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.
There’s time.
Five in the morning, again.
There was a period of oh, at least five years, when every New Year’s Day found me at five in the morning sitting at a certain table in the corner of a certain bar in Tel Aviv.
Two of those years I’d spent New Year’s Eve working behind the bar there. So I probably wasn’t sitting there for long.
Taking a rest before we’d have to kick out the last of the revelers and pool players to mop the floors, count the money and close up.
Two of those years I’d spent New Year’s Eve working behind a different bar, and then heading back over after closing. To recover. To complain about the tips. To see friends and lend a hand if necessary.
And one year I’m really not sure how I ended up there except where else would I end up? It was home.
It doesn’t matter. Say New Year’s Day and I’m sitting at that table in a corner again, rolling a cigarette. A glass of whiskey on the table. Morning approaching.
Hey, tradition is tradition.
I only ever had one wish back then and that was to finally be able to save enough money to get the hell out of Israel and move to Berlin.
And if anyone at the bar was misguided enough to ask me what my resolution for Sylvester was, I’d tell them that it would be to not be sitting at this damn table in the corner next year at five in the morning on New Year’s for once.
Every single year.
All I wanted from the New Year was to not be where I was for the next one.
But of course the truth was that I also loved New Year’s morning at my bar. It was familiar and comfortable and I was surrounded by people who adored me.
And I’d always joke that sitting at that table in the corner at five in the morning pining for Berlin had become such an important tradition in my life that it definitely wasn’t going to stop.
In fact, I’d smirk, after I move to Berlin I plan to leave Berlin and fly back to Tel Aviv once a year for New Year’s … so that I can sit at this table in the corner and bitch about how I wish I were in Berlin already.
After all, it’s a tradition.
But I didn’t go back.
This year I was also up at five in the morning on New Year’s Day. But not at that table in the corner.
I woke up at five and went to meditate, like I do every day. Because it’s what I do every day. Because it nourishes me and holds me. Because it’s tradition.
And then I opened my computer and started writing. Like I do every day. Because it’s my sanctuary. And because it’s tradition.
My new traditions do not in any way negate the old ones. For the record.
I’m smiling right now, thinking about that table in the corner. Not because hey, I’m not there anymore but because it’s a happy memory. I’m feeling fondness towards the whole scene actually.
My black, black humor which sustained me through so much hard. The people I loved. The place which was always there for me, where I was always welcome.
I would have been astonished then if you’d told me that I’d manage to quit smoking, that I’d make plenty of money and always have enough, that at some point I wouldn’t be upset, hurt and angry about nearly so many things.
But I would also have been overjoyed to know that this new way of doing things would be grounded in tradition, ritual, playfulness and a sharp sense of humor.
Time. It’s the sweetest thing you can give yourself.
Before I left Tel Aviv and finally moved to Berlin, I’d been studying with this spiritual teacher.
One day in class one of the women in our group was speaking bitterly about how much she was struggling with a particular pattern, and how the new habit wasn’t taking root, and how nothing was ever going to change.
And my teacher said something like “Oh my dear, you’ve been carrying this pattern with you for what, thirty years? You’ve been working on it with these new methods for a few weeks? You’re allowed to have it for another day or two. It might need a little time.”
I remember thinking … I can give myself time?
I can forgive myself for not having fixed it yet? I can still have this horrible, embarrassing habit for another couple days or another couple weeks and it’s okay because I’m working on it and actively involved in the process?
It was the same thing my yoga teacher was also always saying. And of course the same thing I said to my own students.
But I got it. I was allowed to take my time. To give myself as long as it was going to take. And to give that time to myself with love and patience and understanding.
As it happens, not long after that I was a non-smoker. And living in Berlin.
I’m not going to end this.
One of the things I’m trying (well, hoping) to transmit to everyone taking the Screw Therapy Start Blogging course is that not everything needs to gets tied up at the end.
That you really don’t always have to have one specific point. Or any point.
