On How to Frame Your Past (Blog #987)

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This afternoon I went antique shopping for several hours. And whereas I didn’t buy much, just one thing, I did have fun looking. As I said yesterday, the world is full of pretty objects. Okay, okay, enough suspense. I’ll tell you what I bought. My solitary purchase was a small golden frame for the bargain price of a dollar.

“One dollar even,” the lady said.

Y’all, even as I was walking the frame to the car, I had little idea what I was going to do with it. I thought, Maybe I can add it to my magnet board, use it to accentuate part of my collection. Then as the day went on I thought, Or I could use it as God intended and put a photo in it. Well, when I got the frame home I realized it didn’t have glass in it. So then I thought I could either buy a piece of glass for it or just use it as-is to frame a three-dimensional object. Either way, I thought, before I do anything else I’ve got to get this warped cardboard off the back and take an iron too it. So that’s what I did. And whereas I thought, I’m tearing this thing apart, I also thought, It’s only a dollar.

While ironing the cardboard backing, I thought that I COULD paint the golden frame purple. Then I set that thought aside to search through my closets in hopes of finding a picture, toy, or statue to fit inside the frame. Y’all, I tried everything–a plastic dinosaur, pictures I’ve torn out of magazines, a small statue of Jesus. Alas, nothing worked and I quickly ran out of options. This is the one of the downsides to not owning much; it limits your creative options. Every hoarder thinks, I may need that one day, and every minimalist sooner or later thinks, Crap, I could have used that. But if you don’t have it, you don’t have it.

At which point you’re forced to be more creative.

Eventually I started toying around with the frame and a brooch I bought yesterday–a golden leaf. First I put the brooch inside the frame on the warped (and worn) cardboard, then I replaced the cardboard with a book whose cover (which is a delightful shade of blue) I absolutely love.

Now we’re getting somewhere, I thought.

Because I didn’t and don’t want to butcher my book for this project, I started going through the books my family has set aside for an upcoming yard sale. And whereas I couldn’t find any of them that were as pretty in terms of color or texture as my blue book, I did find some interesting options. For example, the text on the front of a black John le Carre book just happened to be written in gold, so all the elements–the text, the brooch, the frame–tied together nicely.

Completely different than the blue-book option.

Lastly I tried ANOTHER blue book (I have a lot of blue books), a darker, non-canvas one. And whereas I didn’t and don’t like it as much, I’m including it here to 1) illustrate the creative process, 2) demonstrate that all blues are not created equal, 3) present an option with the leaf turned at a different angle, and 4) show that details make a difference.

Ultimately, I don’t know what I’m going to do with my one-dollar frame. Chances are I’ll hit up a used book store to continue to explore cheap backdrop options. Then I’ll play around with temporary versus permanent ways to mount my brooch or, if I decide I’d rather wear it, mount something else inside the frame instead. Then I’ll figure out how to hang the whole thing on the wall. Or on the ceiling. Hell, I may put it in the bathroom above the toilet paper holder. Wouldn’t that be something?

My point: this could go down a number of ways.

Often I talk about the importance of perspective, and what I mean is that to a large extent the joy or suffering you experience is based on how you see things. For example, I’ve had a lot of shitty things happen over the years (who hasn’t?), and they used to cause me a lot of pain–because I was embarrassed by them, because I was afraid I couldn’t handle myself, because I thought life wasn’t fair. In short, I SAW myself as a victim, a pawn in the game of life, someone without any power. And whereas all these perspectives are true on one level, on another they simply aren’t. That is, the more I’ve explored my depths and connected with my soul, I’ve come to see that every challenge and shitty circumstance has been absolutely necessary. They’ve made me stronger. They’ve pushed me to learn. They’ve taught me endurance, patience, and compassion.

Simply put, I used to think all those horrible things had taken my life from me. Now I see they actually gave it to me.

For me self-help books and spiritual teachers have been immensely valuable in providing perspective. They’ve taught me I’m not alone in my experiences or thoughts or emotions about them. Likewise, my therapist has also been immensely valuable. Whenever I’m hard on myself or another, she offers a more compassionate viewpoint. Sometimes we work a topic over and over again until it feels right, until there’s peace. This is the deal with your life, your past. You think it’s set in stone, and maybe the facts are. (Whatever shitty things happened to you, I’m sorry. All the therapy, drugs, and gurus in the world can’t change it. I wish they could.) But like my dollar-frame project tonight, your perspective about your past and what it means is WAY flexible. That is, you can set it against a dark background (my life has been torn apart), or a light one (my life is coming together).

This is my advice: take the facts of your life and turn them upside down, twist them this way and that until they look right, until you have them just so. Frame your past in the best way possible. Don’t lie to yourself about what happened. Instead, get brutally honest. Cry and scream. Then move on. Forgive. Tell yourself, Whatever happened was absolutely necessary. Yes, it was difficult, but it made me the glorious being I am today. In fact, I couldn’t have planned things better myself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perfection is ever-elusive.

