Productive.

Not avoidant.

Presence. And presents, everywhere! (I’ll explain that later.)

Not fearing my office. Walking in with a smile on my face.

What changed? On the surface, not much.

If you spied on me during my work day, you might see me scribbling in my notebooks a little bit more than usual, perhaps.

And if you could spy on me in my car, on my commute to and from work, you might see me talking out loud like a crazy person telling my invisible secretary very important things using my expensive and invisible speaker phone.

Internally, though?

Big shifts. Reconfiguring my internal landscape, on a continental scale.

I’d like to thank mini-Rally last week with Simone for planting the seed. And taking a voyage through Havi’s amazing Art of Embarking course helped me deepen some of the work I was already doing.

But mainly what changed is this: I started practicing entry and exit rituals. And (just like Havi says!) it’s changed my life.

What it looks like

Mindfulness is one of those things — one of those sneaky guilty shoulds — that always confused me, because how exactly do you become more mindful? Is it more yoga classes? Therapy? Meditating? When? How? How often?

Ugh! Lots of resistance and confusion about this whole topic.

It’s also one of those things that’s easy enough to practice in tiny fits and starts: okay, this snack will be mindful. This walk. This bath. Easy enough!

But knitting it all together into a constantly-mindful-constantly-zen life?

Overwhelming. Scary. (Possibly also eye-rollingly lame! Even though I am not afraid of dorking out.)

Here’s how it actually happened for me:

At the mini-Rally last week, I was paying extra attention to how much fun I had, and how magically helpful it was to have done so much preparation. Writing the love letter and saying hello to the door. I’d prepared all my art supplies and my space in advance. Awesome, all around.

And then when I was Rallying I spent a lot of time with this thought: wow, how very unawesome my day job has been lately, in comparison. Avoiding everything, procrastinating, slumping over in my chair, endless clicking through internet distractions. No inspiration. No joy. It felt awful.

Epiphany: what if I tried to help out my workday self in the way I prepared for the mini-Rally?

Problem, meet solution. Brilliant!

So I started focusing on entry, preparing for my work week in a really big way. More than my usual hey-it’s-Sunday-let’s-do-the-laundry kind of preparation.

I dedicated part of my Very Personal Ad to it. Brainstormed.

I started the night before, doing all the things that would make Monday morning awesome: packing a delicious lunch, picking out my clothes, packing a bag.

I focused on what I could do to make it delightful, restful; building space for flow and joy instead of stuck and glum.

That was the first form of entry. And then: I started doing more entry. Turning everything into a moment of entry, and making it awesome. Consciously choosing to start the day my favorite way: a shower, a good breakfast, time to cuddle with my daughter.

And then more entry, in more playful and silly ways. Hello, commute. [This is me, talking in my car!] You are all about safety, ease, quickness, and transition. Goodbye house and neighborhood, hello work neighborhood and workplace.

More entry. Talking out loud in the car about how I want the day to go, and what tasks I needed to accomplish, and about obstacles and solutions. Using my brain instead of zoning out, unless I was zoning out on purpose, in a restful, non-zombie way.

More entry. Hello, office. I would not turn on my computer until I wrote out a tentative morning schedule (making sure to include: snacks! stretches! time to process!). I would not open my email program without a specific task or an intention: I am looking for any emergencies or things that can be deleted or perhaps I am going to respond to X’s email and that is all. Single-tasking, more generally.

Even more entry. Talking to my snacks (not even remotely the most wacky thing I do!).

And I just kept on going, and never stopped. Rather than figure out what the hell this confusing “constant mindfulness” might look like, I just started saying hello to everything.

But I also started saying goodbyes.

The goodbyes and the exiting turned out to be even more important, in some ways, than the hello. For me, starting something is not usually a big deal — it’s something of a blank slate. I’ll walk into a room, or start a task or a conversation, no big deal.

But once it’s over? I need to process all the stuff that was in it, before it can be done. Otherwise I carry it around with me, in subtle ways, and can trip me up. (Is this an introvert thing? It might be an introvert thing.)

Walking back to my office from a meeting? Say silent goodbyes to what was in it: connection, information, ideas about XYZ. Was I weirded out by B’s behavior? Why was whatisname talking so stridently about that one thing and ohhhh, a pattern, I didn’t like that because it reminded me of that past thing. (That past thing! Remember it? Wow, weird. Goodbye, past thing that came with me into that meeting without me noticing it until now!)

