A cruise to the Bahamas and CocoCay with some of my best friends! (Jennifer)

A cruise to the Bahamas?

* * *

Lately I've been getting a little bit overwhelmed with 'work-mode'.  As I've been trying to save up money for a big trip in late July, I've embarked on three individual business plans, and I'm working my butt off trying to make them all work out.

I've been self-coaching twice a week, giving myself homework assignments which I complete at coffee shops between actual work shifts at my office or at the school.

In the meantime I'm still maintaining a social life, with all its accompanying planning and schedule juggling, I'm still planning to take a couple expensive classes AND go visit my father before I leave on my trip.

In short my brain is constantly in budgeting-mode, scheduling-mode, and marketing-mode.

It's exhausting.

It's also very new, because as many of you may know, I've spent much of my life being the local expert in 'kicking back my feet and being a minimalist of effort...an ethical hedonist who plays all day and works only enough to pay the bills.'

So, this muscle of consistent productivity?   What a great muscle to be developing!  I've been wanting to build it for a while.  But I'm tired.  Muscles need a rest.

They need...a cruise.  To the bahamas.  With some of my best friends.

Here's what I've started doing:

In the morning, I sip a metaphorical daiquiri before even getting out of bed.  I lay there and I ask myself, "What feels good right now?"  Maybe my left foot feels nice and warm and happy.  Maybe my chest feels loose and relaxed from a long sleep.  If I notice my mind racing towards my next appointment, I'll ask "what feels good about that?"  and enjoy the rush, the energy buzzing through my system.  Then I'll enjoy the warm left foot again.

Once I've really savored the peace of that morning daiquiri, I'll get up, and slowly, with nice full breaths, start moving.  Maybe write a blog post, maybe play some music.  Take it easy.  A morning cruise.

Eventually I'll be working again, chugging along through the day- but here and there, if I feel that intensity getting overwhelming again, I'll pause, look outside, notice the distant icebergs and the tropical trees and the dodo birds flying around me, and ask again "what feels good right now?"

Come evening time, I'll start doing the same routine.  If I'm lucky I'll have a friend to cuddle up with and watch a movie, or to grumble and vent about life.  Maybe I'll ask them to scratch my head.  Because every cruise should have a massage or two.

They Look As If They Were Painted (Nicole S)

They look as if they were painted.  The leaves on that plant were so beautiful, they couldn't be real.

* * *

About 7 years ago, I met a friend, let's call her Janine.  We hit it off at a party, and for a short minute, I thought maybe we'd end up dating.  We went on a few maybe-dates (you know what I mean, you're hanging out, and in the back of your mind, trying to figure out if it's actually a date or not), got to know each other, and then somewhere along the way, I realized, it wasn't gonna happen.

I don't remember the exact turning point:  maybe it was the fact that she was thinking of moving pretty soon, maybe it was the fact that she was a Capulet and I was a Montague (that's a recipe for disaster), but on some level my hesitation could be summed up by this:

I felt that she expected me to show interest by putting a move on her, and that she didn't want me to a put a move on her.  Like, that was the script that she was waiting for- and it wasn't a script she liked, but one that she was resigned to.  I wasn't willing to play that game: I don't want to put a move on someone who isn't into it, so I didn't.  And she started dating other people, and that was that.

We became friends, and in a world of guys who want nothing but snooky, I got to be the guy who didn't want snooky (not from her, anyway).

Somehow I thought, as she complained so often about how "all guys just want one thing" and "if they don't get it, they'll leave", that eventually she'd realize that I was a guy, that I wasn't getting (nor asking for) favors of any kind, and that I was sticking around.

If at this point you're worried I'm going to give the "but I was a nice guy" speech, don't worry.  This is a new version of that speech, because instead of saying "but I was a nice guy" I'm going to say, "but I was a nice guy"---

---because when I finally said to her, "you say all guys want is sex, but you realize, I'm a guy, and I'm not trying to get sex" she made a dismissive gesture and said "yeah, but you're you."

Which I took to mean:  "Because you haven't tried to get with me, you must not be a normal guy, and therefore you exist in a category all of your own, and men are still pigs just as I've always known."

