Okay. It’s getting to be slightly absurd the way I have been disclaimerizing all my posts this week.

So this one? Also not really a post. Whatever that means.

More of a … oh, let’s call it a summing up.

This week of teaching at Jen Louden’s life-changingly great Laughing Crying Writer’s Retreat in Taos has been so full of fantastic.

And there are all these bits and pieces I want to talk about with you! Will try to throw as much as possible into the Chicken tomorrow.

But maybe just a couple things for now. A smart thing, a happy thing, a ridiculous thing and a word.

A smart thing!

Remember in the Very Personal Ad Sunday when I decided to not work on the book but instead on my relationship to the book?

So. This turned out to accidentally be the most genius thing in the entire world.

So much freedom, so much permission, so much playful silliness! And no struggling, because there was always stuff I wanted to write about:

What I know about hanging out with Writer Me. Getting Metaphor Mouse to rewrite some problem concepts. Interacting with my monsters and my various stuckified patterns related to being someone who writes.

The results were huge. Not only did I destuckify like mad, I was able to thoroughly document everything I do when I work on my own stuff.

As I untangled my own patterns, a ton of the techniques that I use with my clients and in workshops got … written down. Which is what would have happened had I actually worked on the book, only it would have been way more tortured and agonizing.

So the choice to process the process instead of doing the process made room for all sorts of brilliant things to happen.

Sneakified mouse = me! Oh boy!

Also, the shivanautical moments of bing are coming so fast and with such intensity that it’s really all I can do document them before the next flood begins. So much for my fear of not knowing what I want to say.

A happy thing!

I spent a lot of time this week trying to discover (or remember) the word that describes the flavor of happy that I have been experiencing.

The word for that … teary welling-up. When you’re so ___________ to be alive and be here and be now that you could kiss every pebble and gaze adoringly at your own fingers and how wonderful they are.

It has gratitude in it, yes, but that’s not really the whole of it.

Bliss is close, but bliss has sadly gone in the direction of “I followed my bliss and became a therapist” or whatever, so it’s lost that essence.

That thing! That tingling, joyful thrum of anticipation and wonder.

I’ve decided to call it ELATION.

That is the closest. And it has been a very long time since I’ve felt this sensation for more than odd moments. Significant chunks of this week have been spent in a state of ELATION.

Grounded and centered and conscious. Not giddy. Not high. Not buzzing. Just a deep, rich I AM HERE AND I LOVE YOU, MOUNTAINS that I have not felt in so long.

Obviously a lot of this is from all the Shiva Nata and the hot buttered epiphanies and the Old Turkish Lady yoga and the writing writing writing writing. And some of it comes from the green chiles.

But this …. ELATION. Oh, it is a beautiful and hard-to-explain place to visit.

A ridiculous thing!

I couldn’t get much cell reception this week (and the writing was tugging at my hand), so I didn’t get to talk to my gentleman friend. We mostly communicated by Direct Message on Twitter in the form of a ridiculous game that made itself up for our amusement.

I don’t know if this could possibly be funny to anyone other than me (it’s based on his knowledge of my bordering-on-phobic dislike of the word “caulk”). But it ended up being a useful Retreat Survival Tactic.

My Gentleman Friend: So I won’t mention the upcoming caulking project.

Me: Ew. Gross. What’s WRONG with you? I baulk at your caulk.

MGF: Well, don’t just sit there and saulk! #jonas

Me: Don’t forget to deal with those celery staulks.

Also those seagull waves in your hair are just a bit flaukish. #80s

MGF: Now you’re just maulking me. In a sort of insincerely maudlin way! #mawkish

Me: Also, you’re INCREDIBLE. Like the Haulk. #hawkish

MGF: Wagnerian, even. #rideoftheVaulkeries

Me: You might have to take a short Waulkeries off a long pier if you keep that up. But if you paint, wear your Smaulkeries! #butnotdungarees

Me: Or are you thinking of the Thirteen Claulkeries #thurber

MGF: You’re close – I was actually thinking of the children’s rhyme. Hickery Dickery Daulkeries.

Me: And please no references to New Kids on the Blaulkeries. #shazam

MGF: In that case, how about references to Columbo, a disputed island near Argentina & a British holiday involving flames & fireworks? #shazoom

Me: Yooooooooouuuuuu! I should claulk you. Or maybe blaulk you — on Twitter.

MGF: I’m just going to waulk away, veeeery slowly now. Or perhaps we should taulk it over?

Me: Yes, you’d better give up completely. Laulk staulk and barrel!

MGF: Laulk. Now THAT is gross.

Me: You’re hilarious. But not really one to taulk. By the way … knaulk knaulk! …

MGF: Who’s there? (he asks trepidatiously)

Me: Doctor.

PAUSE.

PAUSE.

MGF: Ach Du scheisse! #doctorhulu

Me: No. You’re wrong. It’s Doctor Spaulk.

MGF: Ha! Hmm. I was always more of a Mr. Spaulk guy, myself. #ears

Me: What a craulk.

MGF: #craulkodiletears

Me: Well, chaulk it up to experience.

MGF: Don’t raulk the boat, I always say. #seewhatyouvedone

Me: Don’t knaulk it til you try it, I always say. Though I ALSO always say: avoid electric shaulk.

Anyway, it just deteriorated (or should I say: ran amaulk?) from there so I’ll stop. Yes.

The best word ever!

Yay.

The word is WACKOPANTS, courtesy of the lovely Christina, who lives it. I will now be saying this all the time.

Mainly because I over-identify with it, being a huge wackopants myself.

That’s it for now.

Tomorrow we will chicken it up and there will be more.

In the meantime, I wish you a day that includes elements of ridiculousness, contemplation, and at least a couple of thoroughly wackopants moments — maybe even some that lead you to a bing or a thrum or that elusive thing that I’m calling elation.

Waving to all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers, everyone who reads. Back to “normal” posting (uh, talking to walls and mindfully biggifying) soon!

Yesterday morning I had a moment.

The simplest trigger: at a cafe, an old framed portrait on a white wall that reminded me of something from then.

And I was off. Cycles of panic, terror, helplessness, pain, fear.

And then I came back. Doing the things that help me be here.

So yes, I’ve had a fairly messed up life in some ways. I’ve had hard things happen to me. And I’ve lived in difficult places, difficult situations.

But everyone has hard. Everyone has pain.

I don’t know whether you also get knocked out of your space the way I get knocked out of mine. But I am documenting some of what I do in these moment of hard, with the hope that some of this is helpful.

Being in my body. Or: being with my body.

In this case, walking outside in crisp air for forty minutes was the exact right thing.

Sometimes I can’t do that.

But anything that helps me reconnect to my body in a way that feels safe and grounded is good.

Rubbing feet. Drawing words on my arms. Kissing the palm of my hand. Touching the ground. Acupressure points. Any yoga pose that uses a wall.

Talking to me-from-then.

And creating safety.

This is something I used to do just intuitively (like here and here), but I have learned to get better at this from working with Hiro and following her process for this.

