Chatting with the Harsh Mistress — March 16, 2026
I wake again with a heavy heart—tears always just waiting in the wings—and the same question rises:
Why?
When that happens, it’s time to hush the noise and hold the question instead of answering it.
So I called a meeting.
Who’s coming to the table today?
The first to arrive is the Taskmaster.
Then the Underminer.
Then the Pressurizer.
Naturally.
There are others lingering in the background, but before they can take over the room I call for reinforcements: Harm Reducer. Extreme Self-Care. Omi-san.
And then something unexpected drifts into the scene.
An image enters the room of my mind: a great owl wrapping its wings around me like a shawl. That’s Gus. Only this time there’s another owl wrapped around Gus and me.
It’s Javen.
The words guardian angel float quietly across the room.
Even though he’s not physically present in my life anymore—and may never be again—I suddenly realize something.
He was there when I needed him most.
Aww.
Yes.
Hmm.
Okay.
The usual grumbling begins. The familiar complaints start lining up to speak, but honestly, I don’t feel like going over the same old territory today.
Then Frustration shows up.
Hello, my new practice—both intellectual and heart-centered—frustration tolerance. It’s everywhere when you’re someone like me: a discomfort-seeker constantly chasing new life experiences.
Right.
I forgot that part of the game.
Whoops.
Then, out of the corner of my mind’s eye, as I wander the internal landscape, I suddenly ask out loud:
Wait. Who’s keeping score?
Who’s constantly judging, analyzing, deciding what’s still not good enough?
And there she is.
I know her well from the past.
The Hall Monitor.
Meticulously calculating debits and credits.
Constantly auditing my life.
But today she’s wearing a new name tag:
The Harsh Mistress.
Hello.
Let’s talk.
Because frankly, this whole system is bullshit.
You constantly prevent me from feeling like I’m getting ahead or doing enough. Meanwhile I’m sitting in discomfort every day, making a massive effort to build a life I actually want—a life I consider beautiful and worth living.
And somehow, according to you, it still doesn’t add up.
So here’s the deal.
Put the abacus down.
I’m changing the accounting system.
Assets and debits are going in the trash.
Life isn’t accounting. It’s deposits and withdrawals.
Withdrawals are the hard things:
Letting go.
Accepting impermanence.
Accepting imperfection.
Grief.
Loss.
The alchemy of change.
Learning—slowly—to love reality as it is.
Now, if I’m honest, I don’t think I’ll ever fully love that side of things. I’d be shocked if I could even nudge it into the “I’m grateful for this” lane.
But here’s what I do want you to keep track of:
The stars on my chart.
Except it’s not a chore chart anymore.
It’s a life chart.
Because I’m not playing the long game these days.
I’m playing the short game.
And the short game is this:
Reaching out to people.
Letting them know I want them in my life.
It’s awkward.
It’s vulnerable.
Making bids to strangers always is.
But I’m doing it anyway.
And when I look at this past week, I realize there are actually a lot of stars to paste onto the chart.
⭐ Going to the movies with a new reciprocal couple—both 83 years old—to see the cartoon Hoppers, followed by burgers and fries.
⭐ Attending a new women’s conversation group at the public library, started by someone my age. We talked about passion. Authenticity. The lives we’re still trying to build.
⭐ Walking in the snow wearing a made-in-Montana hood—the kind used to calm raptors—listening to Naughty Jukebox while wandering along the river toward the library, moving slow and Zen like Gus taught me.
⭐ Playing social pickleball twice with a whole new group of people at a church gym. My favorite teacher, Ethan Sky, was there. We yelled, laughed, and connected through play.
⭐ Cold plunging in early spring mountain melt—32-degree water—with people whose names I now know. One of them recommended a book I’m reading. We compared notes. She told me she meets tons of new people at the YMCA pool and sauna.
I told her I’m joining today.
So yes—on my chart there are many, many stars being pasted.
Because underneath all of this, what I want is pretty simple.
I want to feel seen.
heard.
felt.
noticed.
And maybe, every once in a while, petted a little.
You see where I’m going with this?
The Harsh Mistress does.
And already my heart feels lighter.
Maybe this is my way of making existential kink into something that actually works for me.
I’m bossing around the bossers now.
And suddenly the day feels playable again.
Time to get up.
Let’s ball.
