The Fluent Self

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?

* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.

On sabbatical. Not from blogging though.

by Havi Brooks | Jan 12, 2009 | updates & announcements

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&#62 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.

by Havi Brooks | Jan 11, 2009 | ask Havi

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.

internal structure

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.

I wanted to ask you something.

by Havi Brooks | Jan 10, 2009 | not hating on yourself, updates & announcements

Actually, I wanted to ask you something and then also to tell you something, but there’s only so much one can fit into a title. Anyway, hi.

Yesterday in a gorgeous piece of coincidence, I got email from both the second-oldest Shivanaut in the world and the third-oldest Shivanaut in the world.*

*The oldest Shivanaut in the world doesn’t email or I probably would have heard from him too.

If you’re not clear on what a Shivanaut is, that’s fine because it’s another one of those words I made up.

Quick definition for the purposes of understanding this post.

A Shivanaut is someone who practices Shiva Nata — the boring answer to the “Okay, so what’s Shiva Nata?” question is that it’s a modern resuscitation of the ancient Dance of Shiva (yes, like the statues).

But what I usually say is that Shiva Nata is the bizarre and complex yoga brain training work that my duck Selma and I teach around the world — and the thing that I give credit to when people ask me things like “How come you’re so insightful?” or “How did you quit smoking?” or “So … you kind of seem to be okay with yourself even when everything is going horribly wrong … what’s up with that?”

Right. So a Shivanaut is someone who is attempting to learn this mind-altering thing.*

*And probably failing miserably at it, because really that’s the only option there is. It’s not really something you can get good at.

We’re like freaky cosmonauts. Only on the ground and funnier to look at.

Anyway …

The second oldest Shivanaut in the world is the charming Douglas Buchanan, who just turned eighty yesterday. Mazal tov.

I have mentioned Douglas and my inappropriate crush on his wise, wise self (apologies to Shirley who reads this too — I have no designs on your husband, I just adore him!) on three separate occasions on this very blog.*

* Namely:

Turkish food and other wonderful things

Friday Chicken #8: the Nick Cave edition

singing me a song about milk

Papa’s got a brand new bag

And, to be honest, I have often thought that this blog would be much more entertaining if all I did was reprint our letters.

Right. So he’s eighty. And he does weight training. And Dance of Shiva, which is really challenging and not fun at all and really kind of an insane thing to do. And he reads a kajillion things a week.

As Winnie the Pooh would say, “Sing ho for Douglas! Douglas! Ho!”

That is all.

So then …

So then I got an email from Fred Brown, another favorite of mine (and the third-oldest Shivanaut in the world), who turned 72 just last month.

Fred not only practices Shiva Nata, he teaches it at the gorgeous yoga studio he owns and runs in North Carolina.

And he was wondering if I wanted to head out that way to teach a workshop and/or lead a teacher training.

Which made me wonder …

I know there are a lot of Shivanauts who read this blog.*

*Some of them also read the Shiva Nata blog and are very patient with me about the fact that I don’t update it as often as they’d like. 🙂

Actually, we’ve sold twenty-three Starter Kits in the past ten days. We’ve been shipping to Israel, Australia, Germany, The Netherlands, Scotland and Wales, as well as all over the United States and Canada.

And there are another several hundred folks who started last year. Having results like crazy.

Seriously. Epiphany central. Launching businesses. Starting blogs. Falling in love. General fabulousness.

Meanwhile … I’ve been plotting and planning a weekend in-person retreat for 2010 (here in Portland) where I would teach in-depth destuckification work and throw in Shiva Nata for some hardcore brain rewiring.

So here’s the question ….

So now I’m wondering … if we did a few days of live workshops in North Carolina this year, would any of you guys be into that?

Obviously you’re probably not going to fly in from Scotland or wherever, but East Coast-ers? Y’all in the South? Adventurous people from the Northwest who would follow me and my duck anywhere?

Weigh in please if there’s a possibility that you’d be up for that. If not, that’s cool. I really want to hear from the yes-es and the maybies though.

And the other thing I wanted to say …

Big huge thank you to everyone who showed up to help me with my hard, hard week.

Lots of you wrote sweet letters about just how much my work or my words here have helped you have amazing realizations or do amazing things in your life, and then totally made me cry.

A bunch of people sent pictures of their ducks.

A couple of you even emergency-shipped me gifts and FLOWERS and stuff. Wow. Just wow. I am the luckiest. And it’s all because of you.

Also, I went and listened to the Milk song again and it completely cheered me up. Thanks, Pace and Kyeli for being such delightful nutjobs — I love you both.

