On Tick Bites, Emotions, and Self-Acceptance (Blog #817)

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This morning my dad said he had an area on his back that had been “itching for weeks” but that he couldn’t see. You know that spot in between your shoulder blades. Well, sure enough, he had what I initially thought was a mole that was red and inflamed. Pissed off, really. Dad said, “I’ve been scratching it with the back scratcher.” Alas, this story doesn’t end here. As I took a closer look at Dad’s mole, I discovered it was a tick. An honest-to-god, bloodsucking dog tick. And, y’all it was still alive. I can’t tell you how grossed out I was. (I’ll spare you the picture I took.) I thought, These things wouldn’t happen if you had your own apartment, Marcus. Still, I rubbed the tick with an alcohol swab, and it backed out. Then I flushed it down the toilet.

Following The Great Back Tick Incident of 2019, I rushed around today from one thing to another. First I taught a dance lesson. Then I saw my therapist. Then I saw my physical therapist. Then I saw my massage therapist, then my chiropractor. I know, I know, all this help, and I STILL have problems. What can I say? It’s hard out here for a pimp. Anyway, finally, this evening, I attended my friend Marla’s short story writing class. And whereas I stayed up late last night and TRIED to write the middle of the story I started last week, I didn’t get very far, just a hundred words.

When I confessed my “sin” of not having written more this last week, Marla said, “That’s okay, you got a hundred words. A hundred words is something.” And whereas my inner perfectionist disagrees and thinks a hundred words isn’t “enough,” I know she’s right. A couple months ago I completed what was supposed to be a 1,000 piece puzzle only to find out that a single, solitary piece was missing. Talk about wanting to pull my hair out. Still, the point remains, every piece of a puzzle is important. Likewise, every word, sentence, and paragraph in a story is important. For one thing, you never know where something will lead, what something is connected to.

This is what I keep telling myself as I’m working on my short story, that it’s just as important to get all the pieces laid out on the table as it is to put them all together. Indeed, when writing, you’ve got to find out what you’re working with. This means sitting down consistently and shaking your conscious and subconscious minds out onto the page. THEN you can begin to arrange, THEN you can begin to make sense of things. Marla says writing is “so healing” because, in effect, you get to use your characters to work through all your issues. I agree. Even though I haven’t written a lot of fiction, this project has taught me that if you want good writing, you’ve got to let everything inside you bubble up.

Lately I’ve been having dreams in which either I or someone else has been 1) yelling or 2) behaving like a slut. Always in these dreams there’s another person, or me, doing just the opposite–speaking calmly or being a perfect gentleman. My therapist says the meaning of the dreams is obvious. Good Boy Marcus and Bad Boy Marcus are “trying to figure things out.” This is what you have to face whenever you write or otherwise decide to work on yourself–that, in the words of Uncle Walt (Whitman), you contain multitudes. For me this means that although I’m almost always a “real nice guy,” I have the potential to be (and sometimes am) a real prick. (“What’s wrong with being an asshole?” my therapist says.) Though I’m usually a finicky prude, I have the potential to be a real whore.

As one book I read about one’s shadow said, the back is as big as the front.

Honestly, I don’t like this setup. I’d much rather think of myself as all this and none of that. However, having spent years believing that parts of me were bad and needed to be ignored, silenced, flushed out, or otherwise done away with and having tried unsuccessfully to eradicate these parts of my personality, I’ve finally come around to a rather novel concept–total self-acceptance. This means all of the Marcuses are welcome here–Marcus the Nice Guy, Marcus the Asshole, Marcus the Prude, Marcus the Slut (as long as he’s not stupid). Now, does this mean that I’m going to go to any of these extremes? No. (Don’t worry, Mom.) But it does mean that every part of me is going to be heard before any final decision is made about pressing matters.

There’s an idea in the world of healing that your body only creates pain or discomfort when it believes there is something wrong. For example, my dad’s back itched because his skin had a tick attached to it. So the itching was actually a good thing. It was a signal that something needed attention. This is what I’m truly coming to believe about our emotions–that every single one of them is there to help us. They show up to say, Houston, we have a problem. Or, if it’s anger that shows up, Houston, we have a fucking problem! Of course, at times our emotions can be explosive. In my experience this happens when I shove them down. Oh no, I’m not angry. Alas, ignored emotions, like ignored ticks, only grow bigger. So the sooner you listen to (every part of) yourself, the better.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our struggles unearth our strengths.

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On One’s Shadow and Being Whole Again (Blog #802)

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This afternoon I started reading a book by psychologist Sheldon Kopp called Mirror, Mask, and Shadow: The Risks and Rewards of Self-Acceptance. The idea behind it is one I’ve been attracted to for a while now–that certain parts of ourselves get asked to sit in the corner or are disowned altogether early in our lives and do us more harm than good when we continue to ignore them. These are the parts of ourselves we’re ashamed of, embarrassed by, or–worse–refuse to acknowledge whatsoever. Examples include suppressed rage, anger, assertiveness, and sexual fantasies (like, homosexual desires, kinky stuff, or anything society would disapprove of like–um–thinking about, talking about, or having sex). These are parts of ourselves that–when repressed–cause us to think or act “out of character,” that can really twist our positive self-image if we happen to have one.

What I mean by twisting our positive self-image is that many of us like to think of ourselves as good people. Christians, even. We like to think we’re kind, loving, and patient. But then someone cuts us off in traffic or otherwise pushes our buttons, and the worst comes flying out. As one internet meme says, “If you think hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, you’ve obviously never seen a gay man slightly inconvenienced.” In other words, there are times when we can all really cut someone else off at the knees. Personally, I know that my inner critic has really been barking lately. This evening I went to a bookstore, and it was hurling silent insults at not only the employees but also at the authors of most the books I picked up. What do they think they know?! it said.