That you don’t always have to hammer in some sort of big Important Lesson. Or ask a Provocative Question to get people talking. Or wrap things up for them in a neat little series of bullet points.
That people are going to get from it what they need to get from it anyway. And most of the time it’s not the thing you think you’re giving. Sometimes not even close.
But I am going to make a wish.
Well, call it a blessing for the New Year. Or if that’s too cheesy/annoying, call it my sincere hope for you (and for me). Who knows, maybe it will become a tradition.
Whatever patterns and habits you’ve taken with you into the new year, whatever you’re still working on … I’m not impressed by the fact that these patterns and habits are still there.
I don’t think they say anything bad about you. Not at all. You’re a real live human being working on your stuff, just like the rest of us.
It’s always easier for someone not right there in the hard to give you time and to be able to trust in the process and all that stuff. To remind you that giving yourself permission to be where you are beats the hell out of wishing you weren’t.
So I’m wishing for you the ability to remember that you have as much time as you need, that no one is judging you but yourself … and that we’re all here with you working on the same things, each of us in our own way.
And if I can remember this slightly more often this year too … oh, that would be awesome.
Happy day, guys. See you tomorrow.
New Year’s: The Great 2008 Chicken
Who are ya calling chicken?
I don’t know why I call it a chicken instead of a check-in. Because I’m a huge dork. I can’t help it. It’s just funny. Apparently only to me, but it’s still funny.
Anyway, people keep giving me crap about it, so for the record, yes, of course I’m a vegetarian. Good grief. It’s not that kind of chicken.
It doesn’t get eaten. It gets checked. In.
Never mind.
The point is that every single Friday I talk about the hard stuff and the good stuff from my week. What was challenging and what was rewarding.
I try to do it in the least-cheesy and non-annoying way possible, which is hard because we are, after all, dealing with self-reflection. And now I’m going to do it for 2008, because a little symbolic closure never hurts.*
*Caveat: I quote the lovely Victoria here: “Unless, of course, Dec 31st turns out to be a really crappy day, in which case I will just drink more champagne.”
The hard stuff
My friend is still gone.
Finding out about my friend’s suicide still wins for the crappiest minute of the year.
If we’re hanging out awards here, I’ll also give it Hardest Thing About This Year Period and The Thing That Screwed Me Up The Most.
Oh levity, you are not working.
I don’t have words for how much this hurts or how much time in my day it gets, but it’s so damn hard. We still talk every day.
Though our conversations mostly consist of me yelling. Mostly “How could you leave my like this?” and “Come baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!” And then he says, “Oh honey, I can’t. You know I can’t.” And then I cry some more.
It’s just full of hard. And I don’t know when it’s going to be less hard, but not yet.
Related crap.
His death — or my experience of it — has put out all sorts of strange roots.
I had a fight with my best friend in Israel. She’s been the closest person to me in the world since I was nineteen and we’ve never even disagreed on anything.
And then I learned that she and my ex had agreed together (with what were really only the kindest of intentions) not to tell me about my friend’s death. Well, to put it off until I was “ready” to hear it. Or something like that.
We worked through it. A lot of words. A lot of love. The whole thing was completely upsetting though. And frightening.
And it’s driven a chunk of space between me and my ex, who is one of my favorite people in the world. That he waited until I came to Berlin to tell me in person, but then told me the evening before a weekend of solid teaching …
Three days in a row of leading workshops. Two a day. Two to three hours each. Did I mention that I teach these in German? All I remember is waiting for the pauses so I could go to the bathroom and resume crying.
I don’t get it. But it was a hard summer. What can I say.
Moving. Twice.
First we moved to Portland in March and then last month we made the move to our beloved Hoppy House. Both of these were good moves.
Good for the soul. Good for us. Only good.
But moving? A big, huge, disruptive, uprooting process full of hard. Hard hard hard.
Still in recovery mode. Also known as hibernation mode.
Growing pains. Ow ow ow.
My business did a lot of growing this year, which was mostly awesome. But we were definitely dealing with adolescence in all of its varied aspects of horribleness.
