More Open (Blog #763)

Today has been a dream. I’m house sitting, and at sixty-thirty this morning, I woke up to let my friend’s dog out. The great part? I went back to sleep. Then I woke back up at ten and lay in bed until eleven. This is my life. From there I made a delightful breakfast (chicken and scrambled eggs, avocado, fruit, and coffee), and spent a couple hours reading. Then my friend had groceries delivered (delivered!) for me. Talk about a sweet gig. Sometimes life doesn’t suck. Then I went to town (who says that anymore?) to run errands and ended up having a leisurely lunch/early dinner at a Thai restaurant where I did some more reading.

Have I mentioned I love reading?

This evening I’ve been back at my friend’s house, and now the animals and I are just chilling. The dog is under the coffee table. The cat is between my feet here on the recliner. Earlier, for the first time in a couple weeks, I went back and re-read several of my old blogs. My goal is to get through all of them, and I’m up to #101 as of tonight. #93 was the day I was in a car accident. Gosh, that was a bad day. Now, having come through the entire ordeal, I wish I could go back and tell myself, “It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to work out just fine. Not like you think it will, but just fine.” Obviously, I can’t do that. But I can tell myself these things now.

It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to work out just fine. Not like you think it will, but just fine.

Earlier I said that today has been a dream. What I mean is that I haven’t felt rushed, nothing has gone “wrong,” and everything has gone “right.” What’s more, I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve done. More and more, I think this is the way it should be. Er, the way it can be.

A while back I read a book by Les Fehmi called The Open-Focus Brain. I know I say this a lot, but it’s honestly one of the most profound/helpful things I’ve ever read. In short, Fehmi says that the amount of stress and anxiety we feel is directly related to the way that we pay attention. Most of us, he says, focus narrowly–we focus on one thing (our phones, our books, our conversations) to the exclusion of everything else. Our society actually teaches us to do this (Look at me when I’m talking to you! PAY ATTENTION!), but narrowly focusing actually puts us in fight-or-flight mode, and that causes all sorts of problems.

The good news is that we have the ability to focus openly. For example, although I’m currently aware of what I’m thinking and typing, I’m also aware of the ceiling fan spinning above me, the clack of the keyboard, the sound of Stevie Nicks singing, the air conditioner humming, the feel of the cat’s body pressed against my leg, the SPACE between my fingers, and the SPACE in which ALL OF THIS is taking place. Focusing like this apparently shifts one’s system out of fight-or-flight and into “relax” mode. All I can say is that it works. Whenever I focus openly, I feel better. More dreamy. My body breathes a sigh of relief. Sometimes (but not every time), it even lets go of pain.

Fehmi says when it comes to pain, most of us want to ignore it, push it away. But he says pain will often dissolve on its own when we put all our attention on it, fully feel it, and then INCLUDE it in our overall (open-focus) experience. (He has guided meditations to help with this process.) This makes sense to me, that we can hold SPACE for anything that arises in our lives–pain, uncomfortable emotions, difficult thoughts–because we are large enough to do so. Indeed, we’re so much larger than we realize.

And no, I’m not talking about your butt.

A couple times I’ve mentioned today being a dream. Well, get this shit. Last night I had a dream about going to my high school reunion, arguing with my gym teacher, and refusing to pay a total stranger for a necklace he made me (that I didn’t ask him to make in the first place). Anyway, recently I heard that you can dialogue with any character or inanimate object in your dreams, so I tried it. That is, I just imagined what my gym teacher, the total stranger, and even the necklace would say to me if they had the chance. The cool part? They actually said stuff. For example, a piece of gym equipment I “interviewed” said it represented my hips and that it (they) were here to support me.

Isn’t that nice of them?

Maybe this sounds like craziness. You might be thinking, “Marcus, you’re just making that stuff up.” Well, yeah. Am I not qualified to do this? After all, I was the one who made the dream up to begin with. Why can’t I go back “in” and make up more? Regardless, what’s neat is that just like the different “parts” of myself I’ve talked about before (my inner child, my perfectionist, etc.), each “part” in the dream had a specific voice and viewpoint. Furthermore, even the parts that seemed angry at first (like my gym teacher) were ultimately trying to help me, to get my attention in some way.

You’re more of an athlete than you give yourself credit for.

