On Rip Van Winkle (Blog #820)

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I’ve said before that I sometimes have dreams of yelling at people. Saying, “Fuck you, Nancy!” and things like that. Well, I also have daytime fantasies of telling people off, courtroom-type dramas in which I either replay a situation that happened weeks or years ago or imagine a future circumstance in which I get to tell someone to “Go to hell, Harry!” I don’t know if you do this sort of thing, but it’s fun. At the same time, it’s exhausting, since it’s like the past is never over, the future never safe.

It’s like you’re never–what’s the word?–free.

When I’ve talked to my therapist about these fantasies, we’ve agreed it’s because I’ve spent so much of my life not saying what I really feel. By trying to be everyone’s friend and get everybody to like me I’ve essentially created an imbalance. That’s what the dreams and fantasies are about, evening things out, since, really, I’m neither Mr. Nice Guy or Mr. Asshole. I’m somewhere in between I’m Fine and I’m Pissed Off As All Get Out.

We all are.

Because the pissed-off part of me refuses to go away on its own, I’ve been working on speaking up when I’m angry. Not because it’s fun or pleasant, but because, in my experience, every part of me deserves to be heard and–here’s something–staying silent doesn’t work. Well, it works if you want to make other people happy instead of yourself and–consequently–create a lot of internal anxiety, nervousness, tension, and stress. Not to mention a stomach ulcer and inauthentic relationships. Biting your tongue is great for these things. However, having tried people pleasing, biting my tongue, and being “nice” for decades and realizing (finally) that they can’t give me what I want (personal freedom, inner peace, and happiness), I’m trying something novel–honesty.

A couple examples.

Lately I’ve been posting my blogs to my Instagram account, and after I posted yesterday’s blog, someone I don’t even know, a mental health worker in Texas, commented, “Love this! Mental health is so important! Check out my profile if you’d like; I’m all about giving people the tools they need in order to get to be where they want to be!” Well, this immediately pissed me off, and not just because they used an exclamation point at the end of every sentence. I kept thinking of a business friend of mine who always says, “Build a relationship with me before you try to sell me something.” Anyway, two years ago I would have brushed the whole thing off thinking, What if I upset this person? What’s it even matter? But as I’ve said before, our emotions show up for a reason, and if we don’t listen to and honor them, we’re going to pay the price.

So I responded: “Thank you, and I agree. Also, my comments section is for conversation and isn’t intended as a billboard for total strangers to use. #boundaries”

Immediately, I felt better. And whereas part of me wondered if I ruined this person’s evening, the majority of me didn’t care. Because they showed up on my turf and started it. If they had a bad evening, they did that. Plus, and this is an important point, I wasn’t a total dick. In other words, although my pissed-off fantasies often involve name-calling and violence (and if yours don’t, you’re not being honest with yourself), I didn’t demean this person as a human or “fight dirty.” Instead, I firmly said, “I’m not okay with what you did there.”

Along similar lines, tonight my Dad and I went to Waffle House, and our waiter was, in my opinion, a little too friendly. I don’t know, I like space when I eat, and this fella was up in our grill, dancing and singing around our table. Then when he brought our ticket and Dad said he couldn’t read the small print and I said I’d help him, the waiter stood there watching and eventually said, “Are you gonna make him wait?” To which I replied, “Well, I’m waiting for to walk away.” (He did.) Why did I say this? For one thing, because I didn’t want to discuss money and this guy’s tip in front of him. For another, it was the plain, simple truth–I WAS waiting for him to walk away.

A while back I ran into someone with whom I’d had a bit of a falling out. In my mind the whole situation was a big damn deal, but, really, things were just awkward. In this respect, the running into each other was a good thing because it forced a changed in my perspective. Also, it gave me a chance to be honest. That is, when the falling out was eventually brought up by the other person, I got real serious and said, “We can talk about that if you’d like.” In response, they said, “Oh, it’s no big deal. Water under the bridge.” And whereas I was thankful they didn’t call me a bastard or throw their drink on me, I had a hard time believing it truly wasn’t a big deal, or at least a little deal. If that had been the case, they wouldn’t have brought it up.

My therapist says that most of us live our lives unconsciously. This means we’re not truly aware of our thoughts, feelings, and emotions, and THIS means we’re not truly in touch with our own behavior. Consequently, we say things like “it’s fine” and “water under the bridge” even if we don’t mean it. (Here I’m speaking from my personal experience, as I grant that I can’t know what was true for the person I mentioned above.) We play nice and bite our tongues, then wonder why our stomach hurts or why we dream about throwing things. The truth slips out in sarcastic comments and passive aggressive statements.

Remember the story of Rip Van Winkle? I read it tonight, and it’s about an unhappy, passive, “hen-pecked” husband who’d rather attend to anyone’s business but his own who falls asleep for decades. When he wakes up, his entire world has changed. There are new shops in town, his wife is dead. He’s absolutely elated–he’s finally free. Again, this is about living unconsciously versus consciously. When you’re unconscious, you “go along to get along,” you put everyone else first. When you’re conscious, you’re free, free to be yourself, whatever that looks like–happy, elated, somber, pissed-off.

Freedom is worth all the effort.

