What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
Friday 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.
Pirate beauty and other good things.
Have you ever noticed how when you lose something you’ve written, it just happens to be the one piece that is completely brilliant?
Because pretty much the only time I’m absolutely positive that what I’ve written is full of sparkly bits of genius is when I don’t have a shot in hell of getting it back.
All this to say that — despite my obsessive file-saving and mad backing-up tendencies — my beautiful blog post has disappeared forever.
So we’re talking about something else today. Apparently. Hi.
What would a pirate queen do?
Remember when I said I needed to take some of my stucknesses to Carolyn?
That seemed like a smart thing to do. Because Carolyn is awesome and also because she helped me sort out my pirate invisibility issue a few weeks ago.
I explained the problem.
Basically, my stucknesses are of the opinion that I am not allowed to be beautiful or do anything that might draw attention to myself because people will hate me and be jealous.
And Carolyn, who is very wise, asked, “What about the pirate queen? Is she not allowed to be beautiful or draw attention to herself?”
Which made me laugh.
Remembering that you’re a pirate queen is hard work.
I haven’t been a pirate queen for all that long. It’s a pretty recent development.
So yeah, sometimes I forget.
Here’s what our conversation sounded like:
Carolyn: So … the Pirate Queen is allowed to be beautiful, right?
Me: Pffft. Hell, yeah. She’s totally hot. It’s like, practically a requirement.
Carolyn: That’s what I thought. So … what are the qualities of pirate beauty?
Me: Strong. Powerful. Glowy. Vivacious. Determined. Unique. Surprising.
Carolyn: And what does the Pirate Queen think about other people being jealous or hating her because of these qualities?
Me: Why would she care about that?
Carolyn: raises eyebrow
Me: She doesn’t even notice that sort of thing. It has nothing to do with her. It’s their stuff. It’s their responsibility. They can have it.
Carolyn: They can have it.
Me: Yeah.
Carolyn: And what are the good things that come from having pirate beauty?
Me: I don’t know.
So I did a little wacky meditation on it.
Carolyn suggested that I sit with the phrase “My pirate beauty attracts all the right things”.
Right.
I didn’t feel comfortable with the wording, but I could imagine eventually wanting to feel comfortable with it. And so I went with it.
And here’s what happened.
I’m standing on the shore, squinting at the ship in the sun. The pirate queen is standing at the bow looking gorgeous and fierce and kind all at once.
She’s cupping her hands to her mouth so she can shout at me and she’s shouting that I should hurry up and join her.
But I can’t.
I want to retreat into the trees behind me. But I also don’t want her to leave me.
So I climb up onto a rock and determine to study the Pirate Queen. To learn what it is that makes her so confident about her pirate ways. And to find out, as Carolyn suggested, what good things come from pirate beauty.
And the strangest thing happened.
Watching the pirate queen, I realized that I was expecting that she’d attract a lot of pain and crap that she would then powerfully deflect.
That people would hate her and harass her, but that she’d be tough enough to not care.
But that’s not what happened.
Instead, it was as if dangerous things didn’t even come near her. Because they couldn’t.
What happened was that the people who were drawn to her were intrigued by her way of being. They became fiercely loyal to her vision. They became protectors and defenders of all that was related to her.
And she just kept on doing her confident, beautiful, creative thing in the middle of that love and protection.
Even better than that, other people came to watch her do it. And you could see how it inspired them to go off and do their own thing. How her quiet power gave them permission to have power too.
It was seriously cool.
And then I was on the ship.
The pirate queen and I were standing arm and arm, watching.
Watching the gap between us and the shore widen and widen until there was nothing to see but a great expanse of blue.
Item! I have stuff to say and I’m saying it!
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.
There’s stuff to read.
There are Twitter links.
There are recommendations.
It’s Wednesday practically almost Wednesday, people. Selma and I have no sense of time. But we have a lot to say. Mostly me, though. Because Selma is a duck.
Item! Post No. 23 in a series that is too sexy for its shirt. Or would be if it had one.
Item! Do you know Kirstin? Because you should.
She’ll probably kill me for mentioning this but this is fantastic.
I don’t even really like video stuff and I watch everything she does.
She does this thing called You Digest and this is what it is:
In a world of infinite media options, you are what you browse, hear, game, read, and watch. But even information omnivores can get overloaded if they let all that raw media go unprocessed.
That’s where youdigest comes in — to cure your case of digital-age dyspepsia.
