On Spilling Tea (Blog #894)

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Today, for the most part, was fabulous. Let’s talk about what sucked.

This evening I went to Starbucks to use their internet and watch a live video about boundaries. Well, first off, I forgot my laptop. No problem, I thought, I can watch on my phone. Which worked until my battery ran low and I didn’t have my charger with me. No problem, I thought, I’ll sit in my car and use my car charger. Then I thought, But first I’ll put more honey in my hot tea. Which is where things started sucking. You know how honey can be kind of thick so you have to really apply pressure to those little ketchup-sized packets in order to get the honey to come out? Well, my hand slipped while I was trying to get the honey out–and I knocked over my hot tea.

All over the counter, the floor, and–my phone.

Which isn’t waterproof.

As this isn’t the first time this has happened (I’m a hot-tea-spillin’ pro), I immediately wiped my phone on my shorts, then wiped down the counter. As for the floor, I asked the staff for help. “Hey man,” I said, “I’m sorry, but I spilled hot tea all over the floor.”

“No problem,” he said. “I’ll get the mop.”

At which point I headed to my car and got totally engrossed in the video about boundaries.

A couple hours later, I noticed the volume button wasn’t working on my phone, which I attributed to the fact that my battery was still low. Maybe it’s because I put it in power-saving mode, I thought. Then when I got home and my main power button wasn’t working either, I remembered the The Great Hot Tea Accident of 2019 and thought, Houston, we have a problem.

When I first spilled the tea, I was tempted to self-flagellate, to make myself wrong for–I don’t know–being a human. But when I worked at summer camp and kids used to spill their milk, I just thought, Shit happens, and cleaned it up. Knowing that some of the kids came from homes in which they were yelled at for spilling things, I always figured the best thing I could offer them was my understanding. Summed up, my philosophy was–be kind and help. Anyway, tonight I tried applying this philosophy to myself. I figured I didn’t know WHY anything happens. Maybe I was being delayed, kept out of a traffic accident. Maybe I needed to simply receive understanding from someone else. Maybe the guy behind the counter needed someone to minister to.

Now that I have more information about what happened tonight–like, I partially fried my phone–I still think all of this applies. That is, there’s no point in thinking, I screwed up. Rather, I’m seeing it as an opportunity to extend grace to myself. Seen symbolically, it could also be a chance for me to “unplug” for a moment or to reevaluate the boundaries I have with technology. Couldn’t we all take a serious step back from our devices? Which is what I’m about to be forced to do. As soon as I post tonight’s blog, I’m turning off my hotspot and phone and letting it dry out.

If it’s not healed in the morning (or by tomorrow night), I’ll take it to a shop.

The last thing that occurs to me in terms of the symbolism of this incident is that I always spill hot tea on my devices (uh, just two so far). Never coffee. Never water. So there might be something to consider about my spilling tea, or gossiping. I don’t consider myself a HUGE gossip, but I certainly do it, so I think it’s worth taking a look at. Where do I make things my business that aren’t my business? Where do I betray secrets? Linking everything together, one of the points of the video I watched tonight was that in today’s world of social media, it’s way too easy to get involved in someone’s else’s life, put your nose where it doesn’t belong, and dish the dirt about each other. Who’s going to stop us? Only ourselves. This is the thing with boundaries. They’re just as much if not more so about the limits you place on yourself as the ones you place on others.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are surrounded by the light.

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On Possibility (Blog #890)

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Last week I started painting the living room at a friend’s house. Today I finished it. Compared to the other rooms I’ve painted there, it took–I don’t know–twice as long. It was bigger. There were more doors, more windows, more nooks and crannies. The whole room (and the adjacent hallway) took nearly twenty-four hours to complete. Phew. I can’t tell you how good it feels to finally be done.

I didn’t take a before picture, but here’s a picture of the room with one partial coat of white. It used to be brown from floor to ceiling.

Here’s a picture of the finished product. What a difference!

Here’s another finished-product picture, taken from the other side.

Today when I got home my dad said, “It looks like you got more paint on you than on the walls.”

“Accurate,” I said, only half-joking.

Y’all, painting is messy business. If you’d stepped into the room even two hours before I finished, you might have thought, Yuck. What I mean is that was dried paint on the windows, tape on the floors, and no plate covers on the switches and outlets. Plus I had supplies everywhere. But after getting two full coats laid down (and in some places three), then I was able to go to work cleaning up–scraping paint off the windows with a razor blade, pulling the tape up off the floor, screwing the plate covers back on, and moving my supplies. The whole day I kept thinking, I’ll never finish. But eventually I did.

