The ones that do work.

That is to say:

The new patterns, the new customs and rituals, the new techniques, the new approach.

(If you’re a shivanaut, you’re intimately familiar with this process. Engaging with Shiva Nata means you’re constantly deconstructing patterns and replacing them with the new ones. It’s really hard!)

But often there’s a gap. And inside of this gap you’re hyper aware of all the things that are not working, and still not clear on what form the new pattern is going to take.

That’s where CONGRUENCE comes in.

Part of what’s happening in this type of period of frustration (and I go through this fairly often because I do a lot of internal processing) is this:

It’s not just that you’re aware of the things that aren’t working. You’re also seeing evidence all around you that points to the extreme severity of This Is Not Working.

And you’re extra-sensitive to everything that doesn’t feel congruent. Everything that is not in line with the new way can feel jarring or pokey.

Extreme cognitive dissonance! It’s just one guy!

You’re noticing all the places in your life that are not harmonious with the way you actually want to feel.

One of the things that I have found helpful — for me! — in these times of transition-ey process-ey aaaaah-I-hate-everything-in-my-life is this:

Making tiny little symbolic things more congruent. And getting rid of tiny little symbolic incongruencies.

Tiny things.

It could be just one thing.

Or it could be just ten things.

Or however many you like.

The way I do it is by wandering around Hoppy House or the Playground or my office aka the pirate queen quarters, looking for what doesn’t fit.

And I make a REALLY BIG DEAL out of the symbolic value of releasing incongruence.
Translation: moving things around! Throwing things out!

What this looked like yesterday.

Me:

“Listen up, WORLD! I am DONE with things! I am done with things that are incongruent! Done with things that are unsovereign! Done with things that are not in present time!

“Or any combination of the above!

“And I am READY for things that are congruent, harmonious, sovereign and fabulous.”

And then I remembered again:

This is the pain and dissonance of my current growth period — right now I’m hyper aware of all the things that are not harmonious with how I need them to be.

So of course I feel like crap.

As for my panicked “oh no the old things aren’t working, where are the new ones?”, we know how this works. The new tools will come as I get rid of those things which are not congruent.

This happens after every Rally (Rally!). It happened after Crossing the Line (password: haulaway), and we totally prepared for it there because we knew it was coming. This is a normal thing that can happens when you cycle through a big internal change.

And that’s good because things need to move and change. That’s part of being alive. It’s when they don’t change (or I try to not allow them to change) … then they stop working and become stagnant.

There’s even a whole page about this in the Book of Havi.

So find out what you’re done with and be done with it.

What am I done with? Let’s find out…

I am done with this green visor on the giant duck that lives on top of the red wall at the Playground! I don’t know why. A few months ago I thought it was delight-filled and sweet. But now it’s wrong. Gone!

I am done with this list of iguanas!

I am done with not taking care of myself!

I am done with holding onto presents that I don’t want!

I am done with the Lost & Found box!

I am done with this door not closing properly!

I am done with all of these things.

And I am ready to discover what the harmonious and congruent version of these things might look like / sound like / feel like.

So there were tiny changes.

The visor got put on a stuffed animal (who loved it!).

I decided that none of the iguanas actually needed me, they were just reminders of things I don’t like, so I tossed the list.

A bunch of presents at Hoppy House got recycled and regifted.

The First Mate was charged with getting the door fixed.

I still don’t know what to do with the Lost & Found box but it is being moved to a new place so I don’t have to look at it while I’m working. Maybe I’ll write a Very Personal Ad for this one.

I still don’t know what the new way is yet.

But there are fewer barriers to it coming in.

So I don’t have to know. I just have to keep making room for it.

That’s what I did yesterday.

Today I feel more like myself than I have in a while.

I feel less frustrated about the gap between knowing what I don’t want and remembering what I need.

This is what I’m focusing on right now:

Trusting that the new patterns are coming in.

Welcoming them by removing tiny, symbolic things that remind me of what isn’t working, and by making space.

Play with me! And the commenting blanket fort.

You are welcome to search for tiny, symbolic mini-changes in your space or in your day.

You can leave a loving hand-on-heart sigh for the shared experience of those gap times.

You can use the tools and explore and discover. You can color some monsters. It helps. It’s crazy, but it helps.

You can throw things you are done with in a giant magical recycling elevator-shaft that I am establishing here. Into the completion pot!

Or drop off some gwishes.

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We take responsibility for our stuff. Because without sovereignty and spaciousness, this whole thing falls apart.

And we make this a safe space by not telling each other what to do, how to be or how to feel. We make room for each other.

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

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

• When you need support and aren’t getting it
• Hello, February. 2012.
• Me interviewing myself again. About systems.

Like a mysterious project, something we’ve been understandably avoiding.

Or when you sign up for Rally (Rally!). Or say yes to a giant and powerful — and therefore slightly terrifying — voyage like Crossing the Line.
Password: haulaway

I think the Panicky Jitters might also be related to the Grumblethrum Collective.

The first question.

For me, the first question is always about how I can care for myself:

What can I do (or what needs to happen) right now so that I can feel safe, supported and sovereign?

And what usually comes out of that line of questioning is the recognition that not only do I need safety and stability, but so do my fears, monsters and walls:

Okay, what needs to happen for the Panicky Jitters to feel safe too?

There are three assumptions here:

1. All fear/pain is legitimate. Even if I don’t remember the source or understand why it’s there.
2. The secret mission of the Panicky Jitters is this: they want desperately to keep me safe from Bad Things (like rejection, humiliation, depression, loss). They want me to be safe and supported.
3. I also want safety and support, so by giving these to the Panicky Jitters, I’m caring for me. And vice versa.

What does a safe room look like?

It depends.

If I’m in a situation where I can ask the Panicky Jitters what they need, I will. But sometimes they’re being so loud and intense or so vague that it’s impossible to interact with them until they’ve calmed down.

So I declare the existence of the perfect-for-them safe room.

No one can get in. It is completely contained. There are loving lion-guards outside the door.

I go by feeling:

Should there be skylights? Hmm. Not today. It needs to feel really cozy and snug.

Blankets everywhere. Cubbies. Things to hide under.

Are there bright colors? No, not bright. But warm. Muted maroons, rich deep autumn oranges, velvety blues and browns.

What kind of food should there be? Is there a pantry? Pizza delivered by elves?

