Today I am convening an Enthusiastic. Yay!

And YOU get to be a part of the Enthusiastic. And take part in it. Should you choose to. Yay!

This is all very exciting. And meta.

Because it is going to be an Enthusiastic on the subject of Enthusiastics. Yay!

What’s an Enthusiastic?

It’s like a board. A meeting of the board.

But not bored. Not bored at all.

Because you’re enthusiastic! See? It’s FUN.

And instead of having a meeting of the bored where everyone is bored, we have an Enthusiastic where we get to enthuse.

It is quite jolly, as Barrington might say.

Plus there are really good snacks. And possibly confetti. Yay!

What happens at an Enthusiastic?

For one thing, we are enthusiastic! Very much so.

Also there is SHOW & TELL.

Show & Tell is kind of similar to the thing that grownups call a “presentation”. But there’s no powerpoint and no judgment.

And it’s not stressful to be the person doing it. Because it’s kind of like this…

Me: You guys! Look at my puppy! PUPPY! So soft!
You: Ohboyohboyohboyohboy! It’s a puppy! Yay!

Except not a puppy. But like a puppy. It’s something you’re excited about and hopeful for.

A gwish, a dream, a hope-filled semi-plan, an aspect of a tiny sweet thing. Yay!

What is the purpose of an Enthusiastic?

An Enthusiastic exists as a safe and cozy way to:

• tell certain people about something you care about, knowing that it won’t be poked at or picked apart.
• practice thinking about the thing you want.
• think out loud and generate more ideas.
• have a welcoming for your idea.
• experience what it’s like having a fairy godmother collective.
• practice giving and receiving firgun.*

* Firgun = Hebrew slang. In this case: Being joyfully, whole-heartedly and demonstrably happy and appreciative about someone’s good news or good fortune.

Yay, an Enthusiastic! So how does it work?

Like this! There are three parts.

1) The establishing of wants.

The person convening the Enthusiastic tells the members of the Enthusiastic how she or he needs them to be enthusiastic today. It’s basically a request for the type of enthusing desired.

Of course, the members of the Enthusiastic are sovereign beings, so they can consciously interact with this request in their own way, and choose a version of responding that suits them.

I’ll give some examples of how this works in the next section.

2) The Show & Tell.

When it is my Enthusiastic, I like to imagine that all the things I want to say are inside of a magical treasure chest. Or inside of a Mary Poppins bag that can hold anything — look, a hatstand!

And then I pull things out of the bag and everyone goes oooooooh and aaaaaaaaaaaah and wow!

But sometimes I feel like playing dress-up, and then I have a flip chart and a clipboard and I wear an outrageous wig, and we all giggle hysterically.

3) The Reacting with Enthusiasm.

This part is mostly determined by the requests set forth by the Convener.

At Crossing the Line (password: haulaway), we spend an entire day doing Enthusiastics for everyone there, and it was one of the most incredible experiences of my entire life.

One person wanted us to be enthusiastic by tossing things in the air. Someone else wanted us to run around the room being spies. Some people wanted only very subdued responses, and not to be looked at.

All of these are equally good things to want. And they were all fun things to give. Yay!

Something important I have to say about that.

You might think (I did!) that it could be frustrating to not react in the way that first occurs to you.

But actually there’s something incredibly reassuring about knowing the kind of response someone wants. It is so easy to give someone what they want, and so useful to know what that is.

And if, for whatever reason, you can’t give them what they want in the way that they want it, you give it in the form you can. For example…

Say they want everyone to jump up and down and yell WOOOO!

But maybe you have a headache, or you just can’t jump up and down right now.

So maybe you just WOOOO from your seat. Stand your WOOOO instead of jumping it. Write it on a giant sheet of paper and lift it.

You participate in the essence of the wanting, without making yourself unduly uncomfortable. You take care of yourself. Yay!

Related to that!

It might happen, while in someone’s Enthusiastic, that your stuff comes up.

Maybe some monsters. Or some jealousy. You might find that it’s hard to be fully happy for the person doing Show & Tell because of your own stuff.

Understandable! This is a sign of appreciation-depletion on your part. It means you’ll need to give yourself the experience of safety, permission, amnesty and receiving. And to convene your own Enthusiastic.

For the moment though, if you’ve committed to an Enthusiastic, it’s important that you be present for the experience.

It’s great if you’re noticing your stuff. That’s information you can use later. It doesn’t make you a bad person! Scribble some notes about it.

And then interact with it later on your own time. Because we don’t let our stuff take the stage at someone else’s Enthusiastic. We’re here to give.

Your Enthusiastic exists to give you what you need.

In the way that you can receive it right now.

You don’t have to want questions.

Or you don’t have to answer questions if you do want questions.

You can change what you want at any point, and let people know (“I thought I wanted YAYs but actually I would just like happy appreciative murmuring!”).

You can run the whole thing from another room, or by having a small bunny interview you or while hiding behind a potted plant. Safety first!

It’s a practice. We practice.

Enthusiastic celebration! And the commenting blanket fort.

Today you get to be my Enthusiastic. If you feel like it.

You can do it silently by yourself or here in the comments. Whatever feels right.

Here is how I would like to receive enthusiasm today:

• Loving hand-on-heart sighs.
• Saying YAY for the existence of the Enthusiastic and YAY for any aspect of it.
• Appreciation for my Show & Tell (which was on the subject of what an Enthusiastic is, because I am sneaky!).
• If you have participated in an Enthusiastic with me before and have stories about how awesome it is to be a member of an Enthusiastic, that would be great!

Yay!

p.s. I am running lots of Enthusiastics right now because I need all the enthusiasm I can get to support Shivanauticon. If you come to a Rally (Rally!) this year, you could be in an Enthusiastic with me! But only if you want to. :)

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Here’s the situation.

At the Playground, we have a Toy Shop.

The Toy Shop is beautiful and sparkly and everyone loves it. Everyone.

The Toy Shop is full of toys. And things that aren’t toys. All of which are for sale.

