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! It’s Wednesday! Do the Nettle Shuffle!
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.
So last week Tuesday felt like Wednesday. This week Wednesday feels like Tuesday.
And I don’t even know what that means.
Lots of good stuff this week. Let’s go.
Also, I include links to Twitter handles too, when I can. If you’re not a fellow Twitterite, here’s my post about why it’s so great.
Item! Post No. 21 in a semi-ongoing series that gives me time to not be even slightly brilliant or amusing as I distract you with shiny bits of fabulousness.
Item! This post is brilliant.
It’s called “This is not a post about why I haven’t been blogging.”
It’s from Maggie at Okay Fine Dammit.
And it’s completely brilliant.
I can see it. I can. I suppose, if I were to sit here and thumb through these posts like a paperback I’m casually perusing I might gasp at all the angst, but honestly, that’s not the way my life goes.
It only looks that way if you try to measure me by this space, and in reality this space is just a place I come to dump out the contents of my brain when it is full to the point of aching — yes, more often than not, those are times when I am puzzling something out, when I am attempting to make sense of car accidents or the loss of a child or of one person hitting another in anger.
You need to read it.
She’s @maggiedammit on Twitter.
Item! Gold buckle up. It’s the LAW.
So when you have a duck people send you duck-related stuff until you have to duck hide from them.
Now that I’m running a pirate ship, I get a lot of pirate-related stuff.
But I have to say that these Pirate Laws are completely entertaining. LOVE LOVE LOVE.
When describing the size of a treasure, a pirate is required to exaggerate by at least 130%. Flowers are not treasure under any circumstances, unless said flowers are made out of gold.
Thanks Wendy Cholbi who is @wendycholbi on Twitter.
Item! A factory that makes hearts!
Seriously. Who doesn’t want a heart factory?
I have no idea.
Item! A talk with a dragon!
I thought this Dragon vs. Monkey post from Heather Freeman was pretty amazing.
She takes one of my techniques, pokes at it tentatively from different angles and then runs with it.
She talks to her dragon. She finds her monkey. She gets stuff done. Pretty neat.
Image: a dark, forbidding cave entrance. A reptilian head slowly peers out, the bulk of its body not much more than a shadow. It’s a Komodo dragon.
Definitely worth reading.
And she’s @livingartist on Twitter.
Item! This is crazy! But only if you’re me.
Okay. So I have not as yet officially announced the weekend workshop I’m teaching in North Carolina in August (or even linked to it from the blog until right this second).
But it’s actually already more than half full.
Because my people are hardcore wily obsessive fond of North Carolina awesome. I have no idea how this happened. But it did.
So I’ll just say that if it’s your kind of thing you might want to see about signing up before I go ahead and actually tell people about it somewhere other than here in the Item! post.
Item! Don’t go near the Anagram Generator!
Oh. My. God. This might be even better than NPR names!
So the first thing that comes up for my name when you plug it into the evil time-consuming anagram generator that is made entirely of yay?
Ravish Book! Which is so ridiculously appropriate if you know anything about me.
Though I’m also Shiva Brook. Interesting. I mean, especially when you think about the fact that the crazy power of deconstructing patterns lives in my brain and stuff.
Anyway, Marissa (my First Mate) and I have gotten kind of obsessed with it and it ended up taking up a chunk of one of our Kitchen Table (or: Betcha Tinkle) chat room adventures.
Some of the names people came up with? Luau Jitters. Narwhal Wet. Dairyman Mule. Cleaned Nail Men. A Healed Silk Pinko.
I don’t know what we’re going to do with them. Become exotic dancers? Use them as band names? Or — ooh! — new business names?
Because I don’t know about you, but I’m totally hiring A Laundry Mime.
(And I’m pretty sure I saw Cornea Lingerie performing at a drag show in Berlin once.)
Of course then we had to look up our businesses. So Marissa’s “Can-do-ology” is “Any Cool God.” But also: “Any Loco God.” Awesome.