Other forms of goodbye and exit: turning off my computer monitors entirely if I’m not actively using them. Mindful finishing of tasks: washing the dishes directly after lunch, or deleting what I don’t need.

All this review is helpful for me especially because it’s when all the patterns pop out of the background noise, like magic. Poof! I suddenly notice much, much more.

Most importantly, exiting and review is all about the part Havi calls Exit as you wish to continue.

If I want to be calm and not rushed in the next thing I do, I have to make space for the review. Infuse it with calm and safety (it’s okay that I messed up that one thing at work), with attention and awareness. And with intent: I’m reviewing the day (or the snack or the email or the commute) with gentleness and compassion because those qualities are important for the thing I want to do next.

The unlikely, delightful effects

You might think that taking time for all this noticing would make the day choppy and disconnected. But instead, it’s made each day more smooth, because I am more grounded.

Each thing is more congruent with the next: I’m present going in, being in, and exiting. Or as present as I can manage. If I forget about the entries and exits? I focus on whatever exit or entrance I’m in, and go from there.

When this works (and of course, like anything, it’s not perfect), there are presents for me, everywhere! A kleenex in my pocket for my runny nose. Delicious lunches packed for work. Exactly enough ingredients to cook that recipe. Fewer messes around the house. Notes about things I can try or do, just when I find myself stuck.

I am constantly leaving myself presents. And I am constantly being reminded of presence, and getting better at being in it.

As Havi wrote — and yes! yes! a million times yes! it is exactly like this:

I do way less. But I do it more deeply.

And more gets done. Everything is slower, but the results are faster.

I’ve been practicing it since Sunday night, and now it’s Friday. And it has made my life infinitely, deeply, brilliantly better this week.

The mysterious next step

This thing I’m doing, this superpower of entries and exits, it’s an evolving thing. (Expecting it to remain the same: pattern! I noticed that and did some processing about its whys and wherefores on my Wednesday morning commute.) And I’m hoping that the evidence of why this is a good idea and especially why I should keep doing it is compelling enough that my monsters won’t interfere too much. I’ve felt lucky they’ve been pretty quiet this week, not talking too much about there’s no time! and what are you doing you weirdo? and you’re doing it wrong! and the whole motley company of familiar anxieties.

Here’s the mysterious next step, though: how does it work in the evenings? It’s true that after a day of this practice, when I didn’t yet know I could prepare for entering my evening in a good way, I went home and had a truly epically awful evening with my toddler. So I have some entry rituals and new patterns to make our evenings easier.

But there’s still not enough time to do the kind of processing I do during the day. Or at least — that is my perception right now.

So the next part of my practice is going to be figuring out how to make my evenings even more congruent with my days. More presents/presence, and more pattern-noticing.

Because this has been a powerful learning experience. I don’t want it to fade away. Deep down in my bones I have felt so much rightness this week, and it is not some kind of false zen-monk facade of smugness. It’s just plain good. And I want that feeling to stick around.

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Thank you for reading as always, my friends. I wrestled with how to write about this, because the hows and the whys and the whats seemed so big and each piece is its own separate big thing to be explored and there were many false starts and oh — I just hope that, as with what I wrote about the mini-Rally, this mirroring of my process is useful or interesting to you in some way. Hope you can find all the superpowers you need for your day and your coming week, too. xo

Making my self & my space ready

As you read about here, there were preparations in advance. A love letter to the qualities. Saying hello to the door. I also wrote a letter to myself, to be opened in case of mid-Rally stuckness. All these were important: I spent time in delightful anticipation and excitement.

I also arranged to have an empty house to myself. I dressed in absurdly comfortable clothing. Invoking: permission, safety, freedom, spaciousness.

I built a blanket fort, of course.

By the bright window and filled with pillows!

And I gathered together the other important tools: Shiva Nata level guides from the Secret Lab, the Monster Manual in case of emergency, a box of art supplies, three separate books in which to write or draw.

And I did one  more kooky thing, which turned out to be key: I used a long turquoise sari to mark a big boundary around my fort. I decided that inside the space everything was safe and clear; all the mess of the house was outside the circle, and I didn’t have to worry about it or even look at it. If I needed to step outside the space, I would notice the boundary and consciously think I’m exiting the Rally circle and the same thing happened when I would cross back inside. Inside lived the magic. The turquoise boundary protected me. And it was spacious — big enough to hold the blanket fort and a space for me to stretch out and do Shiva Nata, too.

