On Freedom (Blog #826)

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Two years ago on July 1 I was in a car accident. It was the death of my Honda Civic Polly. And whereas it wasn’t the death of me, it certainly left it’s mark. (I was rear-ended in the worst way. That’s a sex joke, Mom.) For one thing, my neck continues to hurt. It feels permanently braced. I get a lot of headaches. And whereas I’m working on healing, it’s a process. A process, that’s what the entire accident ordeal was–a process of seeing doctors, talking to insurance agents, and buying a new car.

The new car part is why I’m blogging about all of this now, on July 4th, because it was precisely two years ago today when I first saw, met, and test drove my now car, Tom Collins, whom I love and adore greatly. I remember it like it was yesterday. I pulled up at the car lot on America’s birthday thinking I was about to test drive a different car (a Ford Focus–ick), but the lot owner said, “The SUV we talked about yesterday came in a day early.” Indeed, there on in the middle of the lot sat a Hyundai Sante Fe, doors open, sparkling clean, and blaring one of my favorite songs on the radio–Africa by Toto. Well, I hopped in to go for a spin, and the rest is history. Before I got three blocks away, I knew This is it. Later my dad said, “Marcus, bite the bullet. You won’t be satisfied with anything else.”

Boy was he right. Two years down the road (haha), Tom Collins and I couldn’t be happier. Well, he’d probably be happier if he had new brake pads, but I should be able to take care of that next week. And by “I” I mean my mechanic. But seriously, I enjoy Tom Collins now as much as ever. I absolutely adore his heated seats, power windows, sunroof, and tons of storage space. He’s continues to be simply perfect for me.

All of this to say that earlier today I was contemplating whether or not I was happy or grateful that I was in that car accident, since without it I wouldn’t have acquired Tom Collins, the car that’s taken me to San Francisco and back, to Colorado and back. The car that’s taken me to therapy for the last two years. I thought, Am I GLAD that guy slammed into my bumper and gave me a seemingly permanent crick in my neck? Hum. That’s a good question.

So here’s what I came up with. In addition to giving me Tom Collins, that accident provided me several opportunities. For one thing, it gave me a chance to face my scarcity and talking-about-money issues by dealing with the insurance company of the guy who hit me. (They were asshats, by the way, although very “nice” about it.) For another, it allowed me to accept help from my doctors and caregivers, as well as from my insurance company, who, oddly enough, started covering me the very day of the accident. So, even thought it might sounds like a weird thing to say, yeah, I’m glad I was in that car accident.

Not that I want to repeat it.

It’s weird how we’re often so reluctant to say we’re glad something “bad” happened. It’s like we think we’re inviting trouble, more of the same, if we see the positive side to a difficult situation, so we say things like “not that I want to repeat it” in order to clarify–Hey, Universe, no more car wrecks. I don’t approve of this sort of thing. All of this is superstition. Being grateful for difficult circumstances (or even difficult people) that bring out the best in you doesn’t make them right or wrong or pleasant or fun. It simply means that you rose to an occasion and are happy you were given an occasion to rise to. For me, it’s becoming less and less of a question of whether or not I’m GLAD for the shit things that happen in my life. Why? Because it doesn’t matter whether I’m glad about them or not. Either way, they happen. Except it DOES matter whether or not I’m glad–to me. That is, in this moment I can bitch and moan about that terrible day two years ago and enslave myself. Or I can be glad and set myself free. It’s that simple. I choose to be free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things are moving as they should.

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Here on Planet Earth (Blog #780)

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This afternoon I lay in the sun while listening to an audio program about one’s Inner Critic. Thirty minutes on each side won’t hurt, I thought. Now I look like a lobster. Heat is radiating from my skin. What did I think would happen? Whatever. Inevitably I burn once every spring/summer, so I might as well get it over with. I’ve got my aloe vera handy. Even though it’s never–not once–kept me from peeling. (And neither have essential oils!) Oh well. Like it’s the worst thing in the world to shed your skin.

I’m speaking literally and metaphorically.