Transformations like this one continue to amaze me. Five weeks ago I started working on this house, and whereas I still have more to do, so far I’ve finished five rooms. Five rooms that used to be all brown (or green or turquoise) are now all white. I guess the whole project feels a bit like what this blog often feels like–overwhelming if you think about it as a whole. A whole house to paint. Over a thousand blogs to write. But if you just do a little bit at a time, sooner or later you start to think, This is possible. I can do this.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Bodies are so mysterious, much more complicated than car doors. They take more patience to understand and work with. They require more than a couple hours to repair.

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On Dead Batteries and Patterns (Blog #889)

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This morning I began painting a client’s fence and ended up spending all day–eight hours–completing the task. And whereas the project, which involved rolling and brushing two coats of sealant on the fence, went well, both the hot sun and the labor wore me out. Seriously, I can’t tell you how done I was when it was all over. In more ways than one.

I’ll explain.

Before I stained the fence, my client and I agreed on a price. No issues there. But we also agreed on another price for me to take down no small number of decorations that were on the fence (because they didn’t want to take them down, and I obviously couldn’t work around them). Anyway, that was the original question–“What would you charge me to take this stuff down?” Again, we agreed on a price. Well, today when I finished the fence, they said, “Now you just need to put the stuff back up, and I’ll give you a check.”

I paused then said, “Let me put my things in the car, and we can talk about that.”

On my way to the car, I talked to Jesus. By this I mean I thought about how I was going to respond. The old me would have sucked it up, put the shit back on the fence, and effectively cut my rate in half. But the new me knew that if I did the work without additional pay, I’d end up resenting this person I’m currently on good terms with. So when I got back from the car, I said, “We agreed on this price for the fence, and that price for taking the stuff down, but nothing was said about putting it back up.”

“Well I just assumed,” she said.

“That’s not a good thing to do,” I replied. “If you’d asked me to take the stuff down and put it back up, my quote would have been twice as much.” Then I added, “As things stand, I’ve done everything we discussed.”

For a moment they didn’t say anything, at which point I said, “Why don’t you think about this, and I’ll be right back.”

When I returned, we agreed–I’d put the stuff back up, and they’d pay me for my time.

Recently I blogged about checking in with yourself before having important conversations (especially about money), and I’m using this as a real-life example of how it can work. When I checked in with myself, I knew I needed to confront. Did I love doing it? No. My inner people pleaser was on the floor in the fetal position screaming, Don’t make them mad. But my inner business man, y’all, was online, ready and able to speak calmly and clearly, ready to let the chips fall where they may.

This evening my friend Justin helped me–how do I say this delicately?–put a dead dog in a trash bag. Obviously, for the dog’s owner, someone I care deeply about, this was a sad event. And whereas I admit it was sad for me when I got there, it was mostly another odd job. Get the dog out of the dog house and into the trash bag. Well, Justin propped his phone up and turned his flashlight on (don’t worry, I’m not going to go step-by-step through what happened), and I said, “I have a light in my car.” But damn if not one but both of my flashlights’ batteries were dead too. Ugh, today is seriously the day of death. This evening I found out a dear acquaintance is in hospice.

After Justin and I got the job done (in the semi-dark), we went back to his house and visited, and it was only after I got home (at two in the morning) that I realized the synchronicity of the dog dying and my batteries dying too. Anyway, I’ve been chewing on it, since the idea behind synchronicity isn’t that one thing causes another thing to happen, but that two related things happen at the same time–and here’s the important part–to convey meaning. So I’ve been thinking about the meaning of the dead batteries.

For me, flashlights help you through the dark. They help you see clearly. They show you the way. Batteries, however, are what charge flashlights–they are the source of power behind that which allows you to see clearly. Well, lately I’ve been talking about changing old patterns (old batteries) for new ones, and I think this is just another way of saying the same thing. Old batteries, old patterns can’t last forever. They weren’t designed to. Yesterday I talked about seeing clearly, and I think it’s important to say again–how clearly you see others is a direct result of how clearly you see yourself. That is to say, how clearly you see your patterns. For example, today my client didn’t choose to directly ask me to put their stuff back up, but rather assumed I would and conveyed this in their full-of-assumption statement about my coming back to do more work. Well, the only reason I could see this for what it was is because I used to assume constantly, especially when it came to money.

Consequently, I got screwed a lot.

And not in a good way.

