly instead of “my belief”
- his votes to this thing instead of “let’s do this thing”
- you don’t want a standard hurry instead of “you don’t want to stand in her way”.
- So let’s tame this into A/UX instead of “So let’s take this in chunks”
- I was is supposed to pronounce this for our Virgo instead of “I was supposed to announce this forever ago”
- people will hang at my meme beach house instead of “people will hate me and be jealous”
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.
This is bizarre. It is also about San Francisco.
And some unexpected developments.
The other day I got to interview the super-smart Pam Slim because she generously agreed to talk to my At the Kitchen Table group about what it means to be an intentional entrepreneur.
And about … oh, goodness all sorts of other stuff, because when Pam and I get together we go off on crazy, wonderful, loopy tangents.
It was fabulous.
You maybe remember (speaking of tangents) that we met while taking a class a few years ago (which is totally why you should take classes). Or that we roomed together at the madcap four-day slumber party that was SXSW.
I still adore her and am just generally the hugest gushing fan of everything she does. Her posts. Her coaching. Her terrific book. Her guest-blogging for the New York Freaking Times.
All of it.
She’s quick and insightful and kind and compassionate and a total goofball. Love. Pam.
But what I completely didn’t expect was that I was also going to get surprising and eye-opening results from interviewing her for my Kitchen-ers.
Bring on the weird stuff!
So I talked her into doing a little guided meditation thing with my group, because we’re all about the wacky.
And also because when she described it, we thought it sounded pretty cool.
The general idea was that you imagine yourself out on a stage looking out at your Right People. Kind of like internal market research.
And I’m already all, ack! A stage! I can’t be on a stage! Which is kind of funny, because I’ve been teaching since I was fourteen and yeah, I often teach on a stage. I even gave a lecture in German for goodness sakes from a stage at the Berlin Yoga Festival.
But my head forgets these things.
Luckily it was a very non-scary stage. Outdoors. This very smooth, organic space emerging. Not a look-at-me kind of space. More of a this is where we are gathering kind of space.
How weird is this.
You should really just hire Pam to walk you through this because I’m probably explaining it all wrong, but the general idea is that you notice who shows up to learn from you.
And then you discover what you have to say to them. And what they desperately need from you.
And I’m all, yeah yeah, I know what I teach and I know what my people need. It’s the safety thing and it’s the love thing and it’s the patterns thing. Nothing new for me here.
But that’s not at all what happened.
Here’s what happened.
I can see the stage that Pam is describing. I can feel it.
I get up onto the stage and I don’t teach anything.
I don’t say anything.
Instead, I start doing the Dance of Shiva. I start demonstrating the science of patterns.
How patterns work. How things are put together. How things come apart. How you take one thing and turn it into something else.
How some patterns are waiting to be transformed into something better … and how others are beautiful, organic parts of nature that just want to be acknowledged and appreciated.
I’m demonstrating what it is like to be right there with the hard stuff. I’m demonstrating what it is like to let things be hard because sometimes you need to dance around with the hard for a while.
And I’m demonstrating what it is like to let things be easy because sometimes they don’t need to be hard.
I’m demonstrating joy. I’m demonstrating power. I’m demonstrating change. Inspiration. Courage. Connection. Safety. Shelter. Daring. Flying.
It’s amazing. And everyone gets it. They get what I’m trying to teach through not teaching.
And then I find out what they need from me.
It’s not really any of the stuff I think they need from me.
Pam asks:
“What are your people hungry for?”
I get two words. Both of them in Hebrew.
Seder.
This is order.
But it’s also more than that. It’s an ordering which contains elements of structure and pattern and right relationship.
Shalva
This is … hmmm, kind of a combination of peace and calm and contentment. It’s something deeply enveloping and comforting. There is a lot of grace to it.
Seder and Shalva. The relief that comes from finding the order in the chaos. And the chaos in the order. Because there is freedom in both of them.
Wow. Crazy.
Not that this necessarily needs to mean anything to the people who have gathered around my teaching. Just that I know more about the qualities my people want to receive.
I have nothing more to say about that other than that it was ridiculously awesome.
And that the very next day a thing happened! A thing!
Well, an unusual opportunity came up and I grabbed it. And now I get to announce it. This is so crazy. And so great. Whee!
ANNOUNCEMENT! Excitement! Exclamation points! San Francisco!
So it turns out (as of right now) that my duck and I are teaching a three hour workshop in San Francisco.
Three hours of “work through your stucknesses with Dance of Shiva and Havi-inspired wackiness” magic. And of course, some hot buttered epiphanies because yay, epiphanies.
It’s really, really, really soon. Really soon.
Sunday, July 12 from 2:30 – 5:30 p.m.
The important things to know:
- There is only room for ten people. We might even have to close it at eight.
- My workshops sell out very quickly.
- It’s in the Castro. Details, directions and possible ride-share info when you sign up.
- It’s going to be outrageously great. Admittedly, it’s not an entire weekend in North Carolina, but still, we can do a hell of a lot of destuckifying in three hours.
Oh, and one more thing:
Please do NOT mention this directly to my gentleman friend if you know him because I found a way to fly him out there on a surprise vacation at the same time and he totally doesn’t know we’re going and I might even get away with this because he’s really busy this week and hasn’t been on my blog. Whew.
The rest of the details are here.
Take a look because Selma and I would love to be able to hang out with you in person and do wackiness and have breakthroughs.
And yeah, there’s also a coupon thing-ey (reduced rate) for my blog readers because I adore you guys madly and you make my work worth doing.
[EDIT: Sorry, sorry, sorry — sold out already. I think in just under 30 hours. Next time will try to do something bigger or at least give more advanced notice?]
I need to go jump up and down now.
So I will leave you with this.
I’m super excited. About Pam. About my new vision. About this weird, wonderful thing that just unfolded. About getting to maybe see some of you in person and do this work together.
–> Here’s the link: https://fluentself.com//san-francisco
Wheeeee!
That is all.
Talk tomorrow.