Other than the sunburn, today has been fabulous, easy-going. I read, I stretched. I drank enough coffee to wake up Rip Van Winkle. I’ve been telling my parents for weeks that I’d install grip-bars in their bathroom, and I cut and stained a 2×4 so that after it dries I can attach one of the bars to it. This evening my dad and I went to the gym, then we mixed concrete and set a post in their backyard that we’ll use to brace their fence with once the concrete hardens. I’ve made both these projects out to be “huge things” in my mind, but they’re really not. Granted, it takes time because there are steps involved. (Things have to dry!) But the steps themselves aren’t difficult or complicated.

At the gym, I did knee rehab. During one exercise that involved my TRYING to lower myself down using only my left knee (the one I had surgery on), my leg shook so much that my entire body vibrated. And whereas I wondered if anyone else noticed, I didn’t care. This is where my body is at, and this is what it’s going to take for it to get better. There are steps involved. A process to follow.

A process that involves shaking, apparently.

More and more, I’m grateful for The Process. I know I’ve talked about it a lot over the last two years, this idea that real progress is made slowly, that this requires a wheelbarrow full of patience, and that this sucks. (It does.) But it’s really been on my mind today, I guess because lately I’ve been experiencing The Results. For example, even though my left leg still won’t fully support me while going down stairs, it’s noticeably stronger than it was a month ago. I can use it to run, to jump. Consequently, I feel freer. I’ve been stretching and doing some relaxation/meditation techniques and have been having fewer headaches. There’s still a lot of tension in my neck, it just doesn’t escalate to DEFCON One as often as it used to. Even better, I haven’t had a full-blown, I-don’t-know-what-I’m-going-to-do sinus infection in over a year.

Just as I’ve been experiencing more freedom in my physical body, I’ve also been experiencing more freedom in my mental/emotional one. I don’t have a specific example, I’ve just noticed that I’m happier, less irritable, less nervous, and less stressed. My bad moods pass quicker than they used to. My Inner Critic isn’t AS LOUD.

I have this teeny, tiny thing with wanting everything to be perfect, so I’d like to be clear–things aren’t perfect. Ugh. Perhaps they never will be (at least by my standards). Still, I’ve spent a lot of time on this blog being frustrated with things in my mental, emotional, and physical life that weren’t working and a lot of time searching for hope that these things would improve. And I just think it would be shitty if I never stopped and recognized that–phew–things have gotten better. So this is me saying, by grace and The Hard work, The Process is paying off.

This is me saying thank you.

Recently I heard Caroline Myss say that healing isn’t personal, that–chances are–even if you’re a miserable human being, the cut on your finger or whatever is wrong with your body is going to improve because, simply put, our bodies are programed to get better. The sun shines on the just and the unjust. This concept–healing isn’t personal–has been on my mind lately because I used to believe that everyone else could heal (or succeed or be at peace) but that I couldn’t. That I was somehow the exception to the rule. But having seen some fabulous results lately, I’m now telling myself that good things are just as likely to happen to me as they are to anyone else. Not because I’ve “earned” them (that would be personal), but because good things happen here on planet earth.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s hard to say where a kindness begins or ends.

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A Fabulous Day (Blog #776)

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What. A. Fabulous. Day. This morning I had coffee with my friend Mary Ann. I used to teach dance at her cotillion. Oh my gosh, I forgot how much she makes me laugh. For nearly two hours we caught up and cut up. At one point, Mary Ann told me her eyebrows sometimes shoot up when she’s reading my blog. (“I guess everyone says the f-word now,” she said.) Other times, her eyebrows scrunch together. “My eyebrows get quite the aerobic workout,” she said.

I mean, I’m all for a good workout.

This afternoon I lay in the hammock in the shade where I’m house sitting in Fort Smith and read in a couple different books. Then, for a while, I lay out in the sun and read. I know, skin cancer, but it felt amazing. I love the sun. (I hate winter.) Plus, Vitamin D.

I thought about reading all day, but I recently told my Dad I’d mow their lawn (it’s been time for a while now), so I figured today was as good as any. So that’s what I did–drove my little butt over to Van Buren and push-mowed their front and back yards. And whereas it wasn’t awful, it was definitely an effort. Still, the yard looks super-duper. Plus, I probably lost fifteen pounds. Yeah, right. If only it were that easy.