While painting today I listened to a spiritual-type podcast in which a guest told the host she’d been working on not shaming herself and had just been asked to shame someone else as part of a politics-related job interview. “What should I do?” she said. “Is just makes me sick.” Well, the host said they thought her feeling sick was a good indicator of how she felt about the job offer. They also said that sometimes the universe tests us. Said another way, sometimes life gives us opportunities to step out of old patterns and into new ones. I’m not going to shame myself or others–period. I’m not going to let people walk all over me. Sometimes life gives you a chance to change your dead batteries for new ones.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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On Relationships (Blog #888)

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This morning I saw my therapist, and we reviewed a number of my past and present relationships. This is something we do constantly, really, and something I never did before I had a therapist–analyze my relationships technically. By technically I mean that I don’t go in there and simply vent–what a bitch, what an asshole. Granted, this does happen on occasion, but for the most part I simply convey the facts. “This thing happened with so-and-so. I said this, and then they said that.” Then my therapist offers her thoughts. “That was real shitty [of them, of you]. That was passive aggressive.” Whatever.

I said in yesterday’s blog that I’ve consciously downshifted or ended a rather large number of relationships since starting therapy, and–honestly–I think this is why most of us are scared shitless to really take an a good hard look at our relationships. It’s why no one wants to open that one drawer in the kitchen or clean behind the refrigerator. Deep down, we know we’re not going to like what we find. We know we’re going to have some work to do. So we bury our heads in the sand. I know that when I first started therapy and realized that a number of my friendships and romantic relationships were inappropriate for me (my therapist often said, “You’re just not on the same page–er–same chapter”), I found myself not wanting to even bring up the people in my life for discussion. “You’re just going to shit on them,” I’d say. “You’re just going to say it’s a bad idea (to date someone in their twenties).”

Looking back, I now know that my hesitation to discuss certain relationships was my intuition’s way of saying those relationships weren’t meant to last forever. Or even a week. Like, I could have spent the money I gave my therapist elsewhere. That being said, it’s been invaluable to have a trained professional take an outside look at the people in my life. Now, she’s obviously never met these folks. She would say, “I couldn’t pick them out of a crowd of three.” She’s never heard their side of the story. But based on the stories I tell her she’s able to say, “You two have terrible boundaries” or “I see a lot of potential for you two.”

Today I said that my people pleaser often thinks I’ve–what’s the word?–escorted too many people out of my life. (I used to say “cut” too many people out of my life, but my therapist says that’s a rather violent word. “They made choices, you made choices,” she says.) Anyway, my therapist said, “You’re simply making space for more appropriate people.”

Then she added, “There’s only so much room on the train.”

Think about that.

I imagine that to some people the changes in relationships I’ve made could seem rather drastic. I started to make a list the other day of relationships that I’ve purposefully changed or ended since I started therapy but stopped once I got to double digits. One way to think about this, however, is that if you’re running a pattern like the people pleaser, that means every one of your relationships is connected to, if not a direct result of, that pattern. Well, if you do something like start therapy or otherwise decide you don’t want to be a people pleaser, guess what? That’s right, every relationship connected to that pattern has to shift. Now, I’ve personally had plenty of relationships shift along with me. These are the people you want, the ones who allow you to grow.

One thing my therapist says (that I don’t think I’ve shared before) is that relationships are like living organisms. “They grow, they thrive, they get sick, they heal, and sometimes they die,” she says. “And you know when a relationship is terminal.”

I love this way of looking at things. So often we think that we’re beholden to people simply because we’re related, because we’ve known them a since childhood, or because we have a lot of time or money invested. But as my therapist always says, “Friends are for fun.” This has often been the way I’ve known a relationship needs a break (because sometimes they do come back around)–when they become too heavy. Not that a serious conversation isn’t okay. It is. But personally, I have a therapist for my heavy shit, and this leaves me lighter, brighter for my friends and family.

I’ve often told my therapist that my goal in evaluating my relationships is to see as clearly as possible. I’ll explain with an example. Years ago I was in a relationship with a flat-out liar. I’ll spare you the details, but they lied all the time–about things they owned, how many miles were on their car, who mowed the lawn (I did), and having leukemia (they didn’t). Well, it’s not that I didn’t observe their lies; I just lied to myself about what they meant. I thought, They wouldn’t lie to me. My therapist explained, however, that I’m not that special. If someone lies to anyone, they lie to everyone. If you don’t believe that, you’re lying to yourself. Anyway, this is another “downside” to therapy and working on yourself–you start seeing people as they really are–flawed. This person’s a liar. That person’s passive aggressive. This person’s shallow as a wading pool. That person is only interested in your money.

