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.
Making your idea matter.
So I managed to piss some people off during the “Havi and Naomi talk about sidestepping the tight economy” call.
Here’s what I said:
The implementation of an idea is more important than the idea itself.
The funny thing is that if you hate this concept, I agree — yeah, this is depressing and annoying. And I don’t want it to be true either.
I mean, come on. I’m an ideas person. It’s what I do all day: have ideas. That, and talk to myself my duck.
I wish the ideas were what counted most too.
And I dearly wish that those of us who had smart techniques and powerful concepts for changing the world could have an easier time of it.
That we could get the support and recognition we deserve, while putting those techniques and concepts out into the world. So our ideas can get to the people we want to help — the people who really need them.
But since that isn’t necessarily going to automatically just happen, we have to deal with how things actually work in real life.
And how we can use real-life to our advantage. That’s where implementation comes in.
Bad news and good news
The bad news: your idea doesn’t matter.
The good news: your idea can succeed; so it actually will matter to those who need it.
Okay, so I like a good idea as much as the next person — in fact, considerably more — and it’s still all about implementation.
You can succeed wildly with a sucky idea. You can fail miserably with a great idea.
Clients and friends are always coming to me with their ideas, and wanting to know if I think these are “good” ones.
Is it a good idea? Sure, I think it’s a terrific idea. But so what?
What people really want to know is whether or not I think their idea can succeed. And (insert some legitimate wailing about the unfairness of life here), whether or not an idea is good has very little to do with that.
An example.
If you’ve ever heard super legendary copywriter guy Joe Sugarman talk about his “Blublocker” sunglasses story, maybe you know what I mean.
Joe Sugarman sold millions and millions of dollars worth of those things not because they were the best idea in the world, but because he used the magic of words to convince people that these sunglasses were going to make their life better.
It wasn’t about the sunglasses.
Back to the question.
Is your idea good? Maybe.
Could your idea succeed?
Joe Sugarman could make it work. I could do it too. So could Naomi or Mark or Molly.
I won’t speak for Mr. Sugarman, but the rest of us definitely wouldn’t be able to work on making an idea successful unless we believed in it wholeheartedly. Unless we were passionate about it.
But we know how to implement ideas — how to take a concept and figure out how to get our right people to agree to it.
Yay, you have a good idea. Let’s talk about what we’re going to do about it.
The point.
The point is not the idea itself. The point is: what are you going to do to help your Right People understand what this idea could mean for them? That’s the thing that’s going to matter them the most.
A good idea is a great start. A less than good idea can still fly.
Either way, you’re going to need to use the stuff on this list:
- Non-sleazy copywriting (FYI: I’ll also be teaching a class on this).
- Doing one thing each day to move it forward even if it’s just working on fear and stucknesses.
- Unearthing the benefits of your idea so your Right People can say hooray!
- Personality.
- Vision. Thinking big but not scary-big.
- Having techniques to destuckify as stuff comes up along the way.
Notice I didn’t mention the M-word.
Obviously there’s a lot to work on here, and it will take more than just one post to talk about what the next steps are. This is just to give you a sense of what the elements are of biggifying any idea (whether it’s a good one or just okay).
I know your idea is brilliant.
Actually, I love that your idea is brilliant. It deserves to be fabulously successful, if only because it wouldn’t be fair to your Right People for them not to be able to enjoy the good stuff that would result.
But the part that interests me is figuring out how we’re going to make your ideas work — so we can get them out in front of the people who need them.
I can’t tell you how much I’d love it if one of my clients said, “I have this idea. How are we going to make it work?”
You can pretty much stop worrying if your idea is a good one. What I care about is the answer to the question “do you have a good heart?” And I think you do.
Because then we can start applying the stuff that makes ideas sticky, exciting, and accessible.
Assume your idea can succeed, and let’s go from there. It’s only half as crazy as it sounds.
Item! I can’t stop reading things!
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.
I haven’t been reading as much online as I usually do because of my hurt-ey arms.
And all the time I’m spending with Stu, my voice-to-text software.
But I still have some gems and thoughts about stuff. Because, c’mon, I can’t stay offline as hard as I try. Though I’m getting better at making my brother and Selma navigate for me.
Okay. Let’s do this thing.
Item! Post No. 14 in a series that allows me to surreptitiously biggify some seriously smart, talented people (in a sneaky behind-the-scenes kind of way).
Item! Why retreating is a big deal!
Ironically, I tend to tense up when I think about going on a retreat. What will I eat? Will I hate everyone? Will I be bored and lonely? Not to mention resentful about having spent money on myself, and then not being sure about the investment.
