Ora et Labora (Blog #777)

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Currently it’s 8:30, and I’m excited about the idea of getting the blog done earlier than normal and having the rest of the evening to myself. Of course, writing this blog is a very “myself” activity. It’s like a letter written by me to me (that anyone else with an internet connection can read). But it’s also a job. Granted, a job I don’t get paid for in dollars, but a job nonetheless. On some level, it’s a job I “have” to do. Because I’ve chosen to and am committed to sticking to that decision. All this equals the fact that there’s a certain amount of build-up or pressure every day (every damn day) to get this thing done, as well as a certain amount of relief every day (every damn day) when it’s over.

Until the next day, of course.

In the beginning of this project, I worried about what I would say. I’d agonize over it throughout the day and fret about it when sitting down to the keyboard. Some days (or nights, rather), I’d mentally scratch my head for hours before typing the first word. Then I’d erase it, thinking it wasn’t the right one. And whereas when I sat down tonight I felt a tinge of “I don’t have anything to say,” I’ve come to trust The Process. I know if I start with the basic facts–the truth–the rest will follow. This is why so many nights I begin with what time it is. Sure, it gives you, the reader, a context. This is where we are. But it’s not like it’s that interesting. No. It’s simply a primer, a warm up, a way for me to get started. There are nights I go back and delete my entire first paragraph. Because once I get to the end, I realize the warm-up isn’t important. Just as often, I leave it in.

It does, after all, contribute to my total word count.

I’ve said before that when I sit down to write, I rarely know at the onset if the day’s (or night’s) particular blog is going to be “good.” I mean, I think they’re all good but I certainly think some are better than others. Even when I think a blog is blah, there’s always SOMETHING I like it about–a certain phrase, a joke. So even though the reward of the “best” blogs are enough to keep me coming back every day (every damn day), the reward of these little nuggets (as one friend recently called them) motivates me even more. They’re like pulling a rabbit out of a hat or materializing a coin out of thin air. That is, I often sit down with no idea of what to say, and an idea simply appears.

Voila!

In her famous Ted Talk about creativity, writer Elizabeth Gilbert says that as creatives we can’t MAKE something wonderful or magical appear. That, she says, is basically up to the gods, up to wherever ideas come from. Our job, she continues, is simply to show up. To put our butts in chairs and tell the universe, I’m listening. Talk to me.

You know, if you want to.

Earlier today I read about the Latin phrase ora et labora, which means “pray and work.” The text I was reading said that some schools of religion credit salvation to “all grace.” Others credit salvation to “all work.” Rather than putting things completely on God’s back or completely on your own, the concept of ora et labora distributes the weight. “Pray” is asking God to do his part. “Work” is doing yours. As James says, “Faith without works is dead,” and (by implication), “Works without faith is dead.”

Ora et labora is a religious or spiritual concept, but I think it easily applies to creativity or any serious endeavor one chooses to tackle. It’s the idea, I think, Elizabeth Gilbert was driving at but said in a different way. That is, in any project one undertakes in their personal, creative, or spiritual life, there are certain things they can’t control, certain things that are left up to The Unknown. This is God’s Part. If you focused solely on this side of the equation, it’s possible you’d simply “pray” and never take any action whatsoever. Before my dad started going to the gym, he used to say, “Why bother? I’m still going to die.” The other side of the equation, of course, is that certain things ARE in your control. These are The Known things like going to the gym to take care of your body or putting your butt in a chair to write or create something. This is Your Part. This is “work,” and they don’t call it work for nothing.

Every day (every damn day).

This is where grace meets effort.

I’m not saying you (or even I) have to putt your butt in a chair seven days a week in order for inspiration to occur. Inspiration, that’s what the book I read this afternoon called the marriage of God’s Part and Your Part, the marriage of ora et labora. I really like this idea (and it’s been my experience), that I’m not working alone here, that it’s not completely up to ME to make inspiration happen. Sure, I’ve got a job to do and I’m gonna SHOW UP (my butt is currently in a chair) and do it. But I can’t FORCE a good idea to magically appear anymore than I can force the sun to rise. It either will or it won’t. Still, speaking from experience, if you sleep in, you can’t SEE the sun rise. Likewise, I don’t think you can see a good idea if you’re not in the habit of putting your butt in a chair and sorting through a million bad ones. It takes a habit, a discipline, to know when the gods are talking to you. This is where prayer meets work–where grace meets effort–where you don’t get all of the credit, but you do get some of it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Growth and getting far in life have nothing to do with where you’re physically standing.

