On Rearranging Yourself (Blog #1045)

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I spent most of today working on a 1,000 piece puzzle. And whereas I didn’t finish, I did make good progress. Indeed, this afternoon I worked for several hours (at which point I took the picture below), and this evening I worked for a couple more. Ugh. When I get in puzzle-solving mode I lose all track of time. I skip meals, put off going to the bathroom, and delay blogging. I think, Just one more piece. Just one more section. Last year I completed a different 1,000 piece puzzle only to realize it was missing a piece. (So it was really a 999 piece puzzle.) Anyway, now whenever I can’t find a piece I convince myself it doesn’t exist. Then when I finally find it after looking “just one more time,” it’s the sweetest relief.

Earlier this week I bought a painting for four dollars (and a frame for the painting for eight), so this evening I set out to rearrange my “art wall” in order to accommodate it. And whereas I thought this would be a simple task, alas, it was not. Y’all, I spent almost two hours playing Tetris with my framed art, photos, and brooches, the main problem being that once I put the new painting above my bed I didn’t have a good spot for the old art that used to be there. FINALLY, after much frustration and upset, I decided to put the old art in my bathroom (above the toilet). After that, things were relatively simple. Well wait. Now that I think about it, they weren’t. Before it was all said and done, I hung or rehung a total of eleven framed pieces (two in my bathroom, nine in my bedroom).

Only four of the pieces on my “art wall” are in the same location they used to be.

Let’s hear it for trying new things.

I’ve said before that when you change one thing you change everything (and this is why we often avoid change), and this is what I mean. Everything’s connected. You buy one new painting, and it inevitably pushes your other ones around. Likewise, you get one new belief (like, I’m worthy of being treated well), and it can seriously upset your applecart. I mean, it sounds good to say that you deserve to be respected, but if you really believe that, what are you gonna do the next time someone (including you) disrespects you? Because this is where the rubber meets the road, where you have to speak up for yourself, have a hard conversation, or, if necessary, walk away.

Again, this is why most of us don’t buy new pieces of art, buy new pieces of art being a euphemism for change our beliefs. It’s not that we don’t like the idea of something new, fresh, and beautiful (I’m patient, I’m kind, I stand up for myself), it’s just that the rearranging we have to do in order to accommodate something new, fresh, and beautiful is seriously a lot of effort and often involves fallout.

Take money, for instance. Most anyone, myself included, would tell you that they’d LOVE to have more money. And yet most of us aren’t willing to do what it takes to have it. And no, I’m not just talking about getting a side-hustle. I’m talking about really getting honest about your relationship with money. For me this has looked and continues to look like digging into where, when, and how my beliefs about money started, realizing that despite the fact that I give myself a lot of crap about not being more “successful” in terms of worldly wealth, most if not all of the money concepts I have, for better or for worse, were handed down to me (by family, church, school, and society).

In terms of money, for decades I’ve had dreams about a particular person that I’ve always considered wealthy and successful. And whereas for years this person appeared in my dreams as far off or unapproachable, since starting therapy and unpacking my issues around money with my therapist, that’s changed. For instance, I’ve had dreams in which this person’s house has been for sale or I’ve been moving into their house, one possible interpretation being that their lifestyle is AVAILABLE to me. Last night I dreamed that, instead of me looking up to this person, THEY were looking up to me, literally serving me.

Keep working on the puzzle that is you.

As I see it, these dreams and especially last night’s dream mean that my beliefs about money are changing from “I’m intimidated” to “I”m in charge.” Better said, since this dream-person is just a part of my consciousness (and completely separate from the actual person), these dreams mean that my relationship with myself is changing. Earlier this evening I meditated on money (and relationships and all the things), and I realized that I’m accustomed to loss. Not that I’m used to always losing things or having people leave me, but it’s a FAMILIAR feeling. You might say it’s a comfortable one, albeit not a healthy or accurate one. All this to say that this is The Hard Work, the willingness to take an honest look at the beliefs that run your life and, if needed, change them by changing yourself. By rearranging yourself. This, of course, means carrying yourself differently, more confidently, and this is a scary and uncomfortable thing to do. Do it anyway. Keep working on the puzzle that is you until all your pieces fit.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

On Tuition (Blog #1044)

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Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Over a week ago my parents’ garage door broke. Well, a gear inside the motor broke. Alas, I found out the manufacturer doesn’t make or sell replacement parts for their thirty-year-old motors. (Who knows why?) Thankfully, I found someone on eBay who does, so I ordered a new gear last Friday. And whereas I wasn’t absolutely sure that it would work, I decided when it arrived in the mail this afternoon that it would. Yippee. Sometimes God throws you a bone.

