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.
Very Personal Ads #1: Saudi Arabia, Houston and the internet.
Personal ads! They’re … personal! Very.
So my itty bitty personal ads this week made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.
Of course it all started when I posted my first personal ad and asked my perfect house to find me, which it did and now I live in Hoppy House.
And yes, I still sing “We have Hoppy House!” to the tune of Iron Man. And no, that’s not embarrassing. Okay, maybe a little.
Anyway, I’m thinking maybe this will become my Sunday ritual.
Because did you read some of the comments from last Monday? Oh. My. God. The most beautiful and amazing stories and requests ever. Plus Andrew even started a ning group for them.
So, to be fair, I don’t quite know what that means either, but yet again I am completely in awe of the stuff that happens here.
Shall we?

Thing 1: More time in my Angel Refueling Station.
Here’s what I want:
Well, I guess what I want is reminders to help me spend more time there.
My Angel Refueling Station is my wonderful little meditation closet, where most of the wackiness you read about here tends to happen.
It owes its name to the fabulous Fabeku who likes to remind me that “even angels need refueling sometimes”.
And I don’t refuel often enough.
Right now I spend about 45 minutes there each morning when I get up. And I go there if something sets me off. If I’m feeling upset or hurt. But that’s pretty much it.
So I want things that will remind me to go there before I need it. Or just for a quick break. Or just because I can.
Ways these reminders could come to me:.
- I could write little notes and hide them around the house.
- My brother and my gentleman friend and my assistant could gently shoo me there in a loving, non-guiltified way.
- Magic. Like … something could just remind me.
- Any other possibility. I’m willing to be surprised.
My commitment.
I will not pressure myself to spend more time there than I have capacity for.
I always treasure the time I spend there.
I use this space as a way to work on having healthy boundaries in my life.
I will keep it neat and tidy and well-stocked with incense, pillows and whatever other incredibly hippie accoutrements make me happy when I’m there.
Thing 2: Fabulous success with my scary thing tomorrow!
Here’s what I want:
So I’m doing something I’ve never done before and offering something in my business in a way I’ve never done before. Not here on the site. Somewhere else. It’s a weird feeling.
Anyway, I want it to be like this:
For the energy around this to be clear and powerful.
I want to be able to separate the amazing thing I am putting out to the world from my own residual stuckified stuff around invisibility and smallification.
The Right People for this thing I’m offering will get that zap of yes, this is it. And the people who are not the Right People yet (or at all) won’t have to interact with it.
The entire thing will be a sensational success that will knock me over with how great it is and I will wonder why I ever doubted that it was anything other than a genius thing to do.
Here’s how I want it to happen:
Everyone who is ready for the braintastic magic that is Shiva Nata will feel the sweet buzzing this-is-me this-is-me and will be drawn to the things that it can give them.
It will find them. And they will find it. By email forwarding. By an eye focusing on the right part of a page. By a pull. By a tug. By passion. By love. By coincidence. By right timing.
Ways this could work:
I’m pretty much open to anything.
My commitment.
I will acknowledge that yeah, this is me doing something that is new and potentially hard, and treat myself in a really caring, considerate way because this is a big deal for me.
I will give myself credit for taking the time to work on my stuff around this and shift some of the stuck.
I will say thank you for each good thing that comes out of this experience, and I will take anything that is hard straight to the Angel Refueling Station.
Thing 3: Help for Chris.
Here’s the situation:
Actually, I don’t know exactly what the situation is.
But Chris is supposed to be on his way to Saudi Arabia because his plane flies home from there, but there were complications with visas and passports and misunderstandings and bureaucratic ridiculousness.
So what I’m requesting for Chris is some kind of happy resolution.
I don’t know what it is, but I want stuff to work out for him in some way.
Ways this could happen:
- Something could turn up.
- He could get a reasonable flight from somewhere else to where he needs to go.
- Kind, understanding, accommodating people could show up in his life, at the airports, at the Embassies.
- Something else that I can’t think of that ends up being the perfect — or at least a feasible — solution to his conundrum.
- I’m also wishing for some kind of neat silver lining thing to come out of this experience.
My commitment.
I am going to wish really good things for Chris.
And I am going to ask you guys to wish really good things for Chris.
And hope that he has a safe, healthy, happy rest-of-trip and comes back to Portland with some great stories.
Thing 4: The Snake Charmers should totally win Best Blues Band in Houston!
Here’s what I want:
The Snake Charmers is a super rocking blues band. Their album is one of my favorites (I give it to everybody and listen to it almost every day).
I got to meet Marie (the singer) in Austin and she’s just as amazing in person as she is on Twitter.
