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.
Something to believe in.
I’ve been thinking a lot the past few weeks about what mysterious forces and processes come together to allow for “success” in something — insert your own definition here.*
*Let’s just all try and assume for now that it’s something positive and mostly-desired.
One of the themes I keep coming back to is the “someone believing in me when it seemed like no one else did and I didn’t know how to believe in myself” thing.
I don’t like it. I don’t like it because it’s cheesy and annoying.
It reminds me of made-for-television movies and excessively romantic sunsets and crescendo-ing violins.
Also because it’s outside of the space where most self-work happens. You know, it’s no longer directly about the relationship with (or to) yourself. Which is where I want to hang out.
That’s where I want to focus my energy. That’s where I’m inclined to spend my time. Not with outside forces and outside legitimacy.
Except that it keeps coming up. So clearly there’s something going on there … probably something important.
So hang out with me for a bit while I process out loud.
Madison
I spent a little over a year in Madison, Wisconsin … allegedly attending university but mostly internally raging and biding my time until I could either move back to Israel or figure out a way to get to Europe.
All sorts of people were giving me the “you’re not living up to your potential” spiel, which (shockingly!) missed its intended motivational target and only resulted in me getting more depressed.
Other people’s expectations were heavy, irritating and seemed to bear no relation to my own conception of who I was.
And then by a rather miraculous (or at least incongruous) series of events, I was spontaneously adopted by David Mitchell and his bizarre and wonderful group of friends.
Dave’s friends were all in their late forties and early fifties. They were intelligent and funny and quirky and free-spirited, but not in an especially bohemian way or anything. They just really enjoyed being alive.
A concept that was completely eye-opening to me.
Anyway, Dave and Joan and Paul and Victor (Maddog) and Cathy and the rest of them all — astoundingly — thought that I was absolutely fine the way I was.
They also all believed that I was bright and talented and going to do great and exciting things in the world and that it was completely okay if I took as long as I needed in getting there.
This was all news to me.
Everything I knew from my parents and friends was “Doom, doom, doom” and “Things generally get worse, not better” and “You’re wasting your life!” and variations on all of that.
But here were a bunch of people who saw potential in me but liked me as I was right then — and anyway weren’t at all worried about me squandering it. That was what I took with me from Madison when I moved back to Israel.
Tel Aviv
My friend — the one who killed himself — was the one who was not just a fan of my writing (at a time when no one got to read anything I wrote ever), but of the fact that I did it at all.
He would introduce me to people as “my friend, the writer”, and when he did it, the word “writes” didn’t even make me want to throw up.
Once he bought me an old beat-up typewriter for my birthday.
He also thought I was the best bartender in town.
And then when I quit the bars and became a yoga teacher he also thought I was the best yoga teacher in town, even though of course he never took a class from anyone other than me.
Mostly he just thought that having me around was good for the world.
And at a time when I was deep into self-destruction, paralyzed by self-doubt and loathing and a whole host of impossible fears, this was pretty hard for me to believe.
But I also knew that he believed it. I knew he was smart and discerning enough that I would have trusted him if he’d said those things about somebody else.
So some tiny part of part of me believed him.
Berlin
It was February. It was cold. I was sick. But really sick. The kind of sick that forever changes the definition of the word.
I had a horrible middle-ear infection which, among other things, was causing blood and insane amounts of scary-looking goo to erupt from my head in a never-ending fountain of yuck.
I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming from the pain. Sometimes it was the sound of the screaming that woke me up.
The doctor who treated me absolutely refused to let me pay no matter how many times I tried. She’d sneak me in before work and during her lunch break and tell me stories about her childhood in East Berlin.
She cared for me. She cared about me. For whatever reason, she took an intense personal interest in both the process and the experience of me becoming well.
It took several months before I could really hear again, but healing from that particular illness launched a crazy chain of intense healing experiences that have brought me directly to the work that I do now.
San Francisco
After Berlin I took Selma and went to San Francisco, solely on the basis of several nights of recurring “Listen, you need to go to San Francisco” dreams that were then encouraged by a couple of wonderfully bizarre coincidences.
And one of the very first things that happened when I arrived was that I met my gentleman friend.
Obviously being in love is pretty much the best thing in the world. But you know what else?
Meeting my gentleman friend is not just the best thing that ever happened to me. It’s also the best thing that ever happened to my business.
