On What’s Gained In Between (Blog #1028)

Last week I replaced a headlight in my car, Tom Collins. However, before I did, I replaced THE WRONG headlight in my car. That is, I replaced the high beam on the driver’s (my) side rather than the low beam. Because under the hood it was and is the easiest light to get to, the most obvious. Of course, the high beam didn’t need replacing, and so after I changed it I still had a light out. Y’all, I was so frustrated. I checked fuses and everything. Thankfully, I finally figured out 1) I’d changed the wrong bulb and 2) where the right bulb was located.

At which point I changed that one, and everything was fine.

Well.

Last night I noticed that my passenger’s side blinker was going out (you know how your dashboard indicator light will flash, flash, flash, and click, click, click real fast when there’s a problem), so today I removed my passenger side taillight assembly in an effort to change the turn signal bulb. So. The assembly has three bulbs, and I guessed the blinker was the smallest one. Wrong. Then I guessed it was the one next to the smallest one, and that was it. However, I didn’t have a bulb that was the correct size. Only one that was ALMOST the correct size. So my sweet mother got me the correct bulb at Walmart (she was going anyway), and I changed it.

And things still didn’t work.

What the hell? I thought.

Finally I realized my car, like all cars, has TWO passenger-side blinkers. One in the back and ONE IN THE FRONT. Oh, THAT’S the one that’s out! I thought. Duh. So I changed that one.

And everything worked fine.

Despite the fact that I often get upset in these situations–like, why didn’t I figure things out sooner?–today I’ve been thinking about how nothing is ever truly a waste of time. For example, a few days ago I framed this fleur-de-lis brooch.

And wheres I told myself I only had one shot to get it centered correctly, I screwed it up. That is, I drilled a hole in the backboard (an old book cover), and it was a little to the left. Crap, I thought, crap, crap, crap. Well, ever persistent, I made the hole bigger, until it was centered. Or almost centered. Then I invented a new way to “hang” the brooch. It’s a little hard to explain, but usually I use a screw and a nut and “set” the brooch pin on the nut. Well, because the nut would have held the screw off-center, I left the nut out and instead used a screw and a washer. This ended up being the perfect thing. Without the nut in the mix, there was a little wiggle room, just enough space for slipping the brooch pin in between the washer and screw head and holding the pin in place, on center.

I hope this explanation makes sense.

Even if it doesn’t make sense, my point is that with each brooch framing mistake I make, I’m learning. Likewise, each time I replace the wrong bulb in my car, I’m learning. As a recovering perfectionist, I wish I could get all things right the first time, but still. Next time, things will go a lot faster.

As far as I can tell, this “mistakes are required for learning” thing applies not only to car repair and arts and crafts, but also to relationships and healing. God knows I haven’t mastered those things yet. But I’m willing to keep trying, and I think we have to be. To ask for help when we need it and to keep getting back in the ring with our friends and family and our chronic problems. (And yes, I realize your friends and family may BE your chronic problems). Anyway, more and more I’m realizing that the point isn’t a quickly changed lightbulb or perfectly centered brooch. The point isn’t perfect relationships or perfect health. Rather, it’s the learning. It’s what’s gained in between the falling down and the getting back up again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not true.

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In the Valley of the Shadow of Death (Blog #1027)

This afternoon I saw my upper cervical care doctor, and we talked about the healing process. Thinking about the sinus infection I’ve been fighting for the last three weeks, I said, “I could use a little pep talk.”

“How long have you been coming here?” he said.

“Two months,” I replied.

“Okay,” he said. “Hang in there. There’s a reason you’re not on a two-month plan. [I’m on a twelve-month plan.]”

Then he showed me a “road to recovery” graph drawn by one of the people who developed upper cervical care (I think). “The top, mostly horizontal line is normal health,” he said. Then he pointed to a line that dipped significantly downward and said, “This was your health before coming here. Things would improve now and then, but overall they were headed south.”

Into the valley of the shadow of death, I thought.

Next he pointed to the bottom of the valley, where the declining line began to slowly climb upwards back to normal (as indicated by the–eekk–“exceptional chronic case” line below). “At two months we’ve got you going in the right direction,” he said, “but you’re still down here. Your posture’s changed because we’ve forced it to. [Get a linebacker to twist your neck around* and see if your body doesn’t respond.] You’re seeing improvements, but it usually takes three to four months for your nervous system to begin working and integrating with your immune system. THAT’S when we typically see the most dramatic results, and that’s when YOU should notice a difference in your sinuses and things like that.”