This is one of my big revelations lately, that everything inside me is on my side, that even uncomfortable thoughts and emotions and, yes, physical pain can be my teacher if I let them. I’m not saying this is fun, to go around experiencing everything I’d normally be afraid of, but it’s more fun than pushing all these things away, than pushing myself away, which is what I did for so long. (Incidentally, pushing yourself away isn’t possible.) Plus, I see results. Since doing The Hard Work, I’m more comfortable in my own skin in whatever situation or environment I find myself in. I’m less nervous, less stressed, less anxious. Not that I don’t have freak-out moments, but they dissolve faster than they used to. Stated in positive terms, I’m more at ease, more calm, and more confident. I’m more–what’s the word?–open to both myself and others.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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The Sky Is Not Falling (Blog #760)

What a delightful day. This morning I woke up. And whereas that in and of itself would be enough (my dad says any day above ground is a good day), things just got better from there. First, I had a nice, quiet breakfast. Then I mowed the lawn. And not that mowing the lawn is “fun,” but it sort of was. I mean, I had my earplugs in and was grooving, and the sun was shining. I love me some Vitamin D. The only downer is that all the walking/mower pushing aggravated my left ankle, which I apparently pissed off yesterday while running on the treadmill (for an hour). But oh my gosh, you should see the yard. Even Dad says it looks great, and he’s not the easiest man to please.

Is anyone’s father?

After mowing the lawn and getting all nasty, I took a shower. Then Dad came home from running errands and wanted to go to the gym. So I was like–what the hell why not?–and went with him and got gross again. Now I’m even grosser because this evening I went on a short hike with friends and covered myself in bug spray before taking off. Which means I’ll probably take ANOTHER shower before I go to bed tonight. Ugh. A two-shower day. I hate that. There are entire WEEKS I don’t take two showers.

Maybe this is why I’m single.

Last night I made a big production out of the fact that I finished a 1000-piece puzzle and came up short one piece. What I didn’t say was that the puzzle belongs to a friend of mine, so part of my freak-out was not wanting them to be upset that I’d somehow lost a piece. I really got stressed out about it. I thought, What am I going to do? I LOST A PUZZLE PIECE! Granted, most of my brain was all chill, like, This is a cool person, Marcus. They like you. They’re not going to fly off the handle about a little piece of cardboard. But that wasn’t the part of my brain in control. THAT part of my brain scoured the internet last night for all sorts of fix-it options. THAT part of my brain even tried to buy a replacement puzzle from a shady company in China and ended up getting credit card scammed. (Don’t worry, Mom, it’s under control now.)

Geez. That part of my brain is such a sucker.

The one good thing that came out of my searching the web last night is that I ended up contacting and hearing from the manufacturer of the puzzle. (Apparently losing puzzle pieces is a thing, and a lot of companies offer replacement pieces.) Unfortunately, this company no longer makes the puzzle in question (of course they don’t), but they DID offer to send me another one of their 1,000-piece puzzles–get this shit–for free. “Just pick one out, and we’ll be happy to ship it to you,” they said. So I told my friend (the puzzle owner) all this today, and she didn’t fly off the handle at all, didn’t bust my balls in the slightest. “Thank you for going to all the trouble,” she said, and that was that.

Another crisis averted.

This afternoon I got an email from a credit card company. “Your Starbucks SPECIAL OFFER is about to expire,” it said. “Act now so you don’t miss out!” Geez, everything is an emergency. A crisis. Well, in this case, a false crisis. That’s what I was thinking later, that advertisers often approach us as consumers like, The sky is falling, the sky is falling. But–guess what?–it’s not. My point is that I often scare myself shitless doing the same thing, creating a false crisis. My friend is going to be upset. A piece of cardboard is MISSING. The sky is falling. But for crying out loud–settle down, Chicken Little (Marcus Little)–it’s not.

I repeat. The sky is not falling.

More and more, I’m learning that it’s okay to freak out. I mean, it’s going to happen. Even this morning as I was mowing the lawn, my mind would start to get twisted about SOMETHING. (Pick a topic, any topic.) But rather than try to push, push, push my worry or anxiety out of my mind, I tried to include it. This is a technique I’ve learned lately, to expand my awareness. So I’d think about my stress, but then I’d also smell the grass, feel the sun on my skin, and listen to the sound of the mower at the same time. Consequently, it put my problem in perspective. More specifically, it brought it both out of the past and out of the future (which is where all your fantasies live) and into the present moment, where not only is the sky not falling, but all things are–what’s the word?–okay.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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The Missing Piece (Blog #759)

Well crap. Earlier tonight I finished the puzzle I’ve been working on, the puzzle I technically started several months ago. And whereas I’m done, IT’S MISSING A PIECE. That’s frickin’ right–there are SUPPOSED to be 1,000 pieces, but there are only 999. What the hell? If you look at the picture above (the image is of a famous painting–The Birth of Venus by Botticelli), there’s a big gaping hole (the size of a puzzle piece) in the lady on the right’s abdomen.