Simone and I checked in. I told her that my secret power and theme was: alignment! (Similar to the congruence that Havi has been writing about lately, but with additional qualities of attuning and guidance, somehow.) And then I turned off my phone and dove in.

Descent into the maelstrom

I could say here’s where I went a bit nuts but let me rephrase that in a more sovereign way: one of the things I learned at the mini-Rally was how difficult I find it to make Shiva Nata hard (because that’s where the most learning takes place) without making it scary-hard.

Because wow, I got scrambled. I giggled as I read from the level guide, shouting out the numbers to Level 7 (yup) while my arms whirled as fast as I could go, and kept going past the point of normal-confused-flailing right into sheer insanity. And then I found myself face-down on the floor, grinning into the carpet.

Here’s where I would have thought Uh oh, if I’d been coherent.

Instead, I sat down, opened up my notebooks, and panicked. 

My head was empty. My soul was empty. I tried to tune into my project and came up with a head full of static.

I wrote a little — I was too shaky still. I doodled a rainbow just to look at something colorful.

Then, because it seemed important, I jotted down all the potential projects on a big sheet of paper, and instantly was soul-crushingly depressed that everything was disconnected and incoherent. (I managed to forget completely that Shiva Nata’s job is to destroy the patterns in order to reveal new ones — haha, good one, brain! This is a normal part of the process, but I forgot about it.)

The map of sad disconnected projects looked something like this:

Look at all those sad little lonely islands

Some of them seemed to cancel each other out. Disparate visions of my life. And no energy to pursue any one of them. Some of them were projects so large and overwhelming, I felt insane just attempting to put them on the map.

But I kept journaling.

I kept asking myself questions. Noticing and writing down the sad and/or insane thoughts passing through. What am I scared to lose, by following this or that project? Why the lack of energy in general? How do I get into greater alignment with what I want?

I took a break to read the letter I wrote to myself, in case things got hard and I needed safety. (Thanks, past self! Good idea.) It helped a little when I read, Where you go is the right place. What you do is the right thing. 

I released an expectation: This does not have to make me money, or even make sense; much like Secret Play Dates, it’s not about an end result but rather the practice of spending time with this part of your brain. The artist brain, the symbolic brain, the dreaming brain.

I kept journaling.

And then the connections started to pop out of the background. Oh, obviously projects A and G are connected. I drew a little tentative bridge between them.

I kept journaling.

Another bridge. A delicate little vine to another island. Better bridges, interwoven. Purposeful excited arrows! Special circling cocoons. Petals and marquee lights!

The mind map now looked like this:

Bridges and ecosystems and projects that are friends with each other!

And I felt tremendous relief. Clarity. Oh that special sneaky Shiva Nata/rally magic — it might not give you the thing you wanted, but it will be the thing you need.

And I got to hear how Simone’s mini-Rally went, and be in that special post-Rally hum of excitement with someone who understood and was willing to listen to my mostly coherent thoughts about it. Ahhhhhhh.

It was my own little journey into the inferno, perhaps. E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle: and then we emerged to see the stars again. (I find it interesting that I used that quote just last fall to describe another little rollercoaster of a project!) The stars. The stars are very important, that is what you need to know.

What came next: a few realizations

First, I thought I was going to come here today and tell you all about how I have been Simone’s secret business coach for the last month. (Exciting, right? I have so much excitement about that! Noticings and ideas!)

Instead, I want to tell you about how much I desperately need to coach myself out of where I am now. And this goes beyond momentary confusion: I have some big, scared, sad parts of my life right now. They need acknowledgement and attention. Some of it is related to this and also to the secret thought (special awesomeness: today, oddly enough, just like when I wrote that last post, there were eggplant parmesan leftovers for lunch) even though the weird power of alignment actually makes dealing with the secret thought a little bit harder.

Most importantly: I can’t show up with my whole self in my side projects and possible business ventures if I can’t show up with my whole self in my day-to-day life, either. And I need to learn more about this.

Some of this work will be internal. Counseling and pulling away from things. Intentional work.

Some of this work will be external: writing about parts of it here, and working on specific projects (there will be a tiny quilt! mark my words!) that were dreamed up during this mini-Rally as part of the process of moving forward.

I came out with lists of things to write. Excitement about other things! As part of my post-processing-process, I wrote a letter to my future self, for her to read on a day when she’s not quite sure what the hell happened at the mini-Rally or why the secret theme of alignment was so important.