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One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus (Blog #743)

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This afternoon I worked on a puzzle that my sister and I started back in December. Alas, we didn’t get very far. We basically finished the border, the easy part. For months the puzzle has sat on our spare coffee table (that’s right, we have two coffee tables, suckahs!), and for months I’ve felt guilty about it. Another unfinished project. I guess it wasn’t time. But then today while I was listening to a podcast, it was. For over an hour I combed through hundreds of pieces and actually made some progress. Slowly but surely, a shape emerged.

Recently I heard a comedian–I can’t remember who–make fun of puzzles. He basically said, “They’re not that hard. They’re not even surprising. You’ve got a lid that SHOWS YOU how it’s supposed to turn out.” I thought about this today as I worked on my above-mentioned puzzle and periodically checked the lid to see where a piece went. No surprises here.

Earlier today I re-read more old blogs. Whenever I do this, I read ten at a time. I’m up to number 90 now. Part of me feels as if this project (both the blogging itself and the re-reading) is taking FOR-EV-ER, but obviously a lot can get done one day at a time, one (or ten) blogs at a time. This evening I went to the gym and spent thirty minutes on the elliptical, a machine I tolerate. And whereas it wasn’t “fun,” I made the time pass more quickly by thinking Just one more minute thirty times. My point–it helps to break things up into smaller pieces. You can seriously overwhelm yourself if you look at the big picture.

For over twenty years my dad and I have had this running joke about the song One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus (that’s all I’m asking from you). It started when Dad was in prison. I guess he and his friends used to sing it on Sundays. You can see how a tune like that could resonate with inmates–or anyone going through a tough time. Like, I’m not asking you to help me get through this entire damn year, Lord, just today.

Of course, if you get through today every day for a year, you’ve gotten through a year. (God, Marcus, you really are profound sometimes.) But seriously, we complicate things. Once, when I asked my friend Chelsea how to dance fast Lindy Hop, she said, “Dance Lindy Hop faster.” No shit–I paid for that advice. Later, I realized how correct it was. If you have solid technique, you can dance at any speed. If you don’t have solid technique, you’ll notice problems at high speeds, but the truth is you’re doing something wrong at slower speeds too. Bad technique is bad technique. Anyway, my point is that the answers we’re looking for are simple. Maybe not easy, but simple. How do you blog every day for a year? You blog every day for a year. How do you put together a thousand-piece puzzle?

One piece at a time.

One difference between a puzzle and a creative project, however, is the lid. That is, with any creative project–writing or dancing, for example–you often don’t know where you’re going or have a picture of the end product. When I started dancing twenty years ago, no one showed me a video of what I’d personally look like if I put in 10,000 hours. Likewise, when I started this blog two years ago, I may have had the goal to write every day, but I didn’t know what the actual results would be or how it would change me. I didn’t have a lid. I still don’t. And yet, slowly but surely, a shape has emerged.

I think it’s safe to say that nobody knows where they are going (except to bed, maybe). Nobody has the lid for their life. This means anything can happen. Surprise! When I started therapy, I had no idea of how I’d change. I simply felt compelled to explore the path. Five years later, here I am, still exploring, still surprised by the results. Joseph Campbell said, “Not all who hesitate are lost. The psyche had many secrets in reserve. And these are not disclosed unless required.” I love this quote. To me it means that when you’re working on a creative project or even yourself, you really have no idea what’s possible. We tell ourselves, I can’t do that or That could never happen, but the truth is that we don’t know until we try, until we keep showing up one day at a time, Sweet Jesus.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

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On Nothing Happening Today (Blog #717)

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This evening my dad and I went to the gym then stopped to pick up supper–sub sandwiches. When we got home, I asked my mom, “What did we miss?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Nothing?” I replied. “NOTHING happened while we were gone?”

This is a game we play sometimes, me and my family. Obviously, SOMETHING happened. Something came on the television, the dog barked, the toilet flushed. Maybe nothing remarkable happened, but something happened. I’m sure of it. Something, after all, is always happening. Still, when I sat down to blog I thought, I don’t know what to say. NOTHING happened today.

This afternoon my dad, in his own words, got “a burr up his butt” and did some yard work. That is, he saw our neighbor trimming their bushes and thought he should too. So he trimmed our crepe myrtle, which needed it; it was beginning to look like something out of The Addams Family, overgrown and full of horror. Then Dad said, “Maybe in the next day or two we can bundle up the branches and haul them off.”

“Let’s just do it right now,” I said. (I don’t know what came over me.)

So that’s what we did. Well, you know how one thing leads to another. The next thing I knew we were on the side of the house (the crepe myrtle is in the front) pulling up privet and dead hydrangea bushes, which I thought looked like Medusa’s head. Then our other neighbor, who works for the city, came over and said if we’d pile everything up by the side of the road, he’d haul it off.