I can’t tell you how much this upsets me. (But don’t worry, I’ll try to.)

Chances are, I lost the final piece. Or maybe someone else did. Since I’ve had the puzzle out, it has been moved around a few times, and someone (including me) could have bumped it and knocked the piece to the floor. From there, as my dad pointed out, our dog could have eaten it. Who knows what happened? But I’ve combed the floors and looked everywhere including the vacuum cleaner bag and can’t find it. I keep hoping it will just materialize. So far, it hasn’t. This is driving my inner perfectionist bonkers.

I need to talk about something else.

This afternoon I finished house sitting, but before I did, I took my friend’s dog for walk. Y’all, for the last four days I’ve been following that little pup around and picking up its poop with little plastic baggies–because that’s what I was asked to do, because it’s courteous to pick up your dog’s poop when it shits in your neighbor’s yard. But get this (shit). While walking today I noticed NOT EVERYONE DOES THIS. That is, twice (twice!) I spotted dog poop in other people’s front yards, which means SOME PEOPLE are obviously out walking their dogs and not cleaning up after them. In my opinion, this is the dog-walking equivalent of guys who dart out of public restrooms without washing their hands. (This unfortunately happens a lot, ladies.) Oh well, we all make choices. What’s right and decent and sanitary for one person isn’t for the next. (For evidence of this, just look around.)

When I got home from house sitting, my dad and I went to the gym and I ran on the treadmill. Y’all, I hit a personal milestone, at least since having knee surgery four months ago–I ran for a solid hour! Not crazy fast, mind you–I totaled 4.5 miles–but I broke a serious sweat. But again, I ran for a solid hour!

Go legs.

Recently my chiropractor referred to me (my body) as a wreck. This was said in good humor, since have a lot of (physical) issues–my hips, my shoulder, my neck. At the same time, I’ve been thinking the last few days that I don’t like the idea of thinking of myself as a wreck or broken. Never mind the fact that someone else said it. I’ve said it a lot. I’ve thought, I’ve got these pains, and they’ll never go away. I’m a mess. But I don’t want to think that anymore. I don’t want to believe that anymore. Because, deep down, I believe my body is smart, I believe there are answers available, and I believe healing is possible. Plus, it feels better to refer to my body in my self-talk as wise rather than ignorant or stupid. I imagine my body would like that too.

I mean, how would you feel if someone talked to you like that day-in and day-out?

Okay, back to the puzzle. It’s still driving my inner perfectionist crazy, but I’ve calmed down a little. After I realized I was missing a piece, I started thinking about how much I’ve been looking forward to that final moment of completion. Like, Awe, I did it–a thousand pieces. And yet that moment never came. So then I had to remind myself that despite the fact that I never got THAT feeling of satisfaction, it’s not like I haven’t had hundreds of other moments of satisfaction along the way. That is, I’ve had fun putting the other 999 pieces together. Ugh, so often I focus on the what’s wrong–a little pile of dog shit, a pain in my hip, the guy who didn’t wash his hands!–rather than what’s right. So often I focus on the missing piece instead of the whole puzzle.

I blame my inner perfectionist for this and am working on it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Things are only important because we think they are.

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On Vegging (Blog #758)

It’s ten-thirty at night, and I’ve been awake since six-thirty this morning. No shit. I got up to walk my friend’s dog (I’m house sitting) and never went back to bed. Rather, I had the most productive morning–made breakfast, stretched, read a book (Cat on a Hot Tin Roof). Then I picked my dad up, and we went to the gym to work out. Boy, did that feel good. Then Dad and I picked up my aunt, and we went to a taco truck for lunch. I went to the same truck last night for dinner. They have burritos as big as your face for six dollars. Six dollars! You can’t beat that. Anyway, it’s a good thing I worked out today because this afternoon I ate my entire burrito and half of my aunt’s.

This is why I’m not losing weight.

This evening I took the dog for a walk and haven’t done a productive thing since. Well, wait, I did take a shower. That was a good thing. Other than that, I’ve wasted the night way surfing the internet. You know how one ignorant thing leads to another. And whereas part of my brain keeps thinking, Do something PRODUCTIVE, Marcus. Do something on your TO DO LIST, most of me is content to just–what’s the word?–veg. Hell, if it weren’t for this blog I’d be vegging right now, or passed out. And not that I MIND turning on my brain to blog, I just don’t have much to say.