I’ll write some of the things I dreamed up. I’ll read that letter. I’ll sit with my art supplies and my fabric supplies some more, too. I’ll let savasana help me to integrate and rest after all this energetic noticing and learning.

It’s going to be a big year.

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Thanks for coming along on this odd little journey through my interior landscape! Stop by and say hello sometime, I’m grateful to you for reading, as ever. xo

Earlier this week, I wrote a love letter – a Save the Date! — to the qualities I want to play with at Monday’s mini-Rally:

Trust, Play, Creativity, Surprise.

Insight, Safety, Flow, Openness.

And secret themes behind the qualities: Being-ness. Self-ness. Enoughness.  Wholeness. Wholeselfedness.

That was the invitation. The invocation. Naming the path.

But it wasn’t the door.

This is the door

This weekend. It will be: two days of being home, before Monday’s day off of work (thank you, Martin Luther King Jr.!) when Simone and I will hold ourselves a long-distance mini-Rally. This weekend will be: two days away from regular weekday routines. And then after that will come the special Rally headspace of play and delving deep and exploring.

So I need to say hello to this door, name it and what it will be, in order to get through to Monday’s mini-Rally on the other side.

Hello, weekend:

You are good: a break in the flow of workday weekdays. Free-flowing time.

You are challenging: extended hours in which I must be very present with the toddler, and with her cousin who is coming to play with us both mornings. Being present by myself because for some of it, my spouse-person will be at work.

This could be easy. It could also be very hard. It will require a lot of sovereignty. Letting the Patient Delightful Teacher self be in charge even when the Cranky Adult Auntie would prefer to steer the boat. (Directly to the bar, if you please. Tom Collins ahoy!)

So. How can I get Patient Delightful Teacher me to show up? Brainstorming:

Lots of sleep. Planning ahead for possible sleep disturbances. Sleeping around the disturbances, in fact.

Back-up plans for when I need a Hail Mary pass? (Perhaps literal passes: passes to the zoo!)

Snacks: grapes, pretzels, popcorn. Note to self, stop at the store on the way home tonight.

Recruit allies as needed.

Engaging around activities (remember how they loved painting together?) instead of just opening up a toytime free-for-all.

Fresh air. However this can be done, barring the chill, the mud and the traffic.

Music. Dancing. Singing. Bring out the costumes.

And in the afternoons, of course, sovereign support in order to let the Patient Delightful Teacher rest. Literal naps. Getting outside. Asking the spouse-person to take over in the evenings when possible.

Hello, weekend. I feel so much more ready for you now that I’ve written this down. Ahhhhhh. Infinitely more capable of getting through with my sanity intact and my excitement sustained for Mini-Rally Monday.

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Left to my own devices, I like to pretend that every weekend is a paradise of sleep and fun, which is usually not realistic (aha hello there, sneaky undermining pattern!). There may be tantrums (of both the toddler and adult variety). Grumpiness and boredom. Laundry and dishes and errands. A case of the winter blahs.

I get my feelings hurt when I forget to acknowledge what a weekend may truly contain. Does that ever happen to you? It’s not a good feeling.

What does feel good: going into this with my eyes open. Practicing acknowledgement and proactive compassion. Building space for delight by planting gifts (plans and allies and snacks!) for my future self. Planning ahead. Sovereignty. Yes.

Thank you for reading, friends. Can’t wait to come out the other side and report on the mini-Rally! See you next week. xo

Briefly and proudly: this week I spent some very fun wordsmithing time in crafting two new pages that now live on my blog header, and editing one more that was in need of an update. Click on over if you’re reading this via email or in a blog reader…perhaps you’d like to see?

I am delighted to present to you:

1. A new, brief page for new readers: New here?

2. A beautiful new page About my Shiva Nata Practice for curious readers both new and familiar (hi!). I’m exceptionally proud of this one. Please visit!

3. And a slightly updated About me page, featuring a more recent picture of me (and my daughter).

Can I just say how fun it is to launch new things out into the world? Even small, backend-type things? (This is me throwing some confetti: wheeee!!) It feels good to make something real that’s been living in your heart for a little while.

I’d like to think excitement and pre-mini-Rally anticipation are partly to thank for finding that perfect combination of energy, motivation and time to make these new pages happen. And this is my place to celebrate and make them public to my readers, so I can stop revisiting them gleefully and just trust that they are now available to anyone who wishes to visit and read. And throw confetti too, perhaps? (Again: wheee!)

xo.

