What's in the gallery?

We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.

We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**

* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.

** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.

What's in the gallery?

We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.

We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**

* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.

** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.

You win some, you win some later

prayer flag art

Image: Prayer flag art by Meira Yaer, she gave me this piece and I treasure it, the prayer flags live in her magical garden, the place of the wild winds.

You win some, you win some later

This is what Incoming Me says when things don’t go as anticipated or wished-for.

I love the simplicity of this phrase. I love the steady wisdom this Incoming Self glows for me, how they always remember that nothing is wrong, the way they remind me — with gentleness and humor, no expectations.

The reminder is kind.

You didn’t fuck up, babe. All is well. You’re doing your best in a tough situation, and that’s how it goes, you win some, you win some later.

Things happened how they happened, sure, maybe not the way I was hoping, better luck next time, we will win some more later. There are wins and there are later wins. Those are the options that get to exist.

What are the elements of [you win some, you win some later]

This is one of my favorite questions to ask when following a clue. What are the elements? What does this contain? What supportive magic lives inside You Win Some, You Win Some Later?

Elegance. Hope. Trust. The long game.

Reassurance. Steadiness. Playfulness. Recalibration.

Something about Agility, Resilience, Emergence and a Grounded Enthusiasm in the face of perceived challenges. Courage. That’s courageous.

The long game, is that called Patience, it is a sort of playful form of Patience, a hint of a rush, something about the gamble.

What happens when I put these into the world / my world?

The naming of qualities is an invoking.

Wow, what beautiful wishes. Where do they want to go?

We can put them in a compass. We can add them to the pot.

Draw them on prayer flags and hang them in the garden, let them be moved-and-loved by the wind until they are tattered, knowing that the tattering (is that a word) is how the prayers soar into the beyond. A holy unraveling, being tattered is not the problem, tattered is a door, an escape hatch, a great releasing.

The act of releasing as its own prayer

Or maybe this is what Leonard Cohen meant when he said the crack is how the light gets in, the tattering is how the light gets out, maybe, maybe not, the point is, everything is in the process of coming undone, and what if that is a prayer and not a tragedy?

I don’t know, maybe sometimes it’s also a tragedy, but you win some, you win some later.

A holy unraveling

A holy unraveling, a sacred undoing, like when things don’t go as planned, or the plumber finds a rat’s nest in your broken hot water heater, for example, and the necessary part is back-ordered so you can’t shower for three weeks, for example.

A breath for this.

The sacred, the mundane, the interplay of these. The holy, the tricky, the #itscomplicated of it all, interplay interplay interplay, and: you win some, you win some later.

Heroically existing, a prayer

The interplay, the forgetting-and-remembering, the slow exhale, we got this, let’s ground and release, the ceremonial tossing of the rogue nest into the wild winds, it’s so cold I can see my breath inside, the reassuring sound of water heating in the kettle, the reflection of candlelight in the window, the ways I remind myself that I am safe, treasured, here to tell the story.

The way I say to myself “Now we’re getting somewhere!” after I achieve something heroic like washing one (1) dish without getting lost in the brain fog, and then I laugh, because actually I’m pretty sure we have gotten nowhere but it’s okay, each step counts, it’s a brave start, and you win some, you win some later.

Is it long covid or traumatic brain injury or complex ptsd or perimenopause or all of the above? I lose the thread and find it again and lose it again. Now we’re getting somewhere!

We’ll win some more later

Here’s to each brave start, to self-sustaining brave starts, the “later” in we’ll win some more later…

Given to the wild winds

Look at us, existing and being in it. You win some, you win some more later.

We are the living embodiment of the “you’re doing amazing, sweetie” internet meme, braver than the marines, one step at a time, brave and stalwart. You win some, you win some later.

It’s courageous too to name the qualities, to let them land like blessings, unravel like prayer flags, venture off into the wild winds.

Disperse disperse

Repetition meets chance, add intention, let it disperse, may it go where it is needed.

There are many reasons why I write, and that is one of them.

The other day someone who had heard about writing retreats at my former center asked me what I write about, and I was startled, and said “oh I don’t know, personal essays, I guess” and that’s not not-true, but also it’s about the naming, and the giving to the wild winds. The reminding and the collective remembering.

Wishes for you and for me (wishes in companionship)

I am wishing you (and us) abundant joy, unexpected ease, the best clues, the exact right forms of comfort, astounding good fortune, new pleasures, surprise good news, helpful reminders, miracles in the moment of need and maybe sometimes just because. Whatever is needed most, in whatever form is right.

Come play with me in the comments, I LOVE COMPANY!

You are welcome to share anything that sparked for you, notice what you’re noticing, name any wishes or themes you’re exploring, skip some stones or play with YOU WIN SOME, YOU WIN SOME LATER or any other hopeful-helpful phrases that appeal to you.

I will happily accept support in the form of Appreciation Money to Barrington’s Discretionary Fund. Asking is not where my strength resides but Brave & Stalwart is the theme these days, and pattern-rewriting is the work, and it all helps with fixing what needs fixing. As always, I appreciate you for appreciating! And I am still giving my beautiful Book of Qualities in ebook form to anyone who contributes.

Thank you for being here, it means so much to me to play & process in companionship. ❤️

Brave as a verb, complicated passages, hello 2022, and yes, a bonus Story Hour (me versus the scorpion)


Image: That wild New Mexico sky, edge of the forest, edge of my roof, edges in general, it’s a theme. Richard called this skypainting, I love that too.

We made it and nothing more is needed

Hello doorway into the new year, hello passage. We made it, we are here, nothing more is needed.

To exist outside of culture, to recognize its distortions around time

My primary New Year wish is the same as my December wish, and these remain the same every year; I wish to exist outside of culture, outside of the way our culture is about time.

And by this I mean both the way our culture relates to time in general and this season in particular.

Distorted, disconnected, I want to say asynchronous but that already has a meaning. I’m talking about the mysterious pressure to achieve, accomplish, sum up and reinvent coinciding with the worst possible timing for that, it feels so incongruent and disharmonious, and yet it’s expected that we agree to it. Nope!

I reject all pressure to set goals for the new year or evaluate the year that was, hello it is cold and dark here, and I don’t particularly want to do anything, never mind that, or rather it is cold and dark here in the northern hemisphere, and especially in my tiny trailer at the edge of the Gila national forest.

Imagining a different world

How wonderfully healing it could be to live in a culture that celebrated hibernation mode and quiet passaging instead of this collective pressured rush to finish, accomplish, name, review, and plan.

Heaven forfend we didn’t achieve everything our past selves (who had no idea what was coming) hoped for…

What a preposterous, dangerous and out of sync way of doing things.

If I know anything about past versions of me, it is that just like my future selves, they love me with a vast love, and they do not want me to be experiencing anxiety, dread or regret over what did or didn’t happen, and what might or might not come to pass. They don’t put expectations on me.