And I happen to know that, despite being a totally sexy rock star, she is way too shy to ask for stuff.
Also, she has a thing about thinking that asking for what you want is like “shameless self-promotion”, which as we all know is a thing whose existence I have issues with.
Here’s what I want to happen:
I want every single person who reads this blog to go to Snakecharmers.net where there is a very thorough explanation of how to vote.
And I want Marie to really get what a terrific thing this is. Already in the top five possibilities in a city (Houston) that is full of great blues bands?
Because they’re that good. And I would love it if she realized that yeah, she’s a star and her music brings joy and meaning to our lives.
So there.
You can vote for The Snake Charmers (they’re #23) for the Houston Press Music Awards until July 26. You don’t have to live in Houston. Click the “no thanks” boxes and you won’t get mail from anyone.

Progress report on past Very Personal Ads and what’s going on with them.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I still don’t have my hangers. But for some reason I’m not worried about it. They’ll come.
And I know where I’m taking my bag of clothing! It just came to me.
There’s a “take what you want”-style free-box at the local anarchist collective.
Which is exactly the kind of place where I used to take stuff (and get stuff) when I lived in Berlin. In fact, just thinking of it makes me picture Angie and her Italian girlfriend wearing my Harley shirts.
I have to walk by there next week anyway. So that’s where it’s going.
Thanks for all your beautiful ideas and suggestions. Really, really appreciated!

Comments. Since I’m already asking …
I am adding to my practice of asking for stuff by being more specific about I would like to receive in the comments. And that way, if you feel like leaving one (you totally don’t have to), you get to be part of this experiment too. 🙂
Here’s what I want:
- Your own personal ads, small or large. Things you’ve asked for. Or are asking for. Or would like to ask for.
- Thoughts or ideas about ways any of the personal ads listed here could come true.
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.
My commitment.
I am committed to giving time and thought to the things that people say, and I will interact with their ideas and with my own stuff as compassionately and honestly as is possible for me.
Even though asking for what I want out loud (or in pixels) is challenging for me, I’m committing to this just-trying-it thing and I’m meeting myself where I am.
That’s it! Thanks for doing this with me. You guys rock.
p.s. I promised Claire I’d write about how I went about asking for doctors, and I promised someone else I’d write about some of the elements of a powerful ask, so I’ll do that too. Soon.
Friday Check-in #48: Spontaneous Fruit Party 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.
Zip!
This week kind of went by in a blur.
But here we are.
Yup. It’s definitely Friday. No getting around that.
Hi.
The hard stuff
Wrong side of bed.
A couple of days this week just didn’t work. As days.
I don’t know. Kept losing my clarity. Or couldn’t find it to begin with.
Just lost in the foggy and the fuzzy. And it took me TWO HOURS to do Wednesday’s post (which was half-completed when I started).
Agggggggggh.
Wednesday.
Speaking of Wednesday, it was brutal.
Not grounded. Depressed. Summer. Way too hot. Groggy. In bed. Miserable.
Also in pain. Arms hurt. Head hurt. Stitches hurt.
It was just generally not fun to be me on Wednesday.
It is also not fun to be me in the summer.
I tend to forget this every single year, but I really don’t do well with summer.
Pretty much everything horrible that has every happened to me has happened in the summer.
And the associations tend to catch up with me. Once I remember that oh, right, this is just my annual bout of summer misery, I can start to move through it.
But it takes me a while to get there.
Putting down baskets.
On Monday we had Jen Hofmann do a genius guest class for my Kitchen Table people and I begged her to do her awesome “how many baskets am I holding?” exercise with us.
Man, recognizing how many symbolic freaking baskets I’m carrying at any given moment is depressing. And carrying them is exhausting.
And putting them down is scary and hard. But I did it. Or worked on it, at any rate … which leads me to the good.
The good stuff
Putting down baskets.
I finally got around to canceling the VIP options on all of my products.*
*If you’ve already ordered one before yesterday, you can still totally do your session with me. So no worries.
Also finished planning the curriculum for two programs so that those baskets can go to the closet until I’m ready for them.
I looked at my baskets. And even though I love the stuff in them …
Down. They. Go.
Extreme self-care.
EXTREME!
Seriously, I’ve been treating it like an extreme sport that I’ve just gotten completely addicted to.
This is also hard, but I’m really, truly making this a practice.
Naptime. Trips to the Angel Refueling Station (aka my meditation closet). Bed. Kindness. Permission.
All the stuff that’s hard for me but really, really good for me.
So that’s a win.
Rose City Roller Derby Finals!
Okay, so admittedly my beloved Guns ‘N Rollers came in fourth, cough, last.