Which to be honest was sort of emasculating, and pretty darn frustrating, because I am a sexual person, I am interested in 'getting with' ladies, and I do make moves.  Just not on people who don't want it!

It's almost as if after a lifetime of seeing plants with ugly leaves, she saw a plant with beautiful leaves
and said, "those leaves are so beautiful!  They look as if they were painted!  They must not be an actual part of that plant."

"Aaron is such a cool guy, he's never made unwanted moves.  He must not be a real guy."

I wanted to be at least one counter-example in a sea of shitty dudes, but instead I became my own nation:  The women, the men, and the Aaron.

This was a good reminder that trying to fix people without them asking for it really isn't going to work so well.

I can only hope she took a picture of me and posted it on Facebook, so that people could then write in their blogs about me.

Metaphorically.


((edit:  this post has so many parallels to the "I was so good to her, why didn't she sleep with me" trope out there, that I want to be very clear:  I never intended to sleep with this person.  I was not being nice with an agenda, not even to 'fix' anything.  I was just being myself.  My frustration was not from horniness but from being excised from my gender due to my lack of disrespectful horniness!))

Mother's day celebration: Ethiopian style. (Denise)

Mother's day:

1. a day of the year (in the US, the second Sunday in May) on which mothers are honored by their children.

Ethiopian:

    a native or inhabitant of Ethiopia, or a person of Ethiopian descent.

When I was thinking about going to college, I ended up choosing between two very different paths:  To the north, there was Western Washington University, and to the south was the Evergreen State College.

Western was this beautiful, art-filled campus in Bellingham, an incredibly cozy little town. The dorms were classy, the buildings modernly tasteful, and the girls distracting.  It was everything I could hope for in a college experience.  Had I gone there, I probably would have majored in Physics, which would have required me being in school for 4 years, and accruing that much debt.

Evergreen, on the other hand, was a cement oasis in an otherwise lush forest of green.  Old, blocky buildings added definition to the paved pathways winding around campus, and the only art piece I remember offhand was a giant 'swinging bench' attached to a big A-frame of metal.  It didn't swing.

The appeal to Evergreen was the freedom:  As I already had two years worth of college credits under my belt from going to community college during high school, there were no required classes to take.  Evergreen has no majors, so there was no need to declare one.  Each quarter, I could take any class I wanted, following my evolving passions to my hearts content.  And, I'd graduate in only two years.

What would an American do?

Well, that question can be answered with a metaphor:  It's mother's day, and you're deciding what to do to celebrate.  Conventional tradition would say "waffles and orange juice in bed."  But maybe you don't want waffles in bed.  Maybe you want to eat with your family.  Maybe you're in the mood for something savory, not sweet.  And maybe you want to actually go out, do something new.

So you don't look to "American Convention", you look to reality: the whole barrage of options and opportunities available to all the people of the world, all the cultures, traditions, and creative expressions of the 7 billion neighbors we currently enjoy.

And you decide to celebrate Mother's Day Ethiopian style.  Because it fits, and because it sounds delicious.

They say that America is a melting pot, but that's their metaphor.  I say that the world offers us a richness of options available for delightful consumption, if we just look.  

Let's have Mother's Day, Ethiopian style.

The fact is, I'd already gone to massage school:  I'd taken a 6-month program that qualified me to make $30-$60+/hour once I really dived into it.  I'd taken that program because I didn't know if I'd have a job waiting for me when I graduated.  And the cost of that 6-month program was negligible compared to even the cheapness of a state school.

I'd eaten Ethiopian without even realizing it.

And because I was so satiated, I didn't need to gorge myself on 4 more years of physics study, hoping that it would make me big and strong for the rough and tough world out there.

Instead I opted for the tapas bar:  I went to Evergreen, with its ugly, plain, cement canvas, and painted my own ideas, studying physics, calculus, literature, ethics, language, sociolinguistics, and creative writing.

Sometimes I wish that I'd had the waffles.  Waffles are sweet, crunchy, and they leave you in a happy food coma, still in the comfort of your bed.

