Recently, I started questioning my movie choices.

I realized that a lot of the movies we watch hurt me. Um, not that they physically jump off the shelves and hit me – that’d be really weird. Weirder than the usual weird of my life, actually.

Anyway.

I’ve been doing work with lots of awesome people (hellloooo, awesome people! I love you!). In a session with Goddess Leonie, I said, “How can I be full of light and joy and peace if I bombard myself with darkness and fear and ick?”

The answer came to me in a flash:

You can’t.

You can’t.

The other night, we watched Watchmen. It was generally dark and disturbing, but there was one scene that downright terrified me.

The scene with the dogs.

There’s a scene – and it’s meant to be darker than the rest, meant to be harsh, meant to freak you right the fuck out, because it’s the breaking point for one of the main characters – where there are two dogs fighting over a bone. Zoom in, and it’s a human leg bone, complete with tiny human girl shoe on the remains of a tiny human girl foot.

I nearly puked.

I felt wounded by this scene. I curled up under my blanket and shivered, tears rolling down my cheeks as Pace wrapped me in her arms.

The movie ended and I questioned why I’d watched it. Had I been enriched? No. Had I been delighted? No, quite the opposite. The experience was a net negative for me.

This bolstered my ruminations on bringing in what we seek to put out.

Then, we went to see District 9 – and my feelings were cemented.

I’m not opposed to violence. In fact, I think not being able to punch someone in the jaw when they really really deserve it is part of what’s wrong with our society. But I am opposed to extreme violence, unnecessary violence, gore, and overt excessive dark.

Won’t someone please think of the children?

There’s always been all this hullabaloo about what our kids consume. Parents wanting radio stations and television stations and internet stations to censor what people say/sing/write/perform to protect the kids.

Personally, I feel parents need to protect their own kids. Watch what they watch, consume what they consume, and they’ll be fine.

But, why do we consume things we wouldn’t want our children to consume? Why listen to something you don’t want them to hear? Why watch something you don’t want them to see?

Because they’re too young. They’re too innocent. They wouldn’t understand. They’re too fragile.

I’m fragile, and I like me this way.

Yes! Right! Exactly!

But we’ve taken in so much of it, so much of the soul-smooshing darkness and violence, that we’re numb.

We’ve lost our connections with our inner children, so we no longer see a need to protect them.

The night after I watched Watchmen and District 9, I lay awake in bed. Pace snoozed beside me, but I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing apocalyptic visions. I kept worrying about my son (safe in Dallas with his uncle). I kept worrying about monsters under my bed or in my neighborhood or seeping through my doors. I rolled over to hold Pace, but exposing my back made my skin crawl.

I was terrified.

I thought to myself, “Kyeli, you’re old enough to know better! There aren’t any monsters under your bed or in the closet! You’re perfectly safe. Go to sleep!”

But I would never say that to a terrified child.

I would hold her and comfort her. I would assure her that I would protect her. I would tell her that she was safe – not because those monsters don’t exist, because that won’t work on a terrified child – but because I would keep her that way. And I would. I would protect her.

But I’m not protecting myself – and I need protection. I’m fragile. I’m very sensitive. I’m trusting. I’m emotional. And I’m bombarding myself with movies and other media that cause a very real sense of doom and despair, terror and eminent danger, even at times when I’m rationally perfectly safe.

Our brains don’t know the difference between a movie and a real-life experience. Movies are geared to draw us in, to blur the line. We connect with the characters, sympathize with them, hurt when they hurt and fear what they fear – and our brains think we’re right there beside them. There’s nothing in our meaty selves to separate what we see from what we think we’re experiencing – and that’s why movies work. (Books work this way, too.)

So if you watch a movie where the main character gets brutally murdered after you get a chance to connect with that character, your brain thinks you’ve just lost someone you care about – and that you’re in danger.

That’s part of the thrill.

But it’s part of the problem, too.

Cutting out the dark to let out the light.

I have decided to go on a 30-day hiatus from consuming things that make me feel less than awesome. No more horror. No more blood and gore. No more dark thrillers. No more psychological thrillers.

I feel more peaceful already. I feel like a burden that I wasn’t aware of has already been lifted. I feel more relaxed and more joyous.