My therapist talks a lot about back taxes. Specifically, she often says that I owe back taxes when it comes to feeling my emotions and crying. Anyway, this is my one profound idea today, that I have a lot of catching up to do when it comes to wasting time and doing nothing. That is, when I was a teenager I was forced to grow up pretty quick. And not that I never vegged on a Saturday night and watched ten episodes of Get Smart, but, looking back, I could have done a lot more of that. So the way I see it, tonight was sort of about catching up, or at least about honoring (that’s another word my therapist uses) my inner child/teenager/time waster. (Uh, if I’m having fun and relaxing, is it really wasting time? And who gets to decide these things anyway?) Not that I need an explanation or an excuse to sit on my butt and surf the web. I’m an adult and can do what I want.

And so can you.

We’re all adults here.

We can veg if we want to.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We think of hope as something pristine, but hope is haggard like we are.

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On Memories and Imagination (Blog #757)

This morning I woke up at six-thirty (six-thirty!) to walk my friend’s dog and pick up its poop from the neighbor’s yard. Talk about my glorious life. (Don’t be jealous.) But really, it’s not like it was oh-my-gosh awful or anything. I mean, yeah, it was a little chilly, and I forgot to take a jacket. But the sun was up, the birds were chirping (as the dog was crapping), and spring was in full-bloom. Hell, I even saw a lady out running (running!). Apparently people do this–move, on purpose, with purpose, before seven.

Wonders never cease.

After a short walk with my friend’s dog (maybe twenty minutes?), I went back to bed. Passed out hard for four more hours. Well, not that hard. The dog woke me up several times. You know, they get excited and start barking about any ordinary old thing–passing cars, jumping bunny rabbits, the urge to urinate. My parents’ dog does this, goes absolutely bat-shit crazy every time someone walks by the front window. You think she’d never seen a Girl Scout before. Animals–it’s like everything is new to them.

Since waking back up, I’ve spent the day doing some odd-job work on my computer, as well as watching Netflix–Brene Brown (The Call to Courage) and John Mulaney (Kid Gorgeous at Radio City). John Mulaney was funnier. That being said, he IS a stand-up comedian. Brene Brown is a shame researcher and author. So it’s not really fair to compare them. But then again, life’s not fair.

Or so they say.

Last night and this afternoon I started reading and got through the bulk of Don Miguel Ruiz’s The Three Questions. (Ruiz wrote The Four Agreements. He has a thing with numbers.) And whereas I’m still processing the book as a whole, I’d like to briefly mention a couple things. One, Ruiz says that our memories are a tool we can use, that they should “teach, not torture us.” To me this means that memory can remind me that the stove can burn me and that certain people can too. It tells me, We’ve been down this road before, and it doesn’t end well. In this way, memory can be my teacher and serve its proper function. But when I’m using my memory to go over-and-over a horrific event, or replay something nasty someone said to me, or beat myself up for something I did twenty years ago, I’m misusing it.

Ruiz says we can likewise use our imaginations to help or harm us. That is, we can imagine how we’d like to decorate a room or where we’d like to take our lover to dinner, or we can just as easily imagine that we’re going to get sick and die or that someone (a friend or even a total stranger) hates us. Imagining something good is just as easy as imagining something bad. Well, maybe imagining something good is more difficult if you’ve had a lot of practice at imaging something bad, but, at least in theory, imagination, like memory, is simply a neutral tool, and we each get to decide how we want to use it.

I repeat–we each get to DECIDE how we want to use it.

Recently I read Taming Your Gremlin by Rick Carson, and Rick suggests the following exercise. First, center yourself. (He suggests closing your eyes, focusing on your breath, and simply noticing any sounds, thoughts, emotions, etc.) Then open your eyes and tell yourself, “I just arrived on the planet with a head full of ideas and memories to which I can give whatever importance I choose.”

I love this idea of just arriving on the planet five minutes ago. I “imagine” it’s what dogs and children must feel like–everything is new, bright, beautiful, and exciting. Honestly, I think it’s how we’d all see the world if we weren’t caught up in our heads, obsessing, worrying. But I also like the second part of the exercise, that we can CHOOSE (decide) what the ideas and memories in our heads mean. Recently I told my therapist about losing my cool with a camper at summer camp when I was seventeen and how I’ve felt bad about it ever since. “It sounds like you acted like a seventeen year old,” she said. “I’d let that go.” So I am. I’m moving the event from the “big deal” category in my head to the “that used to be a big deal, but it’s no longer a big deal, and I learned something from it” category. Because there’s no need to continue to punish myself in this present moment over something that’s, well, a figment of my imagination.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same.