But regardless of what the right choice was, I love that I live in a world where I can eat Ethiopian.  

Accidental Flirtation (Prem)

Humanity. What a lovely thing it is. Full of human interactions to be treasured and, well, misunderstood. And with all this big hooloo about sexy time, it's no wonder that one of the big misunderstandings of our world seems to be about flirtation. "You like me?" "No, you like me?" "No, you flirting?" "Wait, you flirting?" (translated from caveman)
I was at a dance class once, and found myself practicing a new move with a randomly selected young woman. Perhaps she was attractive, but that's not the point. After successfully completing a simple move, I turned to her with a smile and dryly said, "We're HOT!" Her face blank, she responded,
"Thanks; I'm married."
Ah, no! Ah, I said We! WE'RE hot! No, no...damn. There's no recovery from that. From...from what? A silly statement intended to build camaraderie? That was certainly unforgivable!

But you know, none of this is really real, right? It's all just a metaphor.

A metaphor for misunderstood feelings.

What's that? That's not a metaphor? It's an example? Oh, I'm sorry, I knew that, I was being abstract. Didn't you get that? My bad. Or is it?

So here's the question: Whose job is it to understand? And, is it even possible? I mean, how clear do I have to be? "Hey, when you and I just successfully pulled off that dance move just a moment ago, I was pleased with how well we did, and wanted to include you in the celebration of our skill by remarking that we are really hot, as in, on fire, which is a popular slang term for being awesome, which means, we did well. I'm not hitting on you. You're attractive, but I'm not interested. I'm here with a girl. Over there. We're hitting it off pretty well, but I don't know how she feels about me. Anyway, nice job with that turn."
That's clear, right? No room for confusion there. Except for the blatant disregard for social conventions.
The other extreme of course, would be silence. A smoldering gaze of appreciation. Or a slight smile. The tiniest of indications of your thoughts or feelings, and then the hope or assumption that the other person will magically pick up on what you mean.
Strangely, that seems to be far more common. For such a verbal species, we can be surprisingly non-verbal when it comes to emotional expression. And yet- how often do we get confirmation on this? How do we actually know our message is read?
I mean, she could have said, "Yeah, we are!" And I would have gone home satisfied that I'd had a nice moment. But who knows what she was thinking. Maybe she meant "Yes, we're both very attractive, so let's get it on!" or "Yes, I'm hot, but you are too. Aw, mutual compliments!" or "Yes, we DID do well!" or "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I've found that agreeing with people makes them smile more!"
My point? My point is that no matter how clear or vague you are, it seems like there's the possibility of misunderstanding. Sometimes it's obvious, sometimes you never know, and other times you actually ARE on the same page.
Finally, just to throw some more muck in the bucket, I want to point to the possibility that, as empathetic creatures, we are on the same emotional page a lot more than you might think...that when you feel that *zing* with a pretty person, they DO feel it too. That when you think *my god, this is a kindred spirit* they do too. That when you think, "this silent moment on the ferry with an old man I haven't exchanged a single word with is magical", he's feeling the magic. BUT, and here's the muck, BUT we are all such different people with different backgrounds, that though we share that same emotional link, our conscious interpretations could be totally different.
You feel warmth, and think love. She feels the same warmth, and thinks lust. You'll feel the magic on the ferry and think, fate. The old man feels the magic and thinks, "finally, someone who doesn't just blather on about sunsets." You have an incredible conversation with someone and you want to see them again tomorrow, the next day, and every day. They think, "What an incredible conversation! I never want to see that person again, so it can never be tarnished."
The emotion and the intellect. They CAN contradict each other, or at the very least, make things complicated. Like two circles in a Venn diagram, overlapping to varying degrees depending on the subject. Things Which My Emotions Perceive/Desire, Things Which My Mind Perceives/Desires. And the space they share? Maybe that's intuition. Maybe that's your gut. Or maybe it's something entirely different. I'm not sure, but it seems like a good sweet spot to shoot for.