The mere thought of cutting out so much terror and horror has already made space for more light to shine.

What makes you feel dim? What can you do to increase your light?

One afternoon, Pace said, “Kyeli, I think we need to share more of our spirituality with the public.”

I flipped out.

I used to be a very private, guarded person. I used LiveJournal because it allowed me to lock my entries. I could make dozens of groups and control who saw what.

And then I became an entrepreneur. At first, I was in a line of business where being a freak was okay, but not awesome. I had to watch what I said and where I said it. I changed my profiles to be less openly freaky.

Then we sold that business and started doing our own thing. And our target audience? Freaky people. I realized that I’ve never been particularly good at hiding my freak. I have a friend who, every time I angst and come out as something new, looks at me and says, “Yeah, I know. What’s new?” I got my wrist tattooed, which is essentially the “professional job” (and most retail jobs) kiss of death, and I dye my hair blue on a regular basis.

I’ve gotten good at being vulnerable in public. I’ve talked about my miscarriage. I’ve talked about becoming an Edgewalker and leaving an abusive relationship. I’ve even talked about extreme abuse and changing my memories.

But when I talk about being a Witch, I tend to go fast and ramble and not really open up. I tense up and get shaky when I’m asked about it. I worry that others won’t get me. In no other area of my life am I as vulnerable to attack as in my spirituality. In fact, when Tracy made an innocent and sweet post about us, I got triggered and was upset for days.

That’s the spark of this post, too. Why, if I’m so confident in my spirituality, if I know so well what it means to me, am I so vulnerable? Why does the slightest hint of a breeze of negativity in my general direction send me reeling?

I don’t know, but I’m not going to let it stop me.

The rest of the story.

When I was a little girl, I went to southern baptist churches. There, the preachers always yelled at us from their pulpits. We had full-submersion baptizing. There was bible-thumping and singing. And I hated it.

I would sit in the pew beside my grandmother and read the little comic strips in my kids’ bible, keeping my head down and my mouth shut.

As I got older, I got kicked out of various Sunday schools for asking too many questions or inciting riot (only did that once). I have a clear memory of sitting in a Sunday school class, surrounded by kids I barely knew from school, and feeling like the odd-one-out. I read what I was told to read and sang what I was told to sing and listened when I was told to listen, but I didn’t like any of it.

The thing that struck me the most was, this Guy was supposed to be like a father. The ultimate father, in fact. But if my dad did those things to me, I’d hate him.

I wanted a mother instead of a father. I wanted nourishment instead of punishment. I wanted praise instead of damnation.

I wanted love instead of fear.

And I sat in those classes and those sermons and silently wept inside, wishing there was a better way.

I had no idea there was, for a very long time.

Then my parents got divorced. My mom went woo-woo, all of the sudden. She started seeing a tarotist (tarot card reader? tarot specialist?). For my 13th birthday, she gave me a reading with him. He stared at me for a long time before reading my cards – stared through my masks deep into my core. He said I was brighter than most people. I thought he meant smarts, but he meant magickally. He read my cards, which were intimidatingly full of power and knowledge and potential, and then instructed my mom to get me my own deck – immediately. She did, and the door was opened. That trip to the little pagan store was the most enlightening, interesting, and eye-opening experience I’d ever had.

I started experimenting. As is fairly natural, I swung to the darker stuff first, in rebellion against what I had been stuck in for so long. I tried dark magick (with little results) and vodou (with disastrous and terrifying results) and various other things, but nothing resonated. I felt lost and afraid and sad.

Then came the vision.

A quiet, tall, red-headed woman who shimmered, there-but-not-there, standing before me, holding out her hand and when I took it, I could only see her and the world around us faded, and she pulled me into her arms and whispered her name into my heart, bypassing my ears and my brain, and Gaia all around me, in and out and above and below, near and far and within, everywhere all at once, and she sang my song, my heartsong that only I knew but she knew it, and she called me daughter and I knew she was the mother I so longed to have, here in my heart and in my life and all around me.

And I was found.