“You won’t pick it up right here?” Dad said.

Y’all, we filled three fifty-five gallon trash bags full of yard debris. Plus, there were the crepe myrtle remains, which I’d tied together with rope. No kidding, I did so much manual labor, I actually broke a sweat. (I’m sure Dad did too.) And whereas that may sound like a complaint, it’s not. For one thing, because of my knee injury, I haven’t been able to break a sweat in months. But today I did! (I’m not saying I smelled great.) For another, the sun was hot enough FOR me to break a sweat. Spring is literally days away. Praise Peter, Paul, and Mary.

Bye, winter! Don’t let the equinox hit cha where the good lord split cha.

Two weeks from yesterday will mark two full years of daily blogging. That will be 730 posts (tonight’s is #717). Recently I’ve been going back and re-reading all my entries. I’m currently at #38. And whereas I’m often critical of my work, I haven’t been. Sure, there are things I’d do differently now, but I’ve actually been enjoying what I created–the funny moments, the tender moments, the honest moments. Indeed, I thought one of my least favorite posts was #19, but when I re-read it, I found plenty to enjoy and be proud of. Was it my best work? No, but what I did in our front yard today wasn’t my best work either, but it was still worthwhile, still an improvement over doing NOTHING.

This is something I’ve learned over the last two years. Often I’ll think, I have NOTHING to say, but if I take time to sit down and write, SOMETHING good will happen, SOMETHING good will come out, even if it’s one simple phrase, one clever joke. Plus, there’s the discipline itself, the act of practicing. And even if you’re not in love with your work, you never know what will speak to someone else. Hell, Emily Dickinson wanted her work destroyed. I can only assume she thought it wasn’t anything remarkable. But look at what the world got. Geez. Artists are such self-critical hard-asses.

Lately I’ve been reading about attention and the idea that we often hyper-focus on whatever we’re doing–raking leaves out of a flower garden, let’s say–but that we have the ability to tune into everything that’s going on around us. For example, this afternoon while working in the yard, I not only noticed what I was doing, but also noticed the sound of cars driving by, the feel of sweat on my skin, the sensation of my feet on the ground, and the smell of the moist dirt. My point, again, is that SOMETHING is always happening. And not that you have to recount every damn detail of your life whenever someone asks you what you did yesterday, but I think it’s important to remember–

So much is constantly happening that it would be impossible to recount.

My therapist says the important work we do is the work that nobody notices. For example, I’ve spent a lot of time these last five years working on my interior, cleaning up the past, connecting with my heart, and creating healthy boundaries. And whereas none of this has paid my bills or kept me warm at night, it has made me a better human. However, because I’m so focused on being productive–teaching dance, cleaning the yard, working out–that on days when I don’t do those things and instead stay home and watch Netflix, I too often say, “Nothing happened; I didn’t DO anything today.” But what about the fact that I was more patient with myself on Monday, more patient with a stranger on Tuesday?

Isn’t that something? Isn’t that remarkable?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

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On Getting What’s Inside, Out (Blog #691)

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It’s 9:20 in the evening, and I suddenly find myself frustrated. I took the above picture about an hour ago and tried using a photo editing app to caption it, “This is watermelon juice, but I wish it were a Bloody Mary,” but I couldn’t get it to work. Damn technology. Damn watermelon juice that’s not a Bloody Mary.

This afternoon I saw my massage therapist, and she said something I frequently say–“I hate winter.” And whereas I tried to be positive by pointing out we only have four more weeks until the first day of spring, I really am over all this dark, cold, and wet business. (I could feel differently about winter once allergy season kicks in.) My massage therapist said it seems like everyone is irritable this time of year. No kidding. Later I went to a coffee shop to read a book by their fireplace, and I nearly threw my man bag across the room at a kid who was witnessing to another kid about Jesus. Not that I have anything against Jesus. It’s just he was talking about him so loudly, it was difficult for me to concentrate.

Like, Do you have to shout? Even the baristas in the back know you’re a sinner.

Maybe it is the winter that’s making me irritable. Maybe it’s my recent knee surgery. Regardless, I’ve been stir crazy lately, just wanting to move. And whereas I can walk and even ride a stationary bike, I still can’t get out and jog, still can’t dance, still can’t break a sweat. I guess that’s it–I can’t do everything I normally do to blow off steam and work out my emotions. Sure, I’ve got this blog. I can say I’M PISSED in all capital letters, but it’s not the same as pounding the pavement, not the same as physically expressing all the little frustrations and irritations that build up day after day after day.