Sometimes my therapist shares helpful examples from her personal life, and recently she told me that she was involved in some difficult circumstances that required her being honest. And whereas my experience of her is that she LOVES confrontation (because she’s told me this before), she said that lately it’s been challenging. Because sometimes life is hard and doesn’t let up. “Would it be easier to roll over or let things slide?” she said. “Of course it would. But I did that for years, and I’m not going back to sleep.” Both then and now, this statement–I’m not going back to sleep–brings tears to my eyes. Because as difficult as it is to speak up, advocate for myself, and have difficult conversations, the consequences of staying silent are worse. I’ve been asleep, and it’s hell. And not that I claim to be fully awake, but, if like Rip Van Winkle, it takes me twenty years (or twenty lifetimes) to fully wake up, so be it. Having tasted freedom, I know freedom is worth all the effort.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Who’s to say that one experience is better than another?

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Like Door Knobs, We Exist (Blog #786)

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Currently I’m at my friends Todd and Bonnie’s house, where I’ve been all day, cleaning antique hardware. I started this project earlier this week, and whereas it’s not difficult work, it is tedious and time-consuming. First, if the hardware has paint on it, I let it soak in a crock pot. This makes the paint slide right off. Then I scrub, scrub, scrub the paint-free (usually) bronze metal with either Brasso, a mixture of baking soda and lemon juice, or both. At least that’s what I’ve been doing.

I’ll explain.

This afternoon after working for several hours I was ready to call it a day. But then I got obsessed with the fact that the pieces of hardware that had been through the crock-pot process had a distinct pink/copper tone to them and the other pieces didn’t. Rather, they looked like–um–brass. Well, I made the mistake of Googling why. As it turns out, brass is composed of copper and zinc, and heating it up (like in a crock pot) removes the zinc. This is why several pieces looked like copper–they were. Thankfully, this can be fixed. Soaking the copper-toned pieces in a solution of equal parts white vinegar and hydrogen peroxide removes the copper, and then–voila!–you’re back to brass (or steel if that’s what’s underneath).

Here’s a picture of The Solution. It starts off clear, then turns blue, then, sometimes, scummy.

After going to the store to get white vinegar and hydrogen peroxide, I went through the above process, and it worked like a charm. However, it also left my perviously shiny pieces of hardware smudged and dirty. Albeit dirty brass, not dirty copper. And whereas Brasso and baking soda and lemon juice didn’t do the trick, another internet remedy did–white vinegar, salt, and flour. Oh my gosh, y’all, that stuff is magic. It took almost all the dirt and grime off in an instant–no elbow grease required. I was so impressed that I not only used it to clean the used-to-look-like-copper pieces, but also touched up all the others.

Take a look. Notice the door knob in the bottom lefthand corner. That one was technically already clean (it was previously ALL dark), but not new-magic-potion clean like the others in the photo. What a difference!

Part of me feels like I wasted a lot of time earlier this week and this afternoon because I didn’t know about the copper-removing process or the magic brass-cleaning paste. But how can you know what you don’t know? Thankfully, I know now, and that means the rest of the hardware will get cleaned quicker and easier. As I watched The Solution and The Paste dissolve the copper and the dirt and grime before my very eyes, I thought, Better living through chemistry.

Work smarter, not harder.

The Gospel of Thomas says that Jesus said, “The man is like a wise fisherman who cast his net into the sea and drew it up from the sea full of small fish. Among them the wise fisherman found a fine large fish. He threw all the small fish back into the sea and chose the large fish without difficulty. Whoever has ears to hear, let him hear.” To me this parable means that when you find a better way, you forsake all your previous ways that either weren’t working as well or weren’t working at all. Like, why would I go back to baking soda and lemon juice when The Paste is clearly superior?

In terms of personal growth, I’ve discovered a lot of Big Fish along The Path. For example, setting boundaries, being authentic, and speaking my truth (which, incidentally, is different than speaking my opinion). These things have taken the place (not all the time, but most the time) of the small fish of which I used to be so acquainted–being enmeshed with others, being a people pleaser, and being sarcastic or passive aggressive (or simply silent). Not that these small-fish strategies didn’t work on some level, but I’ve simply found a better way to live in the world and interact with others. It’s called being honest, direct, and kind.

While working with these pieces of antique hardware, it’s occurred to me that I’m not trying to create something beautiful from scratch. Rather, by removing layer after layer of paint, zinc, copper, dirt, and grime, I’m simply revealing something beautiful. Something that was there all along but got covered up due to–I don’t know–neglect or just life. Life is hard on a door knob. This is a metaphor, of course, for the idea that all of us are radiant on the inside but that our radiance gets covered up due to–I don’t know–neglect or just life. Life is hard on a person. Thankfully, with a lot of work, a lot of trial and error, and a lot of grace, we can get to what’s underneath.

When Queer Eye for the Straight Guy originally came out (see what I did there?), Kyan Douglas said that men need to pluck their nose hairs. Then he motioned to his gloriously kempt face and said, “Do you think this just happens?” With respect to cleaning door knobs or uncovering one’s inner radiance, I’d ask the same question. Do you think this just happens? The obvious answer is no. Even in Jesus’s parable about the man who caught the big fish, the big fish didn’t jump into his boat on its own accord. No, the man had to go fishing. He had to cast his net. He had to pull it in. Then he had to have enough sense to keep the big fish and–perhaps just as important–throw the little fish back, an act analogous to pruning the vine or separating the tares from the wheat. When Aladdin entered the Cave of Wonders, the rules were that he could only touch The Lamp. He couldn’t touch any other jewel or coin.