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We All Need Soothing (Blog #967)

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Well crap. All day I’ve been worn the eff out. The last few days I’ve slept more than a bear in hibernation, but I just can’t seem to get my rear in gear. Plus, my hips have been hurting. The weather must be changing. Oh no. Is THIS what it’s like to get older? If so, you can have it. Of course, it beats the alternative (dying). Still, I wonder if it wouldn’t help if I were a SMIDGE less cognizant of my body. That is, as a dancer I’m pretty tuned into every square inch of my physical self, and–I don’t know–maybe I wouldn’t make such a big deal about things getting slightly out of whack if I were one of those less self-aware people who, as my dad says, can’t find their ass with both hands. But just imagine how inconvenient that would be.

Especially when going to the bathroom.

But I digress.

I spent this afternoon doing laundry, first my clothes, then my sheets. That’s right, smart alecks, I’ve now washed my sheets twice this quarter. (Miracles never cease.) Anyway, while the washer and dryer were doing their thing, I started reading a book about the importance of the vagus nerve, the longest nerve (that’s actually two nerves) in your body and the one that’s the most responsible for regulating not only your sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems, but also your heart, liver, and lungs. In other words, it’s important. And whereas I haven’t gotten to the part in the book about how to consciously activate your vagus nerve (and thus calm down your body and stimulate healing), I’ve heard before that humming or singing, as well as gentle rocking, help switch your vagus nerve from the “let’s freak out” to the “everything’s gonna be just fine” position. This makes sense to me. Think about how babies respond to humming, singing, and gentle rocking. Well, you and I are no different.

We all need soothing.

This evening I helped a friend update their website. Okay, fine, we technically started over, since their site hasn’t been updated in eight years. And whereas starting over obviously required more work, we had the best time. At least I did. I spent most of my college years engrossed in photography, layout, and design and have spent most of my years since engrossed in writing and communication, so this really was the perfect thing for my friend to ask me to do. I dove right in. That being said, since each website hosting platform is different, much of tonight was a learning curve–how to change font sizes and what not. But hey, I like learning and my friend bought dinner, so Hakuna Matata!

My friend and I worked on their site for–I don’t know–four hours, then I worked on it a few more when I got home. I guess I got hyper-focused on figuring out how to add pictures and link to their social media accounts and couldn’t let it go. (I’m no Elsa.) While I was with my friend I kept futzing around with text alignment–to the left, to the center, to the right. My friend said, “This is why you DON’T want someone who’s OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE designing your website.” I said, “This is why you DO want someone who’s obsessive compulsive designing your site.” Along these lines, my therapist says there are times when my perfectionism serves me. Because it allows me to attend to ALL THE DETAILS when redecorating a room or redesigning a website or whatever. I just need to be able to turn my perfectionism off so I don’t use it against myself. (Like, my nipples aren’t perfect, and all that.)

JUST ENJOY YOUR NIPPLES, MARCUS.

Now, the fact that I stayed up until two tonight working on my friend’s site when 1) I was already tired and 2) there’s not a deadline–I guess–means I haven’t quite figured out how to turn my perfectionism off. At the same time, it may just mean that I got excited about something, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We creatives (that is, all of us) need to get enthused about new projects now and then. My friend and I tonight were brainstorming ideas and ended up laughing, laughing, laughing. This is huge. Not just having fun, but also bringing LIFE to yourself, to others, and to your work.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Go easier on yourself.

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A Chair to Sit in (Blog #868)

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It’s nearly two in the morning, and I’m having a tough time focusing. Today has been a busy day, and I guess I’m having trouble winding down. This morning I finished a room I started painting a few days ago, then came home, ate a sandwich, and took a shower. Then I headed to Fort Smith for a meeting, a meeting that got postponed while I was on my way to it. And whereas this normally would have bothered me, it didn’t. For whatever reason, I’ve been in a fabulous mood all day and have been impervious to irritation. This is extremely ironic, since yesterday I was covered from head to toe in frustration.

Sometimes life throws you a bone.

After I had my estate sale a few years, the only piece of furniture I owned was a small bookshelf. Then last summer when my aunt had a yard sale, I doubled my furniture collection–by adding an old leather ottoman. And whereas I was set on only acquiring new things (because I was in the middle of starting a new life), I fell in love with this ottoman because it belonged to my grandparents. It even has one of grandpa’s famous cigarette burns on it. Anyway, for the last year the ottoman has simply sat in my room in front of my window. Mostly, it’s given me a place to tie me shoes.

So get this shit. Today on a whim I went to an antique store and found a lovely leather chair that matches my ottoman–for the bargain price of $24. Talk about a steal. So I bought it.

Then I bought a pillow to go with the chair.

Because when you’re my age you’ve got to think about lower lumbar support.

I can’t tell you how excited I am about having this chair. Now I can read in my own room sitting up instead of lying down. I can listen to music while sipping tea. I can have company (not everybody at once!) and offer them a place to sit instead of insisting they share my twin bed.

Boy was that getting awkward.

Now it’s three in the morning, and I keep getting distracted by other things. Plus, I’m tired. So although I hate to be abrupt, I’m going to wrap this up. Last night I mentioned that at the end of a rough day (yesterday) I got excited about a new creative idea. This idea, I’m sure, has much to do with my good mood today. This fascinates me, the idea that one’s mood can turn around just like that by thinking about something that excites you, something that gets your creative juices flowing.

