Hypn07, Day 1: Where Monkey Brain meets the other 80%

This covers day 1 of 30 for the Hypnotherapy Project, which I'm collaborating on with Los Angeles-based hypnotherapist Greg Beckett. You can read more about this experiment, what motivated it and what we hope to accomplish here.

I've said it a million times: Exercise is king. Nutrition is queen. Put them together and you've got a kingdom. , Jack LaLanne, ancient fitness guru who could totally kick my ass, and with one hand tied behind his 92-year-old back

* * * * *

FIRST things FIRST

• hew to my goals
• stay focused
• treat my body like the kingdom (NOTE: "kingdom" underlined twice)
• lead by example (NOTE: "lead" underlined twice)

, list created by Colleen Wainwright going into the Great Hypnotherapy Project

* * * * *

I came to my first day of the Great Hypnotherapy Project armed with notes, a quote from Jack LaLanne and a feeling of dread.

The excitement I'd felt when Greg first suggested the experiment, 30 days of one-on-one hypnotherapy with no objective other than to see what happened, had morphed into a melange of fear and worry (my favorite cocktail). How could I possibly have thought this would work? I was, after all, a mountain of insurmountable problems covered in calcified habit; what I wanted was nothing less to become...perfect. (Even though, as my shrink once pointed out via vivid illustration, nobody wants to be around anybody who has "perfection" as an agenda item, much less anyone who's actually gotten there.)

But if there is one thing I've actually bone-learned in my decidedly imperfectly lived 45+ years, it's to feel x and do it anyway, where x equals fear, dread, certitude of impossibility, etc. Yes, you're unhappy about this, and...?

So we sat and chatted for about an hour. We can do this, Greg and I, because we're close and we love to talk, but I imagine kind, wonderful Greg would do this with anyone. He understands that the getting at something is often an elliptical process; me, I'm like a dude: I want to get in there with the blowtorch and the scalpel and FIX. THE. PROBLEM.

He is, of course, right (at least, in this sort of situation), and somewhere in that hour a light went on and I scribbled in my notes:

[connect all this to joy b/c right now it looks/feels like a big chore] (NOTE: "big chore" underlined twice)

We agreed that this was perhaps a rich vein, and to proceed. Greg put me under, and after a minor flip-out on my part (my jaw! it won't open! [note: it was my eyes that wouldn't open, not that it's any better or worse]) and Greg putting me back under, we met Monkey Brain.

Monkey Brain is seven, and under the delusion, poor thing, that she is the boss of everything. I'll spare you the details of my overachieving childhood; suffice it to say that Monkey Brain has been pulling hard duty for a long time with bad tools (she's seven, for chrissakes) and she's over it. Tired. Mad. Scared. Monkey Brain is only 20% of the show, but she feels responsible for all of it.

So Greg had a long chat with Monkey Brain and the other 80%. After some assurances that Monkey Brain could get a few treats (sad, really, how little she asked for), we hammered out an agreement to move forward as a team toward the same goals. Greg brought me back, I felt great, and I'm once again really excited about the Great Hypnotherapy Project.

Oh, and Monkey Brain is very excited about the new, red shoes we got on the way home...

xxx c Coming up on Day Two: Miss Lax, Gloomy Manor and the Problems of the Very Clean Room.

Image by tedfoo via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

What we learn from the mundane

The Great Hypnotherapy Project will be slightly delayed owing to the unexpectedly protracted illness of the guinea pig.

It's probably to the benefit of the project. This bout of whatever has left me more like a real guinea pig: gentle and slow moving, with a soft, soft underbelly in need of protection. Fewer barriers to break down, fewer gates to storm. Purged of the vices one is allowed to accumulate when one is higher up in the food chain. Vices are bad for self-development, right?

The funny thing was, there were parts of this illness I enjoyed. A week ago tonight, I was almost merry as I drove to pick up my Tom Yum Goong and other assorted verboten treats. Workaholics don't take vacations; we get sick, and watch our DVDs and take our hot baths and eat our comfort food.

Only this cold wouldn't go away when I wanted it to. So I pushed it aside for a few hours on Thursday night to get inducted as Chief Nerd at my Toastmasters club, and became twice as ill as punishment, even, in an ironic touch, losing my voice for two full days.

I finally gave in Friday night. If there is was a 12-step program for control freaks, I gave myself up to it, admitting myself powerlessness in the face of the Illness' grip on me. I cried in the shower even, bargaining with God to give me back my voice. I would redouble my efforts to use it for the powers of good, not evil. There are no atheists in foxholes and 95ºF apartments, it would seem.

I'm better today. Foggy, but better. I see some light at the end of this tunnel, faint, but it's there. It will probably be a week of nothing much and not too often. But I have promised two medium-sized children that I will see them again before they toddle back to the Midwest for the rest of their summer. And so I will be better soon.