All this to say–once you figure out what’s Most Important, you can’t let yourself be distracted by, weighed down, or otherwise concerned with piffle or That Which Doesn’t Matter. Recently someone I care a great deal for suggested I could smile more in my daily selfies. I am–they said–after all, beautiful, and some of my pictures don’t do me justice. At one time I would have taken this advice to heart, thinking, I’m doing something wrong. My face is disappointing someone. I should be doing better. I should be smiling more. But as I’ve said numerous times before, this blog and my life are not about outward appearances or presenting myself in a such a way as to make someone else happy or gain their love or approval (even for a moment). Granted, I used to worry about such small things, but have since thrown those fish back into the sea because I’ve found A Better Way. Indeed, once you clear away The Grime, you connect with a certain confidence that allows you not only to simply be who you are, but also to stop feeling like you have to prove yourself–to yourself, anyone else, or the world at large. Like door knobs, we exist. This is enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one comes into this life knowing how to dance, always moving with grace."

On Dog Crap and Conflama (Blog #756)

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It’s ten in the evening, and I’m house sitting for a friend. Periodically their sweet dog comes into the room where I’m glued to my laptop (reading, browsing, downloading, liking), climbs onto the couch with me, and licks my fingers. I mean, she really gives them a good cleaning, gets under my fingernails and everything. How thoughtful. It’s gross and kind of tickles, but I enjoy it. Probably the most affection I’ve had since I don’t know when, and who couldn’t use a little affection in their life?

Or a good hand washing?

I’ve read a number of times that having a dog is good for your health because they introduce new bacteria into your household. That is, they go outside, dig in the dirt, then come back in and spread around all the little critters they’ve picked up. They lick your fingers. My parents’ dog licks my dad’s nose. And whereas it’s like, ick, this is apparently a good thing. From what I understand, bacteria in and on our bodies are responsible for a whole host of beneficial activities, so it’s good to be exposed to a variety of them. Despite most people’s paranoia about “germs.”

So bring on the licking.

Apparently my friend’s dog is too good to pee in her own front yard. Talk about uppity. So the routine is that we go for a walk twice a day, and she pees in OTHER PEOPLE’S front yards. This seems passive aggressive to me, but I’m not getting paid to judge the dog, just to walk the dog. Anyway, despite my bum knee (which really is so much better), I took “the long route” today in order to let my friend’s dog explore a wooded area. This sounds sweet of me, but it wasn’t. I had an ulterior motive. I thought, If the dog craps in the woods, I won’t have to pick it up with a plastic bag. (The crap, not the dog.) So into the woods we went, and I swear to high heaven, that dog spent fifteen minutes eating grass, chasing rabbits, and tinkling on every shrub and patch of mud she could find.

But did she crap? No, no she did not.

I can’t believe I’m talking about this. But seriously, it’s stressful when you take care of other people’s animals. You think, What if something bad happens on my watch? WHAT IF THIS DOG IS CONSTIPATED?! (What then?) So it’s this big relief, um, anytime there’s a big relief. You think, Phew. My work is done here.

Frustrated with the dog’s inability to poop on my command, I led her out of the woods. Two minutes later she stopped on a neighbor’s freshly manicured lawn and did her business. Twice. And whereas I was relieved that she was relieved, I also had to pick it up. (The crap, not the dog.) Fortunately, I’d brought plastic bags (pooper-scoopers) just for this occasion. Good lord. What has the world come to? Human beings are the pinnacle of creation/evolution–we’ve put a man on the moon–and yet we’ve nothing better to do but follow around our little canine friends just waiting for them to take a dump so we can pick it up with these thin little crap sacks? Talk about the royal treatment (for them, not for us). And our four-legged friends aren’t even appreciative. Oh no. They poop in one yard and pee in another, never grateful or even mindful that we’re behind them cleaning up their messes.

Granted, they do lick our fingers.

Lest it sound like I’m bitching (and what would be so wrong with that?), I’d like to be clear–this is part of my current job. Plus, it could be worse–my friend could have a pet horse. Can you imagine taking Mr. Ed for a walk? Hell, I’d need a Glad Bag to clean up the mess.

Now my friend’s dog is asleep, and I’ve been told she’s going to wake me up at six-thirty in the morning to go for another walk. I am not looking forward to this, but again, it’s part of the gig that I’ve agreed to. Plus, I can always take a nap later. I really have no idea what tonight’s blog is “about.” I sort of went on a tangent. That being said, there is this. My friend says they’re a bad dog parent. I guess because their pup still chews on shoes and–I don’t know–won’t crap in their own front yard. Whatever, dogs are dogs. But it does make me think that as humans (the pinnacle of creation/evolution), we often end up leaving messes in other people’s yards, metaphorically speaking, because we haven’t learned to pick up after ourselves.