Last night I listened to a podcast with Rob Bell and his guest Nate Staniforth. Nate’s a magician, and last year I blogged about his glorious memoir, Here Is Real Magic. Anyway, in the podcast Nate said it took him four years to write his memoir, and one of the positive things about the project is that it gave him another outlet. That is, previously he’d been funneling the majority of his creativity and emotions into magic, and that’s limiting, just having one thing. That’s my point–we all need multiple ways to express ourselves. Lately I’ve been using my car horn when someone ticks me off in traffic or cuts in front of me. I’m such a people pleaser, I never would have done this in the past. But after five years of therapy, I’ve finally learned to communicate. Hey, watch where you’re going, asshole! And as one of my horn-honking friends says, “And then it’s over. Then I don’t carry that frustration into any other part of my day.”

Emotions don’t die until they’re acknowledged.

During a conversation about stuffing down and bottling up, another friend of mine recently said, “What’s inside eventually comes out.” Talk about the truth. Since starting therapy, I’ve had so many thoughts and feelings come up and out that I’d thought were long buried. As it turns out, emotions don’t die until they’re acknowledged. Once when I was talking to my therapist about something I was mad about, she kept saying, “Say more, tell me more, keep going,” until I started crying. Wiping my eyes, I said, “Jesus, did they teach you that technique in therapy school?” She said, “No, I’m just that good,” which made me laugh. Then later she explained, “We just needed to pop that pimple, and we weren’t quiiiite there yet.”

My therapist says that you can express your emotions in multiple ways. For example, if you’re angry with someone, you can honk your horn, have a confrontation, tell them to fuck off, go to the gym, or–hell–write a blog about the jerk. Personally, I think it’s good to have a go-to strategy and several backup plans. I also think that when we find ourselves overly irritated with the world around us, it’s our body’s way of letting us know that something is off. Maybe there’s a deeper issue involved. Maybe it’s time to rest. Maybe it’s time to start a creative project. That’s what I’ve been thinking lately. How else can I be creative? How else can I get what’s inside, out?

Until I come up with an answer, don’t cut me off in traffic.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Aren’t you perfect just the way you are?

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On Ritual and Good Results (Blog #690)

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All day I’ve had my nose stuck in a book–Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt. I rarely read fiction, but this is delightful. Plus, it’s not even fiction; it’s nonfiction, a true story of hospitality, weirdness, and murder in the town of Savannah. This afternoon I plowed through two hundred pages, half the book. I can’t wait to finish it. Alas, I have things to do, places to go, people to see.

Yeah right, Marcus.

Every day, at least lately, I make it a point to do three things–practice chi kung (a meditative/healing art), write this blog, and go to the gym or otherwise rehab my knee or work out my upper body. I don’t know, it’s like I can breathe a sigh of relief whenever I check those items off my to-do list. Not that those things in and of themselves keep the world spinning, but they do provide a certain amount of structure to my otherwise unstructured day/life, so they keep my world spinning. They’re grounding. Again, it’s not the specific acts, it’s the rituals around them.

Something about the idea of ritual, of at least repetition. In the acknowledgments of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, the author says it took him years to pen his tale. This struck me because what what took him years to write will probably end up taking me days to read. But for years, I’m assuming, this guy had to repeatedly, as one writer says, keep his butt in a chair and, well, write. And now, over twenty years after the book was first published, I’m able to enjoy it because he did, because he had a ritual.

Earlier tonight I received several messages on Facebook from someone wanting to know about Lindy Hop, and it made me want to dance again. Like really dance, more than the basics. Unfortunately, thanks to my knee, that’s not going to happen anytime soon. But again, it made me realize that part of the reason I love dancing is because I’ve invested so much of myself into it. I couldn’t even begin to count the hours I’ve spent learning, practicing, teaching. Is it big deal in the grand scheme of things to lay off several months in order to get back to what I love doing? Absolutely not. Is it necessary to be ritualistically dedicated in my efforts to get to where I want to be? Absolutely.

Good results come from ritual; they don’t just materialize.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this. I guess I’d like to be clear that having a ritual, although it provides stability, is often pretty damn boring. Think about brushing your teeth. Do you LOVE it? Probably not. But do you LOVE having clean, sparkling, cavity-free teeth? (I know I do.) Well, it’s the same with dancing, writing, or transforming your body. Learning the thing–dragging your ass to class or the gym, sitting down to write every day–isn’t fun. But there’s a sense of pride and accomplishment that comes after the fact, a payoff that’s greater than the sum of its parts. That’s what I’m trying to remind myself, because I have things I want to happen that won’t until I start the not-fun work, that good results come from ritual; they don’t just materialize. It’s just a matter of getting into a habit.