I tell me-from-then the following things:

1. Things are different now.

2. She is allowed to be scared. Whatever she’s feeling is completely legitimate.
3. Her work is done. She does not need to take care of anything ever again. It is her turn to be taken care of now.
4. She has protection. I am here now. I am a pirate queen. I have skills, resources, allies and superpowers that we didn’t have then.
5. Everything is going to be taken care of for her and she doesn’t have to do anything except experience safety.

Then we create the safest, most perfect space for her.

We put locks on the doors and assign these badass lions to guard the entrances. The lions are beautiful, graceful, powerful, devoted to her.

We fill her safe space with whatever she wants — books, music, cushions, an enormous punching bag, borekas. Whatever she wants in there, we make sure she has it.

And then I ask her to listen in from her safe space while I do the separation exercise and the alignment exercise.*

* See the next two bits — these are exercises I came up with several years ago that have been helpful in all kinds of situations.

The separation exercise.

I list ten things that are different about now.

They can be related to whatever was going on then, but they don’t have to. The point is just to create space. Distance and space.

• I own and run a successful business. And it’s a pirate ship! With an (imaginary) island!
• I am a Shivanaut. In fact, I am the head Shivanaut. Awesome.
• I have a home.
• It used to be that I didn’t know how many options were available to me at any given moment. It was easier to end up in situations that couldn’t be gotten out of, because I couldn’t see any of the exit points along the way.
• Now I know about things like deguiltifying, compassion, being my own true friend.
• I have a lot more experience with mindfulness, alertness, paying attention to cues.
• I know about sovereignty, and so I approach every situation differently. I assume that my space gets to be mine.
• I’ve had X more years to practice things (everything from standing up for myself to believing I have a right to).
• I speak German.
• My duck and I go to work at a Playground.

The alignment exercise.

Ten things that me-from-right-now has in common with me-from-then.

We’re on the same team, so she needs to know that she can trust me. How are we the same? Where is the continuity?

• We both love to walk.
• And to nap.
• And to read.
• We talk to trees (and now they talk back too).
• We are both writers (except that I don’t hide it anymore).
• We like to dance.
• We get annoyed when people tell us what to do.
• We care about words.
• We collect funny names.

The naming exercise.

This is where you name everything you see to remind you that you are here.

Poppy seeds. Bagel crumbs. Empty glass. Pink soap. I am here. Cracked sidewalk. Tall fence. Blue backpack. Worn clogs. I am here. Pirate flag. Flowered tablecloth. Old lamp. Cross-eyed cat. I am here.

It helps.

Remembering to access external support in addition to internal support.

Getting out of isolation is really helpful for me.

I need someone who isn’t going to ask questions or make me talk about it, but who is up for going for a walk with me, or sitting with me while I process stuff with myself.

Generally I try to figure out who these helper mice are when I’m not having a moment, because once I’m panicking, I can’t really think straight.

Always! Asking what’s needed.

In this case it was:

trust, safety, sovereignty, reassurance, perspective

And then giving it to myself in some form.

If that’s what I need, how do I get it?

I give myself a dose of trust by writing it on my heart with a finger. By writing a request for it as a Very Personal Ad.

A dose of safety by locking myself in my office and meditating.

A dose of sovereignty by mentally reconfiguring my force field and by putting on my tiara.

A dose of reassurance through listening to one of the Emergency Calming Technique recordings.

Bringing in the new pattern.

I use Dance of Shiva for this.

I dance the awe-full wrathful dance of anger. I dance the patterns without knowing what they are. I dance the math of connections. I flail and fall and make mistakes.

And it does crazy, beautiful things to my brain. And when I’m done, I know why I hurt and what to do about it and what is next.

Mainly, though … I try things.

All the time. And every time I try things, I take notes.

What’s this like? How does it feel? What’s missing? Is there a way to make this more useful, more accessible, more fun?

And then whatever you learn goes in the Book of You for next time.

You never have to use techniques that you don’t like. And you never have to stick with something that isn’t a good fit. It’s your video game. Your practice. Taking care of yourself is the most individual thing there is.

And probably the most important.

Comment zen.

The one thing we definitely all have in common is that we all know pain.

Beyond that: People vary. Pain varies. Experience varies.

We tread gently with pain. We do what we can to meet people (ourselves too) where they (we) are. Sometimes this is hard and annoying. That’s why it’s a process.

We let people have their own experience, which means: we can talk about what works for us, but we don’t give anyone else advice unless they specifically ask for it.

Wishing you all kinds of love and support and whatever helps right now.

Disclaimer!

This post is … not really a post.

And it’s very much not the sort of thing I would normally put here. It’s a bit messy. A bit complex. A lot more yoga-ey than anything I might say if it were just us.

(Translation: Jon, don’t read this one.)

But it’s here. Because there is usefulness in this.

I’m teaching all week at Jennifer Louden’s Writer’s Retreat. What follows is a (very) loose transcript of what I said at the beginning of our Shiva Nata class yesterday.

Making space.

Creating space is one of the things we do when we are on retreat.

We create the space for the experience itself, by choosing it. And through everything we do to set the container.

We create spaces during the experience of retreat — through rituals, transitions, entry points and exit points.

We create space in our bodies, through moving, stretching, breathing.

We create space in ourselves for wacky, beautiful, transformational things to happen.

We create space in our hearts, to breathe. To come back to ourselves.

We create space when we interact with ourselves.

Every time we acknowledge our pain, engage our monsters in conversation, ask questions about what we want and need … space is created.

Every time we consciously choose to do that with genuine curiosity and compassion, standing in our own power … we make space for wholeness.

Wholeness.

We intentionally create separations. We open up gaps and spaces.

In our breath. Inside of our patterns. Between ourselves and the familiar stories we tell and retell about our experience.

We create these spaces in order to get closer to ourselves. To be in wholeness.

Look at all the beautiful space we create in our writing:

The physical space for writing to happen. The time. The energy container (that’s the force field exercise we’ve been practicing all week).

The emotional space that gets bigger and bigger each time we talk to the parts of ourselves who criticize us out of a desire to keep us safe.

Mental space. Spiritual space. Internal and external space.

And all this space is what allows us to get closer to ourselves.

To get closer to that voice.

To get closer to what we have to say.

Space and spaciousness.

It is space and spaciousness that bring us to closeness and intimacy.

It is separations that — paradoxically, maybe — bring us to wholeness.

Separations are arbitrary constructs, yes. They serve a purpose though. Because each time we consciously step back to interact with part of ourselves (say, when we talk to walls), we become more intimate with our internal landscape.

We become more whole.

Separation and coming together.

In the Jewish tradition, this idea of separation is a hugely important concept.

On the surface, this seems … a bit odd, since, like with most religious and spiritual traditions, you’d expect the focus to be where it usually is: wholeness and unity and connection.

But the idea (or one of the ideas) is more like this:

When we mark out these spaces in life, we bring elements of ritual and specialness and holiness into each thing being separated.

We separate so that we can see the beauty of that particular space, and that is what brings us deeper into wholeness.