Mostly because he believed in it so entirely that he could see what it could become and had no doubt ever that I’d be able to pull it off.
He consistently dreams big for me, without putting pressure on me to act on those dreams and without ever being impressed by my stucknesses. He just assumes I’ll be fabulously successful at whatever I do just because hey, I’m that great.
And at the same time, he’d love me just the same if all I did was read books all day and go for walks and do yoga.
I’d honestly never been in a relationship with someone who didn’t need to knock down my every single idea with a bunch of objections about why it probably wouldn’t work.
Not out of meanness or anything. I think they mostly just wanted to keep me from getting my hopes dashed — to keep me from getting hurt. Or maybe there was some jealousy involved or some more general insecurity, too. I don’t know.
But the end effect was that they’d dish out the kind of “helpful critique” that would convince me to dash those tiny hopes myself before they ever got a chance to breathe.
Here.
My relationship with myself is, of course, always interacting with and reflecting themes of my relationship with others. So there’s tension there, but there’s also play.
Here is what’s going through my head right now — and I hope you’re not expecting coherency here:
- It’s easier sometimes to trust others (well, certain others …) when I can’t trust myself.
- I can also remember how to trust myself, just from remembering what it is like to have had someone believe in you.
- Sometimes this isn’t easy (sometimes nothing is easy).
- But then at other times there’s flow — the sense that it’s possible to allow things to get easier.
Reminders.
I’m thinking that all these people who were able to believe in me like that are really more than sources of strength.
They’re reminders of what I already know.
The fact that they’re there … in my memory or in my kitchen or whatever, is a reminder of a whole range of strengths they see in me — strengths that I forget about.
This is a steady, calming reminder to shift my focus inward so that I can reconnect to the internal resources and strengths — the stuff that I tend to avoid, even though it contains all the qualities that I need to guide me.
I used to think a lot more about all the people who knocked me down. Or that I perceived as having knocked me down.
Lately I’ve been thinking about all the other people. The ones who have carried me when I was tired.
But I’m also thinking that they were only carrying me because they knew how strong I was.
One last thing.
I’m also thinking (but I have no way to say this without it devolving into cheesiness so please forgive me), that I hope you know that part of why I am here is to be that person for you.
Because Selma and I are completely prepared to believe in the great things that you’re going to do, without at all needing you to have done them yet — or ever — in order to like you.
We just believe. Because it’s true.
Item! I am feeling most enthused!
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 did a lot of reading this week.
Probably because I wasn’t answering email. Good stuff.
Item! Post No. 8 in a series that has no specific point other than letting off steam and sharing stuff I get excited about.
Item! This is absolutely inspiring!
This post from Amy Mommaerts about art as mental therapy was really touching. One of the lovely things I read this week.
She’s @AmyMommaerts if you’re a fellow Twitterite. If not, argh. Come and play!
Item! What’s wrong with this article?
First time I’ve ever linked to an article about a brothel.
I love how they get divorced because she was working at one and not because he was going to one.
Also, note that it’s Poland. This is the country where I got stuck in an elevator. Still haven’t forgiven them.
Item! This is the best description of blogging that you will ever read ever!
Emma’s post about the joy of blogging knocked me over with how great it was.
I mean, of course I knew this was yet another blog that got started thanks to my Tuesday Blogging Therapy series, and that I was getting midwife credit.
But I had absolutely no idea how tingly and powerful it would be to read about blogging from someone who really, truly gets the thrill of possibility in the medium.
Everyone who hangs out online — even if only occasionally — needs to read this post at least once.
And not just because a. she uses the phrase “may heavy breasted women sing her name down the ages” and b. is referring to me.
Item! Sometimes you will be less than excited about blogging!
And then if you’re feeling slightly less enthused than our Emma about blogging … you’ll want to read Amy Derby’s terrific piece which asks the question, Ever felt like divorcing your blog?
Answer: oh goodness me, yes. Thankfully we’re over that now.
But seriously. Great post. Watch her video there too. Amy tells it like it is.
Item! If you are an artist or otherwise creative you NEED to read this!
This is actually something I’ve been wanting to write about.
How people ask us questions that completely trigger our stuff, to the point that we can’t even understand why anyone would be such an insensitive insulting meanypants.
And then it so often turns out that their question came from a misunderstanding, a lack of knowledge, a lack of confidence, a desire to be kind or whatever.