There are red bowls everywhere, filled with nuts and dried fruit. There is a giant pot of steaming delicious soup. Which you can drink from little mugs. Okay!

What do the Panicky Jitters do there?

Whatever they like.

They can nap. They can draw with crayons. They can read in the library where the books go all the way up to the ceiling. They can sit by the fireplace or take long baths in the heated soaking pool.

They can make requests for any changes, additions or alterations that they like. It’s their space. It’s their home for as long as they want to be there.

And once they’re there, we can secretly make plans to circumvent the things they are afraid might happen. By proxy, if necessary.

Step 1: Giving legitimacy.

The Panicky Jitters are almost ridiculously normal. Everyone gets them.

This is what’s going on in my head when I am about to be a student/participant at an event/retreat/whatever:

“I’m not going to like anyone. And then I’ll be stuck there with these horrible people who will not just be horrible but annoyingly self-congratulatory about their horribleness.

There will be nothing for me to eat. I’ll spend the whole time thinking about food. I’m hungry right now just thinking about it. It will be hellish.

Also everyone there will be a real [insert all my insecurities here about not being whatever it is I think I should be] and I’ll be the awkward outsider, like always.

There won’t be space to be alone. I’ll cry and have anxiety attacks. It will be a huge waste of time and money.

Not to mention: what am I going to weeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar?!“

Sometimes I just need to remember that even untrue and absurd fears deserve to exist. And that I am not alone. These are communal fears. They hang out in the ether, and we all plug in to them.

Step 2: Reassurances and back-up plans!

What follows is the answers I’d give to people coming to Rally or an event at the Playground.

Plus the answers I’d give to myself if I were going to someone else’s thing. Your reassurances and back-up plans might be different. That’s fine!

What if the people suck?

Me to you: My people astound me. They’re lovely. I always end up adoring all of them. You’ll discover all sorts of things in common, aside from the shared Panicky Jitters.

Me to me: I can be on Silent Retreat! I can have a strong force field. I can look for the one person who is always there that I connect with. I can be in a secret costume!

But I don’t know what to wear!

Me to you: You will definitely be better-dressed than messy moi because I pretty much wear the same thing every single day. Even Selma changes clothes more often.

Assume that I will be wearing black pants. Probably these (the first one). With a t-shirt or a loose cotton dress. And a hoodie? If it’s cold. That’s me. Wear whatever you like.

Me to me: Eh, the thing about being eccentric is that there is leeway. You’ll already be the one with the duck. People will make allowances for everything else. Just wear stuff you can stretch and feel comfortable in.

Foods!

Me to you: There is the yummiest food in the world on our street. Plenty of vegetarian, vegan, gluten-free, whatever you need. Plus snacks. See the Rally FAQ.

Me to me: I can pack snacks! I can have emergency back-up plans.

What if everyone is X and I’ll be the only one who is Y?

Me to you: We all have outsider syndrome but it won’t be like that. Promise.

Me to me: Oh, right. Outsider syndrome is never true. It just feels true. I can look at why Now Is Not Then. And I can pop the bubbles.

What if I get overloaded? What if it’s too intense? Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh?

Me to you: We will definitely be doing this in a way that’s not self-abusive and miserable.

Free time every day. Optional activities. Choice. Space. Daily designated time to projectize, nap, run away, decompress. Plus you can always take yourself to the Refueling Station and close the curtain to be alone.

Me to me: I am a sovereign being. I can make my own choices. I will pause when I need to, and I can make my own breaks.

But the awkwardness! Total strangers!

Me to you: It’s going to feel like a reunion. A hilarious Fluent-Self reunion of people you didn’t know you were friends with. You will feel right at home.

Me to me: I can change how I am present by preparing for the voyage. By preparing in general. By setting it up. And I can do the alignment exercise.

What if it’s great while I’m there but then I go home and forget it all?

Me to you: No point making all these changes and not getting to keep them! We’ll cover implementation magic and how to take it home.

Me to me: Once something is planted, it’s planted. Let the fractal flowers take care of it. You need this for some reason, so now your job is to trust that you will find a way to use this. Also: Now Is Not Then.

I don’t know what to bring!

Me to you: We’ll give you a packing list. Main thing is gigantic notebook and something to write with, because there will be much scribbling. And warm socks. And a raincoat. Really, that’s mostly it.

Me to me: Pens. Notebooks. Socks. Lipgloss. Duck. Phone charger. Secret costumes.

Back to the safe room.

Whenever I start to interact with the Panicky Jitters, it always seems like their panicking and jittering is infinite. Like the List of Seventeen Billion Things.

But when I insist that their fear is legitimate and that they’re allowed to feel safe, and that we can come up with sneaky ways to make sure they get what they need, everything changes.

It usually turns out that there are maybe eight things they’re worried about. And then we’re set.

Sometimes they like the safe rooms so much that they want to move in. Go for it.

Play! And the comment blanket fort agreement.

You can make safe rooms for your own Jitters, panicky or otherwise.

You can deposit Monster Concerns here and we will take care of them in the Monster-Watching Collective (we have toys!).

You can practice giving legitimacy and loving reassurances.

As always, we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process.

We make room for people to have their stuff, we take responsibility for what’s ours, we notice patterns.

We keep this a safe space by not giving each other unsolicited advice.

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

Postscript!
If you’re thinking about coming to a Rally (Rally!) in 2012, do it during the not-for-much-longer Plum Duff days. Password: extraraisins

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

• Clint Eastwood.
• A love letter to you. For the moment in which you become an adventurer.
• The Grumble Thrum Collective.

And often a request that I talk about the how.

I’ve wanted to do some teaching about this, but really, there’s one response to that kind of deep pain, and that’s a loving hand-on-heart full body sigh of acknowledgment.

Possibly a hug, but only if the person wants one.

So I want to say this:

If you’re in the place where you’re not yet willing/able to consider ways to ease into this practice, that is absolutely understandable.

I hear the pain. I see the pain. This pain is legitimate.

Just acknowledging how painful it is to think about this is enough of a practice.

And you might want to just do that for a while. To interact with the idea that this is watering the fractal flowers and doing what it needs to do.

If or when you decide you’re ready to continue… I have some more reminders. :)

This is hard stuff. Maybe the hardest stuff there is.

Even thinking about this subject is challenging. And courageous.

