On the Mysteries of Life (Blog #1017)

Several years ago I bought a piece of jewelry at a flea market–“I’ll sell it to you half off,” the guy said–and, despite the fact that I need to have part of it repaired, it continues to fascinate me. I could go on about all the reasons why, but the main thing is that front and center, made out of lapis lazuli (my favorite stone), are seven circles in a circle. Y’all, this is a simple design–you can recreate by setting down a single penny then placing six other pennies around it–but I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve Googled this shape, flipped through books about symbols to find it, all in hopes of learning what it has to teach me.

Naturally, the usual things about sevens come up. The are seven days in a week, seven “planets” in ancient astronomy, seven base metals in alchemy, seven major chakras. Beyond that, the design implies the Star of David, one triangle with its base in heaven reaching downward that intersects with one triangle with its base on earth reaching up. Of course, there are many other meanings to The Star, like balance, yin and yang.

Suffice it to say that I haven’t been able to get enough of seven circles inside an eighth. Why, just two days ago I realized that one of my framed brooches included this very layout. I hadn’t even noticed when I bought it or framed it, but now that I see it, it rivets me.

I knew I picked it out for a reason.

Amazed by this “coincidence,” last night I once again took to Google to learn about the seven circles (of jewelry design, not of hell, although that’s ANOTHER seven connection). Well, I stumbled across a book I hadn’t seen before, The Seventh Circle in Bible Prophesy by Wayne L. Atchison (link to PDF file). And whereas I haven’t finished it, I stayed up until four last night reading it. In short, Atchison proposes that although most of the world counts in tens, God counts in sevens. God made the world in six days and rested on the seventh, Joshua marched around the walls of Jericho one time for six days and seven times on the seventh, and so on. Atchison also points out that just like seven is associated worldwide with completion or perfection, eight (or any number after a multiple of seven) is associated with new beginnings. This is why, he says, many feast days in The Bible are on the 15th (after the 14th) or 22nd (after the 21st). Or why Jubilee is in the 50th year (after the 49th, which, incidentally, is seven sets of seven years).

Now, that’s about as far as I’ve gotten. Well, wait. This afternoon I Googled “counting by 7s” and came up with the title of a juvenile fiction book by Holly Goldberg Sloan. So I checked it out from the library. And whereas I don’t know what it will reveal to me, I’m eager to find out. One of my points here being that I don’t think any of this–the flea-market cuff, the half-off guy that sold it to me, the brooch, the books–is coincidental. Rather, I believe there’s a rabbit hole the universe wants me to go down (who knows why?), and this is how it’s leading me there. Can I prove this? Of course not. You can never prove your mysteries. But Joseph Campbell said, “Follow your fascinations,” and that’s what I’m doing.

Who knows where they will take me or what I shall learn along the way?

This afternoon and evening I cleaned house for a client of mine. While dusting and scrubbing I began listening to a book on audio–The Way of the Rose: The Radical Path of the Divine Feminine Hidden in the Rosary by Clark Strand and Perdita Finn. Now, I’m not Catholic and I’m not pushing anything, but, y’all, this book, this story, is beautiful. In short, Strand was a Buddhist monk and spiritual seeker, and then–out of nowhere–he had an encounter with the Virgin Mary. It’s a long story, but she told him, like she apparently tells many of those to whom she appears: “Pray. Pray the rosary.”

Again, I’m not done with this book, but it’s been on my mind, so I’d be disingenuous if I didn’t talk about it, if I at least didn’t mention it. Because I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Like the seven circles, I don’t think it’s an accident that this book was brought to my attention (on a podcast), especially after a friend of mine gave me a print of the Madonna a year ago and got me a bit obsessed with her statues ever since. And get this shit. Just today as I was one hour into listening to The Way of the Rose, a stranger messaged me and asked if I could frame one of her family heirlooms/brooches. And whereas they had eleven different options, three of them were–roses.

The big thing that caught me about the book today–indeed, it brought me to tears–was the way the authors describe The Love of The Mother, the way she cradles us as we come into this world, the way she holds us as we go out. “I will always be with you,” she says. “You are my child. You will never be alone.” Admittedly, as someone who’s been raised by a patriarchal society and religion, praying to the feminine is foreign. Like, it sounds iffy at best, and I hope it doesn’t make the masculine mad. And yet perhaps this is the point, that all too often we’ve been taught to fear the divine, rather than approaching All That Is as a tender, compassionate, welcoming, and caring force. A motherly force and not just a fatherly one. A force so full of love for us that it would gladly listen to our concerns. That it would gently lead us down The Path into our own mysteries.

Which are, of course, the mysteries of life itself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can hang on and put everything safely in its place, and then at some point, we’re forced to let go.

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On Miracles (Blog #1016)

Okay. Where are we going tonight?