My point in sharing this personal example is that if I were married to the idea of being a “good” person (which I’m not, although perhaps I’m engaged to it) and were also married to the idea of being as honest with myself as possible (which I am), I’d have a problem, since, at least internally, I can be a real asshole. On a daily if not weekly basis part of me gets frustrated or irate with almost everything and everyone–my life situation, my parents, my dance students, my friends. Sometimes the pot boils over. For the most part, I’m okay with this. Not that I want that upset part of me to take over–I don’t–but I wouldn’t be doing myself any favors by trying to shove it down, ignore what it has to say, or calling it (or myself) “bad” for existing.

This is my therapist’s approach when it comes to any and every thought in my head. Over the last five years, I’ve dumped everything on her, everything I’ve ever been hesitant to admit–sometimes I want to rip people’s heads off, sometimes I want to fuck people’s heads off. Of course, in therapy, I get specific about my fantasies. And whereas I don’t intend to do that here (you’re welcome), I’m touching on the subject to say that my therapist has never, not once, batted an eye. In fact, she’s encouraged even what I’ve considered to be my grossest, most perverted imaginations–not for me to ACT on them, mind you, but to think about them. As I understand it, this approach allows one’s shadow to be acknowledged and integrated rather than suppressed. Suppression, apparently, is the problem. That’s what causes you to suddenly blow your top or–God forbid–hurt yourself or someone else. That’s what causes you to do something you later regret and think, I have no idea where THAT came from.

Well, it came from your shadow. From the parts of yourself you’ve kept in the dark all these years. From the parts you’ve shoved down.

Kopp says our shadow parts are primitive and awkward, but not wholly bad. “You have learned to consider them evil, or at least sinister,” he says. “They are, instead, merely the rest of you. Together, you and your shadow make a complete self. Though your shadow may contain some destructive potential, it also embodies lost vitality, highly personal creative possibilities, and everything you always wanted to know about yourself but were afraid to ask.”

Later he says that if we don’t consciously own our shadow, we’ll inevitably project it. “You may unconsciously select other people to act out aspects of your own hidden self, or even encourage others to behave in ways that serve you as an alter ego. If it meets the other person’s needs, he or she may at the same time be using you as a reciprocal shadow. How many couples live Laurel and Hardy lives, each a caricature of the other’s disowned self?” This idea fascinates me. I’m aware of relationships–couples, friends–in which one person is WAY outspoken and other other WAY shy. Or one person is totally stoic and the other totally emotional. It’s like both people know on some level that a balance is needed, and so, unable to find that balance within themselves, they find it without.

I’m quite sure I’ve done this. For example, for the longest time, and even now (obviously), I talk a lot about my therapist. My therapist says this, my therapist says that. Often when I share stories about her, it’s about some wildly assertive thing she’s said. Told someone to fuck off or go to hell or whatever. Well, my talking about her isn’t about my idolizing her or being enmeshed with her, but rather about that assertive part of me that I long ago pushed down wanting to come back up. That is, just as we project the worst parts of ourselves onto our villains, we project the very best parts of ourselves onto our heroes. The important thing, of course, is to recognize that we’re projecting–the evil or the good that we see “out there” isn’t really out there at all. It’s in here.

In other words, the thing you hate or love in another isn’t about them–it’s about you.

I’m not saying that if you spot something base and immoral–or even sublime–in the world that it exists in you in equal proportion. But I am saying that the very worst and the very best exist in you as possibilities or potentials. As others have pointed out, each of us could be a Hitler. Each of us could be a Mother Teresa. For me, growth has come through acknowledging the opposite potentials within me. For years, decades, I tried to banish parts of myself or simply deny them. Oh no, I’m not angry. I’m not horny as hell. Now I’m more interested in the truth. What do I think and feel, regardless of what someone or some book says I should? Give me the truth. Give me every part of myself. Make me whole again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Allowing someone else to put you down or discourage your dreams is, quite frankly, anything but self-care.

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Where Your Treasure Lies (Blog #782)

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For the last two hours I’ve been procrastinating writing today’s blog. I’ve been busy, of course, doing the dishes, letting the dog in and out (make up your mind, honey!), cleaning up my hard drive (it’s too full for me to install an update), surfing Amazon for books (like I need another one). Sometimes I get so overwhelmed with this one simple task–sit down and write. Not because it’s THAT difficult to sit down and write, but because, honestly, I’ve built up a lot of mental aversion to sitting down and writing every day, every damn day. Like, it’s exhausting, and I’m kind of over it.

As I’ve said before, this is my choice. Nobody is holding a gun to my head and making me write this blog. Also, I don’t intend to quit, at least for a while. I’m committed to this process. (Before it’s over I may be committed to an institution.) All that being said, this blog is about my being honest, and I think it’s important to–occasionally–authentically acknowledge how much this project wears me out. I mean, it gives a lot, but it takes a lot. In this sense, I suppose it balances itself out.

This morning I saw my therapist, and we talked about what you and I are talking about now–procrastination, this project, and balance. In terms of procrastination (which my therapist insists “smart people” do), I said that I have several other projects I’d like to tackle, maybe before but at the very least when this one is over. “But,” I said, “it’s like I have this familial issue with essential tremors, and there’s a book about different ways to treat it that’s been on my reading list for over a year. The truth is I don’t want to read it because, what if it doesn’t do any good? As long as I DON’T read it, I can at least tell myself things could get better, and it’s the same with my other projects. As long as I HAVEN’T started them, I can tell myself that’s why I’m not currently succeeding.”