And when I say Marissa, I mean her band Karma Ascribe, her business A Basic Remarkers, her side business Sarcasm Baker I, and of course her exotic dancer nom de guerre Maracas Bikers.
Meanwhile The Fluent Self is Nettle Shuffle, which I’m pretty sure was a dance craze in the fifties. YES! It also becomes Teen Hell Stuff, which might be even better.
Leave your anagram-ed up name and/or business in the comments!
Thanks @joyfulmess for the link.
That is all.
Happy reading.
And happy Blustery Windsday. See you tomorrow.
To hell with transparency.
Okay, so when people ask me about business-ey things, and — more specifically — how my own thing has gotten all biggified, I have to talk about the weird magical power of being yourself.
And not just being yourself, but being yourself out loud.
Even if that means that people know that I am a total mess talk to ducks, have monsters and completely fall apart sometimes.
Because that stuff is connected to my own bizarre personal success story.
Where’s the but?
Oh. Right. Here it is.
But… and it’s a big one… it is really easy to let this Useful Concept of “being yourself out loud” become the world’s biggest should.
Which will stress you out like crazy. And make your heart heavy. So … not useful for you and definitely not useful for the people who need what you have to give.
An example from the files — one of many:
“Every time I tried to write any part of my ebook, I’d cry … and cry … and cry … because my story comes from a very painful place and I couldn’t put my work out there and work through this grief at the same time.
And it just gets worse (and more complicated) when I’m reading all these marketing authorities who talk about ‘being transparent’, ‘vulnerable’, and ‘authentic’ — for me that means dealing with painful experiences in a public way. And I just can’t.
I know that reading this stuff isn’t helpful because I can’t make it fit who I am right now. And then I also can’t stop reading.”
Man. That sucks.
Oh, sweetie. Hug.
You must feel really frustrated. To be coping with all of this pain and then having to face this idea that you have to share it in order to be successful? That sounds really, really hard. And icky.
I’m sorry.
Some thoughts?
Some thoughts.
No shoulds.
Transparency, vulnerability and authenticity are only useful when they aren’t forced and when they come from the heart.
I mean, yes, sometimes it can’t come from the heart because gah this is hard. Because it still feels strange and new. Because it’s a practice.
But practicing something that challenges you is different than forcing yourself to reveal pain because you think you’re supposed to. You definitely don’t have to do that.
You can be transparent about the fact that you can’t be transparent.
It’s perfectly legitimate — as well as “transparent”, “vulnerable” and “authentic” — to tell your audience that this is a difficult subject for you to write about because of your own personal pain.
That doesn’t mean though, that you have to document that pain. Especially if you don’t freaking feel like it.
Transparency does not mean having to tell people everything.
It really doesn’t.
I kind of have a reputation as someone who is almost astonishingly open about her own stucknesses. But you know what?
There are all sorts of things I don’t talk about. I might mention them. But I’m not going to go into detail or anything
I don’t talk about the experience of my marriage falling apart. I don’t share some of the more painful pieces of my history. About terror and loss and things that are broken. And I don’t really feel like writing about how I cross the street whenever I see a man with a beard.
What people do know is that I know about pain and fear. Just like them.
That’s where the power is.
Transparency just means not wearing the boring-old-expert costume.
Taking off that cloak of expertise you hide behind doesn’t mean — tfu tfu tfu — that you have to show up naked. Not at all.
It just means that you get to wear something that’s comfortable. Something you’d actually wear.
So we can get a sense of who you are and what you’re like.
So we can identify with you and be inspired by the fact that ohmygod a real person who isn’t that different from me actually made a change and maybe the rest of us can too.
Not always being covered up in expert-wear means you’re human. Which means there is hope for me. Ahhhhhhhhh. Hope. Thank you for that.
There are a lot of resources for ways to do this.
For one thing, there are a lot of great people modeling it. Not in a “look at me being authentic” way.
In a “this is hard and I’m doing it my own way” way (yes, I just said way way).
Secret Wormy does it. Pace and Kyeli do it. Emma does it.