I realize these judgments may sound–well–judgmental. In a sense, they are. In another sense, they aren’t–they’re facts. Also, you can only see others clearly to the extent you’re first willing to see yourself clearly. Like, I know when I lie–straight up to others or just to myself about what’s going on. I know when I’m passive aggressive or shallow as a wading pool. I know when I’m attracted to others simply because of their looks, status, or talent. None of these things are inherently bad, but they can be a problem if they become a daily driver. Getting back to seeing things as clearly as possible, this is why it sucks. (Did I not say that before? It sucks to see things clearly.) Because we have to admit not only that people we love aren’t perfect, but also that we’re not perfect.

We prefer our fantasies.

All this being said, I’ve reached the point that I’ll take seeing clearly–the truth–over fantasy. I’m not a card player, but it’s like if you were playing poker. Would you rather leave your cards face down the entire game (or just turn over three out of the five), or would you rather look at your entire hand even if it turned out to be mediocre? Obviously, you’d rather look at your entire hand–because then you can decide what to do with it. That’s the deal (get it, deal?)–just because someone’s not perfect doesn’t mean you can’t play with them. Certainly not. But only by getting real about 1) who you are, 2) who someone else is, and 3) who you are together can you really decide what you want and what you don’t want. Otherwise you’re deciding based on half-truths. Otherwise you’re deciding based on fiction.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is better when we're not in control. When we mentally leave room for anything to happen, anything can.

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Let’s Live a Little! (Blog #885)

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This morning the three dogs I’m taking care of woke me up at six-thirty to piddle and eat breakfast. (Like, they wanted to, not they wanted me to.) Anyway, one of them–I swear–is the slowest eater on God’s green earth. If you don’t guard her bowl, the other two sneak in and “offer” to help her finish her meal. Normally I stand nearby, but today I slumped on the floor and read a book until she FINALLY at the last bite. Then I moved to a chair and kept reading for thirty minutes so everything could digest and they could go outside again. Wouldn’t you know it? They wouldn’t “go.” Oh well, I thought, and went back to bed.

Three hours later I woke up and found shit on the carpet.

Dogs can be so rude.

After eating breakfast, I brushed my teeth and got ready to do more painting, since the room I’m working on now is ever so close to being done. Alas, five minutes before I’d planned to walk out the door, my friends Kate and Aaron invited me to go to Parrot Island, our local waterpark. And whereas the go-go-goer in me thought about saying, No thanks, I’ve got work to do, the rest of me thought, It’s a holiday weekend. I can paint any day. And I’ve never been to Parrot Island. When Kate said they’d been gifted four day passes, meaning we could all go for free, I said, “I’ll be right there.”

Y’all, I have no regrets. The waterpark was lovely. We did some lazy river-ing, some wave pooling. Aaron and I even went down a couple of the big kid slides, the kind of you have to be taller than 48 inches and more than 100 pounds (check and check) to go down.

The kind that give you a wedgie.

After the waterpark we changed clothes and went to eat at a place called YW Poke, but that Kate and Aaron’s four year old calls Poke Bowl. (He even has a song about it.) I guess a Poke Bowl is the place’s main menu item. It’s basically sushi in a bowl. The one I got–The Duke–was absolutely delicious.

When all this was over, we did some shopping (I did some window shopping), then went to Cherry Berry for frozen yogurt. This was also delicious.

And fattening. It was fattening.

“This is what we do on the weekends,” Aaron said, “just eat.”

Since today was my first time going to Parrot Island, YW Poke, AND Cherry Berry (I live a very sheltered life), Kate said it was “a day of firsts for Marcus.” I love this, that there are, and always will be, new experiences to have, new things to try. So often it’s easy to get stuck in a rut–get up, feed the dogs, (clean up their shit), go to work, go to bed. And yet it takes so little to break up our routines and qualify as an adventure. Let’s go to the waterpark! Let’s go to that new restaurant! Let’s–I don’t know–live a little!

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just because your face is nice to look at doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart that’s capable of being broken. These things happen to humans, and there isn’t a one of us who isn’t human.

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The Experience of Living (Blog #884)

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What a fabulous day. I spent this morning getting a slow start where I’m house sitting, doing some things online. Then I painted for a few hours, and–for whatever reason–was in the best mood. I guess my body felt decent, I was making good progress, and I had my tunes turned up. I didn’t finish the room I’m working on, but hey, it’ll get done soon enough. What’s the saying? All things in good time.