Internet hugs all around.

Friday Check-in #23: headless chicken edition

by Havi Brooks | Jan 9, 2009 | updates & announcements

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.

Oy, what a week. Seriously, it mostly sucked.

Things are moving. Very quickly. It’s kind of an interesting time for me.

And by interesting I mean challenging, painful and hard.

I had so much hard that I’m not sure I even want to talk about it. But it’s Friday. So let’s do this.

The hard stuff

Having to be a momma hen on the blog.

I don’t want to be a momma hen.

But I am sometimes. And I also want my comments section to be a really safe space for the people who need that safety the most.

That means stepping in sometimes and reminding everyone how this space works. That’s what happened on Sunday. I meditated on it and it was what I felt I needed to do.

But yeah, it presses all sorts of discomfort buttons for me.

Also, once I’m in momma hen mode, I can’t really get out of it for a while. I’m all protective of everyone and there is excessive wing-flapping and feeding people.

I got triggered.

Maybe the momma hen bit was what triggered me. Maybe it was the email insanity of people raging, complaining, warning, notifying and generally expressing their pain in my direction.

Maybe it was working way, way too many hours trying to make sure the Kitchen Table was ready.

Whatever it was, I wasn’t in good shape this week. Actually, I’ve been kind of emotionally wiped out.

Everyone else was having their stuff come up and their stuff was triggering mine and … and and and.

So lots of tears. Lots of temper tantrums. Some throwing of things at walls.

And at least three times that I swore I was going to shut down the blog, move back to Israel and go back to teaching yoga. Like, today.

Luckily, the fact that there are all these amazing people waiting for me at the Kitchen Table meant I kind of had to stay. Wry smile.

Results of being triggered.

I wrote a bitchy post yesterday. I hurt people’s feelings. I thought a lot about what it was like back when I didn’t have any money at all and how helpless and horrible that feels.

I worried — a lot — that if someone says something critical to me, they could end up being that critical with other people at the Kitchen Table. And then oyvavoy, I’ll have to mediate and intervene and maybe even ask them to leave. I get protective.

Oh, what else, let’s see. I processed a lot of resentment and hurt. I read. I cried a lot. Basically this was not a fun week to be me or to be around me.

And then, on top of being triggered, there was the next point, which is not really about babies.

It’s like you’re having a baby but no one else cares.

No, I didn’t have a baby.

It’s just that launching a big, huge thing is pretty much like how I imagine it would be like if you were having a baby and everyone else is all, “Hey, you want to go have a cup of tea?”

And you say, “I can’t. I’m having a baby.” And they say, “Oh, okay. How about tomorrow?”

It’s really hard to get the damn point across about just how much time and space this new thing is taking up in my life.

Yes, I know people are waiting for me to call them back or hang out with them or answer their “Do you hate me? Do you? Please say you don’t!” emails.

Of course I don’t hate you. Of course not, sweetheart.

It’s just that I can’t do it right now. BECAUSE OF THE BABY!

Gah. Overwhelmed by the love.

We got inundated by applications to the Kitchen Table. I know, I know. This is a good thing.

It’s just that we weren’t equipped to process that many applications at once. So in addition to everything else going on, I’ve been coming up with new processing systems and bringing in (and training) new group leaders. Ow ow ow.

Petty complaints. Thousands of them.

Some people had very, very legitimate complaints this week. Some people expressed their anger and their pain and they were right to do so.

But a lot of it was really random and just kind of unnecessary.

Again, I know. It’s part of being internet famous. This week I had less patience for it than usual.

You know, I don’t write to Guy Kawasaki to tell him I don’t get what all the fuss is about.

I don’t leave comments on super-popular blogs telling them I think they’re overrated.

I’m sorry that some of you are not getting what you want here. I really, really can’t be all things to all people. Luckily, there are a gazillion and seven other blogs and maybe you’ll find another one where you feel comfortable.

*tosses computer out of window in exasperation*

Anyway. This week had a lot of pretty hellish aspects and I’m still feeling like I just need some kindness and love, so let’s move on to the good.

The good stuff

Emergency Calming Techniques.

It’s probably embarrassing that I use my own products to calm down and destuckify, but I was kind of a wreck this week. As you may have noticed.

And they really, truly helped. I listened to the audio recordings part and it made everything way, way, way less horrible. Without them, I’d probably be on a plane back to Tel Aviv.

Blogging Therapy.

The ladies from my Blogging Therapy class so completely rock.