“So it’s fear,” my therapist said.

“UH, YEAH IT’S FEAR,” I said.

My therapist said that, really, we’re just as afraid of succeeding as we are failing. “Stepping into your power is terrifying,” she said. I agree. Just the thought of living a bigger, better life is enough to make me go running for the hills. Because it’s The Unknown, The Unfamiliar, THE UNCOMFORTABLE. I mean, let’s get real, I’ve already experienced the bottom of the barrel. For me, this is The Known, The Familiar, The Comfortable. I’ve already experienced being embarrassed by my station in life. Ugh. My therapist says embarrassment is one of the most difficult emotions to sit with. “But if you can do it,” she said, “you’ll eventually experience confidence–because life balances itself out.”

Recently I mentioned the principle of polarity, the idea that for every hot there’s also a cold. For every up, a down. This is what my therapist was referring to when she juxtaposed embarrassment with confidence. In other words, they are two ends of the same stick. As I understand it, this means that both emotions reside within each of us as potential lived realities, so even if you’ve been hanging out on the embarrassment side of the emotional see-saw, it’s possible to scoot your way over to the confidence side. It’s possible to pick up the other end of the stick.

The same stick you’re already holding, by the way.

Taking a thought or an emotion that’s a source of pain and turning it into a source of strength is what an alchemist would call mental transmutation or turning lead into gold. Joseph Campbell said it this way–“Where you stumble, there lies your treasure. The very cave you are afraid to enter turns out to be the source of what you are looking for. The damned thing in the cave, that was so dreaded, has become the center.” To me this means that ultimately those thoughts, emotions, and situations in my life that have been so difficult for me to experience, truly, have the most to offer me. They’re like–I don’t know–blessings in disguise.

No. That’s not right. Blessings are gifts that come to us uninvited, and I’m talking about something different. Turning lead into gold requires work, The Hard Work. There’s a concept in mythology that if you slay a dragon, you receive its power. If we look at dragons as our shadows, or those parts of ourselves we haven’t fully integrated and transformed (for example, fear or embarrassment), another way to say this would be that if we can tame our dragons, they will work FOR us and not AGAINST us. Imagine how your world would change if the emotional power that used to weigh you down were now lifting you up.

Imagine that.

But back to The Hard Work. Taming dragons isn’t easy. (If it were easy, everyone would do it.) Not because the work itself is that difficult, but because it’s painful (which makes it difficult). It’s painful to experience fear, and it’s painful to experience the death of your illusions. Said another way, it’s painful to experience the death of your identity. What I mean is that I’m embarrassed, I’m weak, and I’m afraid are all ways of labeling ourselves. And whereas they’re not the sexiest of labels, they’re still labels we hold on to. If you don’t believe me, the next time one of your friends says they’re fat or ugly, TRY to disagree with them. They won’t believe you. If they believed you, really, they’d have to change. This would mean going from The Known to The Unknown, scooting from the “I’m ugly” side of the see-saw to the “I’m beautiful” side. Yes, it’s not just that we fear to enter our caves, it’s that we also fear to walk out of them transformed–beautiful, confident, and radiant.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If life can create a problem, it can also provide an answer.

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On Being in Control (Blog #778)

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It’s five in the evening. Just a bit ago I taught a dance lesson to a couple who are preparing for their wedding. Now I’m reclining outside where I’m house sitting, soaking up the sun. The dog I’m taking care of, who really is adorable, is across the yard, chewing on a giant stick. Just before I came outside, she was barking, barking, barking to come inside and–after I let her in–barking, barking, barking to go outside. Two nights ago my friend Megan couldn’t decide what she wanted to eat at Subway.

Decisions are hard.

Today’s dance lesson was number four for the couple, and we talked about and worked on transitions. Their basic moves are coming along fine–it’s usually not a big deal for couples to learn the basics–but their transitions need work. When going from one move to another, they slow down. They get off beat. (I know, I said get off.) I’m the same way when I learn something new–awkward. If my left leg is used to going forward, but now I need it to go back, that requires effort. Until it doesn’t, of course. That’s the point–at some point, your transitions become quick and seamless. You think, Step back, and your body simply does it without lallygagging or putting up a fuss.

My friend Shauna says that the difference between a professional dance and an amateur dancer is that the professional dancer is able to control all parts of their body simultaneously. Conversely, an amateur dancer can only command so much of their physical body at once. For example, the guy I worked with today could take a step back on his own, but when he danced with his fiance AND tried to take a step back AND send his arms slightly forward at the same time, his step back became exaggerated. As a result, his butt shot back, his head dipped forward, and his posture went from being upright (and correct) to slouched (and weird). I wouldn’t expect it to be any different. Beginners can usually only control one thing at a time.

If that much.

Earlier today I read an affirmation/meditation by Stephan Hoeller that I can’t get off my mind. It said, “If it is the will of my Father to strike down everything I have built in my life, may He do so and do it swiftly. I shall be free of attachment to anything or anyone.” Wow. Talk about a tall order. I shall be free of attachment to anything or anyone. I can’t even begin to list the things and people I’m attached to, the circumstances I THINK or BELIEVE should turn out a certain way. I want THIS to happen. I want THAT to happen. This is normal, I imagine, but the problem with attachments is that they’re directly tied to our experience of peace. For instance, earlier when the dog was barking, barking, barking, I ever-so-briefly got irritated. Make up your mind, honey! Not because the dog was doing anything other than being a dog, but because I was ATTACHED to a certain thought–The dog shouldn’t be barking–that was in direct opposition to reality.