And no, not a nun’s habit.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Go easier on yourself.

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Get It Over With (Blog #681)

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This afternoon I went to Starbucks to work on a writing project I’ve been dreading tackling for weeks. Truth be told, I always dread writing. I make it out to be this big thing in my head. I probably won’t know what to say. It’s going to be awful, worse than drinking a bottle of cough syrup. With respect to today’s writing project, this monologue has been building momentum for days, and earlier today I almost convinced myself to procrastinate this thing until next week. After all, I do have an ingrown fingernail on my right pinky, and since it smarts every time I hit the enter key, I figured I had a legitimate medical reason for staying home and watching Netflix.

Alas, I ended up telling myself, Marcus, you’re never in the mood to write. No writer is ever in the mood to write until they start writing, and dragged my happy little ass and not-so-happy ingrown fingernail to Starbucks. Still, despite the fact that I was there, I stalled–ordered a drink, checked my Facebook, took forever organizing my papers, went to pee. Finally, after staring at a blank page and thinking real hard for fifteen minutes, I wrote my first paragraph. Then my second, then my third. Then I was on a roll, and just like that, two hours flew by. Two hours, that was my self-imposed time limit. Just work for two hours, Marcus. See what you can get done in two hours.

When two hours was up, I’d finished over half of my project. What’s more, I’d actually had fun. Not only had I gotten out of the house (and run into a friend), but I’d also created something I was proud of. There was all this buildup about it not turning out well, but at some point during the process I thought, Hell, Marcus, YOU ARE A WRITER.

After packing up my things at Starbucks, I came home for a snack then headed back out to the gym. They close early on the weekends, so that was part of the reason I limited myself to two hours of writing. Plus, I figured I didn’t have to burn through the entire project in one sitting. It’ll be there tomorrow. Anyway, I’m actually starting to enjoy the gym. I have spent quite a bit of time there “in my younger days” and have started to remember what it’s like to push yourself and see results. Today while working on my shoulders, I rolled up my sleeves because they’re starting to get a hint of definition (my shoulders, not my sleeves). Oh my god, how exciting, I thought, I have muscles!

GRRR.

While at the gym, I noticed a teenager in a knee brace. I wonder if he’s had surgery, I thought. Sure enough, there was a red scar on the front of his leg. I don’t know, maybe having knee surgery is like that deal when you buy a new car then suddenly notice EVERYONE ELSE has the same car you do, since I’m beginning to spot people of all ages who’ve apparently been through the same thing I have. Hell, last night I found out that my celebrity crush, Zac Efron, recently tore his ACL and had surgery. (He’s currently on crutches.) But really, is that bizarre or what? He even injured his left knee, just like I did.

When I told my mom about this fascinating coincidence, she said, “Well if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.” (Everyone’s a comedian.) “I know,” I said. “It’s meant to be.”

You can’t always trust your thoughts and feelings.

Now it’s nine in the evening, and I’m excited about finishing this blog and having the rest of the night to myself. Maybe I’ll read a book, maybe I’ll watch a movie. Either way, I’m really leaning into this idea of being able to make progress by spending an hour here, an hour there on something. For example, it’s been just over six weeks since my knee surgery, and I really am getting around better and growing stronger, and it’s all happened an hour at a time. Likewise, I made noticeable progress today with my writing project, and it was just a small slice of my day. Now I’ve got six hundred words that I didn’t have before. Also, I’m learning that you can’t always trust your thoughts and feelings. That is, if there’s something you’re dreading, guaranteed, you’re going to think and feel differently about it after having done it. So whether it’s a creative project, a trip to the gym or doctor’s office, or a hard conversation, just get it over with. You’ll be glad you did, I promise.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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Excitement and the Creative Process (Blog #677)

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Yesterday I blogged about how excitement comes at the beginning of a new endeavor, a diet, an exercise program, a writing project. My point was that, unfortunately, the excitement doesn’t last. Inevitably, boredom sets in. Maybe the results aren’t coming as quickly as you’d like. (Do they ever?) At that point, you have to make a choice. Am I going to stick with this thing or not? Do I mean business or don’t I? In terms of my experience with this blog, I know I’m rarely excited about sitting down and pounding out five hundred or a thousand words on the daily. Thankfully, the excitement I initially felt when starting this project has–somewhere along the way–been transformed into something better, something akin to fondness and belief. That is, I’m fond of this project, fond enough to show up here day after day. Likewise, I believe in this project, and that belief, I think, is ultimately what’s required to sustain any longterm endeavor, be it a blog, a healthy lifestyle, or a relationship.

