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.
The myth of compromise.
What if it’s not about giving up on things?
There’s this thing that happens that drives me crazy. Well, it’s a thing that I do.
I can put off making a decision — for what turns into way too long — because I don’t want to have to weigh all the pros and cons.
So then I finally get around to doing the thing or making the change … and it turns out that the compromise I was dreading was a essentially a false compromise. In fact, nonexistent.
A bunch of examples?
1. The compromise of cleaning things.
About two years ago my gentleman friend and I decided that we weren’t going to use chemicals to clean the house anymore. And we weren’t going to support box stores.
Because oof.
We decided to make all of our own cleaning supplies from natural ingredients.
Here is the compromise we thought we were going to be making:
Sure, it might be more expensive and it might be more time-consuming, and it might be harder work … but it would be worth it!
It would be worth it, we figured, for all sorts of reasons. We would be treating our house with love. And our bodies. So … good for the house, good for us and good for the world.
It seemed like a fair trade-off.
Here is what actually happened. There was no trade-off.
More expensive? Hardly. Most of the materials we already have in our kitchen anyway … and how expensive is stuff like baking soda? We’re saving money.
More time-consuming? Hahahaha. Not at all. Just the opposite.
For one thing, we don’t have to go out to the store to get cleaning stuff. And it takes all of two minutes to whip up a batch of simple scrubbing solution.
More work? Oh. My. God. If I had only known — not like I would have believed it — that a mixture of baking soda, dish detergent and vinegar would clean my sink faster and better than all the products I’d been using…
I hardly even know what to say, other than wow, I feel completely foolish. There was no compromise.
There was just the thing that’s way better and the thing that’s way worse. Nothing more.
2. The compromise of being a woman.
Guys, you can skip this if you want.
This was already many years ago. I remember the first time I read the statistics.
Like that women — just in the United States — landfill or incinerate 11.3 billion “disposable” menstrual products each year. That it takes about five hundred years for one of these to partially biodegrade.
And that’s just the tip of the bad-for-you, bad-for-the-planet iceberg.
Shocking, right? Ugh.
So I made what I thought was the fair compromise. I researched little cup thingies and flannel liner thingies.
I figured okay, this might be more expensive. It might be more of a pain. It might screw up my life a little bit and be inconvenient –but at least I won’t be contributing to those ugly numbers.
It seemed like the reasonable thing to do. Like, not being part of that statistic made those other things worth it.
Boy was I ever wrong. Again.
Turns out that it’s cheaper. It’s more comfortable. You don’t have to worry about the possibility of things like chemical-treated rayon threads hanging out in your freaking cervix. Or Toxic Shock Syndrome, tfu tfu tfu. And it’s not even slightly inconvenient.
All you need is a pretty ceramic pot to put on a shelf in your bathroom, and a nice bag to keep in your purse. Not a big deal at all.
Not a big deal because it isn’t even really a compromise.
You’re saving time, you’re saving money, you’re saving your health, and — if not saving the environment, at least inflicting less damage. And that’s it.
Yes, it would be worth even if it sucked — but it doesn’t. No compromise.
3. The compromise of…?
I can think of at least four other examples like this in my life. But I want to figure out what I haven’t thought of.
There are so many decisions I find myself putting off until there’s time to decide.
Whether or not to hire a more regular bookkeeper. Do we really even need our car? Should I outsource x, y or z? Would I feel better if I did yoga twice a day instead of once?
The compromise of investing in yourself: it’s never a compromise.
My experience tells me that when I do the thing I think is right, everything else just kind of falls into place.
The stuff I think is going to be hard… not so hard. The things I think I’m going to have to give up … I didn’t want them anyway. I didn’t even like them. Or they’re not relevant. Or I was just wrong.
So what am I waiting for?
I think a lot of the time I feel this pressure to sit down and really give the new decision an interview. To figure out if it’s right for me or not. To mourn what I think I’m going to lose. And that’s legitimate, obviously.