Fingers crossed.

*To be fair to my doctor, this isn’t exactly what happens. For an in-depth and less dramatic description of what DOES happen, read here.

So I’ve thinking about this graph this evening, about being in the valley of the shadow of death. Not just in health terms, but also in symbolic terms. What I mean is that there are so many times in our lives when things are going down, down, down, getting darker and darker and darker. Like we would if we were playing a game of limbo, we think, How low can I go? But then by some grace we reach–to borrow a phrase I used yesterday–a turning point. One day we see a therapist, get a new doctor, pick up a book, start a class, or hell, get married or divorced. Regardless, we think, Okay, I may not be out of the woods yet, but at least I’m not going any deeper into them.

Having struggled with sinus issues for decades, I can’t tell you how much I HOPE that one day they will be a thing of the past. Or at least be less frequent, more manageable. Technically, I guess they are. Despite the fact that they’ve reared their ugly heads (in my head) lately, they’re not as bad as they used to be. Still, my point is that for all my hoping, I also find the notion that they COULD be significantly better a little hard to believe. Just because that hasn’t been my experience. Ugh. It’s the damndest thing. We WANT better health, better relationships, better finances, and yet it’s difficult to truly envision them for ourselves because we naturally project that our future will be not all too dissimilar from our past. This is why we NEED others who are NOT where we are but are rather where we want to be to keep reminding us that other realities are possible, that–I promise–your viewpoint will change when you’re not in the valley.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

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On Stuff (Blog #1025)

Lately I’ve been thinking about stuff, partly because I’ve been buying, or at least acquiring, so much of it lately. Nothing major, mind you, just little things. Brooches, books, picture frames, magnets, t-shirts, shoes. And whereas I don’t have NEARLY the amount of stuff I owned before I had my estate sale, it’s still the most I’ve had in the last three years. Granted, I’m enjoying it. I’ve got everything organized and displayed like I want, and my room feels cozy. Comforting. At the same time, there are moments when everything I have feels like “too much,” too much to own, too much to take care of. Earlier today my friend Aaron gave me several of his old t-shirts, and I thought, Okay, fine, I’ll take five of them. But I’m going to give away at least two of mine.

Since The Great Letting Go a few years ago, one of my “rules” about owning something is that I must find it useful, that I actually wear my clothes, actually get joy out of my books and knickknacks. That’s one thing I can say about the stuff I’ve acquired lately. Although I often feel like I spend too much time on Facebook Marketplace (searching for and buying brooches), I do get a lot of pleasure out of the things I purchase. What’s more, having taken time to get everything in my room (where I am now) just so, I always feel at home here. I always feel at peace here.

My therapist says stuff is grounding, so maybe that’s why the sudden compulsion to acquire. That is, at the same time I had my estate sale, I intentionally pulled up my roots–closed my dance studio, moved homes (twice), started down a new career path. In retrospect, it was a lot at once, a bit dramatic. Still, owning fewer things made all the changes easier. Not just from a physical perspective, but from a mental and emotional one. All I had to do was look at my bookshelf (with fifty-four books, down from over three hundred) or my closet (with eight shirts, down from dozens), and it was clear–I was starting over. And whereas I’ll never be able to prove it, I believe that my downsizing set the stage for this blog and all my personal growth that’s come as a result of it.

What I mean is that if you can let go of a physical object, you can let go of a mental concept. A limiting belief about yourself, for example. A harmful thought about another. Byron Katie says you’re not attached to your things, you’re attached to your stories about your things, and this is what I mean. If you’re holding on to something physical, you’re holding on to something mental–a thought, a story. Whenever you say, “This has sentimental value” or “I can’t sell those old plastic curlers; they belonged to my dead aunt,” you’re saying you can’t let go of your narrative about them. Because the truth is you CAN let go of your stuff. You do it every day when you go to work. Leaving everything you own (except your current outfit) behind you, you prove to yourself that you don’t HAVE to own a thing in order to survive or be happy.

I mean, how do you know you’ll ever see all that stuff again? And yet you just walk out the door.