For example…

For example, we have:

Playground mugs.

And sets of gorgeous cards for stone skipping.

Lamps. Yoga blocks. Postcards. Notebooks. Jewelry. Wearable spirographs.

Butt-monsters and Pouncers and Yowls and other adorable creatures.

It has been scientifically proven that if you are feeling sad and you touch the butt of one of our butt-monsters, you will immediately feel better.

Magic wands. Bottles of Playground spray. Heidi’s potions for mixed-up emotions.

Pirate monkey meditation cushions.

And so many other special things.

Except.

Except for some reason it is still not entirely apparent that the Toy Shop is a store. Where you can buy things.

Invariably someone will ask me on the last day of Rally if there is any way at all that they can purchase a Playground mug to take home.

So I say: Uh yeah, they’re in the Toy Shop. With price tags on them!

This person is then delighted and goes home to drink tea.

Or if I mention at the end of a class that the things in the Toy Shop are for sale, everyone goes Ohboyohboy zooomygaaaaaaaaawwwd really? Yay!

And then they buy toys from the Toy Shop and they are happy.

So I’m looking at this. Here’s what I’ve got so far.

1. The name.

Unsurprisingly, the Toy Shop got its name from metaphor mouse.

And my definition of toys is probably wider than most people’s.

Maybe if we’d called is something boring like “The Gift Shop” or “The Store” or “The Souvenir Stand” or “The Place Where You Can Buy Stuff”, we wouldn’t be dealing with this.

But I like the name. For me, toy shop contains [+glee] [+excitement] [+childlike wonder] [+possibility] [+magic] [+anticipation] [+happiness].

But maybe it needs a subtitle for the sign? Okay!

2. So we could add onto the name…

Like:

The Toy Shop. How you can take the Playground home with you.

Or:

The Toy Shop. Hey, this stuff is actually for sale.

Kidding with that last one. But only slightly.

3. Speaking of signs…

What would a useful sign say?

We already have a sign above the door that says it’s the Toy Shop.

And we have a small framed sign inside the Toy Shop that says something like this:

How to get stuff from the Toy Shop! Talk to Havi after class.

Except it’s pretty small. Maybe too small? And the Toy Shop is pretty overwhelming and sparkly and packed with goodness, so maybe people don’t notice the sign?

And there is also a sign that explains that we take cash, checks or we can set up payment by Paypal.

But maybe we need different signs or bigger signs or different wording.

4. Price tags.

Much of the stuff in the Toy Shop is price-tagged.

But some things (like the pouncers or the butt-monsters) don’t really tag easily.

We do have giant chalkboard signs that say how much those cost. But still.

5. Displays.

Maybe more displays. Or posters?

Or pieces of information?

Hi. I am a pouncer. I look like this. I am cool because I pounce on things. Also you can hide secret notes in my mouth. This is how much it costs to take me home.

6. Or displays in other parts of the Playground.

Maybe a shelf at the entrance to the Playground or by the sign-in desk.

We could feature different neat things and have a little sign that says, Hey, I am for sale. At the Toy Shop!

7. In the soft.

We know — of course — that 99.9% of biggification is really about destuckification.

So that means I need to look at my stuff.

Are there places of discomfort? Parts of me (fuzzball monsters or sad, scared selves) that do not feel safe having stuff for sale?

Where is my resistance? What does it have to say? What do I know about it?

And then I can practice destuckifying. Using things like how now is not then or talking to slightly future me.

8. Undoing the spell.

Maybe me-from-then cast an accidental spell on the Toy Shop. Keeping it invisible or small or quiet in an effort to try and keep me safe.

It is my job to undo that spell.

And you can help.

How you can help!

First, what I don’t want.

I don’t need help in the soft. I can work on that myself using Shiva Nata and all the other destuckification techniques at my disposal.

And I don’t want to be psychoanalyzed or given advice about how to work on my stuff. I’m good.

And then what I do want.

What I’m interested in is steps in the hard.

Specifically, suggestions for signs. And things to say on them. And subtitles for the store.

Other ways to make it more clear and obvious that the Toy Shop contains things that someone could buy, if that person were so inclined, and that this is lovely and exciting.

How do we make it clear that the Toy Shop is, in fact, a Toy Shop? While still staying congruent with the bigger Playground culture of play, light-heartedness, safety, amnesty, permission and spaciousness?

I want reassurance (one day the Toy Shop will be all the magical things it can be), and rejoicing (for all the work I have already put into making the Toy Shop a beautiful, peaceful, restful, loving space).

And I want snacks for my iguana pen, because I have a giant iguana that needs some love, and it’s feeling a little anxious that I’m spending time with the Toy Shop instead of talking to it today.

So iguana snacks are appreciated. You can just toss them into the pen. Thank you!

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Nor do I wish to know.

The not-knowing has worked out quite well for nearly six years of running a business, and I expect it to only get better.

The grown-ups in my company (attorney, accountant, financial planner) don’t seem to be worried either.

They trust the duck. As they should.

A little confusion never hurts.

One of my neighbors thinks I’m a business consultant. Or a life coach?

Another thinks I’m a yoga teacher. Her husband thinks I’m an unlikely internet celebrity.

Another knows that I run a sort of zany pre-school for adults and that I always get the best toys at the neighborhood yard sales.

They’re all correct. I try not to talk about it. It just adds to the mystery.

The dreaded question.

The only thing I really dislike is that awful, awful moment when you meet someone new and they ask what it is you do.

I try to avoid this. I have tried being five years old. Thanks, Maria!

Or saying that I’m a pirate queen, which is true.

But then they still want you to talk about it, and I NEVER want to talk about it.

I have tried being evasive and changing the subject. I have tried being a secret agent and a ninja and a mob boss and saying that I can’t talk about it.

With an Italian accent! Idawanna talk about it! But it still stresses me out.

Oh ho! A sneak-around!

You see, it has been decided that I am an International Woman of Mystery.