It’s just that … here’s the thing.
Generally I don’t have time — or I don’t think I have the time, or I wildly exaggerate the amount of time needed — to sit down and just do the whole decision-making processing thing.
So I skip it. I put it off. I wait a little longer.
And then — finally — when I sit down and look at it, I generally know right away that it’s right. There is no need for compromise.
What if there’s only good stuff?
Sometimes it’s not weighing the good stuff versus the bad stuff, but recognizing that there is only good stuff. And that drives me batty, because really, it’s so much easier to slip into the pattern of wondering and delaying.
Every time I invest in myself, my health, my business or my general happiness, it’s turned out to be completely worth it. And it’s also turned out not to have been the sacrifice that I’d imagined it would be.
Good feeds good.
Health feeds health.
A happy home gives back to you, just like a happy body.
Or a happy business.
I don’t know yet what I’m missing out on. Obviously.
But I’m getting geared up to try more new things. Maybe even a lot of new things. At least a few.
And I’m going to see if I can do it WITHOUT automatically assuming that I’m going to have to give something up in order to receive. Because maybe it doesn’t have to work like that.
It’s not the economy.
So the other day I saw an enormous “going out of business” sign on the window of a neighborhood store. Oh. Sad face.
“Due to the current state of the economy, we are unable to continue ….”
I didn’t even need to read the rest.
But you know what?
Let’s talk about this.
Okay. I’ve walked past this very storefront at least twice a day — every single day — for the past year. And never noticed it.
Seriously. I could not, for the life of me, have told you anything about it. Nothing. What it is, what it sells, or even what it’s called.
Hmmm. And now they’re going out of business.
It must be the economy.
Right?
So I spent about ten minutes in the store. Talked to the owner. Poked around. And realized that I loved this place. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t known about it, because it was my kind of thing. I even bought something.
And I still don’t know what they’re called.
That’s how bad the economy is.
A name that’s not memorable — or located anywhere you could read it. A store that’s invisible. But it’s the economy.
I asked what the rent was, because I’m Israeli and don’t have problems doing things like that. Turns out that it’s just over $1200 a month.
On a street with an insane amount of foot traffic. A street that supports yarn stores and hipster cafés.
In fact, the café I sat in — on the same block — was packed. As were most of them.
You know, because the economy is so crappy.
Yes, the economy is crappy. You know what’s really crappy though?
That otherwise smart, goodhearted, well-meaning people start a business out of a labor of love, and no one tells them about the part where you have to learn how to run a business.
Which includes stuff like being visible. Telling me what’s special about you. Being as you as you can be — out loud — so that your Right People (hello, I’m one of them!) can tell people about you.
The fact that these wonderful people who start businesses don’t know how to do that is understandable. I mean, argh, it’s not as though someone sits down and explains it to you when you start your business.
So yeah, I get that there are a lot of us out there who don’t yet know how to tell the people who might be our Right People about how our businesses can give them what they want and need.
But to go and pin the failure of that invisible business on the economy … that doesn’t help anyone.
Not me. Not the rest of the people who would love to end up being your customers and clients. Not the economy. Not you.
I’m just going to go ahead and say it.
Even in the worst of economic times, there are thousands and thousands of businesses — large and small, in physical spaces and on the internets — which absolutely thrive.
You know I don’t go in much for the tough love approach here, but if we’re talking about businesses that thrive, I really have to say this:
If yours isn’t one of them, this is the time to figure out what’s not working.
Aside from the economy.
Because even though sometimes that’s a good enough reason? It’s not a good enough reason until you’ve been daring. Until you’ve tried some hard-core “let’s mix it up and change what we’re doing” stuff. This is the time to do stuff differently.
As Bill Clinton would have said if he were me, “It’s not the economy, stupid.”
If you want to open a shop in, say, Manhattan, you pretty much have to start with huge piles of money and have the best business plan in the world.
In way-lower-rent Portland, you can pretty much be all “hey, man, let’s open a store… it’ll be awesome.”