For the last 1,000+ days I’ve sat down to blog and had this question somewhere in my mind. Granted, there have been times that I’ve absolutely KNOWN–these are the things I want to say. But even then writing has been the adventure that creativity is, full of twists, turns, and oh-wow moments. Not one single time in the last three years have I not been surprised by what’s inevitably birthed here at this keyboard, be it a clever phrase, a happy joke, or a somber theme. Even when I’m totally blank and thinking, Well, that’s it, I’m all dried up, some idea comes along out of nowhere to save my ass. Even when I’m certain I’m creatively bankrupt, something good magically appears.

Overall, today has been fabulous. Almost everyone, or at least the news anchors, in our area have been concerned with the weather (there have been tornado warnings), but I’ve been concerned with brooches, working on framing a few recent acquisitions. And whereas I got one project done today, I’m still waiting on paint and glue to dry before I can finish two others. Ugh. Everything is always a process. Both in art and in life, it seems that nothing is ever “done.” The good news about this, I suppose, is that not being done leaves room for The Mystery. Until you’ve reached the last page in a book–the last word–the story’s not over.

This evening I had dinner with a friend I’ve known for–gosh–over fifteen years now, one of the first people I came out to. Anyway, they made spaghetti, and we did what we always do–laugh, share stories, console. Then while I was on my way home I thought about how so very often I’m worried about money but how time with an old, true friend is absolutely priceless. How even if I had all the money in the world it wouldn’t have made tonight any better.

Well, it might have paid for some chocolate cake.

But still, I was happy.

We had cookies.

When I got home I helped my dad put a homemade dog bed (fashioned from old bath mats and a comforter) in my parents’ room for our family dog, Ella. My parents have a waterbed, and there’s a crawl-through space, a hiding area underneath the headboard where I guess Ella likes to go to chill out, get away, and rest her paws. Anyway, I positioned her new bed inside the crawl space, and she went right to it. Later I checked and she was still there, totally relaxed, content. This is my point about being happy. We make it complicated, but–really–it takes so little. Currently I’m in a comfortable chair sipping hot tea and listening to the rainfall.

What more do you need?

Now, an hour ago, just before I sat down to blog, I checked my bank account because I need to pay bills tomorrow. And whereas I’m not destitute–y’all–it wasn’t pretty. Hell, it hasn’t been pretty in years, especially since I closed my dance studio and started chasing my dream of being a writer. (My therapist says, “You ARE a writer.” So I correct myself–chasing my dream of being a PAID writer.) Ugh. I have friends that make both positive and sarcastic comments about how NICE it must be to sleep in every day and spend my days reading, writing, and–now–framing brooches. And, y’all, it is. It is NICE. But trying something new and living a non-conventional life always comes at a cost. And whereas it’s not always a financial cost, it often is, at least for a while. I add “at least for a while” because that’s my hope, that–sooner or later–the lean times will fatten up.

Dear God, please make it sooner.

Earlier tonight my mom sent me a glorious and emotional video and testimonial by Steve Harvey. Essentially, years ago Harvey was on his last leg, down to his final $35, when he was offered a stand-up gig in New York. Phew, you might think, but Harvey didn’t live in New York and–newsflash–plane tickets cost more than $35. But then–just like that–two other stand-up gigs came through and Harvey was able to make the New York gig. From there, his career took off. Later Mom and I were talking about it, and she reiterated Harvey’s advice–never give up. Because you’re CERTAIN to not succeed if you quit. But if you keep going, well, anything could happen. God could step in.

“That’s one thing about God,” I told Mom. “He always waits until the last damn minute. He’s so dramatic.”

“He certainly can be,” Mom said.

That’s Mom, ever the diplomat.

Getting back to creativity and writing and the idea that you never know what’s going to appear, I suppose this idea applies to our lives too. That is, just when we least expect it, something good comes along. My therapist says she’s noticed this happens a lot for me. Whenever I’m down and thinking, I am SO SCREWED, the universe saves my ass. Out of nowhere, a check shows up. An idea comes along. Even it’s not a windfall (so far it’s never been a windfall), it’s enough to get me through. Regardless, I’m always left dumbfounded, amazed. Just like I am when I consider any good fortune, including any good friend who comes into my life. I think, I never could have planned this. I’m always so surprised. That’s the thing. You never see miracles coming.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We all have inner wisdom. We all have true north."

you never see miracles coming

A Lot Can Happen in 80 Days (Blog #1015)

Last night after finally posting the blog at 3:30 in the morning I figured I’d fall right to sleep. Well, wouldn’t you know it, I got a burst of energy and was up until 5:30, scrolling on my phone, thinking, thinking, thinking, and talking to Jesus. You know, because he’s always awake. Anyway, I thought, Maybe I’m healing, maybe my sinus infection is going away. But damn if I didn’t wake up this morning still hacking and coughing. This being said, I have had more pep in my step today and haven’t thought about being sick nonstop. So who knows what’s happening?

Jesus, that’s who.

Six weeks ago I wrote about my first upper cervical care treatment, upper cervical care being concerned with your atlas, the topmost vertebrae in your spinal column. (Why be worried about your atlas, Marcus?) Because your brainstem, which is like Command Central for your body, runs THROUGH your atlas and can be negatively impacted if your atlas is misaligned. Make a circle with your thumb and index finger and think about running a straw or water hose through it. Then think about what would happen if you tilted your finger circle in such a way that it clamped down or put pressure on the straw or water hose. What would you have?