Also, the amazing Laura Fitton (@pistachio to you) and I talked in our Not Being Strategic class about how to use non-cheesy non-forced authenticity. And we talked about how people can pick up on cognitive dissonance when something is going on under the surface.
And I’ve written in the Blogging Therapy series about “nooo don’t make me be vulnerable” and “but I’m not an expert!”and “finding your voice“.
Which all focus on different reasons why hiding is not so good but being open about the fact that you really really want to actually is.
The most “transparent” thing that you can do? Not forcing yourself to be transparent.
If you’re clear with yourself that where you’re at right now is not wanting to share the hard, you’re more than allowed to be there.
It’s always okay to say “I don’t want to talk about this” or “this is painful for me so I’m not going to go into it”. Or to sidestep it completely.
The only thing you don’t want to do is pretend that everything is perfect. Because then I can’t trust that you’ll be able to understand me and help me.
But once you’ve acknowledged that you also know about the land of hard, we don’t need you to spill every gruesome detail.
We just want to know that you’re one of us. Someone who has experience with stuff being scary and intimidating and uncomfortable.
The rest is up to you.
Twitter version of this post?
To hell with transparency. Be open about when you CAN’T BE. Do what feels comfortable. Oh, and if you can, don’t worry too much about it.
Triggers.
Observation number one:
Having a moth fly into your ear and not be able to get out is quite unpleasant.
Observation number two:
But what’s so much more unpleasant is not knowing that it’s a moth and thinking you have gone crazy.
Completely and irrevocably.
Crazy? Oh, yes. There’s no way back now.
It’s very late at night. Dark.
There is this frantic whirring and whooshing in what feels like the center of your head. But you’re the one who is frantic.
It starts and stops. It’s like having running water in your ear and cabin pressure at the same time but you’re in bed and anyway, there’s nothing in your ear but your ear.
You wonder for a moment if it’s possible for a hundred bats or thousand butterflies to be trapped inside of you… and then deciding that this is extremely unlikely, you jump to the next obvious conclusion.
You’ve finally fallen off the edge. Obviously.
Observation number three:
My triggers are not your triggers.
While I am preemptively mourning the loss of my sanity and preparing for a new life in which there will always be this awful, terrifying sound in my head, my gentleman friend is being shockingly sensible.
In fact, he’s going all scientific method on my ear.
Investigating with a flashlight: nothing seems to be there. A tentative q-tip search: nothing seems to be there.
Flushing out the ear with water at first yields nothing. But then there is a weird, uncomfortable, squooshy sort of sensation. And then there is a moth in the sink. Tiny and practically invisible. Poor little moth.
My trigger: something happens that I do not understand.
Therefore (says my fear), I must be crazy.
My gentleman friend’s trigger: something happens that he is trying to understand.
Therefore (says his fear) it’s probably something understandable. And horrifying. Like what if it’s Tinnitus? What if it’s a bizarre neurological disorder and he’ll lose me forever to ear-weirdness?
He is not even slightly worried about me being or going crazy. I love him.
Observation number four:
My stucknesses are not your stucknesses. My past is not your past.
My fear of the crazy has to do in no small part with the fact that my family fears the crazy and spent many years teaching me — both directly and indirectly — to always be on your guard so you can catch it when it happens.
My gentleman friend’s past has taught him that unexpected things happen and that you can lose people you love.
We got fogged over by our stuff. We are covered by our stories.
Observation number five:
Knowing what your stuff is like and what it says about you is useful.
The way I see it, the more I know about my monsters and my walls, the easier it is to remember that oh yeah, that’s my stuff again.
Because even if you don’t catch it right when you get triggered, eventually you remember that none of this is real.
My gentleman friend and I have had a few years now to practice separating it all out. We’re a lot better now than we used to be at stopping and saying hey wait a minute!
Actually it’s more like this:
“Whoops. That’s my stuff. Looks like it just set off your stuff. Okay. Mine. Yours. Mine. Yours. Yup. We’re cool.”
Ah, yes. As Tigger might say … freaking you out is what triggers do best!
