On Seeing Options (Blog #1056)

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Today I’ve been thinking about options and the idea that we always have them. This morning I saw my primary care physician, whom I saw for the first time several months ago and–honestly–wasn’t crazy about. Er, I wasn’t crazy about his bedside manner. Still, he was on top of my test results, and a couple people I trust, including my therapist, suggested giving him another chance. So I thought, What the hell? But on my way to his office this morning I kept imagining some sort of confrontation, him being an asshole or something. But then I thought, Even if he is, Marcus, you’ve got options. You can stand up for yourself. You can ask him to change his tone of voice. You can listen. You can storm out and flip him the bird.

You know, options.

Despite all my fretting, my appointment with my doctor went fabulously. Indeed, he was much warmer than he was before. Or maybe I was. Regardless, we got along. What’s more, he patiently and attentively answered all my questions and addressed my concerns. What’s even more, he took an aggressive approach to one of my longstanding issues (acid reflux) and suggested I see a specialist. “If you don’t hear from them within a week, call me,” he said.

So often I worry about my health problems and think, It’s hopeless. I’ve tried everything. And sure, I HAVE tried everything that I’ve tried. But more and more I realize that I haven’t even come close to trying everything in the world. I mean, think about it. Our planet is chockfull of information and the experiences of other people, people like you and me who have struggled and–finally–found an answer, people who are just waiting to share. And whereas what works for one person may not work for another, it may. (I’ll say it again.) It may. This is why lately I’ve been especially sold on the idea of talking to others about the problems in my life that I want solved. Normally I’m so “I’ll do it myself, damn it,” but the older I get the more I’m convinced I can’t think of everything. I can’t do everything myself. I NEED others, especially experts in their respective fields, to pass along new ideas, new options, new hope.

To remind me that all is not yet lost.

One thing I’ve noticed about me is that I often put off trying something I think will help because, well, what if it doesn’t work? I’ll have this ace up my sleeve–a home remedy or a new doctor, let’s say–but I wont use it because I imagine that if THIS THING doesn’t work, nothing will. Which, of course, would send me into the pit of despair, and since I don’t want to go there, I don’t try the thing. Alas, this applies not only to my health issues, but also to my business and creative adventures, even my dating life. I don’t want to be disappointed, so I’m not even going to try.

As you know, dear reader, a thought like this is very logical in your head. But not so logical on paper. Because if I don’t try–if you don’t try–then guess what? That’s right, barring divine intervention, a Damascus Road experience, nothing is going to change.

Yes, let’s hear it for trying. Better said, let’s hear it for not giving up. (Hip, hip, hooray!) Thomas Edison knew something about not giving up. He attempted to create the lightbulb 1,000 times before he got it right. 1,000 times! 1,000 “failures” or disappointments. And yet he kept trying, kept hoping, kept believing. In possibility. In answers to tough problems. In himself. Ugh. This is the the hardest thing, to continue to persevere when the proverbial door is slammed in your face over and over again. And yet look what one person–one person!–can do when they decide to stick with it. When they see OPTIONS instead of LIMITATIONS. Wow! They can light up the world.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Solid help and solid hope are quite the same thing.

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On Being Lighter Inside (Blog #1055)

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Here’s something cool that’s come as the result of the healing work I’ve been doing these last few years. Last week when I saw my therapist and she brought up the subject of money (like, how to make some), I didn’t want to crawl under the table. Two years ago, I would have. At the very least I would have listened to her suggestions and thought, That may be fine for someone else, but it’ll never work for me. But last week, strangely enough, I was like, Okay, yeah, I can do that. The cool thing being that I haven’t been consciously TRYING to get more comfortable discussing personal business strategies. At least not lately. And yet somewhere along the way I apparently lightened up around the topic.

This being said, today when my therapist encouraged me to set financial goals, I started to squirm. Now, let’s be clear, I didn’t aim for the floor. I just shifted in my seat. Still, I can see that I haven’t COMPLETELY lightened up when it comes to thinking about my financial future and how I want to get there (uh, in a limousine, please). That is, there’s still some heaviness around the subject.

Along the lines of lightness and heaviness, last night I read a short story by H.G. Wells called The Truth about Pyecraft, Pyecraft being an extremely fat chap of a man who ingests a magic potion in order to lose weight. Alas, the magic potion turns out to be a stickler for words. Instead of losing FAT, Pyecraft only loses weight, like the thing that, along with gravity, holds you down. Still the same size as he was before, Pyecraft begins to float, all the way to the ceiling. Of course, this is a damn nuisance, not at all what he’d hoped for. And yet he can’t undo the spell, so he does the next best thing: he puts lead in his underwear. The next thing you know, he’s back on the ground. Still big as a barn, he’s actually light as a feather. THIS is the truth about Pyecraft, the truth only he and one other person know.