In times when money is flowing freely, that can totally work. There used to be so much money on the street that people were supporting this store despite its invisibility.
The good economy was camouflaging everything that they weren’t doing.
But in a tighter, more challenging economy, you absolutely have to pick up some basic biggification skills, or — you know what? It just isn’t going to happen.
A little story.
A couple of years ago I hired a business coach. Except that I didn’t call him a business coach because the word “coach” gets on my nerves, so he kindly agreed to be my mentor.
(Yes, I have issues.)
It was scary and wonderful and expensive. Did I mention scary? And wonderful. Because, among other things, he didn’t let me get away with stuff like blaming external forces for things not going right in my business. Which drove me crazy.
Resistance to this concept? Oh yes, I had it.
For example, I was selling DVDs that teach you how to do the wacky yoga brain training technique that is basically the thing that gets credit for most of my smartnesses.
When I say that I was “selling” them, that’s not really accurate. I had a website. Where you could buy them. Theoretically. If I sold one a month, that was doing well.
Me: “No one is interested in wacky yoga brain training stuff. Period. It’s not accessible. It’s too alternative. Also, people suck.”
My business mentor: “Before we go there, do you want to rewrite the copy?”
Me: “Huh?”
My business mentor: “Well, we could work on getting more traffic to the site, too, but you’re probably not going to get a huge upswing — at least not without a ton of work. But we could definitely do more to get the people who are showing up to know if they want to buy it or not.”
Last month I sold 55 copies of “that DVD that nobody wants”.
And not by trying to.
I don’t advertise. I don’t push. In fact, I hardly even mention them at all.
Is traffic higher? A little bit. But mostly people are buying now because I’ve done a better job telling them what it is, and who it’s for. People who would have shrugged and clicked away now get that this is the thing that is going to make a difference for them.
And that’s because I rewrote the copy. And rewrote some more. I’m not so madly in love with it that I don’t think it could still use some tweaking — but it works.
The thing I desperately wish people knew.
No, it’s not “learn how to write copy!” Though that is pretty good advice.
It’s “try stuff”.
You know what’s really tragic? The woman who opened that store is going to get a “real job”. Her words. The kind of job that has a boss, regular hours, and comes with a cubicle. She’s devastated. Understandably.
She’s finished trying to do the thing she thought she wanted to do — because of the economy.
But here’s the thing. By assuming she’d done all she could, she missed that fact that no one could see her store.
I don’t want to turn this into a “here’s 20 things to do” post, though we could do that sometime.
The point is this: TRY STUFF before assigning blame to the most convenient target. I know that the economy is scary. Just make your peace with the fact that hey, you haven’t tried everything yet.
There are so many tiny little things that you can tweak, alter and play with. This is true in a physical location and it’s true online … there are so many things to shift and change, and each one can have an insanely huge impact.
Tweak. Document. Repeat.
Some of the changes are soft changes. Mental and emotional shifts.
Like figuring out what part of you thinks that all marketing is sleazy and gross (because most of us have that), and doing some healing there.
Some of the changes have to do with things that are literally getting in the way.
LIke adding one sweet, quirky “Hi, I’m a real human being” line to the contact page on your website. Walking across the street to see if the name of your store is readable.
Point is: commit to doing stuff differently. As a general life practice.
Even one change to start with. Any change. Just make it. Small shifts. Medium sized ones. Write one blog post. Call one person.
And then the rest of it is about paying attention. Noticing what parts still need love.
I don’t mean to imply that it’s easy. Clearly it’s not. Also, it’s okay that you don’t know what to do yet. No one expects you to know what to do. And it really is that much harder right now.
So yes, you’re absolutely entitled to have a good cry and to ask for a hug or whatever else you need. And of course a long whine about how incredibly frustrating it all is. Completely legitimate.
And then it’s time to sit down and figure things out what would help your right people feel safe saying yes to you.
And what’s stopping them.
I’ll give you a hint. It probably isn’t because of the economy.