I am part of the underground IWOM Brigade.

And no matter how many questions well-meaning strangers ask about what I do as an international woman of mystery, I am marvelously unfazed.

Person: So. What do you do?
Me: Oh! I’m an International Woman of Mystery! And this is my duck, Selma.
Person: An international woman of mystery? Really? What does that entail?
Me: I wish I could tell you but then it would be considerably less mysterious. What about you?

That is the power of the International Woman of Mystery.

It’s also fun to say, in a reverberating sort of way. IWOM IWOM IWOM!

What does it mean to be an International Woman of Mystery?

I’m not sure.

Remember when I tried to figure out what a CEO would do without having to wear shoulder pads?

That’s when I was looking for the signifiers of sovereignty.

And now I’m looking for the signifiers of being an International Woman of Mystery.

Sovereignty boots? Check.

Glitter eyeliner? IWOM drag outfits! Costumes!

I might need a parasol. Or a secret ring. It could be anything!

Joining the IWOM Brigade!

Would you like to? Obviously there aren’t any criteria.

It’s not important that you be and/or identify as any part of this: woman, mysterious or international.

It’s more about attitude.

It says:

I don’t have to know, explain or justify what I do. Unless I happen to feel like it.

Or possibly: Why yes, I AM wearing glitter.

Or possibly: I am changing the subject!

It’s a personal investigation into your secret identity and your superpowers, without owing explanations to anyone else. It’s about freedom.

Play with me!

There are many ways to play.

We can up with fun possible associations (and accessories) for the IWOM Brigade. Calling cards? Badges!

Or determine the qualities of being an International Whatever of Mystery:

Radiance, of course. Freedom. Play. What else?

Or we can find other ways to Intentionally Not Agree to being put in a box.

The Comment Zen part:

We remember that talking about business, biggification and identity can bring up a lot of hard and painful stuff. We all have our stuff.

We make room for people to have their own experience, and we don’t give unsolicited advice.

Love all around. And really great sunglasses, because that part seems important.

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The businesses whose superpowers I’m invoking when I make decisions for my own business.

–> The Fluent Self, Inc — aka the pirate ship and our new island and the port we’re building… :)

So I consulted with metaphor mouse, and the word we ended up with was beacons.

Beacons!

They emit light.

They penetrate fog. They give off signals — signals that can act as both warning or celebration. They show you where you could go, if you wanted to. And the word is related to beckon, which is kind of awesome.

So. Here are the beacons for my business. Note that not all of them share similar business models — what I’m looking at instead is essence, qualities and that jumbled thing we call culture.

Zingerman’s.

I’ve referenced Zingerman’s in a number of posts — as early on as Betty Boop is my business coach (nearly three years ago).

They were featured in the excellent book Small Giants, whose subtitle — Companies that choose to be great instead of big — pretty much sums up my entire philosophy.

Instead of becoming a chain, they intentionally stayed local, to huge success.

And — in an inspiring have-cake–eat-it-too way, they’re still a thriving international company, due to the magic of the internet. Now they have a giant side business based on mail order, and they run business trainings on how to replicate what they’ve done.

There are a couple dozen other things I admire about them but in the interest of brevity, here are three:

• the quirky, silly, light-hearted, playful, colorful, distinctive graphic look and feel.
• the ridiculously high quality of training for all employees, which is very much based on the concept of sovereignty, even if they don’t call it that.
• the endless creative and non-traditional ways they’ve found to innovate (bacon camp!) and expand (the candy manufactory!).

The qualities that I’m inspired by:

Creativity, play, sovereignty, joyfulness, courage, expansiveness, service, certainty, trust, possibility.

Roller Derby!

Specifically WFTDA, the Women’s Flat Track Derby Association, but also the larger culture beyond the official organization. Everything from the derby nerds network to the drag names to the boutfits.

I love all of it.

And I am especially in awe of the way a massive organization made up of a ton of moving parts has been able to face the growth challenges that come with going from tiny to enormous in just a few years.

The qualities that I’m inspired by:

Fearlessness, power, order, trust, agility, adaptability, grace, speed, creativity, play.

Also the inclusivity: once you’re in derby, you’re derby for life. There is such an atmosphere of welcoming and belonging.

And the fun. The fact that even as a fast-changing, highly competitive athletic experience, there’s still a lot of room for fun. And for tutu-and/or-kilt-wearing referees.

Last night I taught a Shiva Nata class with the bad-ass Guns N Rollers (the team I sponsor), and it was seriously the most fun I have ever had working with athletes. We tore it up, but in the spirit of silliness. IT WAS AMAZING!

Michael Port.

This is an interesting one, because Michael and I have really different styles, in terms of marketing, voice, products, pretty much everything. There’s a lot we don’t necessarily agree on.

So maybe not a stylistic beacon or a content beacon, but a beacon in how he thinks about business and how he approaches it. I admire him.

Michael is the one who taught me about how to work with a team pirate crew, as I call it. He taught me how to hire and how to train.

I’ve learned other useful things from him as well. Like how to have deep love for your people without getting sucked into their stuff.

And the thing that I secretly think of as the inverse hourglass approach.

The qualities that I’m inspired by:

Trust, order, structure, caring, compassion, spaciousness, motivation, drive, love.

And there’s also something in there about belonging. Making room for people.

My friend Hiro and my uncle Svevo.

Two bright, creative, self-aware, fun-loving entrepreneurs, each of whom manages to live in a really sovereign way.

When they work on their businesses, they do it through play and experimentation.

Business does not get in the way of the desire to nap or go for a walk.

A feeling of urgency is a sign that there’s some internal stuff to investigate and check in with, not something that they assume is reality.

The qualities that I’m inspired by:

They do business the way they do everything else: in integrity, wholeness, patience, simplicity, wonder and delight.

Also: Comfort, trust, kindness, play, light-heartedness, provision, patience and forgiveness.

McMenamins.

The McMenamins brothers have done all sorts of spectacular things with unlikely and often abandoned buildings, in Oregon and Washington.