Their stuff. Not our stuff.
So I highly recommend that you read this terrific explanation of how this process works with one specific question that drives artists and designers crazy.
Item! I am flattered by your title!
How could I not click on a post entitled Havi got me unstuckified?
Pretty great. Also: hilarious.
This guy Rob hadn’t updated his blog in over six months … found our Blogging Therapy series and gave himself permission to stop feeling guilty about it.
And whaddya know … he’s back at it. And he’s really funny. I’m his newest fan. Maybe I’ll see you guys there.
Item! I cannot wait to take this class!
I have a huge secret crush on Cairene MacDonald from Third Hand Works.
And I’ve been really wanting to do something with her that would involve soaking up some of her coolness and also getting a bunch of stuff done.
Also, it drives me batty that she’s not insanely famous. Because she should be. You guys should be beating down her doors. In fact, I’m really going to have to (gently, yes?) biggify the heck out of her this year.
Anyway, she’s doing a class. Called Bite the candy. Because she’s cool like that, like I said.
It’s three and a half hours of concentrated knocking stuff off your to-do list.
With support and smartnesses. It’s only $25 which is so low that I’m going to have to insist on paying more.
I am completely serious. Sign up for her class before she reads this and gets a restraining order or something.
Item! Jennifer Louden is so ridiculously amazing that I can’t stand it!
Did I mention that I’m teaching at her comfort retreat thing this weekend? As in, the night after tomorrow? It’s me and a gazillion super famous people … and I’m giddy with excitement about getting to learn stuff from all of them.
I’ll talking about techniques for working with fear. And Jen will spreading her uniquely non-annoying sweetness and light.
Should be a really powerful weekend.
That is all.
Alas, no more goofy. No more pouncing on objects. No more exclamation points. I’m all out.
Until next Wednesday.
Tomorrow we’re back to our usual programming (patterns, habits, stucknesses, biggification and stuff that I say to myself). See you then!
Blogging therapy: Learn from my mistakes
Doing something kinda different this week for post number fifteen in our “taking the scary out of blogging” series. And yeah, if you want to play catch-up (no obligation, of course), links to the first fourteen are hidden way down at the bottom this time.
Anyway, instead of working on emotional stucknesses and what-iffery (no worries, we’ll be back to that next week), I wanted to touch on some practical bits.
But first I have to wax philosophical (and type a shockingly naughty word).
If you don’t blog, you have my permission to think about this stuff we’re going to be talking about in terms of general writing and useful communication skills. But it’s also even more than that.
Naomi said the other day that — excuse me, I’m quoting directly here:
“Marketing is the shit you do that makes people buy your shit.”
And that is why we are madly in love with Naomi. My I’m-a-yoga-teacher-with-a-duck version of that is:
‘Marketing’ is the art of helping your Right People find you and feel safe enough to receive from you, so you can live your crazy helper-mouse mission.
We can talk more some other time about “marketing” and why it (the word, the concept, the application) doesn’t always have to make us want to run and take a shower.
For now I just want to throw it out there that the way you write blog posts (or anything, for that matter) can make it easier for your Right People to say yes to you. And that is useful not just for you but for them.
Learning from my mistakes.
I’m going to give you a challenge and draw attention to something embarrassing I wrote just so you feel better about yourself because that’s how nice I am.
Let’s dive into the archives here, shall we?
In Blogging Therapy #13 when we talked about finding your voice, I made the following suggestion:
Go to the archives of a blogger you admire, go back to the very, very beginning and read the very, very first posts … What you’re doing is discovering (or reminding yourself) that even the best blogging voices are not born that way.
So then I had the brilliant idea that this would make a terrific homework-ey exercise dinksbumps* for everyone taking my Blogging Therapy course.
*thingamasomething
The assignment was this.
But imagine that you’re listening to this assignment being transmitted over a crackling radio connection and that it’s coming from someone who addresses you and your partners as “Angels” and also that there’s cool ’70s theme music:
Someone left me a comment this week on a very, very old post. It’s actually from before I started blogging. Because when I started the blog I put up a bunch of old noozletter articles so I wouldn’t feel lonely. And — every once in a while — someone discovers one of them.
Reading it again now made me realize that 1. wow, there’s some good stuff in here (yes, that surprised me!) and 2. there are a lot of ways I’d change it if I were writing it now.