This is an extremely small example–I could go on about being attached to people, relationships, or physical objects–but the point remains. Whenever I want one thing to happen and something else does, I sacrifice my inner peace. If just for a moment when the dog was going nuts, I was thrown off My Center. I went nuts. (The joke in my family is that “it’s a short trip.”) Byron Katie says if the dog’s barking and I think it shouldn’t, “I’m insane.” Not permanently, but in that moment. Why is it insane to think the dog shouldn’t bark? Because IT IS barking. And dogs bark. Just like cats meow (and throw up on your floor), the wind blows (and tornadoes tear your house apart), and bodies get sick (and die). This is reality. These things happen on planet earth.

As I understand it, just like you can practice dancing to the point that you can control all parts of your body at once, you can also work with your mind in such a way to control it too. That is, we think that thoughts are these things that just pop into our heads and we can’t do anything about them. And whereas that’s somewhat true, it’s also true that simply because a thought pops into your head–The dog shouldn’t be barking–that doesn’t mean you have to get carried away by it. This is one of the ideas behind meditation, that you can train your mind to focus on whatever you want it to and that–after enough practice–it will without lallygagging or putting up a fuss. Then if an old resentment comes knocking at your door you can say, “Sorry, not today,” and your mind will think about–I don’t know–chocolate cake. Something that makes you happy. Something that doesn’t steal your peace.

This is the hardest thing you’ll ever learn to do. I certainly don’t have it down. At the same time, I’m working on it. More and more, I think, What’s my peace worth? Am I really willing to let–you name it–a barking dog, a boy, a disappointment, a sinus infection, or my financial status move me off My Center? This, of course, means working on controlling my mind and not letting it be swept away by every damn thing. It means commanding my spirit, saying, “Hey, come back here.” This is The Hard Work. It’s what Jesus was so good at. The guards came to take him away, and Peter got “taken away” by his anger. He cut off a dude’s ear! But not Jesus. He wouldn’t let himself “be moved.” His peace was more important to him than that. Even when they hung him on a cross, he refused to let the outer world change his inner one. This is why he said, “Father, forgive them.” Not to convince God, but to convince himself, to convince his spirit to stay Centered rather than think thoughts like, I shouldn’t be hanging on a cross, or hate others, or chase resentments. Sorry, not today. Talk about a man free of attachment to anything or anyone, even his own life. (Talk about a man free.) Talk about being in control.

They didn’t call him Master for nothing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.

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On Mother’s Day and Feeling Scared (Blog #773)

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Today, for Mother’s Day, my mom and I continued our tradition that we’ve had for the last several years. We went to see a play, then to dinner. This year the play was The Legend of Georgia McBride, a fun, lively, and hilarious (but also touching) show about drag queens. Well, about an Elvis impersonator/bartender who gets roped into being a drag queen (and ends up liking it) when one of the drag queens at the bar where he works doesn’t show up. Anyway, it was fabulous. There were sequins, wigs, and even a Judy Garland impersonation. My mom said, “I learned so much!” Personally, I just think it’s great that she’d attend such a show. A lot of parents (a lot of people) wouldn’t do that.

After the show, we went to Starbucks, which also part of our tradition. (The above picture was taken there.) This gave us time to chat about the show and catch up with each other. I don’t know, it’s weird when you live with a person (your parent). You’d think you’d talk to them all the time, but you don’t necessarily. And yet today Mom and I had such lovely conversation. This reminds me that it’s important to be purposeful with the people in your life. If you live with them, maybe get each other out of the house once in a while.

For dinner, we did the usual, Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. (By usual, I mean once a year on Mother’s Day.) Ugh, talk about good food. I had the ribeye, and Mom had the filet. And whereas we normally sit at a table, this year we sat in a booth–a high back. This made our two-hour dinner even better, since it afforded us just that much more comfort and privacy. And here’s the cool part. When I made the reservation online a couple weeks ago and they asked if I had any special requests, I just asked for it–a booth if you have it. And whereas I forgot about the request, they remembered. Today when they walked us to our table and took us to the booth section, I thought, HOW COOL!

Sometimes getting what you want is that simple. You just have to ask.

After dinner, I drove Mom home, and now I’m at a friend’s house, house sitting. Their dog is curled up next to me and was just making high-pitched noises in its sleep. I guess it’s having having a good (or bad) dream. Maybe chasing a rabbit. Anyway, I wish I were asleep too. Last night I went out to eat with a friend then to the symphony, and it feels like this weekend has been go, go, go. All the activity has been wonderful, of course, but I’m ready to slow down, ready to rest. I wish I could hit Publish.

But here’s something.

Today as Mom and I were leaving the show (so before Starbucks and Ruth’s Chris), Mom fell. She was stepping up on a sidewalk, and I guess her ankle rolled on the curb. I was right there, and it just happened so fast. The next thing I knew, she was lying face down on the concrete, her glasses, bent, lying on the ground beside her. Thankfully, she was okay. Well, she probably twisted or sprained her ankle, and she scrapped her hand and part of her face. I’m sure she’ll be bruised in a day or two. But she said she was more scared than anything else.

Ugh. Fear. I felt that too. It’s terrifying to watch someone you care about stumble and fall and not be able to do anything about it. As soon as it happened, I remember thinking, I don’t know what to do. I actually moved her purse from the street to the curb because it was SOMETHING I felt like I could do competently while Mom was re-orienting herself. Three people came over–a couple and an older woman. Y’all, they were so kind. Also, nobody knows what to say. I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you for checking on us.” It’s like all of us were kind of in shock, like, We can’t believe this thing happened. And we all wanted it to be okay. But it HAD happened, and although it was okay, it wasn’t.