And me and you too, of course.

I’ve been thinking about this story a lot today, about how it’s really quite literal. Not in a physical sense, but in a psychic sense. That is, regardless of how much our scales say we weigh, we all have histories and issues that weigh us down and cause us to be mentally and emotionally heavy. THIS is the truth about Pyecraft, that you can’t judge a person’s psychic weight by their body. Someone could be the size of a junior high cheerleader and have the weight of the world on their shoulders. Conversely, someone could weigh four hundred pounds and not be worried about a thing.

More and more, I’m more concerned with psychic weight than I am with physical weight. Not that I want to let myself go, but my psychic weight has caused me more issues than my physical weight ever has. My issues around money, being good enough, being terrified (of life)–these are the things that have weighed me down, really kept me from soaring. This, I assume, is the case for all of us, that it’s not what’s visible that keeps us from moving forward, but rather what’s invisible. Our secrets. Fortunately, there are ways to lighten up, to heal. Especially in today’s world of abundant and mostly free information. (For those interested, here’s a website I ran across recently that lists books and therapies about healing trauma, many of which have been helpful to me.) Now, obviously you have to put in the time. You’ve gotta do The Hard Work. But it’s worth it. Any effort you put to being lighter inside is worth it. It’s the difference between It’ll never work and Yeah, I can do that. And that’s everything.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

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On Shaking the Dust out of the Rug (Blog #1054)

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Today I’ve been thinking about healing. Ugh. It’s such a damn process. For example, since starting upper cervical care a few months ago, my headaches have dramatically decreased. They’re so much better, way less frequent. Indeed, there are days when I think I’m going to get a headache (I feel tension coming on), but I don’t. Somehow, my body nips it in the bud. And yet for all this improvement, I still have my challenges. Of course. Like today. My head has been throbbing. What’s the saying? One step forward, two steps back. But in my case it’s more like two steps forward, one step back.

As I understand it, this is normal. Last night I watched a bunch of videos about upper cervical care on my doctor’s website, and one of them led me to another video that discussed the healing cycle, the healing cycle being the “way” our bodies heal. Unfortunately, they don’t heal in a straight line. Rather, when things are going well, over what’s typically a three-month period, they make some progress, then regress, make some progress, then regress. Two steps forward, one step back. Whenever I get ready to go somewhere, I throw my bag in the car, then come back for my keys. Then I walk to the car, but inevitably come back again. Because I forgot my coffee. Or my deodorant. So what our bodies do makes sense to me.

They HAVE to go back, to make sure they didn’t leave anything behind or left undone.

Along these lines, one of the videos I watched last night was about something called retracing. In at least two other posts, the most recent of which you can read here, I’ve talked about a thing that can happen when our bodies heal called unwinding. Same thing. Retracing or unwinding is basically your body’s way of reliving past and unresolved stresses or traumas and–finally–resolving them. In the unwinding experience I had last summer that centered around a car accident I had when I was a teenager, my body twisted and turned and told me (instead of me telling it) what happened that night. Along with these contortions, it released emotions, mostly fear and sadness. Likewise, recently I had an experience in which I relived memories of my dad’s arrest when I was a teenager. Along with these memories came tears, facial scrunching, fist clenching, and foot stomping. From what I understand, this is the deal. Retracing isn’t just a cerebral experience; it’s a physical and emotional one, a release of previously suppressed reactions and emotions.

Recently I told a friend that the more I learn, the more I’m convinced that our traumas are physical and emotional events, not just mental ones. And that as much as I wish my mind could get me out of what my body got me into, it can’t. It just can’t. Still, this isn’t a bad thing. Because it lets me know where to look in order to heal, which is not my mind. Rather, it’s my body. Not that the mind isn’t part of it. After all, our minds, our emotions, our bodies, our spirits, and our souls are connected. This is my point. That our stresses, traumas, dramas, and diseases don’t just happen to A PART of us. They happen to ALL of us and therefore REQUIRE all of us to heal. So it’s not just about getting your head in the healing game. It’s about getting your head and your heart in there.

You know how sometimes when you clean, especially if you’re in a hurry, you half-ass do it, or skip parts altogether? Like, you sweep dust under the rug or ignore the gunk that’s piling up behind the refrigerator for “just one more spring”? Well, your house may LOOK spick and span, but YOU know that it’s not, not deep down. That dirt and crap is still there. Alas, it’s the same with our bodies. We can put on a happy face and say we’re fine, we can even talk about our traumas and dramas until we’re blue in the face, but until we allow our bodies to express what was suppressed, we’re just letting more dust pile up.