I went through a bunch of assistants this year while trying to figure out how to get better at running this thing and oh boy, is that a hard process.
I do still have the very-capable Peggy running all the back-end stuff (gott sei dank) but that just wasn’t enough.
Let’s just say that if I hadn’t found and hired Marissa (my brilliant personal assistant), which was the second smartest thing I did this year … I don’t even want to think about the kind of emotional breakdown I’d be going through right now.
That’s pretty much it for the hard, right? Right?
Oh, and a completely disastrous trip to visit my parents, during which — among other things — we had to have the “Nu? So why no grandchildren?” conversation three different times.
The good stuff
Teaching at the Berlin Yoga Festival.
I don’t even know where to start. First of all, my duck was on television. Also, Germans get way more excited about my wacky yoga brain training work than most people do here.
Also, teaching a hundred people? So much more fun than teaching twenty.
I thought I’d be nervous about having to deliver an hour-long lecture in German. Or about being interviewed for the evening news in German. Or about standing on a huge stage and deciding what the hell I was going to say … in German.
But it really wasn’t a big deal. Selma was a total superstar and everyone fell madly in love with her. And we were very funny together and made everyone laugh.
Unless of course they were laughing at my German. But either way it was a blast.
Berlin!
A whole month in my favorite city on earth!
Teaching great workshops. With a ton of amazing students. With yoga studios that don’t suck. Ahem, Portland.
Long afternoons drinking Carokaffee (fake coffee made with barley) in my favorite cafe.
Seeing all my friends! Lars and Andreas, Jackie, Keren, Martin, Tino and Salomea. Meeting old students. Meeting new students. Making new friends with some local journalists.
Walking through the city with my gentleman friend. It takes three days for our German to come back and then we’re home.
Can’t wait until next time!
Best. Class. Ever.
So while I was in Berlin my schedule was pretty packed. And in the middle of it all, Jackie asked if I’d do her a favor and teach a special class that she would organize for her top students who apparently wanted a serious ass-kicking.
These women are all extremely gifted professional dancers and choreographers from Spain and Argentina. So yeah, I’m basically teaching coordination techniques to the most coordinated people in the world.
I’ve been teaching Shiva Nata for more than four years and I’ve never had to work so hard as I did in those 90 minutes.
They were so good. And it was so hard to mess them up. Like, I was throwing Level 4 at them and they were following it. With legs. It was out of control.
Things that I haven’t been able to teach most of my students in years, they were picking up in minutes. By the end I finally had them all screwing it up completely, but man, it was work.
I was sore for a week. So so great.
Cutting down on live events.
This kind of started out as a “hard”.
Scheduling live teaching events in California had been my biggest timesuck of 2007. So when we moved to Oregon I hired a programs coordinator to set things up for me with local yoga studios and the like.
Should be easy, right? I’m the number two world expert in a form of yoga brain training that helps people use the body-mind connection to change their habits.
Oh, and it doubles as a crazy coordination technique that makes you strong, hot and really, really fit.
I’ve also taught all over the world, studied with super famous people, and lead super-fun habits-changing programs on things like Yoga for Procrastination and …
Blah blah blippity blah. No one was interested.
My programs coordinator was great. So was our marketing plan. Plus I gave her terrific copy, gorgeous and expensive promotional materials, references from here to Sunday … and nothing. No one wanted to work with me.
I know this isn’t sounding like a good thing at all. But the truth is that planning, promoting and teaching two live classes a month had been enormously draining.
And I’d been funneling money from the very successful side of my business (doing coaching and training here at The Fluent Self) into the big money hole that is the more yogified side of my business.
I’ve had so much more energy this year. And so much more fun. And so much more money. And I don’t have to deal with flakerooney yoga people.
Will I go back to teaching live? Oh, absolutely. And I have plans to lead some retreats of my own as well. But letting go of my need to put on events — third smartest thing I did this year!
Twitter!
Oh how I love Twitter!