The way our specific garage door motor is set up is 1) there’s a motor that turns a crank, 2) that crank turns a big gear, 3) that big bear turns a small gear, and 4) that small gear moves the chain (and the chain moves the actual garage door). Well, when I got to looking, the only hangup with the replacement gear (the black one below) was that the second, smaller gear “sat” a little low, not quite in line with the chain. So I put a washer underneath it. Voila!

I wish I could tell you this was the only problem I had to solve this afternoon.

The next hangup I encountered was that because the motor and gears sit almost flush with the ceiling and are protected by a metal covering (not pictured), I had to run the chain through the gears BEFORE mounting the motor to the ceiling. But because the chain was connected to a bolt (that connects to a turnbuckle that keeps the chain tight) and the bolt wouldn’t fit through a plastic chain “holder” (pictured above, at top), I first had to remove the bolt by taking off the last chain link. Then, in an effort to tighten the chain and make sure it wasn’t too far this way or that way (because the position of the chain indirectly affects whether or not the garage door motor “thinks” the garage door is up or down), I broke the turnbuckle.

“Shit,” I said. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Of course, Lowe’s didn’t have the turnbuckle I needed, so I bought one that I thought I could make work. This involved drilling a hole in it so I could use a screw to connect it to the piece of hardware that actually carries or moves the garage door.

After I got the turnbuckle problem figured out, I mounted the motor to the ceiling and went to tighten the chain, which I first added the previously removed link to, holding it together with zip ties. This is when I realized the new turnbuckle’s bolts were SHORTER than the old turnbuckle’s bolts, so I had to ADD LENGTH by inserting a connecting link, which I stole from my bedroom where I was using it to hang a swag lamp.

The lesson: everything has more than one use. The other lesson: when problem-solving, you gotta think creatively.

THANKFULLY, all this rigging paid off. After I tightened the chain and reconnected all the electrical wires, everything worked fine. A little noisier than before, but fine. Is our garage door a little janky? Sure. But a brand new one would have cost $200-$350, and for the price of $24 ($21 for the gear and $3 for the turnbuckle), we’ve got something that works.

Later when my dad thanked me, I said, “You’re welcome. And I don’t mind saying it was a pain in the ass.”

“I’m sure it was,” he said. And then, because he’s rarely outdone, he added, “But did you learn something?”

Of course, I had. Two weeks ago I had almost zero idea about how garage doors work, other than the fact that when you push a button they go up or down. But now after two solid afternoons getting my hands dirty in the garage, I understand most of the mechanics and some of the electronics. So I’m richer in experience, and my parents are richer in dollars.

As my Uncle Monty used to say, we’re all winners here.

Hey fella, why the long face?

This evening I went out to eat with my friend Kim and afterwards helped her feed her horses. Well, before we wrapped up she told me a story about a mutual friend of ours, a guy who’s married to a woman who was born in another country. As the story goes, the man and his wife were visiting her native land and took a taxi to get back to their hotel. Alas, the taxi driver was less than scrupulous and took the long route in hopes of procuring a higher fare.

“I’m not paying him extra,” the man told his wife when he realized they were being swindled.

“Yes, you will,” his wife replied. “You’ll pay the man and tell him this word.”

So at the end of the ride the man handed the taxi driver the higher fare and said the word his wife had told him to, at which point the taxi driver started shoving the man’s money back to him.

“What was the word?” I asked Kim.

“Tuition,” she said. “Apparently in the wife’s culture when someone teaches you a lesson, you owe them money for tuition. So when the man said ‘tuition’ to the taxi driver he was saying, ‘I owe you because you’ve taught me that you’re a thief. You’ve taught me not to trust you.'”

Isn’t this fabulous? Also, wouldn’t we all be broke if we paid tuition to all the people in our lives who taught us not to trust them? I know I would. I can’t tell you the number of valuable lessons I’ve learned through my bad relationships, my difficult encounters with friends, family, and clients. Probably more than through my good ones. More and more, I’m grateful for these lessons and the people who taught them to me. Recently I literally walked away from a salesman who was full of shit, and a friend of mine marveled at my bravery. But the only reason I could do it was because I’ve dated master bullshitters, been backed into dozens of corners by slick salesmen and non-stop talkers. My point being that every triumph I’ve had has come at a high price. Therapy alone has cost me THOUSANDS of dollars. (And yes, it’s been worth it. I’ve been worth it.) This is the deal on planet earth. Whether you’re dealing with people or garage doors, if you want to learn something new you’ve got to get your hands dirty. You’ve got to put in the time. You’ve got to–wait for it–pony up the dough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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What Goes Down Must Come Up (Blog #1043)