It’s a digest both in the traditional sense (I summarize the day’s top stories and their sources) and in my interpretive sense (I introduce an idea that I hope creates a whole out of all of those disparate items).
I really liked this one about standardizing standards. But this primarily practical one is pretty great too.
Anyway, Kirstin is one of my favorites. And she should be one of yours too.
And she’s @kirstinbutler on Twitter.
Item! This post is the happy!
Gina Loree Marks is sweet and quirky and kind and just generally my kind of person.
I mostly know her from Twitter but recently she wrote this post about Hot Buttered Epiphanies (the kind that come with extra awesomesauce).
So yeah, she wrote about my baby Shiva Nata and she wrote about it beautifully and I am super happy that she is joining the ranks of the Shivanauts because yay!
Also, got to love her attitude.
“I can’t wait to make an arm-and-leg-flailing ass out of myself.”
Very very cool.
She’s @gloreebe88 on Twitter.
Item! Exactly! No, exactly!
This perfect little article from the Onion is called Area Man Not Exactly Sure Why Doctor Needed Him Undressed For That.
And it’s such a tiny, succinct, graceful summing up of why I can’t stand going to the doctor.
“He asked me about my smoking and my sleep patterns and stuff, then he looked in my ears and throat, and checked my heartbeat with his stethoscope, and that was it,” the baffled, nude Lyons said.
Right? Exactly.
Item! I am in love with this site!
It’s called the River Junction Trade Company and it’s basically what a Victorian website would look like if the Victorians had had websites.
And this is so where I am getting all my clothes now. Oh. My. God. The best.
Item! I’m on the blogroll over at Jenny the Bloggess!
Okay, so are six thousand other people there too but hooray and I didn’t even beg to be there.
Whoah.
Crazy.
You already read Jenny, right?
If not, start with THIS:
“If anything, I’M being exploited”
The most genius answer ever to many a finger-wagging lecture about how you shouldn’t blog about … whatever it is.
Item! Introducing the Decoder Ring Theater!
Actually, I’m kind of hoping you already know about them.
Because yay!
But if you aren’t familiar yet with the Decoder Ring Theatre, here’s what it is:
A crew of Canadians producing adventure serials in a kind of ‘30s/’40s Golden Age of radio style… and you can listen to them as podcasts and they are all kinds of excellent.
There’s the noir private eye (Black Jack Justice), the rooftop dwelling caped crusader (Red Panda), the heroic space jockey (Deck Gibson), and so on.
And nothing makes me happier than hearing the voice of … Trixie Dixon, girl detective.
It’s pretty impossible not to become a fan, even if you aren’t an old-timey radio buff. My gentleman friend got me on board and yeah, they’re great.
As he puts it, they evoke the good ol’ days with great respect … and a big fat wink.
Item! Sale price of “Stuff Havi Thinks You Should Know” ends Thursday!
Today (and maybe tomorrow?) is the last chance to get the homestudy version of the Stuff Havi Thinks You Should Know About Testimonials & Referrals course at the old price.
Because the price goes up Thursday. I’d be more specific but Peggy (one of my assistants) will be doing it and I haven’t the slightest idea when she’s doing it.
There are recordings. There are examples. There are things I didn’t promise in the class but gave anyway like ebooklets. And six “sample asks” that you can make your own. There’s even a transcript on its way.
Take a look if you need ways to get people to talk up your cool thing without having to actually ask them to or to feel all awkward and weird about it.
Also: there’s a significant discount for regular blog readers. You just need to know who Selma is. And I know you know who Selma is.
That is all.
Happy reading.
And happy (almost, kind of, eventually) Blustery Windsday. See you tomorrow.
On actual Wednesday. When I’m (possibly) less confused.
Speaking to the fog.
Last week Liz McGowen wrote a terrific post called Tina and the Troll.
It was inspired by some of my wacky conversations with monsters.
And it’s fascinating, because she borrowed my concept of using a negotiator to mediate the hard parts and took it somewhere completely different.
The only thing I like better than building on someone else’s concept is when someone does it with one of mine.
So now I’m going to take her idea — that you can invite a real person into your head to mediate awkward and horrible encounters — and play with it a bit myself.
The thing I’m dealing with right now:
It’s not really a monster. And it’s definitely not a troll. More of a scary fog.
It’s about the same stuff that’s going on with the rose.