After mowing the lawn, I came back to Fort smith and ate dinner from a taco truck. Then I took a shower and met my friend Megan, who’s visiting from Israel, to hang out. Megan and I met, gosh, almost twenty years ago through swing dancing. She was one of my first partners. Anyway, since we go way back, even though we haven’t seen each other in a while, we just jumped right in.

More catching up. More cutting up.

At one point tonight Megan and I left her house to grab food for her and more food for me, and I insisted on going downtown to see a new mural that was just painted. Check out the picture below. (Please excuse the rude people who parked in front of the mural.) I think it’s super cool. Not just this mural, but all the murals Fort Smith has added over the last few years. That being said, they had to paint over one of the oldest murals in order to put up this new one. Why, I don’t know. Personally, I wish we could have BOTH, but 1) nobody asked me and 2) this isn’t the way life works. All good things must come to an end. The end of one thing is the beginning of another.

The circle of life.

Now it’s 1:13 in the morning, and my heart is full but my body is tired. I got a lot of sun today. That lawn mowing wore me out. My head hurts. My friend’s dog is already asleep beside my feet on the ottoman. Momentarily–not soon enough–I’ll drag myself to the bedroom, and she’ll follow and proceed to hog the lower half of the bed. Hopefully I’ll be too passed out to care. I know I’ll sleep well. I repeat. It’s been a fabulous day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is progressing as it should.

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On Constriction and My Inner Critic (Blog #746)

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Today there wasn’t a damn thing I had to do. Not an errand to run, not an appointment to keep. Tomorrow, on the other hand, is chock-full of to-do items. But not today. Nope, I slept in then did whatever the hell I wanted, whenever I wanted to do it. I don’t say this to brag–look at me, I don’t have a schedule–but rather in appreciation. Often I bemoan the lack of structure in my life–no regular job, no regular paycheck, woe is me. But today, as much as ever, I realized that I’m grateful for this period of my life. As I’ve said before (and talk about every day, every damn day), I’m learning a lot, growing a lot, healing a lot. This is both important and huge and wouldn’t be possible–I don’t imagine–if I were involved in the fast-paced rat race.

It seems learning, growing, and healing all require slowing down.

This afternoon I worked more on a puzzle I recently picked back up. I’d started it with my sister back in December. I can’t tell you how much fun I’m having, seeing the whole thing come together. Not that I’m anywhere near the end, but I can see progress. It too is slow-going, literally one piece at a time.

While working on the puzzle, I listened to a podcast/talk about trauma and healing by Judith Blackstone. It was just a teaser of her work and I’d like to check out more, but it was fascinating. According to her, one of the ways in which our bodies respond to trauma is by constricting. Constriction, she says, is often the only method through which we are able to either control a situation (or ourselves) or create a defense to a threat. For example, if you were told as a child to shut up, your body might constrict or tighten up somewhere around your throat. Or if you were spanked or abused, your body might constrict around your hips.

This last weekend I started reading a book about Internal Family Systems (IFS). I mentioned IFS two days ago, but the idea is that all of us have a sundry of “parts” that make up our thoughts and emotions. The example I used before was that I have parts that are critical. I also have parts that feel ashamed, vulnerable, and less than, and parts that feel proud, confident, and angry. The book I’m reading, by Richard C. Schwartz, points out that our parts are often in opposition to each other, that one part may not like another. This explains why one minute you can think it’s a good idea to eat chocolate cake, and the next minute you’re beating yourself up for actually eating it. Like, maybe your inner child said to eat it, then your parent (or inner critic) punished you for doing so.

Can’t we all just get along?

My therapist and I have discussed this idea in different terms. She says our mind is like a banquet with many guests. And whereas all guests are welcome, not every guest should get to sit at the table. Something I’ve said before is that my inner critic is welcome in the room, but he doesn’t get to run the show. Marcus at the Head of the Table gets to run the show. However, as I’ve been reviewing this way of looking at things the last few days, I’ve realized that although I’ve said (and thought) that all guests are welcome, I really don’t act like it. Rather, I ignore a lot of my “guests” and do my best to banish them against the wall or out of the room altogether. Like, shut up, you’re not important. But the book I’m reading says every part is important. And whereas they don’t have to run the show, they do want and need to be heard.