If we don’t hang out there yet, say hi. I’m @havi.
I generally follow back people who chat with me there … and as long as you don’t talk about Starbucks, repeat everything Chris Brogan says, try to interest me in a conversation about your relationship with Jesus or have “mom” in your username, we’ll have a blast.
We have Hoppy House!
And yes, I’m still singing it to the tune of “I am Iron Man”.
If you didn’t read my personal ad and witness the miracle of the most perfect house in the world coming straight to me, you missed out. Go write a personal ad for whatever you’re needing.
At the very least it will make you feel better. And who knows.
Creating the Dissolve-o-Matic.
The thing I’m most proud of this year is putting the Procrastination Dissolve-o-Matic out into the world.
It was a ton of work — especially writing the damn book which completely took over a few months and nearly destroyed me* — but it was so, so, so worth it.
*Actually it was the trying not to respond to the “I hope you’re not procrastinating on writing your book about procrastination” jokes that nearly destroyed me … never again!
So you’re dying to know what the smartest thing I did this year was, right?
Starting this blog. Smartest by a lot.
From the very first post I had a feeling that this was a great idea.
This blog has allowed me to stop doing things I never liked anyway.
Like writing the noozletter. Not to mention all other forms of marketing, networking and various other annoying things that grownups are supposed to do.
It’s allowed me to out myself as a writer in the least scary way possible.
It’s resulted in some amazing and surprising friendships.
And best of all, I got to meet you. You and a ton of other bright, thoughtful, insightful, fun, kooky, interesting goofball characters with whom I totally identify.
I like you. So this is pretty great.
I have to go play the lentil game now.
Yes, the lentil game.
Also, my gentleman friend and I celebrate our anniversary tonight, so I still have one of the best parts of 2008 to look forward to. Let’s see … I predict … happy tears, good food and me winning at Boggle.
Oh, and my brother is moving in with us tomorrow, so 2009 is already looking like good times.
My duck and I wish for you whatever it is you need most, and send you all the support, strength, comfort and safety you need for a healthy, happy year. Love, love, love and more love.
Havi Brooks & Selma the Duck
Blogging Therapy: Finding your voice
I’m so glad no one has asked (yet) what you do when you lose a post, because I don’t have a good answer (yet).
Let’s just say — for now — that this is the second time I’m writing number thirteen in our weekly series about taking the scary out of blogging, so I can only hope that it comes out better this time.
And as always, it doesn’t matter if you’re a rockstar blogger or don’t have any plans to get started, because it’s not really about the blogging. It’s about stuckified life patterns, and ways to think about them.
You can always catch up on the series if you like (no obligation, though!):
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.
Finding your voice.
When you’re not even sure what you’re saying, why you’re saying it or who you’re saying it to.
This seems to be one of the biggest barriers to blogging, if my inbox and the wonderful women in the Screw Therapy Start Blogging course are representative of anything.
It’s a mysterious thing, the blogging voice.
People want to know how I found mine, what if they never find theirs, do they need to find one and what if no one likes it!
And that’s just the beginning.
I could launch into a whole series of amusing rants on this topic (more or less), but let’s just try and keep it to a few useful tips and concepts this time. Oh, and a reminder. I’m totally starting with the reminder.
This is normal.
Just about everyone starting a blog worries about the voice thing.
Because blogging is weird that way. It’s new. It’s uncomfortable. You haven’t really gotten your bearings yet.
Plus there’s all this symbolic weight to it. You’re putting yourself out there. You’re admitting that yeah, you’re a creative person who can string words together. You’re experimenting with something new, and this adventure is being documented, and ohmygod other people could see it.
So I just want to remind you that you’re allowed to be terrified, nervous, anxious and whatever else it is you’re feeling.
Natural, normal and not the end of the world. These are questions that lots of us ask, and keep asking.
Okay, I’m done reminding. Big crazy internet hug to you. On to the Things To Consider.
Have you read my archives?