Problems, that’s what. Less “flow.”

All this to say that when my doctor took x-rays of my neck back in November (pictured below on the left), my atlas was tilted way wrong. “We want it to be at an angle of 8 to 10 degrees,” he said, “and yours is at 3.4. Additionally, we’d like your neck to be curved like a banana, but yours is straight as a board.”

“Yeah, it looks like a cucumber,” I said.

Anyway, for the last six weeks I’ve been being treated (or not treated if my doctor determines that my correction has “held”) once a week. Last week we took x-rays to see how I’m improving (or if I am), and today–today!–I found out the results (pictured below on the right). Y’all, in a nutshell, they were nothing short of miraculous. These were my doctor’s words, not mine. First, my atlas is now sitting at an angle of 10.5, almost perfect. Second, my cucumber neck looks more like a banana. “It’s almost textbook,” my doctor said. “I’d like to see your top curve just a bit more, but your bottom is superior. [I’ve been told that before, I thought.] But even if we don’t get any more improvement–and we should–I’m THRILLED with where you are.”

I just stood there with my mouth open, amazed, at the same time thinking about my sinus infection.

“To come this far in this short of time really is phenomenal,” he said. “It means your body is responding really well.”

My doctor said that because your nervous system directly influences or controls your immune system, it’s possible that somewhere down the line my body will be able to fight off sinus infections on its own. “Not that you’ll never get one,” he said, “but instead of it lasting a month, maybe it’ll only last a few days. Because when your nervous system is operating properly, it should be able to ADAPT [to fight off bacteria, etc.].” Then he added, “It’s just going to take some time to get there. Your brainstem has been under pressure for a long time, and it has a lot of repair work to do. But hang in there. Usually people start seeing really wonderful results around the three or four month mark.”

Okay, I thought. Hang in there, Marcus. We have a lot of repairing to do.

The four month mark, that’ll be about the time I’m wrapping up this blog project. Tonight’s blog is #1015 in a row, and that means that after tonight I only have 80 more posts to go, 1095 days being three solid years. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately–THE END. And whereas part of me can’t wait to get there–like, I did it, now let’s drink a beer and take a nap–another part me of me, I know, will miss this. Because this is where I’ve found myself and where I continue to find myself. This is where I’ve learned to like me, my life, and life in general MORE. I guess it feels like these sweet moments are running out, and I’d just like to hold on a little longer.

Getting back to upper cervical care, even though I’ve ALREADY experienced such great results with it (my headaches are WAY better, my posture’s improved, my shoulder pain is all but gone), it still scares me. I think, What if I get to the three or four month mark and something still hasn’t healed? Ugh. We’re so programed to think, What if something goes WRONG? And yet more and more I’m learning to think, What if something goes right? What if I experience a(nother) miracle? What if THE END of the blog is THE BEGINNING of something ELSE that’s wonderful? I think of that book by Jules Verne and tell myself, Wait a minute. A lot can happen in 80 days. You can go around the world.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be more discriminating.

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Steadfast (Blog #1014)

Well crap. It’s two in the morning, and I’m just now starting to blog. Now, for the last two hours I’ve been right here on this laptop working, trying to add a page to my website. I’ll explain. Today and for the last two days I’ve been working on framing brooches in such a way that they can still be worn. That is, so that they can be used as art on your wall or art on your person. And whereas I still have a few more in the works (the paint’s drying), I finished enough this afternoon that I took pictures of them, uploaded them to my new Instagram page (@broochesforbros), and officially opened shop.

That’s right, I’m selling them.

“Be sure to cross-pollinate,” my therapist said when I told her about the idea a few weeks ago.

“Huh?” I said.

“You know,” she said, “share them on your Facebook page and blog.”

Anyway, that’s what I was trying to do earlier this evening, add a page to my blog menu about the brooches and embed my Instagram pictures. In theory, this is easy to do. HOWEVER, when I started my Instagram page a couple weeks ago, Instagram said I could use the login for my @meandmyshink account in order to make things less complicated. But if you want to embed your Instagram photos on your website, you apparently have to have a separate login. Ugh. This took took forever to figure out. But thankfully I did figure it out (after a lot of Googling and cursing), and the new page is up now.

You can check it out here. (The picture at the top of the page looks like this.)

I guess it’s been one of those days. This morning I woke up sick again (it’s been ten days now), and that’s starting to wear on me. Then this afternoon while mounting a unicorn brooch (I know that sounds funny) that I thought would be super simple, super quick, I ended up nearly pulling my hair out. Because first it was difficult to get the unicorn to “sit” on an angle, and I was convinced it wouldn’t work horizontally. Unicorns, after all, don’t trot, they fly. At least in my fantasies. Anyway, then because the frame was older than dirt (or made of some strange material), it cracked when I tried adding a hanger to the back. Well, I persisted, and it cracked again. “Crap,” I said. “Crap, crap, unicorn crap.”