I'm getting off-topic, I know. Let's try to bring it together. Things can be confusing. You WILL be misunderstood. You can try and clarify things to varying degrees, and I highly recommend the attempt. But there WILL be misunderstandings, and you won't every truly know if you've been understood.
Could there be freedom in this realization?
Could we accept that no matter what we do, there's the possibility of confusion, and so train ourselves to express things in the way most natural, most comfortable, to us? To speak or act our truths so clearly and so promptly that we'll feel no regrets or self-judgment regardless of our reception?
Can I look her warmly in the eyes and say "That turn was awesome."?
Can you turn to the old man and quietly say "Thank you for that" before leaving?
Can you go to that girl at the bar and say, "I think your dress looks incredible on you. Also, your eyes sparkle."
How would that feel?
Or could there be a way to escape the ambiguity and misunderstanding? That would be even better, I think.

So. This whole post is a metaphor for burning your hand on the stove. Sometimes you just don't know it was hot, no matter how many people warned you, no matter how red it looked. Are you stupid? No. Are you blind? No. You just convinced yourself that it was ok to touch it, and that it was good to touch it. That's what we do. That's what we're good at. The trick is to convince ourselves to do things we love, to touch things that will heal us and brings us happiness. And maybe sometimes burning your hand is exactly what you need.

Cheers.

Citrus (Calico)

"To a person with a lemon, everything looks like a dish that needs citrus-garnishing."

You might say that I'm stretching it by relating a metaphor of an aphorism which is likely intended to be metaphorical, but I might say, "screw it, it's my blog", but with love, and only a hint of power-trip.

I read a book recently, called "Loving What Is". It's sort of book of wisdom, talking about letting go of your beliefs about things, and about what should be, and instead embracing reality. The focus of this book is a technique known as Byron Katie's (the author) Work.
After a few months of using this technique, and from it finding more reprieve from emotional duress than anything I'd come across before, as well as getting tons of epiphanies about life, reality, and my own thinking, I became "the person with the lemon".
Anytime anybody was upset, be it friend, family, colleague or client, my first instinct would be to either recommend them the book or teach them the technique. It haunted me. I wanted everyone to use it. I felt like the world would be so much better, that people would be so much happier.
Of course, this line of thinking utterly went against the principles of the book, in that I was stuck on this set of beliefs that people were upset, that they shouldn't be upset, and that the technique would help them.

People who win the lottery often go bankrupt.

People with high-speed internet phones will google things all the time.

Really fat people will, er, that is, I'm not sure.

The fact is, when something is on our minds, we apply it to everything. Just like the guy who has been recently dumped will advise all his friends based on things that happened to him in the course of the relationship, we use the tools we have, be they physical or intellectual. We use the tools that are at hand.
This can, perhaps, give us some empathy for the broken records among us. My experience with Loving What Is helps me understand door-to-door proselytizers. Their motives, while perhaps offensive to some of us, may be very good and loving. I was surely irritating to some friends as I kept citing this book over and over ad nauseum, but I think they all understood that it was something I thought would help. (would it? Just because someone saved my life by pouring a bucket of water on my head when I was on fire doesn't mean I will cure my friend's measles by doing the same. However, that's a whole 'nother post.)

I think the interesting place to take this is not questioning the lemoneer for the lemon frenzy- after all, they have lemons, of course they want to use them. Instead, how did the lemons get into their hands?
How is it that this particular book stuck with me?
Why did the rice-eater buy so much rice?
Why did the very fat person eat so very much?
Is it all fate, and luck of the draw, or do we have pre-propensities?
If I hadn't found this book, would I be spouting on about some other technique, or making on up of my own?
Would the rice-bagger instead have found themself in excess of another grain or food-item?
When the lemoneer have been sour-seeking in other ways?
(nothing more on the very fat person)

It's sort of question of nature vs. nurture, or chicken and the egg. We are what we think, we act on what have have or what we can do- but how did we find the thoughts, find our abilities?

Perhaps, this is...the true nature of the soul?




Or perhaps I'm skipping a whole lot of basic child psychology theories. It doesn't matter. I really want some lemonade right now. It just, seems like the thing.