Observation number six:
I feel better now.
Friday Check-in #42: “pirate milkmaid walks into a bar” 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.
I can’t believe we’re already at 42.* Apparently the answer to life, the universe and everything is chicken. Friday chicken. Not for eating, of course. Never mind. Back to me!
*42, you say? But wasn’t last week Friday Chicken #40? Yes, it was. As was the week before. Whoops. Anyway, here we are.
Okay. My week was seriously challenging and hard.
I met up with a lot of internal resistance and external crap and … yeah, there was just a lot of hard. Lots of feeling extremely bleargh and wondering why I do what I do.
So I must say that one of the really lovely things about this particular ritual is that writing this post brought me back to how much good there was too, which was cool.
The hard stuff
Feeling like dirt.
Ugh.
You probably already read about it but dirt dirt dirt.
YUCK.
As if existential angst weren’t bad enough …
On Sunday I gave the worst class I’ve ever taught.
And that’s including that awful, awful time in San Francisco when they put my workshop next door to the extremely loud African drumming class.
I choked. I bombed. I screwed up like I’ve never screwed up before.
And I know why, which is worse.
You know what happened? I let a chunk of external criticism wallop the hell out of me. And it absolutely paralyzed me. And I lost my confidence.
The craziest part? I’ve been teaching since I was fourteen years old. I have never lost my confidence while teaching. And it happened.
Of course, having a horrible headache and some not-very-fun stomach cramps made it worse, yes. But I gave a less-than-good class.
And I felt bad for everyone who took it. And I felt like dirt about it all week.
Then I gave another crappy class the next day. And it was really, really, really depressing.
Forgetting why I do this.
Thanks, existential crisis.
I got so down that I just could not remember why I do what I do.
Usually I’m walking around being all I’m on a mission from god, people … but for a couple of days this week the spark was elusive and tiny and not always there.
Scary. Really, really scary.
The good stuff
Remembering why I do this.
So I felt like dirt and then I went into the Kitchen Table and saw these amazing people helping each other destuckify with kindness and attentiveness and patience and love.
Using my concepts and techniques.
It just about knocked me over, it was so heartwarming and beautiful.
And it reminded me that even on the hardest, hardest days, I can’t possibly be as big as a screw-up as I think I am.
Amazing. Grace.
Hooray for The Fluent Self! Woot. Oh, yes. You heard me.
So my gentleman friend got offered a gig doing logo design stuff for Microsoft.
And he was able to turn them down because my business does well enough that he doesn’t have to take work that doesn’t make him jump up and down with glee and stuff.
Take that!
It feels really good.
Two new pirate hires.
I’ve added two more people to my wacky pirate team this week.
One is the wonderful Kelly Parkinson who is now my copy-editor pirate milkmaid.
This was our conversation:
Kelly: Why would you hire me? You’re a fantastic copywriter. You don’t need me.
Me: I hate the polishing. I need someone to polish. You’re the best there is.
Kelly: Cool! So … you want this to be a one-time thing or is this like, you call me when you’re out of milk and eggs and then I bring milk and eggs?
Me: Oh, milk and eggs. Definitely. Bring me milk and eggs.
Kelly: I mean, if you decide you want to go vegan for a month, that’s fine too. It’s not like I need to be constantly bringing milk and eggs.
Me: We’re out of milk. Get over here!
And then I hired ____________ (I’ve had a massive crush on her ever since she gave a brilliant class for my students) to be my new bookkeeper pirate monies lady.
She is the Keeper of the Treasure. She is the Reconciler of the Log.
We like her.
I heart Pistachio.
My class with @Pistachio on The Strategy of Not Being Strategic was so. much. fun.
It completely made everything better.
She’s a terrific teacher and just shines goodness and wonder. I love everything about her. What a pleasure!
And … the best thing that happened this week.
So I’m at this bar. And I’m holding a gigantic box with a bunch of ducks on it. Also there is an illustration of a duck sailing a pirate ship on it.
Because Fabeku (one of my Kitchen Table people) decided to send me an enormous package full of wacky pirate duck accoutrement.