Like Zingerman’s, they’re another example of going big while staying local — and finding ways to grow and expand without trying to be everywhere at once or taking the bullying low road.

Cough. Starbucks.

The McMenamins spaces are all different, but they all share a similar feel, and similar warmth and goofiness.

And the concept of three-dollar-movies while getting beer and pizza delivered to your seat has made them beloved of Portlanders in particular.

Like with anything that grows, there are as many people who dislike them as like them, but I’m still hugely impressed by the choices they have made.

The qualities that I’m inspired by:

Experimentation, play, leadership, structure, innovation, conscious expansion, building community, delight in small details.

Those are my beacons.

These are the people, businesses and qualities that I’m keeping in mind as I steer the pirate ship towards bigger things and the adventures to come.

Sometimes when I’m feeling unsure of the future, I ask myself what Svevo would do, or how I’d solve a particular problem if I were the McMenamins brothers.

Having beacons doesn’t necessarily always tell me where to go, but it tells me that someone else has crossed these waters before.

And it gives me hope and inspiration. I can’t get lost if I follow the qualities.

Play with me? Comment zen for today…

I would absolutely love to know who your beacons are (in business, blogging or life in general), and what you’re inspired by.

As always, we’re all working on our stuff. Business is a trigger-filled topic and so we tread gently with other people’s stuff and let them have their own experience.

Not interested in: Arguing. People are entitled to their own beacons. No one is implying that their beacons should be your beacons. If you happen to dislike any of my beacons, that’s not information that needs to be shared.

What I would love: Thoughts on beacons and who/what your beacons are or might be, and anything related to this practice of finding the qualities.

That is all. Much love to all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and anyone who reads.

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Since I am decidedly not good at short answers, today’s post is part of my practice.

I’m trying to figure out how brevity works. To not add sixteen caveats to each thing I say. To not give three examples. To release a truth and let it land, trusting that people have the skills and wisdom to consciously interact with it on their own.

Like with the stone skippings. Except what is landing is the answer, not the question.

And — I hope — the answer will ripple out into more questions, so you can discover the questions behind the questions, which are always the interesting ones.

“I can’t decide if these people are my Right People or these other people are my people. How do I choose who to market to?”

You don’t choose your people. Just like you don’t select your friends — it’s a process that involves both sides.

If someone falls in the general category of “they like you, you like them”, they’re your people.

“What if my right people can’t afford my services?”

Within the broader category of “people you are fond of who are also fond of you”, there will be some people who have money.

There will be people who are delighted to invest their money in what you do, as a way to take part in your world.

And others who may not be able to do that yet but are happy to be in your world and spread the word. They’re your community.

“But that’s impossible because my people are [homeless/cats/have taken a vow of poverty/ homeless cats taking a vow of poverty].”

Again, right people means everyone who thinks you’re neat. It’s all the people who like you — as long as you like them too.

So even if the people you help don’t have the resources to pay for that help, they’re not the sum total of “your people”.

Instead that term includes those who benefit from your mission, who approve of it, who are excited to hear about it and anyone who wants to support it.

“I thought I was doing what I loved but I keep burning out so it can’t be what I love, right?”

Burning out doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t love it. It just means you haven’t figured out how to take care of yourself yet. Most of us haven’t. Me, included.

Putting your attention to how to take care of yourself (and building supportive systems) will make some space to figure out what your relationship is with your work.

And then you’ll know more. You’ll either do something new or you won’t. But no matter what you decide, at least you’ll have changed how you approach it.

And comment zen in the blanket fort for today.

Nothing stirs up our stuck like business. As soon as we start thinking about it, we’re already dealing with our pain:

Old experiences of hurt and rejection and desire. Outsider complex. All of our walls and resistance. Things people have said that stung. Things we have tried that didn’t work the way we’d hoped.

So we tread gently here. We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s hard.

We make room for our stuff, and for everyone else to have their stuff.

And we take ownership of our pain so we don’t project it onto other people or situations. When people share things here, we create safety by not telling them what they should do or how they should be.

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

Confidential to L!

It’s worth investigating who’s really asking the question. Is there an authority figure who doesn’t need to be an authority figure?

Also: you might want to ask Slightly Future You what she knows about this. She’s already done it. Twice!

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A very unconventional yoga studio. There will be nap time and yoga nidra and old Turkish lady yoga, and plenty of Shiva Nata and related shivanautical goodness.

And, of course, there will *not* be barbie doll instructors in leotards. No mirrors. It will be more like the Playground (playful! magical!), but not hidden to the general public.

Anyway, I’ve been working on this for a while but it’s still mostly in gwish form. Gwish!

The thing I’m paying attention to right now is bathrooms. The thoughtful kind.

What is a thoughtful bathroom?

The experience of being there tells you someone has put conscious effort into figuring out how to make you feel cared for. And welcome.

At Michelle’s lovely studio in Sacramento (Selma and I were just there in December to teach a segment of her teacher training program), she has a little bowl of hair bands.

In case you have lots of hair and you forgot one and now your hair is in your face. This happens to me all the time.

I thought this was the sweetest thing. We have one in the Playground now — in the Treasure Room, right next to the orange tray of orange ear plugs.

So I’ve been collecting.

Every time I visit a washroom, I am keeping watch for objects and symbols: whatever is kind, generous, considerate.

Then I try to figure out how we can use this in some other context at the Playground, and what I can plan for when we open the studio.

At New Seasons, they have a bowl of tampons in the ladies.

At the Playground we have a box of lady supplies, donated by a generous Friend of Playground. It currently resides in the Galley (in the cabinet under the sink).

They also have a little foot stool, perfect for a kid to step up and dry hands.

And a respectful, well worded sign. Most signs tend to either be bossy or begging. Whenever I find a really clear and sovereign sign, I jot it down in my little notebook.

Looking for congruence.

A place I love to visit in Portland is the Tin Shed. Mostly because the food is amazing — if you come to a Rally, we can totally go.