An exercise the book suggested was to pick a part, any part, and dialogue with it. Like, Hey, what’s your deal, inner critic? Why are you so critical? I’d really like to know. So that’s what I did this afternoon. I talked to my inner critic. I’ll spare you the details (they’re personal), but basically my inner critic said it felt like it HAD to be critical because my inner child was too trusting and had been hurt or taken advantage of in the past. And whereas this might sound like a bunch of bullshit, I ended up crying when my inner critic said, “It hurts to be this uptight all the time.” So I don’t think it’s bullshit. Plus, for the rest of the day I’ve felt better–less constricted–like, um, part of me loosened up.

Personally, I wish that all my parts would loosen up or let go all at once. BAM, we’re healed. Of course, this wouldn’t be healthy. Nobody (no body) constricts overnight, and nobody (no body) un-constricts overnight. Healing is a circuitous journey. It’s one piece at a time. And whereas I used to think I’d never heal, more and more I believe that I will. Not that “healed” is a destination you can arrive at. We’re always healing something. But I do think longstanding problems can be resolved or at least vastly improved. In my experience, this starts with accepting yourself. That is, it starts with accepting all parts of yourself, especially the parts you may find embarrassing or wrong. It starts with getting quiet and saying, Sweetheart, I’m here for you. Talk to me. I’m finally listening.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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I Can Do Hard Things (Blog #684)

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What to talk about?

After we discovered multiple leaks under our kitchen sink a couple days ago, yesterday my dad called a plumber, who came by late last night. Then he, or rather someone else he called, came by this morning and fixed everything. And not that it’s about me, but the plumber said my efforts to patch a particular copper pipe with putty (say that five times fast) could have worked had the line been drained and completely dry. “They claim that stuff works on a wet surface, but it doesn’t,” he said.

So much for truth in advertising!

It’s probably good my efforts didn’t work, since there were also two other leaks, one of which I knew about and one of which I didn’t. Anyway, all three leaks have been taken care of, and it didn’t break the bank. Phew. Now all that’s left to do is replace one piece of rotten wood underneath the sink and reattach a couple other pieces of wood under the cabinets. Perfect project for a rainy day.

And god knows there’s plenty of those in the forecast.

Several months ago I worked backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. And whereas it was exhausting, I absolutely loved it. Not only did I learn a lot and have a ton of fun, I met some darling people, several of whom I’m still in touch with. Anyway, let’s talk about magnets. While I was working backstage I wanted to buy a show magnet as a souvenir, since I have a show magnet collection, and I try to add to it whenever I see a Broadway play or musical. (Some shows don’t sell magnets. Harrumph. I’m talking at you, Cabaret.) Unfortunately, The Wizard of Oz didn’t have magnets to sell, since they were on backorder.

I wish I could tell you I didn’t lose sleep over this.

Okay, fast forward to recently, when I asked one of my friends who works backstage for the tour (Kelsey) if she would send me a magnet. “You bet,” she said. Well, I went to the mailbox today, and there it was! Plus, Kelsey surprised me with a Wizard of Oz Tour ball cap. Y’all, I can’t tell you how excited I was (and am) about this. The last few days I’ve been discouraged by life in general (too many rainy days), but this kind gesture picked me right up. Not only do I love, love, love getting to add to my magnet collection (which, other than books is my only collection), the magnet and hat have sent me over the moon because of my personal connection to the show. All day I’ve been thinking, Life ain’t so bad!

Thanks again, Kelsey!

I spent this afternoon at the library doing paperwork. I can’t tell you how badly I didn’t want to and how much I futzed around trying to put it off. But then I finally sat down and got started. Do one thing at a time, I told myself. Three hours later, I was 90 percent done. Now my goal is to do the rest tomorrow. Having come this far, the last 10 percent doesn’t scare me. Plus, as my friend Bonnie is constantly reminding me, I can do hard things. At this point, I’m actually looking forward to checking “paperwork” off my to-do list.