They want me to put more vegan marshmallows in my cocoa, wrap up in a blanket, smile at the stars. They’re just so glad I’m here. And I am too when I remember to stop rushing and feel the steady companionship of their love.

What is this pressure to plant out of season.

It’s not that I don’t have goals, intentions and wishes, it’s just that it feels off to me that the bigger culture wants me to be in strategizing and review mode when it is the most cold, dark and uncertain.

It’s weird, right?

At the exact time when clearly the most indicated move is hibernation mode and nap time, external culture and capitalism and the various hierarchies of status-quo want us to be making resolutions (the more unattainable the better!) and to finish everything in time.

Hurry! Hurry up and be new and be better and finish all the everything! Do not pause to take in all that’s happened because we have a new list of shoulds! Oh wait, yes, pause and take it in because that’s a should now too! Don’t forget to review your year and post it on social!

We exist in a Culture of Striving, and this cultural agreement that you must pursue and produce and achieve to belong, endless striving with no end in sight, is so strong, pervasive, all-encompassing that I almost fall for the trap every single year, and have to actively remember not to. No thank you. Opting out.

Yes to seeds, candles, tiny sparks, and no to the pressure

Seeding? Sure. I can light a candle for some wish-seeds. I can glow some warmth for my tender yeses and tiny sweet things to come.

But really all I want in December and for the passage into the new year is to be the snuggliest coziest cat, hiding out in a warm bed, amidst a pile of hot water bottles all wearing knitted sweaters.

And no thank you to the frantic invitations to review a trauma-filled year.

We went through a lot. It was rough. As far as I’m concerned, we are the most heroic heroes, braver than the marines, for making it here, to this slow passage into 2022.

Getting here was enough, more than enough, good job, babe. Now we just get to exhale and light a candle.

We made it here (Hot Girl Hygge!)

The “but what did you accomplish this year” monsters are not invited, and I am uninterested in any form of cramming, scrambling, arguing, pushing myself or proving myself. It is not the season of Big Plans for me.

I am interested in blankets, hot drinks, candles. It’s Hot Girl Hygge season over here. We are being snuggly, and waiting it out.

I am trusting that seeds know how to be seeds

For me this is very clearly a season for cocooning, hibernating, wrapping up, taking exquisite care of myself, seeding, trusting that seeds know how to be seeds (!), and that nothing is needed from me other than practicing Safety First, treating myself like the most precious, beloved sweet thing, and waiting it out.

It’s not that the plans aren’t there, it’s that I will meet them when I am done cocooning. The big and small plans will come when they come, when the moment is right.

Obviously if the turning of the odometer is a helpful motivating factor for you in reviewing and plan-making, then absolutely use that, use what you have, I support you in this, I’m not against planning at all, I’m against the cultural expectation that our actions should be dictated by the calendar.

And as for our friends in the southern hemisphere (hi, friends!), I am sure you would like to be enjoying summer and staying cool, and perhaps also be free from the pressure to SUM UP and REINVENT, pursuits that require quite a bit of energy and oomph, actually. Take a nap if you like, enjoy something cool and refreshing.

Would you like a story?

I will tell you a story from this year, and this story can be a form of review but also it is not a review.

Maybe it is like a story told at a wake. Is that dark? Well, so was this year, haha.

A wake / Awake

Yes, I will tell one story, and that will be my stand-in for everything — a placeholder for describing 2021, and invoking the powers I wish to bring with me and embody more fully in 2022, while quietly celebrating still being alive.

Alive? It’s an honor just to be nominated! 🎶

The scorpion

The scorpion was the largest I’ve seen, and too close, maybe three feet from my mattress on the floor.

Everything is blurred in this memory except for the scorpion, but I know I was standing beside the south wall of the nearly empty hacienda, pressing against it with one hand to steady myself, watching the scorpion watching me. A sleepy late-night standoff.

It was the second night after the first concussion.

Woolly, wobbly

My head was full of wool or maybe cotton batting, I was wobbly, confused, everything felt wrong, off-beat, out of sync.

I knew I was awake but it felt like a dream where time and movement are somehow thick and slowed, molasses-paced, you can’t move at a normal speed, each step effortful, to run would be impossible.

I remember that it was past midnight, because I knew the most capable person I know would be up when I called, but why was I awake, who knows. It’s a mystery but by this point I was already getting used to a new reality of It’s Mysteries All The Way Down. I made the call.


“It’s longer than my thumb,” I said. “Like a thumb and a half. It is a beige-pink. It is very close to my bed. Everything is blurry. Tell me what to do.”

You are a highly trained assassin,” A said. “You’ve got this.”

“Welcome to the desert, bitch,” said the scorpion. “Kill or be killed.”

True and hardened

“I’ve only ever killed the tiny ones,” I said. “The last one was maybe a quarter the size of my thumbnail. I know those are supposed to be the meanest, and they’re certainly fast, but it was a quick and easy kill. This one is huge and wants to get me first.”

“He is but a humble foot soldier,” said A, who talks like this all the time and not just in my surreal concussion-addled slowed-brain state. “You have taken out their greatest generals. You are a true and hardened warrior.”

“I’m coming for you”, said the scorpion. “Get ready. Get ready now. We fight to the death.”


In my years in the desert, I have learned to find qualities and superpowers to admire in whatever is trying to kill me in the moment, that is to say: everything, sometimes passively and sometimes actively, the desert is inhospitable; dangerous and boundary-oriented.

And so I practice Admiration.

Yes, I want these powers of Devastation for myself. I too wish to be Dangerous and Boundary-Oriented. Are these resolutions? Goals? Maybe. I name the qualities I desire and toss them into the pot.

I identify, perhaps over-much, with the rattlesnakes, sensitive disabled introverts who want to be left the fuck alone. The most relatable.

They don’t want to get into it with you. And when they rattle, that’s their way of letting you know they’re having a panic attack. Sorry, they might have to murder you because that’s how freaked out they are, I respect that.

No, it’s more than respect, I envy it

I too wish to strike fear in the hearts of those who disrespect my space and threaten my safety.

In fact, I would like every man who has ever stepped too close without permission to feel a bone-tingling deep-spine-chill of pure terror, right before I venom them all into oblivion. Byeeeeee.

Extremely strong Selena Gomez in Only Murders In The Building “I will take you down to the bone, motherfucker!” vibes, yes, this is what I want.

Spiny is a skill

I admire my cactus friends for their spiny commitment to boundaries, I admire the javelina for their persistence and fearlessness, and how they are better than I am at remembering trash day. I admire the graceful, terrifying mountain lions.

You know what, I will even admit to a grudging respect for the coatimundi, the scariest animal I’ve ever encountered, I will never forget the look one gave me outside of Sasabe last year, the way it stared into the truck, then into my soul, and promised vengeance.