I have occasionally veered from this path, doubt has filled me and I’ve felt alone, and I’ve struggled and I’ve cried. In those times, eventually, this shimmery red-haired goddess comes to me and holds me and fills me back up, and reminds me that I’m hers and she’s mine and we’re really one and the same.

And I think it’s this that keeps me quiet about my spirituality. I don’t want to seem egotistical (I’m not). I don’t want to speak my truth, because my truth frightens me. I don’t want to be misunderstood. I don’t want to admit that the scientific paradigm, the control paradigm, hasn’t gripped me so tightly, because then I won’t blend in – and despite everything, sometimes I really want to blend in.

But my truth is loud. My truth is shimmering and shining. And I’m awfully tired of dimming it down out of fear.

My truth is one of power, strength, magick, of being chosen. My truth is of being a teacher, a leader. I am these things, they are me. I talk to faeries. I have Unicorn and Dragon as guides. My goddess found me and saved me, and we interact with each other. I am magickal. I am powerful.

I am a bright, shining star.

But here’s another truth: so are you.

Bigger still: so are we all.

We are each special. We are each magickal. There is uniqueness in each and every one of us. We are each a spark in someone’s eye, chosen by someone, we are each and every one of us strong and powerful and magickal.

My journey has led me here; where has yours led?

Each week we give away the next chapter of our book for free. We hope you enjoy it! Here’s this week’s chapter:

Chapter 33: Teasing

Teasing is a common element in communication, even among adults. Let’s take a closer look at teasing and find out what is actually going on.

Stephanie’s Example: Don’t Tease My Hair!

Stephanie gets a perm. It looks odd and frizzy. She asks her friend Alice’s opinion, and Alice says, “It looks like you stuck your finger in an electrical outlet!” She laughs, then says, “Just kidding.” But despite that, Stephanie’s feelings are hurt. Alice gets annoyed; after all, she was only teasing. “What’s wrong with you, Stephanie?” Alice retorts. “Can’t you take a joke?” Alice turns to her other friends for support and they band together to defend Alice. “You’re so sensitive, Stephanie! Alice was just teasing; she didn’t mean anything by it!”

---

…and here’s the rest:

• Read The Usual Error ebook, Chapter 33: Teasing (web page)

Those of you familiar with me will no doubt immediately recognize a phrase Pace must have said to me – multiple learning modalities is not something usually spouted from me. Though I do greatly like the ring it carries, I’d say something more like, “lots of different ways of learning.”

What does “multiple learning modalities” mean?

Pace and I make an awesome team because, not only do we phrase things differently, we teach differently. We have very different communication styles – and it’s a big strength. Pace is a techie geek, I’m a book geek. (Being a book geek has amusing side effects; sometimes I’ll pronounce things funny because I’ve only ever read them before. Endless laughs.) Pace loves explaining things, I’m a storyteller. Pace is logical, I’m emotional. Pace learns best by reading (words and diagrams are best) or being lectured followed by practicing and experimentation on her own, and I learn best with visual and audial input and hands-on guided practice and repetition.

In The Usual Error, we explain things. Unsurprising given the non-fiction bookiness of it. However, we don’t just leave it at that. We have at least one detailed illustration per chapter, and at least two examples given in story-form. We have a table of contents, a table of stories and examples, and a table of illustrations.

It’s the usual error in The Usual Error.

For me, I’d be far more likely to remember the picture of the little girl hugging the beat-up teddy bear than the phrase “It’s okay to have problems.” Or, if I remember a phrase, it’s more likely to be related to the story in the chapter than the explanations therein. Thus, we included different types of indexing to help different learners find what they’re looking for.

When we drafted Marty to illustrate, I told him this would be a great challenge – illustrating communication without using the same concept of two people sitting and talking over and over would be tough. He rose to the challenge and far surpassed our hopes, bringing us genius ideas and potent illustrations that bring the concepts to life.

We made much effort to reach several different learning styles with the book, and we’re reaching out to audial learners with the audio book. We do the same thing in our workshops: we lecture a little (but invite interruption), we play games, we give pictorial handouts, and we have interactive discussion.

How we learn impacts everything we do.

It’s only been in the last few months that I’ve gained a better understand of how I learn. The impact of knowing my own learning style is incredible; it gives me the power to take my learning style and apply it to the things I’m learning, which in turn strengthens my ability to actually learn and retain.