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Last night I worked backstage for the national tour of Finding Neverland until one in the morning, rolling up Marley floor, wrapping up in padded blankets the windows Peter Pan flies, and pushing heavy crates onto semis. And whereas I had a fabulous time (the theater is magic), I could barely think straight when it was all over. Indeed, it was all I could do to get myself home, brush my teeth, and crawl into bed. Thankfully, I had most of today to rest. Alas, despite the fact that I slept until one this afternoon and took a cat nap this evening, I’m still tired. What the hell?

Clearly my body is not a fan of manual labor.

For whatever reason, I’ve spent most the day in a sour mood. Perhaps this is because yesterday was simply marvelous and, according to physics, what goes up must come down. (I’ll explain.) In addition to seeing the “backstage” friends I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, I also saw my “onstage” friend Kirk, who plays Charles Frohman (the man who first produced Peter Pan) and Captain Hook in Finding Neverland. Not only did I get to chat and catch up with Kirk (albeit while he was changing clothes and combing his hair before the show), but I also got to see him perform. From row five, center. Talk about magic. It’s one thing to see a stunning musical, and it’s quite another to see your friend killing it in that musical.

One of my favorite lines last night was when Kirk (as Frohman) said, “I don’t have a child inside me. I have an ulcer.” What adult hasn’t felt this way? We’re encouraged to be lighthearted, to enjoy our lives, but we think, I can’t. I’m too busy. I have bills to pay. I’ll be happy later. My back hurts now. We meet a perpetually joyful person and are automatically suspicious. We actually say, “What are YOU smiling about?” As if smiling weren’t the most natural thing in the world.

Getting back to my sour mood today, I suppose we all experience a certain amount of let down after a glorious time. In the show last night the four young boys who inspired the creation of Peter Pan spent their days playing in the park, and at night the youngest would jump up and down on his bed and say, “I don’t want to go to sleep.” Likewise, as adults we go on vacation, watch a musical, or see an old friend, and think, I don’t want this party to end. And yet end it does. No party lasts for ever. One moment we’re flying high, and the next we’re back on the ground, at home doing the dishes. We think, Well THIS sucks.

Something I often tell people is that I almost always listen to the same instrumental music whenever I write this blog. And whereas the music itself isn’t important, what is important is that I’ve created a ritual around writing. Every night I pour a cup of tea, sit down in my chair, press play, and start typing, my goal being to process the day, figure things out, and walk away feeling better (or at least with more self-acceptance, compassion, and understanding). Well, the ritual works. I can be in the worst mood, turn my instrumental music on, and even without writing a word begin to feel better. Tonight, for instance, I was so frustrated.

But then the music started playing, and I found myself smiling.

It’s weird how we can get loyal to our bad moods. Currently I’m feeling lighter than I have all day, and yet there’s a part of me that wants to recount my grievances. And this hurts, and that hurts, and–worst of all–the party is over. Ugh. What goes up must come down. And yet more and more I believe the reverse is also true. What goes down must come up. That is, no matter how tired you are, at some point you find rest. No matter how sick you are, at some point you find healing (even if this is in death). No matter how ho-hum your mood, at some point you find yourself smiling.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Answers come built-in. There are no "just problems."

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On Interesting People (Blog #1042)

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Phew. I woke up at six this morning and have been functioning ever since, working backstage for the national tour of the musical Finding Neverland. And whereas for weeks I’ve been fearful that my chronic sinus problems would rear their ugly head (in my head) and make my day miserable, I’ve felt fine. Almost human. Indeed, I’ve helped unload three semis, pushed props around, laid down Marley floor, made beds, and sanitized glasses and haven’t once thought, God, I feel terrible. Rather, except one time while crawling around on my knees, I’ve been grateful for this opportunity. Sure, it’s grunt work, but I love the magic of the theater and seeing how it all works.

Speaking of magic, here’s something. Over a year ago I got to work backstage for ten days for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. Well, this tour of Finding Neverland is being put on by the same production company, so this morning I was greeted by hugs and several familiar faces, friends whose lives and travels I’ve been following on social media. I can’t tell you what a treat this was, to show up to work and be welcomed, to not be a stranger. Of course, we’re all strangers at some point, in some situation. And so we meet each other. We say, “Hi, my name is (insert your name here). What’s your name?”