So whenever I read about retreats, I get too distracted by my own stucknesses to really tune in to my memory of what it’s like to really rest and heal and work on my stuff.
Luckily, Jen Louden (and yes, I still have the world’s biggest crush on her) gets this, and she’s so reassuringly human that I can read about the amazing work she does and not get all freaked out.
Or maybe only slightly freaked out.
Your should read her delightfully reassuring sweet, funny piece about retreating with her.
Personally, I think you should also retreat with her if you can. She’s a hell of a teacher. But I also think you should read this if you offer programs or packages and people don’t necessarily get how great they are.
Item! Selma got hit on by some creepy dude on an ironing board.
Also we got interviewed by the charming Sarah J. Bray who runs Ma Tweeps.
You should read the interview just for the incredibly bizarre questions she asks. Highly entertaining, as is the whole site.
Item! You need to read this post!
It’s that good.
My therapist often reminds me that silence is not empty and now I need to add the corollary that inaction is a choice.
It’s really powerful. And thoughtful. And someone needs to send this person some recognition for how beautiful her thoughts are.
You really need to read this.
Item! This is one of the funniest things I heard this week.
So, you know, I sell stuff online. Which means I have one of those “shopping cart” thingies. And it has a little “how did you hear about us?” box. And a “leave a comment” box.
The “how did you hear about us” box often gives the answer “Twitter“, which is one of the many, many reasons I’m constantly urging you guys to a. get on there and b. stop feeling guilty about time you’re “wasting by just hanging out.”
But it’s the comment box that provides many delightful moments in my day, when Marissa passes them on.
This is from the class that Naomi and I taught about dealing with the recession. And yeah, you can still get the recording. For now.
Anyway, take a look at this:
I’d like you both to come to my house, dress up in period costumes from the 17th century, and act out the entire thing.
I love my life.
Item! Sometimes we don’t write. Because we can’t.
This post from Kimberlee Ferrell describes it perfectly.
I could not hear the inner voice that compelled me to write. I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts.
I was empty inside, and had no words.
Really powerful.
We all go through blocks. And times when it cannot happen or does not happen. But we don’t lose our identities. We are still allowed to be writers when we are not writing.
And painters when we are not painting. And teachers when we are not teaching.
Item! This is the most beautiful thing you’ll read all week.
This is actually something I’ve been wanting to write about myself. Maybe someday.
“Sometimes something reaches back and edits entire stories.”
BEAUTIFUL.
Item! Revel in your total lack of coordination!
Actually I wrote this post. But you should still read it.
It’s something I wrote over at the Shiva Nata (wacky yoga brain training) blog — and if you’re not a Shivanaut yet, you no longer get to use the excuse that you lack the coordination. 🙂
And even if you have no interest whatsover in joining the wackiness, everyone can use a little permission to screw up and be incompetent.
Fabulously incompetent!
That is all.
That’s enough for now…
Happy, happy reading. Happy Blustery Windsday. See you tomorrow.
Happy Purim. Also: Cookies.
Yes, it’s Purim.
Unless you’re Stu (my voice to text software), in which case it’s either pour him, query him, Kareem or, weirdly, Putin.
Stu doesn’t speak Hebrew. And we have some commute Haitian (communication) problems aside from that… but I actually like him more than I let on.
Anyway, poor aim! I mean, Purim! Cut it out, Stu. You know I hate to type.
Here’s what you need to know about Purim.
Unless you’re racking your brain trying to remember the plot of “Home for Purim” in For Your Consideration, I’ll just assume you have no idea what I’m talking about and go from there.
Purim is my absolute favorite holiday. Ever.
It involves getting dressed up in costumes, screaming at the top of your lungs and getting drunk. It’s basically Roller Derby, with cookies.
It’s also got some pretty good themes. Identity. Speaking your truth. Salvation. Memory. And I already mentioned the cookies.
Also I was born right after Purim. And if you’re about to point out that my birthday was a couple of days ago and Purim is right now, let me just add that the Hebrew calendar is interesting lunar.
So… since Selma and I are going to be spending the day in costume, screaming and going on cookie delivery runs with my gentleman friend, I thought I would share with you some rambling software-dictated thoughts and my mother’s amazing hamentaschen recipe.
My mother’s hamentaschen: are better than yours.
But of course first I have to share with you Stu’s interpretation of “hamentaschen”.
My favorite so far is “Hmmm passion”, which kind of sums up how I feel about them. I’m also a fan of “how men fashion”, even though it makes no sense. Unless it’s a snippet of Dickens.