But the Breakneck Betties beat the High Rollers in a brutal fast-paced super-exciting bout and that was very cool.
And Danielle was there. And Dana the Spicy Princess. And our bartender. And a billion other people. And I love Portland.
Actually knowing people to run into.
So yeah, that’s a sign that hey, we live here now.
Because in San Francisco, I never ran into anyone. And in Sacramento, I didn’t even meet anyone.
But somehow in Portland the whole “knowing people” thing is working for us. This is new. And fantastic. So hooray!
We (my gentleman friend and I) even ran into our acupuncturist at the Neko Case concert. And if that doesn’t prove we live in Portland, I don’t know what does.
My gentleman friend made homemade ravioli.
With porcini mushrooms from the farmer’s market.
Oh, and he also made his own sourdough starter this week.
Because, you know, it’s not enough that he’s smart and funny and completely gets me and is the world’s biggest goofball and I love him. RAVIOLI!
And … STUISM 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.
Ooh! This one might actually be my favorite Stuism ever …
I was talking to Stu and my gentleman friend was yelling “What?“, because this often happens when you talk to yourself converse with software.
Especially when you’re shouting things like “Work already, you stupid piece of crap!”
Anyway, I yelled “I’m not talking to you–I’m talking to STU!”
But I forgot to silence Stu and he wrote it down. Except that he didn’t write what I actually said.
Instead he wrote:
“I’m not talking a deal to Congress on August 2!”
Fabulous.
The rest of this week’s Stuisms:
- it encloses UN instead of “it closes you in”
- beer is healthy instead of “fear is healthy”
- When we strapped on instead of “when we eavesdropped”
- Prince of pal instead of “principle”
- Or hmmm instead of “okay”
- we cannot tax a sum of missed communication instead of “we can unpack some of this miscommunication”
- him is like pure myth instead of “seem less like a pyramid”
- and a DVD for personal ads instead of “an itty bitty personal ad”
- a gray base for teaching workshop’s instead of “a great space for teaching workshops”
- the endless psych of Moore crappy beans created instead of “the endless cycle of more crap being created”
And … new 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.”
So this week, I bring you:
Spontaneous Fruit Party
Me: “Did you catch Spontaneous Fruit Party at the Wonder Ballroom? They were opening for the Pneumatic Mushrooms.”
Ez: “Dude. I heard it’s just one guy.”
Yes!
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.
Scissors. Part two.
Or: A number of surprising realizations and a typewriter.
Okay. Kind of left you trailing last time … let me catch you up.
If you will recall, I’m getting my stitches taken out (part one) by someone fabulously incompetent.
Or hilariously incompetent …
At least, that appears to be the opinion of my various symbolic allies and helper mice* that I have called on to help me stay grounded and centered.
*Not actually mice.
Because my allies and helper mice are falling apart. Hysterical laughter. Convulsions. Everyone is on the floor.
Even my most hard-core spiritual teacher who never laughs ever is totally snickering behind his hand. And his eyes are crinkling and he’s so completely about to lose it.
I ask what’s so funny, and that just makes them laugh even harder.
Apparently, I’m the funny part.
[What I have to explain here is that I don’t have the clearest reading on who my helper mice and allies are. My teacher is always there. Hiro is there a lot. My grandmother, sometimes.
There are ones that I recognize and ones that I don’t. And sometimes it’s just a big fog. So I’m just going to give them numbers so you know when someone new is speaking.]
Me: No, seriously. I get that this situation is completely absurd — I do, really — but why is it so funny for you guys?
Helper mouse #1: Giggling. You come up with the funniest things to happen to you! Every time! Every time the funny!
Me: No, I don’t. And don’t put this crap on me.
Helper mouse #2: Oh, honey! I’m sorry. She didn’t mean it like that. We’re not laughing at you.
Me: You’re not?
Helper mouse #1: No, of course not. It’s just … the drama. You love the drama. And you love it to be funny. And then you get these total characters around you.
Me: No, I don’t.
Helper mouse #3: Wiping tears away. It’s not you, exactly. It’s your writer self. The part of you who is a writer. You like to share the stuff that happens to you.
I think about this.
Writer Me.
Me: I’m confused, I guess. Are you saying that I exaggerate what happens to me?
Helper mouse #4: Oh, not at all. That’s kind of why it’s so funny!
Paroxysms of laughter from the helper mice. Question marks from me.
Helper mouse #2: What he means is that the funny part is that you don’t need to exaggerate. Your life is just filled with funny.
Helper mouse #3: And then you have this phenomenal auditory memory and you can record conversations verbatim … and Writer You just loves it.