THANKFULLY, things with the unicorn brooch finally worked out. There’s a saying in house remodeling–caulk and paint make it what it ain’t–and I guess that applies to brooch framing too. That is, once I finished, the cracks either weren’t visible or simply added to the piece’s character.

Ugh, all that stress for nothing.

Another thing that had me worked up this evening was announcing to the world (my Facebook feed) that not only was I making art, but also selling it. What if people don’t like it? I thought. What if they think it’s outrageously priced? This is something my therapist and I have talked about ad nauseam, knowing your worth and having the confidence to ask for it (and, when necessary, demand it). Earlier tonight I was thinking about what I charged for dance lessons when I FIRST started teaching almost twenty years ago and what I charge now (it’s significantly more). And what I COULD charge if I were in a bigger city (or just felt like it). Anyway, it’s been this long journey to get to, “Hey, wait a damn minute, I’ve got something good to offer here,” instead of just giving everything away.

You know, so people will like me.

Just before I decided to close my dance studio and have my estate sale a few years ago, I wrote an essay about how dissatisfied I’d become in my then-current life. (I read the essay on this page in a live video titled May 4, 2018 (To Celebrate Blog #400).) Anyway, part of my dissatisfaction was the fact that I felt like I had gifts (dance instruction) to offer my community, but that my community–at least at that time–wasn’t interested. Over three years later, this continues to be a fear, that others will see my talents and passions as, well, useless. Or, if they do indeed find them interesting or novel (get it? I’m a writer), they won’t support them, support me, with their dollars. Because let’s face it, you can say it’s fabulous that there’s a new dance studio or restaurant in town, but if you don’t GO THERE, then do you really?

Now, this isn’t a guilt trip. (Guilt be damned.) I’m often the person who doesn’t go to the new restaurant or–gasp!–buy a friend’s new book. At the same time, I’m often the person who does. So I get it. Being a human is complicated. Money doesn’t grow on trees. Whatever. But sticking to the perspective of the creator, the person who’s trying something new, this is why it’s a fearful thing. You think, Is this going to fly? Sure, it’d be nice to stay home and make framed brooches all day, but at some point they’ve gotta sell because, quite frankly, I’m not independently wealthy and can’t afford to keep up the hobby if they don’t.

It’s just math.

Now, the good news is that I’ve come a long way in the last few years. That is, back then I wasn’t sure WHO I was if other people weren’t interested in what I had to offer. NOW I absolutely know who I am. If I go the rest of my life and never sell a(nother) dance lesson, a framed brooch, or a book I’ve written, I absolutely know who I am. I know what I’m good at, I know what brings me joy, and I know what sets me free. In this, I am steadfast. More and more, I want to do only those things that make my heart sing. Regardless of how anyone else responds. Would I love to have the support and praise of my community? Of course. Who wouldn’t? But I know I don’t NEED another’s affirmation to define myself. No one does.

At least, no one should.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When we expect great things, we see great things.

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The Seeds from Which Your Strength Tree Grows (Blog #1013)

It’s 1:50 in the morning, and I can’t stop coughing. Today I told a friend I’d been struggling with sinus stuff, and they said, “You and everyone one else.” So that’s nice to know. I’m part of a group. Gosh, it feels good to be included. But seriously, I’ve had so many upper respiratory problems over the years, it’s easy to forget that I’m not the only one, that other people catch things too. That things go around here on planet earth. But remembering that we’re all in this sickness thing together–I guess–makes it more bearable. What’s the saying? Misery loves company.

Excuse me while I hack up a lung.

The good news is that I typically don’t cough much during the day, just at night while I’m trying to blog or sleep. But take this afternoon, for example. I was able to work on framing my vintage brooches for several hours nonstop. And whereas when I first started this project things went pretty quickly because I was permanently fastening (glueing) the brooches to the backboards (old book covers), things are taking longer now because I’m non-permanently attaching (hanging) the brooches on the backboards so that, in addition to being able to display them on a wall, I can also display them on my body.

Yowza, yowza.

Here’s one I finished today.

The most difficult part about this entire process is hanging the brooch where I think it’s most aesthetically pleasing. In this particular case, the middle. And since THAT involves drilling holes in the backboard, well, I’ve really only got one shot to get it right. Now, I’ve found ways to allow myself a little wiggle room, but it’s only a little. So this is where my Inner Perfectionist comes in handy, since he helps me get the details right. And when things aren’t EXACTLY perfect? Well, then, I have to tell him to shut up. Because projects like these are meant to be fun, not self-tortuous.

One of the things I like about framing vintage jewelry using old book covers is that it’s a way to not only be creative but also breath new life into forgotten objects. I love digging through a pile of used books and, upon seeing one with a lovely cover, thinking, You! How has no one noticed you before? I’ve got just the right frame and just the right piece of jewelry to put you with, and then–I promise–you’re going to shine. That’s the deal with creativity. You have to be able to look at something someone else would throw away and see gold.

