#gratitudeNow: Good math

For ages and ages, I've said that my favorite episode of the Big Little Podcast is Number 9, Self-Esteem and Coming Out.

It's still true.  Do check it out.

I was on reddit this morning, responding to a thread on r/ABDL about how to come out to your therapist when I recommeneded episode 17, Ageplay and Finding a Therapist.  We recorded that thing waaaay back in 2011, seven years ago!

I'm solidly of the belief now that #17 is definitely my second favorite episode of all time, and that nine plus 17 equals a whole lot more than 26.

I remember it being good, but I hadn't listened to it in a while.  So I put it on.  Man, it sure is good.  First off, my friend Liz had super smart things to say about the physiology of the brain, and about telling a therapist about experiences of abuse.  My ex Kacie said wicked smart stuff about the reality of dating an age player and how it has nothing to do with actual kids, really smart, direct stuff.  

And then there's Andrea.  Andrea was so amazing on this episode.  She just was everywhere in the show.  Everything anyone had to say, she had support for, or great contrasting opinions.  She was raw, honest, open, and fantastic.

We're recording an episode of the show this week about grief & loss, during which Andrea will figure largely.  And it's been bittersweet and challenging, getting myself ready, writing up the list of things we're going to discuss.

Listening to episode 17 this morning gave me the warmest feeling about Andrea.  Listening to her wise words, lovely dirty innuendo, and caring talk just made me feel so good.  

There's this one moment, when I'm talking about my confused feelings around face slapping, due to childhood trauma, and I say something funny in the midst of describing it all.  And Andrea wanted to laugh, so much.  And I said it was okay to laugh, and she did.

Even though she's gone, she's still here with me.  

#gratitudeNow: Mindful Breathing, a video reminder

Been ages since I posted a video blog.  It was time.  It's kind of always time.

#gratitudeNow: Here's the keys to your sexcar. Pump the gas. Mind the brakes.

I've got this friend, Nanny Grace.  She's a sex worker, a pro-domme Mommy.  She's thinky, fun, and kind.  We're relatively new friends, and lately have indulged in that glut of "get to know you" talk where we discuss anything and everything.

She introduced me to an idea about sexuality, the "dual-control" model of sexual response.  Basically, it works like this:

Some things get you going, like pressing a gas pedal.  Other things hold you back, like a brake pedal.

What sort of things? All sorts of things.  Physical condition, social context, self-image, emotional well-being, the list goes on and on and on.  So, what it's like a math problem?  Gee thanks, Mako, you've reduced my getting off to an algebra problem.  

No, no, I swear it's not that bad.  Even though it seems overwhelming, clinical and awful, there's a hidden secret yet effective way to get on top of your sexual response.

Just ask Emily Nagorski.

Who?  I'm glad you asked.  She's a researcher, author and speaker who my friend Grace introduced me to.  Watch this.  It's going to be among the most useful, important 17 minutes or so of your life.  The basic premise is, context matters.

When you like yourself, when you recognize how awesome your body is, and all the different ways you have to use it to get off, and how good a thing that is, you stomp that gas pedal in your underpants hard.

Thanks, Grace.

#gratitudeNow: The Write Type

So, one of the reasons I started my patreon back in November was to stoke my creative engine.

It is so working.

This morning I set up a poll over at the patreon for patrons to pick from 1 of 3 options this month for the second of two fiction projects I'll be putting out this month.  My new novel is moving along nicely, and I've got neurons firing in so many different directions.  I've got some old characters doing new things, and new characters exploring brand new areas I've not written about before.

Plus, I use the amazing art my illustrator Jenn does, and the narration that Suzie Jenkins and I do, to make these sort of Reading Rainbow style movies now.

On top of all that, the creativity is bleeding over into other areas of my life.  I'm feeling reinvigorated in the coding I'm doing for my side business.  New projects I'm about to embark on in my day job are exciting and invigorating to me.  We've begun recording the Big Little Podcast again on a more regular schedule.

I feel so very, very ON.  

This morning I was up 15 minutes before my alarm clock, thinking about all the irons I have in the fire, not overwhelmed by it, but stirred up.  I love being a creative person.  I love connecting with that urge to make new things.  It's a vital, valuable part of my life.

I'm so grateful.

#gratitudeNow: Beep beep

This profound thing happened this morning.  You wouldn't know it to look at it though.  Here I'll share.