So what am I advocating? A deep cleaning.

People who talk about retracing say that our bodies often put Bandaids on things if they don’t have the resources to really heal them. Then later, when the resources become available, they’ll recreate whatever the pain or problem was in order to really heal it. Think of this like pulling out your refrigerator, taking an honest look at what a mess things are, then really getting down on you hands and knees and going to work once and for all. Ugh. As far as I can tell, truly healing always requires going back and cleaning up what didn’t get cleaned up before, really shaking the dust out of the rug that is your life. Of course, going back isn’t about bitching and moaning. Whoa is me, my life has sucked balls, and all that. Rather, it’s about acceptance and willingness. Something terrible happened and I wanted to scream and shout (and let it all out) but I didn’t. So I’m willing to now. Something made me sad but I didn’t know how to cry. So I’ll cry now. So that things can really be cleaned up and over. So that I can really be right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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What are you really running away from?

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On Settling into Your Body (Blog #1053)

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Today I’ve been thinking about, and trying to, relax. I’ll explain. Last night I listened to a podcast that said if you audibly sigh (like, AHHHH) when you exhale enough times (five to ten seems to work for me), it will cause you to yawn and, consequently, trigger your parasympathetic nervous system. Your parasympathetic nervous system being the “rest and digest” part of your nervous system, the part responsible for relaxation and healing. Your autonomic nervous system, of course, being the “fight or flight” part of your nervous system, the part responsible for hauling ass or, if necessary, kicking ass and taking names.

Naturally, we need both parts of our nervous system. The problem being, however, that the majority of us spend way too much time in “fight or flight” mode, either because we live in a high-stress environment (like America) or because we’ve suffered a trauma and our bodies haven’t completely processed (or realized its over) yet. Or both.

More and more I realize just how much stress I carry on a daily basis in my physical body. My shoulders have been tense for decades. My hips are tight. Often I can’t bend over and touch my toes without first taking a muscle relaxer and saying three Hail Marys. You get the point. Alas, somewhere along the way I convinced myself these little aches and pains were normal, a natural consequence of growing older. But having experienced some wonderful improvements in terms of headaches over the last few months thanks to upper cervical care, I’m starting to believe, like deep down and really, that freedom from chronic pain is possible. And whereas I wish I could just push a button and–voila!–be at ease in my skin, I’m learning that this type of freedom 1) comes incrementally, not instantaneously and 2) often requires practice.

Getting back to the idea of relaxation, recently I ran across a blog that reminded me of a form of standing meditation I learned through Chi Kung. Since the blog explains it better and more in depth than I could (or even have a desire to), suffice it to say that teachers of the stance claim that it can help improve posture, increase relaxation, decrease pain, and stimulate chi (energy) flow and, therefore, promote healing. You know, in as little as ten minutes a day. And whereas I can’t personally speak to all these claims, I can say that the stance has helped me relax this last week. Like, you don’t realize how much tension you carry in your body until you begin to let it go. Even a little.

Along the lines of letting go, I’ve done the audible sigh/exhale and yawn thing several times today, either when I felt like it or when I noticed tension in my neck or shoulders. I guess part of the idea behind this practice is to “retrain” your nervous system. This makes sense to me, since my normal reaction to pain (my habit) is to brace against it rather than relax in to it. Consequently, my body has learned to be uptight and on edge constantly. Which is no fun. But after just one day of consciously letting go ever so slightly, I already feel more at ease, like there’s more space here. Plus, what’s great about this exercise is that it can be done at your kitchen table, in your car, hell, in line at Walmart. This afternoon I tried it while bending over and trying to touch my toes, and, y’all, I went from not being able to touch the ground and feeling pain and tension to being able to touch the ground and feeling loose and (mostly) flexible in only six exhales.

This experience, in addition to a number of others, convinces me that–generally speaking–our bodies absolutely CAN relax and be flexible. However, more often than not, they haven’t learned to. Better said, our nervous systems haven’t been convinced it’s SAFE to. That’s what I keep reading over and over again, that our bodies create pain and stiffness because they perceive that we’re in danger, that there’s some sort of threat. And no, it doesn’t matter that you know you’re safe, sitting here right here, right now. If your body doesn’t know it (if it hasn’t fully processed your past dramas and traumas), it continues to be “on guard.”