• Take it slowly.
• Safety first! Make safe space for yourself to process this.
• Use what you can. Discard what doesn’t speak to you.
• Maybe this is just going to plant some seeds for later on. That’s more than enough.
• There is nothing you have to do or get right.
• You are loved. By me. For interacting with the concept, even if you need to stop here.

Also important to add: There is no should.

This work is not a requirement.

It’s a practice — an advanced practice — that happens in a loving, patient, exploratory, completely guilt-free environment.

If I can’t forgive myself for something, that’s where I’m at. That’s okay.

Same goes for you.

Ad infinitum. If I can’t be okay with being okay with not being able to forgive myself, that’s where I’m at. If I can’t be okay with THAT, baby that’s how it is. And so on.

And also: a quick word about monsters.

Nothing brings up monster voices faster than this type of practice. They’re full of useful information and they want to protect you, but caution is recommended.

You might need to make safe rooms — one for you and one for them to hide out in and listen in for the duration.

You might want to deposit some of them into the monster-watching daycare collective.

Or invite negotiators.

Or use a proxy so they can focus their attention on a less painful subject (the stand-in for the thing you’re working on).

Definitely do NOT start this practice with the things you regret the most. Start small. Small is good.

We dance at the edges of the edges of the pain. We make things as safe as we possibly can. We do not interact directly with the hurt if there’s any chance we could fall back in.

And whatever you do, give them clear parameters. Example: They can comment in the margins, but they can’t yell. They have to hear you out first. They have to let the scientists take notes. Etc.

If you don’t have experience talking down the parts of you who say you aren’t allowed to take care of yourself in this way, I highly recommend the monster manual & coloring book. And possibly also Emergency Calming The Hell Down.

Alright. We’re ready. It’s quick. Here’s what you do.

1. You tell the story. Like you’ve never told it before. Not attached to a narration. Like it’s a completely new story. And!
2. You use the third person. You-from-then becomes “she” or “he” or whatever your preferred pronoun is.
3. You call on the version of you who can tell this story. Bring him or her to the front of the V, and make safe spaces for the sad, hurt and angry parts of you to grieve. I would probably call on Yoga Teacher Me for this. Or Writer Me.
4. You imagine this is a story about a past experience of your best, best friend. The person you love most in the entire world. This happened to them.
5. You imagine you’re telling this story to someone you love and trust completely. A curious, compassionate listener. Who’s not there to judge. Just to witness. Receptive, understanding and kind.
6. You explain the extenuating circumstances behind the experience. This is where your monsters will probably say, “It’s STILL NOT OKAY!”, and you’ll explain that you’re not justifying the choices or actions of the person whose story it is. You’re just giving background.
7. You don’t have to tell the whole story. You don’t have to tell the hard parts. You’re really just setting the scene. That is enough.
8. You breathe. You wait until something moves. You thank the storyteller, the subject, and the listener.

Here is an example.

“This is the story of a time our sweet Havi made a very hard decision and it put her in an incredibly painful situation, and she wished she had decided differently.

“The thing to understand about Havi-then is that she was functioning on pretty much no sleep. She was working two different bartending jobs. Sometimes she’d close out one bar at seven in the morning and open at the other one at noon or three.

“It had been years since she’d had a safe place to live, regular healthy meals, anything even resembling consecutive hours of sleep with any regularity. She lived in constant fear about basic things. She was recovering from a painful relationship during which she had lost any remaining sense of sovereignty. Her decision-making capabilities were extremely impaired, and she didn’t even know it.”

{INTERRUPTION by well-meaning fuzzy-bellied monsters: “No excuses! No excuses!” We explain: Not excusing. Just giving relevant background.}

We continue.

“Havi-then did not have any of the tools that we have today. She didn’t know about interacting with the hard. She didn’t have access to slightly-future-her. She did not know how to help herself.

“She wasn’t even aware that she could receive help. And she wouldn’t have liked it anyway.

“She was using the tools she had: guilt, repression, denial, alcohol, cigarettes, ignoring the signs. She was sticking with what she knew: the things that gave her the perception of experiences of ease, power, stability and release.

“She perceived a choice between losing everything, including her entire support network, and letting something happen that was harmful to her and to one other person, but wouldn’t cost her everything she had.

“She wouldn’t make that choice now. She wouldn’t even be in that kind of situation now, but that’s where she was.”

{INTERRUPTION by well-meaning fuzzy-bellied monsters: “But-but-but! It’s still not okay! It’s still horrible!” We explain: Yes. It was a horrible situation that shouldn’t ever happen to anyone. We wish for a different choice, but we also recognize that making a different choice would require being more cognizant, as well as knowing what she knew after the fact. We know you want to protect us from that kind of pain happening again. Protection without blame is what she needs right now.}

And here we are.

Havi-then is how I got to become Havi-now.

I wish she’d had access to less painful ways of acquiring knowledge, but I will take the learnings.

Every loving choice I make now (for more sleep, for paying attention, for appreciation) is thanks to the hard things I’ve learned about what doesn’t work.

It has taken me years to get to this point, but I feel a lot of love for her. She was in survival mode. She fought for me-now.

I’m going to do things differently than she did, but I have that ability because of what she taught me.

She was doing what she could with the extremely limited tools at her disposal, in circumstances that I wouldn’t wish on anyone, and now she deserves to be cared for. She deserves to retire gracefully, with flowers. And with a deep hand-on-heart full-body sigh of acknowledgment.

Safe rooms for her. Safe rooms for me. Safe rooms for all of us. And love.

Reassurances.

If this stuff seems way beyond anything you could ever do, give it time.

If this seems like another or the next step in the lifelong process of working on your stuff, getting to know how you function and rewriting patterns, that’s marvelous.

Let’s keep doing the work.

(And if you want to actively practice and become the person who destuckifies automatically, I’d like to work with you at Crossing the Line. Password: haulaway. Nearly full. If you need a scholarship, we have 2 different kinds. If you need a place to stay, we have those too.)

Comment zen for today.

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

We meet each other and our own pain with hand-on-heart sighs, with acknowledgment and permission. And amnesty.

We make this the safest space on the internet by not telling each other what to do or how to feel. We take responsibility for our stuff. We let other people have their stuff.

Let’s throw things into the pot, and deposit love for each other.