Seeing and hearing all their inspiring successes and interesting realizations was the highlight of my week.

It is incredible what happens when kind, insightful people get together to work on their stuff. We did some neat shifting. And I completely adore them all.

Internet friends! Hooray!

On Tuesday night Selma and I had dinner with Chris Guillebeau from The Art of Non-Conformity.

We’ve been emailing back and forth for several months now, and I promised that if he made it to Portland I’d bake bread.

So I did. And my gentleman friend made foods. Foods!

And it was so great. It’s hard to find people in my line of work who really have integrity. I mean, there’s a lot of slime in the online world and it can get a bit lonely being someone who’s on a mission, you know?

Chris is such a mensch. I like him! Can you tell?

Plus, I don’t get to talk shop all that often because most of my friends don’t know (or care) about running an online business or writing a weirdly popular blog for a very specific type of person.

So that part was really great too.

Plus he agreed to teach a class at the Kitchen Table. Fun!

I know who my true fans are.

Yes, I know that not all my True Fans and Right People are joining me at the Kitchen Table.

For some of you, it’s just not the right time yet … or there are money stucknesses … or maybe it won’t ever be the right time, and that’s fine and I still love you just the same.

But a chunk of my True Fans showed up this week to try my Next Big Thing without me giving them any clear reason why they should. And that, my friends, is very, very cool.

I didn’t write copy. I didn’t sell it. I didn’t write to my list. I basically just said “Give me a few hundred dollars and we’re going to do this thing and it’s going to be great”.

And a ton of people just jumped on it. And it was so clear to me that these are my people. Not my only people. Just my people.

It was really beautiful and I’m tearing up again right now just thinking about it.

The deep trust that people have that yes, I will lead my tribe (in the Seth Godin sense) to the right place … absolutely awe-inspiring.

Ez is here.

So my brother moved in with us and it’s awesome. We’ve been collapsing in giggles, going on walks, piling chili peppers into everything and just generally having a ball.

He is so much fun. And I am so relieved and happy that he’s here.

Naomi called again.

Talking to Naomi makes me feel better about everything. Even when I’m running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Even when I’m feeling frustrated and annoyed about everything.

Even if my friends are mostly really far away, it’s still heart-warming to know that they’re there.

It’s Friday.

Deep deep breath.

It’s Friday. I’m so glad.

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.

How not to write my duck an email.

by Havi Brooks | Jan 8, 2009 | stuff I think about

Wow.

I was so caught up in my process and feelings and stuff like that around launching and announcing At The Kitchen Table With Havi and Selma (aka my Next Big Thing), that I honestly wasn’t prepared for the flood of questions, comments and critique.

I’m still answering a lot of it, but in the meantime ….

Here’s some email writing advice.

First … a peek into my inbox.

A bunch of people wrote in saying things like this:

“Ohmygod! This seems like the most amazing thing in the entire world and if I could afford it right now I would jump on it in a second.

I’m saving pennies and the second I can make it in, I will be there with you if you and Selma will have me! But it might take a really long time!”

Those people got taken care of right away.

One of my assistants set up a special option where they could pay with six automatic monthly payments. My other assistant wrote them a sweet note. All better. Not a problem.

Another bunch of people wrote in saying things like this:

“This program is too expensive.”

And this:

“Just wanted to send you a note on my reaction to the pricing for your new community project. I am usually the first person to jump on a well-constructed useful-looking bandwagon, and financially my family is doing okay — not great, but okay. I also understand that you’re pricing access at a little more than a dollar a day; many people pay 4 or 5 times that for a daily latte, so intellectually I understand it’s an affordable rate. But I wanted to tell you that my knee-jerk reaction is that the entry price is pretty high.”

The shortest answer?

If you think this program is too expensive, it’s probably not for you.

How about the medium-to-long-ish answer?

There are so many ways that I could answer this.

And I have to admit, there’s a huge part of me that’s tempted to link to a bunch of programs that cost seven or eight times as much, have way less content and are generally less impressive in every way.

That part of me really wants to talk about what it is that makes this program more valuable than anything I’ve ever done.

But that would be taking my energy away from the true answer.

Alright. The true answer.

This program is something I put together for my Right People. For the ones who come here every single morning. The ones who re-read old posts.

The ones who are applying — or trying to — everything I teach and can’t wait to take it deeper.

The ones who get it.

Judging by the fact that I got THIRTY applications to join my expensive, hard-to-get-into program in the first few hours after I announced it, it looks like my Right People got it.

That’s resonance.