More and more I’m grateful to my body for always trying to keep me safe. Sure, it’s frustrating when something hurts, but I’m coming to truly believe that if the brain, body, and nervous system can create pain, they can uncreate it. This is when healing really gets fun, when you begin to see what a wonder you truly are, what you’re really capable of. All of a sudden or over a period of time (and what’s the difference, really?), tensions relax, pain that showed up out of nowhere goes back to where it came from, and you let go of the notion that things will never get better. Settling into your body, your home, you breathe deeper than you have in years. Finally, you feel safe.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In other words, there's always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it's also technically impossible.

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On Speaking Up (Blog #1052)

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This evening me and my friend and dance partner Janie volunteered as dancers for a college film student’s final project. And whereas we didn’t know exactly what we were getting ourselves into (well, to be fair, what I was getting us into, since I’m the one who responded to the student’s social media call for dancers and, as Janie says, I’m always getting us into things), we did know that we were supposed to be swing dancing. “Come on, it’ll be fun,” I said. “Swing dancing! That’s what we do.”

Well.

You know how you make assumptions about HOW things are going play out? Like, when Janie and I originally singed up for this gig, I thought there was going to be a band. Because there was something said about a band on the “ideas for costumes” Pinterest board that was sent out. But last night when we got the list of people who were going to be there today–no band. “We’ll be playing an instrumental track while y’all are dancing,” the student said when me and Janie and the other two dancing couples arrived this evening. And whereas I THOUGHT about asking if we could hear the track first (because twenty years of dancing experience has taught me that what the general public thinks is swing music and what I think is swing music are two different things), I didn’t. Rather, I kept my mouth shut.

I thought, Just roll with it, Marcus. Even though I’m not a roller.

Well, when the time came for us to warm up, the student played the music, and it was–um, honestly, in a word–awful. Now, I don’t mean that the music itself, which was some type of–I don’t know–electric funk, was awful, just that it was awful for swing dancing to. “I think we could west coast,”I said, west coast being more modern or contemporary than Lindy Hop or East Coast. “It’s really more of a cha cha,” Janie said, cha cha, of course, being Latin. Finally, we decided we could SLOW Lindy Hop to the music, although we also decided that if we did we’d stick out like a sore thumb because the other two couples were doing FAST east coast.

Now, I know these words and terms may not make sense to a non-dancer. Suffice it to say that just like every kitchen recipe has certain ingredients that can’t be taken out or changed without changing the intended dish or outcome, so too does every dance require 1) certain staple moves or patterns executed in a particular fashion and 2) a proper corresponding beat. For example, you can’t dance a salsa (which is based on 4 or 8 count patterns) to waltz music (which is played and counted in 3s or 6s). Well, you CAN, but then you’re not really dancing salsa, are you? You’re just doing salsa MOVES, which you could just as easily do WITHOUT MUSIC.

All this to say that I finally spoke up, in private to the student. “I’m having a problem,” I told them. “This isn’t swing music.” Thankfully, they were very gracious, explaining that the music had been made by another student (and was therefore copyright free), and it was the best they could do. “Okay,” I said. “Do you want us to do swing dancing to this music, or do another type of dance that’s better suited for it?”

“Do what you’re most comfortable doing,” she said. Which I appreciated, but then we were back to the sore thumb problem, doing something different than the other two couples.

Not long after this exchange, the student told all of us, “Since we’ll be editing the footage and adding in the music later anyway, we could easily play another song.” Phew, I thought, but the other song they played was just as difficult to dance to. Way too fast. Albeit it WAS more swingy. “Should I say something AGAIN?” I asked Janie. “Well,” she said, “you might as well. You’re already that person.”

Right?

So I did.

“I’m really not trying to take over,” I said, “I just feel like everyone’s dancing will be better if we can find a song we can all agree on.” And whereas I offered up my playlist, the student selected another song from their phone and said, “What about this song?” Well, I didn’t think it was fabulous, but I did think it was a solid option. Definitely the best so far. Indeed, all six of us dancers nodded our heads in agreement. We can dance to this. So that was it. The rest of the evening went swell. After a short rehearsal we broke for dinner, then came back and danced our little tails off while the film crew (one guy) shot us from several different angles as the new song blared in the background on repeat.

Y’all, I’ve been thinking a lot about this, whether I SHOULD have spoken up, since doing so made me feel a bit like a dick. Granted, not enough of a dick to NOT speak up at all, which is what I would have done five or ten years ago. Indeed, the other (younger) couples later told me that they were struggling with the original song too, and yet no one else said anything. Which is why I know I SHOULD have spoken up. Sure, it would have been out of line to start commenting about the writing, the lighting, the camera angles, or what was for dinner. (Why, Marcus?) Because that stuff is someone else’s business. But dancing? That’s my business. Not only because this is my profession, but also because I was asked to be there AS A DANCER, a swing dancer. And if the music being played keeps me from being able to, well, swing dance, I have a right to–politely–speak up.