I’ve touched on this a number of times lately, but it occurs to me again that just getting started is a HUGE thing. This last weekend I was all worked up about a writing project, then Monday I was all worked up about getting patch tested at the dermatologist’s office, then today I was all worked up about the paperwork. But now the writing project is done, and the patch testing and the paperwork will be done tomorrow. I don’t know, as I was working today, I reviewed my calendar and was reminded that last year I took several big trips, helped some friends pack their two houses so they could move to Colorado, and successfully came through knee surgery. So what’s a little paperwork? I just think this is important to keep in mind, since we all have tasks we’re afraid of tackling. But again, it’s simply a matter of getting started, doing one thing at a time, and remembering, I can do hard things.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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On Every Brilliant Thing (Blog #679)

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This evening I met my friend CJ for dinner and a show in Fayetteville. It’s been forever since we’ve seen each other. Probably six months or more. We were talking about how slow time seems to pass when you’re looking forward to an event or waiting for something to happen. Like, it’ll be five more months before I can dance again (because of my recent knee injury and subsequent surgery), and that feels like ages. But when you look back–has it really been two months since I hurt myself, has it really been six months since we’ve seen each other?–gosh, time flies by.

I guess it’s just perspective.

After CJ and I ate, we walked around Dickson Street before the show started. I say walked around, but because it was butt-cold, something like twenty degrees, we more like scurried. Ugh, I hate winter. The snow was falling, the wind was blowing, my nipples were hard and everything. CJ said her boogers froze. Anyway, we ended up at one of my favorite used book stores. And whereas I had a fabulous time looking around (I adore a good book), I actually wasn’t tempted to buy anything. Go figure. Maybe I’m coming down with a fever.

The show we saw was at Theatre Squared and was called Every Brilliant Thing. It starred Liz Callaway, who–I learned tonight–played Grizabella in Cats on Broadway. (Swoon.) In tonight’s show, Liz played a seven-year-old (who eventually grows up) whose mother is manic-depressive and suicidal. Well, in order to make her mom feel better, she makes a list of “every brilliant thing” about life–ice cream, water fights, staying up past your bedtime and being allowed to watch TV–over a hundred things. And although the list doesn’t bring her mother out of her depression, it becomes a touchstone in the girl’s own life, something she comes back to over and over again throughout high school, college, marriage, and separation. In time, the list grows to a million different things that are wonderful about life–the smell of an old book, Chrisopher Walken’s voice, hairdressers who listen to what you want.

Here’s a picture of a bunch of brilliant things audience members wrote on a board outside the theater space. My contribution: 80s music.

One of the brilliant things about the show was that although it technically only starred Liz, it included nearly everyone in the audience. That is, before the show started, Liz handed out numbered notecards to many of us that each listed a single brilliant thing on it. Then as the show started and progressed, Liz would call out a number, 6 for example, and someone would say, “Roller coasters!” CJ’s card was 999–Sunshine. Mine was 518. When Liz handed it to me, she smiled and said, “I was told you wanted a long card.” It said, “When idioms coincide with real-life occurrences, for instance: waking up, realizing something and simultaneously smelling coffee.”

I can’t tell you what fun this play was. Not only did I laugh and cry, I was reminded that there are a million beautiful things about life to celebrate and take note of, even when you feel depressed, even when your chips are down. For example, this knee injury has been a real drag, especially since dancing and teaching dance is largely how I make a living. Yet in the midst of this not-so-fabulous predicament, I’ve had AMAZING care. Plus, this situation has caused me to slow down and be kinder to myself. It’s gotten me back in the gym. It’s gotten my dad IN the gym, and that’s huge. Now we’re spending more time together. Talk about brilliant things.

I guess it’s just perspective.