Then it occurred to me that some of these “here’s what I’d do differently” bits would be useful for you guys.
So here’s your challenge:
Read the post:
https://fluentself.com//blog/newsletter/ways-to-work-on-your-patterns/And then … try and guess what changes I would make if I were writing it now …
Obviously my writing voice has changed quite a bit since July 2007 … and there are aesthetic considerations as well. Give it your best shot!
Right. So I’m about to share the answers which means …
If you want to try and guess the answers yourself, you might want to not read below this little dotted line thingy until you’ve taken a swing at the homework.
Yes, that is what the dotted line thingy looks like. Wait, I’m putting another one in so you can’t say that you missed it. 🙂
Okay, heading into “answers” territory … spoiler alert activated.
Ready? A whole bunch of things to consider.
One of the women in the Blogging Therapy course wrote:
“It’s like looking for the find-a-words when you don’t have the list of words to work from. If this were a crossword puzzle book, I’d turn to the back page right now to find out the answers. Instead, I have to wait. Oh, darn!”
So yeah, it probably wasn’t a fair assignment. Also, I got carried away with the fun and fascinating the stuff we came up with in class, and totally forgot to share the answers. Oof.
Let’s take a look.
Thing 1: Shorter paragraphs.
By a lot. Space breaks are your friend.
The most important thing you can do in your blog is have insane amounts of space breaks. Because people skim and their eyes get tired and it can be hard reading blogs.
If you help them by creating more space they’re more likely to actually read it.
When in doubt, throw in more. If I were re-formatting that semi-embarrassing post, there would be at least twice as many breaks. Probably more.
Thing 2: Headers.
Best way to break up text and draw attention to things.
I’m also a fan of the blockquote tag as a way to say “Hey, I’m making a point”, so I’d probably also use some of that.
Like this.
Thing 3: Help people hear your voice.
You’ve probably noticed that I italicize quite a bit.
Partly it’s to break up the text again and give it a little life, but it’s also to help you hear what this is sounding like in my head.
Being a real, live human being like Betty Boop told you to is useful and important. So I’m always looking for things that will help me get the “me” across.
Thing 4: Not boring people to death with the headline.
I’m no headline expert.
And, to be honest, those biggified blogger articles about “Ten ways to get people to read your headline” are usually so stilted and self-congratulatory that I can’t even get through them.
So don’t take advice from me on this.
I’ll just say that if I were rewriting that post, the first thing I’d change is the headline. It’s painfully dull. Plus sooooo not google-able.
Instead of “More ways to work on your patterns” (seriously, what was I thinking?), I’d probably do something to make it sound as though it weren’t written by a self-help robot.
Maybe “Change your patterns. But first, you have to catch the train.”
Or “How I got a clue (literally!) and stopped being late to work.”
I don’t know. Those aren’t good either. But I’d sure as hell come up with something better than “More ways to work on your patterns.”
Thing 5: Maybe a graphic.
I’m not (as you may have noticed) a follower of the popular “have a lot of bright pretty pictures” school of blogging.
It’s partly because of a severe handicap that results in me only being interested in words. And partly because I spend so much time writing these things that I really can’t be bothered to do anything else with them.
But I do order awesome custom graphics from my designer. You’ve seen them on the Item! posts and the Ask Havi posts and of course in the Friday Chicken.
It couldn’t hurt.
Thing 6: Not being a pain in the ass.
As Diana so perceptively pointed out in her response to my “homework”:
“Fewer imperative sentences.
I don’t know if you’ve changed your writing style because you are blogging or if you are mellowing with age, but I don’t think you would say “Get going!” now and certainly not with an exclamation point.”
Yes, I’m mellowing with age.
A phrase which — applied to me — hits me straight in the funny bone.
So probably not that. I think it’s more that I gradually realized that expertise alone just isn’t sexy.
When I read blogs where the writer wraps herself in this big cloak of “Hi, I’m an expert and I am so totally over having your problems”, I lose interest.
The blogs I love to read are written by people. Like Naomi. I’m much more inclined to take her advice because she doesn’t present herself as someone who knows everything.
Yeah. I definitely wouldn’t say “Get going!” now.
In fact, I take it back. You most certainly do not have to get going on anything.* That would be ridiculous.
*Unless of course you happen to feel like it for reasons of your own.
Thing 7: Where is Selma???
I know. Not everyone has a duck.