My therapist has a saying–potential, not pathology. This phrase was recently brought up in the context or our going forward. That is, rather than focusing on what’s wrong, we’re going to be focusing on what’s right. Not that there’s anything wrong with focusing on what’s wrong. Sometimes you have to know what’s broken before you can fix it. But once you’ve focused on what’s wrong (I’ve been in therapy for almost six frickin’ years now), well then, it’s time to take your broken and scattered pieces and put them back together into something new, beautiful, and useful. It’s time to breathe new life into YOURSELF. It’s time to make YOURSELF shine.

This evening while I was working, my parents were watching The Batchelor, which means I was watching The Batchelor. Anyway, after one of the girls talked about her difficult childhood (I missed all the details, but someone important died), my dad the cynic said, “WHERE do they find all these people with their sob stories?!”

“It can’t be THAT hard,” I said. “Everybody’s got one.”

But seriously, don’t we? Lately I’ve been talking about how our challenges aren’t personal, and this is what I mean. When everyone you know or are related to has had someone die of cancer, or been in a terrible car accident, or been divorced, beaten up, cheat upon, or neglected, how can you claim that your problems are unique? Now, I’m not minimizing them. They are unique to you. And important for your journey. At the same time, I AM trying to take the sting out of them. I’m trying to get you out of victim mode (pathology) and into your power (potential) by helping you see that these things–these very shitty things–simply happen on planet earth. To everyone. Because this is the shit happens to you, and you, and you planet.

Why we signed up to come here, I’ll never know. I’m convinced, as a friend of mine says, we must have missed something in the fine print.

At one point while I was working today, my dad said, “You know, you mother and I don’t always get to see you actually doing the things you like doing [like dancing, writing]. But I’ve been watching you paint and drill and glue and and everything else this afternoon, and you look absolutely content.”

“Hum,” I said, “I am content. I really enjoy this.” That’s another thing about this planet. Despite the fact that some terrible things can and do happen (and that they can and do happen to you), it’s still possible to be content, to be happy. Even while you’re coughing up a lung, it’s still possible to find peace of mind. This is one of the gifts of doing The Hard Work, of looking at the most challenging and shitty events of your life and shifting your perspective about them in such a way that they become your greatest assets, the seeds from which your Strength Tree grows. Because that’s the deal, it’s not what happens to you, but what grows out of it. It’s how YOU grow out of it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

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Time Well Spent (Blog #1012)

For the last eight days I’ve been struggling with a sinus infection. And whereas it’s not really getting worse, it’s not really getting better either. Every morning I cough up junk. Every afternoon I feel wiped out. Every night I cough myself to sleep. All the while I pray for a solution. Not just a temporary one, but a permanent one. And whereas sometimes I think heaven must be tired of hearing from me (it’s me again, Margaret), I keep telling myself that’s not the way God works. Just because I’d be sick (I am sick, actually) of hearing from me, doesn’t mean God is. Of course, having been around for ETERNITY, he’s got this patience thing down.

Me? I’m still working on it.

This afternoon I taught a dance lesson to a couple, and when I asked if they’d practiced since I last saw them two weeks ago, they said, “No.” Now, this didn’t surprise me. Hardly any of my students practice unless they HAVE to. Like if they have a performance or a wedding coming up. Otherwise, they practice when they see me. And whereas there’s nothing wrong with not practicing (it’s job security for me), it naturally means the students progress at a slower pace than they COULD. Conversely, once I had a mentor who said it only took him a year to learn how to dance (the average is three to five years) because he worked at it every day for hours on end. And whereas this man had a natural aptitude for dancing and my students–quite frankly–don’t, my point is that just as HE CHOSE to go fast, they’re CHOOSING to go slow.

Recently I wrote about creating time, and this is what I meant. That is, to a large extent, we decide how quickly we want things to happen. Are certain things out of our control? Absolutely, a million things are. But take this, for example. This afternoon and evening I worked non-stop on an arts and crafts project I’ve been tinkering with for the last few weeks, framing antique jewelry. (I plan to post pictures soon.) And whereas it’s going slower than expected (because when you do something for the first time you run into all sorts of problems–er, challenges–you hadn’t anticipated), I should be done in a couple more days if I stick with it. My point being that I COULD drag this little project out for days, weeks, months if I wanted to.

But I don’t. I’m ready to see it finished. Which means I’m willing to put in the work.

Now, just because I’m ready to tackle this particular project doesn’t mean I’m not procrastinating like hell on plenty of others. Indeed, there are books I plan to read and books I plan to write–one day. Most likely, either it’s simply not time or I’m putting them off because I’m afraid of how my life will change–or worse, not change–once I do. Full of the fear of failure, I slow things down. I pump the brakes. Quite literally, I create (more) time.

Caroline Myss says we do this time creating thing constantly, in every area of our life. With our relationships, with our careers. Even with our resentments. Like, we decide how long it’s going to take us to get over something. We decide how long we’re going to “hang on.” We joke about this. Someone brings up an argument they had with their lover in 1983, and we say, “Still not over it?” Clearly they’re not. But they COULD be, just like my dance students COULD be further along than they are.