I am writing this letter to the qualities that I want to invite to play and ruminate and scribble with me on Monday, January 16th, 2012. 

Because that is the special day when fabulous hipgnosis genius Simone and I are going to be holding a mini-rally (Rally!).

But first, perhaps some background…

What is this mini-Rally?

If you read my blog, chances are you’re familiar with the concept. You may recall I have done this both at Havi’s magical Playground and in smaller formats with other amazing folks. I’ve done them by myself, even! It is a close cousin to Maryann’s Secret Playdates, too, which I also love dearly.

But here’s what it will be like! Monday will be a mini retreat, a tiny rally. A couple of hours. A time set aside that is not too big and not too small — just enough time to build a blanket fort. Just enough time to flail a little bit on Dance of Shiva. Just enough time to wear my rainbow socks of possibility and have a gentle, madcap, brain-mapping date with myself. It’s a place and a time to work on projects both big and small, in sovereign, gentle, unexpected and often playful ways.

Rainbow socks of possibility! Not a metaphor. Actual socks.

If you’ve been to Havi’s wonderful Playground, you know it is a magic, supportive place. It is the perfect container in which to Rally — an activity or an event that is very difficult to verb-ify, but the kind of place where you can bring your fondest, most outrageous dreams or your biggest weirdest fears and get truly wacky, with strangers who are quickly your very close friends, and in the safest way possible you find your way to a better place with it all. Realizations both big and small.

Personally, I plan to work on some of the secret plans and super-secret plans that have been occupying my brain lately.

(Don’t forget: a project is a lot of things. You might know what it is in advance, or you might not. Read more here because Havi explains it so well!)

I am going to gather together my art supplies. My notebooks and drawing pads. I am going to make my space smell especially lovely and have lovely things in it (pillows! snacks! really nice pens!) that will support me in being as creative or restful as I need to be.

Because a Rally is always comfortable: it doesn’t force you to do anything or be anyone. It is a place in which you feel safe, even when you want to do something that scares you.

And also, we are going to make this magic space and time happen without being in the same room! Because Simone and I are planning a mini-Rally from opposite sides of our continent. We’re going to check in, and then for a couple hours we will separately flail and process, scribble and draw, rest and ruminate. And then we’ll check-in again (which is a very good exit ritual) and bring whatever awesomeness we’ve found into the real world. In safe ways, of course. I am really excited to see what happens!

One entry ritual (enter as you wish to be in it!) I dreamed up is that Simone and I will each write a letter (a save-the-date!) to the qualities that we want to join us on Monday. It’s a bit of a love letter, too, you’ll see.

Letter to my beloved qualities

Dear lovely beloved qualities,

I want you to know that Monday is coming very soon, and I want you (yes, you!) to join me.

I name you: Trust, Play, Creativity, Surprise.

I name you: Insight, Safety, Flow, Openness.

I name your secret selves: Being-ness. Self-ness. Enoughness. Wholeness. Wholeselfedness.

I love you, dear qualities. You are the magic that helps me make magic happen in my life. And I want to spend time with you. This is my official notice to you: this is your invitation. Won’t you come and play with me?

I can’t wait to find out what secret things you know and what unlikely new directions I might want to explore. I can’t wait to enter the very special brain-rewiring space that is Shiva Nata (which I promise I will make extra-scrambly and extra-interesting on Monday!), and the special sovereign selfhood space that is Rally, even in mini-form. Let’s you and me make the awesome happen.

Plans have been laid. Rumors are afoot!

Dear qualities, everything is conspiring to make this mini-Rally on Monday (January 16, 2012 at precisely 9:00 AM Pacific Standard Time! Mark your calendar!) the best thing. I can’t wait to see you there.

Love always,

Me.

Want to play along?

You can write a love letter. You can mini-Rally! You can think up the quality or qualities you crave time with, and whether you just whisper it, whether you write it down, whether you carve it into stone or hug it into your stuffed rabbit, it’s at least the first step. I firmly believe that. That’s why I wrote my letter.

Maybe you want to write one too? Or maybe you are excited to play along at home, or to see what comes out of the mini-Rally. Friends and readers, I would love to hear from you, especially if you are excited (because I’m excited too!) and I can’t wait to write back and let you know how it goes.

xo!

Also: overwhelm. Panicky, HSP overwhelm.