And “Hahnemann Cassian”? Sheer genius.
Moving on. I can’t actually eat ham and passion hamentaschen because they have sugar in them and I can’t eat sugar.
But I can lick the spoon of the all-fruit-filling and then dance around the room on a crazy high and collapse on the floor laughing, which is what I did yesterday. Oh, the fun that is my life.
Okay, hamentaschen. It means Haman’s pockets or Haman’s purse in Yiddish. Or if you prefer the Hebrew version? Haman’s ears.
Forget about etymology. My mother’s are the best in the entire world.
I may have alluded yesterday to her weird tendency to jump to bizarre conclusions, but what’s a bizarre conclusion, really, compared to exceptionally good hamentaschen?
If you’re thinking meh, hamentaschen, that’s because you’ve had the fat, doughy, flour-ey kind. This is something different. Entirely different.
So, between me, my mother and Stu, I’m going to make sure you get the recipe.
The whole recipe, complete with parts of our phone conversation when she gave it to me, and with Stu’s charming interlocutions, because it’s that kind of day. Let the hilarity ensue. Also, a bunch of people on Twitter asked me for it.
The recipe.
Getting started.
My mother: You can make them dairy or you can also not make them dairy, if you’re not eating dairy. I can’t keep track of what you’re not eating.
Me: I’ll make them dairy.
My mother: You don’t have to.
Me: I’m going to.
The dough.
You will love this dough! It’s super easy-to-work-with-mooshable cookie dough type dough.
Oooh, and before you even start reading the ingredients, take the butter out of the refrigerator right now. You’ll thank me later.
Here’s what you need:
- 1/2 cup butter = 1 stick (room temperature-ish)
- 1 cup brown sugar (this is my little tweak, I like the consistency better and my gentleman friend likes the taste)
- 1 egg
- 2 cups flour
- 2 tsp baking powder (“Not soda, you’ll ruin it!”)
- 2 Tsp orange juice
- 1 tsp pure vanilla (here we go again) or almond extract
Here’s what you do:
- cream butter with sugar
- add egg and stir
- stir the flour and the baking powder together
- you add half of flour mixture and then all of o.j. and vanilla. And mix well.
- add the remaining flour mixture and you end up with either a roll or a patty.
- divide into two balls of dough and chill several hours or overnight.
My mother: The dough can be refrigerated up to a week.
Me: I’m making them today.
My mother: Up to a week.
Me: Good to know.
The filling
- several handfuls of uncooked dried figs
- a few handfuls of raisins (golden or regular)
- a couple shakes of cinnamon
Cover the fruit with water and bring to boil.
Cook on low heat until all squooshy. It takes a while. Maybe an hour.
Add cinnamon towards the end. Remove. Cool.
Since I usually refrigerate the dough for several hours or overnight, I stick the pot of fruit goo into the refrigerator as well.
My mother: You could also add just one small apple. You can chop it, grind it or grate it.
Me: No, I’m just a mistake with exaggerations. Scratch that. That was Stu. What I meant to say was no, I’m just going to stick with the raisins.
My mother: Just a small one. It adds texture.
Me: Okay.
My mother: I add 2 teaspoons of honey. But you don’t eat honey.
Me: Okay.
My mother: You can add cinnamon and nuts too. Or a teaspoon of lemon juice and a half a cup of chopped nuts. Or use dates. Or prunes. And throw in some walnuts.
Me: Okay.
My mother: Never mind, if you don’t like it, why don’t you just make them with jam?
Me: Not so into the jam.
My mother: Apricot is best for jam.
Me: Okay.
Yes, we have some commute Haitian problems. I know. But she’s lovely and I adore her and she makes some mean hamentaschen.
The actual cookie making part
Here’s what you do:
- Spread waxed paper over the counter and sprinkle some flour around artistically. Take a chunk of dough and roll it out.
- Use a glass to cut perfect circles in the dough. Take a spoonful of the fruit filling and place it in the center of your flat circle.
- Use your thumb and forefinger to roll up the edges on three sides. Then pinch the corners together and you have a little triangle.
- Butter a baking sheet and load it up with hamentaschen. They’ll spread a little but not too much.
- Bake at 350 until they’re delicately brown at corners and undersides. Somewhere between 10 and 20 minutes.
My mother: You forgot to say that they can also be frozen in layers in an aluminum pie tin.
Me: Are you kidding? These are the best cookies in the entire world. They’re not going to stick around. We’ll deliver some in mishloach manot to Mark and Dana and Shannon. And then Ez and my gentlemen friend will take care of the rest. I bet they’re all gone by tomorrow.