Now, instead of being creative and accommodating, the student could have said, “Live with it.” At which point I could have lived with it. Or tried again. Or said, “I can’t work like this” and stormed out like a diva. My point being that you always have options. Especially if something you’re volunteering for and that’s meant to be fun isn’t, you always have options. You don’t just have to bite you’re tongue. You’re can speak up and be heard. Even if you’re not agreed with or don’t get things completely your way (which, by the way, you never will), you don’t have to suffer in silence. You can say, “Something seems off here.” Your voice is as valid as anyone else’s.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance comes in many forms.

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On Winning the Hour and Returning to Balance (Blog #1051)

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Currently it’s 4:22, and I’m at the library. On Valentine’s Day. It’s sexy, I know. I just finished up some editing work for a friend and client. When I wrap up this blog, I plan to grab dinner–alone–then meet my friend Kate to see my friend and her husband Aaron in a play at the Fort Smith Little Theater. Based on the photos he’s been posting, at some point during the play he’ll be dressed as a woman. Red wig, fishnet stockings, two-inch heels and everything. Talk about exciting. One minute you’re hanging out at the library, and the next minute you’re really getting a show. This is life, full of twists and turns.

Lately I’ve been thinking about how it doesn’t take much. Like, it doesn’t take much to make your day a good day, it doesn’t take much to heal. Recently I said that doing the right thing isn’t difficult, it’s just figuring out what the right thing is that’s challenging. Yesterday I consulted with the woman whose blog first turned me onto the fact that the bacteria L. sakei can help tremendously with sinus issues. And whereas I tend to overdo the application of this little bad-bacteria-fighting critter, she said, “A little dab will do ya.” This is what I mean by “it doesn’t take much to heal.” I mean it doesn’t HAVE to take much to heal. So you don’t necessarily have to go all out. Just do whatever you need to do in order to bring balance, to tip the scales back to Center.

Along these lines, last night I ordered an air purifier for my room. Now, I read a long time ago that cleaner air is good for your sinuses, but the whole prospect of picking out an air filter and cleaning the air in our entire house seemed too overwhelming, impossible. But last night I figured that even if I breathe cleaner air only while I’m sleeping, that’s a third of the day, and a third of the day is nothing to sneeze at. (This, of course, being my hope, that I won’t be sneezing as much.) Anyway, usually I’m so all-or-nothing. But more and more I’m realizing there’s a lot of room in between, a lot of room where healing can happen. Indeed, more and more I believe that healing doesn’t occur at the extremes.

The lady I spoke to explained it this way. In everyone’s sinuses are bacteria, viruses, and fungi, much like in every neighborhood are juvenile delinquents. But these delinquents are only a problem if their parents go out of town and aren’t able to keep them in check. Again, this is the idea of balance. It’s not that we have to ALWAYS filter our air or can NEVER eat chocolate cake. We just don’t want things to get our of control. This, of course, is a subtle and delicate task.

Back to the idea of things not taking much, this morning a family friend of ours came over to discuss having me frame some of their antique brooches. Anyway, we ended up chatting about her new Fitbit, which helps her keep up with how many steps she takes each day. Well–and you may know this, but it was news to me–apparently every hour you take so many steps, Fitbit says, “You won the hour.” Is this delightful or what? I told my friend that it was going to be my phrase for the day, especially after she said she won the hour by coming over and visiting and laughing with me and my family. That’s the deal, we make happiness and contentment out to be these huge things, something OUT THERE, but winning the hour doesn’t take much, returning to balance doesn’t take much. It just takes being present. To the little things that happen right here, right now. Like laughing with a friend, eating dinner alone (and enjoying your own company), seeing your pal wear fishnet stockings.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

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Nobody Wants to Deal with Hairballs (Blog #1050)

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Hum. All day I’ve been dragging ass, fighting to keep my eyes open, and now that it’s midnight-thirty I’m wide awake. Surely it doesn’t have anything to do with all the coffee I drank this afternoon and evening. Who knows? Life is a mystery.

Speaking of mysteries, let’s talk about hair loss. (Why, Marcus?) Because this afternoon I fished a huge glob of hair (about the size of a baby raccoon) out of my shower drain. And whereas there was once a time–back when I had short hair–that I NEVER had to do this, now I have to do this on a regular basis. Shower drain hair extraction. Indeed, now that my hair is shoulder length I pull hair clumps out of my drain, hair brush, hair dryer brush, and carpet constantly. Ugh. Our bodies are so strange.

