On Dreaming of Dead Bodies (Blog #519)

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I’d intended to do nothing today. Well, nothing except read, that is. You know, go easy on myself. Maybe take a nap, rest. And whereas that’s exactly what happened for the first part of the afternoon, the rest of the day has gone to pot. For one thing, our air conditioner broke, which means the house has been getting gradually hotter with each passing hour. And if that weren’t enough, our freezer stopped working too, which I noticed when I walked into the garage and stepped into the River Jordan.

“It probably just needs defrosting,” Dad said

“Like my sex life,” I replied.

So that’s been the evening. Right in the middle of dinner, the air-conditioner repair man showed up, then the freezer thing happened. So everyone’s been running inside and outside, the guy working on the air conditioner, and me, Mom, and Dad transferring all the food from the outside freezer to the inside one–cramming-cramming-cramming everything from TV dinners to chicken wings inside and–since all of it was covered in water–making a big damn mess in the process. Then we dragged the freezer into the driveway, hooked up the water hose, and sprayed the caked-up ice inside until it disappeared like all my hopes and dreams.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

Now it’s seven in the evening, and I’m straight-up irritated, mostly because I’d rather be reading a book or visiting some friends who invited me over earlier. But instead there’s the freezer project and this, the blog project. I mean, some days writing is a real source of inspiration and relief for me, and other days it’s just a pain in my ass. Like, there are times I’d like to chunk my laptop across the room and give the internet my middle finger. Seriously, I don’t recommend trying to become a better person. Just watch Netflix. Self-help and personal growth, let along sharing your every thought with the entire virtual world, is for the fucking birds.

And as if ALL THIS weren’t enough to get me worked up, now there are a million flies circling around me, the result of the back door being opened and closed so many times this evening.

Shoo, fly, shoo.

For two out of the last three nights, I’ve dreamed about dead bodies. In last night’s dream, I was trying to dispose of a dead body, first in a large body of cold water, then in a trash can. And whereas my therapist says dreams like this are good because dead bodies represent the discarding of no-longer-useful parts of one’s personality, they’re still not fun dreams to have. Again, in last night’s dream, there was an entire row of giant trash bins filled with trash. That’s good because it means I’m discarding a lot mental and emotional junk I don’t need. But still, there was a dead body–and all that trash–there was even blood. Talk about gross. Not exactly the best way to start your morning.

I say all this to point out–once again–that personal growth isn’t everything the books in the self-help aisle make it out to be. It can be a real bitch at times–ugly and uncomfortable. Because what do you do when a part of you–even a not-so-useful part of you–dies? What do you do when you’re USED to having a lot of mental and emotional STUFF around, then suddenly it’s no longer there? Personally, I find that part of me wants to celebrate The Great Letting Go, and part of me wants to hang on. Ugh. It’s so disorienting, so frustrating. You think, If I’m not that person with all that trash, WHO am I? And WHAT exactly AM I becoming?

I still don’t have an answer.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We were made to love without conditions. That's the packaging we were sent with."

On Myths and Where the Magic Happens (Blog #518)

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“For as God uses the help of our reason to illuminate us, so should we likewise turn it every way, that we may be more capable of understanding His mysteries; provided only that the mind be enlarged, according to its capacity, to the grandeur of the mysteries, and not the mysteries contracted to the narrowness of the mind.” — Francis Bacon

Today I have adjusted to being back home in Arkansas. By this I mean that I’ve spent the entirety of the day hiding from the rest of the world. I did make a few phone calls this afternoon and am currently at the dinner table blogging while my parents watch the nightly news and my laundry goes round and round–but otherwise I’ve been locked in my room reading three different books, all of which I’m having to swallow and digest in pieces. And whereas my default is to think, Ugh. I have so many MORE books that I want to read and finish, and there’s just NOT enough time, today I’ve been working on accepting the fact that there will ALWAYS be more books than I have time to read.

And good. I’d rather be overly fascinated with and wanting to learn from life than to be bored with it.

Earlier while reading a book about fears, I started thinking about the fact that all throughout elementary, junior high, high school, and college, I was a straight-A student. At one time I would have said this as a matter of pride, but now I don’t see it as something to brag about; it’s simply a fact. And whereas school always came easily and I didn’t really have to “try hard” to get good grades, I do remember being deathly afraid of getting a B–of being less than perfect.

Whatever perfect means.

Ick. I guess I’ve never been able to completely shake the feeling that less-than-average, average, and slightly better-than-average just aren’t good enough–it’s gotta be the best–I gotta be the best. (If you identify with this thinking, I can only assume that you’re as exhausted as I am.) This “affection for perfection” is what, I think, is ultimately behind my desire for everything in my life to be just so. I want my body to feel a certain way, I want my closet arranged in a particular order, and I want my books completely read. There is, after all, nothing like a to-do list or a to-read list that’s all checked off.