Including (because he’s awesome) an especially fluffy pirate hat, an eye patch with a duck on it … and plenty of assorted booty.
But I didn’t know that yet because I hadn’t opened it yet.
Bartender: Whoah. What’s with the mysterious-looking duck package?
Me: Oh. I run a cult. It’s kind of a duck-centric … cult.
Bartender: Right on. Is it nefarious?
Me: It has been known to be. On occasion.
Bartender: Is it international?
Me: Indeed.
Bartender: Far out.
Every once in a while? I love my life.
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.
Anyway, the gems from this week, including Stu’s little acetyl moments:
- “from to your caucus” instead of come to your class
- “crime is swell” instead of Bye Michelle
- “got to love Seamount aptly” instead of that he loves you madly
And … for extra meta:
- “stew them as” …. instead of Stuisms
And … for extra depressing:
- “have these” instead of Havi’s
This refusing-to-say-my-name crap is actually starting to be a thing. I think he does it just to piss me off because we’ve been working together since like, January, so really, he should know my name by now.
But no. He will still insist on referring to me as Heidi, Harvey, Hailey, Havee, Hobby, Jaime and (his latest favorite) hubby before getting around to guessing right.
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.
Ask Havi #22: The Anti-Strategy Strategy
Note: it is almost impossible to get on the Ask Havi list. This person got in by a. being one of my clients or students, b. flattering the hell out of my duck, and c. making life easy on me by being clear about what the question was and what details I could use.
During yesterday’s (crazy-fun) Strategy of Not Being Strategic call with Pistachio, there were some fantastic questions.
And because we were answering a gazillion questions a second (the official stats aren’t in yet, but that’s what it felt like), a couple of those questions are still lingering in my mind. Three, actually.
Lingering because they need more attention.
This stuff relates to a lot of what we talk about here when we talk about vulnerability and serving your Right People and not hiding from the people who need you.
Even if you’re not a Twitterite yet. Even if you’re not hanging out with me at the world’s greatest bar/cafe yet.
It’s relevant.
FYI: You can also read the search results for the hashtag #NotStrategy to follow some of what we were talking about, as well as some of the related conversations that emerged between the smart, fun, interesting people in the class.
“How do you reach the people who don’t know they need your message?”
Background: I was talking about Michael Port’s concept of the red velvet rope (anything that draws your Right People in and keeps out the people you don’t want to connect to).
For example, my duck Selma is a very useful red velvet rope.
So Lisa Scheff (who is a lovely person and is @doorsopen on Twitter) wanted to know how this could work if the people you want to talk to aren’t necessarily open to or interested in your message.
“I am not selling a service or a project. My project is about opening hearts and minds to same sex marriage. If I am “selling” anything it is compassion and change of heart.
It seems as though my right people are the ones who disagree with me. So I don’t really want a red velvet rope, do I? I want the people who *are* resistant to what I am selling reading me.
Can I use Twitter to connect to my readers? Or maybe I should just be using it to connect with allies and find other ways to connect with my target audience… thoughts?”
My thoughts on this.
1. You’re right. It’s a problem.
The people whose hearts you want to change are — in most cases — not going to be the ones who will be following you and interacting with you on Twitter.
Twitter is a place people go to hang out, to learn, to connect, to network or to goof off completely (if you’re me). Lot of ways to use it.
As a general rule though, most people aren’t going to be looking for something to change their minds. Most people don’t show up (to anything, really) wondering “what’s going to alter my preconceived notions of the world today?”
(And if you are that curious, open sort of person, you’re probably not going to be especially challenged by the concept of equal marriage rights).
2. Here’s who is going to be following you and connecting with you on Twitter.
Activists, advocates, people who are pro-change, the gigantic and ever-changing undefinable queer community.
And, of course, gay couples whose cause and hearts you are championing. Which reminds me …
3. I think you might want to redefine who your Right People are.
The people whose hearts you want to touch so they can open up to same sex marriage are your indirect right people. Your down-the-road right people.