But I have never admired the Arizona bark scorpions until the second night of my concussion, when I had to dispatch this particular very large one, who was fully committed to both the fight and the trash-talking, and this might even be what I admire most:

A scorpion doesn’t run away from you. It runs towards you.


I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered that level of intense, fully-committed bravery that a scorpion exhibits when it is readying itself for battle.

Most creatures run, especially when they are small enough for you to step on. The scorpion doesn’t see the point of that. “Oh, you want some of this? You wanna fight? TO THE DEATH? It’s on. Let’s fucking go!”

I can admire that, and desire to embody those qualities myself. Maybe I didn’t feel admiration in that exact moment, but I do now.

Ready or not, here I come. Battle. Let’s do this.

What if we just run towards this scary situation? What happens then? Guess we’ll find out.

Not a boot

“Listen carefully,” A said through the phone in his calmest voice.

“Don’t use a boot. You don’t want anything with crevices it can slip into because it can and will fit itself to any opening, however small. You need something hard and completely flat, like a dictionary. The first smash is everything, but don’t stop there.”

“The scorpion is a highly intelligent adversary, it will prepare itself for the blow and flatten itself to meet it. Keep smashing, don’t stop. A dozen smashes, harder than you think is necessary, then keep something heavy on it and keep watch.”

“I don’t think I can do this,” I said. “I can barely stand, my vision is blurry. I can’t think fast or move fast, I am not the right assassin for the job.”


“You got this, killer,” said A. “If they sent you for me, then you’re the best.”
“I might be the best in other circumstances,” I said, “but I’m injured.”
“Call me when it’s done,” said A.
“Ugh, enough with the talking,” said the scorpion. “Let’s go, bitch. BATTLE.”


I used a sheet pan, I think. Use what you have. Not my finest kill, but I finished the job.

Channelling my best scorpion powers:

I am made of courage, I move towards what scares me. Battle. I have done harder things than this, and I will do them again. I am resilient, fearless, tenacious, ready for the impossible, and, like the scorpion, I choose to perceive in this moment that I am indestructible, whether it is true or not.

“Get some rest, killer,” said A into the phone. “Tomorrow is a new day.”

Never say never

A week later, I had a conversation with a very kind, sweet yoga teacher who had just moved to the Sonoran desert from Sacramento.

Hope you’re ready to kill some scorpions, I said. Oh, she said, I would never harm a living being.

The dead scorpion under the baking sheet laughed and laughed. Welcome to the desert, bitch. Kill or be killed.

Time / Timing / Times

Traumatic brain injury is a form of immersion, and also a way of existing outside of time.

And so I have been thinking about time, my relationship to time, what a more conscious, loving and intentional relationship to time might look like.

How do I wish to mark time, make time, interact with time, give myself time, tend to time, and be in a more harmonious relationship with the calendar? Less pushing, more flowing.

There is trauma time, grief time, cocooning time, recovery time, rewriting time.

There are anniversaries of losses, and sometimes those become invitations to celebrate liberations. And yes, there are times when we can’t do much but curl up in a ball and cry.

Recognizing the days that are those days (and preparing to meet them?)

There are the days in the calendar we dread, for good reason, and I want to be better prepared for those too.

There are the surprisingly hard times that hide in the calendar, those days I wish I could remember fuck me up every single time, but each year it is a surprise, again. Oh, did I schedule an important appointment for the day I got my heart smashed all those years ago? Can’t make it, crying too hard!

Who knows, maybe next year around concussion time I will feel woozy and out of sorts again, as my body-mind remembers the two weeks of bed, the hunger, the fear, the dizziness and the unanticipated battles.

There are times when our only job is to comfort ourselves, to undo these pressures of time, to say, okay, we will get there when we get there. All we can do is take good care of ourselves.

invoking the superpower of We Do Grounding Things

As the Desert Assassin, one of my Incoming selves likes to remind me:

Hydrate, babe. In scary times and in all times, we live by We Do Grounding Things, trusting that this counts, that each thing we do to tend to ourselves, no matter how small, has a fractal effect and supports our other goals and wishes.

Resilience Ritual

My personal ritual of passage into the new year is about applauding my resilience.

I survived and made it here, in incredibly difficult circumstances, and that’s not only enough but a big deal, even if my internal self-criticism monsters say otherwise

The Gregorian calendar year kicked off with tragedy and horror here in the United States as we experienced a coup attempt in action and watched an attack on the Capitol in real time, watched it not being stopped the way one might have imagined an attack being stopped (cough, white supremacy, cough), every moment awful and traumatizing.

Ahhhh and that wasn’t a lone incident, not to mention that some of us were already barely hanging on as it was, between the loneliness, the fear, and the seemingly endless wait for a vaccine.

The vaccine too proved to be yet another form of heartbreak, another public health failure. It turns out you actually need a healthcare system that doesn’t regularly harm people in order for your fellow citizens to make good choices, and that’s not the world we live in.

There’s more I want to say on that but I won’t, this is just one example of how this year brought new variants not only of the virus but of disappointment, tiny and large betrayals, betrayals all the way down.

And yet

And yet, I am still here, a parade of sparklepoints for everything I did that helped the tiniest bit to keep me going, a candle lit for whatever else contributed to that, for luck, magic, every lone spark of hope.

This year I moved towards a scorpion, ready for battle, which is basically the opposite of the story of the stuffed grape leaves, and that’s something too, a rewriting. Let’s make space for rewritings and Do-Overs Forever!

Let’s generate a safe passage into the new

We can reject the pressure to review the year, to celebrate wins, to set goals or do any of that. We don’t have to.

And also at the same time (Safety First!), there is an element of being with [what was] that is a form of tending. I told you the scorpion story because I want to remember: while this year held terrifying moments, I am here to tell the tale.

Also I think sometimes naming what we went through can be a form of generating safe passage into the new. That sounds like a paradox. It doesn’t have to be:

I am not hiding from what happened, nor am I forcing myself to come to terms with any of it. Instead, I’m practicing acknowledgment and legitimacy, as part of the passage, as a way of lighting up the new path.

And so here we go, into the new.

Into the new, which is both the same and different

Lighting a candle for I am ready to be here now.

Lighting a candle for two concussions and the timing of it

A candle for the night I did battle with the scorpion.

How about a candle for the entire month of February, or maybe this is twenty eight candles because February was very rough, or maybe fourteen candles because that’s how many times I had to move from one not-a-safe-house to another, February was genuinely the worst.

Lighting a candle for all the ✨ A N X I E T Y ✨!!!!

A candle for painful surprises and the pain of the surprise

Lighting a candle for those hidden or unexpected potholes in the calendar, like how you think you’re doing okay but you forgot that this is the day when Terrible Thing happened, or maybe you remembered but thought you could handle it and you really can’t, and it’s almost hilarious that you thought you could, still one of the great mysteries.