But this evening I thought, Give it a fucking rest, Nancy. You don’t have to finish every book you start. What’s wrong with being a B reader?! Which felt good. Later, while updating my website and the fees I charge for different services (like teaching dance or remodeling houses), I noticed that some of the fees were formatted like this–$50/hr–and others were formatted like this–$50 / hr. Specifically, I noticed that some of the fees don’t have spaces before and after the slash and that and others do. Anyway, normally I’d go back and format them all the same, but tonight I thought, It’s been like that for four years, and just left it alone–not perfect, but part of the “good enough” club–something a B-student would do. Which felt fabulous.

Miraculously, the world’s still spinning.

One of the books I started reading today is called The Hero: Myth/Image/Symbol by Dorothy Norman. Much like the work of Joseph Campbell, it compares myths from different cultures and highlights their similarities, the point being that all the great myths, more than conveying FACTS, convey TRUTHS about a person’s individual potential. They speak about the journeys we’re on and–if we let them–have the power to transform our souls and spirits. I say “if we let them” because if you read a myth as either pure fact (history) or pure fiction (entertainment), it won’t do much for you. But if you read them as INTENDED, as being ABOUT YOU and, therefore, relatable and relevant to YOUR life, well–as the celebrities say about their bedrooms–this is where the magic happens.

As I understand it, the myths, like proper symbols, are designed to evoke or draw out of us our higher potentialities or levels of consciousness. In other words, they’re about personal transformation–transformation that, as the quote at the beginning of tonight’s blog communicates, doesn’t change “the mysteries” to fit the individual, but rather changes the individual to fit “the mysteries.” Connecting this idea to what’s happened for me today, it means that I could spend the rest of my life trying to order my PHYSICAL world around by organizing the shit out of everything and completing every book and project I start, but that would be, ultimately, fruitless and frustrating because the PHYSICAL world doesn’t need changing. My INTERNAL one does.

It is I (my way of thinking) that must enlarge.

Transformation ain’t for sissies.

I wish I could tell you that even a small shift in consciousness or seeing yourself or the world is something you can do quickly and easily, like, in a weekend. Alas, this has not been my experience. Rather, every positive change I’ve undergone in my life in terms of thinking and behaving has been long-fought and hard-won. This, incidentally, is why virtually all myths include a mountain to climb, a giant to kill, a dragon to tame, or a golden something (fleece, goose egg, take your pick) to snatch from an ogre. Transformation, the myths tell us, ain’t for sissies. What’s more, this process takes time and, as the book I’m reading says, “is impossible to hasten.” I realize this doesn’t sound like a pep talk, but the myths tell us that The Hard Work is worth all your energy and effort, which is why so many fairy tales and myths end with a victory, a marriage, a resurrection (like that of the Phoenix, the Christ, Lazarus, or even Harry Potter), or some other cause to celebrate.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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I don't think anyone came to this planet in order to get it right the first time. What would be the point?

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On Assholes and Doormats (Blog #517)

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Late this morning I woke up in Tulsa, then drove straight back to Arkansas, to therapy. Then I poked around in two bookstores and went out for pizza and beer. (More therapy.) Then I went to see my friend Kim, who’d invited me to Porch Pickin’, this thing where a bunch of Kim’s friends get together and play music / listen to music on her neighbor’s front porch. Now it’s just before midnight, and I’m at my parents’ dinner table. So after being on the road and out-of-town for seven full days, I’m finally home–back in glorious Van Buren.

I’m so ready to go to bed, it’s not even funny.

Speaking of things that aren’t funny, despite the fact that I was exhausted all day yesterday–like, I was dragging the tops of my feet across the carpet on the way to bed–I couldn’t sleep for shit last night. No kidding, I tossed and turned all night. Maybe it’s because it was the night after the full moon. That really does affect me sometimes. Anyway, I eventually conked out, but then my alarm went off. What the hell? Color me not impressed.

Today my therapist and I talked about someone that–quite frankly–I think is an asshole. That being said, I’ve seen this person being extremely kind, and I admire them for their ability to be direct. They always say EXACTLY what’s on their mind, and you always know right where you stand. Anyway, the subject came up because I actually have a lot of fantasies about behaving like this person–you know, saying, “Shut the fuck up, Beatrice,” or “Go play in traffic, you little piece of shit.” I realize these wouldn’t be “nice” things to say or do, but that’s precisely the point. I’ve tried the “nice” thing; it’s exhausting.