And all the better if you have a chair to sit in where you can think about these things.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It takes forty years in the desert for seas to part.

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Enough (Blog #867)

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Yesterday I blogged about feeling generally irritated and frustrated by my situation in life, and today I talked to my therapist about my feelings. “Let’s just call it like it is,” she said. “You’re fucking pissed.”

“Okay, I’m pissed,” I said.

“That’s all right,” she said. “Be pissed.”

“OKAY, I’M PISSED!” I said.

So now that that’s established.

My therapist asked if I’d ever blogged about just how frustrating it is for me to be 1) living with my parents and 2) trying to “make it” as a writer or a creative. Like, what’s it like to be a starving artist? (Well, you go hungry a lot.) And whereas I told her that I have blogged about these frustrations a number of times, I also said maybe I needed to give it another shot. So here I go.

It’s frustrating as hell. (How’d I do?)

Okay, fine, I’ll dig deeper. Today my therapist said she thought part of me wanted life to wave a magic wand and make my dreams come true. Well, yeah, of course I want that. Who wouldn’t? At the same time, I know it’s not realistic–for each goal a person has, there’s work to be done. For me, it’s not that I’m afraid of the work. It’s that I’m often paralyzed by what step to take next. With a hundred creative ideas in my head, I’m not always sure which one to pursue. Also, I’m scared that whatever I do pick won’t be THE ONE. In short, I’m scared to fail. Of course, as my therapist said, “What do you have to lose?”

“At this point,” I said, “Really nothing.”

My pride, you say?

Honey, I lost that a long time ago.

Getting back to what’s frustrating for me, sure, part of it is that my life doesn’t look like what I want it to right now. However, a good deal of my frustration is due to what I’ve done internally with the facts of me life. That is, I’ve blamed myself for my situation. Like I have this dream and have taken steps toward it, but the steps I’ve taken OBVIOUSLY aren’t enough. So that means I’m not enough. I’m a failure. This is where the frustration really lies, the feeling that I’ve done my best and it–clearly–isn’t sufficient.

This thinking, of course, is recipe for misery. Normally therapy puts me in a good mood, but I spent this afternoon in a pretty significant funk. I did a lot of–what’s the word?–wallowing. Not that I donned sackcloth or anything. I actually donned painting clothes and continued painting the room I started yesterday. I listened to several podcasts. In short, I was productive. At the same time, however, I gave myself a good deal of grief. For not having my act together. For not being “a success.”

Thankfully, this evening while I was taking a shower, the weight of the world fell off my shoulders. I remembered that my therapist said that as many as one-in-four people (Google says one-in-five) live in multi-generational households. “There are a lot of people like you,” she said. Then I started thinking about some steps I could take to reach my goals–and actually got excited about them. My therapist said, “Do you ever talk about how irritating writing is?” I said, “It’s not writing itself that’s irritating. It’s that it’s not paying the bills.” This is the thing about creative projects. Inherently, there’s joy in thinking about them, doing them. But you can suck the joy right out of them when you put pressure on those projects to put food on the table.

In the moments when I’m most clear, I’m proud of myself for listening to my soul several years ago, closing my dance studio, and beginning to work on a new life. I’m proud of this blog, regardless of who does or doesn’t read it, regardless of whether or not it ever makes me a dime. I get hung up on success as the world sees it, but the truth is I already consider myself a success when it comes to what really matters to me–what’s on the inside, not what’s on the outside. Do I want the outside to follow the inside? Sure. It would make a lot of things easier. But until that happens, I’m working on being okay right here, right now–irritated, frustrated, pissed off, or joyful. I’m enough.

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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Your Beautiful, Creative Mind (Blog #851)

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This morning I wrapped up a house sitting gig then came home, made breakfast, and unpacked. Well, sort of. I brought my bags in from the car. Now they’re on my bedroom floor. Anyway, after breakfast (and a nap), I read The Magician’s Nephew, book one of seven in The Chronicles of Narnia (and just before The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe), by CS Lewis. Somehow I missed this book as a child, but, y’all, it’s delightful. It’s about a young girl named Polly and her friend Digory, who get swept off to a number of different worlds thanks to Digory’s less than integrous uncle, who likes to dabble in magic. Along the way they encounter a terrible witch and, eventually, end up in Narnia, thus setting the stage for six more books about the same enchanting land.

Seven books in total. If you put them side by side, they’re thicker than a brick. What a beautiful, creative mind that CS Lewis (his friends and family called him Jack) clearly had. Sometimes my writer friends and I talk about what it must take as a fiction writer to build an entire world. I thought about this as I read The Magician’s Nephew today, and it seemed clear to me that Lewis must have had a map laid out for the series from the beginning. For example, both a lamppost and a wardrobe are prominent features in The Lion, the Witch, and The Wardrobe, and the origin of each is explained in The Magician’s Nephew. When I read this I thought, This guy was thinking ahead. However, this was not the case, since The Magician’s Nephew was THE LAST book in the series to be penned. So what Lewis actually did was create something out of thin air (Narnia) then go back later and explain how it got there.

In other words, he was thinking behind.