They shed, they molt, they fall apart.

For some reason I can’t get the image of that hair clump out of my head. (The inside of my head, I mean, since I obviously already got the hair clump out of the outside of my head.) I think because the actual clump so clearly demonstrated the idea of buildup. Like, for days and weeks I was losing hair in the shower, and it was slowly but surely collecting in the drain. And whereas it was keeping the water from draining optimally, I didn’t notice until today. Until everything got to be “too much.” Alas, isn’t this usually the case? We gain five pounds a year and think it’s not a big deal. Two decades later we wake up wondering what the hell happened. Likewise, we ignore our traumas and dramas, insisting we’re over them. Then “all of a sudden” we find ourselves constantly anxious, stricken by panic attacks, addicted.

Or worse.

I don’t know, we live in a Bandaid society, an “it’s fine, I’m fine” society. Like, the worst happens, and we’re so focused on “getting back out there” as soon as possible, keeping a stiff upper lip. For the last six years I’ve been focused on healing through therapy. For the last three years I’ve been focused on healing through this blog. And whereas I’ve spent the majority of this time wishing I were on the other side of this work (so that I could be OUT THERE doing something else like making money or being noticed), lately I’ve been really appreciating the opportunities I’ve been given to slow the fuck down and pull the hairballs out of my mental, emotional, physical, familial, relational, and spiritual drains. To be IN HERE. So that the rest of my life can run more smoothly.

So that things can get better instead of keep getting worse.

Looking back, I can see that my body’s been asking me to pump the brakes and clean things up for a while now. Like, decades. Alas, I was more inclined to push, push, push past the internal and external pain. To use a Bandaid, a pill, a cigarette. You know, we think that if we tell ourselves something isn’t a big deal long enough, it won’t be. And yet it always is. A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, and a big deal is a big deal even if you call it a little deal. Sooner or later we all face the music. Sooner or later we all sit down to a banquet of consequences (Robert Louis Stevenson). Sooner or later we all sit down to our lives.

One thing I know about cleaning out your shower drain is that even if it’s gross (and it is), it’s worth it. Recently I tried a new therapy thing and ended up crying, weeping, and wailing about things that happened twenty-five, thirty-five years ago. (My dad’s arrest, our house fire.) Not because I never mentally accepted that these things happened, but because–apparently–I never emotionally accepted that they did. What I mean is that MY BODY internalized my reaction to these events rather than externalized it. (And never forgot it, either.) Thankfully, now this reaction has been expressed. Sure, it was gross, but it was also cathartic and–what’s more–freeing.

Now it’s done. Really over.

If you’d known what to do, you would have.

There’s an idea in self-help that we’re all doing the best we can with what we’ve got. To me this means that although NOW I can look at my younger self and see that the push, push, pushing, the pills (by the way, I’m talking about Tylenol, not Oxy), and the cigarettes weren’t THE ANSWER, they were all I had at the time. Back then I didn’t have therapy or this blog or any of the other wonderful things I’ve discovered, well, in my thirties. This is the way of it. We learn as we go. All this to say that, please, don’t give yourself shit for not cleaning out your drain sooner. For one thing, hairballs are gross. Nobody WANTS to deal with them. For another, if you’d known WHAT to do, you would have. So keep pressing forward. Keep learning and keep healing. And remember–

We shed, we molt, we fall apart. We begin again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"That love inside that shows up as joy or enthusiasm is your authentic self."

On What’s Good for the Goose (Blog #1049)

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It’s 5:30 in the evening, and I’ve spent the entire afternoon reading and sipping hot tea. (Life doesn’t suck.) I finished two books, the first being Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes (which was sad), and the second being The Eleusinian Mysteries & Rites by Dudley Wright (which was mysterious). I’m blogging now so I can have the rest of the night to work with a client and then, maybe later, work out. Ugh. I stepped on the scale this last Sunday, and APPARENTLY you have to go to the gym more than once a week in order for it to make a difference. And not eat peanut butter half a jar at a time. But I digress. Suffice it to say that no one’s physical health, mental health, or spiritual journey proceeds in a straight line.

Our scales and our lives are full of ups and downs.

For the longest time I’ve been obsessed with having good posture. Alas, despite having tried a number of methods (yoga, exercise, stretching, SITTING UP STRAIGHT), I have a perpetually rounded back. Or at least I did until I encountered upper cervical care a few months ago. Since then my posture has been steadily improving, really without my having to try. This afternoon I noticed that my shoulder blades are ever less rounded, more and more “back and down.” And whereas this may not seem like a big deal to anyone else, it’s miraculous in my eyes, something I’ve wanted and worked toward for years and had all but given up hope of obtaining. And yet more and more, here it is.