Getting back to the idea of stuff being grounding, I think it’s fascinating that at the same time I was letting go my stuff, I was letting go of how I saw myself and the world. Likewise, I find it fascinating that having grounded my concepts of self and the world (for the better), I’m now beginning to physically ground. That is, as my therapist says, stuff is heavy. It’s hard to move around. This is what you want your self-esteem, your kindness, and your compassion to be–solid, not easily pushed about. Even when I get excited about new stuff/cool stuff, this is what I remind myself, that stuff is just stuff and it will ALWAYS come and go. Nothing lasts forever, not even gold. But a soul that’s at home, at peace regardless of what it owns or doesn’t? Now that’s real gold. That’s something moth and rust can’t touch.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Boundaries aren’t something you knock out of the park every time.

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On Being Caught Up (Blog #1023)

A few quick things before I have to clean up and go out for the evening (I do have a life)–

1. On mouth taping

A couple months ago I wrote about ways to stimulate/activate your vagus nerve, one way being listening to classical music. Well, the book I mentioned, Activate Your Vagus Nerve: Unleash Your Body’s Natural Ability to Overcome Gut Sensitivities, Inflammation, Brain Fog, Autoimmunity, Anxiety, Depression by Dr. Navaz Habib, also suggested mouth taping, mouth taping being literally taping your mouth shut wile you sleep. The idea being that we were intended to breathe through our noses, and that this is a way to keep your body calm. Our mouths, it seems, were only intended as a backup system, a way to get more air in times of emergency (like when you’re stuffed up, or being chased by a lion or your ex). And whereas I didn’t try mouth taping a couple months ago, I didn’t forget about it either.

All this to say that I gave it a whirl last night. Took some surgical tape and fastened my mouth closed. And whereas it was a little awkward at first, it ended up being fine, just fine. Indeed, I had a wonderful night’s sleep, and despite the fact that I’ve been struggling with sinus issues for the last few weeks, woke up this morning with significantly LESS post nasal drip and “junk.” This is supposedly one of the points or benefits to nose breathing.

So I’m going to mouth tape again tonight.

2. On loving what is

Byron Katie, in her book Loving What Is, says that reality is always kinder than our story about it. For example, this morning while preparing to make breakfast, I dropped an egg on the kitchen floor. It just slipped, well, practically jumped right out of my hands. At which point gravity took over. And whereas normally I’d go into A STORY like “how awful this is” and “look what I’ve done wrong,” this time I didn’t. This time I was present, present to reality. And, y’all, it was like slow motion. I could see the egg slip from my fingers, and it was this beautiful thing. Down it went closer and closer the floor. And then it hit. SPLAT! Yolk and pieces of egg shell flew everywhere. It was absolutely glorious, and I can’t tell you how glad I was to be there to witness it. Talk about a fun way to start the day. I’m being serious. It was like watching an action film. For free.

Of course, I had to clean things up. But again, absent any internal bitching, cleaning up a broken egg (or relationship) isn’t a big deal. Haven’t we all cleaned up messes before?

3. On being turned into a mouse

Last night and this afternoon I read the celebrated juvenile fiction novel The Witches by Roald Dahl, the story of a young boy and his grandmother/guardian who have a serious run-in with The Grand High Witch of All the World. And whereas I don’t mean to spoil anything for anyone, she turns the boy into a mouse. (Sorry, but the book’s been out for over thirty years. Catch up.) Anyway, along the lines of loving what is, the boy isn’t bothered by the fact that he’s a mouse. Indeed, he says it never occurs to him TO BE BOTHERED. Rather, he’s excited that he can run fast, hide in small places, swing by his tail, and–here’s the real win–stop going to school.

Talk about a kid who’s caught up (to reality).

Now, the boy was obviously telling himself a story about his reality. But rather than saying, “This sucks,” he was saying, “This is beyond fabulous.” More and more I’m learning to tell myself this second story whenever something “bad” happens, whenever I drop and egg or wake up with post nasal drip. Not that I LOVE waking up sick, but I’m at least learning not to HATE it. Because it gives me a chance to rest. Because it gives me a chance to listen to my body. Because it gives me a chance to try new things (that might help). Why NOT have a positive perspective about our challenges? After all, we can’t change THE FACTS (the egg is on the floor, today I woke up sick, today I woke up a mouse), but we CAN CHANGE what we think about them. We can change the story we tell ourselves.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Obviously, God's capable of a lot. Just look around."

On Time Traveling and Starting Over (Blog #1022)

Today I’ve been thinking about cycles. I’ll explain. This afternoon I did laundry. You know, put my dirty clothes in the washer, added soap and water, shut the lid, and waited while they went round and round. Then I put them in the dryer, shut the lid, and waited while they went round and round some more. And whereas all my clothes are now clean (except for the ones I’m wearing), next week they’ll be dirty again and I’ll have to start the whole process over once more.