Perhaps that’s no surprise. This year I’ve been learning more and more about my sensitive self: she is unpredictable. Some things that sound perfectly awful in advance turn out to be lovely and calm, when I get there. (This makes for the occasional lovely surprise, but can also make it hard to plan ahead, you know?)

Last night, I didn’t realize what was going on until I found myself camped out in a corner, frozen, quietly looking at my spouse.

All I could say was, “I think I need to go home. I’m very….tired.“

{Insert here: small and powerful prayer of thanks for allies who understand That Pleading Look and know how to pack the car and get us home fast, when we are unable to do it for ourselves.}

So.

I got home. I got into pajamas. We put the littlest mermaid to bed. And then I climbed into my own bed, desperate for refuge, warmth, safety, quiet, and sleep.

But my brain was screaming, wailing, crying. So very, very unhappy.

What to do?

It is so hard to be present. But I tried. Gently.

The longer I lay under the blankets with my pain and my woe, the more I became aware that my body was in pain, too. The shock of flight was wearing off. I became aware that my body was full of bottle-up unhappiness.

Hello, pain, I said. Where are you located?

No! responded the pain.

(My pain had very specific instructions.)

It said, Stay out of your body, it is not safe here. 

So in my desperation I did a wacky and unlikely thing (as one does!) and went to the Pensieve.

Wizards are smart folk

I don’t know why this particular image came to me. I am not particularly into the whole Harry Potter thing. But the venerable wizard Albus Dumbledore had this cool thing, the Pensieve.

It looks like a pool. A bowl of water. Or it might be a sieve.

Your thoughts and memories go into it.

Your shining memories spool out of your head, like a thread you pull from your ear, and drop into the pool. And I needed this Pensieve to hold the different things that had hurt me. This is all I knew.

I started by telling it the obvious things. I’m tired. I’m uncomfortably full. It was a lot of people.

The not-as-obvious things. That chair was uncomfortable. My pants were itchy. And oh the happy noisy chaos of dinner with kids. 

More: That was really half a glass too much wine. I didn’t like sitting on the floor when we were opening presents. I felt rushed.

I kept adding more and more things like this. Every single tiny seemingly-insignificant thing that begged to be heard and witnessed.

There were other things, too. The more I remembered the insignificant things (Was that really my wineglass? Did I forget to pick up that thing when we left? I need a new pie recipe!) the more the bigger stuff became more apparent

Those uncomfortable comparisons I made in my head.

The fear that sat with me when I heard a triggering thing.

The other triggering thing that gave me heart pangs.

The really important thing I was too scared to say to my dad.

I visualized these things, all the unheard internal voices, big and small, gently spooling out of me. Into the Penseive.

As I did so, my body relaxed a little. And then a little more.

Eventually, it didn’t matter how bottled up my body was, or why it hurt. I had listened to some of the pain, and it was enough. I was just tired, and I slept.

Wishes

My wish for the coming new year is that I may learn how to listen to my sensitive self even more. That I may practice it more. That I do unlikely kooky things to help myself out, even when they seem so ridiculous that my rational self has rolled its eyeballs all the way over the moon.

Because this year held a lot of pain. Pain that released other pain. Holding still when it wasn’t possible to do anything else. Projects that were a lot of fun and projects that scared me.

This year was a little bit like last night, really. Overwhelming. A lot to unravel.

I wasn’t always able to meet myself. The story would only get a little clearer as time passed (mostly).

I’d like to use this year as very important evidence toward whatever theory or plan or project carries me forward in 2012. To love the sensitive self. To plan for her even when it is painful to do so. Gently, of course.

Seeds have been planted. Projects are whispering and getting ready. In 2012, I hope to listen as well as I know how, and to remember what has brought me here.

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Even though this calendar year still has several important weeks left, I’m posting this today. Thank you, as ever, for reading, friends. Love and wishes to you, and all the unlikely kooky allies you need. xo

It’s been a  little while since I’ve been able to put three words together (or three minutes!) in this space, and I have so many things I want to tell you.

About the glorious Oregon woods that are simply on fire with autumn beauty. About the fog that makes those woods glow in the morning. About long scarves and cozy hats.

About my favorite traveling labyrinth that came back to campus to teach me more things last week. About dance class and all the good (and hard) things it is teaching me. About my project that recently launched into the world and then promptly sent me into silent retreat about What Next.

Also: about building a sense of home. Comfort.

About the family stroll down North Mississippi with the lovely Yael and feeling home. About seeing secret backyard hammocks and swings and knowing that comfort and unbelievable fun is hiding there, waiting to be discovered.