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On Making a Living (Blog #750)

Currently it’s two in the morning, and I’m out-of-town, at a hotel. I’m exhausted. I drove ten hours today, total, in order to attend a funeral. For a friend’s father-in-law. It was good, but I’m tired. And stuffed. After I checked into my hotel, I walked to a local diner and ate chicken and waffles. And two beers. Oh my gosh, it was so much food. (But that didn’t stop me from eating it.) The waiter said, “I’m not sure what part of the chicken that is.” I said, “I think it’s the whole chicken.” Seriously, my insulin is working overtime.

Tonight’s blog is number 750 (in a row), and next to the chicken and waffles, there’s only one thing I want to talk about. I’ll explain. At the funeral, a few friends asked me what I was up to these days. “Writing,” I said. One friend asked–out of curiosity–if that could be a full-time gig. “For some people it can be,” I answered. “And I hope that’s the case for me. Regardless, I’m willing to give it a shot and see what happens.”

Later I was introduced to a stranger, a man in a nice suit. After he shook my hand and got my name, his first question was, “What do YOU do?” And whereas I realize this is a common question, it set me on edge, since it felt like it was said not out of curiosity, but as a way to size me up. Well, wait. I trust my gut. It WAS said as a way to size me up. Anyway, I didn’t even mention writing because I didn’t think he could handle it. “I’m a dance teacher,” I said.

“You can make a living at that?” he said.

Feeling threatened, I stiffened my bottom lip, lowered my voice, and slowly said, “You sure can–believe it or not.” Then I just sat there. Later one of my friends said I handled it graciously, but I wish I’d said, “I JUST SAID I did it for a living, asshole, and I’m CLEARLY sitting here–still living.”

Of course, the guy was asking if I made any money, if I could pay my bills. I grant that we’re all curious about these sorts of things. I also grant I’m hypersensitive to the topic because I haven’t been working or getting paid as much as I used to, when I owned the dance studio. But this evening while eating my chicken and waffles, I pulled out the program from today’s funeral and thought about how simple it was–the name of the deceased, when they were born, when they died, where they were buried, who sang and played the music today, and Psalm 23. A man lived over sixty years on the earth, and that was it. Anyway, I thought about what emphasis that one guy put on “making a living” and then thought about how I’d feel if that phrase were etched on my tombstone.

Marcus Coker–He made a living.

Again, I know we all have to put bread on the table, but the older I get, the more important it is for me to make a life rather than a living. Said another way, since I’m already alive (we all are) and an expression of life itself, my goal–more and more–is to fully express my soul, spirit, or life. Whatever you want to call it. I told one of my friends today that there’s part of me that KNOWS I’m meant to be writing. I’m not saying I’m meant to make a million dollars writing, but I know that if I get to the end of my life and haven’t pursued this to the best of my ability, I’ll feel regret. I can’t say that about dance. I love it, but I don’t think it’s “why I’m here.” At the same time, it does bring me joy, just like writing does. And this is becoming my gold standard–to only do things I love. Not that I’ll never do something just for money, but I won’t get stuck there again. I won’t sell out again. Being poor sucks, but not being true to yourself sucks worse.

Making a living. What a ridiculous concept. I am living. You are living. We’re all living. The question is, “Are we living joyfully? That is, are we doing what brings us joy? (Are we living out of our hearts?) Or are you just paying our bills?”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rest gives us time to dream. One day, for certain, you’ll wake up. And you’ll be grateful for the time you rested, and you’ll be just as grateful that you’re different, far from the person who fell asleep.

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If You Want to Shut Up Your Inner Child, Give It a Donut (Blog #748)

What to say, what to say? Some days, believe it or not, I feel like being quiet. Not that I don’t almost always have an internal dialogue going on, which is basically what this is, but I don’t always feel like sharing it. That’s one thing I’ve become distinctly aware of since starting this blog. In the beginning, it was easy to imagine that it was just me here, working out my thoughts on digital paper. But after two years of this project, I can’t fool myself like that anymore. People read this. I don’t always know who or how many, but people read it.

My writing friend and teacher Anita says you can’t write with your mom or dad looking over your shoulder. That is, you can’t worry about what someone else is going to think of what you say. For me that means that if I want to say fuck, I say fuck. Not that I NEVER censor myself in terms of what’s appropriate to talk about here (I do), but if I decide to talk about a subject, I try to do so as authentically as possible (in my authentic, fuck-saying voice) and let the chips fall where they may. And whereas I have received some pushback a few times over the last two years for things like my filthy mouth and what I choose to wear on a daily basis, it’s really been very little.