Along these lines, last night for the first time in weeks I went to the gym. Thankfully, I hadn’t lost everything. Indeed, there were stretches and movements that were EASIER for me last night than the last time I went. (I attribute this to the progress I’ve made through upper cervical care.) Regardless, it still felt like starting over. Just like every time I get a sinus infection feels like starting over, and just like every blog I write feels like starting over. Because no matter how many words I’ve written in the last three years (a lot), each post begins with a blank page. My point being–no matter how many times you’ve been there before, every time is new.

This is what I mean by cycles. Our lives go round and round.

Along with thinking about cycles, I’ve also been thinking about circles. Perhaps these are the same thing. Either way, I’ve heard it said that although we think of our lives and time as progressing in straight lines, they aren’t. Rather, they’re circular, cyclical. This makes sense to me because so many things in the universe whirl. The earth rotates around its axis, the planets revolve around the sun, our washers and dryers spin. Likewise, so do our patterns and behaviors. This morning I woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast, drank coffee, and read a book. And whereas I’ve never done these things on January 16, 2020, before, I have done these things over and over (and over) again on countless other days. The logical conclusion being that we don’t start here (at a point on a line) and end there (at another point further down the line). Instead, we move in circles.

Effectively, we repeat ourselves.

The book I read today was a glorious juvenile fiction novel, When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead. My friend Sydnie recommended it (thanks, Sydnie), and it’s about a boy named Marcus (oddly enough) who travels through time in order to save himself and others. At one point during the book, another character (the one who’s telling the story) is discussing time traveling with Marcus and says, “But THE MIDDLE can’t happen BEFORE THE BEGINNING.”

It can if time’s a circle, I thought. Circles don’t have beginnings, middles, or ends.

Well, sure enough, Marcus compares time to a diamond-encrusted ring, stating that we think TIME is moving but, in truth, WE ARE. Using the ring analogy, he suggests thinking of the fixed diamonds as the moments in our lives. Like, past, present, and future all exist AT ONCE. But since we can only experience or be aware of one moment, well, at a time, we perceive moments occurring separately, one before or after the other, and so on. Thus, as WE MOVE from point to point on the ring, we create in our minds (and only in our minds) the idea of time, the ideas of past and future.

How can you say that past and future are only ideas, Marcus (me Marcus, not book Marcus)?

Because search all you want, and you’ll never be able to find any proof of them. Sure, you can drag out your photo album and tell your stories, but when and where will those pictures and stories actually be happening?

Right here, right now.

I know this is a mind-bender.

Earlier I said that by going in cycles or circles we effectively repeat ourselves. Just now I looked up the origin of the word repeat, and it comes from two Latin words–re, meaning “back,” and petere, meaning “seek.” The idea that comes to my mind being “to go back” or “to seek again.” For me this is one of the nice things about life going round and round instead of in a straight line. It gives us a chance to start over (with a diet, with a workout routine, with a friend) as many times as we need to. Likewise, it gives us a chance to find ourselves, to circle back and save ourselves. Time machines aside, isn’t this what we’re doing when we re-evaluate our past, harmful judgments, when we forgive? Aren’t we rewriting history (and therefore its outcome and present-day effect) when we decide to love instead of hate another or any part of ourselves? Aren’t we starting over–anew?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You’re exactly where you need to be.

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On Leaving and Being Already Gone (Blog #1019)

This afternoon I saw my chiropractor who works with emotions and their impact on the physical body, and we ended up talking about a few of the “big hitters” in my life–my dad going to prison for six years when I was a teenager, my mom going to the National Institute of Health (for a year) when I was six or seven, our house burning down when I was four. And whereas discussing these subjects is usually a cerebral experience for me, today it was an emotional one. At least it got emotional when my chiropractor said, “There was a lot of LEAVING in your life.”

“Yeah,” I said, starting to cry. “Dad left, Mom left, our stuff left.”

Well, we’d just talked about the the fact that due to my being a child I wasn’t always told exactly what was going on, so my chiropractor added, “And you were LEFT out.”