My mother: Don’t forget to put waxed paper between the layers when you pack them.
Me: Okay.
I actually have more to tell you about celebrating Purim — like the crazy, hippie synagogue we ended up at where they actually had a song called “I love my big Jew frog”. I so wish that I had just made that up. Or that Stu had made that up.
Alas, no. But that will have to wait until Friday.
Happy Purim, in the meantime. Or Putin. Eat a cookie for me or something.
Vanilla.
Stu (you know, my voice to text software) is driving me up the wall so this post may end up with no punctuation. I’m just saying.
And since I can’t write, and since not being able to write is messing with my head in the biggest way, I’m going to tell you a little story and maybe it will have a point and maybe it won’t.
The preface that is not a preface
Actually, I’m feeling the need to preface this story with a bunch of disclaimers and hedging and what Stu would call “Bolsheviks”.*
But I’m not going to. Even though that’s kind of driving me crazy too.
*“Bolsheviks” = “bullshit”. Stu is obsessed with Commies. Also he hates foreigners. Which is total Bolsheviks. Damn you, Stu. You know what I mean.
The beginning of a story
So I’m probably fifteen or sixteen. It’s winter. It’s early in the morning.
I’m bundled up in my gigantic winter coat with its enormous pockets and I’m rummaging in a kitchen cupboard to grab a granola bar or something right before I run out the door.
And if there was any thought at all in my mind it was probably something like “oh crap, I’m going to miss the bus.”
Then a day or two later I stick my hand in my pocket and discover a bottle of vanilla. Like, vanilla extract that you would use in baking something. Cookies. I don’t know.
It was the world’s biggest mystery. I came up with about a thousand theories, each equally ridiculous, before it dawned on me that I’d probably knocked it into my pocket with my elbow or something while poking about in the Cabinet.
Don’t capitalize Cabinet, Stu. This isn’t a damn political treatise.
The middle of the story.
I thought it was pretty hilarious that I ended up with a bottle of vanilla in my coat pocket, so instead of just putting it away, I shared the story with my mother. Having forgotten momentarily that you absolutely never know how she’s going to react to basically anything.
She was not amused. In fact, she accused me of having stolen the vanilla for the purposes of getting drunk on the alcohol content or the fumes or something. And of lying about it.
Since a) that would’ve been crazy, b) it never would’ve occurred to me and c) if I’d wanted to get drunk (which I didn’t, ever) I could have raided their huge, untouched “liquor cabinet”*, I didn’t know what to say and just kind of gaped at her.
*By liquor cabinet I mean random bottles gathering dust after being given to my teetotaling parents as unappreciated gifts, and no, I never did that. I may have been young and stupid, but that wasn’t my particular flavor of young and stupid.
The conclusion of the story.
You want a conclusion? I’ll give you a conclusion.
Actually, I don’t have a conclusion. But speaking of conclusions…
Jumping to them, man. It’ll get you every time.
I could give you an absurdly high number of examples of ways we screw up stuff in our relationships, in our business, or in our interactions with ourselves. But how about just one to start with?
Someone recently left my Kitchen Table program because she felt like she didn’t fit in with all the “nice people” there. She thought she wasn’t nice enough.
If she’d told me that before she left, I could have introduced her to some of the meanest, bitchiest, funniest people I know — people who also happen to be members of the Table.
Conclusions.
They’re right there to be jumped to.
The important part.
It’s practically a universal spiritual truth that we know nothing about nothing.
I mean, so many traditions talk about these moments.
The ones where you realize with terrifying clarity that everything you once knew to be true is …. well, you’re not sure, but it’s definitely not than the way you thought it was.
You realize that wisdom is what happens when you acknowledge a lack of knowledge. Like Socrates, you catch a glimpse of just how much you don’t know. And how what you do know is in flux. Because things take many forms.
“As for me, all I know is that I know nothing.”
Socrates knew about assumptions. And questioning them. And how much they suck. That one’s not a direct quote.
Point is, the things we know feel so true and steady and certain at times. When actually many stories can exist simultaneously, yet all be equally false. Or true.
And there is a certain degree of stability in this too.
Things that are hard.
Oh, lots of things.
It’s hard to stop and ask “What did I just observe? How do I feel about what I think just happened? Could I be wrong?”
It’s hard to distinguish between WEAR and TEAR. You remember, right?
WEAR = What Everyone Agrees is Reality
TEAR = The Ego’s Arbitrary Reality
But enough about reality and the different shapes it can take.
Even without knowing what is real and what is not, even without knowing enough to know that not knowing is its own form of truth… it’s the assumptions that get us all tangled up.