If you are a past Rallion, weigh in. Is this place not marvelous?

But I just love the restroom. Plenty of space. The lighting doesn’t make you look half dead, which I appreciate.

And then the changing table. It’s not some plastic thing that needs to be pulled out of the wall.

It’s this nice wooden piece of furniture that looks and feels like a real thing. It’s not just a nod to people who have kids live in Bolivia. It’s really lovely.

More important, it is congruent, to use a Hiro-ism.

The changing table matches the essence of what they do, and it feels harmonious with the rest of their business: homemade, friendly, unpretentious.

Speaking of Hiro.

Speaking of Hiro, I love visiting her. And not only because I love her to pieces.

When you are her guest, everything is welcoming.

And the bathroom is the best. There are always flowers. Delicious smelling lavender body wash. Plenty of everything you could possibly need.

You can’t help but think, this is the most incredibly hospitable place in the world and I never want to leave.

And it makes sense, because Hiro’s work is all about helping you belong in your life. So it’s a loving space, because that’s how she lives.

How to apply this to everything.

Being the owner of a business, I’m constantly thinking about how to apply everything to business.

And being a conscious, mindful destuckifier, I’m also trying to think about how to apply these concepts to everything else in life.

Obviously you don’t need to have an actual bathroom to have a thoughtful bathroom. I’m thinking about things like this:

What would a thoughtful contact form on a website look and feel like?

Or a thoughtful welcome packet for an online course or program.

A thoughtful policies page for your Etsy shop.

Or if you do have a bricks and mortar space, how to look from the outside like you might be the kind of place that has a thoughtful bathroom.

Where to start.

I’m looking at what the qualities of my business and the essential personality of its culture, so that I can make everything more congruent.

And examining my gwishes to get more information about what their essence is.

I think there’s something so powerful (and also marvelously subversive) in making business be about congruence and essence, instead of focusing on things like “how to build a list” or “what headlines make people click”.

Because when you’re paying attention to the feeling/experience/qualities you want both you and your people to have, that other stuff gets easier.

It becomes both less essential and more do-able.

This kind of practice also makes goals and wishes less elusive. More tangible. I may not have my studio for a while, but I know exactly how my people will feel once they’re there. And let me tell you, they will freaking love the bathroom. I can’t wait until you see it.

Play! And the comment zen blanket fort.

Here’s what I would love:

Stories or bits of information about bathrooms you adore, or other ways that businesses you like radiate qualities and make you feel at home.

And it would be neat if we could do some brainstorming about ways we can all apply this, whether to online business or life in general.

Business is a full-of-triggers thing for a lot of us, so we make room for everyone to have their stuff and we comfort our monsters as best we can.

We share our own experience without giving each other advice, unless people ask for it, in which case go for it.

And I need to end this post now because trying not to make the just one guy joke about Thoughtful Bathrooms is killing me. I need to save a fake band for tomorrow, right? Kisses!

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Very Personal Ads #76: no more trombone references
• Hello, September
• Very Personal Ads #97: mmmm toast

At the last Rally (Rally!), I spent a disproportionate amount of time thinking about what makes a supportive workspace — for me, at least.

Because that’s where the biggest gap is in my own version of the Book of You. So I started poking around, and before long I was deep into monster negotiations with the various parts of me who think that I don’t get to have space for just me.

And then I learned about tools.

Here’s how it started.

My fuzzball monsters were dead set against me having anything that looked like a supportive workspace, especially if it was silly and playful and had glitter crayons.

They were very emphatic about this. No crayons!

Even though they know from experience that I do my very best work at Rally, which is the most playful and loving space in the entire world.

The monsters were divided in two factions. The ones who think it’s DECADENT and FRIVOLOUS — that I should do without because I can.

And the ones who really, truly want me to have everything that will help me do my best work but say we can’t afford it and anyway what will people think.

But then I couldn’t remember why the crayons were so important.

It was all fascinating, but at some point I realized that I wasn’t sure myself why I get to have crayons. It was like I couldn’t really be on my own side. Interesting.

So I sent the monster brigade off to the Room of Infinite Mashed Potatoes (it’s kind of like their safe room), and took a minute for myself.

I wanted to get clear — for me — about why it isn’t really decadent or frivolous to work in a space that encourages me to approach everything I do in the most playful, creative, and expansive way possible.

I wanted to remember what it’s like (and what I’m like and what the creative process is like), when there is construction paper and crayons and yoga blocks and a hammock.

Obviously the crayons were a symbol. But they weren’t just a symbol.

The investigation behind the investigation.

The question:

Okay, so having a Wish Room that is a supportive space to work is not decadent or frivolous because…??

And the response.

1. If something helps me work better, faster, more efficiently and get more things done, that’s a reasonable business investment.
2. I’m pretty sure that other people (read: “boring grownup people”) spend money on desks, bookshelves, filing cabinets and office supplies.

   So really I’m just taking what would be a perfectly reasonable budget for the home office of a CEO of a growing company, and directing it towards different things that serve the same purpose.

3. If I were an artist, I’d need paints. If I were a sculptor, I’d need clay. If I were a designer or programmer, I’d need software. Tools! Tools!

In which I start to claim my tools.

Well, I’m not a sculptor. At least not in ways that aren’t metaphorical. But.

But I’m an inventor of culture and a writer and a teacher and a creative professional, and I need tools too.

My tools are yoga blocks and magic markers and I need them to do my work well.

Without having to know what I do.

It doesn’t matter what I do. Even if I have managed to run this company for five years without knowing what I do or being able to define it even slightly…

That doesn’t mean I don’t get tools!

Because I don’t ever have to decide what I do, dammit. But I can still know lots of things about the culture of my kingdom.

I am a …

Creator of alternative communities.

Conjurer.

Director of a preschool/yoga studio/unusual co-working space (the Playground!). Head of a corporation. Owner and CEO (Chief Eccentricity Officer, thank you).