Spaces and the Dance of Shiva.

In our retreat, we create spaces.

Spaces and spaciousness that allow us to get closer to our writing, closer to our voice, and closer to ourselves.

And we use Shiva Nata in order to intentionally create spaces in our patterns, openings and passages, spaciousness in our consciousness.

We open up these gaps in our patterns because it gives us the power to move the pieces around. To deconstruct and rebuild.

To find the spaces that are waiting for us, and to bring in more of ourselves.

But we don’t actually create these spaces.

We just find them.

Because they’re already there.

We contain all of this space already.

The passages are there. And then we use Shiva Nata — body poetry, liquid math — to take apart the patterns. Taking apart. Rebuilding. Deconstructing. Reconstructing.

Making space for these spaces to reveal themselves.

That’s it.

I mean, that’s not even slightly it.

And anyway, there is always more. Because then we danced to the Sexy Robot song. And we used words and numbers and patterns to do astonishing things.

And it was freaking transcendent.

And then we wrote and had epiphanies and I went out and ate green chile stew, and all in all it was one crazy, beautiful day.

So we are not done. Never done. Just experimenting.

And comment zen for today.

Being this … sincere … is hard on me. It’s especially hard for Pirate Me. Let’s tread gently.

You can offer me a hot mulled beverage. That would be nice.

We’re always saying it.

Try things.

By we, I mean me and Naomi and Pam and Hiro and Jen and other smart people who offer business and destuckification support.

Try things.

And by try things, I mean: approaching everything you do with flexibility, receptivity, genuine curiosity and the willingness to be surprised.

But then a lot of people wonder, what things?! How do you just try things? How do you even know what things to try?

So I guess this is a long-overdue partial response to that question which comes up whenever I talk about things like how it’s not the economy and exiting the middle and the fox who designed video games.

Let’s say you have a store where you sell smoothies. Or an Etsy shop where you sell handmade scarves. Or any other kind of place, physical or virtual, where business-ey things happen.

You don’t have to do any of these things, but here’s some of what “trying stuff” could be:

Trying stuff in the hard.

• Walking across the street and look at your sign. Visible? Readable? Intriguing?
• Pretending that you have no idea what your shop is. Can you tell what it is (and what it feels like) from the entrance?
• How easy is it for me to give you money if I want to? Is it clear how much things cost and how I can pay you?
• What if I want to buy something from you, but not right this second: How do I stay in touch with you? How many ways do you have for me to be part of your world without buying something … yet?
• Do you hang out at the Twitter bar? Do you talk about stuff that’s not business-related? Good.
• Do you have a knitting circle? Who is your support team? Who are your resources? If, as Barbara says, “isolation is the dream-killer”, who and what help you stay connected to yourself and what you need?
• Making one sentence on your contact page sound slightly more like “Hi, I’m an actual human being! Whooo!”
• Going to a Biznik meet-up. Or: be like me and avoid humanity altogether, but tell people that so that they can connect with you.
• Is your store or website a place where you would enjoy hanging out? What would make it more cheery and fun for you?
• Your right people include anyone who would like you and what you do. What kinds of things would you like them to appreciate about what you do? How do they find out about those things?
• How much do people know about you? Enough to get a sense of why they like you? Enough to know whether or not they’d like being in your world?
• Do you have multiple circles? Are you offering stuff that’s low-end and stuff that’s high-end? Experiment!

Thinking about stuff like this is what we mean when we say TRY THINGS.

Trying stuff in the soft.

And — of course — you don’t have to try any of these. They’re possibilities. Loving suggestions. Nothing more.

• Talking to your walls and your monsters. A lot.*

* Obviously I’m biased, but I am a fan of my useful monster manual (it comes with a coloring book!) and my badass Emergency Calm Techniques.

• Are you having fun? Are you getting enough sleep? This stuff is important. It’s investing in your business. The urgency monsters are very emphatic about how this is not a priority. But actually? It’s the thing that turns everything else around.
• Practicing Very Interior Design: finding out everything you can about the ecology of your relationship to money, to business, to “being successful”, whatever that means to you.
• Changing your vocabulary so that you use words that excite you instead of depressing you. Calling upon Metaphor Mouse if necessary.
• Oh, and speaking of words, if you catch yourself saying “shameless self-promotion” (whether out loud or in your head), find out what needs to happen so that you can stop saying it.
• Resting. Replenishing. Receiving.
• Examining your internal boundaries and limits. Who put them there? What’s true?
• Thinking like an entrepreneur. Look for patterns and openings everywhere. The best way to do this: Dance of Shiva. If you’re not already doing this, I don’t even know how to finish this sentence.

Taking care of yourself and learning about your stuff is also what we mean when we say TRY THINGS.

And the really terrible Green Eggs and Ham version!

This was inspired by Mrs. Peppercorn, the worst most enthusiastic poet of all time and my absolute favorite character in any book ever.

You can try things in the soft.
You can use a spray that wafts.

You can try things in the hard.
Costumes, wands, a leotard.

You can try things every day.
Exit the middle. Back to Wu Wei.

You can try things upside down.
Use the video game. Abduct a clown.

Try things here. Or try things there.
Do it with Naomi — it’s more fun if you swear!

What happens when you wear that crown?
Call metaphor mouse. Write a new collective noun.

Try to do it with reverse-engineering.
Try to do it once more with feeling.

Or better yet, once more with flailing.
And on that pirate ship you’re sailing.

Try it with style. Sing the milk song.
Go ahead and intentionally do it wrong.

Try in on Friday. Try it with chicken.
Talk to your monsters and ask for permission.

Try asking iguanas and talking to walls.
Ringing the bells and listening to calls.

You’ll never run out of good things to try.
There’s always more time, more ways to ask why.

If nothing is working the way that it ought
Switch gears and become a Shivanaut.

Try stuff try stuff try stuff try stuff
You have what you need, and you are enough.

That’s it. Try stuff.

Ahem.

I do apologize for inflicting rhyming crimes against humanity on you.

But seriously, I don’t know how to challenge people to think creatively other than a) modeling it in my business, b) teaching tools for destuckification, c) talking about why it’s so important that you challenge yourself and d) encouraging a culture of playfulness, curiosity and experimentation.

So that’s what I’ve got.

I hope it’s helpful.

And comment zen for today …

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. This can get pretty uncomfortable/touchy when it comes to business and biggification.

Especially when there’s urgency and stress and pain. And pressure to pay the rent. It sucks.

So I sincerely apologize if anything here stepped on your stuff. I definitely don’t mean to imply that any of this is easy, because it isn’t.

Love to all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and anyone who reads.

Personal ads! They’re … personal! Very.

So my itty bitty personal ads made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.

And now it’s my Sunday ritual for clarity and remembering and stuff like that. Yay, ritual!

Let’s dooo eeeet.

Thing 1: Remembering what I already know, again.

Here’s what I want:

I managed to put myself in a mini-tizzy last week trying to figure out what to focus on in my own writing during the fabulous Writer’s Retreat I’m teaching at in Taos.