In discussing this online criticism with my therapist, we’ve decided it’s largely just part of the territory. Years after uploading hundreds of educational dance videos to YouTube, I continue to get both praise and flack. One day a stranger says, “This is exactly what I was looking for,” and the next someone says, “Use a damn microphone!” So it’s just part of it–if you’re visible in any way, you’re going to be criticized. That being said, you’ll also be complimented. In my experience, at some point, it all sort of neutralizes. Not that you become unaffected by what other people say, but that it doesn’t matter so much. Because, hopefully, you’re not doing whatever you’re doing for someone else’s response anyway.

You’re doing it for yourself.

This afternoon I read more about Internal Family Systems, a psychological/healing approach by Richard C. Schwartz. The basic idea is that we all have “parts” of ourselves that behave in different ways, often in opposition to each other, and that rather than ignoring or trying to change a part of ourselves (the slob, for example), we should get to know it. That if we do, it will transform from a perceived enemy to a friend, or, in the language of archetypes, that it will move from the shadow to the light.

Today I read that our parts can basically be divided into three groups–exiles, managers, and firefighters. Exiles are those parts of ourselves that we’ve banished because we find them shameful, embarrassing, weak, or vulnerable. Think of your inner child. At their core, our exiles are our most open, sensitive, creative, and intimacy-seeking parts, but we’re often afraid to listen to them or display them to the world because we’re afraid of being hurt (again).

Managers and firefighters are the parts of ourselves that exist to protect our exiles, although they go about it in different ways. Recently I spoke of building walls around your heart, and this is apparently what managers do. That is, they keep others at a distance to keep from being hurt (again). At the same time, managers are essentially people pleasers. They are the parts of ourselves that seek approval from others, put others first, and beat ourselves up in order to avoid loss from the outside. That is, your managers are those voices in your head that tell you you’re fat and lazy–not because they hate you, but because they’re afraid that if you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be loved.

Again, firefighters also protect your exiles. But whereas managers are proactively trying to protect them, firefighters are reactively trying to protect them. That is, if and when you do start feeling shame, embarrassment, weakness, or vulnerability (or anything else that sucks), the firefighters are your parts that say, “Mayday, mayday! Eat chocolate cake. Smoke a cigarette. Binge watch The Office. Do anything but FEEL BAD.” Firefighters are apparently people dis-pleasers. They’re the parts of ourselves that make us fat (if you want to shut up your inner child, give it a donut), tell others to FUCK OFF, NANCY, and do other socially unacceptable things.

I really do like this way of looking at one’s personality, the idea that we all have parts. To me, it makes as much sense as anything else I’ve ever read (and I’ve read a lot). Basically because it’s true in my experience. Not that I’m Sybil, but I have dozens of voices in my head, and many of them sound different. Also, despite years of trying to ignore or change certain voices in my head (the critic, for example), it’s never worked. So I’m really coming around to this idea of getting curious and finding out WHY my different parts are the way the are.

Earlier this evening I dialogued with one of my managers, my inner critic, and he said he was so frickin’ hard on my appearance because he didn’t want people to laugh at us. In other words, he didn’t want my inner child to be rejected. Also, he said it was tiring and he really didn’t like criticizing me any more than I liked being criticized. But that he thought it was necessary. I said, Sweetheart, it doesn’t matter what other people say or do, as long as we don’t reject ourselves. So we’re working on another way.

I’m not sure how I’m going to tie the first half of tonight’s blog together with the second half. Likewise, I’m not absolutely sure that all my different parts can be tied together and convinced to work on the same team (eat chocolate cake, don’t eat chocolate cake), but I’m beginning to think it’s possible. That is, I’m learning that each part of me not only has a reason for the way that it’s thinking and behaving, but that it’s ultimately trying to help. And if it’s trying to help, there’s already a lot of peace in that, in the idea that I don’t have to fight and war with myself anymore. Rather, I can work to understand and have compassion for myself. This, I think, is the tie-in to the first part of the blog about criticism and blame. If you can make peace with the different viewpoints inside yourself, you can certainly make peace with the different viewpoints outside yourself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can hang on and put everything safely in its place, and then at some point, we’re forced to let go.

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I Know Who I Am (Blog #742)

Today’s happenings–

1. I ran

This afternoon I went to the gym with my dad and aunt and ran for 45 minutes straight on the treadmill. This amounted to 3.3 miles and was the longest in both time and distance I’ve gone since my knee injury and subsequent surgery this last December. Let’s hear it for progress. Let’s also hear it for breathing hard, grunting in front of strangers, wearing a sweat-soaked, sopping wet t-shirt (I could have won a contest), and being absolutely sore and worn out later in the day.