In fact, I feel better already...

xxx c

Image by ratterrell via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

What's your Learning Edge? (The hypnotherapy project)

This is essentially the first post about a 30-day experiment I called "the Great Hypnotherapy Project, which I collaborated on in July and August of 2007 with Los Angeles-based hypnotherapist Greg Beckett. You can read more about this experiment, what motivated it and what we hoped to accomplish here; you can read all of the entries in chronological order here.

While I don't take naturally to change, I've grown to love it so much that I've learned a lot of hacks to help facilitate it.

One of them is the very public 21-Day Saluteâ„¢, as practiced here on communicatrix-dot-com. Building on the notion originally put forth by Dr. Maxwell Maltz that it takes 21 days to change a habit, I did my first three-week stint to Cheer the Hell Up, but I now use my little wind sprints to get myself back in the habit of blogging when I've fallen off the wagon.

Another one of the things is, NO DUH!!!!, enlisting help. Pretty simple from the outside, but when you're born and raised in The Stiff Upper Lip Club, easier said than done. I've gone from flying solo to having:

1. a shrink
2. a business coach
3. a designer's support group
4. a Toastmasters club, and...
5. a women's manifestation circle.

(Don't freak out on me: most of the appointments are monthly or even bi-monthly; the only ones that happen weekly are Toastmasters and my coaching appointment.)

So when my good friend, Greg, offered me the chance to combine the two, I leaped (leapt?) at it.

Greg Beckett is an amazing hypnotherapist. He's actually an amazing person, in general, but he has a true gift with hypnotherapy. And flan, of all things. Seriously. He has to hypnotize me to not eat the flan.

Which is what he's going to do, at least to start with. I'm the very excited guinea pig for Greg's 30-Day Experiment: 30 consecutive days of hypnotherapy with the same client, to see what happens. We figure 21 days to change a habit and a little extra for good measure (and a round number).

Initially, we're going to use the sessions to get me back on SCD 100%, at least, that's one of the things we'll work on. Having done a little experimentation with Greg's hypnotherapy before, I know that all this stuff, these blocks, these ways of avoidance, these willful fits of procrastination, is interconnected. Hell, you don't need to have done hypnotherapy to know that.

All of this dovetails beautifully with a group project Adam Kayce (aka Monk at Work) initiated recently: What's Your Learning Edge? His thought is that growth is contingent on continuous learning, and it's up to each of us to continually re-ignite that passion for learning by going deeper, by finding the "edge" that leads us in. To participate, all you need do is one of two things (from Adam):

1. If you're not currently pushing the envelope of your intellectual horizons… or if you're feeling a staleness in your life that you wouldn't mind giving the ol' heave-ho to… then I invite you to pick something that you've always been curious about, and dive into it with all the passion of a two-year-old on a playground.
2. Write a post about your “learning edge” and what you're into these days. Feel free to mention any books you're reading, classes you're taking, people you're learning from or collaborating with, etc. Tell us about the gems you're picking up, the fun you're having, etc., especially if they're shifting the way you look at what you do.

So that's my Learning Edge, 30 days of me and a big, swinging, gold watch, getting sleeeeeepy...sleeeeeeeeepy.... (Just kidding, it's a silver watch.)

I'll be covering what happens on the project here. Greg and I have also discussed doing some kind of podcast. (Hey, we're both former hams; might as well use what you know to share what you're learning.) We were supposed to start yesterday, but I've been derailed by some nasty summer flu/cold thing, so Monday is D-day.

Meanwhile, I will invite, not tag, but invite, Bonnie Gillespie, Jason Womack, Chris Glass, Evelyn Rodriguez and Jeremy "Be Careful What You Wish For" Cherfas to share with the group.

I mean, it's not like you're not out there learnin' it up, anyway...

xxx c

Image by XI*Erica Simone*XI via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Anatomy of a meme

This comes to me via my pal, Jeremy Cherfas. I admit to being completely befuddled when I first looked over the questions. Then bummed.

And then, I figured out what to do with it...

1. What's in your pocket?

Left rear: a rectangle of vivid orange velvet, trimmed for me from a larger rectangle of same by a small fry of great passion, kindness and unbridled creativity.

Right rear: A "communicatrix.com" card I had printed up for SXSW last year, deposited there by aforementioned small fry.

Great meme-responding requires a delicate mix of wit, bravado and truthiness. This response has none of those; all but the most diehard readers of this blog will hightail it out of here after reading this first response.

2. Is the pork ready?

If it's been cooking in the gravy for a minimum of eight hours, yes.