I was inspired by Megan to take markers to books when I read, and that makes a huge difference. I scribble, highlight, doodle, underline, circle, make ?s and !s, and dog-ear my way through books, and I’ve started wanting to read non-fiction. This is huge for me! Previous to six months ago, I’d only read one non-fiction book in my entire life, and now I’ve read several – and enjoyed them and retained what I learned. I’ve also learned that I’m far too audially sensitive to enjoy recordings or other such things; if it’s too loud or too soft or there’s any kind of background noise, I can’t focus. I also need visual stimulation while I’m listening to spoken word recordings or I tune them out.

For example, in Online Business School, you get audio files and .pdf files. The .pdfs are transcripts of the audio tracks. Naomi’s sultry voice matches the text – almost exactly but not entirely – and it’s awesome. That was a huge help for me in both being able to focus and in being able to retain. Having Pace right there as a study buddy was even more awesome, and if I’d've printed out the transcripts so I could color and highlight, I think I’d've been in learning heaven. I’d probably be able to recite the entire thing, so it’s probably best that didn’t happen.

If Naomi had been singing instead of talking, I would have the whole thing memorized.

I mean, I learned the order of the planets from a catchy song on Blue’s Clues. It works!

Either you or the internets will know.

I learned by trial and error, but there are lots of good sites on the internets that can help you figure out what your learning style is. I’ve tried a few of them, so here are the ones I enjoyed.

This one is neat and accurate, but you have to purchase a detailed report. It gives you a little bit of info for free, though.

This one made me laugh and feel like a freak because I said yes to all three columns nearly ever time. This means, which I already knew, that I have Multiple Learning Styles.

I took three or four others, but found that a lot of them require your email address or other information, so I won’t recommend them. Suffice to say, you can google for “learning style free tests” and take the ones you like. For me, every single one I took said I have “multiple learning styles”, so they’re either generally accurate or I’m a test-breaker.

Take your pick.

You can also pay attention to yourself and not even ask the internet (this is scary and hard, I know). I already knew I have multiple learning styles, because I want to listen to music, highlight, doodle, discuss, and fidget while I read or work. I cover the entire gamut!

Knowledge is power!

Knowing how you learn gives you power. I used to think I was stupid because I did very poorly in school – but it’s because I don’t learn when someone talks at me, and taking notes never helped. It’s not my style, baby. Now I know there’s nothing wrong with me, I learn perfectly well – within my styles – so I can take advantage of myself (woo!) and learn in my own way.

My own way is surrounded by books, markers, fluffy cushions, good friends, music, and my laptop.

What’s yours?

Our culture values open-mindedness highly. “You’re very open-minded” is a compliment, and “You’re so closed-minded” is an insult.

Today, I’m going to turn the tables. I’m going to talk about how great it is to be closed-minded.

Being closed-minded is great because we are made of meat.

Being open-minded means being willing to have a rational discussion about something you disagree on. But people aren’t rational; we’re made of meat!

People believe that they do things for a reason, but that’s not actually true. People do what they want to do, then make up reasons for it after the fact.^[1]

Being closed-minded is great because everyone is.

Being open-minded means being willing to question your beliefs. But everyone has beliefs that are so strongly held that they’re unwilling to seriously question them.

For example, would you be willing to let someone try to convince you that rape is good? That the sky is green? I’d bet your patience would wear thin pretty fast, and it would be a total waste of everybody’s time. Everyone is closed-minded about something.

Being closed-minded doesn’t mean closing off all connection.

Being open-minded means being willing to connect with anyone who wishes to present you with a different point of view. Connection is wonderful, but you can live a life of connection without connecting with everyone, and without taking advantage of every opportunity for discussion, sharing, or understanding.

Being closed-minded is great because it holds healthy boundaries.

Being open-minded means being willing to listen to others’ points of view. This requires giving others your time and attention. It’s perfectly fine to choose not to share your time and attention. It’s your time, your attention, and your choice.

It’s the usual error; just because open-minded people choose to spend their time opening up to others’ points of view doesn’t mean others wish to or are obligated to.