If I could give only one piece of advice to someone feeling stuckified (whatever particular shape your own situation takes) it would be this:
Delay assessment.
Get a second opinion. And then a third one. You know, poke at your assumptions and conclusions and see if they jump. Or if it was just you.
It’s the hardest practice I know of. The one I like the least. But what the hell. Maybe that’s not true either. Poke.
Friday Check-in #31: “mustached checklist” 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.
Right.
So last week I made brave statements about how I wasn’t going to spend my Friday check-in (or chicken, if you prefer) complaining about being in pain.
And I’m quite proud of myself for lasting a whole week, but that’s as far as it goes.
We are going to have to talk about the pain.
The hard
Did I mention the pain!?!
Adjusting to this new and (she types hopefully) temporary handicap…
Yes, I’m trying on hopeful, but I keep getting distracted by how hard it is.
Also, I’m learning just how much I think with my hands.
I’m pretty good at not talking with my hands — as long as I’m not speaking Hebrew.
But talking to a client without taking notes? Even thinking to myself or teasing out an idea… I don’t know how to do it without simultaneously scribbling like mad. My hands want to move and write and create. And they can’t.
Talking posts instead of typing them is a nightmare. It takes twice as long to come up with something half as good.
My writing style is “edit as you go”. Yes, I know that most everyone advises against this, but that’s what works for me. I write fastest, most happily and most in flow when I can play as I go. That’s what’s fun for me. Sculpting and polishing. Leaping and retreating.
I love to write so much. And now I can’t.
I mean, obviously I’m doing it right now. But because I’m speaking it — and because editing as I go is way too complicated for Stu (as I’ve provisionally named my text-to-speech software) — what comes out is something that is never quite the thing I want.
But of course I can’t not write.
Words and ideas flow out of me completely of their own accord and not giving them voice is the most painful thing I can think of. Well, second to the moment right after I take my arms out of the ice bath.
The ice baths.
Did I say massage therapist? Because I meant to say my Dungeon Master.
Every two hours I have to plunge my arms in a bath of ice and Epsom salt.
I’ve nothing else to say about this other than that it’s the bane of my existence and it had better freaking help. Because it hurts. So. Much.
The identity crisis.
Not being able to really work or write or do the things that I normally do during the day is wreaking havoc on my sense of what my work is really about.
I’m sure things will clear up and find their way into right relationship. In the meantime, all this transition and newness is a little too much for me.
Can we move on to the good now? I’m ready for it.
The good
Making a difference.
So Naomi and I did our “let’s not be impressed by the recession” call on Wednesday.
And it was so much fun! You wouldn’t think that talking about something so depressing would be fun at all, but we came up with so many ideas and so much inspiration. And we just had a good time.
We’ve been getting some amazing feedback — pretty much everyone reported burning through pages and pages of notes, and are now taking steps and getting stuff done and feeling good about life in general.
I can’t think of anything better than that.
Cairene MacDonald rocks my world.
I’m taking her class on having a better relationship with time and where it goes. And I also signed up for six coaching sessions.
Wow.
We did the first one this week, and I’m already feeling more positive about the possibility of making useful changes than I’ve ever been before.
She’s so not one of those rah-rah cheerleader coaches. She totally gets how I think, and all of her suggestions and insights are remarkably useful for me.
Also she gave me official permission to not have to make lists and then prioritize the things on them. Ha! I hate prioritizing things and every single book I’ve ever read about time management tells me I have to. Oh my god — awesome.
Ezra still lives here!
Still great. Still fun.
This week we went and invented a new dance form. Had some crazy pun runs with my gentleman friend. And went on a Walking Expotition to North Portland.
Also, he’s earning his keep by making a variety of cheeses, which endears him to us even more. If you can imagine such a thing.
This isn’t really a good thing, but …
Yes, since I am not in the most cheerful of moods and cannot come up with any more good things…
I thought I’d entertain you with some of the more amusing things that Stu (my voice to text software — yes, it’s short for “work, you Stupid piece of crap!”) has come up with this week:
- It’s turned “dignify” into “deify”,
- Bullshit into Bolshevik,
- Massage therapist into mustached checklist,
- Avoidance into “avoid the ends”,
- And hurt and disappointment into “her dentist appointment”.
Oh, and here’s my all-time favorite. Every single time I DM Naomi on Twitter to say, “What do you think?” it somehow becomes “What Steve think?”
I quite enjoy thinking that I’m the sort of person who says “What Steve think?”
And that Naomi is the sort of person who could answer that.
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.