For my visually impaired readers, I'll describe what you just heard.  That was me, putting my electric toothbrush back on its charging stand, where when I did, it let out an audible little "beep beep" sound.

Why is this profound?  I'm glad you asked.

First, some context.  I live in a lovely house I rent, which is big, and kind of old.  It has charm, and some quirks.  One of those quirks is that the plug where I plug this toothbrush in happens to be on the same circuit as a plug in our garage, into which is plugged a big freezer.  For some oddball reason, that same circuit is partially exposed to the elements through a crack in a lighting fixture for an outside light on our house.  

The net effect of said exposure is that when it rains or snows that circuit shorts out.  And our freezer goes on the fritz, leaving a puddle on the floor of the garage, and ruins what we have in it.  It also makes it impossible for me to charge my toothbrush or run my water-pik.  

When this happens, one of us quickly moves things from the freezer out in the garage to the kitchen, and we wait for the circuit to dry out so we can flip the circuit breaker and resume life as normal.

We've lived here two years now, and it's taken most of that time to figure this out.  We also just got the landlord to seal up that crack, so maybe it won't happen anymore.  Maybe.

That's relevant to my moment of enlightenment I want to share with you.  

My day job has been very draining for me lately.  I've really been considering my options around it.  And at the same time, I've been hard at work on my patreon, which is a time-consuming and expensive side project, given the costs for art, narration help, software and related services.  And while THAT's all been going on, I've also been working on a software business.  It's exhausting, and can feel overwhelming at times.

This morning, I'm listening to a podcast, Risk's Tough Love episode.  The second story in the episode, For the Love of Charlie really, really gets to me.  I'm going to warn you now, if you're the sort of person who emotionally invests in a story, when you listen to this one, it's going to get you too.

Jolenta Greenberg and David Crabb share stories about a pre-teen dastardly duo and a boy and his wonderful dog.

It's about David, his husband Jack, and their dog, Charlie.  David loves Charlie, and has many reasons to do so.  The story he tells gives the context of that love.  

In the story, Charlie gets very sick and dies.  David processes his grief.

What does this have to do with my beeping toothbrush?  Kind of everything.  

The other day it rained down like crazy, putting the circuit out of commission.  I've been waiting for days for the circuit to dry out, for my sister-in-law to be able to reset the breaker (which is downstairs in her apartment), for the landlord to fix the house so it won't happen again.

So for days now I've been brushing my teeth, waiting for the batteries to run out on this thing so I will have to move it, and charge it elsewhere.  I had sort of subconsciously bought into this foregone conclusion that it would die on me before any good change happened.  I've also been letting other things on my mind weigh me down.  Political things, job things, project-writing-software-things, all sorts of things.

For lack of a better term, for the past several days I guess I've been doombrushing.  During this morning's doom brush I finish listening to that sad, yet ultimately satisfying and comforting story.  

One profound thing that David said in the story was how in the height of his mourning he lamented how stupid he felt being so racked about a dog to someone.  The guy told him to cut that out, that he had just lost a pet too (a bird), and how all love and pain matters, and doesn't need comparison or validation by anyone.

I nodded.  Fuck, yes.  

I've been telling people for years now that pain is intimate.  It's impossible to understand someone else's pain.  It's human to want to compare your own pain to someone else's, to give it context.  

But you can't really. 

Some days I wake up, pop out of bed ready to just attack the day.  I'll do all these many things, give them all time and energy and drive, and go go go.  Other days, I don't.  I drag myself through the day, feeling like I'm phoning it in on every goddamn thing.  There's this tempting lure to fall into a pall about it.  I hear this chorus of ugly voices sing to me.

"This isn't going anywhere", "I'll never finish this.", or "None of this even matters." are some of their hits.

You know the thing about mindful practice is, it is a practice.  You have to just fucking do it.  It's hard.  It's work.  Sometimes it isn't fun.  Often, really.  And you don't do it to find peace.  If you do, you'll never ever get there.  You do it to be present, to feel what's right in front of you, and move with it.

So my ugly voice chorus was singing their faces off to me last night, and some this morning.  Then I put on Risk, brushed my teeth, and when I was done, put my brush back on its stand.

Beep beep.

Just like you heard in my video up there.  And all that doom I had been carrying around, all that expectation and judgment and harshness just left.  It felt good.