Writer, creativity consultant and pirate queen.

Highly unconventional teacher and educator. Wild-eyed inventor of ideas, concepts, words and worlds

I am all of these things and I get to have tools!

And these are my tools.

These are my tools:

• Yoga blocks and blankets.
• Stuffed animals, cushions and a napping area with a hammock.
• Music and snacks and rugs to roll around on.
• Crayons, markers, construction paper, and glitter pipe cleaners.
• Stencils and glue sticks and color everywhere!
• Puppets, toys, stickers.
• Costumes and wigs and sovereignty boots and stripey socks.
• Feather boas! And over-the-top hats for every imaginable occasion.
• A slide and a trampoline and a slackline!
• Headphones and ear plugs and hiding places.
• Boxes and boxes and boxes.
• Bubbles to blow and magic wands to wave and magical force field spray.

My tools are pretty, powerful, sparkly, sweet, funny, childlike, welcoming. They are thoroughly unapologetic about enjoying themselves.

They want to play.

What about you?

Tools for everyone!

If you were a graphic designer, you would need software.
If you were a painter, you would need paints.
If you were a photographer, you’d need a camera and a dark room, or access to one.
If you were a knitter, you’d need yarn and needles.
If you were a baker, you’d need flour and pans and measuring cups.

You are a destuckifier. And a creative thinker. An inventor of metaphors.

A maker of culture and an explorer of internal worlds. And so many other things.

What are your tools? Play with me?

I am a ___________________ and I need tools!

These are my tools!

And comment zen for today.

As always, we all have our stuff and we all take responsibility for our stuff and make room for everyone else to have their stuff. It’s a process.

So we let people have their own experience and we don’t give unsolicited advice.

That’s it. You are more than welcome to join in, and we can cheer each other on. Yay! Tools!

Let the Tool Revolution begin!

I’m pretty sure that’s it’s just one guy.

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Hi there, qualities of the voyage that is 2012.
• Very Personal Ads #83: ramshackle and derelict?
• Friday Chicken #115: like an alligator but not.

No, the Phrase of the Year prize goes to the phrase itself.

And winning generally has to do with how useful a particular phrase is in resolving something in the business on the pirate ship that causes me stress, resentment, duress, or costs me insane amounts of money.

The 2009 winner.

Ah, 2009. Some of you probably remember the Phrase of the Year.

That was the year of working with a large staff crew, and no sense of what they were actually doing. Not knowing how to be a captain.

Lots of tossing and turning and waking up in the middle of the night wondering.

And then not wanting to nag but not knowing how to ask-without-nagging, and not being able to stand the not knowing.

The phrase of the year turned out to be:

Hey, can I get a progress report on this, please?

Clean, clear, not obnoxious, and something to say before the point of being pissed off about something not being done. An excellent Phrase of the Year.

So good that I didn’t even need to use it in 2010.

I was completely ready to be all “Hey, progress report?” in 2010. But I didn’t need to.

It was as if the essence of that magical phrase had already permeated the culture of the ship to such an extent that it had rendered itself unnecessary.

For one thing, we stopped having a crew. It’s just me and the First Mate piloting the ship, with some strategic helper mice who function as advisors.

And we replaced the disastrous $600/month bookkeeper with one who is competent. And cares. At $80/month. Huh.

I was totally ready and in position to ask for progress reports, but she reports in all the time — with enthusiasm and with bright, curious, useful questions. So I haven’t had the chance.

The 2010 Phrase of the Year also turned out to be about progress reports, though.

Mine.

My biggest screw-ups this year involved not sharing with other people where I was in my own process.

Even though I’m on permanent email sabbatical, we get hundreds and hundreds of questions requests each week. And there are always some that the First Mate doesn’t know what to do with.

He brings them to Drunk Pirate Council, and then I sit with them.

But I really sit with them. I meditate on them and brain-dance on them, and I think about how it fits with the culture of what we do here.

This takes time. And most of the uncomfortable situations and misunderstandings that happened this year came from not telling people that this is what was happening.

Here’s the 2010 Phrase of the Year:

Havi’s going to take some time to meditate on this, and we will get you an answer as soon as we have it. :)

Classic example of a time this was really needed.

A woman wrote asking if she could apply to the Week of Biggification retreat and not stay with us at the hotel, and what the cost of that might be.

To me, this was a culture question. And a useful one:

What is the culture of this shared experience, and how much of it is directly a part of being fully immersed in a very specific and other-worldly environment, eating together, having spontaneous strategy-and-silliness sessions in the late hours…?

So I had to think about group dynamics, about different ways it might work, unanticipated problems or challenges that might come up as a result.

I was curious. We mapped out options. We hired two different consultants, thinking this may well come up again, and I’d like to have a strategy for how it might work.

But we forgot to tell the Asker of the Useful Question what we were doing, so she was left hanging.

Not okay.

By the time we got back to her, she was feeling annoyed and frustrated.

And after having spent nine hours and $750 trying to come up with plans for how it could work, I didn’t have it in me to put in more time trying to explain that we hadn’t actually been blowing her off.

Even though she deserved a fair and loving response, and a clear apology. I am so sorry. It wasn’t fair. I screwed up.

My hope is that 2010 Phrase of the Year is going to help me with situations like this.

We can let people know where we are with their questions.

And that more time involved in putting together a response doesn’t mean that we care less. It means that we care more. Maybe we can share more about the process too.

I already have the Phrase of the Year for 2011.

Which is kind of hilarious because the year hasn’t started yet.

But I know what it’s going to be.

That’s a terrific idea! Why don’t you do that?

Instead of spending this year feeling anxious and overwhelmed every time someone makes a suggestion for another fabulous thing I could do, we’re going to skip that part.

Instead, we’ll go straight into encouraging other people to make those beautiful things happen. And be happy for them. And help where we can.

Turning pain into knowledge.

Sometimes when I think back on various Phrases of the Year, it’s hard not to think of all the hurt.