Resonance? If you’re a regular reader or a doing-a-jig fan or took the Non-Icky Self-Promotion course, you’ve probably read my post on the art and science of pricing.

That’s where I talk about the awesomeness that is Pricing Resonance, something I learned about from Mark Silver.

What this means is that for every single product or service I put out into the world, I do a deep meditation where I sit with my heart and give attention to what it is that I’m giving.

And then the Right Price emerges from that meditation. It’s the price that my heart knows is right. And the people my offering is intended for feel the resonance and they know it’s right too.

I’ve done this exercise with many, many clients and students, and even people who aren’t remotely tree-hugging yoga teachers like me have experienced — in a visceral full-body-tingle way — how resonance works.

My point: If something I’m offering is not resonant for you, either I haven’t explained it well or — more likely — you’re not the person it’s intended for.

But shouldn’t I have done a better job of explaining it?

No.

In general, yes. In general, if you want lots of people to buy your stuff, your copy has to do a pretty fantastic job of explaining the benefits and meeting objections. But this isn’t a case of me wanting lots of people.

If I haven’t thoroughly explained this offer, it’s because I don’t want to … or need to.

Now let me explain that.

I don’t want to convince you that spending time with me and my duck would be the best thing to ever happen to you. That’s why I didn’t try to write copy for this thing.

If you aren’t already getting over-the-top turning-cartwheels excited by the possibility of what could happen in a warm, cozy, structured environment where I teach everything I know, I probably don’t want you at the Table.

Convincing you would be a mistake. It would bring in people who aren’t necessarily my Right People.

It’s always about your Right People.

You know about the Thousand True Fans concept, right?

Well, like many people who are doing this running-an-online-business thing in an intelligent, measured, intentional way, I’m most interested in hanging out with them.

I’ll still be here every day, writing, being a touchstone for those who need me … but my main focus is shining a light for my Right People.

Those thirty people who showed up in the first few hours? True fans.

The ones who are saving pennies to hang out with my duck because they know that what they will learn will help them destuckify old patterns and get them to the point that they feel safe and comfortable putting their work out into the world?

True fans.

I know who they are now. And I’m planning on loving them up and treating them right.

Here’s how you know if you’re one of my Right People.

You can skip this paragraph. You probably already know.

Here’s how you know if you’re not one of my Right People.

You’ve read my Is This You? page and don’t identify with anything I’m talking about.
You’ve read my About page and immediately wrote to tell me that I should talk more about Jesus on my blog or that I shouldn’t joke about Pastafarianism or that I mis-spelled my least favorite word in the entire world.
You’re someone who jumps on bandwagons.
When you read my posts you think “Hmm, interesting” instead of wanting to laugh, cry and dance a jig because you’re so relieved that someone else is out there, working on her personal, goofball figuring-out-her-stuff process and sharing it with you in a useful way.
The stuff I do — and what it costs — just doesn’t feel resonant to you.
You’re someone who says “it’s too expensive” instead of “I can’t afford it” or — what I would say — “I choose not to right now because I’m making other choices.”

And you know, in your heart, that this is not your right place.

Which is absolutely fine.

It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t have to be one of Right People.

Honestly. It’s not a bad thing that you’re not one of my Right People.

It doesn’t mean that I can’t like you or that you have to stop liking me. It just means that you’re someone else’s Right Person, not mine.

Selma and I are not going to be the right fit for most people, and we know that. And if it turns out that you and I are not the right fit for each other, that’s really okay.

What have we learned today about how to write email, kids?

You tell me.

I’ll leave you with this.

It’s from one of my Right People.

I’ve had so many allergic reactions to the usual marketing approach that,
aside from feeling the need to shower in an effort to remove the sliminess, I virtually swore off of it.

It honestly wasn’t until I ran into you that I had any idea that marketing could be done in an honest, clear, heart-centered way and that it was even possible to enjoy success with no sleaze factor at all.

It was one of those light-shines-down-from-the-heavens-and-the-angels-sing moments for me. Seriously.

Now I’m looking at marketing with a spirit of inquiry. I feel like an intrepid adventurer that’s just landed on the alien albeit beautiful planet called Marketopolis.

I want to study every facet of this strange creature, get to know its inner workings and take home some mysterious jewels from its soils so that I can enjoy greater success in my own work.

If you could let me know how long the wait is to work with you, I’d dig you like an old soul record.

Long Live The Duck!

That’s the kind of person Selma and I will be hanging out with at the Kitchen Table, and you know what? I seriously could not be happier about it.

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