According to my therapist, I’ve been rocking the 12-step, recovering-people-pleaser program for quite a while now. Things are so much better than they used to be. And yet, I still bite my tongue more than I’d like to. My therapist says the solution is a matter of combining directness with style. In this asshole’s case, he’s ALL directness. No class. In my case, however–this is my therapist’s opinion–I’m all style. The consummate diplomat. “Sometimes when a person who’s a jerk gets under our skin,” my therapist said, “it’s because we want a little bit of what they have. Like, we’d give up some of our style if we could have some of their directness.”

There really are times when I’d like this–to be a total snot. I’m not sure I’d like the consequences–my therapist says you can burn bridges–but I’ve shoved down so many emotions and NOT stood up for myself so many times over the last four decades that having at least one full-blown tirade sounds really appealing.

So maybe keep your distance until I can get a good night’s rest.

But really, my therapist and I agreed that you can be both direct and classy (or kind) at the same time. You can not be a doormat AND not burn bridges. You can speak your truth AND not degrade, demean, or be rude to the person with whom you are communicating. It IS possible.

This should be my new mantra–

Hum. This is something I’m working on. More and more, I’m not considering my people-pleasing tendencies or any part of my personality set in stone. A book I read recently said we do that–think of ourselves as unchangeable. We say, “I’m a people pleaser,” or “That’s just the way I am.” But the book suggested saying, “I THINK OF myself as a people pleaser,” since that subtlety suggest that changes can occur when we are willing to SEE ourselves in a different way. For me–ideally–that way looks like being direct, honest, AND kind. In other words–and maybe this should be my new mantra–not an asshole, not a doormat.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is progressing as it should.

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After the Breaking (Blog #516)

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Last night after flying in from DC, I slept at my Aunt Terri’s house in Tulsa, and this morning while trying to figure out her damn espresso machine, I broke the handle off one of her coffee cups. SHHH–don’t say anything. She’s currently at work, and I haven’t told her yet. Anyway, ironically, the cup said, “Life is good.”

Is it? I thought, staring at the broken handle. IS IT?!

Fortunately, unlike me and many of my past relationships, the cup and its handle made a clean break. Also fortunately, I happen to travel with super glue, which I keep in my lesbian toolbox in the back of my car, Tom Collins. So after I scrambled some eggs, made coffee in ANOTHER cup, and ate my breakfast, I glued the broken cup back together, temporarily holding the handle against the cup with a couple of rubber bands I found in a drawer.

There. That was easy.

This morning before waking up, I had a series of dreams. Having chewed on them a good part of this afternoon, I’ll spare you a lot of the details and focus on what I think is most important. First, I began backstage at a theater. I was up high in the shadows, watching. Then I was on the ground floor in a rehearsal space that was brighter and was practicing a cartwheel-type move with a woman. Then I was outside on a large deck in the full light, practicing the same move with a man, who was more powerful and confident than the woman was. Because of his strength, I was concerned he was going to flip me off the deck into the mud–or the unfinished yard–below. Finally, I was in my friend Mary’s kitchen, next to a refrigerator (a common dream symbol for me).

At first glance, I took this dream to be about my work life and being prepared, since first I was watching in the shadows (learning by watching), then I was rehearsing (learning by doing, gently), then I was literally “on deck” or getting ready to do (with power). As for the mud and rocks, I see them as representing the unknown, the unfinished, or that which is to come. Since I relate refrigerators to stored energy or potential, all this would make sense and is probably true. But as dreams can have multiple meanings, I’m considering another possibility, largely due to a statement I read in a book yesterday that said both dreams and life communicate with us through REDUNDANCY. In other words, the universe repeats itself.

In other words, the universe repeats itself.

As I understand it, the idea behind this concept is that when your subconscious is wanting to get a point across, it will bring it to your attention through multiple avenues, including dreams, symbols, experiences, and bodily sensations. With this in mind, I now interpret all of my dreams last night from the viewpoint of “things coming together.” First, the dreams were filled with images of opposites–shadow and light, male and female, inside and outside, confidence and concern. With all these pairs there was a joining, some sort of stage or platform where they–what’s the word?–played together. Even the mud can be seen as a “coming together” of the opposites earth and water. Likewise, a kitchen is where ingredients are joined, and all the more sense that the kitchen in my dream belonged to a woman named Mary–or rather–Marry. (Dreams often speak in puns.)

According to the book I’m reading, since the universe speaks in redundancy, it sends us the same messages in our waking life as it does our sleeping one. If this is true (and I believe it is), it would make sense that immediately after having these dreams about “coming together,” I would break a cup–where?–in my aunt’s KITCHEN and then join the broken pieces back together. Of course, this whole affair is even more stunning for me, since that’s what I think this blog is about–repairing those parts of myself that have been broken off along the way.