This evening I finished reading Defy Gravity by Caroline Myss, and one of the points she drives home over and over (and over) again is that you will never, ever (ever) get a satisfactory answer to the question “Why did this happen to me?” I mean, Abraham didn’t get one. Moses didn’t get one. Jesus (the son of God) didn’t get one. Why should you? (Why should I?) And yet something shitty happens, and we all wonder–Why me? Caroline calls this a child’s question, and I think it has to do with the fact that most of us are much better at thinking behind than we are thinking ahead.

I’ll explain.

There’s a story about a man with poor eyesight who’s fishing on a quiet lake and notices another boat approaching him. However, thinking the other boat will turn away, he goes back to fishing. Next thing he knows, the boat has run into him, nearly tipping him into the water. Well, the man is pissed off and starts on this tirade (like you probably do in traffic sometimes). Who the hell do you think you are? and so on. He’s thinking the driver of the other boat is a real asshat. Probably did it on purpose. Like most of us, he wants some answers. However, then the man realizes the boat is unoccupied. Maybe it got loose from the harbor, he thinks. Quickly, he calms down. He even laughs at himself. Boy, I really made a big deal out of nothing.

If the point’s not obvious, it’s that often in life we get hit–physically, emotionally. Shit happens. However, as if almost getting knocked over (physically, emotionally), weren’t enough, we create a narrative about the situation. We think BEHIND and IMAGINE that the other person (or God, even) was out to get us. We take things personally. Of course, you might think, But what if the guy really had been hit by another driver? (I’ve been rear-ended before, and the car that did it was most certainly occupied.) But what’s the difference whether someone was in the boat or not or whether or not they did it on purpose? Either way, you got hit.

So here’s an option. Instead of thinking behind, you could think ahead. Okay, I got hit. NOW what am I gonna do?

This weekend while house sitting I took my friend’s dog for several walks. Honestly, it wasn’t best neighborhood, and I found myself doing what I often do–making judgments. Like, That’s a nice house, that’s a real piece-of-shit house, and so on. Well, if you want to know how to build a world, this is how you do it. What I mean is that the world as it exists is devoid of inherent meaning. My therapist says the universe is neutral. If you want to test this theory out, take a friend–just one honest friend–on a walk or to an art gallery and start comparing notes. What’s beautiful in your eyes will be rubbish in theirs. You’ll walk outside on a cloudy day and think, Disgusting, and your friend will think, Glorious.

In the last example, what we essentially have, at least for a moment, is two different worlds. That is, you’ll be living in a disgusting world, and your friend will be living in a glorious one. Byron Katie says, “Who created the world? You did.” Now, this doesn’t mean that you created the clouds in the sky, but it does mean that you–and you alone–created how you perceived or interpreted those clouds, and this means everything.

It means you’re more powerful than you’ve been giving yourself credit for.

Going back to thinking behind, whenever you do see something you dislike, let’s be clear–it’s only because you’ve reached into your past, found a negative experience, and laid its memory on top of your present moment, or, perhaps, your future. Let’s say I were to invite you on a skiing trip and you said, “No, I hate skiing.” Granted, maybe you DID hate skiing six years ago, but how do you know you’ll still hate skiing this December? You can imagine you would hate it, but how could you KNOW? You haven’t been yet.

I mean, anything could happen on those slopes. You could meet your soulmate.

Going back to The Chronicles of Narnia, it seems that thinking behind and thinking ahead are lovely skills to have for authors. And since we are all the authors of our own lives (or at least the internal narrative about our own lives), I grant that these are good skills for all of us. For example, if you’re deathly allergic to peanuts, it’s good to bring your past into the present–so you won’t die from eating peanut butter. If you want to redecorate a room or your life, it’s good to imagine what you’d like to manifest. But when you imagine another person’s (or God’s) motives or take a perfectly lovely day (what did THOSE clouds ever do to you?) and turn it into something disgusting–and thus cause yourself upset or distress–this is misusing your beautiful, creative mind.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There is a force, a momentum that dances with all of us, sometimes lifting us up in the air, sometimes bringing us back down in a great mystery of starts and stops.

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On the Right Tools and Being Lined Up (Blog #849)

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What can I say? Today has been great. I’ve been house sitting, and this morning I slept in, made breakfast, then set out to do the one and only thing I had on my to-do list–repair a broken (rotten) door at my friend’s house. If I can get this done, I told myself, I won’t tackle any other projects. Instead I’ll do something “fun,” like read a book. Hell, I might even take a shower.

This is a good plan, I thought. So off I went to make it happen.

First off, I took the door off its hinges and surveyed the damage. The problem was that the door had a doggie door, and one day when the doggie door was locked, the dog ripped another hole beside the doggie door, through the rotten wood. It was a mess. Anyway, I covered the doorframe with a blanket, loaded up the door and my tools, and went to Lowe’s. And whereas I’d intended to buy the wood needed to patch the door then cut it myself, I thought, Hell, they can cut it easier, faster, and better than I can, so I had the nice guy in the lumber section do it. This in itself was a small victory. Years ago I would have been too embarrassed to ask for help, too shy to approach “a dude.”