Right away, we see the the author of this meme is either: (a) non-American; (b) trying to out-smartypants his respondents; (c) all of the above. Note to would-be meme crafters: attempt (c) at your own peril. You will almost certainly fail, either at propagating your meme on a broad scale with the many, or out-smartypants-ing the few.

3. Have you ever had to rock to and fro to make your poopie go?

Yes. Apparently, the constipated are as likely to develop Crohn's as the loose-poopeys.

After reading this question, I am fairly certain of the meme's provenance. The question, while not particularly clever, feels steeped in foreign idiom. The best way to handle memes like this, should your colloquialisms not align with those of the meme-writer, is to mainly take things at face value, then look for an opening.

4. Do you like onions?

Yes. Unfortunately, the feeling is most decidedly not mutual.

While awaiting an opening, try to maintain a good ratio of wit to truthiness.

5. So, how big is it?

Big enough to know better.

See above. This is a sass-based answer, although not smart enough to turn off a reader who's made it this far.

6. Budweiser or real beer?

No beer on SCD.

Another excellent function that memes provide is the chance for internal links. Also, in my case, I never met a platform I couldn't turn into a soapbox.

7. What do you feel about your nose?

It's less what I feel about mine, than what I do about other people's, namely, how the hell do most of you breathe out of those pinholes?

Remember, a good part of truthiness is deflection. This is not untrue, but it not the full (and boring) truth. For posts about my nose in full, stay tuned to this blog channel.

8. Children: Baked or broiled?

Yes.

With memes, as with all lists, the better part of excellence is often restraint. Mix your longs with your shorts, people, your longs with your shorts...

9. Do you like it when I do this?

Depends on my mood. I'm a mystery wrapped in a goddamn enigma.

There are a good deal of perverts in the intertubes. If you don't believe me, feel free to browse some of the search strings that brought people here. A firm hand is a lady's best friend. Don't give the pervs an inch. (Cf #7 re: deflection)

10. Do you like the sound of chickens?

As an enlightened person, I prefer the sound of "womens".

This is one of those Dennis Miller lines. Hope both of you liked it.

11. Would Beyonce clip her own toenails?

If what...she had hands? If her hands were broken and she could only use her teeth? If someone stole her clippers and she had to use two toothpicks and a piece of string? How can I be expected to answer these incomplete questions?!?

Not a bad question, but this is where we separate the meme-boys from the meme-men, as it were. Seize every opportunity to grab the reins.

12. Do you like pork?

Yes. You want go at it now?

For example, when the bar is (supposedly) raised by this second pork question, it's important to establish superiority. Resist the urge to build on your previous pork answer. Sharp left turn. Comedy is the unexpected meeting the ill-prepared. Or something like that.

13. If the butter is soft, does the bus arrive on time?

Wait, is this some foreign meme?!?

With memes, as with most interactions, timing is everything. Note how I bided my time, waiting for the right opening? NOTE: another nice way to deal with this is to drop a hint-joke in early and do a callback later on. In this case, since the first indication that this might be a foreign meme was rather oblique, I opted to wait.

14. When do you get up?

When I'm stiff from sitting.

Filler answer. Pacing, remember?

15. How did you survive childhood?

By hanging on with all my might to the occasional glimpses I got of me as an adult, free of them all.

If you want to make a serious point, it's almost always best to slip it in amongst a lot of silliness. That way, it will both be more effective, and more deniable.

16. What do you do before bed?

Indulge in some sort of media input.

Pacing, again. Think of certain of your answers as sorbet courses in between the saucy richness.

17. What are your hidden charges?

All fees negotiated up front and signed off on by both parties.

Ramping back up to something racier.

18. Who's behind you?

Those on the Side of Right, Jesus, and elite team of venture capitalists. (Duh.)

Bang! Even slipped in a Jeebus crack!

19. Why don't people go to the bathroom on TV?

It shorts the circuitry.

Everyone loves a little potty joke. I skipped the obvious one, on poop, above. You do want to play to your audience a bit, though.

20. What's a soylent green popsicle?

Whoville-illians.

Rule #407: Obscure must be met by more obscure.

21. What does it taste like?

I do not like them, Sam-I-Am.

Rule #408: Everyone likes a follow-up joke.

22. Why doesn't Consumer Reports rate hookers?

No balls. (Get it? No balls!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!)

If you don't see the joke immediately, come back to it. I couldn't see the obvious joke right away as I was too close to this. The Consumer Reports part, not the hooker part. Animals....

23. Does George Bush replace the toilet paper tube?

When my super-Christian, ultra-capitalist, uber-Republican father met with GWB back in the late '90s to discuss running his ad campaign for the first election, I braced myself for the worst. But Dad turned down the gig, noting that dude was a wrong guy, the kind of person "who probably pulled the wings off flies when he was a kid."