Aunt Terri, I’m sorry your hopefully-not-favorite mug had to be sacrificed in order to serve as an illustration of the process I’m going through.

If all this isn’t weird enough, things have gotten even weirder as the day has gone on. For one thing, as I was cleaning up after breakfast, I noticed a bag in my Aunt Terri’s kitchen that said, “Bring your table to life.” And whereas the actual meaning, I think, has to do with bringing LIFE to your table (by putting the company’s food or products on it), I like the slogan literally just as well. Bring YOUR TABLE to life. In other words, start exactly where you are, with all your shadows and broken pieces, then find a way to animate yourself. Find a way to JOIN your shadow to The Light. Find a way to put your broken pieces back together.

I spent this afternoon here in Tulsa looking for books at a fabulous bookstore. And whereas I didn’t find anything I was looking for, I did find two books I WASN’T looking for. Anyway, when I finished book-looking, I went to a Panera Bread (where I am now), since I really haven’t felt superior today and figured coffee would help animate ME. Well, I’ll be damned if I wasn’t just about to get out of my car when I looked over and saw a business named RESURRECT. (It’s a resale store.) And maybe some would call it a coincidence, but I choose to see it–once again–as the universe communicating, since RESURRECTION is what happens after THE SACRIFICE of your old life. It’s what happens after THE BREAKING. Resurrection is the coming back together or The Joining. It’s your new cup. It’s your new life.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be more discriminating.

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The Bright Side (Blog #515)

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Currently it’s 8:00 PM (central standard time), and I’m sitting at a Chili’s restaurant in the St. Louis airport. So far my travels home from Washington, DC, have gone smooth as silk. Nothing like the ones getting there. Rather, everything and everyone has run “one time.” No delays, no hangups. What’s more, after a full weekend of dancing and consequential exhaustion, I got to sleep in late this morning and do some sightseeing, since my flight didn’t leave until 6:55 this evening (eastern standard time). So it’s been a good day.

I should probably clarify my comment about sightseeing. I did NOT go to the Smithsonian or tour the monuments, although I did leave my hotel this afternoon and glanced the Jefferson and Washington monuments from my Uber. I DID, however, go to three bookstores. Lame? Maybe for some. Exciting? Definitely for me. I love a good bookstore. Plus, I discovered a super-cool antique-doorknob shop. I know, I know–you’re probably thinking, This man needs to get laid. And whereas you’d be right, I swear the doorknob store was more thrilling than it sounds. They even had some sweet gargoyle lamps!

The first bookstore I went to was just off Dupont Circle, which is basically set up like a hub or wagon wheel. Ten streets pour into a roundabout which is made up of two circles–the outer circle being for cars or pedestrians, the inner circle for pedestrians only. (Inside that area is a small park.) Well, my Uber driver dropped me off on the correct street, but the WRONG side of the circle. Of course, it wasn’t a problem to walk–I could use more walking in my life–but I had to figure a plan first, since I started to walk around the outer circle but realized that would take too long. Finally I figured it out–Make a straight line. Go to The Center first. Then you can easily find your way to wherever you want to go.

Go to The Center first.

I get so twitterpated about books. I honestly think of looking for them like an adventure. Today while walking to the second store, I ended up one street off, right by a hotel. So rather than walk AROUND the entire block, I cut through the hotel lobby. Well–I tried to at least, since the lobby didn’t open to the other side. But always determined, I nosed my way into an empty conference room and spied a door that said EXIT. At this point, the theme song to Mission Impossible started playing in my head. Slipping through the door, I immediately ran into two delivery men, but I just acted as if I was supposed to be there, on the back loading dock. Quickly, I jumped off the dock and found myself on my desired street, the one with the bookstore. Mission accomplished!

Despite my cloak-and-dagger tales in book hunting, I only bought one book from the three stores I visited. It was eight dollars. I spent more in Uber fares than I did on the book. And whereas part of me considered it all a waste for “just” one book, I had a good time. And when I went back to the hotel (where I’d stashed my bags at the front desk) and drank two beers along with lunch? I thought, Hell, I’m having a GREAT time.

But really–I don’t think the day could have gone better.

Now it’s 9:30, and I just boarded the plane for Tulsa. We’ll take off soon, so I’m rushing. Despite my wonderful day and fabulous weekend, I don’t want to be up blogging late tonight. I’m already ready to crash. But before I wrap up, here’s something–

Well, wait. I had to close my laptop for the flight, which–I guess–went well except for the fact that my bag came back damaged. Shit. One of the handles got ripped off, and the side is torn. So that sucks. But, I talked to an airline agent, and she gave me a travel voucher for $75, which I believe is what I paid for the bag. So thanks to this trip and the airline’s multiple mishaps, I now have $275 in airline dollars to spend. Whoopie.