Tomorrow night is Yom Kipur, so this seemed like good timing. Be as kind to yourself as you can stand (but not more than that, because that would be mean), and know that you are loved and appreciated for being part of my world.

The very last thing.

Additional loving thoughts for Steve Jobs. Every word I have ever posted online was written on an Apple computer. This site was conceived of, designed and built on one. Same for all of my products. Same for the birth of the Playground. Appreciation. Today I am practicing breathing in some of the qualities of his vision: grace, ease, beauty, lightness, passion and love.

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

• The questionable practice of de-guiltifying
• Ask Havi #16: Holiday Loneliness
• A difficult question and a difficult answer

It might be just the thing. It might also not make sense right now. It might speak to a tiny seed for later.

You might think it’s not for you because of situations and circumstances, but actually it is for you.

It is a letter for Slightly Future You, but you can read it now.

It is a letter for a version of you, the one who will be there when you decide to maybe yes maybe yes yes yes yes go ahead and journey to the Playground.

The you who will set off on a Rally (Rally!). Or a Shivanautical Academy of Play training. Or another adventure entirely.

The point is: this is for you. Eventually.

My dear,

My dear,

There is something I have to tell you. It is a wonderful and a hard something.

When you sign up for this experience, you are saying YES to our grand adventure together, as well as to all the possibilities that it holds. Or at least a YES to meeting those possibilities and getting to know them.

You are saying YES to the voyage.

And there are some hugely important things about saying YES to a voyage that no one ever really talks about. We need to talk about them.

1. Saying YES to a voyage can be pretty freaking terrifying.

This is normal and to be expected. There is a very good reason for this, trust me.

2. A voyage — especially a voyage like this one — changes you.

There’s really no good way around this.

It just does. It changes you.

3. Not in a bad way.

It’s not like you become someone else.

You’re still you. It’s just better.

You become more of yourself. Filled up with shining, radiant you-ness.

Almost as if you’re suddenly…more at ease with yourself. More there. More at home in your life, and more at home making conscious, loving changes in your life.

Congruent is the word I took from Hiro to describes this. Present is another good word.

4. But you know what? Change is scary.

Even the very best kinds of totally-good-for-you and desired change are scary. Even the changes that you have hungered after and gwished for.

And this deep, powerful becoming-more-you identity change is extra-triple-quadruple scary.

Internal shifting. It’s hard stuff.

5. Because there are parts of you who are deeply invested in these changes not happening.

What do I mean by parts of you?

Old fear and old hurts.

Sad, scared, younger versions of you who forget that now is not then.

Grooves of patterns. Samskaras. Neurons running down their familiar pathways. Assumptions and habits. And Fuzzball monsters.

They don’t want you to have this experience. They don’t want to lose you.
And they suspect that once you do this, they won’t be able to keep you paralyzed with fear anymore.

6. Forces in motion. Equal and opposite reaction.

So in that moment of making a commitment to the forces of positive change, you’ve set something in motion.

And that something includes all the forces of resistance that DON’T want it. Ack! No motion! Make it stop!

You have invoked the wanting, and with it you have woken up all the aspects of you who are afraid of what will happen when you get it.

The desire is fighting with the fear of what is desired. And you might perceive this as: anxiety, stuckness, heart-palpitations, dread, paralysis, doom, oh-dear-lord-what-have-I-done?!

I repeat: all of this is normal. This is okay. The resistance is a sign that you really do want it. But yes, it is not fun.

7. And the experience has already begun.

You’ll think that the voyage is happening on the dates you’ve marked off on your calendar but that’s not true.

The adventure and all the trepidation/panic/excitement that goes along with it does not begin when you arrive at the Playground.

It’s happening from the moment you sign up.

It’s happening from the moment you decide.

It’s happening from the moment you know. Maybe even the moment before that.

Something has been set in motion.

8. I have to tell you something else.

Even if you’ve never done Shiva Nata (which is fine), I think you’ll understand this:

People who are not shivanauts think that they are their patterns.

“I’m sad. I’m scared. I’m anxious. I’m upset. I’m freaking out.”

As if: This is a truth about the universe that I have identified, and it is completely factual, and this experience is the entirety of my being. It defines me.

While people who do Shiva Nata know that everything is a pattern.

“Fear. This feels familiar. Oh, right. Pattern.

“This is information. This is useful. This is normal. This is interesting.

“So. How can I interact with this? What elements do I recognize? Where are the gaps?

“How can I lovingly, intentionally and creatively acknowledge and interrupt this pattern so it can be rewritten?”

You can decide to approach things that way too. Anything. That’s what this site and my six-year-old business and my entire life are all about.

9. Call it by name.

In that moment of anxiety about saying YES to the adventure, you can name it for what it is:

This is me, going through the normal thing that happens upon saying yes to the big adventure. And I get to interact with this experience. It’s not happening to me. I am approaching it.

10. Choose conscious entry.

Several years ago, I did a training in Israel with Dharma Mittra, and he said this beautiful thing about yoga poses.

Try to enter and exit a posture as you would want to be in it.

This concept made my brain explode and also I really did not like it.

I already had my grunt-and-struggle ways of getting in and out of things. All this attention to entry and exit seemed like just another thing to feel guilty/sad about.

But later I appreciated this. Conscious entry. Conscious exit. It’s what we practice at Rally (Rally!).

We do it here on the blog too. In the Friday Chicken, the weekend VPAs, the saying Hello, Day or Hello, Month or Hello, Moon or Hello, Rain.

So in this moment of YES to a voyage: what if you entered as you wanted to be in it?

If you want to feel calm, peaceful, energized and sparkly-excited at Rally, call on those qualities when you press the YES button.

11. Like this:

What if you intentionally made space for the fear and the worry?

You can make safe rooms for yourself.

You can find out why now is different than then.

You can call for a negotiator or use metaphor mouse or color in a monster or listen to my Emergency Calming The Hell Down audio.

You can experiment and play. Without diving into the hard and the scary, acknowledging its existence. Interacting with its existence. Staying at the edges.

You can get grounded and centered for the YES, knowing the fluttery butterflies are part of adventuring.

You can know that you are loved and adored. You are welcome and you belong. I do not expect anything of you except for what is already there.

You are ready. And the adventure will happen as it needs to happen.

That was my love letter. And here’s the blanket-fort comment zen.

Working on your stuff is hard. I’ve been doing pretty much nothing but this for the past nearly seven years and it’s still hard. Less hard. But still.