More on this shortly.

Last night my dad, who’s overweight and notorious for saying, “I’ll start that diet or exercise program next week,” actually went to the gym with me. No shit, walked in the front door of Planet Fitness, put his hands on his hips and hollered, “IS THIS THE JUDGMENT FREE ZONE?” Oh my god, y’all, I NEVER talk to anyone at the gym, and Dad waltzes right in there and starts making friends. The next thing I knew, he’d signed up and was getting a tour. When I signed up, I said, “I’ll show myself around, thanks.” Anyway, it really was fabulous having him there, even though we worked on different machines. In a room full of strangers (or rather, people you refuse to introduce yourself to), it’s good to know someone. It’s good to know someone’s in your corner.

Now it’s 9:15 in the evening. Fifteen minutes ago Dad asked if we were going back to the gym today, so I’m trying to type fast so we can. Personally, I don’t mind going at midnight, but Dad prefers to go earlier. And since I got up this morning at 7:30 for an appointment with my massage therapist and chiropractor, I don’t mind saying it would be nice to workout before I mentally turn into a pumpkin.

This afternoon I washed my car, Tom Collins, for the first time since I injured my knee two months ago. It’s weird the things you take for granted when your legs work, like being able to vacuum your backseat or scrub your tires with a cleaning brush. Anyway, it really felt super, giving Tom a good once-over. Plus, the sun was shining, and that really puts a smile on my face. Ugh, the sky has been so gloomy lately. I keep telling myself, Spring is coming. Just wait, spring is coming.

This evening I went to a local bookstore, Bookish, to hear my friend, writing instructor, and local author Anita Paddock speak. Anita recently wrote not one–but two–true crime novels about murders that took place right here in Van Buren around 1980 (the year I was born). Well, she’s in the process of finalizing her third true crime novel about four people who were also murdered here in Crawford County around 1980, and tonight Anita gave a group of us a verbal outline of the story and read an expert from her book, which should come out this summer.

Y’all, I can’t tell you what a shot in the arm it was to see Anita tonight. Not only is she a wonderful presenter and storyteller, but it’s always inspiring to see someone you know succeed and be supported by their community. Dreams come true. People are in your corner. Plus, going to a bookstore is my version of going to church, and I got both inspired and excited about a few writing projects that I’ve been putting off for, well, a long damn while now. Not that I haven’t been thinking about them, but I tend to put a lot of pressure on myself. I think, This has got to be good, and then I never sit down to start because I’m too afraid. What if it’s not good? In short, I “dig in” and “get serious” about potential projects–two things that are good to do, but not right away–before allowing myself to be excited about them first. The result, sadly, is I end up squashing my dreams before they have a chance to take hold.

You need excitement to jumpstart you.

Since I was inspired and excited tonight, I immediately took action. First I called a friend of mine about an idea I had. Then I went to another bookstore (that was still open) to get more ideas. Y’all, this was so much fun for me, just thinking about possibilities. This is the great thing about excitement–it thinks everything is possible. For a creative, this is absolutely necessary. You need excitement to jumpstart you, to carry you into the hard work, which–no doubt–will come. And hopefully by that point you’ve grown so fond of your project, that you won’t turn back. Hopefully by that point you’ll believe so much in what you’re doing–and, more importantly in yourself–that you’ll keep showing up regardless of mood, regardless of whether the sky is gloomy or the sun shines bright.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes you have to go back before you can go forward.

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On Doing Difficult Things (Blog #659)

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It’s 11:30 at night. An hour and a half ago I sat down to blog but have been procrastinating ever since by cleaning out my email inbox and searching online for alternative health solutions. I really don’t know what to talk about today. Once this afternoon and once this evening I practiced knitting, and I’d rather be doing that. Or reading a book. Or watching Netflix. (The fifth season of Grace and Frankie just came out.) Really, I’d rather be doing anything else but writing. Oh look–there’s a jar of peanut butter.

Eating peanut butter sounds like a good thing to do.

Last night after blogging, I went to the gym. I really like going late at night; there’s hardly anyone there. That being said, because my gym’s not open late on the weekends, today I went this afternoon. And whereas there were some hot bodies to look at (well, one in particular), it was definitely more crowded and less fun. Hell, I thought I was gonna have to fight an old lady for the last available exercise bicycle. Thankfully, she was apparently eyeing another piece of equipment. But still, I usually have all five bikes to myself, and today I felt crowded. I guess conspicuous is a better word. In my opinion, my rehab exercises look weird. You know how you assume everyone’s staring at you constantly, even though they’re not.