After going back and forth between six different (and equally compelling) options, I did some Dance of Shiva on it, which delivered the following mini-epiphany:

This week isn’t for the writing. It’s for learning about my relationship to the writing.

So. Instead of working on the book, I’m going to be writing love letters to the book. Having monster conversations. Using my own techniques and documenting them.

For the book, yeah.

But with the intention not of writing it, but of finding out more about my relationship with it.

And what I want is to remember this.

Ways this could work:

I can leave myself little notes.

Make this the intention of my daily shivanautical wackiness.

I can start each day’s writing by consciously choosing one technique that I want to play with. Like, what happens if I bring in Metaphor Mouse to learn more about different aspects of how I interact with writing?)

Or maybe it can just happen.

My commitment.

To do whatever needs doing to release some of that pressure to hurry up and create something meaningful right this second while you have a chance.

To be curious and receptive and inquisitive.

To ask smart questions.

To not take myself or any of this too seriously. Play! We will play!

To walk the labyrinth with Selma.

Thing 2: Maintaining space.

Here’s what I want:

I know about my tendency to overdo. And especially to over-give.

And it’s time to (sweetly) mess around with that pattern and see what moves.

Since I’ll be teaching all week, this is a good test environment to practice in.

Ways this could work:

Reminding myself that it’s time. I’m ready to get better at scooping out time and space for myself. On purpose. As a way of being.

And letting that be not only legitimate, but vital.

Clearly this calls for more Shiva Nata. And some talking to walls.

My commitment.

To pay attention. To notice things.

To not be impressed by the fact that yeah, this is still an issue.

To breathe breathe breathe.

To write about what I learn.

Thing 3: the Rally!

Here’s what I want:

Okay. So I still really want a Rally.

And haven’t had much time for this.

So. I’m going to try to throw together a first run version. Of the Rally.

A little messy, a little casual, a little hilarious .

Invite some people. Rally it up. See what happens.

Like a pre-rally rally. A taster rally. A starter rally. I don’t know.

And then we can expand it into something bigger and more formal.

Ways this could work:

No idea.

But I’m going to write about this and something will happen.

My commitment.

To stay receptive to different creative, fun, lighthearted, playful ways that this could be awesome.

To practice the things I’m already practicing.

To invent some new rally-related rituals.

To have the First Mate make inquiries about possible fabulous schwag.

Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.

Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.

I asked for perfect simple solutions for the computer-in-a-coma problem. And it was good.

My ancient iBook miraculously hung in there (I think I can I think I can!) and was able to mostly work. The Apple people fixed my laptop. We got through five days of stressfulness and nothing fell apart. Including me. So yay.

Then I wanted support with the enormous variety of things that needed to fall into place, and that also worked better than expected/hoped for.

A lot also didn’t get done, but there was more ease than I’d thought possible. And I had some outrageously great Shivanautical epiphanies. Nice.

And I had an ask about simplicity and elegance that is still … percolating. I think I need to ask this one again when I know a little more about this. Very interesting, in the mean time.

Comment zen. Here’s what I’d love today.

• Your own personal ads, small or large. Things you’ve asked for. Or are asking for. Or would like to ask for. Or updates on last time!

What I’d rather not have:

• The word “manifest”.
• Shoulds. As in, “You should be doing it like this” or “That’s not the right way to ask for things — instead it should be like x, y and z”
• To be judged, psychoanalyzed or given advices.

Wishing love and good things for your Very Personal Ads! So glad for everyone doing this with me.

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.

Hahahahahahaha.

This week was such a freaking saga of things falling apart while being challenging and ridiculous.

I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or dance a jig.

Really, at this point all I can do is chicken. TGIFC, as we say. Even though no one has ever said that.

The hard stuff

How much there was of it. Where do I even begin?

Seriously this week was kind of out of control. All inconsequential problems, yes.

And my life is still better than when I was a bartender in south Tel Aviv or a yoga teacher in east Berlin.

But it was a lot to deal with. And I feel completely worn out from all of it.

Oh, right. Not having a computer.

My lovely laptop had a heart attack.

Which is a problem, since I run an internet business.

It got sent to the lovely Apple people. But they didn’t have any spare ones to rent out while they were being all fix-ey.

So I didn’t have access to my computer (or the files I wanted) for five days. Oof. And no, they couldn’t save the hard drive. And no, they weren’t sure if they’d have it back to me before I left for two weeks in New Mexico.

Also, not having a roof.

The roof on Hoppy House was being replaced this week.

My gentleman friend and I both work from home. And we couldn’t do that.

We were out of the house from 7:30 am to 8:00 pm.

And not having internet.

We were trying to work at the Playground, but there’s no internet access there so we had to keep ducking into cafes.

I had client calls all week, but couldn’t access my notes. And a Kitchen Table call where I had to have someone else moderate the chat room for me.

Of course everything took longer than anticipated.

So I was sure I’d be back in my office for the Copywriting Magic class I was scheduled to teach on Wednesday.

I like teaching in my office. I have an excellent headset and a very nice chair and everything is exactly the way I want it.

But there was no roof on my office and it was insanely noisy. So we had to scramble to find a place that was both quiet and had internet access.

Not good.

Being completely worn out.

I was so tired this week. And being on the move did not help.

So tired I caught myself doing a thing I haven’t done since I worked in the dairy and had to work at three in the morning: spacing out completely.

The kind of lapse where you discover yourself fifteen minutes later with one sock in your hand (or leaning on a cow), having no idea where you are.

Oh, I wanted a nap! But the Playground isn’t really set up for napping. Yet.

Between the pirate pillows and the baby blankets in the Refueling Station, it kind of worked. But I so just wanted to be at home.

Not teaching with Selma.

In five years and two months of knowing Selma, I have never taught a Shiva Nata class without her being there.

Not once.

This week it happened. And it felt so wrong. I don’t know how to teach without her there. I mean, I do, obviously. But it was weird. Do not like! Plus now she’s mad at me.

The good stuff

It’s Friday. And this week is over.

And I’m in New Mexico.

I love New Mexico.

The fabulous writer’s retreat at which I am teaching begins tomorrow. And in the meantime, aaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Sigh of relief.

I have my computer. Just in time.

And really, I only ended up losing three blog post drafts and a page of copy.

Not even slightly the end of the world.

Hooray for my Regularly Scheduled Rituals of Backing Stuff Up, because that was crazy great and also made me feel smarter than I actually am.

And really, things worked out.

It turns out that my ancient piece of crap iBook was a) in the closet and b) still kind of worked, despite the screwed up screen and only having six legible keys on the keyboard.

So I was able to do some writing this week without having to steal my gentleman friend’s laptop.

Some of the things that were going horribly wrong this week turned out not only to have been okay, but actually kind of for the best.

And I am (mostly) capable of appreciating a good reminder to not just assume that things-not-the-way-I-wanted necessarily means “wrong”. So that’s good too.

We still had fun.

The Shiva Nata class was awesome.