After Lowe’s I stopped at my parents’ house to pick up some paint/stain for the patch, as well as some probiotics for my sinuses, since I woke up feeling slightly junky this morning. One of the things I experiment with is breaking open a multi-strain probiotic pill and swishing the powder around in my mouth. The idea is that whenever you have an excess amount of mucus or–god forbid–a sinus infection, your microbiome “up there” is off, so inserting new critters in your mouth can help (because they crawl up into your nose and sinuses and go to work balancing things out). All this to say that I was chatting with my dad in our kitchen as I broke open the probiotic pill into my mouth and then–sort of like how you try to chat with the dentist when he has his hands in your mouth–I continued talking.

Well, white powder everywhere.

You should have heard my dad laughing.

“I really needed that,” he said. “Thanks for cheering me up.”

Wiping powder off my face, I said, “I’m glad I could help.”

Fortunately, the door repair went better than the probiotic situation did. Granted, it took a while, but there were no major hangups. A friend let me borrow their garage and their power tools to do the work, and y’all, the right tools make all the difference. At one point I needed to cut through the plywood so I’d have enough space to fit my saw into the wood and then cut farther, so I used a small rotary saw to get the job done. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without it. Back at my friend’s house, I hung the door easily enough, but had to make adjustments where the bolt slides into the frame. I think this part was off previously. Regardless, this happens a lot in old houses. Something settles, then things don’t line up like they did before.

And then I took that shower.

Intent of spending the rest of the evening relaxing, I went to a late-late lunch and finished a book I started yesterday. Then I bent my own no-more-work rules and returned some not-needed screws (never thought I’d say that) to Lowe’s and also bought a new hammer because my old one went kaput recently and I’m tired of nailing things in with my flashlight or crowbar. (Anything in a pinch.) Then I helped my aunt with a small project, AND THEN I came back to the house to relax (listen to an online lecture) and, later, eat dinner.

Here’s a secret (that’s not really a secret). A lot of times when I sit down to write, I don’t know what I’m going to say. More specifically, I don’t know what my theme is going to be, what important nugget I’m going to discuss. I’m saying this now because this was the case when I sat down tonight. However, reading what I’ve written, a couple things stand out, which I’ll get to in a moment. But before I do I think it’s important to recognize that this is how creativity works–it doesn’t reveal itself in advance. You have to actually do the thing before you know what’s there. This was one of the points in the lecture I listened to–that in terms of personal growth and transformation, you’ll only discover your latent talents, abilities, and powers when you’re willing to set your old self aside and let your new self come forth.

Now.

The first thing that popped out to me earlier was “the right tools make all the difference.” This is true in handyman work, personal growth and transformation, and healing. For example, my therapist has been an invaluable resource to me and has offered me countless tools for accepting and honoring myself. Lesson One in A Course in Miracles says, “This (fill in the blank) does not mean anything.” This chair does not mean anything. This car does not mean anything. This hot guy across the room does not mean anything. The point of the exercise is to realize that if something means something to you, it’s only because YOU’VE decided that it should, and this means you have a lot of control over the things in your life and whether or not they have control over you. My point is–this exercise is another tool for peace of mind.

If one tool doesn’t get you want you want? Try another.

The other statement I noticed while reading tonight’s post was “something settles, then things don’t line up like they did before.” In my experience, I know when I settle in relationships, what ends up not lining up is me with me. That is, we all have an inner voice that lets us know when people cross the line or when a situation simply isn’t right for us. This is an invitation to self-advocate or simply be honest (this isn’t working for me). Perhaps this means you have to allow a latent power within you (like your voice) to express itself. So what? You try a new tool. A few years ago I would have been intimated to repair a rotten door. I would have thought, I’ve never done that before. Even now I’m almost always intimidated when I have to get real or have a come-to-Jesus meeting with someone. But I’ve done it before, so I can’t say I don’t know how or that I can’t. Plus, more and more I’m not willing to settle. It’s more important for me to be lined up with me.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's the holes or the spaces in our lives that give us room to breathe and room to rest in, room to contain both good and bad days, and--when the time is right--room for something else to come along.

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I Meant to Do That! (Blog #837)

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Photo by Virgilia Dale. Thanks, V!

This morning I saw my therapist and read her yesterday’s blog, about childhood memories. I don’t do this very often, maybe once every couple months, if I’d like her opinion on something or it seems relevant. For example, on our last therapy-iversary, I read her my post about why me and my therapist are successful. It was my way of saying, “Thank you.” (I also brought cookies.) Anyway, I read last night’s blog because, as I told her, “I cried when I wrote it and am hoping I can cry again.”

“Go for it,” she said. “Get the poison out of your water.”

Then she added, “I like how you’ve been crying more lately.”

Well, sure enough, it worked. I cried more when I read the post to her than when I wrote the damn thing. I guess there’s something about my therapist’s presence. It’s like I know I can say anything, be completely me in the moment, and that’s going to be okay. Never once in five years have I felt judged. Not that I’ve always been agreed with–far from it–but I’ve never felt judged. Instead, no matter if I’ve been angry, sad, depressed, irate, confused, lethargic, disappointed, hurt, or horny–I’ve felt totally accepted. And I guess that’s been one of the big gifts this blog has given me too–acceptance.

