In which a stuckness shows up and doesn’t want to do the thing it thinks I want it to do.

I was having an uh oh moment about my New Big Thing. And called Hiro to ramble incoherently about the stuckness.

Me: It’s like I don’t want to put it out in the world yet. I love it. It’s beautiful. And there is something there that is just… not ready.
Hiro: You mean Biggification 2010?
Me: Uh huh. And even my schedule for the year, which is part of that.

Hiro: If you’re looking at your New Big Thing, where is it?
Me (in my head): How would I possibly know that?


Me: Oh. It’s standing on a diving board, over a pool.
Hiro: Good.
Me: And it really, really, really does not want to jump. And I’m not going to make it jump because ohmygod look how much it doesn’t want to jump.

In which I get to marvel — again — at the power of giving something permission to be the way it is.

Hiro: How old is it?
Me (sounding extremely sure of myself, which weirds me out again): Seven.

Hiro: Who says it has to jump?
Me: I don’t know. It’s right there on the diving board.

Hiro: Does it even want to be in the water?
Me: Oh, it definitely wants to be in the water. It just doesn’t want to have to jump in order to get in there.

It wants to be in the water. It just doesn’t want to have to jump in order to get in there.

Hiro: Good.
Me: Oh. Of course. It doesn’t have to jump.

In which we find out what this thing needs.

Hiro: You’re right, it definitely doesn’t have to jump. So what would be the easiest, simplest, most comfortable way for it to find its way into the water? A ramp? Does it want to be floated in?
Me: Stairs. But not a cold, metal ladder. Big, wide stairs.
Hiro: Into the shallow end?
Me: Sure. It doesn’t even really matter. It loves being in water. Just not jumping. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this.

Hiro: What else does it need? Friends in the water who are waiting for it?
Me: I don’t know. What if the friends … what if they don’t think jumping from a diving board is such a big deal?
Hiro: Oh, definitely only friends who also hate jumping.
Me: Oh good. Okay. Friends. Who hate jumping. I love it.

Hiro: What else is going to help it feel safe and supported? Water wings?
Me: No, I don’t think so. But knowing that they’re there could be good. Or a board or something that it doesn’t have to use. Just as an option.
Hiro: Okay!

In which we find out what I need.

Hiro: And where are you in relation to your thing? Are you in the water? At the pool? Observing?
Me: I’m there, but I’m not. I’m in my own pool. It’s darker, warmer, higher up, quieter.
Hiro: And how are these pools connected?
Me: Through a current. It’s humming.
Hiro: So you can communicate with the other pool?
Me: I think so.
Hiro (giggling): Like, you yell “Helloooooooooooo there? How are you doing over there in your poooooooooooool?”
Me: Exactly! Just like that.

Hiro: What is your role in this space?
Me: To enjoy it. To enjoy the things that come from it. To practice the sovereignty thing. To give myself permission to be playful and ridiculous, instead of having to be mature all the time and do the right thing, whatever I think that is.

In which things turn silly.

Oh yes.

There was a kooky magical non-even-slightly-cheesy waterfall.

We threw a fabulous birthday party for my New Big Thing where there were insanely great presents.

Like a water tricycle. And a slackline. And floating lanterns. And pool noodles! Lots and lots of pool noodles!

Hiro said all sorts of wise, insightful, weird, hilarious things that were all completely compassionate and non-judge-ey. No big surprise there. She’s wonderful.

She talked about grace, rhythm, timing and flow. About possibility. And spaciousness. And ease.

And I got to give my New Big Thing reassurance that things don’t have to be forced. That things can happen with this quality of ease.*

We talked about snowflakes and doors. And all sorts of other things that don’t have to do with jumping.

* Usually I have crazy resistance to this concept — my instinctive reaction is: “Ease? Jews don’t do that!” But for some reason I found it really comforting this time.

In which I internalize a bunch of stuff I thought I already knew.

It’s amazing how good it feels to have permission to not do things the painful way.

But permission is something that is so much easier to give to someone else. Or, at least, that’s my experience.

And sometimes other people think that the best thing for us is doing something the hurting way, and so they force something painful. They think it’s for our own good. And then we turn around and do it to ourselves.

Which is so completely tragic that I don’t even know what to say.

I’ve also learned this:

The thing I’ve created for this coming year is sometimes a seven year old who knows a lot about a lot.

Its best qualities come out when it has permission to do things its own way. It’s happy. It has a sweet, playful, goofy spirit and a fierce power all its own.

And my commitment is to love it.

To care for it. To give it room. To appreciate how cool it is. To take away shoulds. To give it permission to have fear. To give it permission to need stuff.

To not have to do anything the conventional way.

And to do all that for myself too. When I can.

Comment zen for today.

So I know some of you have great stories about how someone forced you to jump and it really was all for the best and you totally conquered your fear and yay.

I really do recognize the power of those stories, and that they need to be heard — and this moment of today and now and here is not their time.

Today is about permission to take something intimidating and not have to do it that way. It’s about the sovereignty thing that happens when you choose not to do things the hard way.

It’s about finding comfort and support when you need it, and having permission to want and need those qualities in your life.

Because we’re creating an environment that includes, among many other (sometimes contradictory) things, permission not to have to jump — and that’s where we are.

The Fluent Self