The Copywriting Magic class totally worked despite all the things going hilariously wrong in the background. The people who come to my things are smart, funny, kind, creative and I adore them all. And Selma even condescended to squeak out loud for everyone.

Plus, I like working at the Playground. Because I like being at the Playground.

And now we have a roof at Hoppy House. Rock on.

Shivanautical epiphanies like crazy.

I had so many post-Shiva-Nata moments of bing this week that I can hardly stand it.

Big, wonderful, outrageous things. Loving it.

Things I enjoyed reading this week.

Maryann’s piece about how am I wrong. Not how I’m wrong. How each of us is. Never mind. Loved it!

Bridget’s wise words and understandings about dragons and process and softness.

Kelly’s post called I’m on a train is my new favorite everything. Read it!

And … playing live at the meme beach house!

Yes, that’s a Stuism too.

My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”

This week?

Bette-Davis-ize

Yeah. All the boys thinks she’s a spy. But rumor has it … it’s just one guy.

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 day and a restful weekend-ing.

And a happy week to come. Shabbat shalom.

Background: the metaphor technique is something I’ve adapted from Suzette Haden Elgin’s teachings. It’s an amazing tool for destuckifying.

More recently we turned my dreaded Tickler file into an Iguana Watcher’s Guide And doing taxes happens in a Secret Money Cave where I visit my treasures and make Tribute to the lands that allow me access to their fair harbours.

Metaphor Mouse to the rescue!

The situation.

So. I was talking shop with a [very nice, very successful, male, significantly older than me] colleague, and we ended up in one of those clashes of opinion whose entanglements are primarily semantic.

He was using phrases like “taking over the world” and “world domination” and “full growth potential” and “building your empire”. And “taking it to the next level”.

And while I’m into biggification that happens in a mindful, conscious way, all this talk of dominating hugeness is sooooo not my cup of grown-in-my-backyard tea.

So he was thinking I was hitting some personal walls of my own fears of biggification, which okay, yeah, I have some.

But as we talked it out* it became clear that this was really more about vocabulary.

* NVC FTW! It is still astonishing to me how many disagreements turn out not to be disagreements as soon as I remember to apply Non Violent Communication.

Wait! A really important thing that needs to be said before I continue with the post!

Words are individual. Definitions and associations: even more so.

So if you like having an empire or dominating things, that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. And it doesn’t mean that your way is wrong, or that we can’t be each others’ right people.

It just means that each of us gets to work on our own stuff in our own way. This is me figuring out things for me. And I sincerely hope that me-working-on-my-stuff and processing out loud doesn’t step on your stuff, because that’s not my intention at all. Okay?

Okay. Back to the stuck.

He really couldn’t understand why I didn’t want an empire. And I couldn’t understand why wanting one was so important.

It took us a while to figure out that we actually both want similar things in our businesses. We just have really different ways of talking about them.

As it turned out, it wasn’t my biggification monsters showing up. It’s a much more basic discomfort (and personal associations) with this vocabulary of dominance and dominating and kicking-of-ass.

Which is not a culture I feel at home in.

[NOTE: I don't at all need things to be huggy and lovey. There can totally be Bruce Lee moves and jedi stuff. I just don't want to dominate anything. Not my style.]

So it was clear that — whether I want to biggify more or just be able to talk about what I’m already doing — it’s time to find a vocabulary that does describe what I want.

And who better for that job than … Metaphor Mouse!

All together now! To the tune of I am Iron Man. Yes. Still.

“I am Metaphor Mouse … doo da doo doo doo doo doo!”

Unpacking my current relationship with this.

What are the qualities, aspects, associations, attributes of my PERSONAL DEFINITION of the problem word (including what *is* working — if anything)?

(EMPIRE = ?)

[+ crushing opponents]
[+ unkind]
[+ sprawling]
[+ conflict]
[+ governed through strength]
[+ rapacious]
[+ unclear boundaries]
[+ constant growth]
[+ hard to get a handle on]
[+ requires forceful maintenance]
[+ can't afford to be compassionate]
[+ dominance]
[+ masculine]
[+ imperialism]
[+ mainstream]
[+ influence]
[+ power]
[+ ability to get stuff done]
[+ respected]
[+ thriving]
[+ could be awesome]
[+ Death Star]
[+ storm troopers]

Reminds me of? Makes me think of?

Alright. I know I was going all Star Wars there, but when I asked this question the first thing that popped into my mind was: Napoleon.

So Napoleon it is.

Learning more about my IDEAL metaphor (X = ?)

What sort of qualities, aspects and feelings does the thing I want contain?

[+ power]
[+ sovereignty]
[+ thriving]
[+ clear boundaries]
[+ I get to be Pirate Queen]
[+ nonviolent]
[+ well-defined]
[+ contained]
[+ silly]
[+ playful]
[+ sustainable]
[+ good relations]
[+ independence]
[+ margins]
[+ support]
[+ community]
[+ queer-friendly]
[+ grounded]
[+ strong]
[+ fierce]
[+ creative]
[+ using powers for good]
[+ healthy growth]
[+ respected]
[+ flexible]
[+ freedom]

Reminds me of? Makes me think of?

Mmmmm.

Safe harbour for my pirate ship and my people. Something with both isolation and connection. An island kingdom? Treasure island? An enchanted island? A hidden island?

It’s definitely an island. But not some little island with a lone palm tree sticking out of it.

It’s substantial. And also protected from other people’s imperial enterprises.

It’s more like … Vancouver Island. Size-wise, I mean.

If Vancouver Island was home to the Emerald City. And belonged to me. And had a lagoon that was named after my duck.

It’s like … Sovereignty Island.

What do you think, Metaphor Mouse? Are we at metaphor?

Uh, no. But this is a really bizarre (and therefore excellent) direction.

What needs to happen next?

My designer needs to produce a map. A gorgeous, gorgeous map.

Also, at least one city needs to be called Selmopolis. Okay, maybe that’s going a little too far.

But definitely a lagoon. We need a lagoon.

And how do we make it more fun?

We’ll start with the maps and go from there. But I have some ideas …

Anything else?

You know, it’s so hard to know where word-resistance and/or personal definitions come from.

In the case of me and my friend, we’re both successful entrepreneurs. There isn’t a class gap, but there are gender and generation gaps.

And it can be so difficult to tell how much of our talking past each other is due to that, and how much is more about our personal values and associations related to different words and concepts.

For me, the take-away is: it’s useful to take time to unpack the words I use, so that I can either rewrite my own personal definition of them or find a new word.

Because if my resistance to something buried in that word is keeping me from moving forward, that isn’t good for anyone involved.

Again, words are individual.

You can absolutely have an empire if you want one. I will still like you.

This process isn’t about deciding which words are good. It’s about figuring out what stuff trips us up so that we can rewrite it.

And often as not, a word or an association or a metaphor that works wonders for one person is meaningless for someone else.

Here’s what I don’t care about: what you end up calling something. Here’s what I do care about — a lot: the freedom and play that come with consciously interacting with words and with everything else in your life.