If we’re lucky, a conversation begins. And talk about magic, a good conversation can take you anywhere.

In my experience with good conversation, the key is to remain curious. Ask a lot of questions. So often we judge people by the clothes they wear or the job they’re currently doing and forget that we’re only seeing a piece of them, not the whole puzzle, the whole mystery. One of the gentlemen I worked with this morning was, by trade, a chef. Indeed, if you live in Fort Smith, you’ve probably eaten one of his recipes, since before he moved away he consulted with many of our local restaurants. Another worker said, “If you’re a chef, what are you doing here?”

“Just making some extra money while I’m visiting my family,” he said.

I don’t know. I think people are fascinating. What’s more, I think they’re willing to tell you almost anything if they sense you really want to listen. One man I just met today told several of us at lunch about his mentor who died many years ago in a freak accident. “It really affected me,” he said. “He taught me everything I know.” Heart wrenching.

Something I’ve been thinking about today is just how much your attitude affects your experience. For example, when you’re sitting with a group of strangers, a fearful or shy attitude will keep you isolated. But a curious attitude, a friendly attitude, will connect you to others, others who are fundamentally the same as you. People with hopes and dreams, griefs and tragedies not unlike yours. People who want to be loved, accepted, and appreciated exactly as they are, just like you do.

This is true no matter what someone looks like, no matter where they’re from.

Getting back to the idea of attitude, at one point today a forklift driver whose sole responsibility was to unstack large boxes over and over again told me he was bored. “It’s just the same thing. Up and down, up and down.” I totally get this. For years I worked as a wedding photographer’s assistant and was constantly surrounded by magic, the most important day of the wedding couple’s life. However, for me it was just another day at work, one more batch of spinach dip. Looking back, I can see that it was my attitude, my perception, that kept me from enjoying the uniqueness of each event. It’s not that the magic wasn’t there. I just couldn’t see it.

There’s an idea that I subscribe to that says that BORING people are BORED and INTERESTING people are INTERESTED. Again, this goes back to how curious you are about other people and your surroundings, what your attitude is. The truth is that, on one hand, every day is the same thing over and over again. We wake up, we go to bed. Up and down, up and down, until we die. So yes, one could get bored pretty easily. On the other hand, every day is new. For example, although I may work backstage at another show, I will never again work backstage with the same people, the same constellation of precious faces I worked with today. Seen from this perspective and with this attitude, each person, each day, and each moment we encounter becomes a gift, a gift worthy of our reverence and interest.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.

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On Lies and the Simple Truth (Blog #1040)

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It’s midnight. For all that’s happened today and for all that I’ve been thinking about, I can’t for the life of me think of what to say. (There. That’s two sentences. Good job, Marcus.) Some days it’s easier to write than others. Okay, here we go. This morning I woke up feeling kind of junky, but now I think I feel better. Do other other people do this, go back and forth about whether or not they feel well? My body loves me, it loves me not. More and more I’m convinced that when it comes to our bodies, something is always working, something is always not working. We feel how we feel right here, right now.

For weeks I’ve been dreading this coming Wednesday. Because for weeks I’ve been fighting sinus stuff, and this Wednesday I have to work from sun up until after midnight. What if I feel miserable? I’ve been thinking over and over (and over) again. Then last week I started feeling better. (Whoopie!) Then two days ago I relapsed. (Boo.) Now I don’t know what’s going to happen. (Do we ever?) Yesterday I dreaded working all day today cleaning at a client’s, and yet it went fine. I was a little wiped out, but no where near exhausted or disgustingly sick. Indeed, I worked at my own pace and even enjoyed a book on tape as I scrubbed, dusted, swept, and mopped.

All that worry for nothing.

The book I listened to today was a juvenile fiction novel, but yesterday while raking leaves for my parents I finished listening to William Dameron’s The Lie: A Memoir of Two Marriages, Catfishing, and Coming Out. Talk about powerful. It’s about how the author, a gay man, maintained the illusion of being a straight man (by dating women, being married to a woman, having children, etc.) for decades. And whereas he obviously had to tell a lot of lies in order to keep his act up, he says it all started as a child when he first BELIEVED a lie, the notion that gay people aren’t worthy of love and a happy life.

You can be yourself.