This evening I went to dinner with my parents and an extended relative we’ve recently reconnected with (my second cousin). And whereas you might think, Gosh, Saturday night with your family–that’s hot–it actually was. I had the best time. I guess there’s something about being around family, people who have known you forever.

Of course, the margaritas may have helped.

After we finished eating, my second cousin invited me to go bowling with him and a couple of his friends. My first thought was to call it a night, to come back to where I’m staying and–I don’t know–watch Netflix. But then I thought, Hell, Marcus, live a little. Get to know your family. So after I ran back to the house to let the dogs out (again, who let the dogs out? I did) I hauled my happy ass over to Midland Bowl and joined the party on lane 31.

Y’all, I can’t tell you what a trip this was. When I was in junior high, I used to spend every Wednesday afternoon at Midland Bowl. My sister and I were part of a league–The Wednesday Juniors. For years I partnered with my friend Jeff. First we were Double Trouble, then The Terrible Twosome. Intimidating, right? Anyway, bowling was my social life–my sports life (sexy, I know). I had my own ball and bag. I used to go out of town to tournaments. I had patches–and trophies! I still have: so–many–memories.

Alas, that was decades ago, and any time I’ve tried to bowl since it’s just been a disappointment. Like, I have all this knowledge in my head about what should happen–the mechanics and physics of throwing a ball down a lane–but I’m sorely out of practice. In the last twenty years, I’ve been lucky to break a hundred maybe twice. However, tonight–for whatever reason–I did. My second cousin, his friends, and I bowled two games, and my first score was 124. Then–get this shit–my second score was 151. Granted, the second game I was given a free strike because the pin setter screwed up, but still. There were several throws when I was able to relax and everything just came back–get your alignment, breathe, settle in, take four steps, swing back, follow through.

Right in the pocket.

What I loved about tonight more than getting a decent score (there’s a sex joke there somewhere) was the fact that–for whatever reason–I didn’t give a shit. What I mean is that when I’ve bowled in the past my perfectionist has shown up in full force and taken the fuck over. Like, You should be better than this. You used to be on a league. Geez, you’re screwing this up. You’re a total failure. But tonight there was VERY LITTLE of that. Rather, it was about having fun spending time with new people. Several times when I got up to throw the ball I thought, It doesn’t matter WHAT the hell happens–I’m still worthy. This is one way I know The Hard Work is, well, working. Situations that used to trigger me don’t now (as much). Things that used to bother me don’t anymore (as much).

This is what you want as you proceed down The Path. Progress, not perfection. The experience of living, not the final score.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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A Lot Can Happen in an Hour (Blog #883)

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Phew. Today the dogs I’m taking care of this weekend woke me up at five-thirty. In the morning. After I let them out and fed them breakfast (and stepped in a piece of shit), I promptly went back to bed. An hour later, one of them woke me up whining, panting, and shaking–because it was thundering outside. “She’s a real drama queen,” her owner said later. And whereas I’m glad that’s her standard operating procedure, it still kept me from resting. Thankfully, the storms eventually stopped, she stopped, and I was able to go back to bed. Until one of the dogs started whining again, of course. We’ll see how tonight goes.

Fingers crossed.

Today itself has been all–what’s the word–choppy. Like, it’s happened in small segments of time. This afternoon I had a lunch with a friend of mine (lovely), then painted for two hours. Then I came back to where I’m staying to let the dogs out (they’re on a very tight schedule), then I went back to where I’m painting, then I came back to where I’m staying to let the dogs out AGAIN.

If anyone ever asks, “Who let the dogs out?” it was me.

This evening I went to dinner with my friends Aaron and Kate and their son, and afterwards we went back to their place to watch High School Musical 2. The best part? Zac Efron–and I swear we didn’t plan this–ended up in our group photo at the end of the night. Check it out above, y’all. He’s standing RIGHT beside me. Zac Efron and I got our picture together!

But I digress.

Now it’s almost midnight, and I know that, thanks to these precious puppies, every minute I spend blogging will be a minute I don’t spend sleeping. So I’m promising myself I’m going to keep this short. Earlier today I wondered if it was even worth it to paint for two hours, or, later, one-and-a-half hours. But it was. I got almost the entire second coat rolled on. Because I want things to be “finished,” I so often want to spend hours and hours working on a project–painting, writing, reading–and yet everything gets done eventually if I just keep showing up–a little bit here, a little bit there. Hell, therapy has absolutely turned my life around, and that’s happened in fifty-minute blocks. So I know a lot can happen in an hour. This is my encouragement for the night. Even if it’s for just fifteen minutes, consistently show up for your project. Consistently show up for yourself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Sure, people change, but love doesn't."