Looking back, I know that everyone involved was doing the best they knew how, even me. This is something my chiropractor always pushes, the idea that any emotional response I had as a child–or even have now as an adult–was and is completely appropriate. For example, I remember flipping shit once as a five or six year old when my parents went out to eat and LEFT me and my sister with a babysitter. Seriously, y’all, I lost it. Well, today it hit me that OF COURSE I’d lose it seeing my parents LEAVE. That’s exactly what they did the night of the fire (went out to eat and left us with a babysitter), and look what happened THEN.

Now, as an adult I can rationalize that my parents’ leaving didn’t cause bad things to happen. And yet that’s what it FELT like as a child. That’s what got internalized. It’s why, perhaps, I have such strong reactions even today around issues of abandonment and loss. Thankfully, these reactions are less severe, less frequent than they used to be, no doubt a result of my willingness to not only accept “that little boy,” as my chiropractor calls him, but also myself as an adult. More and more, I see this as my job and my job alone–to parent myself. Not that I’m not eternally grateful for my family and all they’ve given me and continue to give. I most certainly welcome and accept their love, affection, and understanding. At the same time, I know that I’m the only person CAPABLE of being with me twenty-four hours a day.

This evening while painting some cabinets for a friend, I finished listening to The Way of the Rose by Clark Strand and Perdita Finn, a book about Mother Mary and praying the rosary that I recently blogged about here. Anyway, according to the authors, one of the things Mother Mary implores people to do is “move at the speed of life.” That is, the sun rises, seasons change, and trees grow–all without getting in a hurry. And then there’s us. We want everything done now. We’re impatient with our food orders, our checkout lines, and even our own healing. That’s what I thought today when I cried at the chiropractor’s office. Sure it’s nice to get this out, and it only took thirty years. And what about what’s left? But if I truly believe I’m part of–woven into–this universe, then I also have to believe that I’m exactly WHERE I need to be in it, that everything is unfolding as it should. That just as winter is supposed to be here (in the Northern Hemisphere anyway), this season of my life is supposed to be here too.

Tonight when I got home from painting I dropped a glass jug of water on the concrete floor in our garage. Well, it shattered. Glass flew everywhere. And whereas I started to get upset, I immediately thought of a song I’d heard earlier in the day, one of my favorite’s by Sugarland–“Already Gone.” The tune is about, among other things, a girl who falls in love despite the advice she’s getting from others. It’s like, too late for all that. Anyway, tonight I thought, What’s the use in getting upset about the broken jar? What’s the use in blaming yourself?

It’s already gone.

Along these lines, I’m finding a lot of peace in the thought that all the people and things that “left me” when I was a child were already gone too. I’ve talked before about how when we incarnate on this planet we’re joining a show already in progress, and this is what I mean, that the events and circumstances that took my parents and even my material possessions away were set in motion long before I showed up. Granted, they FELT personal, but they weren’t. This is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself, realizing that whatever happened to you would have happened to ANYBODY in your situation. Because the train was already coming down the tracks, and–please–you think a child could have stopped it? I think of people I know whose parents were total assholes. And whereas this sucks, their parents were already gone too. What I mean is their kids didn’t MAKE them that way, they were assholes before. (Their kids were just a convenient target.) Likewise, I wasn’t the REASON my parents and my stuff had to leave.

Shit happens on planet earth.

And yet for all the shit that happens here, we can always come back to ourselves and our own good hearts. We can always make space for whatever arises right here, right now. We can always tell ourselves, Sweetheart, no matter what anyone else says or does, I will never leave you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is progressing as it should.

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The Seeds from Which Your Strength Tree Grows (Blog #1013)

It’s 1:50 in the morning, and I can’t stop coughing. Today I told a friend I’d been struggling with sinus stuff, and they said, “You and everyone one else.” So that’s nice to know. I’m part of a group. Gosh, it feels good to be included. But seriously, I’ve had so many upper respiratory problems over the years, it’s easy to forget that I’m not the only one, that other people catch things too. That things go around here on planet earth. But remembering that we’re all in this sickness thing together–I guess–makes it more bearable. What’s the saying? Misery loves company.

Excuse me while I hack up a lung.

The good news is that I typically don’t cough much during the day, just at night while I’m trying to blog or sleep. But take this afternoon, for example. I was able to work on framing my vintage brooches for several hours nonstop. And whereas when I first started this project things went pretty quickly because I was permanently fastening (glueing) the brooches to the backboards (old book covers), things are taking longer now because I’m non-permanently attaching (hanging) the brooches on the backboards so that, in addition to being able to display them on a wall, I can also display them on my body.

Yowza, yowza.

Here’s one I finished today.