Self-acceptance.

I imagine this is why certain posts make me cry. Like last night’s, they’re usually the ones that have something to do with my childhood. The way I see it, I probably needed to cry (and yell and scream) back then but just didn’t know how. Consequently, it’s like some part of me got asked to sit down and shut up indefinitely. But here’s the thing about writing if you do it correctly–you bring your whole self to it. This means that when you’re being creative all the parts of yourself that have previously been silenced can potentially speak up. They may cry and they may to tell people to fuck off. If you’re smart, you’ll listen. This is what self-acceptance is–not letting every part of you run the show, but letting every part of you be heard.

The above picture of me at a lemonade stand showed up in my Facebook memories today. For a while my dance studio was in the same building as a photographer, and the lemonade stand was one of her props. Anyway, this picture always makes me think of that overused saying–when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Along these lines, there’s this quote from Joseph Campbell–“To transform you hell into a paradise is to turn your fall into a voluntary act. Joyfully participate in the sorrows of the world and everything changes.” To me this means not so much that you make the best of a bad situation, but that on some level you actually choose the bad situation.

I’ll explain.

There’s an idea in the self-help world that you’re happy not when you have what you want, but rather when you want what you have. Think about it. We usually associate wanting with things we don’t have, but if you were to–in this moment–look at everything in your life and say, “I want this,” you’d immediately experience a sense of contentment. For me this would look like saying, “I want to weigh 190 (ish) pounds. I want to be single. I want to be living at home with my parents and experiencing a headache.”

Good news! I am.

Applied to one’s past, all of this means that rather than labeling your difficult circumstances as bullshit or something that never should have happened, you look at them and say, “That was exactly what I needed.” This is what Campbell means when he says, “Turn your fall into a voluntary act.” Children do this all the time. They trip on their shoelaces, hit the concrete, and scab their knees then immediately look at their friends and say, “I MEANT to do that!” In keeping with my previous discussion about last night’s blog about childhood memories and specifically the fact that my family’s home burned down when I was four, this means that yes, I cry or scream about it when I need to, but I refuse to let myself be bitter about the situation. Instead I think, That helped make me who I am today. And I like who I am today.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Obviously, God's capable of a lot. Just look around."

Under Pressure (Blog #823)

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Okay. It’s midnight-thirty, and I’m just sitting down to blog. Earlier tonight I taught a dance lesson to a couple who is about to be married. We’re really getting down to the nut-cutting. Three more lessons, and then it’s their big day. Then they perform their routine. Honestly, it’s getting better the closer and closer we get to the deadline. Not because, as you might think, they’ve been practicing more, although they have been. (Practice, what a novel concept.) Rather, their routine is getting better because of that magical force called pressure (pressure–pushing down on me), because of that thing that says, This has got to happen. This has simply got to happen.

Several times in the last few weeks I’ve mentioned the pressure I’m under, specifically the pressure to create (out of thin air) a 1,500-word short story for my friend Marla’s writing class that began four weeks ago and ends tomorrow. Ugh. I started my short story easily enough, with three hundred words, but the last time I worked on it, a week ago today (the night before our last class), I was only able to add a hundred more. Consequently, I’ve felt like a failure. Sure, a hundred words is a hundred words, but all week I’ve been at a loss because I haven’t known where to go next. Not that I’ve sat down, even once, to try to figure things out. I’ve been too busy–reading books, mowing my parents’ lawn, fighting a sinus infection.

Today I started dog sitting for a friend, and this afternoon when I ate lunch (Mexican food) in their kitchen, their dog lay on the floor and stared at me the whole time. Like, Hey, Amigo, are you gonna share that or what? This went on until my last bite (because I don’t share and–besides–had just given him a T-R-E-A-T.) Anyway, this is sometimes what trying to write can feel like, like you’re a dog lying on a kitchen floor waiting for some middle-aged prick to pass you a piece of his chicken taco. You bang your head against the wall and wait for The Muse to show up and say something–ANYTHING!– but then, as if it were a Tinder date, it stands you up instead.

Just like a man. The Muse is probably a man.

As of last night and even as early as this morning, I was convinced I simply wasn’t going to get my short story finished in time for class. Even if I do find the time to write, I doubt I’ll be able to get very far, I thought. Optimistic, I know, but I’ve done this fiction writing thing before, and it requires time.

So get this shit. (And pay close attention because I’m only going to say this once.) I was wrong. (I’ll explain.) Because of my sinus infection, I cleared my schedule this afternoon to rest. But then I perked up a little and decided to TRY working on my short story. I’ve got four hours, I thought. A lot can happen in four hours. And, y’all, a lot did. I wrote 850 words. That’s 1,250 words total. And whereas I didn’t FINISH the story, I’m okay with that because I realized it’s not meant to be a short story–it’s meant to be something longer. A novel, perhaps. So what I have now is a solid introduction, maybe a first chapter. Regardless, I have 1,250 words (that I absolutely adore) that I didn’t have a few weeks ago. And here’s the best part–I can’t wait to see what happens next.