But the fact that I wrote an entire post and didn’t even mention my business partner who deserves sole credit for my fame and fortune and general well-being?
Weird, right?
Especially since she was absolutely with me on that walk to the train station. Gah. I don’t know.
I guess it took me a long time to realize that even though some people would (and do) think it’s really screwed up that I have a duck, the people that get it are so totally my Right People that it doesn’t even matter if everyone else thinks I’m not all there in the glove compartment.
That’s it. Enough with the expert-izing.
Hope there was Something Useful for you in here today. Next week back to more Blogging Therapy of the emotional stucknesses kind.
Tomorrow: pure, unadulterated goofiness.
Oh, and as promised, the links to the other Blogging Therapy posts in the series:
Part 1. What if people are mean to me?
Part 2. What if I throw a party and no one shows up?
Part 3. Why even bother when there are already other people doing it better?
Part 4. What do I saaaaaaaaaaaaaaay?
Part 5. Help! Perfectionism! Gaaaaak!
Part 6. But I’m not an EXPERT!
Part 7. Don’t make me be vulnerable!
Part 8. I just don’t have the time!
Part 9. What if someone READS what I wrote?
Part 10. But I’ll never be popular!
Part 11. De-shouldifying.
Part 12. A bunch of questions.
Part 13. Finding your voice.
Part 14. Worry. Worry. Worry.
Yes, that is a lot of Blogging Therapy. And no, you don’t have to read any of it if you don’t feel like it. See you tomorrow …
On sabbatical. Not from blogging though.
I’ll just say it. Selma and I aren’t going to be answering email this year.
Yeah, I’m putting in a header just to have a little space around that.
It’s an experiment. A let’s see what 2009 will be like without email experiment.
Actually, I’m thinking of it as a sabbatical.
<Homer Simpson voice> Mmmmmm. Sabbatical.
And since I know that this announcement is going to freak people out, which will then — oh the irony — produce crazy amounts of email questions …
I’ve taken the liberty of writing a FAIQ (frequently asked imaginary questions). A fake FAQ, if you will.
No one’s asked them yet — that’s pretty much what makes them imaginary. But I’m answering them, just in case.
I’m definitely feeling nervous and anxious about posting this, because I’m needing some reassurance that things are going to be okay between us. I know some of you will feel hurt and disappointed … and you’ll also be needing reassurance from me that I’m still going to be here for you.
That’s what the questions are for. For you. And also for me to talk this through and find my own peace inside of it.
Gah! Nooo! But I have questions I want to ask you! What am I supposed to do?
I definitely get that this feels uncomfortable.
Here’s what I’m thinking. It used to be that you’d have to hire me at about a thousand dollars a month because that was pretty much the only way I worked with people.
Luckily now there’s At The Kitchen Table With Havi & Selma which is a much, much less expensive way to hang out with me and still have a place where I’ll answer anything and everything.
And if that’s not the place for you yet, we can hang out here on the blog. And on Twitter.
So my email to you will just be ignored?
No, of course not, sweetie! Not at all. Marissa (my wonderful personal assistant) will be responding to things.
If you don’t know Marissa yet, let me just say that she’s much, much nicer than I am and she gives great email. So you’re actually better off with her anyway.
Trust me. You will love Marissa. She is my favorite everything ever.
And the only thing I will add to that is that she’s not, you know, Dear Abby or anything.
So my thinking is that it’s not really fair to burden her with things like “How can I lose ten pounds this month?” or “What should I name my website?” or “Here is the entire history of my life. What do you think?”
So you’ll probably want to keep it to more administrative stuff.
Wait just a minute! Have you been having Marissa answer me all along and pretending that it’s you?
Uh, that would be dishonest and icky. So no.
If an email has my name at the bottom, it’s me. If it’s signed by Marissa, it’s her.
But what if it’s an Ask Havi question?
Honey, I’m sorry.
I have over sixty partially-answered Ask Havi questions in my Ask Havi folder.
Over sixty. That means if I post one a week for a year, there will still be some left over.
I’m feeling a little overloaded here and I’m really needing some breathing room.
If you’re at the Kitchen Table and you have a question that’s too personal to bring up in the forum environment (sneaky plural avoidance), then yes, send it to me.*
*Write in the subject header something like “super personal just for Havi” so Marissa knows not to read it. And I’ll answer it (anonymously) here on the blog.
