I didn’t choose not to move to Bolivia.

I didn’t choose not to move to Bolivia any more than I chose not to become obsessed with traditional Armenian embroidery.

I didn’t choose not to move to Bolivia any more than I chose not to take up water polo.

It’s not that anything is wrong with life in Bolivia or Armenian embroidery or water polo.

It’s this:

If it were not for the fact that so many of the women I know are either moving to Bolivia or talking about moving to Bolivia, it never would have occurred to me to even think about it.

The only reason I think about Bolivia is that so many of my friends now live there. And that so many people have opinions about me not being there.

But to say that I chose this life of Not Living in Bolivia? Impossible.

The Rally (Rally!) was completely inspired by this post, which in turn was inspired by scooter rallies, and which I was inspired to write about because of my gentleman friend.

A rally, if you’re wondering, is several days of intense projectizing (working on your stuff and also on your stuff) at the Playground, my pirate-ey center of silliness and wonder. It was a wild zen rumpus of the best kind.

And despite the fact that we, the Rally-ers, could not decide what to call ourselves, we managed to have the most brilliant, hilarious time ever.

And the three of them were all smooshed together in the middle, hugging and exclaiming over each other and giggling. Like at a crazy reunion slumber party.

Then we all put on our lopsided tiaras and raised a toast to the good ship The Fluent Self, Inc. and Five Years Ago Me was astounded that it’s possible to have a corporation and not be gross and evil.

She was extremely relieved. And then Next Week Me was kind of teasing her a little until Five Years From Now Me said, sweetie, you aint seen NOTHING yet.

I am weird about words.

No kidding. I’m the only biggified blogger I know who has to have a Glossary.

And, unsurprisingly, most of my idiosyncracies are word-related.

Oh, just a tiny smattering of the many words that are physically painful for me to see or hear:

diphthong, caulk, childish, Whig, magenta.

Also: coagulate, dextrose, mercenary.

A word that make me giggle: Stopcock. So funny! I am six years old.

And so bored with my blah blah process and this blah blah work.

Kids don’t need help with “process”.

They don’t need help finding their voice. They just have it. It’s their voice.

That’s what’s needed. The thing we need to remember and re-find.

The place where play and freedom and curiosity and wonder aren’t things you need to learn, uncover or access.

To know:

These are just the qualities of being alive. These are the secret allies who hold our billowing superhero cloaks out behind us and stomp with us through puddles.

The next afternoon the focus of the yoga class I taught was to see if we could do yoga like that.

Personal ads! They’re … personal! Very.
So my itty bitty personal ads made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.
Even when the asking thing feels weird and conflicted.
Ever since I posted the first one asking my perfect house to find me, which [...]

Mental space. Spiritual space. Internal and external space.

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

To get closer to that voice.

To get closer to what we have to say.

Personal ads! They’re … personal! Very.
So my itty bitty personal ads made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.
Even when the asking thing feels weird and conflicted.
Ever since I posted the first one asking my perfect house to find me, which [...]

My beloved laptop had a heart attack on Thursday evening.

It is now at the Apple store, undergoing various complicated operations.

And I won’t have it until Friday. At least, I hope I’ll have it Friday. Because then I’ll be in New Mexico for two weeks.

Anyway. I want healing and safe recovery (both of the poor pooter and of the information on the hard-drive, yes?). Or another perfect, simple solution.

We have a complete back-up of everything through Toozday evening, so this is not a CRISIS. But I would like this to get resolved with speediness and ease. And either way, what I’m really asking for is the ability to keep getting done what needs to be done, remain hopeful, and not commandeer every computer in sight.

* Literally: a whole healing, complete recovery, full wellness. Colloquially: may you get better!

My gentleman friend is hugely knowledgeable about yoga because of me.

Thanks to me, he knows how to make really good hummus. Shares my strong opinions on permission marketing. Knows his way around east Berlin.

Thanks to him, I know way more than I ever imagined possible about the history of the west coast, motorcycles and the San Francisco Giants.

I also now know about birds, ukuleles, the Trade Winds, typefaces, why things break and eighteenth century sailing.

It’s all interesting. Mainly because someone I care about finds it interesting. But one thing I really love hearing about is the Rally.