I think about stuff like this a lot, about how lies complicate your life but the truth keeps it simple. I can’t speak for Dameron and have never been married (to a woman or a man), but I know what it’s like to be in the closet, and it’s full of lies and complications. You say, Oh, no, I like women. I just haven’t met the right one. You blow smoke up everyone else’s ass AND your own. All the while you’re trying to cover up your mannerisms and natural speech patterns. You lower your voice. You avert your eyes. Complicated. But when you’re honest, what’s to hide? You can be yourself. If anyone asks or you feel like sharing, you’ve got a one liner that goes, “I’m gay.” Even if someone says it’s not natural, you know it’s natural for you. Even if they say, “You’re going to hell,” it doesn’t change the facts. So you say, “Okay, I’m gay and I’m going to hell. Good. God knows SOMEONE needs to give that place a makeover.”

Simple.

I’m using being gay as an example, but this “lies are complicated, the truth is simple” formula can be applied to anything. Today at my client’s house there was a lot of clutter, and I caught myself thinking, They should be more organized (just like a fundamentalist might think, They should be more straight), the complicated part being that I then went down the rabbit hole of everything this person was doing “wrong” according the Gospel of Marcus. In short, I judged my neighbor (and forgot that their clutter was the reason I had a job today). But then I reminded myself that 1) it was their life, their house, and their clutter and 2) no one can be any more organized (or straight or kind or responsible) than they are in this moment. In the future, maybe. But not right here, right now. Right here, right now, we are as we are–organized, disorganized gay, straight, responsible, irresponsible, sick, not sick.

And that’s the simple truth, Ruth.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When you hide your hurt, you can’t help but pass it on. It ends up seeping, sometimes exploding out.

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On Gays and Egg Salad (Blog #1038)

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It’s almost midnight, and for the last thirty minutes I’ve been staring at my laptop trying to figure out what to write. (I got nothing.) Honestly, I’m dog tired. My bed is six feet away, and I’d much rather be over than over here. Indeed, my body is crying out for sleep. This evening I went out for Mexican food with my friend Aaron, and my head almost fell into the cheese dip. That being said, I still had a wonderful time and managed to stay more than alert for the drive home. But seriously, as soon as this blog is over, I’m out like a light.

I guess part of the reason I’m exhausted is because I didn’t get much sleep last night and have been going all day. Plus, I’ve eaten a lot. My insulin is working overtime. This morning I ate at a brunch buffet with friends and had three helpings. You know, to get ready for the Super Bowl, the official favorite holiday of gay men. (That was a joke, Mom. The official favorite holiday of gay men is Halloween. Because we get to pretend like we’re someone we’re not. Ironic, I know. You’d think all those years in the closet would have been enough pretending.) Anyway, after brunch, me and one of my friends ran around to a couple antique shops and one bookstore, where I bought an old book about nautical astronomy (how to navigate ships by the stars) for a dollar.

Something I’ve been thinking about tonight is how every book is a world unto itself. For example, the book I bought today includes charts and tables that if correctly read, understood, and used, would allow one to sail a ship around the globe using only the stars (and sun and moon and horizon, I’m assuming) for guidance. Talk about amazing. I can barely get to an out-of-town shopping mall without a GPS and three Hail Marys. But I digress. My point is that any book, fiction or non-fiction, has the power to open to you new and (hopefully) exciting ways of seeing the world. New ways of understanding. New ways of believing.

Along these lines, lately I’ve been thinking of individuals as books, each with his own way of perceiving, each with her own story to tell. And whereas our lives obviously overlap with the lives of others and we’re written into the chapters of our friends and families, no two books–er, no two lives–are exactly the same. Byron Katie says that each of us lives on a different planet, in a completely different solar system than everybody else. Meaning that in your book, in your world, gay people may be hated by God (or you rather, since we’re talking about the God in YOUR head) and condemned to hell. In mine, not so much. At one point this afternoon my friend’s sibling offered them egg salad, which the sibling obviously loved. “Ick,” my friend said. “I could never.”

See? Two different novels, two different stories. The story of “egg salad is delightful,” the story of “egg salad is shit.”

More and more, it’s becoming important for me to let people have their story and let people have their world. What I mean is that I have less and less interest in trying to change people, in trying to convince anyone that gays and egg salad are fabulous. This afternoon I stood amid thousands of books, and only one of them seemed so interesting that I reached for my wallet. But what? Am I going to insist that the other books be banned? Certainly not. Every book has a right to exist. Likewise, so does every person have a right to exist. Exactly as they are. With all of their experiences, opinions, and judgments. However contrary to mine or yours. This is love. It doesn’t demand that the people around us change one iota. Rather, it appreciates the fact that every book reads differently.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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None of us is ever really lost. At least we're never really alone. For always there is someone to help point your ship in the right direction, someone who sees you when you can't see yourself.