As the evening went on, Mom’s ankle swelled more, and walking was harder for her. When I left her at home earlier, Dad had put an ice pack on her leg. So healing has started.

It’s weird the way your brain keeps playing pictures in your mind. What I mean is that although I know my mom is okay, that’s she going to be okay, and that she’s at home right now, I keep seeing her on that sidewalk. The whole thing reminded me of once when I was a teenager and Mom fell in our kitchen. I could be wrong about this, but I believe it had something to do with a medication she was on (or wasn’t on). All I remember is that one minute she was making Cream of Wheat, and the next minute she and the Cream of Wheat were on the floor. Just like that. (Gravity is fast.)

In that instance, Mom ended up spending a few days in the hospital. Honestly, I don’t remember how it transpired. Dad was in prison, so someone probably called a relative to help. Either before or after she got settled in, I probably cleaned up the Cream of Wheat, just like I moved the purse today. Because it was all I could do.

Fuck feelings.

What I mean is that feeling your feelings is difficult. Like today when Mom fell, I kept wanting her to be okay. Not just for her, but for me. Because it hurts to see my mom hurting, and it’s scary to think that things could have been worse or that this could happen again. You know, as long as gravity is a thing. And whereas Mom was OKAY, the fact is that she limped the rest of the day. The fact is the side of her temple was bleeding. There’s a scratch there now. Having watched Mom fall more than once, having seen her in the hospital, these things unsettle me. And it’s like, if she’s OKAY, I don’t have to feel scared.

But the truth is we all feel scared. Feeling scared is part of the human experience, and there’s nothing that can keep us from it. (Although whiskey and chocolate help.) Personally, I’m at a point in my journey where I’d rather acknowledge and feel my fear than ignore it or shove it down. Now, granted, I’ve been putting it off. Writing about it tonight, I saved it for the last thing. (This is called burying the lead.) Still, I’ve been saying that I’ve been trying to keep my heart open to WHATEVER arises, so I’m trying to keep my heart open to this. To feeling scared and being uncertain of what to do. Not because it’s fun but because I’ve shoved my feelings down enough to know that they don’t go anywhere–they just come up later.

So crap. Sooner or later, you have to meet yourself.

A lot of teachers say that when feeling your feelings, it’s important not to “run your story.” To me this means that when I’m scared I do my best to not tell myself, This is so awful. What if it happens again? Rather, I try to experience what being scared is like physically. My heart is beating. I can’t sit still. I have a lump in my throat. This is hard, hard, hard to do, but always brings me out of my fear-based fantasies and into the present moment. For example, after Mom fell today and she sat up on the sidewalk, I noticed that the fall was OVER and that there were kind, smiling people there to help us. This was my experience when I hurt my leg several months ago. Not that the situation was pleasant, but that it wasn’t as terrible as I’d made it out to be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some days, most days, are a mixed bag. We cry, we laugh, we quit, we start again. That's life. In the process, we find out we're stronger than we thought we were, and perhaps this is healing.

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I’d Rather Feel Good (Blog #771)

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The internet (my hot spot) is slow. It just took me thirty minutes to get online, download tonight’s photos, log in to the blog, and get started. And whereas I’ve been tempted to get “oh hell no” frustrated–I’m tired and ready to go to bed–I’ve been forcing myself to remain calm (everybody remain calm). Wayne Dyer used to say, “I want to feel good.” (He doesn’t say that now because he’s dead.) But that’s been my reminder tonight–that I’d rather be patient and feel good than get all worked up and feel bad. Because, let’s face it, getting worked up is a choice. It’s not something you HAVE to do. If it IS something you HAVE to do (if your circumstances dictate your mood), then I’m just going to suggest you’re not as free as you might like to think you are. Likewise, if getting worked up ISN’T something you HAVE to do, then why would you do it?

Hum. Today, like yesterday, was fabulous. This afternoon I went to the gym with my dad and aunt and spent the rest of the day with my nose in a book. Well, until this evening, when I went to my friend Kim’s for dinner. Her family was there, and they grilled out. We had shish-kabobs. Talk about delicious. Then we just sat around and visited. Nothing too deep, nothing life-changing, but delightful. This is something I need more of–good conversation and laughter. At one point Kim mentioned a self-help something for me to to check out, and I said, “I’m up in that stuff CONSTANTLY–don’t make me!” Of course, the truth is I LOVE that stuff. Can’t get enough of it. But I also need a break now and then from all the navel gazing.

Seriously, I’ve got a crick in my neck.

Speaking of navel gazing, this afternoon I got (in the mail) a printed copy of Year Two of Me and My Therapist (this blog). I ordered it online a couple weeks ago from a company in California, and it finally arrived–spiral bound and everything. Oh my gosh, y’all, I felt (and feel) like a proud parent. 600 (300 double sided) pages of my writing, my life. Flipping through it, it doesn’t seem possible. But as I’ve said a hundred times before, anything is possible if you just keep showing up.

I’ve said my goal for this blog is at least a thousand days in a row, and recently I realized that, in light of this, each individual blog equals 10 percent of 10 percent of 10 percent of the whole. That is, 0.1 percent. That’s what tonight’s blog contributes to the grand scheme. And whereas part of me thinks, Geez, that’s nothing, another part of me knows that’s everything. Ten days of 0.1 percent, and that’s 1 whole percent. Ten sets of ten days (100 days), and that’s 10 percent. I won’t keep doing the math (which I’m not entirely sure I have right anyway), but you get the point. Little things add up.