It’s a practice. It takes time and repetition. We make room for the hard and painful parts. We give ourselves and each other spaciousness and permission. We take responsibility for our experience.

We don’t tell each other what to do or how to feel. We pause (paws!) and breathe. We bring the hard parts to the fountain.

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

• Clint Eastwood.
• Building safe rooms for the Panicky Jitters.
• Stories about the relationship between money and time. Part 2.

But mainly I can’t decide if it’s worse that I didn’t get a weekend or a vacation
that I had been so dearly looking forward to…
or if it’s worse that I allow external circumstances to take over
because I don’t want people to think bad things about me. Familiar?

Wanting to please and fear of not pleasing
winning out over the hard-earned/hard-learned truths I’ve committed to.
I guess it’s all the worst part.

Because I am more depleted now than when I set out to vacation
and I want to be cared for
and that job is mine
and I am not good at it
yet.

Yet.

Notes.

1. The above is what we call a woem. Woem!
2. A woem is a poem of woe and grumbles.
3. It’s something we invented at the Whine Bar in my Kitchen Table program. Full name: Crankypants McGrumbleBug’s Kvetchtastic Whine Bar!
4. Its purpose is to make you feel better through writing it.
5. Or at the very least to get some of the woe out of your head.
6. Because when you acknowledge pain and grief, and give it room to exist and be legitimate, something moves.
7. And usually you also notice something interesting too. Side effect!
8. The thing I noticed was about how there aren’t any bears. Kind of like how on some level I know that there is no shoe.
9. My pain and resentment was my stuff, as it pretty much always is.
10. The other thing I noticed was about YET.
11. I am a fan of yet.
12. It takes the sting out of blame.
13. It says, “Okay, so maybe I’m not there yet but I’m working on it and I’m in a process.”
14. It says, “I’m here. Right now. And here is okay because there is a trajectory in play, and this is where I’m at with it.”
15. Yet opens up possibility and spaciousness.

Play with me? And comment zen for the giant blanket fort.

• If you would like to write a woem (or musings about YET), go for it.
• You can share it if you like but you totally don’t have to.
• The brilliant thing about woems is that they don’t have to be written especially well, or at all. Because that’s not the point. The point is interacting with woe.
• The fountain doesn’t judge. Woes or grumbles can be tiny or large. They all count.
• A woem about toe-stubbing is just as valid as a woem about deep grief and loss.
• We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff.
• We take responsibility for our stuff and we make room for other people to have their stuff.
• We make this a safe and welcoming space by not telling each other what to do, how to think or how to feel.

Kiss!

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

• Sweetness for coming-in me.
• The fountain.
• Very Personal Ads #114: easily and graciously

While we have been talking quite a bit about projects, I have not actually explained what I mean by “project”.

Projects? Adventure, missions, episodes, whatever your projectizing metaphor happens to be.

So let’s talk about what I’m trying to say when I’m talking about projects.

Because this is important.

And also because I’m pretty sure the definition that I’m working with is much broader than people suspect.

Thank you, commenter mice and people who come to Rally (Rally!) and members of my Kitchen Table program for helping me understand that I need to define my terms!

Projects are about exploration and discovery.

Any time you ask a question:

“What can I do to make this phone call less painful or stressful?”

That’s a project.

Any time you express a thought that is a desire or a gwish:

“I’d like to learn more about my relationship with my body, and what would need to happen for me to be able to treat myself with more kindness.”

That’s a project.

Any time you wonder about some aspect of how you are in the world:

“I wonder what would happen if I had designated time in my week for something creative and messy…”

That’s a project.

There are no RULES about projects.

Except discovering what your internal rules are.

Or what external rules you have internalized. cough, GTD.

There are lots of systems and methodologies out there for working on projects. They all work — for the person who came up with them. And maybe for some other people.

But not for everyone. Because of the People Vary principle.

The important thing about projects is NOT the rules that various expert-ey biggified people have invented. (Like: “If it doesn’t have a due date, it’s not a project” or “You should never work on more than X things” or whatever.)

The important thing about projects is that you get to learn what works for you and what doesn’t, in any given situation.

Of course, if a particular rule happens to help you and it feels supportive and it’s nonviolent, go for it! Use it and enjoy. Just pay attention to the fact that you are consciously choosing to take it on.

And if a particular rule stresses you out and does not help you feel supported and cared for, give yourself permission to drop it.

It’s your kingdom. Do things in a way that works for you. And maybe take some notes about that for the Book of You.

Projects are never about the thing. They’re about your relationship with the thing.

Maybe you want to sleep better. That’s a project.

And everything you do to explore and learn what will help you get more sleep or higher quality sleep or happier sleep is a part of that project.

But the real project is not about the sleep itself.

The real project is your relationship with sleep, your relationship with discovering what you need, your relationship with yourself.

If you’ve been on Rally (Rally!), you’ve already experienced this.

Because part of the magic of Rally is really that what you do there is so much more than making giant progress on your projects.

What happens is this: you learn how to approach projects:

How to make the process of interacting with them fun, adventurous, playful, creative.

How to work on your stuff while working on the thing you want, while also resting in a hammock and eating pretzel sticks.

How to use fractal flowers and the video game and all sorts of other things to your advantage. And then you can do that with any project.

Examples of this broader definition of “project”.

Here are some of the more traditional projects people have worked on and played with at Rallies.

• Starting something (a book proposal, grant proposal, ebook, product, outline, table of contents, marketing plan, business plan, website plan, art installation, a business or a non profit organization or a new career).
• Finishing something (see above).

But here are some other equally legitimate projects people have worked on and played with at Rallies.

• What am I like when I’m on vacation?
• What would it be like to not be stressed out about time all the time?
• What do I want to do if/when I grow up and is that even the right question?
• What do I know about my relationship with money?
• What am I going to do with this grief and pain about X?
• How can I invent rituals and/or games to make my straight job more bearable and more supportive of my destuckification practice?
• What needs to happen for my relationship to work?
• How would I go about building an underground lair?

See what I mean?

And many, many people come to Rally having no idea what their project is or if they even have one. It always works, either way.

Projects: not just for work.

They aren’t about a job or a business, though they can be.

They aren’t about getting a certain thing done by a certain date, though they can be.

They aren’t about making something to sell, though they can be.