Seriously, I could go on about why my life is beautiful right here, right now. This morning I had granola with homemade kefir for breakfast–delicious. My car, Tom Collins, has heated seats–glorious. This evening when I thought I’d left the tickets for tonight’s show at home and called the box office to find out what to do, the woman I spoke to said, “No worries. We didn’t actually mail the tickets. They’re here at the theater. Plus, we always have a list, so you’re perfect.” A stranger said I was perfect! (How perfect is that?) Anyway, I won’t go on, but I think we should all do this now and then–talk about brilliant things–because we feel better when we do. The way I see, it shifts our perspective, wakes us up to the love that resides within our own good hearts.

Here’s something wild. My grandpa, my dad’s dad, used to wear coveralls, like, every damn day. With the exception of the occasional funeral or anniversary, I really can’t remember him wearing anything else. Well, tonight after the show, out of the blue, CJ gave me a pair of grandpa’s old coveralls and a straw hat he used to wear whenever he worked in the yard. The two of them were friends, and I guess she ended up with them after he died ten years ago. “I thought you’d like to have them,” she said. I still can’t get over it. This is what I think is truly brilliant about life, that on the coldest night of the year, you can find yourself making memories with a good friend; that years after a loved one leaves you, their memory can come flooding back; that one or a million brilliant things can remind you of the love that always lives inside you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.

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The World Has It Backwards (Blog #674)

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This afternoon I met my longtime friend Kara for coffee (well, hot tea ’cause we fancy), and we laughed and laughed. Then as the conversation evolved, we dove deep. Kara said, “You’ve obviously chosen to live your life differently. What’s the end goal?” So I talked about my dreams of being a full-time (paid) writer and how I see this period in my life, living with my parents, not working a nine to five, as an investment. “It’s a gamble,” I said, “a bet that if you listen to your gut and follow your heart that things will work out. Of course, I’m not on the other side of that bet, so it’s still just a theory for me.”

I’ve been rolling this conversation around in my head ever since Kara and I said goodbye. Mostly I’ve been thinking about the fact that for every apparent downside to my living with my parents and not having a regular job, there have been just as many upsides. For example, these last two years have given me time to heal both inside and outside. Second, they’ve given me time to study a number of subjects that interest me and I imagine will play a big part in my future. Third, I’ve gotten a ton done with my therapist, work that wouldn’t have happened if I’d 1) had a full-time job or 2) been in a full-time relationship.

This evening I did some body-based exercises intended to highlight the differences between shutting down and opening up (in terms of posture and emotion). Then I worked on my current knitting project–a pot holder–and messed up a couple spots when I went from knitting to purling or vice versa. (Knitting and purling are the two basic stitches in knitting.) Thankfully, I figured out how to fix everything and also how to keep it the problem from happening again. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about contrast, that it’s often useful to know (and feel) the wrong way to stand or knit because then you can better understand the right way. Said differently, when you know what you don’t want, you know what you do want.

Along these lines, I can find gratitude for past failed relationships and even my health challenges, since they’ve created a strong desire for health in all areas of my life. Not that I didn’t want to be healthy before, but having experienced the opposite of health quite vividly a number of times in the past, I know better what I’d like my life and health to look and feel like in the future. Now I have a clearly picture of what it is I’m aiming for–er, I’m betting–where it is I’m going. And to be clear, I hate that, that sometimes you have to go down before you can go up.

In one of my very first blog posts (#4), I told a story about Joseph Campbell that’s worth repeating. He said there was a five-year period in his life that he just read books. He didn’t have “a real job,” he didn’t really work at all. He just studied. Years later he said he could see that time was absolutely necessary, since it set him up for his later success. I guess my point is that I’d like to do better about appreciating this down time, this contrast, for what it is now. I’d like to recognize it as a time to heal, as preparation, an essential and important chapter in my life story. I know that I often judge importance based on the world’s values of success and money, but having reconnected with my heart and soul in the absence of these things and believing one’s heart and soul are valuable above all else, I believe the world has it backwards.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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The World Won’t Fall Apart (Blog #671)

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Things I am grateful for today–

1. Space

Last night I went to the gym at midnight. There were maybe three other people there, but basically I had the whole place to myself. It was crazy. There were three dozen treadmills and all this equipment, and I got to use whatever I wanted while I rehab-ed my knee and listened to podcasts. So often when visiting big cities or going to the movies I feel cramped or confined, but last night I could spread out. It’s just been on my mind lately, that both at the gym and home I have room to learn and grow in. Even on the internet, I have space to explore my insides and figure things out.