Play with me! And comment zen for today.

Anyway. You are more than welcome to practice your own Metaphor Mouse-ing in the comments — anything you’re working on is fine.

Or to think out loud about stuff that’s troubling you. Mess around with words and wordishness! Or get brainstorming help from other commenter mice.

Maybe you just want to be happy for me and my new baby metaphor. Always appreciated!

As always: we let people have their own experience, and we don’t tell them what to do (unless someone specifically asks for help).

Come play. It will be fun!

Yep. Talking to my monsters again. Last time it was the Skabbatical monster and the Book monster.

Then on Official Pirate Queen Holiday I had the best idea for the most perfect thing ever: a long, sweet writing vacation. Not just going on Skabbatical but being somewhere fabulous for it.

And I knew this was something I really, really wanted because about ten monsters showed up immediately and were extremely emphatic about what a terrible idea this is.

I made it clear that I’ll only deal with one at a time. This is the one who showed up.

And of course I took notes, scribbling furiously in an effort to keep up. It was pretty trippy, for the record. Shocking, I know. Here we go.

Shame!

Me: Thanks. It was getting really hard to hear with all the yelling. So. Can you tell me what your issues are with this?
Monster: Too many to even list!
Me: Well, what if you just list as many as you can?

Monster: Okay. It’s stupid. It’s frivolous. And there is nothing worse than doing things that are frivolous. It’s not a good use of your time. You don’t have the money. You can’t justify this. No one can ever know about it because it’s so …. peinlich.
Me: Wait, you’re German? I have German monsters?

Monster: You’re avoiding the issue. This thing you want is embarrassing. Shame! Shame on you. That’s the main thing.
Me: Uh…
Monster: But also your business will suffer. And it’s not fair to your gentleman friend. And you’re abandoning Hoppy House. And your whole business will fall apart. And no one can EVER KNOW that you even want this thing because if they find out, they’ll lose all respect for you. Shame!

Traitor!

Me: Ah, you mean because people don’t understand what vacations are like. They don’t know the kind of awesome creative explosions that I get on holiday.
Monster: Are you out of your mind? If someone finds out you were even considering spending that much money on a VACATION?! You’re doomed! No one will ever respect you again. No one will ever be able to relate to you again. Your credibility will be shot to pieces.

Me: Oh. You’re afraid people will lose respect for me.
Monster: They’ll know what a traitor you are! They’ll be disappointed. They’ll abandon you like you abandoned them. They’ll know that you betrayed them.
Me: Ah. This isn’t about vacation, is it? This is about betrayals and shame again. Old stuff.
Monster: Maybe. But my point still stands.

Pain.

Me: Which point is that?
Monster: If your people find out, they will detest you. Why would you even want to risk that? How can you help them if they can’t stand you?
Me: That doesn’t strike me as especially likely. You really think that’s what will happen? And is that the only option of how this could go, in your opinion?

Monster: Remember the noozletter of that one biggified chick? When she was all, ooh look at me I’m in vacation in Paris and this is the view from my fancy hotel, don’t you want to be fabulously successful like me, you should buy my blah blah product. And then you unsubscribed because she was so annoying.

Me: You’re right. I did.
Monster: See? That’s what will happen!
Me: I’m glad you don’t want that to happen. Can you really imagine me doing something like that?
Monster: No, not intentionally. But a lot your people are really, truly struggling. A lot of times they’re working a gazillion hours a week at a job they hate and they’re working on destuckifying, using your techniques and they’re working on their thing. How DARE YOU take three months off? How dare you?!

Not off.

Me: Well, to be fair, it’s not off. It’s not time off. It’s three months devoted to working on one specific project.
Monster: (accusing) That will make you money.
Me: Well, yeah. That’s one of the perks of having a business, once it reaches a certain level of healthiness. And anyway, if it helps people and makes money, isn’t that okay? And I cannot believe you are ganging up on me like this with my money monsters when you said you’d come alone. And when we’re supposed to be discussing my Skabbatical.
Monster: So it’s not vacation.
Me: No. Though, to be honest, that would be nice. We might have to have a talk about that someday too.
Monster: It’s not vacation?

Back to the shame shame shame again …

Me: No. It’s projectizing. Intentional projectizing time.
Monster: But such an extravagant environment for it? Is that really necessary? So much money? What if you get caught? EXPOSED! Shame!

Me: Wait a minute. Are you implying … wait, that can’t be right. It kind of sounds as though you don’t really care whether or not I do this as long as no one finds out about it. Can that be right? What happened to “all things that cost money are bad”?
Monster: As long as no one finds out — AND — as long as you are working — AND — as long as you are convinced that this particular environment will help you be creative and produce (which I have seen happen and so I believe it), it isn’t necessarily bad. You know, in this particular situation.

Me: I don’t believe this. Really?! You don’t care about the all-luxury-is-bad thing anymore? We’re over that one? Ohmygod.
Monster: But NO ONE can find out. Ever. And here’s the thing. Someone could. Someone probably will. And you do not want to risk that. Remember the people who were jealous and horrified when you bought the really nice mattress? Remember?
Me: Yeah.
Monster: Yeah.
Me: Okay. So I’m on board! What’s our plan?
Monster: Our plan? Our plan? Huh?

Our plan!

Me: Our plan! We either need a Super Secret Glamorous Spy plan to not get found out. Or we need to have a plan to bring it out into the open, and frame it in such a way that my people will get it.
Monster: Get it? Get it how?
Me: Listen, my people like me.
Monster: Pfffffft. If you say so.
Me: Whatever. Either way. They like the fact that the stuff I write about is useful to them. And so if this is a trip designed to help me write more things that are useful and better things that are useful … and if I’m still going to be posting regularly to the blog, why wouldn’t they be happy for me? You’re the one they don’t like, anyway.

Monster: You are delusional, my crazy, crazy friend. Sure, they’d be supportive of the idea, maybe. But not if they knew how much it costs to take three months off. That’s luxury. You can’t flaunt luxury. It’s extravagant. It’s disgusting. Shame!

Me: Yeah, I know. We’ve covered this so many times. And yet, it still sounded for a while there like you wanted me to have this beautiful writing project vacation.
Monster: I do. You deserve it.
Me: What? Who are you?!
Monster: I know you.
Me: You know me?

Remembering.

Monster: Remember Berlin?
Me: How could I forget Berlin?
Monster: Huddled in the cold. Writing the very first version of your website? You were amazing. But your situation was so … shaky. The abandoned building, the punks in the yard, the squatters, the junkies, the complete and utter lack of funds, lack of plans, lack of options.
Me: I remember. I was there. And that wasn’t even the worst we’ve been in, not by a long shot.
Monster: So, I don’t know, it seems like poetic justice somehow. Having three months to travel, be somewhere beautiful, eat good food, write your heart out and create something that the world needs. It sounds really good, actually.

Me: Are you sure you’re one of my monsters? Did I accidentally invoke a helper mouse instead? I do not believe what I’m hearing.
Monster: But no one can know — you cannot ever tell them, because they won’t understand. They weren’t there. They never slept in a kindergarten. They don’t know loss like you know loss. They can’t understand the way you have lived. They won’t get it. They won’t understand that this is about redemption.