Projects are about you getting to know how you function. They’re about a certain aspect or piece of the ongoing process of you working on your stuff.

They’re about playing and finding out. They exist to help you. And they want to tell you things. And they want to be put to bed at night, but that’s another story for another day.

Play with me. And with projects. And comment zen for today.

This is, of course, my personal definition of projects. Which you do not have to use unless you happen to want to!

If you would like to invent fun projects with me, that is welcome.

I am also setting up an impromptu daycare center here in the comments section in case you would like to deposit some project-monsters and old rules about how things supposedly have to be.

Leave them in a comment and we’ll be happy to entertain them for you while you sneak off to proxy something or play with something.

As always, we all have our stuff. We make room for other people to have their stuff. And as part of that, we don’t tell each other what to do, how to feel or how to be.

Lots of love!

p.s. If you want to come to the August or September Rally, we’re extending the stowawayship scholarship application deadline to the end of this weekend.

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

• Generating perfect simple solutions (part 2?)
• Meta.
• Follow the rabbit holes.

It might be the best fountain I’ve ever seen.

There are flowers all around it.

And cool statues of unexpected things.

And sometimes on a sunny day you see adorable children running around in their underwear and splashing up a storm.

But here’s the important thing about the fountain.

If you bring the fountain something you feel sad about, it will take your sadness.

You bring a whine, a grumble, a piece of grief, a story of woe.

You drop it into the fountain. Maybe in the form of a pebble or a coin. Maybe just by speaking it. Or thinking it.

And the fountain receives it, whisks it away, and transforms it. You feel instantly better for having released whatever it was. The fountain has fulfilled its mission.

The fountain does not have a hierarchy of pain.

The fountain takes anything.

It doesn’t matter what the cause of woe is.

A stubbed toe? That’s legitimate. Bring your hurt and distress to the fountain and it will take it for you.

Giant, awful, unspeakable loss? The fountain will take that too, acknowledging the pain of it through the act of receiving.

The fountain does not have a hierarchy of pain.

Yes, of course we all know that war is worse than a computer malfunctioning, that a break-up is harder to bear than being late to a film.

But the fountain takes it all. It has room. And time. It takes all of it, without making distinctions.

Because the end result is the same: less pain in the world. Anyone is allowed to come and release the hurty bits.

We are all equal at the fountain.

There are two groups of people who do not enjoy the fountain.

There are the fountain-shunners.

That is to say, all the people who will not allow themselves to use the fountain, even though it exists for them too.

They are in too much guilt to feel safe using the fountain. Self-silencing.

How could I possibly consider my small problems when other people have real problems? My grief and pain are not significant enough for the fountain.

The fountain-shunners avoid releasing their pain to the fountain because they are afraid they are not worthy.

And often they also fear the reactions of the second group.

The second group is all the self-appointed fountain-policers.

They mean well. Just like the monsters.

It’s just that they’re operating under a basic misconception about the nature of the fountain, and this is reflected in how they react to other people using the fountain.

They wag their fingers at anyone they deem unworthy.

Who do you think you are, wasting the fountain’s powers on your small piece of pain?

They don’t realize that there is enough fountain to go around. They think you have to save the fountain for the people who — according to them — really and truly need it. They have made themselves the protectors of the fountain.

But the fountain does not need protection.

Sometimes these two groups are the same.

And sometimes they’re not.

It’s pretty damn tragic when you think about it.

The fountain is there to help us process and release our pain.

The more we make use of it, the better it is for the world.

When we express pain, loss, grief and hurt by giving it to the fountain, that pain, grief, loss or hurt begins to move. And then we aren’t holding it … and we aren’t held by it.

Freedom. Liberation.

Freedom is a big deal.

People work against that freedom because they have a mistaken idea about protecting the fountain — or because they fear having shoes thrown at them: negative comments and judgment.

Where is the fountain?

In the stream of posts from people I follow at the Twitter bar (it’s my local pub).

In the beautiful thing that is the Complaints Choir. There are so many videos of this brilliant, brilliant communal fountain-ing practice that I don’t even know what to link to … but I think Chicago is my favorite. I also like Helsinki.

The fountain also shows up at Crankypants McGrumblebug’s Kvetching Whine Bar, which is a forum board in my Kitchen Table program. That’s where my lovely community brings its woes and grumbles, big and small.

The fountain is there whenever we throw things into the pot.

And of course the fountain is also right here on the Friday Chicken, when we list the hard that has been part of the week alongside the good.

Luckily in places that I run like the KT and the blog, there is no fountain-policing, because our culture is one of permission and play. But self-silencing still happens.

We have to protect ourselves and the fountain from limitation.

Every time we hedge — “I shouldn’t be complaining about this, it’s just a first world problem, I shouldn’t even care about this when there are children starving in the world.” — we are perpetuating the idea that the fountain is limited.

Every time we let someone else tell us that our moment of woe is too small, we are agreeing to a false idea that the fountain is not for us.

Look at this.

The work done by the Complaints Choirs (here’s the link to Chicago’s again) is transcendent.

You can almost feel the power of the crazy, beautiful healing is that is happening for both the singers and their city as they sing out the city’s sadness.

But there are some angry, vitriolic comments on the videos of these Complaint Choirs. Full of how-dare-yous and who-do-you-think-you-ares and other forms of your-pain-is-not-valid. The usual monster brigade.

The world is full of apologizers and fountain-policers.

But we do not have to let them silence us. And we don’t need to silence ourselves or each other.

When we allow this to happen — whether by other people or by ourselves — we are giving up our power and our sovereignty.

It’s not good for us. It’s not good for the world. And it’s not good for the fountain either.

The fountain is right here.

Of course it’s not just here. It exists wherever there’s permission for us to quietly state our pain.

Not to dwell in the pain, re-hash the pain, or to stay focused on the pain. Not to live inside of the not-useful kind of why.

But the fountain is there every time we acknowledge discomfort and give it legitimacy. Yay, acknowledgment. Yay, legitimacy.

Because acknowledgment and legitimacy lead to a very useful kind of softening. The sting doesn’t sting as much once it has been spoken and heard.

We’re here to use the fountain. So let’s do that. Consciously, intentionally and unapologetically.

Comment zen for today.

You can use this space as a fountain: to whisper pieces of sadness that want acknowledging.