Co-coaching (wikipedia)

"Co-coaching is the structured practice of mutual exchange of coaching support among peers. This can take the form of a range of practices. One form involves each individual taking turns to be coach in half hour sessions."

I'm thinking about the stars and the moons, the planets, the comets, the celestial orbs and swirls which make up our night sky. Each one has something to teach the others, coaching them into certain orbits, encouraging certain momentums, weighing in their advice, amassing movements of wisdom and propelling one another into paths of synchronicity. They take turns: Sometimes Mars looms close and takes the lead, influencing strongly with the gravity of his persona- but then he'll zoom away, join the chorus, and it will be Mercury, or the Comet, or any number of other voices.

I'm thinking about politicians and hobos, friends and strangers, salesmen and grocery clerks. Everybody scratching their own paths into the woodwork of the world, but each coaching the others in windows of time, some long, some brief. "Have a nice day" said with warmth, "Danger Level Orange", "This will change your life," "I think you should stop and think before you tell her," "What are you wearing?"

The beauty of co-coaching is that it's the coaching of peers. We cannot ignore the affects of Joe Salesman anymore than we can ignore the charm of Venus. But we can take their pull and run with it, using it to direct our own paths, trusting that even if one coach is utterly inaccurate in his suggestions, that world is still a hospitable, synchronous place.

Bellybutton Lint (Melissa)

--My challenge, from Melissa of Bobo-isms: Blog on bellybutton lint, and be subtle.

People are multi-faceted. It's a good thing. When you meet me, you'll first see my body, my posture, then you'll hear my voice, then my words; you'll see the face I present, that social projection, and then you'll start getting to know who I am behind that projection. Eventually you'll begin to get to know my deeper self, you'll encounter my hidden strengths, my weaknesses, my eccentricities; my habits, beliefs, inspirations. You'll see different things, different aspects of each of these things, all the time, as I'm always changing, and forever undulating under the light of your perception. I swagger and meander, I shoot for the stars I am stellar. And so are you. All this applies to you too.

One thing you may not see for awhile is my belly button.

--

"We've got some promising applicants, Jim," Gary Kreller, CEO of Towder Inc. said to the VP, "and one of them stands out above the rest: Kyle Orion Turner-Gorder. Aside from his bizarre name and completely meaningless initials, his resume shows him to be exactly what we're looking for."

Jim Peters nodded. "Except, he's got some bellybutton lint."

"Oh?"

"Yes. His references are excellent, but when I called his previous employers I found that he'd been pulled into some company drama. Nothing dramatic, and nothing caused by him, but, there were some problems."

"Well," Kreller said with a forgiving shrug, "Companies have their drama. The important thing is that he wasn't the instigator."

"Well, no one asks for bellybutton lint, sir, but the choice to wear the sweater without an undershirt belongs to the wearer. He's been involved in company dramas at multiple companies. He always gets involved. He's doesn't propel it forward, but he doesn't avoid it either."

"Ah. A man who doesn't clean out his bellybutton."

"I'm not sure if we want a man who doesn't clean out his bellybutton. And especially not a man who doesn't learn to wear undershirts."

"Well, I guess Kyle Orion Turner-Gorder is out of the picture."

--

I don't have any skeletons in my closet. Nothing so dramatic as that. I imagine you don't either. What I do have, is a bit of bellybutton lint. Some things happen to me, and I don't consider them to be serious issues, so I'll allow them to continue happening without taking steps to prevent it. Much like bellybutton lint. Oh, we'll clean it out every once in a while. Get our life in order. Buck up. Resolve conflicts. But is it really worth it to us to change our habits? To wear that undershirt? To seek out lint free garments? It's just lint, after all. It doesn't even come from us. Merely incidental.

Bellybuttons, I'm told, can be a little sexy. You're seeing someone's vulnerable areas, seeing into their private life. Finding a bit of lint can be charming and endearing. What if you found lint every time you looked? You might start to wonder, why is this person's bellybutton always lint-filled?

But don't wear an undershirt for others, wear it for yourself. Just like having a clean room can lend some sanity to your life, so too, subtly, can having a clean bellybutton.

And guys, don't whip out your lint on the first date.