Letters, wackiness, surprising little seeds.
Some of you will remember how I wrote a personal ad. For my perfect house.
Which is how I ended up living here at Hoppy House. Hoppy House!*
* Sing Ho for Hoppy House! Hoppy House! Ho!
It was fantastic. Especially since I’d really only written it so that I’d feel better. Not because it was actually going to work or anything.
And then …
It kind of started a thing.
People started writing personal ads. For a better job. Or a job.
And for virtual assistants. Significant others. Apartments. And various other things that you wouldn’t really expect someone to write a personal ad for.
I even posted one of them here — when my friend Kelly Parkinson from Copylicious contacted me because she was looking for another copywriter to work with.
Which got insanely great results.
So here’s what I’m thinking.
1. I want to update you on the fabulous stuff that resulted from Kelly’s experiment.
2. Then I’m going to write the tiniest of personal ads as a continuation of my own experiment.
3. And then I’m going to hope that this has planted some seeds and that you’re going to maybe be writing some tiny little letters of your own.
Even if you think this is completely stupid (and, to be honest, I kind of still do), maybe you’ll end up playing with this anyway.
Because writing is healing.
Because letting people know what you need has power.
Because I’m feeling completely inspired by my clients and readers who are writing letters to their blocks and letters to their money issues and letters to their future selves. Also, totally enjoying their weird and surprising results.
Absolute worst-case scenario? You’ll get a little more clear on what you really want.
And who knows? Maybe you’ll learn something that you didn’t know yet. And pick up some more information about where your “I have trouble asking for stuff” patterns tend to show up.
First, the long overdue update.
Actually, Kelly wrote a whole post called How I collected fresh brains for 2009, and it was fascinating and you should read it.
But she also sent me a more detailed description of what went down. And oh my gosh.
Havi,
I’m over the moon about the responses I’ve gotten so far — more than 60! And every email was thoughtful and delightful.This has been the single most exciting event to ever happen to my business.I got so much more than just several amazing copywriter-collaborators. I got introduced to a whole network of smart, creative people.
The crazy thing is, it’s not like I was following some expert template for how to hire independent contractors.
No one told me to do it this way.
But “this way” ended up being more effective than any other way I could possibly have done it.
I hope all the writers I couldn’t work with, who are wondering where to find business, will take this message home and embroider it above their desks:
When the voices in your head tell you something will be a pain in the ass, and that you won’t enjoy it, don’t listen. (In this case, “something” could be marketing yourself, hiring an assistant, trying the chicken.)
Create a way to do it you WILL enjoy. Chances are if you’re drawn to it, it will be more effective anyway.
This has been true in so many other parts of my business, so I finally applied it to this thing I was resisting.
I stopped being afraid I’d find the wrong people, and started imagining what it would be like to work with the right people. And not just the right people, but the ideal people! And that’s exactly what I got! (with a little help from you, of course.)
Wow.
And then a tiny letter of my own.
Here it is. It’s to my closet. Yeah, I know.
Dear office closet,
I would dearly love to turn you into an Angel Refueling Station.This is a completely wacky idea I got from one of my Kitchen Table participants (who said the brilliant words “Even angels need refueling stations!”). And it’s just wacky enough that I’m going to have to do it.
The idea is that you, my closet, would become a space for me to curl up in and hide when I feel depleted and down.
I really don’t know what we need to do to make this happen. I’m also feeling nervous that it will be complicated and time-consuming.
So if you, my soon-to-be-revamped office closet, have any ideas about what would help you become a happy, nourishing, replenishing sort of space for me and my duck to hide in … please speak up.
Love,
Havi & Selma
There.
And then a hope.
I would love it if you’d write some letters of your own. If you feel like it.
Partly because it would help me feel decidedly less crazy.
But also because I’m thoroughly enjoying this process of watching things shift and change just because we’re finally throwing some love and attention their way.
And intention. Intention is big. Because even if it does nothing but promote mindfulness, then yay.
