The best parts of The Gifts of Imperfection, by Brené Brown:
“Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others.” – Pema Chödrön
One of the greatest (and least discussed) barriers to compassion practice is the fear of setting boundaries and holding people accountable… This research has taught me that if we really want to practice compassion, we have to start by setting boundaries and holding people accountable for their behavior.
If we don’t follow through with appropriate consequences, people learn to dismiss our requests — even if they sound like threats or ultimatums.
The key is to separate people from their behaviors — to address what they’re doing, not who they are… That’s where we get into trouble. When we talk ourselves into disliking someone so we’re more comfortable holding them accountable, we’re priming ourselves for the shame and blame game.
When we attach judgment to receiving help, we knowingly or unknowingly attach judgment to giving help.
If we want to fully experience love and belonging, we must believe we are worthy of love and belonging.
Belonging is the innate human desire to be part of something larger than us. Because this yearning is so primal, we often try to acquire it by fitting in and by seeking approval, which are not only hollow substitutes for belonging, but often barriers to it.
Guilt = I did something bad.
Shame = I am bad.
Life paralysis refers to all of the opportunities we miss because we’re too afraid to put anything out in the world that could be imperfect.
Perfectionism is addictive because when we invariably do experience shame, judgment, and blame, we often believe it’s because we weren’t perfect enough.
Martin Luther King Jr. described power as the ability to affect change.
The Greek word for joy is chairo… “the good mood of the soul.”
The more entrenched and reactive we are about an issue, the more we need to investigate our responses.
In my recently gentrified neighborhood, a young, bearded white guy blocks the path. His stance is wide, his feet planted, phone affixed to his ear. He folds his arms.
At his back a blind black man approaches, tapping his cane. Hearing the other man’s voice, he pauses uncertainly, tries one direction, then the next, and finally inches around him.
The white guy never notices.
He has everything he needs. But for Valentine’s Day, you want him to have a little more. Some simple gifts to let him know he’s loved.
I Like Your Face Mug, $14
Best delivered first thing in the morning with fresh-brewed coffee inside.
Maybe give this to him the day before Valentine’s Day. He’s not gonna look up for a few hours.
Slippers that keep his toes warm, but don’t make his feet sweat. Key.
Sexier than silk boxers with hearts all over them. Plus he might actually wear them.
He buys you lingerie, you buy him top-shelf booze. Both of you so selfless.
It’s Black History Month. For weeks, I’ve been thinking about this story of a gift one mother gave her daughter when they were separated by slavery.
Let’s go to the Seven Tea Cup Waterfalls
in Patagonia, Argentina. Update: These are actually in California! But apparently are only accessible if you use climbing ropes. Video of a couple guys climbing down the falls.
I bought a quivering hat.
“Two young men died in the Ural mountains as they pulled the pin from a hand grenade to take a selfie, which remained as evidence of the circumstances of their deaths.”
I went kind of deep on the Wikipedia list of selfie-related injuries and deaths.
I’m not usually (ever) into nail art, but Glass Nails? Dang.
And speaking of nails, I was rapt for this Cal Sunday article on what it’s like to be a hand model, “Hired Hand.”
Concepcion Picciotto died recently, after keeping a peace vigil by the White House for 30 years. This is one of those “who’s the crazy one, her or society” stories.
Did you see the new Gerber baby? GAH.
I met Lance Arthur in the early days of SxSW Interactive, when it was possible to know or at least recognize everyone who was attending.
He started blogging at Glassdog in 1996, and stopped in 2011. He just finished up a series of personal essays on Medium called Conversations with Myself. I’m still reading all of them, but maybe start with Odd Man Out.
If you weren’t around for the early days of blogging, these essays are just how it felt. If you were, you’ll remember Lance. Hello, mister.
If you don’t want to talk about sexy things, here is a link to that panda rolling in the snow.
For the rest of you, there has been a recent advancement in sex technology. It’s offensively named, air-through-your-teeth ugly, and expensive like you don’t need to eat. Still, I want to give one to everyone I know, like the world’s creepiest fairy godmother.
Meet The Womanizer.
So beautiful, no? As I mentioned, the designs come in different variations of eye smack, but we all need to get past that. Because, damn.
“The Womanizer” is like a vibrator, but it doesn’t necessarily touch your clitoris. Instead it provides light suction and varying speeds of vibration that combine to make things happen… quickly.
Here’s a more thorough, educated Womanizer review. I just thought you should know this existed. Solidarity.