2. I got a compliment

This evening I went to see a play at the Fort Smith Little Theater–The Graduate. And whereas the play was delightful, what I’d really like to talk about is my arm pits. I should back up. A couple years ago after going through several rounds of antibiotics, I developed a body odor problem. At least I thought it was a problem. I tend to obsess about little things. Anyway, it’s been an off-and-on thing ever since. One minute I think I have it under control, then the next minute I smell like onions. And whereas I’m always trying different things to help, I’ve recently thought, Screw this. I smell how I smell. I accept myself for who I am.

So get this shit.

Tonight a random stranger, who was sitting next to me during the first half of the show but moved one row down to be by her friend at intermission, told me I smelled good. Like, she went on and on about it to her friend, to the point that I was fanning myself so her friend could get a whiff. There they were, asking if I wore cologne, and I said, “No, but I did take a shower today.” The friend said, “Do you use a shower gel–ANYTHING?” So I said, “Well, I just got a new bar of soap (I didn’t tell them it was because I’m allergic to regular soap)–made out of goat’s milk.”

“Oh yes,” the friend said, like AHA, that’s the ticket. “GOAT’S MILK.”

Y’all, I can’t tell you how good this made me feel.

Daddy’s still got it.

3. I got another compliment

After the show I went backstage to see some friends, and another total stranger told me she liked my aesthetic. I was wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops. Oh, and Robert, my brown workman’s jacket. Anyway, I started to brush it off, like, Yeah, some aesthetic. My entire outfit cost twenty-five dollars. But then I thought, She’s entitled to her opinion. So I thanked her and introduced myself instead.

Daddy’s still got it.

4. I got frustrated, then thoughtful

Well crap. Maybe Daddy’s still got it (and to be clear, I impressed a couple ladies tonight, but they are not my target audience), but his website doesn’t. Just as I was saving this post, an issue came up where I couldn’t access certain pages, at least from my current browser. Anyway, I’m chatting with tech support now, so I should go. I’d hate to be rude. But how to end this?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much outward appearances and things to change (whether or not your knees work, body odor, your clothes) don’t matter. My friend Justin told me recently that he never thinks of me as having changed. Not that I haven’t, but when you care about someone, it’s more about their insides than their outsides. And that’s what I’ve noticed these last two years since starting the blog and focusing more on my insides. Not that I don’t think about my outsides–it’s nice to get a compliment–but they’re simply not as important as they used to be. I know who I am.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If anything is ever going to change for the better, the truth has to come first.

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Dandelions Beware! (Blog #739)

This afternoon I had a follow-up appointment with my knee surgeon. Literally, I was in and out of the office in ten minutes. “I’m on a roll today,” he said. Anyway, he said everything looked good, that the scar was healing properly and that my knee will continue to swell off and on for a year, which is how long it will take to get my full strength back. He also said that now or in a couple more weeks I can start hopping, even jumping rope (woo). At six months (currently it’s been three and a half), I can swim. “You’re doing good,” he said. I can tell by how you’re walking. I’m not worried about a guy like you with your muscle tone. If you were a soccer or basketball player, I’d tell you to start doing warm-up drills. Come back at six or seven months, and we’ll have this talk again.”

Did you notice the part where he said I had muscle tone?

When I got back home, I was in a mood to work. Two days ago my dad and I started digging up gopher dirt from our flowerbeds (and redistributing it to holes in the backyard), so I finished that project. Then I mowed the front yard, then the backyard. With a push mower. And whereas the front yard wasn’t that bad, our backyard is so big, the progress was slow. For scale, it was like vacuuming the carpet in my bedroom in one-inch strips. I must have made fifty passes. Still, think of all the calories I burned. Which is why I ate Taco Bell later. I thought, I’ve been sweating for three hours. I can handle the guacamole.

After the burrito break, I edged. However, our weed eater is apparently a piece of crap, and I had to keep restarting it. In retrospect, I would have been better off just giving our weeds a strong talking to. (You there–that’s right, the dandelion–stop growing!) All in all, today’s work took four hours, since I had to make one trip to the gas station and another to Walmart (for weed eater line and oil). And whereas the yard looks fabulous (Dad said it looks as good as it ever has, and since I didn’t take a picture, you’ll have to take his word for it), I’m absolutely worn out. Exhausted. Plus, I can tell I got some sun. That always takes it out of you. Granted, I used sunscreen (SPF 50), but was a little late putting it on.

So we’ll see what my shoulders look like tomorrow.

I wore a tank top.

Grr.

While I was working in the yard, our neighbor walked across the street with a giant homemade apple pie in his hands. Another neighbor gave it to him. I told him it looked delicious. Well, later he brought me (and my parents) a piece. “I started feeling guilty,” he said.