The truth–nobody gives a shit what you’re doing.

When I got home from the gym, I took a nap. Because my achy leg wakes me up constantly during the night, nap time is the best part of my day. It’s fabulous. Also, this lack of solid sleep thing is a drag, a serious drag. Even now, despite the nap, I’m finding it difficult to concentrate or string two thoughts together. My mind and body are just done. Go back to sleep, they’re saying. Maybe this is why Netflix or knitting sound appealing. Neither requires much mental power.

Hum. That’s something. I just said knitting doesn’t require much mental power, which means it’s getting easier. (I just learned a few days ago.) That’s good. Likewise, doing my rehab exercises and going to the gym are getting easier. They’re becoming part of my routine. Not necessarily a fun part, mind you, but a part nonetheless.

Where am I going with this?

I said earlier that I didn’t want to write tonight. Still, here I am writing, so clearly a part of me does want to write tonight. Sometimes people say I’m disciplined–I write every day, I do my rehab exercises consistently, whatever. And whereas I agree that I’m disciplined in these areas, since I know there are areas in my life in which I’m not disciplined, I usually just think of myself as being “sold on” these activities that I consistently do. That is, I really want to be a writer and am sold on the idea that writers write. I’m sold on the idea that if I do this every day for a certain period of time, I’ll learn something valuable. Along the same lines, despite the fact that I hate having injured my leg, I’m sold on the idea that if I do my rehab exercises, I’ll get better. One day I’ll run again; one day I’ll dance again. So I do the thing even when I don’t feel like it.

I guess that’s my point tonight. If it’s worth doing–if there’s some reward on the other side of doing it–you’re probably rarely going to feel like doing it. It’s not a warm, fuzzy message, I realize. It’s just the truth. There is a warm, fuzzy part, however. Once you do the thing, then the good feeling comes. For example, now that this blog is over, I’m glad I did it. I feel a sense of pride, of accomplishment that no one can take away. So that’s the deal–a part of you will never feel like doing the difficult thing–never. Whatever it is, it’s difficult for a reason. That is, it’s not fun. But a great part of you will always feel good after having done the difficult thing–always. The fun comes after the fact.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When we expect great things, we see great things.

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Wax On, Wax Off (Blog #657)

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This afternoon my friend Bonnie taught me how to knit. Well, started teaching me. It’s not exactly something you learn in an afternoon. But I did learn how to “cast on,” which is how you initially connect your yarn to your needle, as well how to knit a knit stitch. As I understand it, there are two basic stitches in knitting–knit stitches and purl stitches–so this means I’m like, halfway to being an expert already. But seriously, I’m not. Bonnie flies through the basic movements lickety-split, faster than a speeding bullet. Me? I’m slower than Christmas.

Bonnie says I’ll get the hang of it. At some point, I’ll figure out how to hold the needles with one hand and the yarn with the other, and doing all the things will become muscle memory. Until then, I’m having to think about everything, and I don’t mind saying it’s frustrating as hell. Like, I’ve been excited about learning, and all I wanted to do during my first lesson was cuss (and I did). But this is the deal when you learn something new–it’s hard work. That’s how it is with dancing, and–now I know–that’s how it is with knitting. If someone makes it look easy, it’s because they’ve spent hundreds of hours practicing.

Despite my feeling frustrated today, Bonnie said I did a good job. And even though I said a few cuss words, I actually had fun. First, I enjoy learning new things. Second, it was good to do something creative and work with my hands. Third, it got my mind off my recent knee surgery and all the things I currently can’t do, like run, dance, and hula-hoop. (Confession: I couldn’t hula-hoop before my accident either.) Lastly, it was exciting (and is exciting) to think about making a scarf, cap, or blanket during this extended period of down time. Maybe six months from now I can look back and say, “Yeah, knee surgery and rehab sucked, but look at this cool afghan I made.”

Bonnie says I’m not ready to make an afghan–yet. This last weekend when we were in Nashville and I asked about what I was going to knit first, she said, “First you’re going to knit a small square–think of it like a potholder for Tinker Bell if you want to–then you’re going to tear it apart. Then you’re going to knit it again, then you’re going to tear it apart again. And again and again until I say you’re ready to move on.” So I called her Mr. Miyagi (from The Karate Kid, Mom), since he made Daniel buff cars repeatedly in order to learn self-defense. Now that’s our joke–wax on, wax off.