Other than that, I’m not taking any more Ask Havi questions this year. I just can’t. I’m truly sorry.
Are you going to Tim Ferris spam me?
Good heavens no! No no nooooo!
I don’t hate Tim in quite the way that Penelope Trunk hates him (that’s some quality hating, by the way), but I do agree emphatically with every single word of her Point #3.
Seriously.
A pox on the house of Ferris for propagating the online disaster that is the automated “Sorry, this looks like an answer but it’s really just an announcement that I only check email at 4pm on Tuesdays, Thursdays and days when I wear red socks” email message.
When Marissa writes back to you, she may end up referring to this very post that you’re reading right now — so that you don’t think I’m only not writing to you when in fact I’m actually not writing to anyone.
But I promise that you will never ever get a robot-sent “Thanks for contacting us. We’re sorry we have to clog your inbox with an irrelevant automatic message about how we’re more efficient and streamlined than you are” message.
Because argh. Also, I get that I’m not a heart surgeon or anything. I know that people can mostly wait a couple days for an answer. And anyway, most of you know about my 100% guilt-free email policy already.
What if I need to write something personal?
Add to the subject header that it’s super personal and Marissa will know to file it in the “Just for Havi” section and let me know that I need to read it.
This is stupid. Just because you got a bunch of criticism last week is no reason to stop answering email.
This has actually been in the works for a while.
When I was sitting with my “here’s what I’m needing to happen in 2009” thoughts (my version of New Year’s resolutions), getting away from email was something that came up loud and clear.
The insane volume of stuff coming in, combined with the fact that some of it isn’t very nice, has just made it easier for me to step away.
The time I spend there takes me away from my true business of helping my Right People. Yes, sometimes I am helping one Right Person via email, but that’s not my path.*
*Translation for those of you who speak business and not yoga: it just doesn’t scale.
However, I will also add that lately I’ve caught myself self-editing when I write posts in order to cut down on future email. Which kind of sucks and I really don’t want to end up there.
For example, I was recently writing a somewhat goofy, light-hearted post and I wrote “There are only two types of people in the world.”
And then, instead of taking it somewhere amusing, I was already completely regretting having written it — maybe half a second later — because I could already picture the fifteen emails I’d get.
You know, saying things like “Well, actually there’s only one type of person in the world” or “How can you be so shallow and narrow minded?” or “Actually, there are never just two types of people in the world.”
So I didn’t write it.
I know, right? To hell with that.
But I really just want to hang out with you. And I can’t afford to join the Kitchen Table yet.
Twitter. I’m there a lot. And here. I’m here like, six days a week or something.
Aren’t you sad? Won’t you miss us?
Yes. Very much.
I have met some of the most amazing people ever through the beautiful and surprising things that come into my inbox.
In fact, I have even become friends with some of the very cool people who have written me anonymous Ask Havi questions or just wrote effusively to express joy and love about what I do here.
So I’m definitely aware of what I might be missing out on and yes, that sucks for both of us. I’m sorry. This is a thing I need to do to take care of myself so that I can keep showing up here.
But what about Douglas who just turned eighty and writes those fabulous letters to your duck? Is there no exception at all to this madness?
I will still write to Douglas. Though probably by snail mail.
But I have more questions.
I’m sure you do. I’m sure we’ll be talking about this lots.
And I hope sincerely that you know how I adore you and how much love I have in my heart for you. I’m still here.
This added chunk of time that I’ll have is time that I get to devote to (excuse me, about to be cheesy) my mission in the world. To work on being able to help my Right People on a larger scale.
Some of it I’ll spend at the Kitchen Table, yes. But a lot of it I’ll be spending figuring out how I can be a part of bringing good stuff into your life, seeing as how you’re one of the many neat people who hang out here with me.
This sabbatical is intended to bring only good things to both of us. That’s what I’m hoping for.
I’m still feeling a bit apprehensive about posting this, but better. Definitely better. So … internet hugs all around. And thank you. You know why.
FAQ-ing it up, one question at a time.
In which I answer a fairly impressive variety of questions about At The Kitchen Table With Havi & Selma while simultaneously modeling the art of “meeting objections without trying to convince anyone of anything” while trying to practice brevity, which, as you know, is not my friend.