He leaves those two last sheets that are stuck on with glue, drinks the last of the mild and puts it back and doesn't redeposit the balled-up Kleenexes that glance off the rim back onto the floor. An entitled putz, we have for a president.

Save up your stories, you never know when they'll come in handy. Opportunity comes in strange guises...

xxx
c

P.S. While I thank Jeremy for the opportunity, I'm afraid this meme comes here to die. I have absolutely no idea who to tag who wouldn't come back an kill me in the night.

Image by via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license. Pass it on...

The reluctant expert, or "Why teaching is sexy"

While I'm no expert in the ways of things blogular, I've been doing it long enough, and obsessively enough, let's face it, to have learned a few things along the way.

The same goes for acting (which I was relieved to let go of almost a year ago), writing, design, presenting, cooking and, just because I've pulled 45 summers with my eyes open, for living.

Occasionally, an awareness of this knowledge floats to the surface on its own, in those rare moments when I am both lucid and chatter-free enough to let it. An appropriately sized bubble of gratitude and wonder will float to the surface, pop, and I'm back at my task, persuading or kerning or chopping. A nanosecond's awareness in the moment.

For a true sense of distance, I need a marker or a mirror, either someone I've known in my clumsier days, who helps me mark the distance between then and now, or someone seeing it for the first time.

While the former is great for boosting my ego (the student OUTSHINES THE MASTERRRR!!!), the latter is more deeply satisfying. Seeing the lights go on and the wheels start to turn, watching the world of possibilities unfold before your very eyes is unbelievably exhilarating. Maybe not better than sex or cookies or making someone laugh, but right up there with them.

I can see how it might be addictive, even for those poor souls struggling to do it the old-fashioned way, amidst the inclement conditions much of our public school system offers. Hell, maybe even more so, for the right kind of masochist.

Doing it with willing and capable students? O, bliss.

My introverted nature means I can only offer so much in the way of up-close-and-personal teaching before I need to crawl back into my cave for some serious "me" time. Yes, I'm energized after a few hours of coaching or an evening of nerdmasters, but I'm also noticeably depleted. I've become more careful about scheduling in general, at least, scheduling time with others. I think I'll probably struggle with overwork until I drop from it.

But after years of wondering who in the world could stand to be a teacher, and why, I know the answer to both. We are all of us teachers, connecting each other to the light. And a life without light would be like a life without sex or cookies or making someone laugh: bearable, I suppose, but only just...

xxx c

Image by via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

8 random facts about the communicatrix

What do I love after I've been sucked dry and spit out by a 21-Day Saluteâ„¢? I loves me a meme!

Like the title sez, 8 utterly random facts about the communicatrix:

1. The first "rock" concert I went to was Sonny & Cher.

2. The, um, second "rock" concert I went to was also Sonny & Cher.

3. When I first started elementary school, someone got the bright idea I should be moved up a grade. But I hated the second graders so much I cried until the nuns let me go back to first. My promotion lasted a total of three hours, and started me off on a lifetime of manipulation through deviosity.

4. I lived in a bubble of privileged belovedness that was forever rent when I attended Cimarroncita Ranch Camp in Taos, New Mexico, during the summer between seventh and eighth grade. My very good friend of seven years, Alexis LeBlanc*, washed her hands of me at some point when the train that brought us from Chicago passed through Texas and her "real" friends, the ones who'd been going to CRC since they were wee tykes, got on. From that point on, I was openly reviled, mocked and tortured until my return home, the nadir of my experience being the ingestion of FOUR!!! COUNT 'EM! FOUR!!! squares of Ex-Laxâ„¢, administered under highly false pretenses. I and my colon, temporarily renamed "the greased chute", spent 24 hours in the infirmary, and after a good talking-to, the girls dialed down the hatred to a simmering-but-dormant "yellow alert" status.

I would like to say I told Alexis LeBlanc to eff off and that I have never been mean since, but in truth, while I never trusted her again, I hewed to the old "keep your enemies closer" line when it came to Lexy**. And was slightly less mean where the rubber met the road.

5. My favorite thing in the whole, wide, wonderful world is to make someone laugh who's not given to it.

6. If I am in a deep funk, nothing sets me to rights like a viewing of Car Wash, The Magnificent Seven or Superstar.

7. I have had sex here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.

8. I have been driving around for over two months with 30 lbs. of unused fabric I've been meaning to donate to my costume designer friend, Ann Closs-Farley, and I'm hoping this meme shames me into actually unloading it from my car.

Thank you, Rob Kendt. And now, it's time for these eight merry reindeer to chime in...