Or you can talk about the concept, especially in the context of the online (and offline) culture that we live in:

What it means to use the fountain without apologizing for it. To know that everyone gets to use the fountain. Of course we don’t have to participate or listen, but we can make space for everyone else to get their fountain time.

As always, we all have our stuff. We make space for our stuff, we take responsibility for our stuff, and we don’t give each other unsolicited advice. Because this is a fountain.

p.s. At risk of stating (overstating?) the obvious, which you never think you have to do but then it pretty much always turns out that you might as well, the fountain is a metaphor. You know, like Bolivia. Just wanted to make that extra-clear!

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

• My weekend got eaten by bears!
• Some thoughts on dealing with loss.
• Clint Eastwood.

And, interestingly, I also loved Fifty First Dates, even though “romantic comedy with Adam Sandler” does not sound like something I’d even agree to watch.

And I loved-loved-loved the short-lived and extremely brilliant television series called My Own Worst Enemy, about which I have no caveats at all. Watch it. It’s beautiful, intelligent, fascinating and completely mad.

All of these have one thing in common. Drew Barrymore! No. Kidding. Never mind. We’ll try again.

All of these have one thing in common. People who have forgotten essential things about themselves or important pieces of information.

And they don’t need to be reminded once, but over and over and over again.

Reminders and reminders.

There are so many things that I know and have forgotten. So many things that I seem to learn and re-learn a million times over.

And even without the MacGuffin of unlikely forms of amnesia or other complexity-ridden plot devices, the reminders need to be everywhere.

My favorite part in all these films/series is how the aware-self leaves messages and plants reminders for the unaware-self.

“You’ll need to hand the briefcase to the man in the cream-colored suit. Don’t talk about this to X.”

Or even: “You don’t like cranberries.”

Cryptic little messages. From me to me.

So yes. I already have the Book of Me, where I collect pieces of useful information.

And I have the Revue Anthology, where I track how things go. And the Hello, Day ritual for thinking about where I’m headed.

But sometimes I just want that quick piece of truth. That reminder from the me who knows.

So I’m leaving myself reminders. Not in the form of tattoos. And not in phone messages or video.

Just post-it notes for now. On my calendar. In my bag. Hidden at the Playground.

Like this.

Are you raging against everyone and everything in the entire world?

Hey. Are you feeling furious? Helpless?

Check the calendar. I guarantee this is hormonal. Don’t worry. It will pass, my love. None of this hate and despair is real. It just feels real.

It is temporary and it does not need to define you.

In the meantime, avoid people. Do not respond to things waiting for responses.

Create safe rooms and go hide. Go take care of yourself.

Do your clothes all look terrible on you?

See above.

Sometimes you will buy something small like socks and start feeling anxious and panicked.

This is Poverty PTSD.

It is another pattern that you aren’t done with yet. But you’re working on it.

In the meantime, know that you are safe. You have a successful business and everything is fine. It just doesn’t feel fine in your body yet.

Poverty PTSD is not you. It is only a part of you. It is not the entirety of your identity, even when it feels like it.

This is old trauma, and it’s really painful and you are allowed to grieve for as long as the grieving is needed.

You do not like having people stand behind you.

So don’t let them.

Sometimes you have nightmares.

It’s okay.

Here’s what helps. Listen to the recordings from the emergency calming techniques. Write lists. Take a bath. Write words on your body. Drink tea. Read your reminders.

Lovingly question everything.

All the stories and all the things you think you know. Be the interviewer and the negotiator.

Do Shiva Nata to untangle the old patterns and bring in the new ones.

Safety first.

Always.

You like the color brown.

You just do. Find a deep, rich brown and everything will be better.

And comment zen for today…

You are welcome to join me in leaving cryptic little notes and reminders for yourself, here in the comments or in your home or wherever feels comfortable.

As always, we tread gently because we all have our stuff and we’re all working on our stuff.

As part of this thing that is maintaining a curious, loving relationship with ourselves, we let other people have their own stuff and we don’t give each other unsolicited advice.

That is all. Cryptic notes! Drew Barrymore!

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

• The dream
• Destuckification practice journal: Self-forgiveness
• Thinking about love.

Maybe even the trickiest.

There are times when it is so completely not useful to ask why. The resistance-filled why, which takes me into self-interrogation and blame.

But there is also the helpful why. The one that is loving, curious and receptive, which is perfect for destuckifying.

See also: The two kinds of asking why.

Ha. I knew I’d written about this before. Found it!

The practice of ten times why.

Anyway, a few years ago I went to this unbelievably straight business seminar in Vancouver (Hotel conference room! Suits! Outsider complex!).

And someone was talking about how at Toyota (see?), there’s this thing about asking why five times.

For example, when you’re investigating something that has gone horribly wrong, or you’re evaluating a system. You keep asking why until you get at the reasons behind the reason.

I loved that. And I started using it on everything. Not just business systems, but personal stuff too.

Except that sometimes I’d forget.

It’s not that I’d forget about the practice of asking why.

It’s just that I wouldn’t feel like it. Because I’d lost track of the part about the why being a gentle, inquisitive, caring why, instead of the mean what the hell is wrong with you why are you such an asshat kind of why.

But when I remember… then it works brilliantly.

Yesterday I used this for the Shiva Nata iPhone app. I was supposed to be reviewing it to make sure there weren’t any mistakes, but I was in mad avoidance mode.

No progress. I couldn’t even start. So I started doing the Ten Times Why thing, and around the sixth or seventh why, everything started to make sense.

Like this.

Curious me: I can tell you really don’t feel like going through the app. Tell me more about why this is something you’re avoiding…
Answer: Because I can’t do it.

Curious me: Why is it that you think you can’t do it?
Answer: Because it’s too much responsibility. It’s not fair! I don’t want this much responsibility!

Curious me: So you’re feeling pressured. Tell me, why is it that you think that this is about responsibility?
Answer: Because I’m pretty much the only person who can accurately and quickly check this for mistakes and find them. And if I mess up, it’s all on me.

Curious me: Why do you think it is that this is so painful?
Answer: Because my marriage fell apart and everything I tried was useless.

Curious me: Oh. Sweetie, I’m so sorry. Do you know why it is that now is reminding you of then?
Answer: Because everyone is counting on me and I am afraid to let them down.

Curious me: And why do you think that this is what is happening?
Answer: Oh! It isn’t. I fell into an old pattern but that isn’t what this is about at all. I can go through the app now. Thank you!