The misunderstandings, the pain, the missed connections. The ways that I screwed up. The residual frustration about all the ways that other people … weren’t able to be the people I wanted them to be, which is not their fault.

All that time spent being annoyed about how hard it is when you can’t get milk from a stone. My focus was in the wrong place.

But here’s what the Phrase of the Year reminds me to do:

I am allowed to have my grief and my pain. And I can also look at all that agony and remember that it’s business school tuition.

Instead of a diploma, I can just frame the Phrase of the Year and put it on my wall. And look forward to the next one, because it will be unbelievably useful.

Raising a toast.

To all the wonderful, helpful, sovereign phrases of 2011 that are still to come.

May they find us swiftly, with ease and grace.

And may there be lots of toast.

And comment zen for today.

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process.

We let people have their own experience, and we don’t give unsolicited advice.

Celebrating the Phrase of the Year with me is welcome. Drinks! And add some phrases of your own if you like. The more the merrier.

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

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Ask Havi #31: trouble sleeping
• Ow.
• Friday Check-in #40: tired and cranky edition

But when I first started my company, I read seven hundred and fifty million websites about writing business plans. And at least ten library books and back issues of a bunch of online noozletters.

The majority of these expressed the opinion that not having a plan is incredibly stupid.

Some were less obnoxious about it than others, but basically they said it’s foolhardy and wasteful to not plan, so hurry up and get to it.

That if you want to get somewhere, you can’t just wander around aimlessly because guess what, that won’t get you there.

Fine. Whatever. So I wrote a plan.

I wanted a plan mainly because I was applying for a grant. And I was applying for a grant because I had no money and no idea what I was doing. Which is hard when you’re also on a mission to make important things happen.

The plan-writing was very stressful and time-consuming. Also completely depressing.

And I didn’t know about not sharing information about your tiny sweet thing with people who don’t have context, so I showed it to [X] and asked him for advice.

“Really? Your mission is to help thousands of people around the world with this? Thousands? Around the world? That’s great, honey, but maybe you want to start with something a little more realistic.”

Anyway. I didn’t apply for the grant. I threw away the plan. Five years passed. The plan was forgotten.

And then. Last week I remembered the plan.

Hey, it’s been nearly five years. Or it will be soon.

And you know what?

I do help thousands of people around the world. Every day. With this blog and with our products and programs. Huh. Whaddya know.

But not just that.

The astronomical-seeming (to me, at the time) figures that I projected the business would be bringing in?

They made me want to throw up, but I put them in anyway because I wanted it to seem like this terrifying experiment could — theoretically — be crazy successful.

So. We’re doing way better than that, as it turns out.

In fact, we’re doing better than all the projections. Than anything I could have projected.

Of course, I did it the hard way and worked myself to the bone for most of those years.

And I was wrong about all sorts of other things too.

But really, just about everything I wrote down came true. The how wasn’t anything like what I was trying to imagine it, but if you look at the end result, all the projections were on target.

So. Where am I going with this?

Two places.

1. Not having a plan is not a big deal.

So I don’t do plans. And that’s okay.

Sure, I do maps. Loose ones. And wish-pondering. And Very Personal Ads. I think about what I want and why I want it and what my relationship is with the wanting.

I work on my stuff. I figure out what needs destuckifying and what I’m afraid of and what my monsters have to say about it.

And then I use Shiva Nata to be smarter than everyone else give me hot buttered epiphanies so I can innovate and keep things sparkly.

But mostly I observe where I’m where I’m going and check in to find out if this seems like a good thing.

Pirate queens don’t have firm objectives. I don’t try to always steer the ship in one particular direction. I am open to stopping at unexpected and unlikely ports. And to hiding out on islands.

2. It’s a Useful Exercise to write down what you want. Maybe … in a plan.

Even though I still don’t really like plans, I’m writing a five year plan right now.

Just to mess with me-from-five-years-from-now.

(Though I may ask Metaphor Mouse to help me give it a better name.)

And I’m putting some completely outrageous things in there.

Oh, the projections I’m projecting. They’re preposterous! Really, the things I’m planning for are ludicrous to the point of hilarity.

But I don’t care. Because I did it before and surprised myself. So what the hell. Why not.

Here’s a super important thing to keep in mind.

Success happens exponentially.

But our brains often can’t conceptualize exponential growth. At least, mine can’t. Not easily.

When everything goes well, it doesn’t go from two to four to six to eight.

It’s more like going from two to four to a hundred.

It feels weird to project that kind of growth because it doesn’t seem right. It can’t be real. There’s no rationale.

Sure you could go from three fans to six fans if they each tell someone about you. But hundreds? Thousands? Why would that happen?

So even though I know from experience that growth can happen exponentially, it’s still easier to imagine things happening sequentially.

So we’re limited in our perception of what’s actually possible.

And that’s okay.

I don’t think it matters. Because it’s about play.

If projections scare you and set off your monsters, don’t do them.

If projections are exciting and send you off into worlds of possibility, yay.

If it’s fun to chart out plans and how things could work one way or another, go for it.

If planning stresses you out, and you’d rather just plant small wishes on the Sunday Very Personal Ads, that’s good too.

The main thing is this:

Is biggification turning into a dreaded, stressful, painful thing? Oh no! That sucks.

That’s why we want to work on our stuff, and wear feather boas and talk to walls and have foxes design our video games.

Because your thing (your art, your music, your blog, your teaching, your business) exists to be a source of good.

And when we’re miserable — because the experts say we need a plan or because we believe the people who can’t see possibility — that makes everything so much harder.

And I will say one more thing about play.

Play is NOT childish. Wanting to play is NOT childish. Play is the stuff of life and the essence of biggification.

We can play with writing a plan or we can play with not writing a plan. Or we can finger-paint a plan with chocolate pudding. Or we can do Ironic Aerobics while wearing a tiara.

But let’s play. Let’s play like we mean it.

A five year plan! To play, play, play and dance, dance, dance.