In the meantime, your actual right people need you. Now.
Your actual right people are the ones you care about the most. And the ones who need your love and support the most. The ones who inspired this project to begin with.
The ones who are ready right this second to join your tribe and spread the word and be excited about your mission because you’re excited about theirs.
And they’re the ones you’re already talking to (and with and about). You’re sharing their stories and bringing their light to the world. It’s big stuff.
4. You always want a red velvet rope.
Ideally, several.
5. That’s because the charm of the red velvet rope is it creates a certain sexiness.
Hard to get is a good thing.
Your message will not be accessible to all people at all times.
But that’s part of what will create buzz and excitement around it.
The people who are ready for your message will be talking about it and planting it and living it.
Which is the sort of thing that brings it attention and press (I have no idea how I would have ended up in the New York Times without Twitter) and love.
And eventually, the people who need to hear you the most won’t be able to avoid you.
In the meantime, preaching to the choir is not a meaningless service. The choir needs you to remind them about why they were so inspired about the message to begin with.
“What if my thing isn’t ready yet?”
For example, what if you’re Jason Lay (the wonderful @metanoid) who hasn’t launched his business yet?
He wanted to know if he should be connecting with people on Twitter before he had something worth promoting … and is this a useful, relevant thing to be doing with his time?
(If you’re not following Jason yet, let me mention that he has argyle robots on his page and his battlecry is “Give me whimsy, or give me death!” This guy is going to do great things in the world, clearly.)
My thoughts on this.
1. Hell yeah!
See above.
2. Here’s a story.
When my brother was getting ready to think about starting his business, I told him that I wouldn’t help him until he got on Twitter.
Between me and my gentleman friend, we knew we could hook him up with a gorgeous website, decent copy (still in the works) and everything else he needed.
But none of that matters without a bunch of fun, goofy, interesting people who are genuinely excited about you and want to know more about what you do, whatever it is.
So I forced um, encouraged him to start hanging out and being his nutty, kooky, unpredictable self. No business. Just fun.
And now he has four hundred people who adore him. When he officially launches his products, that’s four hundred people who are going to be recommending him to his right clients. Because why wouldn’t they?
3. Here’s another story.
I didn’t have a blog until after Twitter.
The Fluent Self website will be four years old this August (shakes head) but the blog is a little less than a year old.
It wasn’t until my Twitter friends started complaining that they wanted to share the genius bits in my noozletters with all their friends that I realized it was stupid to keep my content available only to subscribers. Twitter made me create this space.
And I could not be more grateful for that.
“What if I don’t know what my thing is yet?”
We all wonder about that. Seriously.
I still haven’t found my thing. I’ve just stopped worrying about it.
My thoughts on this.
1. Your thing is the beautiful quality that’s in your heart.
It doesn’t matter what form that takes. Or if the form keeps changing.
That quality will infuse every single thing you do. And the people who need that quality will flock to you.
If you’re having trouble getting in touch with all this heart stuff, I highly recommend Mark Silver‘s book and Hiro Boga‘s work.
2. We care about you. So it doesn’t matter that much what your thing ends up being.
If I love hanging out with you on Twitter, that’s enough. You’re a fellow helper mouse, right? It will be fine.
I’ll be there while you’re figuring it out. I’ll help you promote it when it has a form. I’ll connect you with people I think you’d enjoy.
3. You are a complex, multi-faceted person. That’s what keeps things interesting.
The nice thing about Twitter is that — unlike a networking meeting or a brochure or anything else that demands that you actually know what you do — it’s about people.
And there’s room there to share many, many, many aspects of people’s own unique selves.
On Twitter I’m not an expert being all expert-ey. I’m @havi. I’m someone who makes ridiculous puns. I’m someone who gets belligerent at Roller Derby. I’m someone who bakes bread and dances barefoot and makes fun of things.
So show up with all of you (or as much of you as feels comfortable) and just see what happens. I bet it will be pretty freaking magical.
That’s all for now.
Hope it was helpful. Mad love to all of you.