Who doesn’t know loss.

Me: I’m not sure that I understand that this is about redemption either. But either way, I think that’s kind of presumptuous. How can either of us know what my people have gone through?
Monster: I don’t know.
Me: That’s my point. How can we know what kinds of loss they have experienced? Anyway, who hasn’t experienced loss and pain? So what if they weren’t there? Why should we assume that they won’t or can’t understand?
Monster: Do you really want to risk being shunned?

Me: Whoah. Who is shunning? What are you talking about?
Monster: (closed eyes and deep scary voice) They’ll cut you off. You will have no community. You will die alone.
Me: Wait. Who are you? This sounds like really old stuff. It’s not from now, is it?
Monster: (emerges from trance): Huh? Maybe.

Clearing.

Me: Listen. How much of this belongs to now?
Monster: (shrugs)
Me: Come on. Give me a percentage.
Monster: Five percent. Maybe seven.
Me: Okay. So we’re going to give the rest back to wherever it came from. And how much of what’s left belongs to me?
Monster: Not very much.
Me: So it can go back to where it came from too.
Monster: I guess.

Me: So what’s this shunning thing about?
Monster: I don’t know. That was weird. I’m not sure where that came from but you’re right. It really doesn’t have anything to do with your life. My job is to protect you from disaster but I’m not going to fight disasters that don’t exist. Not anymore.

Me: Thank you.
Monster: Sure.
Me: Where do we stand now?
Monster: In relation to?
Me: Three months of Skabbatical.
Monster: I still really don’t like the idea of people knowing.
Me: What can’t they know?
Monster: How much you spend on it. And you cannot be too loud in your enjoyment. It can’t seem like you’re lording it over them. You have to write about the sucky parts too.
Me: I always do, no?
Monster: Yeah, but you have to be careful. It could seem like you’re bragging.
Me: What, that I’m working on the book?
Monster: You’re moving forward on a dream. That shit pisses people off. Don’t you know that yet? How have you not learned that yet?!

Responsibility and freedom.

Me: Who? Who am I supposedly going to be pissing off?
Monster: You know who.
Me: Say it.
Monster: Nuh-uh. Not going to say it. You know.
Me: I don’t, actually. Is it __________? Is it X? Is it Y?
Monster: Who cares. There are a lot of people in your life who don’t act on stuff they want. Do you really want to be responsible for their pain?
Me: No.
Monster: I told you so.

Me: But that’s because I’m not responsible.
Monster: What? What are you talking about?
Me: It has nothing to do with me. It’s not my responsibility. It’s their responsibility to do stuff with their dreams. If the steps I take inspire them, yay. If not, oh well. It has nothing to do with me.

Gotcha.

Monster: Remember how you wanted to spend this week getting better at being sovereign?
Me: Yeah.
Monster: Behold the master. Shaka!
Me: Dude, have you been devil’s-advocate-ing me? No way! Get out of town!
Monster: You’re the queen, baby. You’re the queen.
Me: I don’t believe this.
Monster: That’s how transformation works. Or have you not noticed?
Me: So we’re done here?
Monster: You wanna hit the bar?

And … comment zen for today.

So yeah. Talking to monsters is challenging, intimidating and can be really painful. I’m so sorry. And I highly recommend having a Negotiator with you at all times.

Anyway. We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We all get to talk about what we’re working on. We’re here to support each other.

This is an incredibly personal thing I’m sharing here — not to be told what to do with it, but in the hope that someone else gets a glimpse of something useful. Love, as always, to everyone who reads.

A client of mine has been going through a hard.

Some seriously menacing dragons showed up in her space to breathe fire at her. And they wouldn’t let her build a castle.

It was crappy.

We decided that we would outwit the video game by not doing any of the normal things (i.e. panicking, running away, being paralyzed with fear, pouting, raging, yelling, fighting, etc).

We would subvert the tired fight-vs-flight dichotomy by choosing none of the above.

And we decided to consciously, intentionally walk in a new direction until the perfect spot for her new bad-ass castle revealed itself.

Anyway. I am of the opinion that this (extremely hard and not fun) situation is sure to become one of her crucial turning points.

So now I’m thinking about turning points.

Except that turning points are so often easier to see in retrospect.

When you’ve gone far enough past them that you can see where and how the turning happened.

So I thought we could try to pinpoint some of the turning points in my own business, and maybe we’ll be able to reverse-engineer some bits of usefulness.

Maybe.

The first point of turning.

Not getting the domain I wanted! Drama!

You can read about this in How The Fluent Self Got Its Spots.

There were two turns in this one.

The first was consciously deciding that I was not going to do the usual thing and be pissed off at the world about the unfairness of it all. And instead I was going to find something that worked better.

This felt very weird and uncomfortable and not me. But also open. Full of possibility.

And the second turning was the way not getting the thing I wanted turned out to be the best thing ever.

Because now I get to be the pirate queen of The Fluent Self, Inc, most fabulous ship on the high seas. With a duck. Take that!

As opposed to being the duck-less president of a super-boring thing whose name is too embarrassing to ever be mentioned.

My own turning points …

Here are the ones that come to mind when I think about how my business has grown and transformed over the past five years.

And please bear in mind, this stuff was hard and frustrating and took time. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Etc.

Bringing Selma into the business.

I don’t remember exactly when I stopped hiding the fact that yeah, I have a duck.

But I do remember the concerned expressions of the expert-ey people who said or implied that it didn’t look professional

Which, at the time, was my biggest nightmare.

Apparently, there are people who believe that if you want to make money, you can’t tell the general public that your business partner is a toy.

Pfffffft. Selma is hardly a toy. So I didn’t listen to them. That turned out to be a good thing. A really good thing.

For one thing, Selma is the best red velvet rope ever. And I probably wouldn’t have ended up on the front page of the New York Times Style section without her either.

Signing up for my first class.

When I first started my business, I had no money.

So any business advice I got was gleaned from newsletters and articles and any freebie resources I could get my hands on.

And after a while this became a matter of pride. Like, why would you pay for help when it’s all over the internet?! And anyway, everything I made was being invested back into my business.

When I finally took a class (with Andy, who is brilliant and wonderful and hysterically funny), I realized how stupid this was.

First of all, taking classes is investing in your business. Second, you make connections in classes that change everything. Third, the best way to learn how to run your own online programs (and how not to) is to take someone else’s.

Fourth, you meet biggified people who will later give you testimonials for your stuff.

Launching my first product.

Not that it made any money for a while.

Because it took its sweet time before we got to the point where product sales were paying my salary.

But because having products made me look crazy biggified. And all sorts of useful things came out of that. Wish I’d done it sooner.

Cutting out workshops.

When I started my business, it was based on live teaching and private coaching.

So I was constantly in the process of setting up workshops, teaching workshops, recovering from workshops.

I had to do them, since they were awesome. And since that’s how I got clients.