My therapist says she when she was deep into her own therapeutic work, she didn’t have many friends. (This may still be the case.) But she said that was (and is) okay because she doesn’t have a lot of conflama either. (Conflama is conflict-and-drama, Mom.) In other words, she’s cleaned up her messes (she’s clear that she’s never been a perfect person), and also set boundaries with others (like one of the neighbors today who put a sign in their yard–please keep your dogs off my grass). This has been my experience too. The more I do The Hard Work, the less conflama I have in my life. Looking back, I see that so much of my suffering (anxiety, stress, nervousness, tension, strife) was, well, optional. Now when I see friends and family putting up with people who take advantage of them I think, You know you don’t have to do that. But no one could have convinced me of this truth before I was ready to live it, so I try to keep my mouth shut, pick up my own crap, and not worry about anyone else’s.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Things that shine do better when they're scattered about."

Hopscotch (Blog #747)

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Today’s things–

1. I hopped

This morning I got up early to go to physical therapy. Normally I go in the afternoon, but today I had conflicts. (Don’t we all?) When I saw my knee surgeon last week, he said I could start jumping, so today my therapist said, “Let’s get to it.” Oh my gosh, y’all, talk about scary. The task was to jump over a little line of tape on the floor–forward, back, forward, back–but the thought of doing so was terrifying. I simply wasn’t sure my body could do it. But then, just like that, it did. I did. After I did it several more times, my physical therapist gave me a thumbs up. A thumbs up! Maybe in another week or two, I can win a hopscotch contest.

You know, against an eight-year-old.

2. I cried

Later this morning I saw my therapist, and when I told her I’d recently cried while going through some exercises in a self-help book (and cried some more while telling her about me crying), she told me to keep that shit up. “I remember when you never cried,” she said “and since there were plenty of times in your life when you should have, you owe back taxes.” Emotional back taxes. Ugh. This is a thing. Deal with your emotions now, or deal with them later. Not that this is easy to do, to feel your feelings. It’s not. I hate it. I’d much rather eat chocolate and usually do. Still, the benefit I feel every time I have an emotional release far outweighs the fuss I put up about not wanting to have one. So I try to stay open to my emotions. I say “try to stay open” because although I’m great at shoving down my emotions, I’ve never been able to purposefully make them come up. They either do or they don’t.

3. I got irritated

This afternoon I saw someone new at my chiropractor’s office who gave me some exercises to help my right shoulder, which has been bothering me. And whereas the person was helpful and kind, I found myself being annoyed by them. Maybe this is because they felt like chatting (“Where do you go to church? Do you have kids?”), and I didn’t (I’d just left therapy and had been crying). Plus, we’d just met. Some boundaries please.

4. I got un-irritated

Later I had a dental appointment (today I had a lot of appointments), and as much as I was irritated with the person at my chiropractor’s office, I was delighted with my dental hygienist. Granted, she’s cleaned my teeth before and we have a rapport, but she was the perfect mix of professional and friendly. Plus she was funny. Funny always helps. My therapist says humor really can be the most healing thing. She must be right–I left the dentist’s office with not only no cavities, but also with a better mood.

5. I helped pick out colors

This evening I helped my friend Bonnie pick out possible colors to paint her house, which is currently being remodeled in order to sell. It took forever, but we finally came up with several options that would compliment not only each other, but also what’s already there. Several times I thought, We’re getting nowhere, but then it happened. “What about THAT ONE?” one of us said, and we were off to the races.

Healing, I’m finding, is like this. You spend a lot of time thinking that none of your efforts are working. Your emotions are all over the place, like hopscotch. You can’t see how everything, how you, fit together. And yet it does. You do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one is immune from life’s challenges.

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On Boundaries, Bridges, and Walls (Blog #745)

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Yesterday I house sat for a friend of mine who has four dogs. You should have seen me trying to dry them off when they came in out of the rain last night. You should have also seen me stumble out of bed this morning at six-thirty to let them outside. No, I take that back. You shouldn’t have. It wasn’t pretty. I wasn’t pretty. This boy needs his beauty rest. Which I got eventually. After letting the dogs outside, I went back to sleep.

When I woke back up at eleven-thirty, I was refreshed. What a lovely day, I thought. Then I realized I’d forgotten to put a tracker on the youngest dog’s collar. Well shit, I thought as I leaped out of bed. What if she’s run off? (My friend lives in the country.) Thankfully, she hadn’t. However, despite my best efforts, she wouldn’t come back to the house or even let me near her to put the tracker on. For over three hours I periodically went outside and tried to approach the dog. Every time she ran off. Even treats didn’t do the trick. Nothing worked. My friend sent me a text and said to scoop her some canned dog food into a bowl, but even that failed. Granted, it attracted the three other dogs and even a cat, but not the dog I needed it to. Seriously, I might as well have been trying to catch a bunny rabbit with a butterfly net.

I know people like this, who run away when you try to connect with them. My therapist says the technical term is “avoidant attachment,” meaning they avoid making (even healthy) attachments. She says if you want to drive yourself crazy, try caring about someone like this. (It’s hell.) But back to the dog. Finally, I tried a different approach. Slowly, I walked down the long driveway, ignoring her. (She followed.) Then I sat down in a chair, still ignoring her. The next thing I knew, she was right beside me, panting. Then she just sat there as I petted her and attached the tracker. What the hell? For three hours she runs away from me, then the second I stop giving a shit, she’s practically up in my lap.

As my therapist says, indifference is the great stimulus to wanting.

Think about that.