Something I’ve been thinking about today is the fact that each of our journeys is different. Joseph Campbell said, “You enter the forest at the darkest point, where there is no path. Where there is a way or a path, it is someone else’s path. You are not on your own path. If you follow anyone else’s way, you are not going to realize your potential.” Used to I’d read books about life’s mysteries and think other people had it figured out, that I had to do what they were doing if I were to “succeed.” But, I thought, I can’t do what they’re doing. Their healing thing isn’t offered here in Arkansas, and I don’t have the money to travel. This, of course, was hopeless, as is always the case when you think you should be OVER THERE on someone else’s path instead of right here, right now.

On yours.

More and more I trust the path I’m on–for me. Too much healing and too many cool things have happened on it for me not to. Likewise, more and more I trust the path others are on–for them. That is, I can share my wonderful experiences and make suggestions about what has been helpful, but it would be arrogant of me to assume that someone else SHOULD do something just because I’ve done it and found it useful. At the end of Mary Karr’s The Art of Memoir, she lists literally hundreds of books under the heading Required Reading. Bullshit. Just because it was required for you doesn’t mean it’s required for the rest of the world. Harrumph. What’s good for the goose isn’t necessarily good for the gander.

Now, one final thought.

A phrase I’ve been using A LOT of lately is “more and more,” since I read that our subconscious is adverse to changing instantly (I’m healthy as a horse NOW), but is certainly open to changing by degrees (more and more I’m healing). So far, this strategy is working. Not only does it help me be gentle with myself and the process of change, but it also reminds me that The Path (my path, your path) is travelled not all at once, but rather one step at a time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Sickness and health come and go, just like everything else. It's just the way life is."

On What We’re Capable of (Blog #1048)

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Today I saw my therapist, and we talked about scarcity versus abundance. Mainly because over the last year I’ve had a number of “dodgy” clients who haven’t been up front about what they wanted and/or have tried to manipulate me into doing more work than we originally agreed to. “I can’t figure out if the universe wants to you learn a lesson,” my therapist said, “of if it’s just that you live in a psychic field of scarcity that affects everyone in it.” Later we talked about how for the last several years I’ve done a lot of odd job work and about how, although I’m grateful for the work because it’s kept me afloat and allowed me to focus on writing, I’d really rather be doing other things. “I want to make my living as an artist,” I said. “I have gifts to give and want to give them.”

“And be paid an appropriate amount for them,” my therapist added.

I don’t know that me and my therapist reached an exact conclusion on this matter. She did suggest being “friends” with my money as much as possible. You know, taking care of it, not being so afraid to count what I have or don’t have. Mostly I mention all this because I imagine that there are other people like me who 1) struggle with the idea of abundance and 2) wish they could make a living with their gifts and talents but continuously find themselves “just getting by” through other means.

“I’ve been just getting by for a while now,” I told my therapist.

“It’s probably bordering on intolerable,” she said.

Accurate.

I guess this post is partly about hope, the idea that even if you’ve struggled with something for a while, it can still turn around. This afternoon I saw my upper cervical doctor and told his secretary that although I’m still not perfect (something is pinched in my shoulder), I’ve only had one headache in the last month. This down from as many as four or five a week only three months ago. Seriously, they were so bad I was beginning to think nothing could help them. This is just the way it is, and all that. And y’all, I still think that about a handful of problems and challenges in my life, including my work and finances. But if one longstanding pain in the ass can turn around, so can another.

And another and another and another.

This evening I’ve been thinking about how we really don’t know what we and our bodies are capable of until we experience it. Sure, we can read about miraculous healings in books (or on blogs), but until WE experience something phenomenal in OUR body, it’s just not the same. Three months ago immediately following my first upper cervical adjustment I felt my body release emotions and shift and move itself in ways I never had before. Indeed, it was like a science fiction movie, something I didn’t think was possible. Not because my body wasn’t designed to do it, but because I didn’t KNOW my body was designed to do it.

Along these lines, much of the growth I’ve experienced through therapy has looked like me going, “I didn’t know I could do that.” This morning my dad said, “You like to confront people.” Well, it’s not that I LOVE it, I just despise the alternative, stuffing everything down, playing games, being passive aggressive. Better said, I’ve simply seen that these strategies cause more pain that they’re worth. My point being that five years ago no one would have ever said that I liked to confront people. They would have called me an avoider, a peace maker. Even I would have thought, I can’t. I just can’t confront. It’s not who I am. But having spoken up successfully on dozens of occasions, I now know that I was wrong about myself.