On He Who Dies with the Most Toys (Blog #882)

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Well, it’s 9:15 in the evening, I’ve already showered and had supper, and here I sit writing. This almost never happens. Usually it’s another couple hours before I even begin to blog. However, I’ve been up and going all day, and I imagine I’ll be up early tomorrow, so either this happens now, or I won’t happen later.

The reason for all this up-at-the-crack-of-dawn bullshit is that I started house sitting for a friend today–a friend who has three dogs who are used to waking up early and–quite frankly–running the show. Which means they’ll be running me for the next few days. Now, other than the fact that they’re early birds (early dogs), they’re quite lovely. Currently two of them are passed out on the floor nearby, and I don’t know where the third one is. She’s anti-social.

A few days ago one of the dogs apparently caught a stomach bug and got sick at both ends (I know, it’s the worst), so not only do I have to watch where I step, but I also have to shoot two different liquid medications into her mouth twice a day. Y’all, it’s like one of those carnivals games, trying to hit the bullseye. Yesterday my friend showed me how to pinch the dog’s mouth then as-fast-as-you-can squirt the liquid between her teeth with a plastic syringe. “Do you think you can do it?” he said.

“Please,” I countered, “I’ve given an inhaler to a cat. This is child’s play.”

Thankfully, my bravado turned out to be true. This evening I got both medications into the dog’s sweet little mouth without incident. Well, she did spit out a few little drops, but the majority of it went down her throat, which is good enough for me.

One of the interesting things about staying in other people’s homes is that you get to see how they live. What I mean is that everyone–everyone!–lives differently (and I’m convinced there’s no right or wrong). Some people, honestly, are slobs. Like, they have slime on the dishes in their sink. (Ick.) Other people (including most of the ones I work for) are neat freaks. Everything has its place. And yet how one tidy person organizes their kitchen is always totally different from how another one does. Ugh, I can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent over the years looking for spatulas, paper towels, and hand soap. Tonight I opened every cabinet twice looking for honey. Finally, I gave up. Just when you think someone is sophisticated!

Oh well, at least they have Southern Comfort.

Recently I saw my therapist, and our plan was to discuss a creative project I’ve been working on. And whereas she’d just suggested kicking some ideas around, I showed up with an outline, visual aids, and a rehearsed speech. “This was more than I was expecting,” she said.

“Well, I’m a control freak,” I said.

“Let’s say you’re a consummate professional,” she offered.

Lately I’ve been discussing changing patterns of thought and behavior, and this story is an example of what I mean. I’ll explain. For the longest time, I really have been a control freak, at least when it comes to me and my projects. If nothing else, I’ve been a perfectionist. Now, I could go the rest of my life rocking out these archetypes–and we all know people who do–or I could let them fizzle out and step into another, more mature archetype–the consummate professional, a pattern that simply demands I’m as in control and perfect (or detail-oriented) as the situation calls for.

How does all this relate to house sitting?

I’m glad you asked.

Even before I had my estate sale and parted with most of my worldly possessions, I had a number of yard sales in which I let go of A LOT of stuff, stuff I liked. And whereas saying goodbye to all these things was tough, I don’t regret it now because material objects have very little influence over me anymore. That is, I can walk into anyone’s house–messy or immaculate–and not be overly turned off or turned on. It’s not that I don’t notice nice things, it’s simply that I see them for what they are–things. In terms of archetypes, you could say I’ve shifted from a somewhat hoarder (collector) to a minimalist.

Recently I helped a friend pick out a piece of furniture, and they said, “I don’t know if it’s ME.” Now, they were basically saying they didn’t know if it would fit in with the rest of their decor, and that was a valid question. At the same time, I think a lot of us think this way–we see our stuff as an extension of ourselves. This, honestly, is why most of us start panicking when we lose our phone. It’s like a piece of us has gone missing (because it has). But what I know from letting go of most of my stuff and from living in other people’s houses is that–without exception–you are not your stuff, and your stuff isn’t you. It may be an expression of you, but it’s not something worth attaching to. He who dies with the most toys does not win.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t stuff down the truth—it always comes up.