After this encounter, I put the above-mentioned bowl of dog food on the porch. And just like that, the dog that had given me so much trouble and avoided all my begging, pleading, and bribing, was on the porch licking the bowl clean. I swear. Some creatures have to have EVERYTHING on THEIR terms.

Clearly, I’m not the dog whisperer. And whereas trying to get my friend’s dog to come near me was frustrating, I realized it wasn’t personal. For her, it was probably a game. Or perhaps she doesn’t like her tracker and remembered the last time (a couple weeks ago) I put in on her. This morning I listened to a podcast about trauma, and one of the speakers said that we (as humans) often avoid others because some part of us is afraid. Some part of us thinks, I’ve trusted people before and got seriously hurt. I’m not going to let that happen again! So we avoid attachments. In order to protect ourselves, we build walls.

Personally, I used to get a lot of shit for my walls. My friends were always nice about it, but they’d joke that I’d only let them so close, that I kept them at a distance. I’m sure I still do this at times. Old habits die hard. Plus, I have this thing for boundaries. But my therapist says boundaries aren’t walls, they’re bridges. (Isn’t that cute?) That is, walls simply keep people out; boundaries inform others how they can get close to us. They’re like the rules of board game. They say, “This is how we can play together.”

Personally, I think boundaries should be taught in school or Sunday school or wherever teaching is offered. For me, they’ve been much more useful than Algebra ever has been. (Sorry, math teachers.) But seriously, boundaries get talked about a lot as a concept, but they’re rarely practiced or properly modeled. My therapist says they scare people. Maybe because people hear “boundaries” and think walls. But the two are vastly different. Plus, think about this–walls work both ways. That is, sure, they keep others from getting in (phew, you can’t get hurt), but that also means you can’t get out. You’ve got all this love and compassion inside you (don’t tell me you don’t), and there’s nowhere for it to go. Because it’s trapped. Because you’ve built this great barrier. Because, you know, you’re an island.

That’s what I used to think. I am a rock, I am an island. Like the Simon and Garfunkel song. This thinking, of course, was utter bullshit. We’re meant for connection. My friend’s dog showed me that today. She wanted that dog food just as badly as I wanted her to have it (I was tired of holding it). But she needed to feel safe first. She needed me sitting down first. That was her boundary. That was her bridge. I think we’re all looking for this–a bridge, a way to connect–with nearly everyone. I’m not saying this is easy. It’s tough to invite people in, even on your terms. It’s tough to trust people. Because people can hurt you. But people can also heal you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We all need to feel alive.

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On Autonomy (Blog #741)

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Currently it’s eight-forty-five in the evening, and I’m lying in bed wearing yesterday’s clothes. I hate that my daily selfies are a dead giveaway as to how often I take a shower and change outfits. Or don’t, rather. Fuck it. I’m not here to impress anybody.

This afternoon I read twenty pages in a three-hundred page book I started over a month ago. This made one hundred pages total. Which book doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I just couldn’t get into it, despite the fact that I often found myself smiling or laughing out loud. Anyway, even though I have a giant hard-on for completing things I start, I finally said screw it and permanently closed the cover. This is the second time I’ve done this recently and is perhaps an indication that I’m finally learning that just because you’ve invested in something doesn’t mean you have to keep investing in it.

I have a difficult time with the idea that things in life aren’t fixed or permanent. I think, If you start a book, you should finish it. Likewise, I think if you start a diet or workout regimen, it should last forever. I’m a “til death do us part” type of guy. Of course, this puts a lot of pressure on a person (me). A few months ago when I had knee surgery and started rehab, I also gave up coffee. But a week ago I picked it back up. At the same time, I started slacking on my rehab. I was out-of-town house sitting and just got out of the routine. And whereas part of me gets that “shit happens,” another part of me feels like I’m sinning–for quitting a book, for not being at the gym this very minute, for consuming caffeine (gasp).

I blame the ten commandments.

I’ll explain shortly.

After I quit the book I just mentioned, I started (and finished) one my therapist recommended about knowing your personal value. It was written specifically for women, but I found it helpful. All too often I underrate myself or what I have to offer. Too many times I’ve provided fabulous service to people in exchange for peanuts or their kind words. So they’d like me. But at the book said, compliments don’t pay bills.

One of my takeaways from the book was that YOU determine your value. Also, YOU are responsible for making sure you get paid what you’re worth or that others treat you like you want to be treated. I’m talking about boundaries. Rarely is anyone else going to say, “Gosh, Betty, we really should be paying you more for all you do around here.” Or, “You know, Jack, I’ve been thinking, and I interrupt you constantly and would like to apologize for that.” Rather, each of us has to stand up for ourselves.

This sucks and is hard to do.

Of course, before you can stand up for yourself, you have to know what your personal rules are. Said another way, you have to draw a line in the sand before you know whether or not someone has stepped over it. This is where the ten commandments come in. What I mean is that for the longest time I took my personal rules from a book–The Bible. Not just the ten commandments, but a lot of other commandments too. For example, I used to not eat pork because The Bible calls swine’s flesh (as well as homosexuality) an abomination. Think about that the next time you eat a ham sandwich. (Or sleep with someone of the same sex.) I’m not here to debate The Bible, but my point is that it’s easy to adopt someone else’s rules for your life. There’s a certainty in it. You think, The Bible says, my doctor says, my therapist says.