All the helper mice nod in agreement. More question marks from me.
Helper mouse #3: I mean, look at her.
Everyone looks up. And then they laugh and laugh and laugh.
I look up too.
And there, a few feet above me, is Writer Me.
She’s tiny.
Like, Tinkerbell tiny.
Her hair is up in a messy bun held together by a pencil. And she’s typing furiously away at an old-fashioned typewriter and laughing her head off.
And that’s when the realizations started …
Some of them were really obvious. Some were really subtle.
Some were painful and some were sweet.
But they were coming fast and furious.**
**Which, admittedly, is my own fault because I’d been messing around with Shiva Nata the day before and that’s just kind of what happens.

Realization #1: I know that typewriter.
I know that typewriter.
That’s the typewriter that my friend who is dead gave me for my twenty-fifth birthday to remind me that I am a writer.
I have no idea where it is or what happened to it.
Realization #2: Tiny Writer Me is familiar too.
Of course.
She looks different than I’d imagined her, with her retro cat eye glasses and slim skirt.
But yeah, she’s me. And she’s the writer self that I pretend doesn’t exist.
Not that I haven’t thought about her. About what might have happened if I hadn’t moved to Israel at seventeen.
I spent years imagining this parallel life. While I was getting in screaming fights with drunks at various dive bars where I worked in south Tel Aviv. While I was teaching yoga in Berlin.
I’d imagine the me who stayed. Who committed to her writing. Who ended up in New York or Chicago. Who wrote pieces for the New Yorker and did odd little indie projects and collaborations.
And then I gave her up.
Realization #3: I’m completely wrong about Realization #2.
Uh uh.
I realize that this imaginary writer person I am always half-mourning does not exist … and that Writer Me is actually always wherever I am.
It’s like, I had always thought that Writer Me was my unfulfilled self.
The me-that-would-have-been. The grand, tragic story.
But it turns out that Writer Me is with me all the time — about two feet above my head, as it turns out — inventing hilarious things to write about.
And slapping her knee and guffawing, if you can imagine someone doing that in this totally dainty way.
Realization #4: My allies and helper mice deeply appreciate something about me that I am not even aware of.
I realize that they’re laughing with joy and merriment.
And now I know why they’re laughing.
It’s because to them it’s obvious that I want things to be funny.
In fact, they think that I intentionally (or subconsciously?) gravitate towards ridiculous situations because Writer Me enjoys them.
They’re amused and entertained by my marvelous, tumultuous, goofy-ass life. And they are here, in part, to help me enjoy it more. To appreciate it more.
Of course, if I ask them for more calm and grounding and quiet, they can do that too. But if I’m not asking? They’re pretty much just going to sit back and enjoy the show.
Because it’s basically the best situation comedy in the world.
Realization #5: Writer Me pushes me into bizarre situations so that I will be forced to write about them.
She knows that I avoid her. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to put up with me not writing.
In fact, I suddenly understand with perfect clarity that if I spend more time with Writer Me, she won’t have to invent such crazy scenarios to make me write about them.
It’s as though she’s almost forcing me to write.
And then she said that. To me!
“You know what your problem is? You don’t want to own me. You won’t even admit that I’m this huge part of you. You don’t even call yourself a writer.
You call it “blogging” and pretend it’s just this thing you do for your business. You hide from the world.
Well, guess what. I make sure your life is so interesting that you can’t not tell people about it. In words. That you write. That people read. So there.”
And then she stuck her tongue out at me.
And went back to typing furiously and snickering.
Oh.
Realization #6: I don’t have to make everything so complicated all the time.
Because yeah …
Maybe things can be funny and sweet without always having to be so hard and so bitter.
Maybe I can let things happen with more ease.
Maybe Writer Me and I can work together on some projects.
Maybe she can help me keep writing and keep seeing the funny … but without it all having to be so ridiculously chaotic all the time.
And maybe there are more realizations that are going to clear stuff up around this and I don’t have to figure it all out right this second.

So I’ve been practicing asking for what I want to receive in the comments — if you feel like leaving one, you totally don’t have to, of course!
Here’s what I want:
- Reactions. Reassurance. Things from your own life that this reminds you of. Realizations of your own if anything is coming up.
- If you have a Writer You or a Dancer You or a Scientist You or whatever who shows up on occasion, I would love to know what they look like! Or sound like …
Here’s what I would rather not have:
- Judgment/observations about how crazy I am. Or about how obvious and predictable this all is. Or, you know, casual backseat psychoanalysis.
- Shoulds.
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.

Thanks for doing this with me! I am totally hesitating over the publish button on this one, but what the hell.
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!]