These things feel important because autumn is just so tied to me-ness and each of these things has to do with how to be me in the season of Autumn.

A lot of fall-ness is happy and cozy and beautiful. It’s letting go of the suffocating heat and too-much-ness of August (which never ends) and September (which is Oregon’s sneaky second August). Autumn feels like home.

And yet, I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about my memories of being cold. I hadn’t known this was a thing, but apparently it is. I’ve been a little bit overwhelmed realizing how powerful these memories are, and on days when I forget to get warm (the wrong shirt, the wrong socks, no scarf, forgotten gloves) these cold memories sneak up and make me feel deeply unsafe. I remember feeling alone, in houses that felt unsafe and open to the cold wind. Times in which I was too afraid of money to use the heating oil in more than five-minute spurts. When there was no way to get warm enough, and I spent a lot of time in fight-or-flight mode because of it.

Things that have helped: Havi’s excellent separation exercise. And naming things. And figuring out what my Cold Self needs and then getting plenty of it.

And also, trying not to overload on Figuring Things Out. Because I really don’t know why all these cold memories are so strong and so painful right now. Or why other things feel so confusing and big and tiring. Why parts of my life feel out of alignment and why I feel incapable of doing anything (when I know I *could* be doing things), or why the guilt about all of it is so strong.

These are some of the unknowing selves that walked with me in the labyrinth this week, actually. I wanted to have a calm meditative explorative labyrinth walk, like last time, but instead I just chanted silently in my head as I walked, I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know. And tried not to ask why. Apparently all my unknowing selves just needed to come out that day. And this season. And that’s just where I am right now.

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Thank you for reading, as always. I hope you have some autumn beauty (or spring beauty, as the case may be) around you, and exactly as much warmth or comfort as you need. Xo.

I’m grateful for the support of Maryann’s Why Not Now group, which supported me so perfectly through all the stuck and confusion.

I’m grateful for two blogs whose heart-deep writings have been particularly close to my heart, too: Simone’s Freckled Brilliance and Ev’Yan’s Sex, Love, Liberation, for different and yet so very connected ways (creativity, identity, it’s all wrapped up in sex, y’all).

I’m grateful for blanket forts, for spheres of protection, for delight and permission and gentle exploration and so many other wonderful lessons and inspirations from the ever-adored Havi, of course.

Grateful for unexpected days. Unexpected things of so many flavors. Grateful to my past self who planted and planted seeds and didn’t know when they would sprout until suddenly…bloooooom. Beautiful.

If you’d like to see my sweet new thing, blow it sweet kisses of love, please do. Her name is Polly, and she’s over here: applemaid.etsy.com.

Gratitude. I’m just filled up with it. Thank you for reading, too. It’s been a journey to get here and you’ve all been part of it, too, and for that I am tremendously, cheesily, heart-burstingly happy and proud. Xo.

I’m in one of those roller coaster projects right now. You know the kind? It starts in fun town and plummets straight to hell and then somehow comes back to a good place again. It’s nice to be back in a good place (so very, very nice) …but damn, it can be tiring to visit hell.

Hell is the place, for me, where usually-friendly monsters turn into demons. Where my self goes into hiding, and all I can do is listen and agree with them. It’s a frightening place. I’m back, though. E quindi uscimmo a riverder le stelle.

And: I’m back with some notes for next time I find myself in the middle of that hell again:

• Don’t forget to go to sleep! How your project looks at night, after a very long and tiring day, is probably not reality. It will always look better in the morning.
• Special reminder: when you’re convinced (usually at night, of course) that the project looks like hell only because life is hell and life is meaningless this is also a good sign that you should go to sleep, already, because your brain is shutting down. You’re running out of juice. It’s a signal (sleep needed!) not a sign of your worth or the project’s worth. Do not abandon your project. Let it rest if it needs to. Give yourself permission to rest.
• When in doubt, bring more of yourself into it. This always helps. In my case, it’s meant turning my craft project’s electronic component into something more like a zine (scissors and paste and photocopies! A very me approach!) instead of something designed in a fancy program (not a very me thing to do, or not yet). This is also something I’m learning about from the amazing Tara. Bringing more of yourself into your project is also a good way to get out of the post-hell blahs and get back into the feeling of genuine excitement. Yay!