What’s harder, of course, is to take personal responsibility for every choice you make, to not lay praise or blame on an outside source. One of the exercises I’ve done in therapy is to write out a list–here’s what I’ll accept, here’s what I won’t accept. As an example, I don’t like it when people, especially women, touch me without being invited to (like, would you like to dance?). And whereas I’ll accept them touching my shoulder, I won’t accept them touching my hips or my butt. That’s my rule. That’s my boundary. Not because The Bible says so, but because I say so. Right or wrong, it’s my choice.

So hands off.

Having shared this rule about my personal space, I admit that I don’t enforce it all the time. Recently I ran into someone at Walmart and let them hug me even though I was anything but into it. I mean, it was midnight and I was taken by surprise. My defenses were down. If I had it to do over again or my leg worked better, I’d say, “No thank you” or run away. But shit happens. Anyway, my point is that even when we have rules for our lives, nothing ever works or is true one-hundred percent of the time. That is, nothing in life is that certain because life isn’t that certain. Said another way, life is fluid, like our emotions or the weather. We want something solid, a rule we can follow all the time, but there’s no such thing. Things are always changing.

This means our rules are always changing too. I’m not arguing for extremes in morality. I mentioned the ten commandments, but not to suggest that one day it’s not okay to envy or kill you neighbor and the next day it is. I only brought them up to say that often, for me, my personal rules (like, finish what you start and don’t drink coffee) feel as if they have been handed down to my by the heavens and, therefore, have cosmic consequences if broken. Of course, this is not the case. I made those rules up and can break them if I want to. Because, for one thing, I’m not even the same person I was when I made the rule. Like the weather and everything else in life, I’ve changed since then.

Even though my clothes haven’t.

This is the most difficult thing for me, letting myself and what I need change from day-to-day. Because I’d prefer something more permanent, something fixed, something certain. My friend Bonnie says that I thrive on a good routine. She’s right. I do. Still, I’m coming to think that routines and rules are like seasons. They last a while, then they disappear. If they come back again, fine. If they don’t, fine. I’m free to determine what’s best for me from moment-to-moment. I’m free to invest in a book, behavior, or relationship for hours or years then decide it’s no longer working for me. (Bye, Felicia.) We are all this free. We are all autonomous.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes we move with grace and sometimes we move with struggle. But at some point, standing still is no longer good enough.

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No, You May Not Touch My Butt (Blog #737)

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For the last–I don’t know–several years, gophers have been living in my parents’ yard–digging tunnels, making themselves at home, and creating a damn mess of the flower beds. Well, for some reason, today my dad got a burr up his butt, borrowed a wheelbarrow and a shovel from my aunt, and went to war with the gophers. I got wrangled into helping, so for two hours this afternoon my dad and I dismantled a large pile of gopher dirt in the flower bed closest to our front door, and I redistributed the dirt to various holes and ruts in our front and back yards. Dad said, “I’m actually sweating. I don’t even sweat when I go to the gym.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re not losing weight,” I said.

This is how we get along.

Despite working for two hours, we didn’t finish the gopher dirt/flower bed project. Unfortunately, it started raining, and the dirt pile turned to mud. Still, we made a serious dent in things. See the “after” picture below. I didn’t take a “before” picture, but just imagine eight wheelbarrows worth of dirt piled around that crepe myrtle. Seriously, it was like a gopher fort. Anyway, one or two more days like today, and we’ll have it licked. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

This evening I went with friends to see a drag show at a local gay bar. While I was there, a total stranger asked if he could touch my butt. And whereas I appreciated his good taste (I do have a nice butt), I said, “No.” Later I thought maybe I should have let him (I mean, he did ask politely), but then I thought, I’ve been in therapy for five years and have paid a lot of money for my boundaries–I might as well use them. But seriously, what’s the point in learning to say no if you’re not going to do it now and then?

Of course, this incident wasn’t a big deal. Random, maybe a little awkward, but no more difficult than telling a Girl Scout who knocks on my door that I don’t want to buy any of her cookies. (I’m speaking hypothetically, since I rarely turn down a Girl Scout cookie.) But there have been plenty of times in the past when setting boundaries or saying no was a HUGE deal, something that required days or weeks of forethought, a serious conversation, or perhaps a strongly worded letter. Looking back, the longer I’d gone NOT setting boundaries with a particular person, the harder it was when I finally decided to establish them. That’s why the gopher-dirt project this afternoon was such a chore–because we let it go for so long. Had we stayed on top of things as they occurred, it would have been a piece of cake.

Did someone say cake?

My dad mentioned today that those gophers had been persistent, that they were small creatures but had stuck to it. Consequently, they’d made a big damn mess. I imagine this is often the case with things that go awry in our lives. A little thing happens, and we let it go. Fine. But then it’s another little thing, and another little thing. One day what used to be a nice-looking front yard or relationship looks like shit. We think, How did this happen? So we have to go in with a wheelbarrow and shovel and really break a sweat to set things right. There’s nothing wrong with this, of course, but I’m learning it’s possible to stay on top of things from the beginning, to have boundaries from the start, to say, “No. No, you may not touch my butt.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our struggles unearth our strengths.