One of Myss’s points about all this is that we can’t decide to move slowly in terms of our resentments and expect to move quickly in terms of our healing. Because you can’t hang on and expect your body to let go at the same time. You either both hang on or you both let go. This is one of the reasons I’ve talked so much lately about letting go and forgiving. More and more, I see the price of holding grudges and being bitter (about anything) as simply too high. Now, I don’t claim to be a master at this. Nor do I have any promise that as I work to let go that my body will miraculously heal. Or heal at all. Although I do believe forgiving in one way to SPEED UP healing. Indeed, I’ve heard stories of people who forgave experiencing healing. But healing is always a grace, never a guarantee. This being said, and despite the fact that I currently feel like poop, I have experienced more physical healing these last two years (and especially these last two months) than ever before, and I don’t think it’s simply a coincidence that this has happened alongside my conscious choice to–in front of God and everybody–connect with my own good heart.

When I first sat down to write tonight I thought I was going to write about hope. Because whenever I don’t feel well I usually hit a point when I think things are hopeless. Consequently, it’s good for me to talk myself down off a ledge, to remind myself to be patient. Because the truth is there’s always hope. Likewise, as long as you’re alive you can always choose to be a better dancer, choose to be a kinder, gentler person. Even if you grow just a little bit each year, that’s something and is better than choosing not to. My point being that as long as YOU can change, your body can change, your life can change. And if takes a lifetime or an eternity to heal, to really heal?

Then it’s time well spent. And you haven’t hoped–or worked–in vain.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

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We’re All in This Together (Blog #1011)

It’s ten in the evening, and, despite the fact that I sat down to blog half an hour ago, I keep getting distracted by Etsy and other fun things on the internet. Since I’m fasting today, I’m having a difficult time concentrating. My body’s woozy–famished–and I simply don’t have the mental fortitude required for putting words and phrases together. Consequently, I’m ready to get this done, go to bed, and eat something, anything, tomorrow. Unless, of course, I cave and eat something tonight. But I would like to make it over twenty-four hours. Thanks to the holidays and my sweet tooth I haven’t given my body much of a break lately, so I’d like to give it a resting from digesting.

I just made up that rhyme.

Something that’s been on my mind lately is the fact that each of us is deeply unique and yet–at the same time–very much like everyone else. Recently my blogging platform notified me that I wrote 303,193 words in 2019 (an average of 831 words per post), and it occurred to me that anyone, were they of a mind to do so, could write just as many words (or more) about THEIR life, their challenges and triumphs, their joys and sorrows. Last night I went out to a local theater’s annual party with my friends Aaron and Kate, and there was a lip-sync battle. Anyway, I kept thinking about this fact as I observed each individual performer. Like, just as I worry about or am over the moon about something, so every other person on planet earth is worried or over the moon about something.

Just as I think my story is important (exciting, frustrating, boring, not good enough), so does everyone else.

Thinking about this has done a couple things for me. First, it’s given me more compassion for my friends, family, and even total strangers. For whatever they might be going through. Most of us, myself included, are so focused on what concerns us as individuals–how we feel, what we eat or don’t eat, what we wear–that we forget the fact that others are concerned about these same things. This should connect rather than separate us. Second, this viewpoint has helped me take life less personally. For example, my struggle with sinus infections FEELS personal because it’s my head that’s full of mucus, but knowing that thousands upon thousands of other people also struggle with sinus infections (or something equally rotten) reminds me that the universe doesn’t have a bullseye on the back of MY head.

It has a bullseye on the back of all of our heads.

But seriously, I don’t believe the universe is out to get us. Rather, I believe it’s out to grow us, to expand our hearts, to connect us. I also believe the individual challenges WE ALL FACE help us grow, expand, and connect. Granted, it’s tempting to think, I’m the only one, and use your pain and sorrow as a means to isolate and separate. But more and more, I don’t recommend this. I don’t recommend going it alone. Rather, I suggest reaching out for help when you need it and giving help in return when asked. I suggest thinking, I’m not terminally unique. We’re all in this together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.

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Let’s Start Over (Blog #1010)

Okay. It’s 3:40 in the afternoon, and I’m blogging now because I’m going to a party tonight with my friends Aaron and Kate. Additionally, I’ve had a sinus infection for the last week and don’t imagine that staying up late to write (again) will help it go away. Currently I’m wishing it WOULD go away, and it occurs to me that I’ve spent a good deal of my life wishing things were different than they are–an illness, a feeling, a relationship, my bank account. So now I’m trying to let life exist, to actually relax into instead of push against THIS moment. This exhausted, snot-filled, weak, achy moment. Which feels like an eternity to me (WHEN will it end?!) but is simply another moment to eternity.

A necessary moment, I trust, in the grand scheme of things.