Here’s an expert tip. Go to any blog you love. Mine. Naomi‘s. Jenny‘s. Whatever.
Most blogs have a link to their archives. Yes, those are mine.
Go to the archives of a blogger you admire, go back to the very, very beginning and read the very, very first posts.
And no, this is not about whether they suck or not. You don’t want to get lost in that awful internal criticism game of “okay, fine, this is crap but it’s still less crappy than mine will be” because that goes nowhere but it goes there for a really long time.
What you’re doing is discovering (or reminding yourself) that even the best blogging voices are not born that way.
A blogging voice doesn’t rise from the ocean fully formed like super-hot non-blogger Aphrodite, or pop out of the head of Zeus like the strategic genius Athena who reigns over wisdom and warfare and also doesn’t blog.*
* Expert tip #2: Don’t write like THAT.
Anyway, reading people’s archives is always good for a laugh a terrific reminder that these. Things. Take. Time.
The best voices — the ones you love the most — have grown and developed and changed. Read our early stuff. Listen to our voices crack and stutter.
You’ll be amazed.
Think email.
The most important thing about a blogging voice is that it’s casual.
More like an email to a friend than a noozletter to a bunch of important clients.
The biggest mistake I see in blogs — especially business and “personal development” blogs is that they’re super preachy. Too authoritative. Too bossy. I do this in my earliest and most cringe-worthy posts like crazy.
And I reread them to remind myself (again with the reminders!) about the dynamic, ever-changing stream-of-life process thing.
Stuff changes. This can be alternately terrifying and reassuring, but in the end it can be liberating too — if you let it.
Your voice is a work in progress, like everything else. It will shift and move to accommodate different situations, and it will become something you’ll get to have a pretty intimate relationship with.
Wait, tell me more about this mistake thing. Don’t I want to seem authoritative and like I kind of know what I’m talking about?
Here’s the thing. You’re already an authority by virtue of the fact that a. you have a blog and b. you’re giving advice or answering questions or discussing stuff.
And what people crave from you (and me, and anyone) is connection. And intimacy.
The more you hide behind your podium of expertise, the more distance you put between you and the reader.
And not the sexy kind of distance. The off-putting, chasm-building, “I can’t connect with this person” kind.
We all ruin posts all the time by thinking we have to have a point every single time, or forgetting to admit that yeah, there are things we don’t know.
Puffed-up biggified experts who speak only in authoritative lists of seven ways to do this and eight ways to screw up that … they’re a dime a dozen. They’re interchangeable. They’re expendable.
We’re not coming for your expertise, really. There are all sorts of places to get that. Sure, the information is nice. But we’re really coming for you.
I mean that. We come to your blog because you’re there. For some time with you. For your voice. For that reassuring, comforting feeling of “hey, this is a safe place for me to hang out and get replenished.”
Write to someone you love.
When I started writing my noozletters, I used to write them to one of my favorite clients.
In addition to being a super cool person, she was a symbol for me of where my business was going. She was smart and funny and kooky and totally got my work and where I was going with it.
I wanted all my clients to be like her.
So when I wrote a noozletter, I’d pretend that I was writing an email to her, answering one of her smart, interesting questions.
That’s where my blogging voice began. It’s me, talking to people I like. Like you.
And I have to say, now all my clients are that cool, which means (to me, at least) this voice thing works in magical and mysterious ways.
Well, maybe not all that mysterious. But if you write to your Right People, they’ll be seriously overjoyed to find you.
It’s an ongoing dynamic process.
I know. We’ve talked about this. In fact, two weeks ago when I was talking about de-shouldifying, I said:
And just like your life and your business, blogging is a living, dynamic process. It will change. Steadily and regularly.
Life is flow. That is … well, it’s the way of things.
Of course your voice will change. As you write, it will become more you. It will loosen up, lose some of the stiltedness, some of the formality that comes from fear and insecurity and just not knowing.