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What’s Small Is Big (Blog #736)

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Today’s thoughts–

1. On live videos

Last weekend, in order to celebrate two full years of daily blogging, I did a live video on Facebook in which I shared an essay I wrote a couple years ago called Letting Go of the Big House. I wrote it in order to help me process letting go of most of my material possessions. And whereas normally when I do a live video I share it in my blog the next day, this time I didn’t. For whatever reason, it didn’t seem like the time. So I’m sharing it now for anyone who’s interested and may have missed it. As my phone died while I was reading the last paragraph of the essay and I had to start over, it’s broken up into two videos. The first one is 19 minutes, and the second one is five. Also, for anyone interested in previous live videos and other “story time” essays, click here.

2. On emotions

Today I’ve been awash with emotions. In this moment I feel fine, but five minutes ago I was crying. This I’m sure is the direct result of my recently taking a good, hard look at the traumas in my life and the beliefs, emotions, thoughts, and behaviors of mine that have grown out of those traumas. I’ve poked the bear. And whereas my first reaction to feeling, say, sad, nervous, afraid, and alone is to reach for a pack of cigarettes or a piece of chocolate cake, I’ve been reminding myself today that this is WHY I’ve poked the bear–in order to actually feel the emotions that I’ve consistently shoved down for, oh, thirty fucking years. So this is good news. (Knock, knock.) They’re here. Granted, it’s not fun, sitting with the uncomfortable. But I know I’m strong enough to handle whatever shows up. There’s plenty of room here. I’m tired of running away from myself.

By the way–

Running away from yourself isn’t possible.

3. On pet peeves

Last night I went out for drinks and live music with my friends Justin, Ashley, and Joseph. It was lovely. That being said, when I paid my ticket with cash, the waitress did two things that absolutely piss me off every time they happen. I’ve probably mentioned them before. First, she asked, “Do you want your change?” Um, it’s MY CHANGE. If I want to leave a tip, I will, but don’t assume anything. Granted, I’ve never worked as a server, but I feel like a better way to handle situations like this would be to say, “I’ll be right back with your change.” Then if I don’t want it, I can say so. Sure, keep that six dollars on a thirteen-dollar tab. You’re worth it.

The second thing she did–and this is the one that always sends me into orbit–was to bring me incorrect change. That is, she owed me $6.38, and she brought back $6.00. Um, bitch, where’s my 38 cents?! Now, I know that for a lot of people this isn’t a big deal, since they’d leave it as a tip anyway. But there was a clear assumption on the waitress’s part that that money belonged to her or that, for some reason, I wouldn’t want it. Either way, she took the power of what should have been my choice (it was MY MONEY) away from me.

I can’t tell you the number of times this same situation has happened in the past. Always at restaurants. Seriously, what the hell? Could any other business get away with skimming off the top when giving customers their change, something that rightfully belongs to them? No. When I had my dance studio, I would have been run out of town if every time someone gave me a twenty-dollar bill for a ten-dollar dance class I gave them back a five. Because let’s not mince words–that’s stealing.

Anyway, I’ve historically handled this situation in a number of different ways. I’ve confronted waiters and waitresses directly, talked to their managers, and written letters to owners. Believe it or not, I’ve even let it go and said nothing. Last night I tried a new strategy–I left a note on my bill that simply explained what was true for me. “I didn’t leave a tip because you didn’t give me all of my change.” More and more, it’s important to me to be able to–in the moment–express my truth clearly and succinctly. Because I could have made excuses for her, but my truth was (and is) that I was pissed off. She’d crossed a line. And the only way for me to honor myself (that is, to not do any further harm to myself) was to say something.

4. On honoring yourself

Hang on. I’m not done with this topic. I know I’m on a soapbox, but I think it’s important. Recently I was reminded that The Divine (as in, life, God, or the universe, not Bette Midler) works in paradox. (Bette Midler works in sequins.) In other words, what’s small is big, and what seems insignificant is the most significant. This truth, applied to The Great Incorrect Change Incident of 2019, means that my pet peeve, whereas seemingly just a little irritation, like a chigger bite, is actually a big deal and–for me–holds the key to some type of healing or growth.

I’ll try to explain.

A few weeks ago I heard about something called fractal psychotherapy, an idea promoted by David Burns, one of the big names in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. I’ve only listened to one podcast about the theory, but as I understand it, it proposes that you can take one little seemingly small incident–an argument in a relationship, for example–and that small incident will be representative of all the problems in that relationship. Like how any piece of a hologram contains within it all the information for the entire hologram. I’ve said before that our emotions are here to help us, to communicate with us, to let us know when something is right or wrong. In last night’s situation, my emotions let me know that a boundary had been crossed. So fractal psychotherapy would say that although it’s “just a pet peeve of mine,” the issue of boundaries and speaking my truth is an-across-the-board thing for me. Again, you can’t run away from yourself.

You take yourself everywhere you go.

Personally, I’m becoming clearer and clearer about what my issues are. I think life is constantly trying to alert us to them. Not to rub our faces in them–like, look, you can’t speak up for yourself, you wuss–but so we can empower ourselves and stop having those issues. That’s what I think it all boils down to–self-empowerment. I said earlier that the waitress took my power of choice away from me, and I imagine we’ve all had this happen to us in small or large ways throughout our lives. I’m talking about being a victim. But to be clear, I’m not talking about staying a victim. I’m talking about, even if it starts with confronting a waitress, listening to your emotions, finding and using your voice, and taking your power back.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s okay to ask for help.