This is further proof that emotions are a good thing.

This evening I cleaned myself, then I cleaned my clothes. That is, I did laundry. My last load, which includes the tennis shoes I used to mow the lawn this afternoon (er, I mowed with a mower, but I wore the shoes on my feet because I’m not a complete savage), is drying now. So there, all my major chores for the week are done. Although I probably will take another shower before the week is over.

Probably.

Now it’s almost midnight. Just before I started blogging, I ate my piece of apple pie, and I can feel my insulin kicking in. A nap sounds nice. A nine-hour nap, that is. Okay. How to end this? This afternoon, in the thick of mowing and the heat of the sun, I started to mentally grouse. I thought, This is harder than it was when I was a teenager. But then I remembered that four short months ago I was on crutches, and a year ago I was barely over a three-month-long sinus infection and two rounds of the flu and thought, I’m glad I can do this at all. It feels great to be outside. I’m really proud of my progress. Yes, things are looking up. This is just the beginning of good things.

Dandelions beware!

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Authenticity is worth all the hard work. Being real is its own reward."

Life Is Not a Race (Blog #732)

This afternoon I saw my dermatologist for a follow-up after last month’s discovery that my skin is generally pissed off by, well, a lot of things. (Aren’t we all?) Anyway, it was the easiest appointment ever. We discussed a couple minor irritations, but basically my skin is fine now. Better than yours, probably.

So there.

After my appointment, I went to a coffee shop and finished reading a book by Sheldon Kopp my therapist recommended. And whereas the book was overall lovely and helpful, it also contained some dated statements (it’s an old book). For example, “Homosexuality is heterosexuality gone astray.” What utter nonsense. As if gay men, for example, really are attracted to the women but simply–unfortunately–wandered off one day, got confused, and couldn’t find their way back to a nice set of tits. Gone astray. Like, Dear me! How did I ever wind up in bed with this naked studmuffin? Please. This just goes to show you–don’t swallow everything you read hook, line, and sinker. Even people with letters after their name don’t know everything.

I guess today was a day for reading, since after finishing the book I just mentioned, I re-read some old blogs, numbers 61-70. In my attempt to re-read all over-700 of them, I’m taking them ten at a time. And whereas I could have read more this afternoon, I figure I won’t get worn out this way. Plus, what’s my hurry? Life isn’t a race. I’ll get there eventually.

Last night I started reading a book called Claim Your Power by Mastin Kipp. It’s basically about discovering your purpose and uncovering any subconscious blocks you may have to achieving it. But like my project of going back and re-reading my blogs, finishing this book is going to take a while, since it asks that readers complete a 40-day workbook/journal and recommends not skipping ahead. Normally, I would anyway. But in an effort to trust the process, this afternoon I completed “day two” and shut the book when I finished. Life isn’t a race. Plus, maybe the ideas in the book will have a chance to sink in this way, a chance to simmer.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

This evening I’ve been fighting a headache. It started to creep up on me at the coffee shop, and since it didn’t let up, I took some pills when I got home. Thank god for pills. Still, they haven’t quite done the trick. Nor has the relaxation mediation I did about an hour ago. So now I’m blogging in bed, horizontal, trying to not make any sudden moves. I’m trying to relax. That’s something I’ve been hyper-aware of lately, just how much I tense up when I feel pain. This, I’m sure, doesn’t help a tension headache. So I’ve been trying lean into my unpleasant experiences rather than push against them. Is this fun? No. Is it helpful? Believe it or not, yes.

I’ve read in a couple different books that say our bodies actually relax more when we pay attention to our pain or tension rather than trying to grin and bear it or ignore it altogether. When we accept what is rather than attempt to push it away. There’s a similar idea that’s presented in the book I started last night–that our unpleasant emotions will dissolve when we fully feel or experience them–not when we shove them down or ignore them. I’m working on this. Earlier today I thought about money and immediately felt stress. And whereas I’d normally “think about something else, think about something else,” today I let myself feel the stress, the panic of scarcity. And I didn’t die. Later, when I handled a money matter online, I didn’t have to pep-talk my way through it. The stress was gone.

Now I’m ready to call it a night. So many times over the last two years I’ve soldiered through this blog despite being tired or sick or having a headache. I’ve soldiered through a lot in life–clenched my jaw, shoved down my feelings, and pushed on. But there’s a price to pay for this, I think, for not listening to the wisdom of your body and emotions. And whereas I often get frustrated because I don’t know what my body is trying to tell me, I think that any discomfort or pain is, at the very least, trying to say, “Stop. Slow down. Sweetheart, life is not a race.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

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