Earlier today I got a message from Kate about the party tonight. “Be at our house at 5:30 because we’re going to dinner first.” Then she added a laughing emoji and said, “I made your evening plans for you.” And whereas I’m usually a control freak about being told what to do, in this case–for a lot of reasons–I didn’t care. Indeed, I was delighted. “It’s okay,” I replied, “I’m looking forward to getting out of the house.” Anyway, this whole exchange has got me thinking about control, the way we sometimes pitch a shit-fit when someone tells us what to do and sometimes we don’t.

And we’re nowhere near logical about it.

A while back I had an experience in which I wanted someone’s approval and didn’t get it–and that bothered me. Alas, had it been any other person or even a different day of the week, I probably wouldn’t have cared. After some time had passed, I didn’t care with this person. This is what I mean about control, how we have to have things a certain way–our way–in order to be happy or satisfied. I MUST have their approval, and so on. If it’s someone else’s idea or opinion that happens to disagree with yours? Well, then it must be wrong. THEY must be wrong. Because God forbid someone other than you–someone other than me–should be right.

Along these lines, Byron Kate says that if you want to give someone a gift, let them be right. “People LOVE to be right,” she says. So like, let them have the last word. This, of course, is both a difficult and miserable thing to do. But more and more I’m seeing the wisdom in not putting up a fuss about insignificant things (in forgiving), in letting people be who they are (whether they approve of me or not), and in not trying to change someone else’s world (the world where, according to them, I very well may be wrong). Recently I watched two people arguing online about a dance matter. Now, they were using well-constructed sentences and gentlemanly language, but–let’s be clear–they were attacking each other. At the very least, they were picking a fight. (Incidentally, the dance didn’t care.) Have I done this sort of thing before? Sure. But the older I get, the more I hope I do less of it.

Why, Marcus?

Because it’s not my job to control how anyone else dances, behaves, or thinks. This includes friends, family, lovers, and perfect strangers. Granted, I could try to change someone else (and believe me I’ve tried), but talk about exhausting. So more and more I’m learning to let others think and do as they will. My therapist would say, “Like you, THEY’RE AUTONOMOUS.” Likewise, I’m learning to let God, to let life, do as it wills. This means doing my best to heal and succeed, whatever that means, but letting go of the results. It means relaxing into THIS moment whatever it looks like. It means, no matter what’s happened the day before, saying, “Okay, sweetheart, here we are–right here, right now. Let’s start over.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even if you can't be anything you want to be, you can absolutely be who you were meant to be. Don't let anyone else tell you differently.

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On Mirages and Illusions (Blog #1009)

Recently my friend Aaron, who’s an absolute clothes horse but is also trying to minimize, gifted me several pairs of shoes. (Lucky for me we’re the same size.) Y’all, in one night, he doubled my collection. “Some of them are kind of beat up,” he said, “but they should clean up nicely.” Well, last night and today I went to work scrubbing, washing, and polishing one pair at a time, and Aaron was right. They’re going to work out just fine. Are they pristine/perfect? No, but they’re pretty swell.

Thanks, Aaron.

Lately I’ve been talking about how everything falls apart sooner or later, and yesterday I referred to physical objects as mirages. That is, you can spiff up your kicks with a new set of laces, but don’t fool yourself, it’s days are numbered. If it’s on this earth, it was designed–to dissolve. This means NOTHING is pristine/perfect.

I hate this as much as you do.

In an effort to accommodate all my new days-numbered footwear, this afternoon I added a shelf to my closet by taking a metal shelf from our garage and attaching it to the wooden shelves I already have. And whereas my dad said it looks tacky because all the shelves don’t match, I figure I’m the one who has to look at it and, although I certainly appreciate excellence in craftsmanship and would adore something fancier, it’s better than heaping my shoes on top of one another. What’s the saying? It’s good enough. Plus, since we didn’t have any spare wooden shelves lying around, I’m rather proud of myself for solving my storage dilemma without having to spend any money.

You know, I’m living–wait for it–on a shoestring budget.

One thing I’ve been thinking and meaning to write about lately is the idea that just as physical objects are mirages, so are we. And whereas I mean that our days are numbered too, I also mean that every day we get up, get dressed, and put on a show. We hide this body “flaw,” we cover up that emotion. With makeup, with jewelry, with a new pair of shoes. People ask us how we’re doing, and we smile and say, “Couldn’t be better. Finer than frog hair.” Even if we’re falling part. And whereas I don’t think there’s anything wrong with putting your best foot forward, lately I’ve been reminding myself to not automatically assume someone else is “better” than me or has their shit together just because they have their outfit together. Just because they say they’re great. You know, don’t compare your inside to someone else’s outside.

Because you never know what’s going on with someone.

This evening I flipped through a copy of GQ Magazine, and y’all, some of the clothes those celebrities wear cost more than I make in a month. In one photo Jennifer Lopez was sporting a necklace that cost as much as our house. My point being that especially in a magazine largely supported by advertisers, these images are mirages, illusions specifically crafted and designed to make us feel and believe that we’d be better off (sexier, happier, more lovable) if only we had THOSE clothes or THAT life. Now, I don’t fault them for doing this, since we do this to each other all the time. Wouldn’t you be better off with a wooden shelf instead of a metal one? Or married, pregnant, with a job, or in a different city? And so on. Instead of just being happy with the way things are right there, right now.