I mean, interacting consciously with yourself: strong stuff. Doing it out loud? Even better. Because then other people can actively help you get what you need.
And then planting seeds, whether within your network or in your consciousness or both … very useful.
I’m going to repeat the thing that Kelly said.
Because it was so great.
When the voices in your head tell you something will be a pain in the ass, and that you won’t enjoy it, don’t listen. (In this case, “something” could be marketing yourself, hiring an assistant, trying the chicken.)
Create a way to do it you WILL enjoy.
And then I’m going to write a bunch of letters. Or at least one.
Friday Check-in #29: the “don’t be such an acetyl” 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.
Voice-to-text software is my salvation. It wrote 95% of yesterday’s extremely long post. Plus, talking to myself is fun.
Anyway, I’ll probably be giving an update at some point in the future about the best and worst of it. From the trials and tribulations to the yay, this has forever changed my life for the better bits.
In the meantime, it kind of features big this week. But yeah, some other stuff happened too. I think.
The hard stuff
Voice to text!
Seriously. There are so many commands to remember. Gah! And I’m still ridiculously inefficient at the editing part.
And it keeps writing acetyl when I want to say “asshat”.
Acetyl!
Also, it thinks my name is Heidi.
Anyway, I still love it. It’s just that I also have some new grey hairs. Just saying.
Meetings.
Oh boy. There were a lot of them this week.
And while each one was valuable and productive and good for the soul, I am kind of done with meetings for a while.
Information overload.
So I’m taking Jen’s class and Cairene’s class and I’m teaching at the Kitchen Table.
And my brain is just processing stuff like crazy. Which is fantastic, and it’s also kind of exhausting.
Which is why as soon I put this up I’m going to go get massage for my arms and then go back to bed. Yay, bed. I guess that brings us straight to the good stuff.
The good stuff
Voice-to-text software.
I’d been kind of worried that talking blog posts into a microphone would be way harder than writing them.
I mean, yes, I write how I talk. So theoretically I should be able to talk the way I write.
But it took some weird brain shifting there. Now it’s working. And I’m loving it. So so much.
Friends!
So Chris Guillebeau and his wife Jolie invited us (me and my gentleman friend and my brother and Selma) over for dinner this week.
They’ve just moved to Portland, which we’re ecstatic about. And it was wonderful.
Selma didn’t come because she’s been kind of overwhelmed by meeting lots of people lately and is already anxious about all the socializing she’s going to have to do at SXSW.
But Jolie, who is a painter, wants Selma to sit for her. How flattering is that?
Anyway, it was great fun. They’re both such lovely people, and I’m so happy that we’re going to be hanging out with them more. Not just as far-off internet friends but in real life too. Real life!
And then I also got to spend an hour drinking tea with one of my former clients, who just happened to be visiting from Turkey. What a beautiful surprise.
Inspired Organizing!
As I mentioned the other day, I’m taking Jen Hofmann’s Inspired Organizing course for the second time.
Because I hate organizing and am not inspired. Which is basically perfect for the kind of work that she does. Because she’s all about alternative techniques. Like, very alternative.
And man, it is so, so great.
She just knocks me over with her unexpected ideas and the way she can love me completely with all of my flaws and challenges. She’s a great friend and a great teacher, and I just feel really lucky that she’s in my life in all these different ways.
Feeling peaceful.
Last week, you may recall, was pretty tumultuous. I was moody and cranky and there was lots of hard.
This week was much more peaceful. Lots of sleeping in (okay, I call 6:30 sleeping in) and long meditations and bouncing ecstatically.
Not being in excruciating pain seems to be helping my mood significantly.
Ez lives here! Yes, he’s still here.
I love him. Also, did I mention that he cooks?
Because he does.
And … the award for the most bizarre thing to show up in my mailbox this week goes to …
Our very own Wormy aka Secret Wormy.
Really, you haven’t lived until you receive a package from Wales addressed to The Bootilicious Selma with an accompanying letter about how the sender is really not a stalker, despite all apparent evidence to the contrary.