Anyway, back to the thing I was going to tell you. Last night, about two in the morning, I asked a girl, a stranger who had glitter on her face, to dance. Then after she said yes, I told her I liked her glitter makeup. Her face lit up. “Do you want some?” she said.

I paused.

“Yes. Yes I do!”

Well, the next thing I knew, the girl (who said she was from France) started digging through her purse and covering my face and “little beard” in green glitter that EXACTLY MATCHED my shirt. Talk about fun. Even before we danced, we had this beautiful moment of kindness and creativity. An unexpected surprise. A lightening up.

Oh–by the way–I’m at my aunt’s house now, in Tulsa. It’s one in the morning. I truly am tired, and part of me is so frustrated with this trip. It really was a chore getting to DC and–honestly–exhausting to be there, despite all the fun and wonderful dances and conversations I had. I guess my body just needs a break. Ugh. Things were going so well today, and then the bag thing happened. I mean, I liked that bag. It was a gift from a friend when I announced that I was moving to Austin. And I know–I haven’t moved yet. But still, the bag matched my others. That’s important for homosexuals–matching glitter, matching bags. Okay. I’m letting it go. I’m choosing to look on the bright side. Yes, this too is an unexpected surprise. I have less baggage now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Anything and everything is possible.

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On Sinus Infections and Self-Acceptance (Blog #514)

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Today has been another full day at the International Lindy Hop Championships, and it’s absolutely flown by. Of course, I did sleep in until noon–my first meal of the day was lunch–so that may be some of it. In terms of my physical body, part of my neck and back are in periodic spasms, but otherwise I’m making it. My energy level is–all things considered–solid. What’s more, it occurs to me that I haven’t had a full-blown or even a mild sinus infection in six months. This is a big deal, considering I had one that lasted the entire three-months before that, and I’ve historically gotten one every eight to twelve weeks.

Hum. I really wasn’t intending this to be a health report. I guess I’m just thinking about these things because I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve gotten sick (with a sinus infection) while I’ve been traveling, especially to dance weekends. I’m assuming this happened because whenever I’m away my schedule is off and I’m usually worn out. You know, lowered immunity and what-not. All that being said, I’m grateful that at least the sinus-infection part of my personal health equation seems to be improving.

Let’s hear it for progress.

But back what went on today. This afternoon the event held the finals for several of the major competitions. Talk about some great dancing! And y’all, the coolest thing. They have a juniors division here, and the kids that were in it were the cutest things you’d ever want to see in your life. They killed it. There was even one kid who performed a solo routine, and he had more energy and pure heart for this dance than I’ve seen maybe ever. When he finished dancing, the entire room gave him a standing ovation, and dozens of people threw their shoes on the floor, which I’d never seen people do until now and is apparently a sign of respect.

This evening I went out to eat with a few friends. Y’all, we ate at a place called Jaleo, and the food was ridiculously good and so well-presented. That being said, I’m not exactly sure what KIND of food it was. Like, my first course was a cold tomato soup, then I had stuffed peppers, then an amazing spinach salad, and then some type of grilled chicken. All of this was followed by three different types of ice cream. So amazing.

Here’s a picture of the stuffed peppers.

Now it’s about midnight, and the event is winding down. They did the awards ceremony earlier. The band should be almost finished. Whenever they are, there will be a party with soul music. However, by three o’clock, it will all be over. I guess part of me is a bit sad. That tends to happen at events–it’s like I want more time to meet people, talk to people, dance with people. But earlier one of my new friends said, “God places you where you need to be,” so I’m trusting that whatever interactions I’ve had this weekend are the ones I’ve needed to have. And that feels better than thinking, Things didn’t go as well as they could have. I could have–should have–done more.

I really have been noticing improvement in this department. I don’t beat myself and life up as much. What happens, happens–and I’m more and more okay with that. I have to be. I’m tired of everything being wrong or not good enough. I’m worn out with comparing myself to everyone who dances or looks better or even different than I do. I’m exhausted with not being comfortable in my own skin. So that’s something, the fact that there’s more self-acceptance here. Yes, it feels right, like finally finding the rhythm or clapping on the beat.

Let’s hear it for progress.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The truth doesn’t suck.

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Write, Dream, Speak (Blog #513)

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Last night I danced until three-thirty in the morning and passed out about four. Then I slept like shit and woke up with a headache about nine-thirty. There’s a nerve in my neck that’s been pinched for several days now, and it was “talking” to me as soon as I crawled out of bed. So that wasn’t fun. (It’s still not fun.) Anyway, I cleaned up, got dressed, and went in search of the breakfast buffet. And whereas I felt like a zombie, another dancer who saw me said, “Good job–you look awake!”