A candle for the day A left for the fires and didn’t say goodbye, and the six weeks of no focus, waiting for a sign of life, and then the next one.

Lighting a candle for not knowing.

And a candle for knowing things I don’t wish to know.

Lighting a candle for the endless disappointments of existing within a culture that is unloving, punishing, where we won’t agree to take care of each other, and a government that won’t do the minimum to keep us alive.

(A candle for the particular bewildering crushing despair of people pretending it’s business as usual.)

Fires and floods, both in the world and my personal life

See also: the endless mysteries of timing and progressive last straws.

Did I tell you there was a fire in my trailer, it was extremely scary and traumatizing, and I am okay but also not okay, and my trailer is okay but also not okay.

Did I tell you about how the pipes froze and burst, and the last-straw-ness of that?

Lighting a candle for being so cold there was nothing I could do but cry.

Lighting a candle for hopes dashed, and for hope, in general.

Lighting a candle for not giving up

Lighting a candle for all the times I said okay I give up, but then did not give up, good job, babe.

Lighting a candle for the times when there only no one to help me, and the times when people were in the position to help but were the opposite of helpful. Like during first concussion when I was out of food but couldn’t remember where the grocery store was, and an ex, who knew about the concussion and was in town, sent a shirtless selfie.

Oh you lift, bro? Would you like to lift some extra-strength ibuprofen and something to eat off a shelf and bring it over?

Lighting a candle for the times I didn’t ask, and for the times I did, and for friends who showed up. Thank you.


But I can also light candles in celebration, let’s light up the room in celebration for:

  • Surviving, being here and Shehecheyanu (thank you for keeping us, sustaining us and getting us here to this moment when we can pause, breathe and say thank you)
  • Labneh making, morning bobcat stretching, Monday Meetings and ritual ritual ritual ritual
  • Nearly one hundred and seventy thousand sun salutations, two thousand new words each in French & Arabic
  • Meals made, dishes washed, naps taken, repetition as therapy
  • Took care of myself to the best of my ability (mostly staying off social media, mostly in bed before 9pm)
  • I stayed close to nature, attuned to myself and used what works (We Do Grounding Things, Progress Is Fractal)
  • I was so brave, over and over again, very brave, braver than the marines, truly the Bravest Little Toaster
  • Saying what needed to be said, re-establishing boundaries, maintaining hope
  • Beautiful memories like the day A and I went to Mt Lemmon, or the day A returned from the fires
  • Reacting less, loving more, trusting myself more
  • Bravely returning to the place where everything went wrong to rebuild, leaving again when it was time.

I am still here, not summing up and not resolving, just here with my candle and my hope-spark and my words. Trusting in right timing. Braving my way onward.

Brave On

A friend sent me a poem and it was an eleven line poem that only needed to be one line (for me), and here it is:

Brave your way on.

So yes, that one line was the poem I needed, but also I’m writing thousands of words here, and maybe only three or four are the ones for you, though if they are the right ones then I am glad, ignore the rest.

Anyway, I’ve been saying this a lot lately. Brave as a verb. Let us brave our way to the post office.

And so we brave on, into a new year.

Here’s the tl;dr

I know summing up isn’t my thing but let us sum up:

My wish and focal point for the coming year is about Existing Outside Of Time, developing an entirely new relationship with time, and not allowing the external culture to frame or form my interaction with time, undoing all external pressure to plan and review, I can be present with those pursuits when they call to me.

And I wish to acknowledge that reflection on [the year that was] is, or can be, deeply unappealing for many of us when we went through so much upheaval, and I wish to acknowledge that passaging into a new year is or can be very fraught, especially when last January was particularly terrifying and overwhelming.

We really went through it this year. Well, I don’t know about you. I did.

And so finding our own safe and comfortable way through this passage is important. External culture would have us believe that comfort is a bad word, but let’s comfort ourselves, let’s layer on comforting experiences of both meanings of comfort.

For me, right now, I am lighting candles of passage, I am tending to small sweet wish-seeds, and mostly I am tending to myself.

A pre-announcement of sorts!

I am not ready to announce anything yet because December is hibernating-cocooning and slow-passaging time for me, but I will be offering a not-a-course collective experience this year that is a play space where we play with time.

We will be inventing our own personal holidays and Feast Days, and making safe space for known hard times as well as strategizing backup recovery plans to deal with surprise hard times. Reconfiguring, rededicating and reclaiming the calendar so it works well for us instead of being a source of expectations and shoulds.

More on that to come, and if you are on the Very Occasional Announcements list, there will be an email.

In the meantime, if you are brainstorming words and qualities to call in for the new year (or if you need a gift for someone!), I am still giving my beautiful Book of Qualities in ebook form to anyone who gives any sum of Appreciation Money to Barrington’s Discretionary Fund. I appreciate you for appreciating!

Come play with me in the comments, I LOVE COMPANY!

You are welcome to share anything that sparked for you, notice what you’re noticing, skip a stone, or brainstorm ways to rewrite the passage into a new year.

You can always use a made-up name in the comments whether in service of safety or playfulness, this will drop your comment into moderation, which I do not check every day, so we will apply patience to that process and every process. What if nothing is wrong?

We are all going through what we are going through. We make this a sanctuary by not care-taking or problem—solving for other people, we can offer each other warmth and witnessing, and the trust that this is enough. Thank you for being here, it means so much to me to be able to process in companionship. ❤️

Use What You Have


Image: Three glass jars filled with labneh made in my tiny trailer kitchen, rolled in spices, preserved in golden olive oil. Behind them an array of cooking utensils framed by blue New Mexico sky. The Labneh Maker is a proxy identity I called on in a moment of need, now a regular in my pantheon of selves, I can write more about that process later, lmk in the comments if that’s something you want!

The first concussion of 2021 gave me five gifts, that I know of.

Possibly more, probably-for-sure more. Truly that concussion is the gift that keeps on giving, especially if you are a German speaker and you want (need) to capitalize Gift and receive this word in another form or meaning, Gift in the sense of poison.

Five gifts, poison or antidote, or possible poison-and-antidote together, here ya go, a full combo plate of the wronging and the righting, not sure yet, who can say.

Five gifts, only two of which I was able to appreciate at all at the time; my appreciation is a late-blooming flower, which is to say that it is a flower blooming in exact right timing, its own.

And LATE is a judgment I will not make about flowers, or appreciation, or most things these days.

All timing is right timing, because it is and because it has to be, all the more so in concussion life which is also recovery life, one breath at a time life, aka regular life, just with heightened awareness of [fragility, beauty, our complete and utter lack of control over anything at all].

Things take their time.

Things take their time. They just do. Use what you have.


Before First Concussion (BC), back then in the Then of it all, I was doing a shocking amount of sundulations each morning.