This if the FUN side of writing. For weeks you beat yourself up and bang your head against the wall. You agonize over what’s going to happen. You do nothing and get nowhere. The pressure builds. Then, the day before your deadline, you finally sit down in front of the keyboard. You think, This has got to happen. This has simply got to happen. And just like that, it does. When it’s over, you’re just as amazed as anyone else is. Tonight while editing my story, I noticed subtle connections I didn’t intend. Magical, I thought. This is what makes me believe I’m not working alone here. This is what makes me believe The Muse does exist and–because it’s willing to show up to our creative play dates but simply takes its sweet time getting ready–must be a woman.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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On That Which Supports You (Blog #816)

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It’s four-thirty in the afternoon, and I’m in between appointments. Two hours from now I’ll be teaching a couple how to dance for their wedding. Yesterday they messaged me and said they’d been doing something few couples ever do–practicing. And whereas I’m hopeful (hope springs eternal), I’ve been in this business long enough to be prepared for mediocrity. Not that mediocrity would be the worst thing. Indeed, it would be leaps and bounds from where they started two months ago–rock bottom. That being said, mediocrity is not The Goal. The Goal is fabulous, stunning, like, oh-my-god wow.

Since I have a break in my day, I’ve stopped at a local park to blog. As the weather is gorgeous, I’d rather be outside of the shade of this pavilion, strolling and soaking up the sun. Alas, dear reader, I’m a dedicated and self-sacrificing daily blogger, so here I sit, writing. Truth be told, although this writing project has to happen at some point today, I’m using it to procrastinate another writing project. I’ll explain. Three weeks ago I started a short story writing class taught by my friend Marla, the goal of the class being to, by the end of the class (a week from tomorrow), produce a fully fleshed out and hopefully interesting short story, a short story being approximately 1,500 words. And whereas I’ve written more personal essays and non-fiction features of that length than you could shake a stick at, I’m not sure I’ve ever written a fiction short story of that length. Or any length.

In short (story), I’m terrified.

This feeling of terror is what I felt a week ago today when I first sat down to work on Marla’s assignment. At that point I only had a single sentence, a sentence that popped into my brain over two years ago like, Maybe that could be a story one day. Well, despite my all-day trepidation of I don’t know where this is going, shit, shit, shit, I don’t know what else to say, that single sentence, in the space of an hour, turned into three entire paragraphs, or three-hundred and nineteen words.

When I finished those three paragraphs Monday and read them in class the next day, I was elated. I felt like a rosy-cheeked kindergartner on show-and-tell day. Look what I did. As much as being enthusiastic as a writer, I was enthusiastic as a listener. Stephen King says that the author of a work is its first reader, and although my story is only a three-hundred word baby, I really do want to know how it’s going to grow up. I want to know what happens next, how this thing is going to end. Unfortunately, over the last week my wide-eyed enthusiasm about my story has turned to dread because–damn it–I’m the one responsible for writing it. In other words, if I want to find out what happens, I’m going to have to put my butt in a seat and do some actual work.

In terms of this blog, I’ve come to trust The Process. For over two years I’ve written daily and–I swear–most days I have no idea what I’m going to say. And whereas this used to scare me, now I just believe. There’s something there. Maybe I can’t see it, but I believe it’s there. Not because I have faith, but because I have over two years worth of proof. Something always comes up. My creative well is deep.

This creative confidence is something I’m trying to develop with respect to writing fiction. And whereas I wish it would simply show up and shine, I’m betting I’m going to have to work at it, to sit down every day, every damn day and practice like I ask my dance students to. Part of the problem, of course, is that I put a lot of pressure on myself. I tell myself, Let’s just sit down and play. Let’s just see what happens. Inevitably, however, I get one good sentence or paragraph and create a standard of perfection. I think, This can’t be mediocre. This needs to be fabulous, stunning, like, oh-my-god wow. This needs to pay the bills.

This, of course, is recipe for stress.

Recently I read something to the effect that when you have a longstanding desire or dream, you don’t have the privilege of getting to see from whence it springs. Think about how you can see a tree but not its roots. Or how you can see a building but not its foundation. In other words, our deepest wants for our lives (like, I want to be a full-time, paid writer) come from our subconscious, so although we’re conscious of That Which We Want, we’re unconscious of That Which Supports What We Want, of that which created what we want in the first place. I believe this is where creative terror comes from, believing that your dreams don’t have any roots or foundation, believing that you’re drawing water from a shallow well.

A few years ago I started a fiction novel. Like the short story I’m working on now, it excites me. Even though I haven’t touched in forever, whenever I think about my first paragraph, I absolutely melt. When I read it to my friend Marla way back when, she said, “Marcus, I can’t believe this is inside of you.” I think about this encouragement of hers a lot. As recently as this morning I picked up a random book and read things that I think will be useful whenever I get back to that story. My point is I think there’s something subconscious that wants me to write it, that’s supporting me in writing it.