Instead of just being happy with the way YOU are right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We all have inner wisdom. We all have true north."

On Who Sends You Over the Moon (Blog #1008)

Today I’ve been thinking about stuff. I’ll explain. This morning–well, this afternoon–I lay in bed, quite frankly, feeling like crap, trying to go back to sleep. Alas, I couldn’t and, after I could scroll through Facebook no longer, finally succumbed to looking around my room–at my lamps, my books, my pictures. Earlier this week I wrote about how everything is falling apart, so I started thinking about how imperfect everything I own is. This lamp has a chip in it, that book’s pages are stained, that frame’s held together with super glue, and so on. My conclusion being that everything in life is broken.

Think about that.

If you own something that isn’t broken, either you’re not looking close enough or enough time hasn’t passed. Meaning everything breaks (wears out, fades, dies) eventually. In the blog about everything falling apart I used the phrase “smoke and mirrors,” and this is what I meant. We can try to hide the fact that everything is dissolving before our eyes (per the second law of thermodynamics) by turning the crack in the vase so that no one can see it, but that won’t change the fact that it’s there.

Recently I had a friend tell me that their mother (God rest her soul) bought “only the best.” And whereas I have high standards when shopping and adore pretty things and aesthetically pleasing objects, it really hit me this morning that even the best objects come with an expiration date. Because someone’s going to drop it or accidentally put it in the clothes washer. Or–God forbid–a tornado will carry it away. Once I heard a spiritual story about a man who had a heart attack and stopped breathing but was resuscitated by a doctor. People told the doctor, “You saved him from dying!” But the doctor, a mystic of sorts, said, “No one can be saved from dying. All I did was postpone his death.” This is what I mean by all things–including us–having an expiration date.

Just a moment ago I picked up a coffee cup and am now thinking of it as a mirage, a phantasm, not because the cup’s not real or because it’s not there anymore, but because it soon enough won’t be. That’s the deal, we spend so much time shopping for and arranging things just so, and yet–in the twinkling of an eye–it can all be gone.

In the twinkling of an eye, it will be.

Now, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with shopping for and arranging things just so. My room is full of pretty things and aesthetically pleasing objects, and you’d better believe everything is in its proper place. But more and more having things just so is a PREFERENCE for me, not a HAVE TO. That’s when we start getting into trouble, when everything MUST be a certain way–perfect, only the best–in order for us to be happy or satisfied. (I’m thinking of some neat-freaks I knew who, whenever they left home, insisted on vacuuming themselves out the door.) That was something else I thought about this morning while looking around my room. I went object by object and asked myself WHY I liked it, what I thought it did for me. And whereas it would take too long to go through all the reasons and answers, suffice it to say that most the things I like 1) remind me of pleasant time, 2) inspire me in some say, or 3) make me feel important (smart, handsome, hip, nifty) for owning them.

Like, wasn’t I clever for buying this?

Along these lines, I concluded that more often than not our material possessions are SYMBOLS. Granted, sometimes a doorknob is just a doorknob, but when something–let’s say a fancy, gold-plated doorknob–exists for us not just for its intended function but also to convey meaning (I have so much money that even my doorknobs are rich), well, now we’re talking about MEANING. Meaning that we’ve given to something either individually (I’m currently over the moon about brooches but know most people don’t give a shit, although just tonight Vogue said brooches were the new men’s fashion trend) or as a society (conversely, most anyone would be over the moon about a nice house, a luxury car, or season tickets to see their favorite sports team).

Again, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having ANY of this stuff. One the contrary, since everything is fading, enjoy the hell out of it while you can. This being said, I do think it’s worthwhile to examine how you use your stuff symbolically. For example, if a souvenir reminds you of a lovely vacation and gives you a warm, fuzzy feeling, super. That’s what it’s supposed to do. But if the thought of someone stealing your souvenir gives you anxiety, then you’ve given more POWER to the souvenir than any physical object is capable of containing. That is, you’ve convinced yourself that the THING is generating your warm, fuzzy feeling, when–in fact–it’s you that’s doing that. Think about it. If a brooch can send me over the moon and yet have NO EFFECT on you, then the brooch isn’t doing it, I am.

So this is what I’d suggest keeping in mind the next time you go shopping or start to get excited about any material do-dad. First, remember that you’re looking at a mirage, something that will eventually disappear. Either it will, or you will. Second, know that in addition to looking at a mirage, you’re looking at a symbol. Ask yourself, “What does this represent to me?” If the answer is, “This doorknob will impress my neighbors and make me feel better about myself,” consider that your value and self-worth come from the inside, not the outside. Lastly, remember that things only have the power we give them–and that nothing (no thing) can affect your mood, value, or worth without your permission. Think, Who sends me over the moon? I do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We don’t get to boss life around.

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