Sundulations is a name I invented for my undulating sort-of sun salutations, abbreviated and flowy, a trance state that doubles as assassin training, but mainly provides a way to entrain my ADHD brain, a way to get in a groove so I can get anything (something?) done in a day.

I put myself through these paces, giving myself an layered experience that is steady, repetitive, grounding, playful and reassuring, and then I am able to function, somewhat, and focus, somewhat. I take what I can get.

My practice of sundulations is a gift (and also ein bestimmtes und besonderes Gift) from the pandemic, though don’t make me find anything to appreciate about the pandemic, I’m not ready for silver linings.

You know what, fuck silver linings, we’ll get there when we get there.


Anyway, SCOOBY DOO FLASHBACK, I was up to 1,111 morning sundulations and headed to close out June with a count of 22,000 sundulations for the month, except…

Except I got into it with an aggressive and possibly haunted dining room chair, and that little tussle (you should see the other guy, no actually I’m sad to report that the chair was unharmed) put me into bed for twelve days.

Twelve days later, and I was able to haul myself through three sundulations, though I was unable to remember why sundulations mattered, or why most things mattered, in fact I am still not entirely convinced regarding these matters of which practices matter, but I knew there was much to be rebuilt and rededicated, strength training included.

Rebuild and rededicate.


It took until October to feel strong and capable in my body again, obviously the second concussion didn’t help much, though Second Recovery was less fraught.

Anyway I closed out October with the glorious and beloved superpowers of Finishing Strong! Brave & Stalwart!

And I am not making predictions about November because if I have learned anything about anything, it is that nothing can be predicted, nor should it.

But if current trends continue, which they might, and assuming I do not get in any fights (knock on hard objects, but let’s not knock on them with my face this time), then November might look like 21,000.

So let’s say it took me half a year of training hard to regain anything like the strength levels of then.

Except there is no back, there is only here, and maybe a here plus intention plus hope regarding what’s next. And there is no better, if I am going to be impressed by 21k then I also need to be impressed by any non-zero number, as well as by rest mode, hibernation mode, chrysalis mode, all the many forms of waiting it out.

Everything is fake and

It’s like Drew Carey’s everything is fake and the points don’t matter, some of you might be too young for that reference, but the point is the practice, and not the numbers, and yet the numbers are also sometimes like a guide rope.

A guide rope? Is that what it’s called? I am flashing on the cave of the Minotaur, and something about Huck Finn, and oh, maybe a Trixie Belden mystery involving spelunking? Okay, now I am googling “what do you call the rope people hold onto in a cave”, that for sure is the wrong turn of phrase but how else do you say this?

Ahahaha maybe this is an additional gift/Gift of concussion brain, I am completely at peace about not knowing what anything is called anymore, I just ask the computer, and if I don’t have signal, or the internet rabbit-holes are unfulfilling, then I use what I have, and describe.

What you reach for when you are in the dark…

What is the rope for?

Here is what I wanted to convey with that image:

I like keeping track of my sundulation numbers, even though the numbers don’t matter, because the tracking is like the rope that will help me find my way through the cave, something I can grasp.

The rope is not the same thing as the solution, it is not the answer or the way through, it is the reminder that I am in the process of moving through, and that this process is safer than it feels.

The rope is for comfort and steadiness and hope. I am not alone, someone put this rope here for me, past me or future me, someone set things up for me with love and care, and I may have forgotten how this and everything else works but I am finding my way at the pace of right now.

Does that make sense? Maybe.

Mariah Carey is right

During first concussion, my brain was on strike, which, to be clear, I approve of, what a baller move, at any time, and it simply would not agree to do most of its usual things.

Like, where is the supermarket I go to at least twice a week? NO IDEA

How do I stand up without holding onto a wall? WHO KNOWS, WHY ARE YOU STANDING UP

What are things called? I DO NOT KNOW AND DO NOT CARE

Why would I (do a thing, any thing, something someone is asking me to do), and why do people want these things from me anyway? WOW, A MYSTERY

What was I like in the era BC (Before Concussion), what did I care about, what was important to me? WHO CARES, I DON’T KNOW HER. Like, full on Mariah Carey levels of I don’t know her.

Writings in the cave

Strangely, the one thing my brain was really good at in this time was remembering words in Arabic and French. I had been attempting to slowly improve my vocabulary in my fourth and fifth languages-to-be using an app, a slow-going and painful process, but also a bit like another rope in another cave, or possibly it’s the same cave, there might only be one cave.

Ahhhh maybe it is the cave I’ve been lost in since early March 2020, or maybe I was always in a cave, who can remember, but a saving grace of 2021 was discovering that giving ten minutes a day to language learning does something good for me, I needed that particular rope and did not know it.

Anyway, in the time Before Concussion, I would routinely get 92% accuracy on my daily vocabulary tests, mainly because (ADHD!) I am impatient and don’t always pay attention, but after my brain went on strike, boom, 100% every day in a row for months. I couldn’t make a mistake.*

*In this one particular area.

I occasionally mix up a word now and then but it’s rare. I can’t remember how to say pretty much anything I want to say in English, but for whatever reason I don’t forget words in Arabic or French. They are vivid and alive to me, and I feel tender towards them, sweet word-seeds in my mind.


Kitab u’tabkh is a cookbook in Arabic, and what a beautiful and perfect name.

Kitab, like the Hebrew word Ktav (writing), and Tabkh like the Hebrew word Tabakh (chef) or Mitbakh (kitchen), this word now exists in my brain like Cook Writings or Kitchen-Scribbles, more poetic and more meaningful than cookbook, a better word. Cookbook has the rhyming going for it, but otherwise wow, kind of boring.

A bonus concussion gift-Gift was the way I got extremely into cookbooks, I like looking at them even more than reading them, a stack of cookbooks, filled with sorcery and potential. What a wonder to feel excitement again.

Hand on heart sigh of thankfulness and relief, I like things again, not many things, but cookbooks, and their Arabic name.

Another gift: the way words in Arabic and French feel right to me in a way that words in my other three languages do not, there is a clarity to the newness. Does that make sense?

Hand on heart sigh of thankfulness and relief for this clarity, any clarity-port in a storm.


I am not sure what gifts the second concussion of 2021 has given me because I am not ready to consider that question yet; there is a time and a place for the naming of gifts, a slow-release sweetness that comes in the form of thankfulness and re-emergence, but that’s not a process that needs to be rushed. It can’t be actually.

I will name the gifts when the time is right.

It will happen, because I am the namer who names, forever inspired by the naming process (Kitchen Scribblings for cookbook, absolute genius), and so I have to trust that I will know when the time is right for that particular naming, not yet, not now.

This steady clarity I have re Not Rushing, in matters of Thankfulness and in all matters, is one of the gifts of First Concussion, and I will take it. Thank you, deep knowing, thank you, thank you.