“Smoke and mirrors,” I said. “Smoke and mirrors.”

Somehow, even though I’m not technically working or heavily participating in the swing-dance event this weekend, it’s been a busy day. This morning I was invited to participate in a brainstorming meeting, and that turned into a couple other mini-meetings that happened this afternoon and evening. When those things weren’t happening, I watched the competitions. Y’all, it really is badass here. Not only does this event boast some of the best swing and social dancers on the planet, it also boasts a ton of newbie and intermediate dancers who have unmatched passion and creativity. You should see the looks on their faces. As one person who’s here for the first time said, “This room is pure joy.”

This evening my dear friend Randy, who lives nearby-ish and went to college with my dad, drove to the hotel where I’m staying to take me out to dinner. Talk about a good guy. He even waited patiently for thirty minutes while I participated in a meeting that ran over. And whereas we didn’t have a plan for where to go, we ended up at a lovely Italian restaurant that was delightful from start to finish and had one of THE BEST chocolate cakes I have ever put in my mouth. As Randy said, “It was worth the price of admission.”

I mean, it was covered in hazelnut cream sauce.

Back at the hotel after dinner with Randy, first I watched a couple competitions, then I danced, then I grabbed a beer with a friend, then I danced some more, then I went to a late-night breakfast. (Thankfully dancing burns a ton of calories, since God knows I’m doing plenty of eating lately.) Then for over two hours I chatted with the people at my table–mostly about the event. I’ll spare you the details, but I will say this–I LOVE being around people who see possibility and aren’t afraid to dream and aren’t afraid to work to make their dreams come true.

Now it’s three-thirty in the morning, and I can’t rub two thoughts together. My brain is shutting down. At the same time, my body wants to be dancing. All that to say that although I normally adore this blog, it feels like an inconvenience in this moment. Like, I’ve had a FULL day without it, and now you (whoever you are) want me to cram it in last thing and still say something intelligible? I mean, it’s asking a lot. And yes, I know that I’M the one who’s asking it.

Today during one of the meetings, someone said, “Marcus, you haven’t said anything this entire time.” So I said, “Well, I’m mostly taking it all in,” but then I gave some thoughts. And I’ll be damned if my voice wasn’t shaking the entire time, I guess because I was around a lot of people I don’t know very well and I’m–uh–the new kid on the block. Still, I spoke and shared what was true for me. And whereas I sometimes devalue what I have to say, people listened. Not like it was gospel, but like it was helpful. And that’s what this blog has taught me. Write–even if you’re tired, even if it’s not your best, even if you think it quite frankly sucks. Write anyway. Dream–even if you don’t know if or how your dreams will come true. Speak–even if your voice quivers.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one is immune from life’s challenges.

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On Fermentation (Blog #512)

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Well shit. After waking up at 6:15 this morning and rushing to and through the St. Louis airport just to sit on the tarmac (again!) for over an hour (due to lightning), I finally made it to Washington, DC, this afternoon. The good news–my luggage made it too. In fact, it was one of the first onto the conveyor belt. The bad news–almost everything inside was wet. I guess they left my bag outside while it was raining. Oh well. I took a complimentary (hotel-sponsored) shuttle to the hotel where I’m staying, got checked into my room, and laid my clothes out to dry.

When I told one of my friends about my problems yesterday and today, she said, “The flight home will be better.”

Let’s hope she’s right.

I’m here in the nation’s capital for the International Lindy Hop Championships, one of the largest and well-known swing-dancing competition events in the world. This is my first time here, my maiden voyage, and I’ve come mostly to observe. And despite the fact that I’m not competing or taking classes, normally I’m intimidated in new dancing situations. But today I’ve felt at home–comfortable in my own body and heart. What’s more, I’ve seen some friendly faces–people who know my name and seem to like me. So that helps.

The weekend here is jam-packed with things to see and do. I’m not sure what’s going on now, but I do know that dinner starts before long, so that’s my priority. Well, after I take a shower and brush my teeth. Since I was stuck in St. Louis last night while my luggage was stuck in Tulsa, I haven’t used an honest-to-god toothbrush in over thirty-six hours. Granted, I did scrub my teeth with my finger and a bar of hotel soap (that tasted ever so slightly like lemon), but that’s wasn’t the same thing. Also, I know washing my mouth out with soap sounds gross, but it was my best option at the moment and wasn’t as bad as you might think. Try it for yourself sometime.

Just don’t swallow!