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On the End of Innocence (Blog #881)

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Today I saw both my therapist and my acupuncturist, but not at the same time, so let’s talk about my acupuncturist first. (Here we go.) She mainly worked on my neck and shoulders, since those are my chief complaints. Like the last time I saw her, she stuck needles in me (it’s kind of her thing), then stuck (sucked) cups to my skin to help release tight fascia. This last process, called cupping, is one I continue to be fascinated by. Supposedly the spots the turn the darkest are the ones that need the most help/are getting the most benefit from the treatment. Anyway, check out the purple spots on either side of my neck in the photo below. I look like I’ve got two serious hickeys.

If only I were so lucky.

Here’s a close-up (Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up), of one of the purple spots. Yowza. Thankfully, none of the bruises hurt.

Honestly, I don’t know how much acupuncture and cupping are helping me. Neither thing is a miracle. That being said, most things aren’t, and I do think at least one if not both of the treatments are beneficial. That is, my shoulder has been better since my last treatment, and my neck has felt “looser” today. Even if this weren’t the case, I see my acupuncturist as another member of my healing team (it takes a village), not someone who has ALL the answers, but someone who has a unique set of skills and a certain knowledge base (that I don’t have). Today I asked my acupuncturist about a long-standing, off-and-on problems I’ve had for the last few years (body odor), and although I thought I’d “tried everything,” she recommended something new. So, as my therapist is fond of saying, I’m giving it a whirl.

Speaking of my therapist, today we talked about, among other things, business and negotiation. I told her I was bothered because I recently bought some supplies at a salvage store and felt sort-of taken advantage of. I’ll explain. The supplies I wanted weren’t marked with a price, and the salesman said, “I won’t charge you much.” Then he (we) walked all the way back to the front desk with the stuff in hand, and he finally quoted me a price. “Just x bucks,” he said. Well, it was more than I was expecting, but just by ten dollars, so I didn’t say anything. At the same time, my intuition absolutely knew he was pulling an old okie-doke on me. But I thought, Hell, I want this stuff. So I paid it.

Later I did some research, and I don’t think I got robbed or anything. Actually, it was an okay deal. Now, a GOOD deal (for both of us) would have been ten dollars cheaper. A GREAT deal (for me) would have been fifteen dollars cheaper. My therapist said, “It wasn’t about the money. What bothered you is that you didn’t say anything–like, ‘How about ten dollars less?'”

“I didn’t know that was an option,” I said. “I guess I was caught off guard.”

My therapist said she’s never a fan of the hard sell. “But I’m also not a fan of the quick sale,” she said, “and the fact that the guy rushed you through the process was a red flag.”

The advice my therapist offered to me (and that I’m offering to you) was to take a minute to center myself before any business interaction. Recently I had a business meeting in which I wanted something specific and was lucky enough to meet with my therapist first. She said, “I know you want this, but you don’t NEED it because you have LOTS of options. So go into this DETACHED.” Then we figured out what I was willing to accept and what I was not willing to accept. Anyway, today she said I could do this on my own before I go into any store or sit down to talk business with anyone. Had I done this before RUSHING into the salvage store, I would have known–This is how much I want to spend, and if it’s more than that, I’m willing to ask for less or simply walk away.

Because (I’m learning), you can always walk away. You’re never OBLIGATED to buy anything.

Even something you want.

My therapist said that for the cheap cost of ten bucks, I learned a pretty important lesson–to go into things with my eyes wide open, ready for anything. “I’ve known a lot of people who have learned that lesson but with two or three extra zeros attached to it,” she said. Yesterday I spoke about the stories we tell ourselves, and this is another example of how you can use your words to shape your reality. What I mean is that rather than beating myself up for not being more on my toes, I’m telling myself this is a chance for me to learn something that may (will) come in handy down the road. Several years ago I dated a MASTER manipulator, liar, and cheater, and you better bet that experience has not gone to waste on me. I can’t tell you the number of times since that I’ve been attracted to someone and then–upon observing their behavior–thought, Wait a damn minute. I’ve seen this before. Bye.

Today I finished reading Sheldon B. Kopp’s An End to Innocence, which is about how growing up and being responsible for yourself means just that. That is, the end of innocence is the death of your illusions and fairy tales, your childlike notions and wishes that anyone (your parents, a lover, a spouse, a great uncle, a doctor, a god, or the lottery) will take care of you. It’s the death of the idea that life is fair, good things happen to good people, and anything on the fucking planet makes sense. And whereas I’d debate the use of the word innocence (I’d prefer “the end of naivety” because I associate innocence with pureness of heart or the lack of guilt), I agree with the overall idea. Suck it up, Nancy. Life isn’t for sissies. That being said, I consider myself lucky because I do have a team, people who help me out. But this is the deal, the part that sucks. They don’t–can’t–heal for me. They can’t speak up for me. That’s my job.