Not rushing

I am not rushing, and I am not beating myself up about the not-rushing, and this is important.

Right now I am pretty mad about Second Concussion, and so I’m making space for that, this too is part of compassionate Not-Rushing.

Use what you have

Sometimes morning sundulations give me clues, and sometimes they give me a sudden peacefulness, and other times they give me very clear intel, occasionally in the form of instructions but often more like a guiding phrase. A guiding phrase? Less like a mantra and more like that rope you hold onto in the cave.

The other week, they gave me USE WHAT YOU HAVE.

This phrase reverberated, circling, the way we used to ring a singing bowl in the dome, a great echoing.

I didn’t lose my count. I kept flowing. USE WHAT YOU HAVE incorporated itself into the phrasing and pacing of the movement practice, which is based in word-poetry, like everything else I do.

Like this: I am the fierce spell-caster of fierceness and I USE WHAT I HAVE, I am the wildest wildcat and I USE WHAT I HAVE, I remain grounded in my clarity and I USE WHAT I HAVE.

Incoming Incoming

My favorite gift of First Concussion is that it gave me two new Incomings, two selves or aspects of me I had not known about before and possibly never would have gotten to know without having my mind (as I knew it previously) go offline, only to return altered.

Concussion Me, who also goes by their nickname Zero Fucks / Zero Quarter Given, is so much more fun than I ever could have guessed. Concussion Self uses they/them pronouns. What can I say, they are smart, hilarious, extremely refreshing and truly give zero fucks.

Concussion Me excels at saying no.

Concussion Me does not see the point of politeness, niceties, placating, all the “Please Like Me!” things that I do almost unthinkingly as survival strategies; instead they get straight to the point and don’t care if anyone else has opinions about that.

Then my Villanelle Self emerged while binging all of Killing Eve in the first week of bed rest mode. Did I know I have a hot, fun, manic-depressive murderous sociopath side to me? Not sure how I didn’t know that, she is so fun, I don’t know how we ever did Monday Meetings without her.

Monday Meeting

I convene a Monday Meeting nearly every day, not just on Mondays. The Monday-ness is more of an idea. It’s the meeting that matters.

And this is not a meeting like the boring meaning of meeting that happens in a board room. This is a meeting like an encounter, and who I am meeting is myself. I meet my selves, my Incoming selves, we get to know each other, we talk shit out.

Sometimes the meeting is two minutes, sometimes an hour or more. Often I just ask my various selves for counsel on literally anything. What are we making for lunch, yes/no to a post office run, which cookbook to read next. We meet up and meet again.

Lately when I ask them for advice, they don’t want to give any. They want me to use what I have, which turns out to be, and this is hilarious, that exact phrase: USE WHAT YOU HAVE.

The Selves weigh in on Use What You Have

Villanelle self: “Use the safe house, for starters. You’re a devastating dangerous bad bitch with a GETAWAY safe house, you are basically Angelina Jolie as Mrs Smith, your cover is amazing, your hair is perfect and the trailer is space to recuperate, so use what you have.”

The Labneh maker: “You have everything you need to make labneh, and what you don’t have is a refrigerator so it’s now or never, let’s get into a groove, food is ritual, and We Do Grounding Things. Use what you have. Use the hook where your bottle-opener lives to hang the cheesecloth with the sheep milk yogurt. You don’t even drink wine, you don’t need to see the bottle-opener, you just like the Arabic and French words for bottle-opener.”

Highest High Regard self: “It may appear that now is a repeat of then (living in a tiny trailer without adequate heat) and yet, every aspect of this now-version involves Enhanced High Regard, from the physical to the mental-emotional. This is new. Use what you have = use your vision. And get creative. Sure, you don’t have a chair, but you have an inversion trainer, throw some cushions on it and it’s a chair. Is it the most High Regard version of a chair? No, but we are where we are, a symbolic chair is the first step.”

The Desert Assassin: “Your powerful training is working, early to bed is working, ritual is working, you have a Steadiness you couldn’t imagine a year ago. Use what you have does not mean “make do”, it means use what works: grounding ritual, supportive habits, tinctures, anything that makes you stronger.”

The Sorceress: “You have your place to do your particular magic, now we consecrate it and work with it, good job getting us here. Use what you have means use the symbolic meaning of what is here, each object is here for a reason, channel the qualities, stay attuned to intention.”

Villanelle Self: “First of all, when I said I would kill Hélène with the tiny chair, I was being silly and lightening the mood, it was a playful moment, like a panther yawning, a way to casually demonstrate my prowess and my boredom, but if I’m gonna use what I have, I’m gonna use the most interesting thing I have. Anyway, USE WHAT YOU FUCKING HAVE, what is not clear about that?”

Concussion Me: “Why are you still asking us for clarity when you already have your extremely clear Clarity, you were given the answer, and now you’re requesting the next answers when you haven’t done anything with the first answer. The instruction is right there, kiddo. Use what you have. You don’t need to keep asking for examples. LIVE IT AND FIND OUT.”

Use what you have

Do you get it, babe? They really want me to get it.

They’re like, okay, you were given a really sturdy rope to lead you through the cave, and now you’re asking for a new rope. YOU HAVE THE ROPE. OMG JUST PLEASE USE THE ROPE.

Use what you have, and what you have is the phrase Use What You Have.

What you have is the UKC

The UKC is the Usual Known Clarity, aka when my movement-meditation practice gives me the same information as before. Ah, here we are, the Usual Suspects!


Okay but

Okay but what if I don’t like what I have?

Use what you have.

What I have is fury, grief, two concussions and a bewildering lost year. And the aftermath of these tumultuous experiences, which is also a form of cave, rope not included.

On the other hand, I also have the gifts from concussion.

Gift as poison, but sometimes it’s the poison and sometimes it’s the antidote, and I feel a fondness towards German for both ruining and re-rescuing this word with a rewriting, and isn’t that how we always rescue things around here? The righting that comes from using writing to bring about a rewriting.

We write things and right things. Write the spells. Right the ship. Wind in our sails again.

In the hard vs in the soft

Hard and soft are my terms for differentiating between those things and practices that are tangible, in the physical plane, versus everything invisible, from feelings to concepts to spiritual qualities.

Use what you have. What do I have?

In the hard: I have sheep milk yogurt in the process of becoming labneh, I have a glorious array of spices in which to roll the labneh, I have olive oil to preserve the labneh (who even needs a refrigerator), I have a not-a-chair that can act as a chair, an incredible view, friends who check in on me.