• Bonnie Gillespie
• Dave Greten
• Chris Glass
• Anne Sertich
• Danny Miller
• Neil Kramer
• Jenny Amadeo
• Brandon Rogers (that's right, motherf*cker, go find a guest blog spot to kill off this damned meme)

xxx
c

*Not her real name
**Not her real nickname

Image of me, circa 1974, along with my five merry Torquemadas and the adult who was supposedly in charge of preventing this kind of Animal Farm-foolery

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 21: Baby buddhas

I've been caught up, or catching up, with work lately, and today was no exception.

So by the time I got to my Country House, the Youngster had already been here for awhile. He and The BF's kidniks had been hanging out, playing frisbee down at the park, lolling around and such. They do a lot of that, hanging out, but all the same, they have a way of commanding your attention. Such is the result of being constantly present. It's exhausting for us who are more used to being partly present, albeit for longer stretches.

The kidniks were off somewhere in the other room, amusing themselves for a moment or two, and The Youngster turned to me and remarked how it had done him a world of good to spend some time with them. Because you realize that none of It matters. All that crap. As the Youngster said, "I realized, hey, I could just go to Italy."

Because none of It matters. Not really. All that stuff we get so caught up in. That deadline. Those meetings. This blog.

Don't worry, I'm not going to stop blogging. But I'm going to start bringing more attention to it when I do.

Lesson #22? Be here now. Wherever "here" is.

Go forth, fellow buddhas, and be...

xxx c

Image by kiny via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 20: Learning to take one's medicine

For years, the only things I took orally, and let me pause here ever-so briefly, that some of you may retrieve your mind from that trench below the curbing, were food and drink.

I was young! Healthy! Carefree! I thought the corrals of pill bottles blooming on my elders' nightstands were needless, if one lived life well and thoughtfully.

46 years later, the joke is on me. On top of the Crohn's medication, I take a multivitamin, a calcium-plus-magnesium supplement, an acidopholus capsule and an omega-3 supplement. And that's when I'm doing well, like now.

Most of these pills are no big deal once they're in my gullet. (Other than the omega-3, which makes my burps taste like three-day-old fish for the next five hours.)

Getting them down is another thing, entirely. And I've gotten worse, not better, with practice. The longer I take them, the more episodes of choking and sputtering and heinous powdery throat afterburn I get. And so I come to dread taking them, which, given my tendency to bow to the Woo, makes me feel like they're enemy agents, not helpful troops.

Today, I ran out of the calcium supplement. (I figure I'll live until I can get around to re-ordering, I eat enough yogurt to sustain the bone health of the entire population of Sun City.) With the usual dread, I filled my mouth with water, mentally prepping myself for the daily chokefest, and...nothing. Nothing! Went down like a couple of old skool Sudafed.

Apparently, the calcium tabs, specifically, the large and chalky nature of them, were what put me over the top. So it would appear that all I need do when they're back in rotation is... take them separately!!!

Lesson #21: Bigger problems are swallowed in smaller doses.

No kidding...

xxx c

Image by Wahish via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 19: Making peace with emptiness

For years, I lived my life like the plate spinners.

You know, those guys you'd see from time to time on Bozo's Circus who, for their grand finale, kept what seemed like dozens of plates spinning atop dozens of poles via timely reapplication of force (and the apparently gyroscopic effect of the sabre dance).

It was funny to me, until it wasn't. After all, no matter how skillful you become, it still requires a great deal of energy and focus to keep those plates intact and in motion, which exacts a toll. And for what, ultimately? To prove you are a skillful chicken running around with your head cut off?

As I was getting my breakfast ready this morning, I realized that my life has become less about plate spinning and more about banana rotation. See, I'm not allowed to eat regular bananas on the Specific Carbohydrate Diet, so for the past five years, I've gotten in the habit of staggering my banana purchases so that I always have a few just coming into that overripe stage that puts them in the SCD safe zone.

Only sometimes, I screw up. I get busy (spinning plates, probably) and don't get to the store and all of a sudden there are no bananas, or only unripe (or perfect) bananas, which is the same as having no bananas on the SCD.

Here's the thing: when you fail to keep your plates spinning, you have loud noises and broken crockery; when you fail to rotate your bananas, you have...apples. Or yogurt. Or any one of a number of other foods to fall back on. Quiet, non-stressful foods that, while they may not be loaded with potassium, certainly can get the job done in a pinch. Lesson #20: Yes! we have no bananas

Talk about your zen koans...

xxx c

Image by greenhem via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 18: The significance of cheese

You just don't know.

That lady who cut you off this morning? Maybe she was just delivered the straw that broke the camel's back before leaving the house that morning.

The guy who jumped the concessions line at the movie theater? Maybe his mind was just somewhere else. Or hell, maybe his vision isn't so hot. (Well, did you see where he picked his seat for the show?)

When you sign up for my newsletter (and I hope you will) the only information I ask for is your email address, which I think is fair since I need it to send you your newsletter. I also ask for some other stuff, but it's not mandatory. Your name, for example, and where you found me.