2. Time

This morning after breakfast I felt like going back to bed, so I did. My body’s just been tired lately, my stomach’s been upset. And whereas the productive part of me feels like I “should” be up doing things, I’m trying to do better about listening to and following the wisdom of my body. Like, it’s tired? Then I need to rest, not push. It’s that simple. And I’m glad that I can, that my life is such lately that I have the time to take it easy. Not everyone does, and I’m sure I won’t always.

3. Information

This evening my friend Bonnie gave me my second knitting lesson. Before I learned to knit; today I learned to purl. (There are two basic stitches in knitting–knit and purl.) Then Bonnie taught me how to read knitting instructions (a pattern). Y’all, I was absolutely fascinated. Just like dancing or any specialty thing has its special words and phrases, so does knitting. That is, it has its own language, a language I’m excited to learn.

4. Permission

Recently my therapist and I talked about the fact that the famous author Wayne Dyer apparently ran eight miles every day for over twenty-five years. Well, he missed one day. Anyway, I’d read about this and brought it up to my therapist because, well, it seems extreme. I mean, that’s every day, including days when he was sick or had the flu, and days when his children or grandchildren were born. Not that I really give a shit what other people do, but I wanted to talk about it because I recognize that extreme tendency in myself. Take this blog, for instance. I’m getting close to 700 days in a row, and there have been plenty of days when I was sick as a dog or simply tired that I did more harm than good by staying up and blogging just because I’m so often such a hard ass with myself.

Granted, I think there are times when you need to hold your own feet to the fire. This unbroken chain of blog posts gives me a great sense of pride and accomplishment, and that’s something. Plus, I know it will–one day–come to its natural end. (All things pass way.) But until then, I’m trying to give myself permission to lighten up in other ways. For example, I’m doing my knee rehab exercises twice a day instead of three. I was told, after all, that I’d reach my goal with “two or three times a day.” So, because three times a day was simply wearing me out, I’m choosing not to overachieve and rather simply achieve instead.

Surely the world won’t fall apart.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.

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On Musterbation (Blog #664)

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The above photo was taken by my friend Tom Wilmer during our recent travel writing trip to Fall Creek Falls State Park in the Upper Cumberland region of Tennessee. Apparently the tree in the photo is one of the most photographed trees in America, and if you Google “Buzzard’s Roost tree” you can see even more of it. I’m using the photo tonight–even though all I can think about when I look at it is how not-flat my stomach looks–in order to prove a point, which I’ll get to shortly. Plus, the photo reminds me that I used to have two functioning knees and before long I’ll be back to running around state parks, crawling around mountaintops, and–eeek!–dancing.

This afternoon I went to the chiropractor and got a massage (at the chiropractor’s office). I can’t tell you how grateful I am for these people. So often I insist on suffering, like, I can take care of this problem myself. But whenever I do break down and ask for help, I actually get it. So this is me being thankful for my chiropractor and massage therapist and everyone else who’s helped me this week–my dermatologist, my therapist, my physical therapist, and–oh!–a very nice gentleman at Kinko’s today.

The Kinko’s trip had to do with printing off and signing some paperwork to finally–finally–settle my bodily injury claim with the insurance company of the man who knocked the shit out of me over a year ago and totaled my car. This has been one of the most frustrating ordeals I’ve ever gone through. And whereas I’m not completely happy with the way it’s turning out, I’m not completely dissatisfied either, so I’m moving on. What’s done is done, and now I can think about/worry about/stress about other pressing matters. This has taken eighteen months of my life, and God knows I have plenty of other things on my mental and emotional plate to deal with.