Currently my brain is mush. I could really use a nap. That being said, I can’t stop thinking about fermentation. Odd, I know, but I finished reading my book about alchemy on the plane today, and fermentation is one of the seven phases of what alchemists call The Great Work. And not that they have to happen in a certain order, but fermentation is step number five and is basically the step in The Great Work (or self-work or spiritual work) in which “the hard part” has been done and now you simply wait as everything in your life putrifies, breaks down, and rots. It’s not pretty or fun, but that’s why St. John of the Cross referred to this stage as The Dark Night of the Soul.

Of the seven stages, this is the one I currently identify with the most, as it’s the one in which you feel as if nothing in your life is working–because nothing in your life is; it’s not supposed to. Rather, by design, all the things you once held dear–including your values, relationships, and precious opinions–are intended to break down and fail you so that YOU can be transformed. The books advice? Wait. Do nothing. Don’t try (because you’ll fail). Try resting for a change.

This advice is frustrating for a do-er like me, of course, but what I love about this alchemical way of looking at the world is that it reminds me that you can’t force The Process. Sometimes the best you can do–the most appropriate thing you can do–is wait. Be still. What’s more, I’m reminded that just as suddenly as problems and frustrations can show up in our lives, they can disappear. At SOME point, the fermentation process does end, and a new, transformed life emerges.

At–some–point.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When the universe speaks—listen.

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On Flight Delays and Volatile Emotions (Blog #511)

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What a damn day.

This afternoon I drove to Tulsa to fly to Washington, DC, for a swing-dance event. HOWEVER, after boarding the plane and sitting on the tarmac for nearly two hours while a mechanical issue was being worked on, I and all the other passengers were informed that SOME of us would not only miss our connecting flights, but would also ultimately NOT arrive at our intended destinations until tomorrow. And whereas I was originally NOT one of the people who would be delayed overnight, by the time the whole thing was said and done, I was.

“You can either spend the night in Tulsa and fly out at 6:30 in the morning,” the smiling gate-agent said, “or spend the night in St. Louis on us and fly out at 9:00 in the morning.”

Of course, dear reader, you know I’m not a morning person.

“I’ll spend the night in St. Louis,” I said. “Will my checked bag be there when I arrive?”

“Yes,” she said, “yes it will.”

At this point, I really wasn’t the slightest bit put upon or pissed off. I mean, I’ve never had this overnight-delay thing happen before with an airline, but I HAVE been delayed before. Shit happens. Hell, my entire life feels like it’s been on layover for over a year now, so what’s one more day? As I’m just going to the dance event as an observer (in order to offer feedback from a business consultant’s perspective), it’s not like I HAVE to be there this red-hot minute. And whereas I was recently ticked off by an American Airlines flight that was delayed and was (in my opinion) handled poorly, this afternoon I was actually delighted by the way today’s airline–Southwest–dealt with everything. First, they gave me a voucher for the hotel, then they gave me $200 in flight credits that I can use anytime within the next year. And get this shit–when the guy next to me ordered an alcoholic drink during the flight that FINALLY took off for St. Louis, they wouldn’t let him pay for it.

“Don’t worry about it,” they said.

Talk about customer service. I’m such a bitch about these sorts of things, and they handled the entire situation like complete pros. My only objection: I wish I’d known about the free drink thing BEFORE I ordered a Ginger Ale. Still, I thought, This could work out. A free night in a hotel (I like hotels)–a good night’s rest–travel vouchers!

Arriving in St. Louis, I de-boarded the plane and found my way to baggage claim. This is the point in the story where things start to go downhill. After an hour of waiting, my bag still hadn’t shown up. So I checked with an agent. “Oh,” she said, “the computer says it never left Tulsa.”

“That’s not cute,” I said.

“No, it’s not,” she said.

“Well,” I said, “what about the fact that now I’m going to have to pay for a toothbrush and toothpaste and such?”

“Well, since the hotel has those things complimentary,” she said, “we can’t reimburse you for that.”

“Okay,” I said.

But here’s the thing–when I got to the hotel, they said those items WEREN’T complimentary and that I’d have to pay for them. Well, that I’d have to pay for them IF they had them, since they had toothbrushes but were OUT of toothpaste, and–OBVIOUSLY–a toothbrush isn’t much good WITHOUT toothpaste to put on it. So now my mouth is going to taste like a bag of assholes tomorrow morning.

And that’s not cute either.

Now I’m downstairs in the hotel at TGI Friday’s eating dinner and trying to drink enough beer to not give a shit about this frustrating situation. I keep telling myself, This isn’t personal. I’ve met several nice people who are in the same predicament as I am. And I’m safe. If I want to, I can Uber myself to Walmart to buy toothpaste and a clean pair of underwear (on my dollar). But what’s the point? Why spend money I don’t HAVE to when I can just rough it for the next twelve or so hours and hopefully be reunited with my stuff? And considering that I have to be up early tomorrow to do the whole airport security thing again, why stay up later than I have to?