That’s your job for you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you’re making yourself up to get someone else’s approval–stop it–because you can’t manipulate anyone into loving you. People either embrace you for who and what you are–or they don’t.

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On Words and How You Change Your Reality (Blog #880)

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This afternoon I painted for two hours, came home and took a shower, and went to the chiropractor. Then I met with a friend for whom I’ll be house sitting soon, bought a piece of carpet for my parents’ garage (for when our cars leak), went to Kinko’s to get a quote for a print job, and went the library to download and test a some new software on my computer. Then, because the software didn’t work because the library is picky about what you can do on their network, I went to a coffee shop to test the software. Much to my delight, it worked there.

Phew.

This evening I’ve been putting off writing the blog. Not because there’s something I need to say but don’t want to, but simply because I don’t want to say anything–period. I’d rather curl up with a book and go to bed. Lately I’ve been go-go-going a lot and not really taking a break. Even on my days off, I find things to do. I mean, there’s always a lawn that needs to be mowed, something that needs to be fixed, or a potential creative project to start.

Somebody make me take a nap.

I know, that’s my job.

This evening I found myself frustrated first because, well, money, and second because I was having such a difficult time getting that software to download and work. You know, life never happens as fast as you want it to. Thankfully, I drove around with my windows down (something I love to do), listened to some of my favorite music, and told myself a few stories and felt better.

What kind of stories did you tell yourself, Marcus?

I’m glad you asked.

This morning my mom was watching Dr. Oz, and I overheard a part when the good doctor was interviewing a professional taste tester. “Do you have more taste buds that most people?” he asked. “No,” she said, “I have the same taste buds that everyone else has. What I do have more of is words. I have more words to DESCRIBE what I’m tasting and feeling.”

I’ve been thinking about this all day. Caroline Myss says that our words shape our reality. For example, how much power have you given the word fat? It’s just a three-letter word, but my guess is it controls you. Now think of how you frame the inconveniences or atrocities in your life. When you think of them or describe them to someone else, do you use words like awful and unfair, or phrases like no big deal or learning experience? Because, guaranteed, how you frame your experiences will determine whether or not they cause you needless suffering.

This is what I mean by the stories I told myself this evening. When I started thinking and getting upset about money (yesterday I had some expensive work done on my car, Tom Collins), rather than wallowing I started thinking of all the blessings in my life–the free books I get to read at the library, the job opportunities that have come my way lately, the fact that I SAVED nearly two hundred dollars on the repair work because I used a private mechanic instead of a garage. When I got frustrated about the software installation, I thought, I’d like this to work as soon as possible, but there’s absolutely no deadline involved here. I have all the time in the world to figure this out. To boil this last example down, you could say at first I thought I HAD to finish, then I thought I COULD finish.

This shift in words–in perspective–changed everything.

Recently I got together with a friend who is a dynamo when it comes to writing and singing music. Like, I’d kill for their specific talent. Well, during the course of our get-together, they said they didn’t think of themselves as a REAL musician because they couldn’t play an instrument (very well). Immediately I said, “Oh, that’s not true.” Now, for ME that’s not true, but obviously for THEM, it is. Like, if they don’t ever change their mind about it, they could go the rest of their life never fully recognizing and basking in the glory of their wonderful talent, never enjoying the label of musician. I mean, I get it. My therapist has been telling me for years that I’m fabulous at this and wonderful at that, and I’m like, Eh, I’m okay.

Well, words matter. There’s a HUGE DIFFERENCE between okay and fabulous.

Getting back to the taste tester lady, I don’t know that she HAS more words than most of us do, she’s simply learned how to use them properly, to know what words go with what flavors and textures. This, I think, is what most of us need to learn to do–to use our words properly, to use them to empower ourselves rather than depower ourselves. This is where a good therapist or self-help book can come in handy. They can introduce a new story, a new perspective. They can say, “Sweetheart, take another look. What you’re telling yourself about yourself or this situation isn’t true.” Then you can reconsider, and if you wish, rewrite your story. (You’re that powerful.) This is how you change your perspective. This is how you change your reality.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's enough to sit in, and sometimes drag ass through, the mystery.

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