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Don’t Throw Yourself Out (Blog #1037)

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What a day. What a productive day.

I’ll explain.

A few days ago my parents’ garage door broke. And whereas it took me a while to figure out what the problem was because the door itself was fine and the motor was working, it ended up being a shattered plastic gear. (The motor turns the gear, and the gear turns another gear that moves the chain). Anyway, this afternoon I took the motor down from the ceiling and fished out all the broken pieces, six in all. Then, in hopes that I could buy a replacement gear, replace it, remount the motor, and call it a day, I called two local garage door companies. Well, nothing’s ever easy. Both companies said, “Unfortunately, that motor’s older than God, and no replacement parts are available.” And get this shit! The guy at the second place said, “The manufacturer doesn’t want you to fix your old motor; they want you to buy a new one.”

“How much will that cost?” I said.

“$375 including parts, labor and installation, and tax,” he said.

Turning my feet toward the front door, I said, “I’m gonna have to pray about that.”

Determined to find another solution, when I got home I went to work gluing the gear back together and thinking of ways I could reinforce the spokes with nuts and bolts. Then I decided to take another look on eBay, even though I’d searched earlier and couldn’t find a gear designed anything like mine. And whereas I still couldn’t find an exact match, I found an acceptable one, the difference being that my old gear turns a smaller, separate gear, and the one I ordered turns a smaller, built-in or attached gear. Anyway, considering it only cost $20 and can be returned if it doesn’t fit, it’s worth a shot.

Fingers crossed.

In order to detach the garage door motor from the ceiling, I first had to go to the hardware store. I needed a socket/socket wrench, which I had, but I wasn’t strong enough to turn it (the screws were in studs). So I went to Lowe’s to get an adapter that would allow me to connect the socket to my power drill. This did the trick. All this to say that the adapter caused me to get very excited about all the different-sized sockets lying around in my Dad’s and (dead) Granmpa’s respective toolboxes. I kept thinking, Now I can use those! So this evening I organized both toolboxes, including all the sockets and socket wrenches. Then, because one thing leads to another, I cleaned out and organized the drawers in our garage, the ones that we’ve been throwing all our random screws, nuts, nails, and washers into for the last thirty years.

Of course, this has made it a pain in the ass to find anything.

But not now. Now it’s all organized. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am about this. Not only did I throw away a bunch of crap we’ll never use, but I also found a bunch of crap I never knew we had. For example, in my Grandpa’s toolbox were all kinds of files, wedges, hex wrenches, and plumbing tools. Stuff that will definitely come in handy!

Grandpa used to say, “You take care of your tools, and your tools will take care of you.” Along these lines, I’ve been thinking about how we’re so quick to throw things away, but when we simply take care of our stuff, it continues to serve us. Sure, there are times when a garage door motor goes kaput and it’s time to start over. But how often do we start over when we really don’t need to, just because a salesman tells us we should? “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” they say. More and more I’m learning it’s worth checking into other options. It’s worth being persistent and creative and searching for answers. It’s worth taking care of your stuff.

Your body is capable of a lot.

Likewise, it’s worth taking care of your health. For the last six years and especially the last three, I’ve been focusing on just this. And whereas I’ve hit a lot of rough patches along the way, I feel like I’m really starting to make progress. Despite what well-meaning doctors (like me and you, they’re doing the best they can) have told me about certain diagnoses being irreversible (“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” they say), I’m convinced my body is capable of healing most anything. Indeed, after decades of dealing with mental, emotional, and physical problems, I’ve beginning to see many of them disappear. So it will forever be my encouragement to anyone who’s struggling on the inside or outside to hang in there and don’t take no for answer. Get a second opinion. Garage door salesmen don’t have all the answers, and neither do doctors. I’m not saying you’re never going to die (you’re GOING to die), but your body is capable of a lot.

Don’t throw yourself out just yet.

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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Marcus and the Search for Happiness (Blog #1034)

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It’s been raining nonstop. Nothing too heavy. Just the steady downfall of a cold, gray January day. Yes, today the rain has been reliable. Consistent, like an old friend. And whereas I’d normally describe a day like today as murky or dreary, today I’ve thought of it as enveloping or comforting. Peaceful. For the last few hours I’ve been sitting in my chair, reading, next to my window. Besides the occasional whoosh of a car driving by, there’s been the pitter-pat of the rain. The soft, kind, let-me-wrap-my-arms-around-you pitter-pat of cleansing water. Nothing too heavy. An old friend.