The scary fog, which is sort of a green-black haze, thinks that I need to hide and to “not be beautiful” (its words) because otherwise people will hate me and be jealous of me.
So I was going to have one of my usual internal discussions with the haze-fog. And I stopped to ask whether I could do it myself or if I needed the Negotiator to step in.
But then I thought no, let’s try something else.
A whole mediation party.
I’ve never done one of these before (because, you know, I just made it up) so I have no idea how it works. But that’s never stopped me before so … let’s do this thing.
We’re in a large room with cream colored walls and a very high ceiling.
I’m in one corner and my green-black scary fog haze is in the other.
Not like boxers, exactly. It’s not a ring or anything. But we’re opposite each other and are kind of checking each other out, without actually approaching.
I know that in the next room the negotiators are waiting. I know that the negotiators are all people that I inherently trust. I know that the negotiators do things their own way and that I am to be patient and just watch.
Let the mediation begin.
The first negotiator.
The first negotiator is the typing teacher from 7th grade. I never had her for typing, but she was my greatest protector. My advocate.
She walks briskly up to the fog and this is what she says:
“Honey, I get that you’re trying to protect our sweet girl from a lot of potential pain. And I appreciate that. But you know what? When she is her whole self, that is her protection. Her best protection. And you’re keeping her from it. Think about that.”
She walks over to me and pats me on the shoulder. And then she finds a place to sit up against the wall in the middle of the room.
The second negotiator.
The second negotiator is the Dalai Lama.
He goes to the fog. He smiles at it calmly. He reaches out his hand towards it. And then he sits at its feet (or where its feet would be) and closes his eyes.
Once in awhile he looks at me and kind of twinkles. Like he’s just beaming at me. I feel instantly reassured. There is gentleness everywhere.
The third negotiator.
The third negotiator is my friend who is dead.
This makes me cry.
My friend who is dead goes to the fog. He speaks to the fog.
“You have no idea what you’re up against. Havi is the smartest and the strongest and the funniest. Nothing can stop her. You don’t want to mess with her and you don’t want to mess with her friends. I’ve stood up for her a million times and I’ll keep standing up for her no matter what happens.”
Then he comes and sits by me and holds my hand. And I cry and cry and cry.
The fourth negotiator.
The fourth negotiator is my ex-husband. He goes to the fog.
“Havi’s in a lot of pain right now. I know she’s not the easiest person to get along with and god knows it’s hell to live with her, but I think you need to give her a break.”
Then he kind of shrugs and leaves the room. He doesn’t look at me.
The fifth negotiator.
The fifth negotiator is my teacher. He goes to the fog. He bows to the fog. He clears his throat.
“Havi’s light is inspiration to the world. You block this light. This is not efficient use of your energy. We need her light for bigger purpose: to ignite light in minds and hearts of other teachers. I say these words with respect. It is time now to use your power correctly.”
I am so happy to see Andrey and hear his voice and his Ukrainian-inflected English that I want to run to him. But I stay seated.
He comes to me. He says:
“You give fog power over you. Is not necessary.”
Then he goes and sits in another corner and begins to meditate. Soon he’s floating about a foot off the ground. The Dalai Lama sees this and beams delightedly.
Marlene, the typing teacher, shakes her head. My friend who is dead squeezes my hand. And I imagine my ex-husband thinking, “Man, she hangs around with the weirdest people.”
I wait to see if there will be a sixth negotiator, but no one else comes.
I notice that the air is different.
It’s as if each new person has brought an additional quality to the room.
A brisk, sensible no-nonsense breeze. Sweet gentleness. Fierce loyalty. Compromise. Power.
I scoot closer to the fog. The fog comes closer to me.
We’re sitting opposite each other now.
Each of my negotiators is in one corner of the room, watching.
Me: “I’m ready to work on this if you are.
The fog: “Okay. We could go to Carolyn with it.”
Me: “I’d like that.”
The fog: “You’re not scared of me anymore.”
Me: “It took me a while to realize that you’re … not that scary. I mean, if everyone else can talk to you, I guess I can too.”
The fog: “You’re not that scary yourself, you know.”
Me: “What? Why would I be scary?”
The fog: “Because of your potential. All of my fears about bad stuff happening to you that I need to keep you from? It’s because you’re really amazing. I admire you. It’s just that I worry about you a lot.”
Me: “I can’t believe this. I thought you hated me.”
The fog: “Come sit with me.”
And so I did.