If that’s not annoying enough for you, please note that when I discuss the ahem, forum environment, I go out of my way to avoid ever using the plural of the word “forum”,
Only because I know you will laugh at me if I say fora … and I can’t say the other thing. Sorry. Blame the fact that I minored in classical culture at Tel Aviv University.
So … prepare yourself for some horribly awkward work-arounds.
Also, you may notice that hardly any of these are actually questions. For some reason, people seem to like to ask things in the form of statements. No, I don’t know why either.
Second-to-last hedge before I start.
I’m also not going to answer (today, at least) the “what about the money” and “what about the time” questions … because those are complicated, multi-layered, problematic emotional/philosophical ones and they deserve more love and attention than I can give them here.
Okay, one last pre-emptive hedge and I’m done, I swear. If you’re not at all interested in the Kitchen Table, this might bore you senseless. On the other hand, I can be pretty entertaining sometimes, so what the hell.
Okay. Questions.
“My concern is that I am going to be very excited and then drop off the face of the earth and forget that I paid a lot of to do this.”
Oh yeah. That is a completely reasonable thing to feel concerned about.
I’ve totally signed up for various online programs and then repressed the fact that I paid insane amounts of money to do them, even though that seemed impossible at the time of signing up, and yes, it is a horrible feeling.
Two things to consider:
1. Even in those programs I always ended up getting more than my money’s worth anyway. Here’s why.
I realized that even if I were to wait until the last week of my membership and then asked say, three or four pressing questions* … and then the super biggified person running the program answered them really lovingly and thoroughly, that’s basically like getting coaching from them.
And it always costs more to hire someone like that for a couple hours.
*Especially if one of those questions is “Should I do THIS or is it better to do THAT?” Because otherwise you can spend months agonizing over stuff like that. I have.
If all that happens this year is that you get a bunch of big questions answered by me, some loving feedback from the other member mice and you listen to a few of the call recordings … still a great deal.
But the truth is that it won’t be like that at all … because of point #2.
- 2. Because of my own sometimes frustrating experiences in those other programs I’ve been in, I intentionally set up At The Kitchen Table to have a ton of internal structure and accountability-mechanisms for people who need stuff like that.
In fact, I created this space with the aim to solve that particular challenge as well as some other semi-annoying aspects of online study. Like the fact that they don’t give you STRUCTURE!
But wait — someone else is about to ask about that.
“I’m feeling anxious. It would help if I knew more about the structure. Do you hate me for overloading you with questions?.”
Oh boy. I’m all about having a solid structure. Stability and support are what this space is for.
So …
Everyone gets a small learning group of 7-8 people and a group leader. They arrange to meet and do check-in phone calls with each other to talk about the material and get each other unstuck. Your group will also have its own private forum.
And if you don’t show up for a while, the group leader will — in a completely sweet, understanding and non-guiltified way — check in with you and make sure that you’re doing okay.
You can subscribe to a daily digest of all the forum stuff so that you don’t have to remember to log-in.
And you’ll have a chance to hook up with a study partner for one-on-one accountability.
There’s also a special forum — CrankyPants McGrumblebug’s Kvetchtastic Whine Bar — to go to when you just want to complain about things but don’t actually want any help.
And other designated places for when you do feel like getting help, support and guilt-free accountability.
We’ll be recording all the teaching calls we do so that you can listen to them whenever. We mostly do stuff early enough in the day that our friends in Europe can make it to the calls.
And I’ll also be doing some stuff on weekends for people who have (the horror!) office jobs. I could go on but let’s just say that we’ve got support and structure in spades.
And no I don’t hate you for overloading me with questions! These are all perfectly good questions!
“How come you’re not doing a two month freebie trial thing? Everyone else does a two-month freebie trial thing.”
Sounds like you’re feeling a bit anxious because you need to know that this is the right place for you. Of course I would like to be able to help you feel reassured. It’s just that I’m not doing it through a two-month trial thing.
For a lot of reasons. For one thing, I want active participants. Or, at least, people who are overjoyed to be a part of this safe, cozy “working on our stuff” space.
If people are just coming in to test the waters, the energy is different. The commitment isn’t as high.
Another thing: with people coming and going, the space isn’t as safe for people to share what they’re working on.
It’s transient. It’s rocky. No good. I’m looking for something solid. A sanctuary. A place to check in to feel safe, supported and loved.
And this: this space is for people who already know they want to spend an entire year getting help and support from me and my duck and my people. If you’re not one of those people yet (or ever), that’s fine.