Being closed-minded is great because there is no one right way.

Being open-minded is highly valued in this culture because it is a culture of science. Science says that an objective reality exists, that true answers to questions can be known. I don’t believe that. I believe that reality is subjective and individual. I believe that real life is like Mage. I believe that there is no one right way to live. I believe in following my heart.

You may believe differently. That’s cool.

You may believe in one objective reality and think that I’m living in a fantasy world. That’s cool.

You may wish to explain to me why I’m being unreasonable. But I won’t argue with you, because I live in a fantasy world. (:

Each week we give away the next chapter of our book for free. We hope you enjoy it! Here’s this week’s chapter:

Chapter 32: Rephrasing things positively

The words we use to describe our lives affect how we perceive our lives and thus the quality of our lives. You can improve the quality of your life by choosing to rephrase things positively. In particular, we’ve found that rephrasing obligation words, limitation words, and violent words has significantly improved our happiness, and we’re going to show you why and how.

…and here’s the rest:

• Read The Usual Error ebook, Chapter 32: Rephrasing things positively (web page)

This was my entry for Chris Guillebeau’s Unconventional Writing Contest. I didn’t win, but I got an honorable mention and was listed on the short list (a runner-up, if you will). Watch Chris’s site for the three winning posts; I’m sure they will knock our socks off!

Now that the contest is over, I’m able to share this with you. I hope you enjoy!

I am an unconventional woman leading an unconventional life.

I am a lesbian witch, raising an unschooled son, in an illegal marriage with another woman – who happens to be my business partner, which also makes me an entrepreneur who sleeps with her co-worker.

And today I’m going to talk about fish.

Betta fish, in particular. And Wal-Mart, because before I became a tree-hugging barefoot vegan raw foodist hippie (did I forget to mention that?), I used to shop there.

One afternoon, on a particularly busy day, I was wandering around a Texas Wal-Mart with my mother and son (who was a toddler). The kiddo liked to look at the fish, so we wandered over to the pet department to let him tap on the tanks. (I’ve never been one for rules.)

While he merrily sang “fishie fishie fishie fishie” at the top of his very young, very powerful lungs, I happened to see the betta fish. Row upon row of the little guys, all in cups on a shelf. Every single one of them was white and listless. I walked over to give them closer examination, because usually bettas are colorful and lively. And what did I find?

The lids on the cups had no air holes.

Now, bettas are low-maintenance. They don’t need filters. They don’t need gravel or much light. But they do need air – and fresh air, at that.

I wandered around for a few minutes, trying to find the fabled Wal-Mart Employee, but to no avail. So, I told my mom to keep an eye on the toddler (who would’ve been hard to lose, with his volume capacity), and went to work.

I started opening the lids. All of them. There were several dozen, so it took a while. I was about halfway through my rescue program when I was accosted (and startled so badly I nearly dropped the fish cup I was holding) by the very creature that had previously eluded me: a young, nervous-looking Wal-Mart Employee.

“Can I… uh… help you, Ma’am?”

“Yes, actually.” I handed him a cup. “Open this. Then you can open the rest.”

He stared at the cup in his hand. “Um. Uh, I don’t think that’s Allowed. Why would I do that, Ma’am?”

I kept going, opening one while talking. “Because the fish are dying. Look at them; they’re white and nearly lifeless.”

“No one else cares about fish this much, lady.”

He did as I bade and surveyed the cups, taking it in. “Uh, yeah, but I still don’t, uh, think you should be doing that. Unless you want to buy them?”

The hope in his voice made me pause. Did he seriously think I wanted to buy five dozen betta fish? I shook my head. “Nope, I don’t want to buy ‘em, but I don’t want ‘em to die, either. Are you going to help?”

He looked at me nervously, clearly classifying me as “the crazy customer”. He shook his head. “I’m going to, uh, go get the manager.”

He did, walking off with the fish cup still in his hand. I shrugged and kept going, opening lid after lid.

After a while, the manager appeared. She had the fish cup in her hand, lid still firmly on. I glanced up at her when she said, “Can I help you, Ma’am? Is there a problem?”

I stopped long enough to look at her. “Yes, the fish are dying and your untrained employee didn’t care.”