Also in the package was a keychain that bears a remarkable resemblance to Selma, except with a button on it When you press the button, the duck flashes and quacks.
It’s like … a noisy flashlight. That’s also a keychain!
Wow. Thanks, Wormy! I adore you!
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.
Conversations with blocks: Part 3
We ended on something of a cliffhanger last time. So I should probably give you a tiny bit of background.
The very short version is that I talk to walls. And myself. And a duck.
Really, if you keep reading now, you’ve no one to blame but yourself. 🙂
The short-ish version is that I started talking to the part of myself which keeps me from moving forward (that was Part 1) … which resulted in (Part 2) me having an awkward and uncomfortable conversation with my fear.
Which you’d think would be bad enough.
But no. Apparently, the only thing that would satisfy my fear was more wackiness.
Just how wacky? Here’s where we left off:
I asked about what was going to happen next and my fear said I had to go do some deep work with my second chakra and then I rolled my eyes and then my fear called me a pussy.
It was delightful.
And really, that’s when everything went crazy and the seriously weird stuff started happening, but we’ll have to talk about that next time.
I told you it was going to be weird.
I mean, it was hard enough with the fear and the blocks.
So if you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, you’re in pretty good company. This wasn’t making any sense to me either — but don’t worry about it.
I’ll just tell you what happened.
Me: “Hey, you in there. Um, it’s me, I guess. No, it really is me. I just feel kind of weird about this.”
Body: “Do you want something?”
Me: “Well, this is sort of awkward. It’s just… apparently I’m supposed to be having a conversation with my second chakra or something.”
Body: “Knock yourself out.”
Me: “Aren’t you going to help?”
Body: “Dude, I’m right here.”
If at first you don’t succeed ….
Me: “Okay. Fine. So here’s what I know about second chakra.
It’s located in the lower abdomen and associated with reproductive organs. It’s the symbolic center for things like relationships and sex and money and things that have to do with give and take.
It’s about exchange. It’s about flow. It’s about movement. It’s associated with water and with the color orange. It’s about creation, procreation, giving birth to ideas…”
Body: “Knock it off with the yoga teacher routine, would ya?”
Long pause.
Me: “Okay, this stuff wasn’t even my idea. I don’t even want to be doing this.”
Body: “You know what this is about? This is the fear thing again. You’re petrified. And you’re avoiding me so you won’t have to have the stupid conversation.”
Me: “Yeah? So what?”
Body: “Just have the conversation. Get in here and have the conversation.”
Me: “I’m not even sure I want to go in there right now.”
Body: “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
Going inside.
So I went in. But I’m not stupid.
I lit candles. Some incense because yeah, I hug trees and I live in Portland. I wrapped myself in blankets and put Selma on my lap. And I started talking to myself.
I reminded myself that I am never alone. I reminded myself that I have huge reserves of safety and comfort and support.
And when things finally started feeling safe I said, “Let’s do this thing, baby.”
So we did. And it was horrible. I mean, not really, but at first glance. Ugh.
The first thing I found was an enormous pile of worms.
Big, fat, black, slimy, oozing worms. A massive tangle of worms. Moving slowly and steadily, climbing over each other in a pulsating mass of ew.
Instantly the fear showed up. I could feel my fear, poking me from behind.
Insinuating that it had been right all along. That there were things to be afraid of … and that these things are inside of me right now.
Gross things. Unhappy things. Painful things.
In fact, hinted the fear, it’s probably cancer. It’s probably destroying you. It’s probably too late.
I clutched my duck, and took a deep breath.
Me: “Hey, fear? This is so not helping right now.”
Fear: “But but but but! WORMS! Inside of you!”
Me: “I can see them, yes. And I’m terrified, yes. Here’s the thing. We’ve talked about this. When you put in me in fear-mode I get so paralyzed that I can’t act and I can’t help us.”
Fear: “WORMS! Run awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!”