This is obviously a new endeavor, but I already see a lot of parallels to dancing, writing, and even knee rehab-ing. Everyone wants to do the thing–knit the afghan, dance the cha-cha, write the novel, um, walk. But before you can do the thing, you have to learn to do the thing, and learning to do the thing is almost always mundane, repetitive, boring, and awkward. This means you not only have to be willing to be a newbie (that is, bad at something), you also have to be willing to be patient with yourself. So I’m trying to lean into this wisdom of wax on, wax off in knitting, knee-rehab, and in life, this wisdom of slow and steady wins the race.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your life is a mystery. But you can relax. It’s not your job to solve it.

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The Ones We Admire (Blog #618)

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I swear. This new blog editing software is driving me crazy. (My dad says it’s a short trip. Everyone’s a comedian.) But seriously. Yesterday I couldn’t find the spell checker, and now I’m typing NEXT to my daily selfie instead of UNDER it.

Technology is so hard. (Okay, I figured it out.)

Something else that’s hard is living life on one leg, which I’ve been doing for a solid week now, ever since I injured my left knee during a dance performance. No shit. Everything that I used to do so easily–like putting on my underwear, tying my shoes, and going to the bathroom–now requires a five-step plan. Earlier I hobbled into the kitchen to refill my cup of coffee and literally had to strategize about how to get it back to the living room, since I couldn’t exactly use my walker and hold onto my beverage at the same time. Well, I ended up scooting the drink on the counter beside me until I made it out of the kitchen, then stood between the counter and an end table and passed the cup from one hand to the other, then REEEEEA-CHED for the edge of the table. Thankfully, this worked.

The things we do for caffeine.

Earlier today I stumbled across an internet article about a guy who lost his left leg to cancer when he was nine and now creates funny Halloween costumes around the whole situation. I guess it all started as a joke several years ago when he decided to be a gingerbread man whose leg had been “bitten” off. Anyway, what a fabulous reminder that you can make the best of a bad situation. And obviously we humans can learn to adapt. This guy seems to get around fabulously and can even balance himself upside down on his crutches. (Don’t worry, Mom, I’m not going to try anything stupid.)

Despite this inspiration, I don’t mind saying that having a bum leg is a serious drag. (Get it–a serious DRAG?) Even before this accident, for weeks, I haven’t taught a single dance lesson and have been strapped for cash. Then today–out of the blue–a woman calls and says she’s interested in learning to jitterbug. Ever the optimist, I thought, Surely I could TALK her and her husband through learning at least the basics. But then–with actual enthusiasm–she said, “I don’t have a partner!” Normally this wouldn’t be a problem–I could dance with her–but in my current condition, there’s no way in hell. Geez. The universe can be a real bastard sometimes. Who dangles the proverbial carrot in front of someone while knowing full well there’s NO WAY they can even come close to taking a bite of it?

Talk about a twisted sense of humor.

Speaking of a twisted sense of humor, last night’s holiday variety show at the little theater went–uh–okay, at least with respect to our musical improv number. Personally, I think the night before went better. But these things happens. “What’s a place that puts you in the holiday spirit?” we always ask at the beginning of the show. Well get this shit. Last night some broad says, “Sea World!” The night before someone said, “Walmart.” (What the hell is wrong with people?) Anyway, last night we sang about Christmas at Sea World, and it was–um–challenging. That being said, one guy in our group (not me) absolutely saved us with his last verse about Orca Whales. (Phew.)

This is the deal with improv comedy. Sometimes you do something good (fabulous even), sometimes you do something mediocre, and sometimes you flop. I guess the important thing is to try, to put yourself out there. The guy in our group who saved us was literally flopping around on stage like a whale, and it was a smash. Later he said, “I’m just not afraid of being embarrassed.” No kidding, this is the secret to good comedy. Maybe to life. You gotta be willing to put yourself out there. In my second improv skit, my partner pretended to be a drunk woman at a holiday office party, and the next thing I knew he was diving through an invisible laminating machine. It was hilarious.

Maybe you would have had to have been there.

These, I think, are the ones we admire, the ones we stand in awe of from a distance, the ones who are willing to dare and live fully in the moment. Yesterday on the way home from the theater, I was thinking about how much grief I’ve given my body over the years, mostly for not looking like HIS. So much time I’ve spent being disappointed in a perfectly good body–a body that had two working legs!–legs that carried me anywhere I wanted to go, legs that danced, and legs that gave, and gave, and gave. Talk about not being on your own team. Anyway, now one of my legs is asking for a break (no pun intended), so I’m doing my best to finally listen to my body, give it time to heal, and appreciate it for what it is and what it CAN do. Hopefully, we’ll come through this situation less embarrassed, more willing to live each moment as fully as possible, together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes life can really kick you in the balls and make you drop to your knees.

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