She looked me over, sizing me up. She used her calmest voice and said, “Ma’am, the fish come to us like this, and we cannot allow you to open all the cups. It’s against store policy, and you will be accountable for them and have to buy them.”

I tried again (still opening cups): “I understand, but they’re dying. Look at them.”

She didn’t. But she did continue to try to stop me, and I continued to persevere.

But I wasn’t going to get anywhere with kindness – at least, not with her kindness.

After a few minutes of this failing, I had an idea. “Ms. Manager Lady (yes, I really said that), look. One betta is $5. If someone buys a betta, they’re going to buy food, which is $2. They’ll buy a bowl, the cheapest of which is $10. They’ll likely buy gravel for, what, $4 for the smallest bag? And if they have kids, they’ll buy something silly to add to the bowl, like a treasure chest or a little bridge, right? For anywhere from $2 to $15?”

She nodded, not really following.

“Okay, that’s close to $25 per betta. $25 for a fish and accoutrements.”

She nodded again.

“And if the betta dies, how much do you get for it?”

The lightbulb went off. Finally. She looked at me, then looked at the fish in her hand, then back at me. She handed me the fish and walked off. I finished opening all the cups, found the one that looked the furthest from death, and collected my $25 worth of accoutrements.

Return to the Fish Department

Two years later and 1400 miles away, at a Wal-Mart in Virginia, I once again took my singing boy to the fish department. I looked over and happened to catch sight of the bettas.

Row upon row of colorful little betta fish swam in cups.

Not white.

Not listless.

Not on death’s underwater door.

I went over to give them closer examination. Each cup was lidded with lids that had pre-made holes. I made an involuntary “eep!” and set off to find someone to ask about it.

I found an employee who actually knew her stuff. She said, “Oh, yeah, I think it was about two years ago when we got a store-wide change and we started getting these lids instead. Something about how we were losing too much money to the fish dying before they were sold. Personally, I was really excited, ’cause before that they always looked so sad – and to heck with the money, ya know?”

I did know, all too well.

And here’s the point.

One person can make a difference.

I spent twenty minutes opening lids in a Corporate Giant, and they changed policy. I thought I’d save a handful of fish, but I helped save countless generations of them.

I had to find the way to get my point across. Appealing to the manager’s kindness failed, but appealing to her money sense succeeded. She must’ve taken my case, as it were, to her managers, and it went all the way up the chain ’til someone with some clout made a change to “save money”. Not exactly what I set out to do – but I got the result I wanted.

And that’s it, right there.

You can find a way to make a difference. It might not be the way you expect, but there’s always a way.

Trust your past self

Our friend Benji wrote in to us, and we wanted to share his email with you, with his permission.

So I was thinking the other day about "Trust your future self" - BTW one of my favorite lessons from your book, one I badly needed to hear, and one I tell others about very often!

And I stumbled upon the obvious corollary, which you have not mentioned (at least not with this phrasing):
TRUST YOUR PAST SELF
Remember all those horrible decisions you made about leaving your boyfriend, buying that new car, changing jobs, etc.?
Well guess what, you thought it was a good decision at the time. Hindsight is 20/20 so obviously it looks like a bad decision now, but when you made it, you thought it was good! It doesn't make you a bad person. Learn from your mistakes, forgive yourself for not being omniscient, and move on.

love,
Benji

Right on! It also reminds me of Kyeli’s post about never making a mistake! (:

Institute of Noetic Sciences

Someone on Twitter linked to this video and I, curious, explored the website of the folks who produced it. They’re the Institute of Noetic Sciences, and their mission is:

“…to promote forms of consciousness that shift humanity from separation and conflict to collaboration, forgiveness and interconnectedness.”

Sounds pretty darn connection paradigm to me. It looks like they’re taking the “wacky science” approach to shifting the paradigm, whereas we’re taking the personal growth, community, and spreading world-changing ideas approach, but they look interesting. And it looks like they’re affiliated with the HeartMath Institute, which I think Paul Pearsall is also affiliated with. I loved his book The Heart’s Code.

Do you know anything about these folks?

The Freak Revolution Manifesto!