It will change register — becoming friendlier as you get to know the people reading and become friends with them. Hi guys! *blows kiss*
So give it time. And love. And remember that hardly anyone will go back and read your early posts unless you decide to draw attention to them by linking to them.*
*Well, aside from all the people who have read This Very Post. They’re totally going to be peeking in your archives. Bwahahahahaha!
Let your first posts be exactly what they are and how they are. And one day someone else will read them and say, Whaaaaaaaaaaaat? You were nervous? YOU?
And that person will be inspired and moved to start their own thing and meet their own fears.
And it will be awesome.
You don’t need to find it. You’ve never lost it.
I don’t want to get all yoga teacher on you, but really. Your voice isn’t something to find. It’s yours. You already have it.
You just haven’t gotten to the point yet where it feels safe to access it and to sink into it, but it’s totally there. It’s waiting for you.
The flowing, moving, ever-changing thing that is your voice is already doing its thing, even if only inside your head. The voice that says sweet, funny things? The sarcastic grumblebug?
The conversations you have between the part of you that really believes you can do it and the part of you that is petrified that you’ll fall down and get hurt?
It’s all part of your voice. It belongs to you to do what you want with it. You know, with practice. Over time. But it’s yours.
That’s it for now!
Tomorrow I’ll be doing an End Of The Year version of my weekly Friday Chicken.
In the meantime, send some love to my amazing Blogging Therapy course participants and to all the other Fluent Self-ified readers who are secretly working on blogging it up over their holiday break.
And yeah, more Blogging Therapy next week. I mean, next year. Internet hugs all around!
Ask Havi #18: Television addiction
I had big crazy plans to wrap up a bunch of the Ask Havi posts over the holiday “break”. Hahahahaha. Yes. Well.
That hasn’t really happened. Other things happened instead, which turned out to be the right things.
I did get to a few though, and today I’m pleased to put up an especially meta Ask Havi question that (she types hopefully) almost for sure won’t make anyone cry.
It didn’t make me cry, so we’re already getting somewhere. 🙂
Here it is.
How long have you lived without TV? Â Do you not have one at all, or do you have one that your gentleman friend watches and you don’t? Â
I’ve felt very compelled to give up TV for, like, a year now, and I just don’t, partially because I adore some of the shows on TV (I’m such a sucker for crime and medical dramas), and partially because when I called to cancel my cable, I discovered that I pay less for cable + internet service than I would for internet service without cable television. Â (Lame.) Â
But the fact that the urge to disconnect from TV has stayed with me so strongly for so long makes me think that my spirit is really trying to tell me something. Â
Maybe there are epiphanies waiting for me that I can’t connect to while TV is still a part of my daily existence? Ponderable.
Ah, decisions.
I can’t answer this yet.
Come hang out inside my head for a minute while I deal with some meta-issues first.
One of the problems I have while answering Ask Havi questions is that I can never decide whether to answer the question that the asker thinks they’re asking or if I should really answer the one that I think they’re asking.
The questions I want to answer — the ones that seem to be at the heart of the matter — almost never get asked out loud.
To me this question is asking two things:
- Do I have to give up this thing I like in order to grow internally in some important way? I suspect that I do, but am kind of hoping I don’t … so what do you think?
- If the answer to the first question is the one I don’t want to hear, but am willing to maybe actually try it … how do I do it? How do I end an addiction?
On the other hand, who am I to say that the asker really wants answers to the questions that I think she’s asking?
I mean, she’s an adult. She’s a smart cookie. Maybe she just wants me to answer the darn question already.
You see my conundrum?
And it gets worse. Because invariably the answers to the questions that I want to answer are longer and more complex. And my posts are way too long as it is. And asking for clarifications to every Ask Havi question would be just too much.
Alright. We’ll try doing a double feature here. Your questions and my questions.
Question you asked #1: How long have you lived without TV?
My gentleman friend and I both grew up in television-free homes.
Neither of us had one when we met, and it was ridiculously easy to agree not to have one in the house.Â
We will occasionally rent every single episode of Starsky & Hutch ever made a television series DVD from Netflix, which we watch on my gentleman friend’s laptop. And we regularly ingest movies that way — but that’s pretty much it.