This afternoon I went to Northwest Arkansas to see my upper cervical care doctor. First, however, I went to a used bookstore to sell, or at least try to sell, some books for my parents. And whereas the store later told me I could have parked right in front and avoided getting wet and paying the parking meter, I said, “Too late. I already did all that.” They had a look on their faces like, what a shame, but more and more I prefer what is. What I mean is that could-haves and should-haves are fantasies. I COULD HAVE parked in front? What a ridiculous notion. No, I couldn’t have, no more than I could have flown to the shop. Why? Because I parked somewhere else, and because I DROVE there. Could the sun have risen in the west this morning? Not in reality. In your head, maybe.

Yesterday in an effort to finish my leaf raking and bagging project before this morning’s predicted rain, I worked well past dark. This required a bit of strategery, meaning that as the sun was still up, I bagged the piles farthest away from the house. Then as the dark set in, I bagged the ones closest to the house, where my client had turned on their porch lights. Anyway, I kept thinking about how some people might be miserable bagging leaves at night but how I wasn’t. After all, I love the dark. Looking up, I could see the moon. I could see Venus. Plus, it was still, quiet. It was peaceful, like it is now by my window. Just the rustle of leaves and the sighing of my breath.

And the occasional groan.

After we exchanged pleasantries about our weekends, my upper cervical care doctor told me my graph looked fabulous today (which means he didn’t give me an adjustment). “It’s as good as I’ve ever seen yours look,” he said. “Maybe you should do yard work more often.”

Everyone’s a comedian.

“I’m not sure my ankle agrees,” I said, since my ankle and a number of other body parts have been sore today.

“Well, your body’s trying,” he said. “Just give it time. It’s old.”

Ha.

Ha.

Ha.

This evening I read a delightful book I couldn’t resist buying at the bookstore this afternoon, Hector and the Search for Happiness by French psychiatrist Francois Lelord. A modern-day parable about one man’s (Hector’s) quest to find happiness, the book doesn’t ultimately propose a formula for lasting joy. It does, however, list a number of ways to increase joy in your life. For example, by spending time with those you love, or by doing something that makes you feel useful.

One of my favorite observations that Hector makes is “making comparisons can spoil your happiness.” Breaking this wisdom down, he says that we rob ourselves of happiness when we compare ourselves 1) to an imagined future, 2) to a remembered past, or 3) to someone else. For example, I could have really made myself miserable last night while raking leaves had I 1) wished I’d been inside drinking hot chocolate instead of stepping in dog shit, 2) thought about how much faster and more efficiently I COULD HAVE worked had I not screwed up my knee last year, or 3) looked at Facebook and pouted about the fact that I wasn’t on vacation in Cabo with MY hot boyfriend.

Which I don’t have, by the way.

That’s ANOTHER fantasy.

More and more I see how we make ourselves miserable by comparisons. It rains, and, because we compare this present moment to a memory we like better, we think the rain shouldn’t exist (and yet it does). Just like that, there goes your happy afternoon. There goes your chance to experience the peaceful pitter-pat. We wish our bodies looked different, felt different, behaved differently. Consequently, we miss out on how they DO look, feel, and behave. Despite all my sinus troubles and headaches, last night my body helped me make money, and this afternoon it ran me all over town. This evening it allowed me to read. Never once did it ask anything in return. I tell it it’s not good enough, but it continues to serve. It’s consistent. Like an old friend. If only I could be so faithful to myself and others. If only I could move through life like a gentle rain. Nothing too heavy. If only I could wrap my arms around this present moment with all it’s glory and terror, and then, when it is over, let it go as gracefully as a tree lets go of its leaves.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"The heart sings for its own reasons."

Landmine (Blog #1031)

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Today I raked leaves, sixteen bags full, for a client who has a dog. Y’all, I stepped in so much shit. It was like walking through a landmine, bombs going off left and right. You should have seen me slipping and sliding. Crap was all over my shoes, my gloves, and God knows what else. And whereas my client apologized, their dog did not. Rude, I know. Thank goodness I had my poop boots on.

Poop boots are the best.

That being said, it did take me fifteen minutes to clean them in my client’s bathtub before I left because they (my boots, not my client) have deep grooves.

Think about it.

It’s gross, I know. Some things in life are.

Despite all the shit I stepped in today, I actually had a good time raking leaves. Sure, it was manual labor, but considering all the peanut butter I’ve been eating lately, I needed the exercise. Plus, it’s good to be employed, especially at a job where you can work, listen to a book on tape, and get paid all at the same time. This is why I told my client, “It’s okay, the poop is just part of the job.” Not that I loved all the odors or having to clean my boots and gloves later, but it’s not like I didn’t know it was going to be a dirty job. My client told me their yard was full of leaves and poop. Well, in my world that sounds like cash, so I agreed to brave the wilderness.