And cheese.

I ask you if you like cheese. Or don't like cheese. Or whether you think the whole question is stupid. Because...

Well, I didn't know why when I set it up. Maybe I thought it would be cute, and kind of ease the awkwardness of blatant information harvesting. But once I set it up, I became fascinated by the answers, particularly those who would JUDGE ME by indicating that yes, indeedy, they thought that question was S-T-U-P-I-D, too stupid, in fact, to answer. Only, you know, they were answering it.

Which started to rile me, then worry me. Were there people signing up for my newsletter who hated me? Who were just doing it so they could judge me? Would they eagerly await each month's new release, sharing it with their friends as they all laughed and laughed at how S-T-U-P-I-D it was?

Then today, annmarie commented on one of my posts. And in the comment, after leaving some very sweet and encouraging words about the blog, she confessed that she had checked the "I hate cheese" box accidentally...and it had been bothering her ever since.

So thank you, annmarie. Not just for the kind words, but for Lesson #19: You don't know what you don't know.

xxx c

Image by meg rorison via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 17: Maybe we should put a price on happiness

I live in a neighborhood set smack dab between the rich and the not-so-rich, my building equidistant from their respective grocery stores.

Both stores are clean, new and well-stocked. There's only one real difference: the prices are better at the poor grocery store...and everything else is better at the rich grocery store. Basically, you pay a premium for things to be a little prettier and, yes, for people to be a little friendlier.

Don't get me wrong: there are friendly people at the poor grocery store, there just aren't as many. Maybe they hire happier people at the rich grocery store. Or maybe they pay them more, so they're happier. Or maybe it's just part of the job description.

That's not the point of today's lesson. Because unless they're poking them with sticks at the rich grocery store, or doing something equally despicable to make them smile, all I know is all things being equal, and especially when they're not so equal, when I'm feeling a little ill or low or pressed for time, I'd rather go to the rich grocery store. Partly because they're nice to me, but also because being around them makes it easier for me to be nice.

Which got me to thinking: instead of it being selfish of me to say "no" or set terms that work for me or charge enough to keep myself from worry, could it be that I'm just enabling myself to be a better conveyor of happiness?

Lesson #18: Do what you can to keep yourself a strong link in the chain.

xxx c

Image by Terry Bain, author of You Are a Dog, &c., via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 16: Seeing opportunities through the mist of problems

I had a number of good lessons make their presence known today, but by the time I finished driving the distance between my place and My Summer House, I'd pretty much settled on The Story of the Blockbuster Guyâ„¢ as tonight's post.

I used the time to run through them, and the day, and to remind myself of what had yet to be done. There was getting my tabs set up on the guest Mac, and finding a good accompanying photo on Flickr, and porting it to another machine that had Photoshop loaded in order to do the wee bit of tweaking necessary for it to show up perfectly (there's that word again!) on communicatrix-dot-com.

But when I got booted up, Flickr was down. "Having a massage." Whatever. It's been happening more and more, it seems, growing pains, perhaps. I knew I didn't want to spend a bunch of time messing with the wonkiness, but I also knew that to post without a picture wouldn't feel right.

And then it hit me: I have pictures. Tons of pictures, loaded on my server already. The one above, "Soft Cream in Fog", was culled from a search I did around TequilaCon, when I was hunting for good Portland images. There are dozens, nay, thousands, or hundreds of thousands of great Portland images. I couldn't use all of the ones I loved, but I saved some anyway. Because I loved them. Because they were worthy of note.

So today, because Flickr was down ("problem") I got to share one ("opportunity"). Along with a little reminder that just because I've always done something one way, doesn't mean there's not a better, more interesting way. Or at the very least, a different way.

Lesson #17: Everything is a way through to something else.

Let's hope I can keep it in mind as I approach the maelstrom of midweek, with its looming deadlines and other attendant madness...

xxx c

Image © Whateverthing 2007 via Flickr.

The Zen of Everything, Day 15: Making church more like shirts

The Youngster was in the neighborhood today, so he dropped by for a visit. While we talk on the phone and exchange emails quite often these days, the in-person visits are more fun for catching up, and, let's face it, act as more of a tonic than do the more remote forms of communication.

He needled me about calling him "that fucker", even as he acknowledged it was a compliment. And then he needled me about my attitude towards "church", mainly, that I feel the need to put quotation marks around it. Why not just go to church?, he asked.

He's started attending fairly recently but has known me long enough to understand my distaste for proselytizing of any kind. As much as is possible between one who chooses church and one who chooses "church", the question was offered and accepted, I think, in the spirit of logical, impartial discourse, not sales.

And why, you might ask? Is it because I am so evolved, so sure of my own way and tolerant of others', that I didn't throw out the strong-arm at the mere mention of church-no-quotation-marks?