* And the lyrics! ♫

(For everyone who didn’t go to socialist summer camp when they were kids.)

Who will sing me nine, oh red fly the banners high? I will sing you nine, oh red fly the banners high!

Nine! Nine! The months of labor!
Eight! Eight! The Workers’ State!
Seven is for the day of rest, so the workers keep their zest.
Six! Six! The workers’ week.
Five is for the five year plan.
Four the years we did it in.
Three, three, the rights of the People!
Two is for the workers’ hands, soiled and toiled and horny hard.
One is for the workers’ unity which evermore shall be. Hey!

My childhood, while screwed up in so many other ways, was clearly AWESOME.

And comment zen for the comment blanket fort.

Come play!

Make plans with me. Or don’t make plans. Or share stories about planning and not planning and ways to biggify that aren’t about what we think we should do but what is pleasurable and meaningful and full of curiosity and love.

As always, we let people have their own experience so no unsolicited advice.

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Planning without planning.
• A playdate in a blanket fort with Uh oh and Hurry.
• Biggification: part of a map. And some circles.

No. Let me say it like this:

We don’t need to be big in order to be biggified.

And certainly not any bigger than we want to.

Some explaining.

Some people think that working on biggification means they have to grow — in the sense of becoming larger.

Like this: oh no I don’t want to have giant staff meetings and oh no I need to have time for myself and oh no I don’t want a bunch of cloned coaches teaching branded programs with my name on it.

Of course you do not have to become big when you biggify.

No. That’s not what biggification is.

Biggification means:

You grow as a person. You grow your relationship with yourself. You grow into the version of you who is more at home in your skin. Who has more you-ness.

And is more comfortable sharing that kind of presence. And doing things that matter.

While connecting to the right kinds and amounts of people, presence and money to support your mission.

So.

Some (really important) points about what biggification really is.

Mindfulness.

Biggification is not about being big. It’s about being mindful.

I don’t care about big (or any variation on “think big think big”). I care about you having a conscious loving relationship with yourself and your stuff.

And not having to hide any more than is absolutely necessary for you to feel safe. So that you can connect with your people.

Meaning.

A lot of people think getting biggified means you have to want to make piles of monies.

And you can want to make piles of monies. That’s a legitimate thing to want.

But really, biggification means that you are not scared of who you will become when you have enough to live on happily, or more than enough.

It means arriving at a level of comfort with enough and with more, knowing that you can give it to the people and organizations who need it.

Knowing that you trust yourself to not become a total sleazeball.

Knowing that everything you do with all the resources you have (not just financial wealth but your big fat brain and your insights, courage, compassion, ideas and connections) has meaning.

Awareness.

Biggification is knowing what your stucknesses have to say.

It’s knowing how to discern between what is true for you and what is fear.

All the worries of what if I have to grow BIG and then I won’t like who I am or how my life is? This isn’t biggification.

That’s fuzzy monsters. That’s patterns. That’s our stuff. That we get to work on and destuckify.

Safety.

Mindful biggification means agreeing to not drag yourself out of your comfort zone (man, that’s an old post).

It means consciously choosing to challenge yourself while still creating safe spaces.

It means not going the way of resistance and fighting and hurling yourself at walls.

Not going the way of doing violence to yourself. Dissolving fear instead of making war on it. Healing habits instead of breaking them.

Noticing what’s going on and being as understanding and playful as you can stand.

Play!

When we biggify, we are always playing.

We wear costumes. We dance our patterns. We let silliness and goofballery and magic markers be a normal part of this growth that is organic and pleasurable and fun.

I have a lot to say about play. This might need its own post.

But yes, play is why I have a Playground (with monkeys!) instead of a yoga studio. It’s why I have a duck instead of a business partner. It’s why I’m a pirate queen instead of a CEO.

It’s why we rally at the Rally (Rally!) instead of a seminar or a summit or things that grownups go to. It’s why we have Drunk Pirate Council instead of meetings.

It’s why we’re having a good time.

It’s the obvious next step.

Biggification is always the natural extension of destuckifying.

If you spend enought time working on your stuff and rewriting your patterns, you’ll find that you have a lot to say.

You’ll find that there are things you care about passionately. And people you want to inspire or connect with. You’ll feel more of a pull to do things that matter.

It still doesn’t mean you want to have flunkies or that you want crazy visibility.

It means you feel significantly more comfortable being you out loud. And having whatever support need in order to do that with ease and grace.

And this is a good thing.

What’s not that important.

1. Whether or not you want to be HUGE.

It’s your life and your business. You’re a sovereign being. If you don’t want big, you don’t ever have to go big.

2. All those things that the biggifiers and experts talk about (having a niche, knowing your demographics, blah).

You can care about these things if you want to. But you don’t have to. I don’t.

What is — very — important.

• That you feel safe and supported putting things you care about out into the world so its right people can connect with it.
• That you bring more of your voice to the things you care about.
• That you don’t have to be intimidated by big. Or that you’re working on your stuff and destuckifying, so that you’ll be able to know that your choices come from love and not fear.
• That whatever being fabulously successful (and happy about it) means to you can happen in a way that doesn’t require you doing stuff that is anxiety-inducing.
• Stopping for thing like picnics. And costume changes. And to find out what you need next.

At the comment pajama party …

There is so much pressure in this online world. To figure out the right way, and to do what all the experts say (even though there’s conflicting advice everywhere).

And to do it quickly because we have bills to pay and we have urgency monsters, both of which are equally demanding.

So I just wanted to recognize out loud how painful and frustrating that can be.

In the meantime, we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We let people have their own experience, and we don’t give advice unless someone asks for it.

Internet hugs. And popcorn!

Postscripting for three people: we’ll be spending 8 days on this (figuring out your plan for biggifying in a way that’s fun, not-scary, very effective and doesn’t require hugeness) in Asheville in November: The Week of Biggification. Password: pickles.

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Beacons.
• Copywriting advice courtesy of me-from-9-months-ago.
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