Me: “I know you said you’d come with me, but what I really need right now is support and encouragement. And strength. Because otherwise, I may never find out what I need to find out.”
Fear: “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Force of habit. I’ll shut up now.”
Me: “Thank you.”
Fear: “But you know…”
Me: “Support and encouragement and strength, please.”
Fear: “…”
Me: “Thank you.”
Finding what’s there. Learning what I need to know.
I looked at the worms.
I really, really wanted to run away. Or throw up. But whatever, I’ve come this far. I had to ask.
Me: “So … hey there, crazy stuff happening inside of my second chakra. I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m feeling really nervous about it. Can I have some more information please?”
The worms all seemed to stop moving at once.
I wondered out loud, “Do these worms even need to be here? Is this what I’m here to see?”
And then they all disappeared. Gone. And I saw what was beneath all of those worms.
What I found was a nest. In my ovaries.
The nest in my ovaries had been built with what appeared to be feathers. Old, black, decomposing feathers. It was an old nest. Actually, I got the feeling that it was tired of being a nest. It was very tired.
Me: “No wonder you got filled with worms. You’ve been decomposing for a long time, nest.”
The Nest: “Yes, I seem to have forgotten my purpose.”
Me: “So you sent for me.”
The Nest: “I have been waiting for you for a very, very long time.”
Me: *bursts into tears*
We all forget our purpose sometimes.
Me: “Oh nest, I want to help you. I really want to help you. I’m so afraid that I won’t know how to help you.”
The Nest: “It’s lovely that you are here. So … what would you like to have from a nest? Maybe that’s my purpose.”
Me: “Well, I don’t know. A nest could be shelter. It could be a place to hide. It’s also a place to grow. And to store things for the future. It’s like a tiny little home for hope.”
The Nest: “I like the sound of that.”
Me: “I thought you might.”
The Nest: “I’m so glad you’ve come. And now I really have to go.”
Me: “What are you talking about?”
The Nest: “Goodbye, my dear.”
What happened next …
I waited.
And I thought about my nest. I thought about how it had a purpose once, but then that purpose had disappeared. The nest had been abandoned. And it forgot who it was.
Part of me was sad for my nest. And sad for me.
But then this other part of me was kind of thinking about how that is the way of things. You know, they grow and shift and change and die.
Next thing I knew, my fear was sitting next to me again. But this time it was quiet. It seemed as though it was thinking. Which was odd, because it’s usually so damn loud.
Me: “Oh it’s you again.”
Fear: “I have so much love for you. I don’t want to see you covered in worms.”
Me: “Yeah, me too.”
And then my fear was gone again as quickly as it had arrived.
The space felt bigger and lighter. More expansive. I wondered what I was waiting for. And then it came.
I found myself in a gigantic wooden bowl. But it wasn’t really a bowl. It was a new nest. Made from wood. It smelled a bit like cedar. It was clean and welcoming. I mean, for a bowl.
The question.
Me: “Are you my new nest?”
The Nest didn’t really say anything but it kind of beamed at me.
Me: “I feel comfortable here. I feel safe. I think I like you.”
The Nest: “I will be here for as long as you need me. You know my purpose and you know where to find me.”
Me: “Wow. Trippy. I’m going to write this down, but this is way too crazy for a blog post.”
Fear: “No kidding. No one will ever read your blog ever again if you write about this stuff.”
Me: “Oh, you’re back.”
And that’s where we left it.
Is it crazy? Yeah, kind of. I mean, absolutely. But that’s what happened.
It’s not like I’m done talking with blocks or anything, but I’m feeling more comfortable with the whole thing.
And I guess maybe my fear isn’t as impressive as I thought it was — those worms didn’t even scare me half to death. Though I have to say, I’m glad they’re gone.
My fear is still around. My old companion. It’s just that things are different between us. Less fight-ey.
I don’t know when I’ll be visiting my nest again, but yay — it’s there. It’s mine.
That’s a start, at least.