Nope. Well, partly, maybe. But fully half of what made civilized discourse possible is that he called it "shirts", in the same way I call yoga, or called, when I was attending, "yogurt". Poking gentle fun at something we're now embracing acknowledges both that we came to it from someplace else and that there is another way. When I was into "yogurt" (as opposed to yogurt, which I am still very much into), I knew how ironimical that shift in position was; at the same time, I had come to understand that there was at least as much good in yoga as there was silliness in the hoohah surrounding it.

If I can manage to find the "yogurt" in yoga and you can manage to find the "shirts" in church, maybe we can both live in something other than a black-and-white world. I spent years loathing myself for overstaying my welcome on Madison Avenue, and years more punishing myself for hanging on to relationships, habits and notions that had clearly run their course.

From this side of the Divide of Mean I can tell you, there's not much use to it. Now I see that if I can embrace each thing as a step on the path, nothing has to have been bad or wrong, it can just be. And of all the things I've found that let people get along and let dissonance just be, levity is the simplest, most graceful and joyous.

And if you think of it, isn't that how the good Lord would want his shirts done?

Lesson #16: To see more clearly, lighten up.

xxx c

Image by Christi Nielsen via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 14: Reflecting on coffee

It hit me over breakfast, or rather, as I sipped the pre-breakfast coffee he'd made for me, that The BF has finally matched, if not surpassed, my ability to make a good, stovetop Americano.

It also struck me that coffee, while not traditionally associated with zen buddhism, is a dandy example of the Zen of Everything.

First, there is coffee as a metaphor for self-development. We're born with neither knowledge nor need of it. We fall in love with the idea of it long before we come to fully appreciate the full experience of it, if we do at all. To embrace it marks the move from childhood into adulthood, which is why we put up with the bitter, unusual taste of it at the start.

Coffee can also be used as a meditation on...well, meditation.* You can continually refine your coffee-making technique, or you can settle in on a practice that varies little, if at all, from day to day. You can interact with it by rote, or you can bring your full attention to each step, each sip. You can overindulge to the point where you are not yourself, where you are disengaged from the world. (I'm particularly guilty of this, where coffee is concerned, anyway. I've never been able to sit still long enough to meditate.)

Finally, there are the ways in which our taste for coffee mirrors our different perspectives, and offers an exercise in appreciation without judgment. As a devotee of strong, black and espresso-driven, someone else's ideal of "cappuccino" is not entirely foreign; while not my cup of joe, it's something I can at least understand or relate to. I have to work much harder to embrace as equal the weak cup of Sanka or the sugary, flavored coffee. Even coffee served in the "wrong" type of container constitutes a challenge: styrofoam and delicate, wide-mouthed bone china cups seem equally preposterous to me.

I'm sure there is even more to be learned from coffee, and the nature of it, and my relationship to it. But for today, the main thing to be learned is probably...

Lesson #15: What is not all things to all people, can still be an entry point into all things.

xxx c

*Although I would not advise meditation under the influence of coffee, except perhaps as a one-off experiment.

Image by *Kitto via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 13: When a shortcut is the long way around the barn

Operation Complete Backup has been on hold for awhile, which at first seem kind of ridiculous since the precipitating event knocked me on my ass, but if you think about this whole lessons series, makes all the sense in the world.

I won't bother with a lengthy description of what happened, mainly because I have no idea. All I know is, thanks to my ongoing refusal to shake hands and make friends with Patience, not only does my poor little PowerBook not sport a duplicate of the directory on my G5, it doesn't, period.

So much for shortcuts.

I could keep working on it tonight; I have no plans. I also have a boyfriend who's not particularly high maintenance. But somewhere behind the tiredness in me is some smarter voice, and right now it's whispering bits about diminishing returns.

Lesson #14, courtesy of The Gambler: You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em...

Aaaaaand I'm out...

xxx c

Image by royal rivers via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 12: There is no try

Today I did two things with all my heart. And, pressed for time as I was, I felt peace in the "yes" and joy in the doing.

I also agreed to one thing with half my heart, and from the moment of my saying "yes", the pit of dread and the choruses of regret (Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!) battled it out for my attention.

True, I placed boundaries around my promise. And I know I will kindly but firmly hold to them, no matter what, when the piper comes calling tomorrow.

Still, today's lesson is one of those that comes around like clockwork, in slightly different guises, to test how much I am really committed to honoring myself. (Answer: more than before, not enough by half.)

Lesson #11 13: Just because a problem exists doesn't mean I need make it my own.

But really, as the title of this post indicates, I think the Master summed it up best...

xxx c

Image by arycogre via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 11: Fame, freeways and the glue that connects them

What trips you up? Pride? Temper? Fear?