In the soft: I have my resilience, I have my rituals, I have my practice of We Do Grounding Things And This Is Enough For Now, and the knowledge that these grounding things have fractal effects, I have the companionship of my incoming selves, I have a theme for this coming year (Emergence & Recalibration), I have a hopefulness I was not able to channel a year ago, the blessing of perspective…

Some presents I am trying to be present with…

Here are five gifts from First Concussion that I am sure of, and that I have come to treasure:

  • Villanelle Self, she just wants to have dinner with you, she’ll kill you later, but she won’t, but she could
  • Concussion Self and their full commitment to I Don’t Know Her, no point in missing the Havi that was, whoever she was, now is now, we’re here now, let’s do this
  • The way my physical practice was just demolished, and how that meant needing to rebuild from zero, and all the frustration in that but also all the learning in that, finding the rope and holding on for dear life
  • Discovering that new brain delights in Arabic and French
  • Not being able to do anything included not being able to attempt to please and placate any of the narcissists in my life, which resulted in an abrupt and powerful break of a whole tangle of old unhealthy patterns

Concussion Self weighs in

Concussion Me: “I mean, if you’re not going to exit a situation on your own, then a concussion is a great form of forced evacuation actually. Each day is a gift, maybe with a new form of poison but also a new antidote. Use what you have. And what you have, my love, more than anything else, is a clear knowing about what you don’t want. All the decisions you have been trying to make do not need to be made, they have already been received. Clear your view. Discover what remains.”

Here now, with you

As you know, we don’t do forced thankfulness around here, not on American Thanksgiving and not ever, as far as I’m concerned it’s an act of violence to force ourselves to find treasure in pain when we aren’t ready for that exploration.

And at the same time, we know from experience that sometimes naming the good helps us feel tender towards ourselves.

So we don’t push, we just notice and make room. Sometimes naming what is hard makes it easier to remember what is good.

I am feeling fullness in my thank-you heart about being here, and about reaching some perspective on what I’ve been through and what is important to me.

Concussion me says to just keep writing, as a practice, and so I will.

Thank you notes & dedication (double meaning)

This post is for Lorinda who sent me money every single month this year, and each time I was brought to tears by the notion that people want to support my work even when I am not sharing it, even when I am mysteriously lost or missing or on far-off adventures. This faith in me, and this continued loving unconditional giving kept me going, so much gratitude for this, thank you for wind in my sails.

A huge thank you as well to Agents Lavery & Sloan for helping me out in a tight spot and reminding me of the Trade Winds aka the superpower of receiving support to set yourself up for ease of passage.

Thank you to Amanda who managed all the way from Utah to get me painkillers in Arizona during First Concussion. Thank you to Darcy who set me up with all the episodes of Killing Eve.

Thank you also to everyone who bought things from the gift shop or gave any sum of Appreciation money to Barrington’s Discretionary this year, it was received with love, you are all wind in my sails, and I needed that reminder, so thank you for the love and the reminding.

Play with me in the comments! I LOVE COMPANY!

You are welcome to share anything that sparked for you, notice what you’re noticing, skip a stone, or brainstorm ways to Use What You Have!

You can always use a made-up name in the comments whether in service of safety or playfulness, however this will drop your comment into moderation, which I do not check every day, so we will apply patience to that process and really to every process. What if nothing is wrong?

We are all going through what we are going through. We make this a sanctuary by not care-taking or problem—solving for other people, we can offer each other warmth and witnessing and trust that this is enough. Thank you for being here, it means so much to me to be able to process in companionship. ❤️

How to liberate glow powers (and other mysteries)

The week that was and is

I am finding myself in a huge amount of resistance to reflecting on my week in any form, which is probably related to The Many Mysteries & Great Unknowns.

Which seems to indicate that it would probably also be clarifying and useful to do some of that reflecting, haha, and also wow I really don’t want to do it.

So I think I am just going to just quietly name some of these mysteries and possibly some triumphs, maybe also some goal-wishes or some desired superpowers, and see what happens.

As always, we are channeling Amnesty Forever & Safety First!

It’s just a practice, we can’t do it wrong. It’s reasonable and normal to resist things that help, and we can always reconfigure or rewrite any ritual in any moment to suit the needs of the moment.

A breath for remembering this.

Among the many mysteries…

The Mysteries of Time. How does it work, where does it go, what is happening while I am staring into space for hours?

The Mysteries of ADHD. Existing outside of the bounds of time can be its own glorious superpower but what about when I need to be at a place for a thing in the timeline that other people follow?

The Mystery of the List, and how it keeps getting longer, and how much I want to set it on fire and disappear.

The Mysteries of External Praise & Hustle Culture: I had the thought this week that workaholism works almost exactly like an eating disorder. As in, this might literally kill you but everyone will applaud you for it the entire way until your inevitable collapse. Everyone is trying to control something inherently outside of control, I don’t wish to participate in the culture of this, it’s actively horrifying to me, but also that’s the world we live in.

The Mystery of Why Do I Keep Falling For Workaholics when this is at odds with the entirety of how I want to live.

Related: The Mystery of I am drawn to the familiar, and what is familiar to me is bad for me.

The Mystery of what am I going to do, and where and for how long, when everything is unknown.

The Mystery of No, Really, I Deserve Better, This Is Not High Regard.

Related: a good simile is hard to nail but I’m gonna need the many lovestruck poets of the desert to do better by me. Approach the goddess bearing gifts! A poorly crafted simile is not a gift, it is a burden. I guess that was a metaphor but whatever, I’m not the one bombarding people with rhyming couplets.

Related: How do men get the wild outrageous confidence to send these unsolicited and alarming texts, and where can I buy some of that by the bottle?

Wishes, Goal-wishes, Desired superpowers

Pare Down & Get Agile.

Stay Glowing, Stay Wild.

Clear & Well-Oxygenated.

Best parts of the week:

+ New world record (for me) of 856 sun salutations in a day
+ Going into a trance state of sundulating and seeing all the connections between the words and the wishes
+ Epiphanies & clarity in the labyrinths and the float tank
+ Floating again for the first time in 14 months (bliss)
+ Seeing friends again (bliss)
+ Desire (ditto)
+ Dessert (same)
+ the flower crowns on the saguaro, the light on the mountains
+ visited by the sweetest bobcat (always a good omen for me)
+ a favorite person joined me for a day of errands, and made the hard things easy and sweet

Useful if not enjoyable

+ revisiting experiences & situations that used to be yes, and discovering that they no longer support my commitment to being Held in High Regard

+ I stated my yeses and received not-yes, and so I extricated myself swiftly, good job, ten trillion points to me.