I’ll leave it there. There is an extra (and extra-personal!) set of notes I’m taking on how this all relates to hormonal rollercoasters, too. I’m leaving notes for Future Me on how to get ready and plan ahead for next time, with extra rest and love. What Havi has been writing lately about conscious entry and exit is so apt, too. This is all about gentle noticing, processing the process, and playing with patterns.

In media satis

Meanwhile, whatever happened with my giveaway project? Well, I didn’t quite get to my original goal of thirty days. I got very, very close, and then life got in the way.

This is frustrating. I did this because I wanted to get to the hard stuff and now it seems like I stopped just before getting to the truly difficult stuff.

If I haven’t felt any lingering regrets about the giveaways, does that mean I was less attached to things than I thought? Did I stop two days short of my goal because I was unwilling to risk the harder decisions? I’m not sure.

But I’m also calling it enough. Twenty-eight trunkfuls of stuff given away, freely and consciously and hastily and planfully and tiredly and thankfully, is enough.

Definitely enough

It’s afforded me more space in my home. In my closets and cupboards and drawers. More space in my mind, too.

Less digging for what I want, more trusting that I have what I need.

It’s a good feeling. It’s enough, satis.

And I’m enormously grateful.

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Thank you, as ever, for reading. Much love to all your projects and monsters and occasional demons and all the exits and entries. xo

Toolbox, temporarily

For the next two weeks I’m working on a wee project that I dreamed up, oh let’s see…a whopping six months ago! (Goodness. That’s a testament to: planting seeds and trusting they will grow against all odds; patience, of course; the awesomeness of Secret Play Dates; life being generally busy and occasionally sad/confusing and moving with its own unpredictability.)

I’m using Maryann and Shannon’s Why Not Now group to hold a nice little container of accountability and action and support for this project, which will be: launching one tiny piece of a much bigger project I’ve been dreaming about.

It started, quite simply, with packing the box you see in that photo up above: full of the things that will make this project go forward. I’m going to make a thing, you see. A doll, or rather a doll-pattern.

To start us off, Shannon and Maryann hosted a call where we got to hear a little bit about other peoples’ projects (such coolness! oh gosh you guys I can’t wait to see some of this stuff) and I learned that I’m not alone in having some of the fears that I have.

While listening, I took a lot of notes on my fears, a rather vocal bunch of monsters who had tense observations to make on the whole process. Even with that enticing shoebox full of fun things on my writing desk (crafting things! at work! how unexpected!), I was a little scared.

I found the You’re Not An Expert judging monster, the This Is Way Too Big project-manager monster, and the Holy Logistics Freakout Collective (who submitted a petition that was composed entirely of incoherent wails).

I said okay, I hear you. The container for this project has room for you, too.

I gave the monsters their own space to talk and figure things out on a separate page (thank you Havi for that technique!). And then I sketched and cut and pinned.

Patterning, take one

And I listened some more to the project and how, if I listened carefully, there were easy ways to make it happen, despite the There Is No Time fear monsters. Future Self said, all you need is to get one little mock-up prototype. Not perfect, not looking at the sample doll you wanted to copy. Just…try it out.

Make it ready so you can refine it later.

You can do this. You’ve done this before.

Ready to sew, plus version one of the pattern mock-up

And there you go. One hour on the group phone call. Twenty minutes sketching, pinning, cutting. Ready for the next step!

Hello, project

I’d like the rest of the project to continue like this, too. The genius of the Why Not Now thing is that there are check-in calls every three days, so I’m motivated to get a little bit done every day in order to move towards whatever next obstacle or stage or plateau might be out there.

I’d like to find: ease and trust. Playfulness, even when the damn sewing machine does its inevitable stupid thing and I have to rip it apart. Space for the Oh God Do I Have To Use InDesign fears and the entire Holy Logistics Freakout Collective to gnash and wail and figure out how to do it in a safe way.

I’d like to find: tiny pockets of time. Supportive ways to focus on the goal (a PDF ready to launch!) and less on the perfectionism. Unlikely support and allies who know secret ways of doing things. I just know they’re out there.

I’d like to give myself permission especially to not disappear down endless rabbit holes of research into blogs that give me the comparison-jitters and what-ifs and other fearful twitches. It’s okay to do this my way. It’s okay to change it later. It’s going to be more fun and there will be more me in the final product if I do what comes naturally instead of copying someone else’s methods or layout or design. Connect to the touchstones, and it will be easier, hopefully:

Ease. Play. Trust. Time. Selfness. Safety. 

Hello, project. Can’t wait to dive in more and more.