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On One’s Value and Worth (Blog #721)

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Tonight’s blog needs to be super fast. I spent this afternoon and evening at a friend’s house surfing the web (cowabunga, dude), then went to the library to get a book my therapist recently recommended, then went to the mall to buy a thank-you card. The day got away from me. Now it’s almost ten, and Dad and I need to go work out (it’s our thing now) earlier than normal because he’s got to get up early in the morning for an appointment.

The book my therapist recommended has to do with “knowing your worth,” which she says is my biggest hangup. That is, according to her, I don’t fully recognize my talents and abilities, and, therefore, my value. So we’ll see what the book says. My therapist says it’s technically written for and directed toward females but that I can just change the pronouns. Sounds easy enough; that’s pretty popular these days. Plus, it won’t be the first time I’ve been called “her.” (Gay men often refer to each other in the feminine, Mom.) All this being said, I do think I’ve made progress in this area. Recently someone, upon hearing what I charge for a private dance lesson, immediately tried to get me to drop my rate. They said, “I know you’re worth it, but,” then proceeded to talk about what they are accustomed to paying for a dance lesson (less than what I charge). I told them I was open to thinking about it, but that my gut agreed with them–I’m worth my rate (no but).

When I told my therapist about this situation, she said the universe was testing me. Like, Am I going to believe in my value, or am I going to keep selling myself short, like I have for years? Apparently this is the deal whenever you desire something better for your life–before you can have it, the universe needs to find out how serious you are about wanting it. Because there will always be people who want you to settle for less. Few people in life are going to say, “Here, take more of my money; you’re worth it.” So that’s our job, to determine our value, to decide what we’re worth in terms of our jobs and relationships, to set our boundaries and stick to them.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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With Practice (Blog #715)

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Praise the sweet baby Jesus. After feeling like crap for the last few days, as of this morning–and I do mean morning–I feel better. Once again, the credit goes to the miraculous probiotic/bacteria L. Sakei, which I received a new batch of in the mail yesterday afternoon and used three times before going to bed last night. No shit, y’all, I woke up at four this morning bright-eyed and ready to go. I eventually fell back asleep, but talk about getting your energy back. The previous two nights I woke up hot and sweaty. But as of four, I’ve been back to my normal-temperature self. Fingers crossed this trend continues.

This afternoon I went to Fort Smith to see my chiropractor and massage therapist, as well as to return a pair of crutches I borrowed from a friend over three months ago when I injured my left knee. Boy, did giving those suckers back feel good. For nearly a month I needed them to traverse even the shortest of distances, but this evening when I went to the gym, I was able to jog on the treadmill for twenty minutes, unassisted! (I mean, crutches on a treadmill would be totally awkward.) But, eeek, I really have come a long way. That being said, I may have overdone it on the treadmill. My knee was a bit swollen when I got home, so I had to ice it. Oh well, I guess it’s normal to have little setbacks.

Little setbacks. That’s what I consider the sinus infections that have creeped up on me lately. And whereas part of me is frustrated that I’ve had to deal with them at all, another part of me is thrilled because what used to last anywhere from seven to fourteen days (or more) is now over in forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Plus, my former sinus infections often involved doctors, prescriptions, and multiple swipes of my credit card. But now I’m knocking these things out from the privacy of my own home for a mere thirty-five bucks (the cost of the probiotic) or less (if I have some of the product left over). So maybe my sinuses aren’t perfectly healed or “normal” like everyone else’s (whatever that means), but THIS IS HUGE PROGRESS.

HUGE.

Whenever I have a health setback, I’m reminded what a blessing good health is. This afternoon when I dropped the crutches off I borrowed, my friend and her husband and I visited for over an hour and a half. Not once was there an awkward pause or did I think, I wonder what we’ll talk about next. Rather, we laughed and laughed. Seriously, it was one of the best times I’ve had lately. All thanks–I kind of hate to admit–to my hurting my knee.

So you know, silver linings.

But really, when you’ve been sick and finally feel better, there’s so much joy in the simplest of things–visiting with friends, going to the gym, watching a television program (which I did before starting tonight’s blog). It’s like, Hey, I feel good. I’m ALIVE. What can I do now?

After having sinus infections for decades and finally finding something that works, what I can say is that “it gets easier.” What I mean is that–apparently–it’s not that I’m never going to get a sinus infection again. But having done the hard work in terms of seeing doctors and doing no small amount of internet research, I now know what to do about them. Likewise, I know what to do when it comes to my knee rehab. Again, not that it’s fun or pleasant, but it’s less intimidating than it was when it first happened because I’ve walked–or more accurately hopped, lurched, and scooted–this road before. This thought applies to the work I’ve done in therapy too. Over the last five years, I’ve gotten a lot of practice setting boundaries, having confrontations, speaking my truth, and listening to my gut. And whereas I wish I never had to have a difficult talk ever again, that’s not realistic. But since I’ve done it before, I know I can do it again. Indeed, with practice, anything gets easier.

Want something to get easier? You know what to do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Who’s to say that one experience is better than another?

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