This is something I keep reminding myself. I’ve got in my head to read several books in the near future, and also start some other writing projects. Both tasks intimidate me. Not because I haven’t tackled such things before, but I still worry about getting everything done and done well. So I have to keep telling myself that those projects are really no different than this project. They’re just a matter of showing up and working consistently. A hour here, an hour there. Every day, every damn day, if I feel like being a hard ass about it.

I probably shouldn’t be a hard ass about it.

Because, you know, balance.

Balance is becoming more and more important to me. Not just in terms of my work/social life, but in terms of my mental/emotional life. For example, earlier I was talking about being tempted to get worked up about my slow internet. Before this happened, I was rocking along just fine. I was even-keeled. Had I chosen to get frustrated, it would have thrown off the balance I already had going, and then I would have had to find it again. So rather than go down that road, I just stayed on the one I was already on. The more peaceful road. The everything-is-fine road. The I’d-rather-feel-good road.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

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On Being Less Petrified (Blog #769)

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When I was a teenager, shortly before my dad was arrested and sent to prison, my dad, my sister, and I were in a car accident. (I’ve mentioned this before, here.) It was awful. My sister was driving our Honda Accord (she was just learning), Dad was sitting in the seat next to her, and I was in the back, behind Dad. We’d just left one of Dee-Anne’s friend’s houses and were getting ready to pull out (left) onto Rogers Avenue, the main drag in Fort Smith. I remember Dad telling Dee-Anne to GO NOW. And I don’t know, I guess she waited a moment and then went. It all happened so fast. The next thing I knew someone had broadsided my sister’s side of the car, we’d flipped two-and-a-half times, and we’d landed wrong-side up on the avenue. In terms of physics, it’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever be on the receiving end of.

I remember yelling, “Shit!”

When everything came to a halt, I was hanging upside down, absolutely terrified the car was going to catch on fire or blow up. I mean, that’s what happens on television. So there I was scrambling, trying to get out of my seatbelt, desperate to get the backdoor open. And whereas I got my seatbelt off, the door was stuck. I was petrified. Finally, I thought to UNLOCK the door, THEN try to open it. This worked.

From this point on, the memories come in pieces. First, we all made it to the side of the road. A hot boy (my sister says) took off his shirt so she could wrap her bleeding arm in it. By the time the ambulance came, my body was too stiff to walk. Someone had to help me in. I remember sitting in the back and seeing the man (boy) who hit us on a stretcher, his neck braced so it couldn’t move. Why do they let children see these things? Later, at the hospital, I remember being wheeled down the hallway and being left in a room alone. Looking back, I was confused and terrified, but all I could think about at the time was how bad it hurt to stand up when they asked me to pee in a jar.

Thankfully, all three of us came away that night basically unscathed. My dad and I were bruised–the next day it took me thirty minutes to work my way out of my bed, ten feet down the hall to the bathroom, and back–and my sister (I think) had a few stitches.

When I blogged about this incident before, I talked about how I’ve always thought the on-and-off problems I have with my right hip started with that accident. Ugh. Think of a car going–I don’t know–45 to 60 miles an hour then broadsiding you so hard that you literally roll down the road like a Slinky. BA-BUM-BA-BUM-BUM. I mean, all that force has to go somewhere, like into your body. For me, that’s what it’s felt like. Like my entire structure was permanently change that night in the blink of an eye.

Shit!

Recently I blogged about Judith Blackstone’s book Trauma and the Unbound Body. The (very) basic idea is that our bodies will often constrict or tense up in response to stress or trauma. A car accident, for example. This is a protective mechanism and happens in an instant. Your psoas shortens, your head and shoulders cave inward, and your body curls into a ball, thus keeping your vital organs safe. Ideally, after the trauma is over, your body unfurls and resets itself. However, if it hasn’t gotten the message that the threat is over, it can stay stuck in “tensed up” positions, which are held in place by connective tissue called fascia. And here’s what’s really fascinating (I think)–our fascia apparently not only holds our bodies “in place,” whatever that place may be, but also holds any unprocessed or “unfelt” emotions associated with our lives/traumas.

I think lives/traumas should be a new entry in the dictionary. Because–true.

So get this. Last night, at two in the morning, I sat down to meditate and go through Blackstone’s “release” process. This involves, after first “centering yourself,” focusing on a area of tension in your body. Because my right shoulder/neck has been spasming for the last two days, I picked that area. Now, I did this exercise recently and had several memories from both my childhood and adult years arise–times I would have tensed up or frozen. However, I didn’t have any emotional responses. But last night while focusing on my shoulder, images of that car accident began to come up, and it was like, rather than just THINKING about the event like I have a hundred times since it happened, I was actually FEELING it.

This process took a while, but during it I realized (for the first time in the twenty-four years since the car accident happened), how unsettling it was to hear my dad yell GO NOW to my sister. I don’t know that I’ve ever mentioned it here, but I HATE yelling. I hate doing it, and I hate having it done to me. (Like, please don’t even raise your voice.) Recently I was thinking about confronting someone, and my therapist asked, “What are you afraid of?” and I said, “I’m afraid they’re going to yell at me.” She said, “Have they ever yelled at you before?”

“No,” I said.

Still, it’s this thing with me. And what I realized last night is my deal with yelling goes back to that car accident. While meditating on my shoulder, I could hear my dad’s voice, and I actually said, out loud, “Stop yelling.” And then I remembered being broadsided and it was like I could hear my fourteen-year-old self telling me what he logically concluded that evening–Terrible things happen when you yell.

This is the point at which I started sobbing uncontrollably.