My point being that since I agreed to the conditions, why complain? Even if I hadn’t known what I was getting myself into, let’s face it. Dogs shit, people step in shit, and shit happens. No matter who you are, no matter where you go, no matter how well you plan. Sooner or later you land in something gross. Life is messy. Okay. This is why God invented soap.

Along these lines, this evening I’ve been thinking about how we so often want our lives to be pristine perfect, anything but messy. But they aren’t. In fact, they’re way messy. For example, for over three weeks (and a good part of my life) I’ve been fighting a sinus infection. And whereas I’ve felt better today, for all I know I could wake up tomorrow sick again. Or fit as a fiddle. Either way, at some point I will feel better and then turn my attention to all the things I’ve let go while feeling gross–my diet, my gym-going, my stack of papers. This is the way of it. We make a mess, we clean it up, we make a mess again. Here on planet earth, nothing stays one way (clean, messy, healthy, sick) for very long.

To me, the idea that nothing stays one way for very long sounds like hope. So often I get discouraged about my health and/or finances. And it’s not that things are so awful right here, right now. It’s that I convince myself that things will never get better. That they’ll just rock along at “blah” level until the end of time (or until the end of my time). This is ridiculous, of course, like thinking that you’re going to step in shit every hour of every day for the rest of your life. Please. There aren’t that many dogs in the world. Even if there were, they’d be no match for a good pair of boots, a bar of soap, and the right perspective. A perspective that says, “I can do this. I can make it out of this landmine alive.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.

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All Bad Moods Pass Away (If We Let Them) (Blog #1030)

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Today was a repair day. What I mean is that I spent the afternoon fixing things around the house, broken this-and-thats that have been crying out for my attention for quite some time (help us, help us!), but–you know–you’re not always in the mood to fix a leaky toilet. So you let it drip, drip, drip into the bowl. All day and all night, the water runs. Slowly, but it runs. Your utility bill goes up. A little, but it goes up.

One thing leads to another.

Along these lines, I didn’t MEAN to fix two lamps, a sink, and my parents’ leaky toilet today. I just got on a roll. I started with one lamp and kept thinking, Well, while I’m at it. One trip to Lowe’s and two trips to Walmart later, it was all done. No more lamps with faulty sockets. No more leaky toilet or kitchen sink.

Now we can see, pee, and clean debris (from our plates).

After I finished fixing one of the lamps today, my mom expressed her gratitude by telling me a story, about our friend Randy who used to travel once a year from Baltimore to visit his parents in Arkansas (he doesn’t anymore because both he and his parents are dead). “Randy said each year he’d find more and more things in his parents’ home in disrepair,” Mom said. “As you get older, you just can’t keep up with everything that breaks. Take that lamp you just fixed, for example. If it weren’t for you, we never would have used it again.” And whereas I appreciate my mom’s appreciation and am happy to put things back together, what I’ve been thinking about this evening is the fact that everything, by design, falls apart. Even if you take care of your stuff and have a live-in handyman, sooner or later all material objects (and people) go the way of the dinosaurs.

I’m not saying you shouldn’t take care of your shit or patch the holes in your jackets. You should. I’m just saying, you’re fighting a losing battle.

One thing that occurred to me tonight is that just like our physical things eventually dissolve or pass away, so do our mental stories and emotional states. Who hasn’t had the experience of being totally pissed off one day and waking up the next day (or week) completely fine? Looking back, you think, What was I so upset about? Well, where did you bad mood go? Down the toilet, that’s where.

All bad moods pass away.

Unless–and perk up here because this is my major point–we keep “fixing” them. What I mean is that if you’ve been carrying a resentment or holding a grudge for one, two, or thirty years, it’s only because you’ve been “repairing” it, nursing it back to life every time it starts to die. Once I had a dear woman tell me that for decades she’d be laying one particular concern at the feet of the cross. I didn’t say it at the time, but I thought, Why do you keep picking it back up?! Of course, I do this too, not only with my judgments about other people (and they did this, and this, and this), but also with my judgments about myself and what’s possible in my life. I think, I’ll always be this (too sick too poor) because I always have been. And yet that’s just a story I’ve told myself over and over again, a fairy tale that would gladly slip out of my hands if I’d let it, a fable that would naturally fall apart if I’d only stop putting it back together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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