But it was exhausting. And at a certain point I decided we had to take a break. And that Selma and I wouldn’t do live teaching again until we were famous and people were standing in line to do a class with us.

And that’s what happened. Good decision.

Getting on Twitter.

I was hugely resistant to this one.

But about two and a half years ago, someone talked me into it.

And thank god for that. Because it’s my favorite bar.

And because it’s the magical place where I never talk about business but where most of my business comes from. Crazy and wonderful.

I’m @havi. Say kazoo!

Starting the blog.

That was two years ago. And it was the smart thing to do .

Thank you.

Dropping the noozletter.

I really dreaded writing the noozletter.

And I didn’t like having a list. And all the pressure to have it and build it and do things with it.

Not having one went against every piece of business advice I’ve ever been given, but I just didn’t care anymore.

Anyway, I don’t have a list. And we still make a very good living.

Rock on.

Email sabbatical.

Born of desperation, it was hard and frustrating. And pissed some people off.

But my life is seven thousand times better now. So yay.

Okay, figuring out what these turning points have in common.

Reverse-engineering time.

Or at least looking at the elements.

Here’s what I see. They include:

• that moment of realizing that I’ve been wrong about everything.
• permission to follow a want
• permission for the want to be stronger than things like say, common sense, or what everyone else is telling me to do.
• connection over isolation
• but also removing myself from situations that are painful or uncomfortable
• safety and sanctuary
• sovereignty

And … where to go from here.

I don’t know if it’s useful to know that a pivot is happening as it is happening.

I don’t know if we need to necessarily be able to recognize the turns.

But I do think it’s useful to play with the elements.

Because I’m planning on taking many more turns. And I’m planning on these turns getting easier.

More smoothness. Less agonizing. More effortlessness. Less questioning. More fun. Less predictability.

Anyway, I hope some of this is helpful.

And I hope that some of your dragons turn into helper mice.

And that you see turning points everywhere.

I have all kinds of things I want to say about this fox.

But if this is going to even slightly make sense, I have to explain the Video Game Technique.*

* A useful thing my students/clients use to simultaneously practice several of the principles we work with. If you’ve never played a video game, just pretend. No video-game-secrets needed in order to get this.

The Video Game Technique.

You’re playing a video game and you run into a wall. Smack. Ow.

Well, your avatar ran into a wall. You’re still on the couch. But still.

A massive wall. Right in front of you. Blocking your progress.

What do you do? You look for options.

It’s a video-game world, so you know there’s a way past it.

You try to go over it, under it, around it, through it.

If there is absolutely no way over the wall, you go left or right. Or you go back and try something else.

If over the wall doesn’t work, you don’t just keep trying to go over it seventy two more times. You look for a different way to get past it. You try new things.

How this is different from real life.

In real life, we are constantly running into walls.

Here’s what most of us do when we run into a wall. Smack. Ow.

Then we run into it again. Smack. Ow. Hey, look. The wall is still there.

We might try to get around it. But then we run into it again. Smack. Ow.

We step back. And then forward. Smack. Ow.

Then we cry, rage, complain. We tell our friends and our therapists and anyone who will listen about how much we hate this stupid piece of crap wall and how it won’t just go away.

And it doesn’t even occur to us that there might be another way past.

Ask most people if they’ve tried going left or right yet, and they don’t know. They don’t keep track of how they’ve approached the wall – they’re just stuck in a rut. Smack. Ow.

When you use the video game technique, here’s what happens.

You get sharper. More alert.

For one thing, the wall is a challenge. Not a sign that your life sucks or that you’re an incompetent loser.

Also: you’re keeping track of what you try and how well it works.

Under doesn’t work, around doesn’t work, over doesn’t work.

Okay, am I correct in assuming that I even need to get past this thing? What are the options that I haven’t tried yet? Have I missed anything?

You’re curious. You’re intrigued. You’re ready to try new stuff.

This is good.

Why it’s so important.

The video game technique is a classic destuckification tool because:

• it’s about awareness — being conscious of how you’re relating to yourself and the world around you.
• it’s about acknowledgment — letting the hard stuff be hard without being impressed by the hard or thinking that the hard defines you.
• it’s about possibility — taking information and making conscious choices.
• it’s about patterns — recognizing how things fit together and intentionally mixing things up.
• it’s about flow — moving away from things that result in paralysis, and reconfiguring.
• it’s about sovereignty — owning your space and making decisions about what you do with it.

It gives you flexibility, agility, adaptability, grace and all sorts of other useful things. And most of all, it shows you options.

Back to the fox.

Where we tend to get messed up with the video game thing is this:

We forget that this is about Very Interior Design.

We forget that it’s our video game. Which means that there are always more options available than you might think.

Earlier this year at the (extremely awesome) Destuckification Retreat, there was some stuckness and fear around this because some people were scared of their own video game.

Because it might be a trap. Because what if you got to a point in this learning-about-your-stuff experience where you ended up stuck behind that wall and you were never able to get out again?

An infinite loop of stuck.

That would not be fun.

My question was this: who’s on your video game design team?

Because really, you always want a fox.

Foxes have a severe dislike being trapped. Understandably.

And I read somewhere once that a fox digging a hole or a tunnel will always create a second exit.

This may or may not be completely true, but it’s useful.

Since it’s your video game, you get to decide who you want on the design team.

Personally, I want a young Marilyn Monroe, for sass and determination. And a structural engineer, but one with a sense of humor. And Shiva, for powerful bad-ass deconstruction when necessary.

And I always want a fox.

The whole point of Very Interior Design is that it happens inside of you.

If being trapped is not an option, set things up so there is no way to be trapped.

We can’t control external circumstances, but we have a lot to say about how we interact with them. And we have a lot to say about what filters we perceive them through.

And we have a lot to say about how we navigate our internal spaces.

If safety is vital because you’re scared of what might happen when you encounter your monsters, then by all means, let’s make safety the hugest priority of your video game.

Let’s get some safety experts on your video game design team. Let’s get you a bunch of negotiators. And an ideal family. Let’s get you places of sanctuary. And canopies of peace.

And a fox. Because it’s your video game. And it’s your experience.

The fox is smarter than the wall.

In fact, the fox might even know that your walls are only there because they think you need them.

And that walls can be spoken to. And you can interact with them in a variety of ways.

The fox knows that exit points are as important as entry points.

The fox knows that intelligence wins out over brute force (like smacking into walls).

The fox is there to try things.

Which, really, is what this is about.

Creating safety. And then trying things. Creating safety. And then trying something else.

So that it’s not just an endless parade of smack-ow-smack-ow.

You make safe spaces in which to practice. You find out what your options are. You take notes. And you take care of yourself. Because this world is yours.

And comment zen.

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We let people have their own experience, which means that we’re supportive and kind, and we don’t give advice (unless people specifically ask for it).

You’re more than welcome to share stuff you’re working on, things you’re thinking about related to foxes and video games and destuckification and Very Interior Design.

Love to all the commenter mice and the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads. Besos.