We’ve been hard at work on the Freak Revolution Manifesto. We’ve finished the first and second drafts, we’re currently waiting for feedback from our freaky revolutionary editors, and then we’ll ship off the final draft to our daring designer Megan and our amazing artist Marty and let them do their magic. Megan is a bit swamped so it’ll take until mid-September, but trust us, it’ll be worth the wait.

We rearranged our house!

We found that we often preferred to work in the living room instead of the office, so we rearranged our entire house, made our living room into a living room/office, and turned the ex-office into a sanctuary! It’s ridiculously wonderful to have a room dedicated to sacredness. And working in the open space of the livingroomoffice is wonderful, too. (:

52 Weeks to Awesome

While Megan and Marty meddle with the manifesto, we’re getting ready to bring you 52 Weeks to Awesome! 77% of you who took the poll voted for that one, and we aim to please. It’ll be an e-course where each week, we’ll send out one baby step that will make your life awesomer, in plain, easy-to-understand, and easy-to-practice language. Concrete things you can do to be happier, be more motivated, and be more productive. 52 minor life improvements add up to one huge life improvement. And we’ll be sure to provide a 100% awesomeness guarantee or something that sounds equally silly and equally cool. (: This news is so fresh that we aren’t even taking pre-orders yet, so hold your horses. If you want to be the first to know when it goes on sale, sign up for our newsletter.

Kyeli broke her foot!

Kyeli slipped on some invisible water on the kitchen tile while carrying crystals for a crystal grid. She clung tightly to the crystals and wrenched her foot to avoid falling, and fractured her big metatarsal slightly. She’s wearing a big clunky ass-kicking boot while it heals, which will take 4 to 6 weeks. In the meantime, I (Pace) am trying to hold her down, take care of her, and keep her from doing things. I’m sure she’d appreciate some sympathy and support if you’d like to leave her a comment. (:

Each week we give away the next chapter of our book for free. We hope you enjoy it! Here’s this week’s chapter:

Chapter 31: Knowing is half the battle

You can’t solve a problem unless you first know it exists. Often when we discover a problem, we react with dismay. We say, “Oh no, now there’s this new problem!” and feel worse than we did before we discovered it. That’s not the whole story, though — you can’t solve a problem unless you identify it first. Knowing is half the battle.

Take a look at the illustration. This is what we call the Hill of Discovery. On the far left are the Flatlands of Stagnation. The steep drop at the end of the Flatlands is The Cliff, which leads down into The Pit. After that is the rough climb up the Hill of Discovery, leading up to the Plateau of Happiness.

…and here’s the rest:

• Read The Usual Error ebook, Chapter 31: Knowing is half the battle (web page)

I followed a river of serendipity:

I read “Eat Mangoes Naked” by SARK.

In it, she wrote about her friend, Andrea, who makes Superhero necklaces, and writes and posts awesome pictures in her blog.

Andrea’s blog had a nifty guest post by Jen Gray – a video post wherein she dances in various boots and shoes.

It’s beautiful, utterly beautiful.

And through this river of serendipity, I had a personal epiphany. Isn’t it neat when that happens? Bonus epiphany!

I’ve always tried to compartmentalize myself.

I try to smoosh into one box or another. When I’m in barefoot hippie mode, I resent my ass-kicking-boots-wearing punk. When I’m feeling goth, I resent my secret inner folk singer. I wear black or earth tones, flowers or boots; never a combination.

But the real kicker is shame. I feel ashamed of various sides of myself when I’m outwardly being the opposite. Hippie-me is ashamed of goth-me and vice versa.

But I’m not so one-sided. My goth side still likes to listen to folk music, and my barefoot hippie appreciates those ass-kicking boots.

It’s okay to be yourself, whatever that means.

I’m a multi-faceted person – we all are. I can dance just as well in my boots or in my bare feet, with black eyeliner or with flowers in my hair. Either way, I’m still me.

I’m a folk singer and a rock singer. I’m a hedge witch and a technopagan. I wear long stripy socks and ass-kicking books, and I’m a tree-hugging hippie. I’m goth and I’m cheerful.

I’m Kyeli, with all that entails.

Who are you?

What are some of your facets? Do they get along, or are they in opposition?