We’re no strangers to television addiction, though.
We both went through periods in university where we were serious junkies. In fact, my own experience is that television addiction is always more intense in media-protected people like us than in “normal” people because we don’t have that youthful “TV-resistance” built up!
I spent most of my university years watching television. It was pretty much the best drug I’d ever found. If it was around, I wanted it on. And if it was on, I couldn’t do anything but stare at it.
After the divorce, my husband kept both of our televisions along with everything else we owned (would you like some fries with your bitterness, Havi?) and I was working two jobs and struggling to pay rent.
So I wouldn’t have been able to afford a television, and even if I had, there wouldn’t have been time to watch it. That pretty much solved that.
Question you asked #2: Epiphanies that television is blocking?
Maybe. It’s quite possible.
There’s (at least) one very clear way to find out, right?
Question that I think you’re asking #1: Is it time for me to stop watching television?
Well, it sounds like you’re getting a strong hit that the answer is “yes”. But since you’re asking me, you’re maybe not sure it’s a yes. Or you’re hoping it might not be a yes.
I can’t tell you for sure that it’s a yes, because that’s not my area.
So let’s sidestep this question.
If you knew for sure that letting go of the television pattern would open you up to new understandings about yourself, would you want to do it?
If no, then we’re done. If yes, then I would say take your time with it.
But that’s really getting into “second question I think you’re asking” territory.
Question that I think you’re asking #2: So how do I quit?
Well. This is really more the subject of a book than a post. Which is to say we’ll barely scratch the surface of it here.
That said, here’s the way to begin working with any habit:
All habits are the same. They’re collections of unconscious patterns, and it’s our job to make these patterns conscious. But in as sweet and loving a way as we can possibly stand it.
What this means is this:
You don’t want to forbid watching television. Because that will create resistance. And resistance creates stuck.
What you do want to do is to bring more conscious awareness into the pattern and into your relationship with television itself. (I’ve written about this already — in fact, specifically with television as an example — in the little-known self-work practice of watching TV.)
You turn the act of watching television into part of your practice.
Treat the act of sitting down and spending time with it just like you were practicing yoga or meditating. Make your relationship with watching television something that you get to work on.
With the intention that you’re ready to learn what it is that you need to learn so that you can release the need for this habit.
It starts with asking yourself clearer questions.
For example, you start asking to learn more about this habit, this pattern. What needs are this pattern filling? And what can you do to get better at meeting those needs with love and understanding and patience?
You ask yourself what you can do to be gentle and kind with yourself while you’re playing with these patterns.
You ask yourself what you can do to remind yourself that you’re trying to be as loving and forgiving with yourself as you can, if you can.
You ask yourself to remember that you’re allowed to have needs that are asking for attention.
All of these questions (ideally) help you remember that oh right, the more compassionate, patient, conscious Paying Attention you bring to the process — without resistance-building shoulds and guilt — the easier it is to shift things.
And not only to shift things, but to understand how you work and what you really need … and whether any of this really has to do with television at all, and if so, how much and so on.
So you’re really only going to answer my question with more questions?
Is that where you think I’m going with this?
Just kidding. I’ll stop. It’s not easy, because I’m Jewish, but I’ll try to not end all of my thoughts with question marks.
But I guess my point is that questions are almost always useful. And that often the thing we think we’re asking isn’t always the thing we want to know.
Which is why the best question — and this is the one I take with me into meditation or Shiva Nata when I need answers — is the one where you ask yourself what you need to know.
“What do I need to know right now?”
“Is there an easier way I haven’t thought of yet?”
“What’s missing?”
“What do I already know that I’m not paying attention to?”
And then you keep asking.
And reminding yourself that you’re allowed to take as much time as you need to understand whatever it is that you need to understand. And be willing to be surprised.
That’s it. I’m out of wisdom for this morning. Let me know how it goes!