I get shanghai'd by all three, sometimes in combination, but nothing gets me like patience. Because I have so damned little of it.

Today, I almost did a foolish thing, I almost bailed on an opportunity because it wasn't getting me somewhere fast enough. (Well, I also felt like I wasn't being appreciated enough, but like I said, my sins like to gang up on me sometimes.) Miraculously, I stopped myself short of bailing altogether; maybe some of this self-reflection is paying off in self-reflexiveness. I emailed a trusted advisor, and she talked me down.

There was no one to talk me down in the car on the way home from Nerdmasters tonight. We ran late, and in my newly-dual capacity as VP of Membership and President-Elect (yes, we made it official tonight), I'm having to stick around even later. And still miles to go before I sleep, both literally and figuratively.

So of course, of COURSE, the fine city of Santa Monica chooses tonight to shut down an on-ramp. Two, actually; I found that out after going farther out of my way, thinking to save time. And once I got on, I drove like an impatient fool for about 3 freeway miles. Until I noticed the Scarymobile, a.k.a. My Teacher for Tonight, hard on my ass, doing 70.

Am I impatient for things to happen faster, for my vision of myself as the communicatrix, household name, to hurry the hell up, already? Yes. Of course. As much as I'm anxious to get home NOW when it's late and I'm tired. Now, please, if not sooner.

Will it really matter, though? Or is it better to arrive feeling refreshed and content, having enjoyed the ride?

In the case of freeway driving, is it better to arrive, period?

Lesson #10 12: To diminish impatience, expand perspective.

Travel safe this weekend, people, wherever it is you want to get to in a hurry.

xxx c

Image by phil h via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 10: Serendipity is as you like it

When things are heavy on my mind, as they were last night, I sleep fitfully, dream much, awaken often.

I woke up finally this morning with a bolt, and a strange directive: Olive Prouty.

I'll spare you the woowoo details, but I'm fairly sure it was a message from Mom. Why she's pestering me from the Great Beyond after a rough evening and fitful night's sleep is a matter for the medium, but I'm sure it was so, and no amount of skeptic's reasoning from The BF would convince me otherwise.

Later today, after some scrambled eggs, coffee and time, The Lesson for Today came to me. Only I was driving, you see, and it wasn't safe to write, and there was no need to pull over because of course, I would remember it.

So maybe that wasn't The Lesson. Or maybe it was.

Maybe it wasn't Mom. Or maybe it was.

It is my life to create, they are my dots to connect. I am the decider.

And Lesson #11? Either have a way to capture it, or have a way to let it go.

Because I say so...

xxx c Image by ohmomof1 via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 9: What perfect feels like

I had a call today from The Youngster, an ex who is both a current friend and collaborator. Along with The BF, we're working on a couple of interesting projects (one I can show you; one I've alluded to) that have, in the main, gone swimmingly, but have been quite a lot of work (as I've also alluded to).

When I gave him the good news that one big project had moved through a really big phase with no changes, that is, p-e-r-f-e-c-t-l-y, a variation of my favorite word, he congratulated me. Us. And added:

"What's more important is that now you know what perfect feels like."

That fucker. He's, like, the original Speaker in Zen Koans. And he's fully 12 years younger than I.

But I'm catching up. While we were still in the conversation, I managed to grok it: if this is what perfect feels like, maybe I ought to start reaching for something else. Because guess what, perfect doesn't feel so all-fire fantastic. Lesson #9: A race is not always about the finish line.

Bonus extra: Lesson #10: Sometimes, the work is not the Work.

A big, big day. And whaddya know, mostly, I just rested.

Talk about your lessons...

xxx c Image by leiwandnz via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Zen of Everythingâ„¢, Day 8: When in doubt, change your shoes

As the dread, dead weight of the weekend lifted after 8 hours of rest and some attendant perspective, I knew that today's lesson had to be It's always darker before the dawn.

Then I drove to the Cuban joint for provisions. And while I was sipping my coffee, waiting for them to prepare my salad, it struck me in a rush: Coffee was the lesson! Coffee! Coffee! Coffee! Coffee! Coffee! Coffee! Coffee!

But an hour or two later, I wasn't so sure. I slipped out of my clogs and into my supposedly-for-running shoes in preparation for a trek to the library, mulling over the day, wondering if maybe my lesson would greet me on my walk to the library to return some materials...and then I stood up.

And all of a sudden, I grokked the true meaning of "do one thing different".

Lesson #8: While the big events may provide the starting point for a shift in consciousness, if I'm aware, the small things can, too.

Like marvel, and gratitude, over cushy shoes.

Like marvel, and gratitude, over the soft coolness of bed after a long, hard day.

Like marvel, and gratitude, over the rippling impact some silly little series of observations on a nothing little blog can have...

xxx c Image by ratterell via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.