You can hang out here on the blog. Or you can buy useful stuff for working on your patterns. It’s just that if you’re not tingly excited about the work I do yet, this particular program just isn’t going to be a good fit.
Also, I don’t want to be like everyone. If I did, all my posts would have titles like Seven Ways To Do This and Eight Ways To Stop Screwing Up That.
One of the things I’m teaching at the Kitchen Table is exactly what things I have learned, internalized, implemented or done to become successful, and trust me, being like everyone else is definitely not one of them.
“In general, I don’t enjoy participating in online programs because having to visit a website bugs me.”
I hear ya. You feel frustrated when you have to keep coming back to the site because you need to know that information is going to come to you in a way that’s actually convenient for you.
Reassurance? You definitely don’t actually have to visit the Kitchen Table website after you set up your profile if you don’t feel like it.
Well, you might want to go there to peek at the profiles of the other participants. Or to comment on things they say.
But you can subscribe to each and every individual forum and then set up a group email digest.
That way you get one email at the end of each day with all of the updates. Should you want to reply to a thread, you click reply within the email and it will take you to the site.
So I’m thinking that you won’t need to hang out at the site any more than you want to.
And you don’t have to log-in to read people’s answers to your questions. I definitely know how annoying that is from a thousand other forum-ey things I’ve been in.
“I am severely hearing impaired and unable to use the phone.”
Hmmm. I am a horrible person for not having thought of that. Let me tell you what the options we have right now are, and then you can figure out if it’s something you can work with or not.
And if not we will brainstorm more ways to meet you halfway.
Let’s see. There will be live chat going on during all the calls, and someone will also be taking notes each time and turning them into a PDF to post on the forum. We’ll make sure your learning group does the same with their calls too.
So … if you participate in the chats and are talking it up with us on the different … forum areas, I’m fairly certain you won’t miss out on too much.
And if it starts to feel as though you’re missing out on stuff that’s important, we can arrange for transcripts as well. I don’t know if that’s a useful answer … you can sit with that for now and see if it feels okay. 🙂
“I want to pay by Paypal and you don’t have that option in your shopping cart.”
I know this is frustrating. I’m sorry.
Here’s the thing with Paypal. Our shopping cart does have a Paypal option — as you already know if you’ve bought products that way.
However, it doesn’t let us do multiple payments with Paypal. And we really don’t want to start doing stuff outside of the shopping cart because it’s a crazy amount of administrative tracking work.
I already have two assistants putting in overtime, and more chaos/confusion just doesn’t feel like something I can hold right now.
Of course we’ve already made one exception to this, for a woman in Australia who earns in US dollars and would lose all kinds of money if she had to change them into Australian currency and then change them back.
So I can imagine that there might be other scenarios, possibly. If there’s a way you could pay the whole year’s tuition upfront to cut down on our administrative headaches, that would certainly make the whole thing less complicated.
And if there’s really, truly no other way you can do things other than Paypal and you think the Kitchen Table is the exact perfect thing for you … we’ll find a way. Send a note to Marissa via the contact form and she’ll do that wonderful helpful thing that she does.
“Is the kitchen table full? I can’t apply right now, but it’s an option I would love to explore in the (near?) future….”
You can apply to join whenever you like. It’s an ongoing thing and there’s room for as many Right People as need to be there.
I did plan the 2009 schedule to all fit together, but you don’t have to jump on at the beginning.
We’re documenting everything we do so you can always go back and cover material that you missed if it appeals to you.
The first quarter is all about MONEY, second SPACE, third TIME and fourth LOVE. Well, patterns, habits and stucknesses related to these bigger themes, yes?
We’ll be working these things on each call and also … inside the place where each and every individual forum is found.
Anyway, show up whenever you’re ready. We’ll be happy to see you when it’s time!
“I can’t find the sign-up page!”
Whoah. I’m so obsessed with hard-to-get marketing that I actually hid the page? That sucks. Sorry about that!
It’s at FluentSelf.com/kitchen
That is all.
I think I’m questioned out for a couple of days. Back to regular posting schedule tomorrow. Unless something comes up.
And I know I’ve said this already a bunch, but for the record.
I will like you just as much if you’re hanging out with me here and not in the Kitchen.
Unless you try to get me to pluralize “forum”, in which case there’s going to be trouble.