There’s an idea if self-help and spirituality that we’re more afraid of being powerful than we are afraid of being weak. Because we’re used to being weak and we’re used to playing small. These things are comfortable, familiar. But being strong and big, being endlessly creative, the author of glorious stories? Whoa damn. My therapist says that getting what you want in scary. And although I’m not “there” yet, I agree. Just the idea of my dreams really coming true often keeps me from sitting down with my stories and finding out what’s there. Because getting what I want would mean really changing and not playing small anymore. It would mean no looking back. It would mean saying, “Here I am, World–roots deep, foundation strong–fabulous, stunning, like oh-my-god-wow supported.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Give yourself a break.

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How to Get Your Mind in the Mood (Blog #788)

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Phew. After having breakfast with a friend this morning, I spent the entire day, about eight hours, wrapping up at my friends Todd and Bonnie’s house. For the last three days I’ve been cleaning antique hardware–removing paint (with chemicals and elbow grease), then either polishing or repainting what’s underneath. I’ve been to Lowe’s four times, Walmart twice, and Walgreen’s once. I’ve been up and down more steps than I can count, working feverishly because the painters are coming back tomorrow to rehang doors and need the hardware to do it. Thankfully, I think, everything is ready.

Here’s a picture of some of the polished brass. I’ll spare you photos of the rest, but in terms of volume, each door  (on average) has 2 large plates, 1 small plate, 2 knobs, 2 hinges, and one lock (small plates and hinges are shown in yesterday’s blog)–and there were seventeen doors (I think).

Here’s a video of in inner workings of one of the locks. I took it apart because the bolt was sticking out, tilted like a drunken sailor. I had to open up another lock to figure out how to fix it. As it turns out, a small piece of metal had popped out that was supposed to hold the bolt in place (I hammered it back in). I don’t narrate the video, but notice that a small, bent wire pushes the latch out. The bolt itself works via two levers–one that pushes the bolt in or out (and moves horizontally), and another that “locks” it in the lock position (and moves vertically). The small piece of broken metal I hold up at the end of the video is what I found when I took the lock apart. It’s the broken-off end of a skeleton key, which would have been used to 1) lift the vertical-moving lever and then 2) slide the horizontal-moving lever, thus locking or unlocking the door.

 

After a full day of manual labor, about nine, I sat down on Todd and Bonnie’s porch with a cup of coffee and intentions of resting. My thought was that I’d drink my Joe, take a shower, then hang around to blog. However, while scrolling on my phone I learned that two of the three bridges from Fort Smith to Van Buren were going to be closed at ten due to the recent flooding of the Arkansas River. (We’ve either already have or are about to break a record for this area. It’s not pretty.) So rather than be stranded in Fort Smith, I threw all my stuff in Tom Collins (my car), and booked it across the bridge.

When I got home (safe and sound) I was apparently still in “get shit done” mode. (It’s hard to turn it off once it’s on.) First I changed a florescent lightbulb in the laundry room (Dad’s been asking me to for weeks), then I repaired a shelf that fell down in my bathroom WELL OVER a year ago. The wall anchors had come loose and left big holes in the wall. And whereas I’d been thinking I’d have to patch the wall (and that wouldn’t work because I don’t think we have that paint anymore), I came up with another solution during one of my many trips to Lowe’s. (It’s tough to explain, and I didn’t take a picture of it.) Anyway, the shelf is up now. It didn’t hang flat against the wall initially (the top was farther out that the bottom), so I shoved a thin bar of cheap motel soap between the wall and the bottom of the shelf to fix it.

Glad to know that soap’s good for something.

After I hung the shelf, I felt compelled to decorate it. See the above photo. The tin next to the dinosaur–ironically–says Fossil. Anyway, because I used a lot of stuff from the shelf on the opposite wall to decorate the just-fixed shelf, I then felt compelled to decorate that one. Since I’m picky as shit, this took a while. Nonetheless, I settled on displaying a few of my favorite handwritten cards along with a small collection of tins I have. I use them to store jewelry, pins, and USB drives. Fun fact–the duck in the ABOVE photo is a USB drive. It’s from The Peabody Hotel in Memphis.

Don’t see a duck? Time to see your eye doctor.

Since I stole the cards in the above photo from a shelf in my bedroom, I then “had” to redecorate the shelf. (I’m sick, I know.) Thankfully, this was easy, since a fellow writing friend of mine recently sent me a couple post cards (thanks, friend!). I just needed to find a way to stand them up, since they don’t stand up on their own. Finally I thought of it–binder clips, turned upside down. The perfect thing!

Now I’m ready for a break. For real this time. I’ve already showered, and all my projects, except this blog, are completed for the day. If there’s a lesson for today, it’s that once you get going on something, it’s easy to keep going. This applies to cleaning antique hardware, decorating your home, writing, and even paying your bills. It also applies to creativity. That is, while working at Todd and Bonnie’s this week, I had to get into “creative problem solving” mode. How can I clean this brass? How can I fix this lock? Well, ask your mind to do something, and it will. What’s more, it will often go above and beyond simply because it’s in the mood. And we can fix this, and we can fix this. What’s the skeleton key for unlocking your mind’s creativity or getting it into problem solving mode? How do you get your mind in the mood? Curiosity. Wonder. I wonder if there’s a way to–I wonder what would happen if. In other words, you have to gently ask, and then your mind will go to work.

Ask (nicely) and it is given.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The more honest you are about what's actually happening inside of you, the happier you are.

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