Just the sweetest thing I’ve heard all year.
So this past Monday I printed a letter from a lonely young woman who was gearing up for a really hard, painful Christmas alone and wondering if I had any advice or suggestions.
It was a hard letter to answer.
I came up with what I could, and sent her a holiday gift of my Emergency Calming Techniques so she’d have something to turn to when things got tough.
But you know what was a big freaking transformational experience for me in all this?
Warning: about to get all mushy and teary-eyed.
You guys ended up saying so many kind, loving things in the comments that I was absolutely blown away.
Sure, I’ve known for a long time that this blog attracts an absurdly high percentage of bright, thoughtful, insightful, oddball people who like to hang out here.
But seeing this rush of care and recognizing how deep these resources of unconditional loving-kindness go … well, it was really moving.
And now I absolutely have to share the beautiful letter she sent back because I know you will appreciate it and enjoy it as much as I did.
Oh Havi, I’m not sure if “thank you” is “good enough,” but I know you’d think otherwise.
I spent some time today going over the Emergency Calming package you generously offered me — I don’t think I’ve quite tried anything like this before! I am a self-help fiend, but you offer…something different. Which is why I contacted you in the first place.
I absolutely didn’t expect the public “witnessing” and support that you offered.
And I’m a bit in awe over it. I can’t get the image out of my head that someone out there is lighting a candle for *me*; whether metaphorically or literally, either way it’s humbling. It’s helped me feel more connected.
There’s something about public grieving that’s truly powerful.
I could write a tome on how this has made me feel today, but I’ll save that for my blog — something your writing and approach have also helped me incorporate into my life.
Thank you for listening and generously holding/supporting me. I’ll carry that with me over the next challenging days. This is more than I could have hoped for (and asking and hoping tend to be risky for me!).
What that means …
You guys rock, is what I’m saying.
You helped someone you have no connection with to go from absolutely dreading the holidays alone to feeling like she could do it.
And more than that, with just knowing that we were there, hoping and wishing good things for her, she was able to surprise herself and pull through okay. Maybe even more than okay.
And one more letter!
So I also wrote to her Christmas morning, just to check in and see that she was okay.
I was pretty convinced by this point that she was going to be absolutely fine, but you know … just to be sure. And yeah, she’s doing great.
Jump up and down with me here:
Havi (and Selma) —
I have been feeling this wonderful calm today. I did a fabulous workout this morning, which included yoga as well.
And I felt a lot stronger after doing it – more aware of myself and everything around me. Basically, checking IN rather than checking OUT.
I’m going to treat myself to an uplifting movie, then make a delicious meal that reminds me of my friends/family and my gentleman friend.
So something must be happening in me that’s helping me through this time.
I’m alone today — that’s the reality. but so far, I don’t feel as lonely and lost as I thought I would. I think I was afraid of myself, of being with myself, and of not being able to give myself what I needed today, on this difficult day.
Your positive presence has changed all that. I’m going to mindfully light a candle this evening for my parents, who I miss sorely, and for you and the wonderful people out there sending love and well wishes my way (that feels overwhelming, and I’m tearing up, but it’s happy and grateful and feeling-loved tears!)
Lots of love to you and Selma too. My pug is right here next to me on the couch, happily snoring the day away.
Wow.
Isn’t that remarkable? This is totally the sort of thing I would have rolled my eyes at a couple of years ago and here I am now marveling at it.
Because there’s power here.
This is the power of a group of bright, kind, caring people coming together in this space. And I have the feeling we’re only beginning to see what a big deal this is.
Also: the type of insight that she’s come up with — that’s really the kind of deep, powerful, useful information that we tend to avoid learning at all costs.
Usually when I learn something like that about myself, it’s way after the fact and not when I’m right there in the hard.
I don’t know about you but I’m completely impressed.
Anyway …
Hope reading this brings some strength and support to whoever else needs some and hasn’t been asking for it.
And then I promise to go back to being bitter and sarcastic for at least the rest of the year.