This went on for a while. Even after I calmed down, my body continued to react. For example, my shoulder tensed, then released. My torso contorted like I imagine it did that night. First (in slow motion) it caved in to the left, then snapped back to the right, which is where I feel like it’s been stuck ever since. It was like my body was saying, “This is what happened to us. This is what we went through.” Finally I remembered several specific times it would have been handy to yell or at least raise my voice but when I couldn’t, and this gave me compassion for myself. Because I finally understood WHY.

Terrible things happen when you yell.

I’d like to be clear that although my dad was (and is) far from a perfect dad, I’m sure he wasn’t YELLING at my sister that night. Obviously, a lot of things got exaggerated for me in the backseat of that car. My point in telling this story isn’t to highlight THE TRUTH of what happened, but rather to highlight my mental and emotional PERCEPTION of what happened. Because as far as I can tell, perception is everything. That is, if you’re terrified of something, it doesn’t matter if it’s logical or rational, you are (and your body is) going to respond as if it were gospel.

Just ask your tight shoulders.

My other point in telling this story is that, more and more, I truly believe every significant (stressful, traumatic, climatic) event in our lives is not simply a piece of mental data, but also a fully embodied and emotional experience. What I mean is that I’ve THOUGHT about that car accident more times than I can count. But last night was the first time that I FELT what occurred. It was the first time I didn’t try to tell my body what happened, but rather let my body tell me what happened. And this is the body’s wisdom, that it remembers EVERYTHING, and that it’s willing to hold on to our experiences and emotions until we are ready to acknowledge, listen to, and feel them. Until we’re finally willing to say, Sweetheart, I’m here for us.

I’m beginning to trust this mind-body mystery more and more. Not just as a concept, but as a lived fact. I don’t care if anyone else understands, or if anyone else thinks it’s weird. What I know is that for months (years) my shoulders and neck have bothered me, and today they’re noticeably better. Not perfect by any means (healing longstanding trauma rarely happens in a flash), but better. My arms, which often go numb, and my hands, which often get cold, feel like they’re getting more blood. My chest feels like it has more room in it for breathing, or hell, even yelling. (I can see this, feel this, now–terrible things don’t HAVE to happen when you yell.) It’s like I’m less–what’s the word?–petrified. Freer than I was before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

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In Solitude (Blog #767)

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Earlier today I read that the spiritual life is, necessarily, a lonely one. For one thing, if you’re truly walking YOUR path, no one else is on it. Not that it doesn’t cross now and then with the paths of others, or even converge with theirs for a while, but the point remains. PERSONAL growth is not a GROUP endeavor. For another thing, when you explore your interior and choose daily (or at least weekly) to sit in and work through your thoughts and emotions, obviously nobody can crawl inside you and help you out with that. (If they could, that’d be weird.) Not that a good friend or therapist can’t witness parts of your journey, but they certainly can’t do The Hard Work for you. At the end of the day, you’re left with yourself–alone and sometimes lonely.

This is not the worst thing in the world, although there are days when it feels like it. Often, like today, I wish I had a partner or someone who could help pay the bills or shore me up whenever I feel emotionally spent. But even if I had such a person, they still couldn’t “work out my salvation” for me. I keep saying this, but this is only a job I can do for myself, only a job you can do for yourself. This (I think) is implied in Jesus’s admonition to “enter in by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and many are those who enter in by it.” That is, entering in by the narrow gate isn’t something you do with others, although following the crowd is always easier. No, it’s something you do in solitude.

Today itself was lovely. The particular details don’t matter to this conversation, but I exercised, saw some friends, and saw some family. And whereas one of my friends said, “What’s new in your life?” I didn’t have much of an answer. “Uh, my knee rehab is coming along,” I said. Because it’s awkward when someone asks you in casual conversation how you are to dive deep and say that what’s new in your life is your interior, the way you relate to yourself, the divine, and others. You can’t pull out your phone and show someone a picture of your emotional guts the way you would if you’d been to Disneyland. (If you could, that’d be weird.) Plus, inner transformation isn’t something most people talk or get excited about. And yet, you know, dear reader, that personal insights and points of growth are exciting–at least for the person who experiences them.

I know they’re exciting for me, and I’d like to talk about them more.

Maybe this sounds like an odd thing to say, considering I basically spill my insides all over the internet (or at least this website) every day, every damn day. But the truth is there are a lot of things I DON’T talk about here, either because they’re too personal or it wouldn’t be appropriate to do so. Plus, there’s an idea in spiritual circles regarding silence. Indeed, many spiritual initiates take a vow of silence. Like, keep your mouth shut, junior. I don’t know fully why. Because most people aren’t interested. Because when you talk about the deepest parts of yourself the way you gossip about celebrities, it cheapens that which is truly beyond value. Because The Path is profoundly personal and isn’t meant to be advertised–it’s meant to be walked.

It’s meant to be walked alone.

So now we’re back to loneliness.

Three of the four gospels say that Simon of Cyrene carried Jesus’s cross for him. Only John says Jesus carried it himself. And whereas I’m not here to debate the apparent contradiction in the gospels or even the veracity of the story itself, I personally think John got it right. Because when Jesus was in the garden praying, he was alone. Even his closest disciples couldn’t hang with him–they fell asleep. Because he faced the devil in the desert alone. Because he walked on water alone. Why wouldn’t he carry his cross alone? That cross had his name on it. It was HIS cross to carry. Think of the thing in your life that was absolute hell to go through but that absolutely changed the direction of your life (for better or for worse). Could anyone else have even tried to carry that cross for you? (No.) This, I believe, is one of the symbolic meanings of the cross. Our burdens (our challenges), if we are willing to bear them, to surrender ourselves to them and even crucify ourselves upon them, can ultimately transform us.