I do this with everything.

Curious me: So you’re really not in the mood to go to the dentist. That makes sense. Why do you think this is bringing up so much pain for you?
Answer: Because I miss my dental hygenist in Israel.

Curious me: And why do you miss her?
Answer: She was just a regular person. There wasn’t anything official about her. And her hair was a different color each time and she kept secrets for me.

Curious me: And why do you think that this helped you feel comfortable?
Answer: Because I felt at home. It was a safe place.

Curious me: I’m wondering about why you think it might be that that safety is so important for you.
Answer: Everything comes from safety.

Curious me: Why is it, do you think, that everything comes from safety?
Answer: Safety allows you to receive.

Curious me: And why do you think that this is true?
Answer: That’s my experience. But maybe I can create safety for myself in different ways. Maybe it’s up to me to make this a safe experience. Okay! I can think about that.

And with blog posts.

Curious me: I know! Let’s ask WHY a bunch of times! Why is it good to write this post now?
Answer: Because it is in my head taking up space. And because I can’t write when more posts are building up in my head.

Curious me: Why is it good to move stuff from your head to the blog?
Answer: Because it helps people and it helps me, and it lets me download the new thing.

Curious me: Why is it good to download the new thing?
Answer: Because it will solve all the challenges I’m currently dealing with.

Curious me: Why is it good to solve all the challenges you’re currently dealing with?
Answer: Because that’s how I become the me who runs XXXXXXXXX [secret future project of hugeness that cannot be spoken of here yet]. Oh! Of course.

It’s not really about five whys or ten or a hundred.

It’s just about being the Interviewer, and asking out of love.

It’s about channeling that genuine curiosity which comes from kindness. Without an agenda and without attachment to an end result.

And then letting each why take you somewhere deeper, following intuition and letting the WHYs do the work.

Hard stuff, for sure. Definitely a fairly advanced practice, but one that can be super useful.

If you’d like to play with me here in the comments by asking why over and over again, that would be wonderful. I would love the company.

And comment zen for today…

As always, we all have our stuff. And we take responsibility for our stuff by not putting it on anyone else.

We let people have their own experience and we don’t give each other advice (unless someone specifically asks for it, of course). That’s part of making a safe space to play.

Love for all the hard!

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

• Very Personal Ads #122: if you know what I mean…
• Meta.
• Thoughts and notes about thoughts and notes.

You stop whatever you’re doing. You look around and find five objects.

Objects isn’t really a big enough category. Five somethings. Could also be things like colors, words or sensations.

And then you pretend that each one is a symbol. More than a symbol. A clue.

You decide that each of these somethings has some information for you. It holds some piece that you need for finding your way through the hard.

Like this.

When I go through my project notebooks or the writings from Rally (Rally!), this exercise shows up every few pages. I do it kind of a lot.

And it’s insanely helpful, both at the time I’m doing it (because it turns the stuck into play and conscious interaction), and after the fact.

It’s also fairly entertaining to peek at my notes and see what the five things are. If they’re crazy, then I was at the Playground. If they’re standard things like furniture or a window, I was in my office.

Note to self: office needs to get way more fun…

Five clues to help me make changes in a program that I teach.

1. The word PUZZLE
2. This fuzzy orange pipe cleaner
3. “Watching the big ships”
4. Wearable wings
5. Pink fairy door with potted plants

And what do they want to tell me about making these changes?

Puzzle says:

Intrigue people. Make them think and make them work for it. If not by applications then maybe by doing some sort of exercise before they come. Leave clues for them.

Fuzzy orange pipe cleaner says:

The new website changes will help. Put up lots of pictures. Mention me. Describe the experiences. Make it all about play.

The idea of watching the big ships says:

Watch the ships. ORDER and PROCESS. Each piece has its place. What looks like slow progress is actually the timing of things.

The wings say:

Trust. You are doing what is needed. Stick with it.

The pink fairy door with the plants says:

There are many ways this could happen. Commit to being surprised. Run with it.

Five clues to help me know what to do next.

1. Rex the pig, sprawled on his chair.
2. Dick Tracy lunchbox.
3. Pink stencils.
4. Pirate monkey meditation cushion.
5. The word SHARPIE (because I’m holding a sharpie!).

What do they know about whatever needs to happen next?

Rex the pig: Do more child’s pose!

Dick Tracy lunchbox: Carry things with you and create designated spaces.

Pink stencils: There is a shape and form for everything — just use it.

Pirate monkey cushion: Sit and be playful, because it always helps.

SHARPIE: Cut through the unknown by deciding that you’re going to play.

Five clues to help me write a blog post.

1. Red lamp.
2. Pink wig.
3. Blooming lilacs out the window.
4. Stack of coasters.
5. Billy Joel.

What do they know about writing blog posts?

Red lamp: You never know who the light is going to impact, you just keep radiating.

Pink wig: Put me on and become another aspect of yourself.

Blooming lilacs: Walk outside and breathe — you’ll feel so much better.

Stack of coasters: Everything is interchangeable.

Billy Joel: *hums* Go ahead with your own life, leave me alone….

Okay!

Play with me? Caveats, ideas, comment zen…

If you can’t find five things near you, wander around until they show up. Conscious and intentional wandering around is a good way to destuckify anyway.

If you don’t like the advice they give, ask again. Or reframe the question. Or check to see that it’s not actually your fuzzball monsters trying to sabotage the game.

If the monsters say this is stupid, agree with them. And then suggest they go along with it anyway as an experiment to prove them right.

If they say it’s a waste of time, agree with them. And point out that since you’re already stuck and nothing is working, you might as well try it.

Sometimes, even when you know from experience how useful this game is, it’s still hard to remember to use it. I keep a reminder in the oh-no-everything-sucks section of the Book of Me.

Also! Reading my notes later is like running a Revue. I can see how I got out of the hard and then try to replicate it! Yay.

The usual reminder.

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process. We create safety for other people to share the stuff they’re working on by not giving them unsolicited advice.

If you’d like to play the Finding Five Clews thing with me, that would be lovely. And you can use this for absolutely anything, so if you want to invent other uses and experiments, that could be fun too.

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

• The Art of the OOD.
• Very Personal Ads #105: mean-me is not going anywhere, I’m glad to say
• Friday Chicken #150: miles per hour