This evening I curled up on my futon with a cup of hot tea and read several chapters in Wayne Dyer’s I Can See Clearly Now, a book that’s reminding me that there are no accidents, everything in one’s life is good and useful (although sometimes it takes years to see this), and the mind is a powerful creator and healer. In one story, Wayne describes seeing a woman (under hypnosis, I think) cause her skin to physically blister when she was touched with a rubber eraser because she believed it was a hot poker. Is that crazy or what? But Wayne’s point was that our beliefs truly can and do affect our realities, so they’re worth examining. In terms of my present health challenges, I’m personally trying to shift my thinking from This will never get better to My body is both willing and able to heal.

In another story, Wayne talks about the work of Albert Ellis, a man who greatly influenced Wayne’s thinking. Ellis, as I understand, was the creator of Rational Emotive Therapy (RET), which came before and has similarities to Cognitive Behavior Therapy (CBT). Both therapies contend that it’s not outside people or events that cause our unhappiness, but rather our thoughts or beliefs about those people or events that cause our unhappiness. According to Ellis, in a video I watched on YouTube, we “disturb” ourselves whenever we think things MUST be a certain way. He says the three big MUSTS are, “I must do well or I’m no good, you–you louse–must treat me well or you’re worthless and deserve to roast in hell, and the world must give me precisely what I want or it’s a horrible, awful place.”

Sticking with today’s events as examples, this theory would contend that it’s not the fact that my stomach isn’t flat that disturbs me, but rather my belief that my stomach must (or should) be any different than it actually is. Likewise, it’s not the fact that my car accident matter dragged on for over a year that stresses me out, but rather my belief that “this shouldn’t have taken so long.” Ellis refers to this kind of thinking–in which we place demands on ourselves, others, and the universe that are in direct opposition to what-is–as musterbation. Is that great or what?

“Masturbation is good and delicious,” he says, “but musterbation is evil and pernicious.”

There are no rules.

With this in mind, I’m trying to lighten up on myself. For example, normally by this time of night (12:23 AM) I’m done with the blog and already at the gym doing physical therapy, so there’s a part of me that thinks, I must finish up. I must go work out. Fuck! I’m behind. Then my mind launches into all sorts of “the world will fall apart” scenarios because I’m not obeying my made-up rules. (No one else is obeying them either, by the way.) But the truth is, there are no rules. Nothing MUST happen other that what IS happening right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.

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The Universe Is Upside Down (Blog #645)

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Two good things that happened today–

1. I got rich, bitch

Well, sort of. Just before Christmas and my knee surgery, I made at a cash deposit through my bank’s night-time drop box. And whereas the deposit showed up online the day after Christmas, it was for MORE than what I’d written down. A hundred dollars more. For the last week, I’ve continued to check online thinking someone had made a mistake, but nothing’s changed. Maybe I miscounted, I thought, grabbed an extra hundred.

Like I had an extra hundred to grab.

Anyway, now that I’m semi-mobile, I went to the bank today to inquire about the matter. For twenty to thirty minutes, I watched a very kind teller run back and forth, checking his computer, pulling out deposit slips, asking people questions. Finally, he came back and said that yes, there’d been a mistake. “However,” he said, “our books still balance.”

“So what are you saying?” I said.

“I’m saying don’t worry about,” he said. “You can keep it. Merry Christmas.”

Merry Christmas indeed.

Thanks, universe!

2. Someone was kind

After going to the bank, I went to Walmart for knee Bandaids and foods rich in potassium, since my legs have been achy and restless at night and I’m thinking it might have something to do with my electrolytes. (Or maybe the fact that one of my legs was recently cut open and severely traumatized.) Anyway, this was a serious chore, walking all around a damn warehouse, since I move with all the agility and speed of a slug. Everyone was passing me–people with canes, people in wheelchairs–everyone. Talk about being self-conscious. But then at the checkout line an old man, with a beard like Moses, step backed and waved me ahead. “You go first,” he said.

I think the phrase for what I immediately experienced is “cognitive dissonance,” that feeling that something is out of order. An old man making concessions for a whippersnapper like me. But I’m learning that the universe is out of order. The universe is upside down. At least from how we think about it. We think we don’t deserve something, that we’re not worthy of all the good in the world, and yet there the world is, offering all its goodness to us constantly.

Well, at least a couple times a day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In this moment, we are all okay.

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