How can I rework this?

How to conclude this? Currently I’m awash with emotions. And whereas normally I give myself a hard time anytime I’m frustrated, pissed off, or anything less than gracious (you know, I AM from the south), this evening I’m giving myself more latitude to feel worn out and upset. I mean, I am. That’s the truth. One thing today did provide was a lot of time to read my book about alchemy, and it said that volatile substances or emotions are actually what you want if you’re interested in transformation. In other words, it’s okay to get upset or angry or whatever because, as an alchemist, you need some type of base material to work with, some sort of lead you can take into your laboratory and turn into gold. Like, here’s a situation that’s currently weighing me down. My flight’s delayed. I don’t have any toothpaste. Now how can I rework this so that it becomes a positive instead of a negative, a reason to be grateful rather than a reason to gripe?

I’m working on it.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

[In case you didn’t notice, check out the girl who photo-bombed today’s selfie on the plane. When I spotted her just a few minutes ago, I laughed out loud. So that’s something.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.

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On Levity and Gravity (Blog #510)

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Today and I went to therapy, and–for the first time in a long time–didn’t refer to “the list.” Rather, I let things unfold naturally and talked about whatever came to my mind. I’m frustrated about this. I’m worn out about that. I’m angry about this AND that. “Here,” my therapist said, “take these squeezie balls and squeeze the shit out of them.” (I took the squeezie balls, one in each hand.) “Or do you need to throw something? I have things you can throw if you want to throw things.”

As instructed, I squeezed the shit out of the balls.

“I think these will do,” I said, then continued to vent, mostly about the fact that my life isn’t working like I want it to work right now. “I just feel so–(squeeze, squeeze)–fucking stuck.”

“Maybe you need to get laid,” she said.

“Yes, that’d be great,” I agreed, squeezing some more. “I’ll get right on that.”

I swear. She makes getting laid sound so easy. Maybe it would be if I were. (That’s a sex joke, Mom.)

Okay, here’s something wonderful about seeing a therapist. Specifically, here’s something wonderful about seeing MY therapist. No matter what mood I’m in or what we’re talking about, I almost always end up laughing. Even today while I was venting my frustrations about life, I was actually laughing and having a good time. And whereas this kind of joking around happens with some of my friends–I don’t know–when I over-vent to my friends, things can get so–what’s the word?–heavy. I mean, no one knows what to say when someone you love dies or you lose your job and you don’t know what the hell you’re doing with your life.

Or whatever your problem is.

But that’s a therapist’s job–to first of all know how to listen and second of all know what to say. They went to school for that shit! Not that they get it right every time (my therapist says she thinks she hits the nail on the head about thirty percent of the time), but at least they’re–ideally–objective, as much as a person can be. Like, with a friend or family member, they’re invested, often tied to or affected by your issues. But a therapist–who hears the good, the bad, and the ugly day-in and day-out–can offer a different, more-detached perspective. I know mine can watch me yell or scream or cry and not take it personally. Instead, she can support me by offering compassion, making me laugh, or otherwise helping me to lighten up.

“Let it out,” she says. “This is normal. YOU are normal. You’re going to make it. You’re going to get laid.”

Or whatever.

But back to lightning up. I’m currently reading a book called On Becoming an Alchemist by Catherine MacCoun that’s right up my alley. Today I read that two terms alchemists (people who, by one definition, are concerned with transformation) often use are “levity” and “gravity.” Levity, of course, relates to being light-hearted, lightening up, and not taking yourself or life so seriously. Think–gold. Gravity, on the other hand, relates to being heavy-hearted, serious, or–well–grave. Think–lead. Also, think about how “grave” is actually a term that relates to death or that which is below rather than above the surface (of the earth, of your consciousness).

One of my takeaways from reading about all this is that one’s perspective and (consequently) their emotions change depending on whether they’re looking at a problem from “below” or “above.” Think about it. When you’re feeling “down” and taking both yourself seriously, the world looks worse than it does when you’re feeling “up.” And it’s not that your problems have moved; it’s that YOU have.

This, I think, has been the prized jewel I’ve discovered through my work with my therapist and this blog–movement. On the horizontal plane of matter, time, and space, my problems look much the same. If it’s not one damn thing, it’s another. I still get angry and frustrated about all of it. But on the vertical plane of spirituality, psychology, and my interior, my life looks much different than it did before. Not that I don’t have “down” days, but I’m more “up” than I ever have been. Consequently, I see both myself and life differently, better. My problems are fewer and farther between. Largely due to my perspective, they resolve faster.

Except, apparently, the getting laid thing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If anything is ever going to change for the better, the truth has to come first.

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