I just didn’t know what I was designed to do (that is, be honest).

Today my upper cervical doctor said that my nervous system looked out of whack. “You really need an adjustment,” he said, “but I’m not going to give you one.”

“Huh?” I said.

“Well, look at this,” he said, pointing to my patient history. “Here we adjusted you, and you went two weeks just fine. Then we adjusted you, and it was two more weeks. Then we adjusted you again, and here we are two weeks later. So your body’s in a pattern. It’s EXPECTING the adjustment to only last two weeks.”

“So your hope is that by going another week without an adjustment my nervous system will figure out that it’s supposed to be taking care of things without your help?” I said.

“Exactly,” he said.

Now, there’s part of me that wishes my doctor had made a correction today. Like, it might have helped my shoulder. Sitting here now, I could be more comfortable. But I’m reminded that a certain amount of discomfort isn’t necessarily a bad thing. So often we find ourselves in unproductive patterns–ways of thinking about money and ourselves, ways of acting–and stay in them because they ARE comfortable, familiar. And whereas challenging ourselves to step out of these patterns may be scary, it’s absolutely necessary if we want to discover what we’re really capable of.

This is, of course, more than we ever thought possible.

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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You Can Go Home Again (Blog #1047)

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Last night while blogging I half-assed listened to an audio track about relaxation and the diminishment of pain. And whereas I didn’t catch all the details, one thing I did absorb was the prompt to notice some part, any part, of your body that isn’t in pain, that feels good. “How do you know this part is all right?” the audio asked. “It feels natural, comfortable.” The idea being that all of our bodies should feel that way, or at least ARE CAPABLE of feeling that way. So both last night and today I’ve been trying to literally relax into this idea, to first notice parts of my body that are tense, and second let them soften.

Of course, my natural inclination when something hurts is to brace against it. But I really like this concept of softening. The audio suggested that our bodies are our HOMES, and I can’t tell you how much I love this thought. Looking around my physical home (my room), I’ve spent a lot of time getting everything just so. I’ve hung and rehung pictures, arranged books, organized my closet, cleaned sheets, fluffed pillows, dusted shelves. And all for what? So I can be COMFORTABLE, so I can feel AT HOME. So that’s how I’ve been thinking about my body today, that it’s been INTENDED as a space where I can feel safe, at ease, and at rest. And why shouldn’t I feel comfortable in my own skin?

Like, I live here.

Now, I wish I could tell you that this one shift in perception, thinking that my body is my home rather than simply a worn-down motel on Midland Avenue, has turned my life around in the last twenty-four hours. Alas, it has not. It has, however, made a difference. Thanks to this one idea, I’ve found myself not only breathing deeper but also letting go more. It’s difficult to explain, but it’s like I’ve been able to allow my body to more fully inhabit the space it occupies, to lean into being right here, right now. You know that feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop? Well, it’s the opposite of that. An exhalation. What’s the word I’m looking for?

A relief.

This afternoon I started reading Daniel Keyes’s Flowers for Algernon, a science fiction novel about a mentally challenged adult, Charlie, who undergoes brain surgery to make him a genius. And whereas Charlie hopes to go into the surgery “dumb” and wake up “smart,” the doctors tell him that’s not the way these things work. Rather, he should expect to see changes over a period of time. “It could happen so slowly that you may not even notice a difference at first,” they tell him. Of course, this is the way it goes. And yet little by little Charlie learns to spell correctly, use proper punctuation, remember his dreams and his life, and–here’s the heartbreaker–realize that people he thought were his friends had been making fun of him for years. Now, by yours and my standards these things DO happen fast. Charlies goes from an IQ of 70 to an IQ of 185 in a matter of months. But the point remains.

Our progress is never as swift as we dream it will be. We proceed by fits and starts.

Shakespeare said, “How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?” This has been my experience. Six years ago I began therapy, and although I’ve grown and healed a lot, it’s happened so slowly that I can’t say exactly when and where it happened (other than inside me). It’s been a tough conversation here, a confrontation there, a cry fest or rage fest–I know know–once every month or two. So too has my body healed, is healing. Here and there. Granted, I’ve had some pretty remarkable experiences and improvements in the last few months, but they weren’t like, one and done instant miracles. Plenty of things still hurt, gurgle, or produce excess mucus. This is the deal. When you haven’t been home in a while, you don’t move back and get totally settled in just like that. There’s always work to do. And yet it can happen. You CAN go home again. Home to your body. Home to your soul.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not true.

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