Hard/challenging/painful elements of the week:

+ I take back what I said last time about welcoming hot poet spring! Unsolicited unwanted intimacy feels like such a violation sometimes, all the more some when it gets you wrong.
+ The Great Unknowns, how are there so many of them, and still constantly changing?
+ The Endless Errands, same.
+ Boundary challenges, so many of them, still, and new ones.
+ The eternal question: how do I protect my desires when my tendency is to be “flexible”, which invariably turns into people-pleasing?
+ Still doing a weapons check!
+ After giving someone a third chance, they cancelled on me three times in a row…
+ It’s so boring being sad about this!
+ A mutual favor turned into full time project management, and I am overwhelmed by it.
+ I don’t know if it’s second vaccine or perimenopause, but my cycle is an hellish nightmare of agonies right now
+ I do not wish to end up as a name in the paper in one of those terrible stories involving a man who got angry about perceived rejection (“he was so quiet and so sweet, she should have been nicer to him”), but unfortunately all these men sending me unsolicited poetry know where I live, and my current gig requires politeness, and so I default to placating. I am nice-nice-nice, when I shouldn’t even have to be, and I triple-check all the doors just in case. Fuck all of that forever.
+ And I’m off! But where is next?

Some wisdom from this week’s magical practices

From the float

The waters said:






Insights from movement practice

My sundulations (undulating sun salutations) were so powerful this week, and I flew through seven hundred in seventy five minutes, and had an absolutely incredible moment during round forty when I was already in full trance state.

The word for that round is Liberation, and when I arrived at West in my compass (which is Glow), the spell that emerged was I AM READY TO LIBERATE MY GLOW FORCE!!!

And then that phrase just felt so powerful and exhilarating, even though I don’t think I am entirely grasping all of what it might mean, that I kept it echoing through the next round (Intensity), letting the words ripple through me and create new internal poetry:


I would like more of this full body-mind poetry please. I mean, that’s the practice, and I do it every day, but that morning the word combinations felt so charged and intuitive and thrilling. More of that please.

What would I like from this coming week?

Spend more time outside.

Well-calibrated & well-oxygenated.

A joyful return to prioritizing Delicious Food, Beautifully Plated.

I make my setting lovely for me.

Close more doors.

Stay receptive to the glorious surprise moments of clear knowing, and mainly just trust myself so much more.


Thank you so much to people who sent me surprise Appreciation Money this week via Barrington’s Discretionary, it is always welcome and received with love, and if I can land in a place, which is the wish-goal of wish-goals, I can share more writing here, that’s my preferred way to fill time; writing and hopeful thoughts.

Play with me in the comments! I LOVE COMPANY!

Reminder that you can always use a made-up name in the comments whether in service of safety or playfulness, and a reminder that using a new name will drop your comment into moderation, which I do not check every day, so let’s apply patience to that process and really to every process. What if nothing is wrong?

We are all going through what we are going through. So we make this a sanctuary by not care-taking or problem—solving for other people, we can leave each other warmth or hearts of love or pebbles of witnessing.


How are we holding up? Anything hard and/or good or simply mysterious in your week that you want to drop here, any wishes or superpowers or anything else that wants to be named? Sometimes naming helps. Naming & breathing.

And if that’s not your thing, you can say hi, you can share anything that sparked for you or notice something that you’re noticing, or call in something you’d like more of for the coming week.


a week as memoir (a check-in)

The week that was and wasn’t and is

I am still yes to reflecting on my week, and also receiving a resounding no to sitting down to write about it in any known form, so: collecting notes, themes & thoughts from my week, some in the form of memoir titles…

Wishes, goals, goal-wishes & Desired superpowers

Pare Down & Get Agile.

Stay Glowing, Stay Wild.

More Clarity please (something about how this relates to being Well Oxygenated)

Strength to Strength:

Nailed April goal of 14,000 morning sun salutations (in under the wire! not always in the morning!), and now ONWARD & UPWARD, with a goal-wish that is so outrageous that I am not going to speak it yet, because it is the very definition of a Tiny Sweet Thing that needs some extra protection.

Best parts of the week:

+ Getting second shot
+ Turns out no longer constantly anticipating an agonizing death at every moment and every turn is having a huge impact on my sleep, I am sleeping eight hours uninterrupted, dream life.
+ Have been making some just absolutely inspired deliciously poor life choices, I think I have to recommend it.
+ Dessert in an enchanted garden with the person I have missed smiling at, see above.
+ Delicious things are delicious, a joyful, laughter-filled wandering through favorite outdoor places of magic, a pilgrimage to a new-to-me hidden labyrinth, fantastic vegan chocolate stracciatella ice cream from Monsoon.
+ Made sahlav (vanilla orchid rose-water coconut, cinnamon & pistachio pudding, fulfilling a deep wild nostalgia.
+ Suddenly everyone is writing me love poetry? NOT MAD ABOUT IT AT ALL. Hello hot poet spring, do your hot poetic thing. (That was not meant to be a line of poetry, but I’m leaving it as is.)
+ Everything is fluid & in flux right now, so just gonna flowwwwwww!

Hard/challenging/painful elements of the week:

+ Boundary challenges, so many of them
+ What do I want
+ Ahahahaha so many options (too many?) vs perception of running out of time
+ How do I protect my wants when my tendency is to be “flexible”, which invariably turns into people-pleasing
+ How to maintain morning practice in a place where mornings are defined by interruptions
+ Yeah that was a gun, okay, we are fine, shaking it off, onward (but are we fine, or are we just so used to saying “okay we are fine, let’s shake it off” that we think this is the same as being fine)
+ I Am Trash For Danger & Regrets: A Memoir
+ All I Can Do Is Sleep It Off: A Memoir
+ The many many mysteries
+ Being an enchantress is a lot of work, actually???
+ Everything is fluid & in flux right now, so just gotta flow, ugh
+ sigh & lolsob at how familiar this is, what would it be like to be able to hunker down into some safety

Some wisdom from the labyrinth that I transcribed

The labyrinth said…

Listen and know:

To live a life of sorcery and to be in love with life are THE SAME

What does this mean?
More ritual,
more precision and high regard,
choose your settings wisely,
be in places that nourish,
get rid of everything that doesn’t befit an enchantress
take your magic making and your settings very seriously

What would I like from this coming week?

Slow down, breathe more fully and intentionally, do less to get more, a joyful return to prioritizing Delicious Food, Beautifully Plated, more attention to setting & settings, epsom salts, be deliberate and formidable, reduce distractions, give everything more time, be with what is.


Thank you so much to people who sent me surprise Appreciation Money this week via Barrington’s Discretionary, it is always welcome and received with love, and if I can land in a place, which is the wish-goal of wish-goals, I can share more writing here, that’s my preferred way to fill time; writing and hopeful thoughts.

Play with me in the comments! I LOVE COMPANY!

Reminder that you can always use a made-up name in the comments whether in service of safety or playfulness.

We are all going through what we are going through. So we make this a sanctuary by not care-taking or problem—solving for other people, we can leave each other warmth or hearts of love or pebbles of witnessing.


How are we holding up? Anything hard and/or good in your week that you want to name here, any wishes or superpowers or anything else that wants to be named? Sometimes naming helps. Naming & breathing.

And if that’s not your thing, you can say hi or call in something you’d like more of for the coming week.

Love you,

The Fluent Self