Only you are with you your entire life. You might as well get to know yourself.

I realize all of may not be encouraging. Sign up for The Hard Work–it’s tough, excruciating even, often lonely, and you won’t really have anyone to talk to about it. Still, it’s as honest as I know how to be. And despite the fact that I’m highlighting an inevitable challenge of personal growth–loneliness and solitude–I highly recommend The Path. Because ultimately you’re alone anyway. That is, only you are with you your entire life. Only you can think your thoughts and feel your emotions. Maybe you can try to share them with others (like I am now), but they are yours first and foremost, and sharing them doesn’t change the fact that it’s your job (or mine) to deal with them. Nobody else could even if they wanted to. (They don’t, by the way, they’ve got their own to deal with.) Yes, you might as well get to know yourself–difficult feelings and all–because, at the end of the of the day, you’re it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Pressure, it seems, is necessary to positive internal change. After all, lumps of coal don't shine on their own.

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On Emotions and Pain (Blog #751)

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Currently I’m out-of-town, sitting outside at a restaurant, waiting for a dance to start at 7:30. It’s 6:00 now. I plan on driving home after the dance, and because that will be late, I’m blogging now, before the sun has gone down. I’d like to start doing this more often, blogging when I’m coherent and not exhausted and, therefore, irritable, upset, and distracted. We’ll see how it goes. I have a lot of practice blogging during the wee morning hours, and there’s certainly something to be said for writing a blog about your emotions when you’re, well, emotional.

I’ve been emotional all day. One minute I’ve been sad. Lonely. The next I’ve been laughing out loud, totally content to have the day to myself. Recently I adopted the motto “all parts are welcome,” so I guess I can’t complain when different parts (or thoughts or emotions) show up. That is, far be it from me to host a party and not attend to my guests. Not that it’s fun or comfortable to feel upset or grief, but these are the ingredients of our lives, and–in my experience–if you dampen one emotion, you dampen them all. Want to feel less joy? Shove down your sadness. It’s that simple.

I don’t like this fact any more than you do.

I spent this afternoon looking at books. I didn’t buy any (believe it or not), but I went to three stores. Before that I had brunch (pancakes and eggs) and read a book. Well, half of one–Explain Pain by David S. Butler and G. Lorimer Moseley. Honestly, it’s one of the most fascinating things I’ve read lately and explains a complex topic–pain–simply. I’m not to the “what to do about it” part yet, but the book proposes that whereas, yes, sometimes pain is due to nerve damage, structural or joint problems, or damaged tissue, this is just as often (if not more so) not the case. That is, there are plenty of instances in which there’s structural deterioration or injured tissue without pain. For example, when I tore my ACL, I didn’t feel a thing. Granted, I had some adrenaline flowing, but my knee didn’t hurt even after my adrenaline calmed down. Even though I’d severed an entire ligament.

The book says we don’t have pain centers or, um, pain buttons in our bodies. Also, just because you cut your finger, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll experience pain. Indeed, once my neighbor threw a hammer over our fence, and despite the fact that it hit my head, I didn’t start crying until I saw blood several seconds later. According to the book, this is because the meaning we ascribe things has a huge influence over what our bodies feel. Just as importantly, the meaning our brains ascribe things is what ultimately determines whether or not we feel pain. This is because–apparently–our bodies send signals to the brain when “something” is wrong. A cut finger, for example. Then the brain interprets that information and decides how to respond. To be clear, it has a lot of choices. It could cause you run away; it could cause you to cry. But if the brain thinks that the most appropriate choice is for you to feel pain, then that’s what you’ll feel.

In other words, to quote the book–no brain, no pain.

The book says that the basic rule of pain is that if your brain perceives a threat–if it thinks that you’re in danger, Will Robinson–you’ll feel pain. Said another way, if you feel pain, it’s because your brain thinks you’re in danger. This goes against a lot of historic wisdom, of course, but it makes sense to me. Again, because of what I experienced with my knee. Also because of people who experience pain or sensations in limbs they’ve had cut off or were never born with. Clearly in those situations the brain (and spinal cord and nervous system) are involved in the creation of physical sensation and/or pain.

I can’t wait to learn more.

This might be a stretch, but I think this “pain being related to feeling threatened” thing could be applied to our emotions. For example, this morning while getting ready at my hotel, I was dialoguing with myself about why I’ve historically felt the need to bend over backwards for certain people in my life even when my efforts were clearly fruitless. Suddenly I had a vision of an applicable memory from my childhood, and a voice in my head said, “Because if we don’t, they won’t love us.” Then I started crying. More and more, the release of tears is my signal that I’ve hit on something deep-down true. For example, when I read that pain is often felt because we feel threatened or “not safe,” I also cried.

Ugh. So much of my life I’ve felt “not safe.” Not that I feel ever-moment terrified, but I can never quite relax. It’s like my muscles are always tight, more tense than they need to be, ready to fight or flee. I can only breathe so deep. Granted, this has gotten a lot better. It IS GETTING a lot better. More and more, there’s a lot of relief in understanding that even when it’s emotional or in pain, my body is trying to help, trying to send me a message. Sweetheart, something is wrong. We need you to take another look at this. Something isn’t working for us. So if for no other reason than the fact that my strategies thus far haven’t been working for me either, I’m now making all the more gentle effort to turn my ear inward and simply listen, to finally hear and connect with my inner wisdom.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We don’t get to boss life around.

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Hopscotch (Blog #747)

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Today’s things–

1. I hopped

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

You know, against an eight-year-old.

2. I cried

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

3. I got irritated

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

4. I got un-irritated

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

5. I helped pick out colors

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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