The most difficult part about this entire process is hanging the brooch where I think it’s most aesthetically pleasing. In this particular case, the middle. And since THAT involves drilling holes in the backboard, well, I’ve really only got one shot to get it right. Now, I’ve found ways to allow myself a little wiggle room, but it’s only a little. So this is where my Inner Perfectionist comes in handy, since he helps me get the details right. And when things aren’t EXACTLY perfect? Well, then, I have to tell him to shut up. Because projects like these are meant to be fun, not self-tortuous.

One of the things I like about framing vintage jewelry using old book covers is that it’s a way to not only be creative but also breath new life into forgotten objects. I love digging through a pile of used books and, upon seeing one with a lovely cover, thinking, You! How has no one noticed you before? I’ve got just the right frame and just the right piece of jewelry to put you with, and then–I promise–you’re going to shine. That’s the deal with creativity. You have to be able to look at something someone else would throw away and see gold.

My therapist has a saying–potential, not pathology. This phrase was recently brought up in the context or our going forward. That is, rather than focusing on what’s wrong, we’re going to be focusing on what’s right. Not that there’s anything wrong with focusing on what’s wrong. Sometimes you have to know what’s broken before you can fix it. But once you’ve focused on what’s wrong (I’ve been in therapy for almost six frickin’ years now), well then, it’s time to take your broken and scattered pieces and put them back together into something new, beautiful, and useful. It’s time to breathe new life into YOURSELF. It’s time to make YOURSELF shine.

This evening while I was working, my parents were watching The Batchelor, which means I was watching The Batchelor. Anyway, after one of the girls talked about her difficult childhood (I missed all the details, but someone important died), my dad the cynic said, “WHERE do they find all these people with their sob stories?!”

“It can’t be THAT hard,” I said. “Everybody’s got one.”

But seriously, don’t we? Lately I’ve been talking about how our challenges aren’t personal, and this is what I mean. When everyone you know or are related to has had someone die of cancer, or been in a terrible car accident, or been divorced, beaten up, cheat upon, or neglected, how can you claim that your problems are unique? Now, I’m not minimizing them. They are unique to you. And important for your journey. At the same time, I AM trying to take the sting out of them. I’m trying to get you out of victim mode (pathology) and into your power (potential) by helping you see that these things–these very shitty things–simply happen on planet earth. To everyone. Because this is the shit happens to you, and you, and you planet.

Why we signed up to come here, I’ll never know. I’m convinced, as a friend of mine says, we must have missed something in the fine print.

At one point while I was working today, my dad said, “You know, you mother and I don’t always get to see you actually doing the things you like doing [like dancing, writing]. But I’ve been watching you paint and drill and glue and and everything else this afternoon, and you look absolutely content.”

“Hum,” I said, “I am content. I really enjoy this.” That’s another thing about this planet. Despite the fact that some terrible things can and do happen (and that they can and do happen to you), it’s still possible to be content, to be happy. Even while you’re coughing up a lung, it’s still possible to find peace of mind. This is one of the gifts of doing The Hard Work, of looking at the most challenging and shitty events of your life and shifting your perspective about them in such a way that they become your greatest assets, the seeds from which your Strength Tree grows. Because that’s the deal, it’s not what happens to you, but what grows out of it. It’s how YOU grow out of it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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We’re All in This Together (Blog #1011)

It’s ten in the evening, and, despite the fact that I sat down to blog half an hour ago, I keep getting distracted by Etsy and other fun things on the internet. Since I’m fasting today, I’m having a difficult time concentrating. My body’s woozy–famished–and I simply don’t have the mental fortitude required for putting words and phrases together. Consequently, I’m ready to get this done, go to bed, and eat something, anything, tomorrow. Unless, of course, I cave and eat something tonight. But I would like to make it over twenty-four hours. Thanks to the holidays and my sweet tooth I haven’t given my body much of a break lately, so I’d like to give it a resting from digesting.

I just made up that rhyme.

Something that’s been on my mind lately is the fact that each of us is deeply unique and yet–at the same time–very much like everyone else. Recently my blogging platform notified me that I wrote 303,193 words in 2019 (an average of 831 words per post), and it occurred to me that anyone, were they of a mind to do so, could write just as many words (or more) about THEIR life, their challenges and triumphs, their joys and sorrows. Last night I went out to a local theater’s annual party with my friends Aaron and Kate, and there was a lip-sync battle. Anyway, I kept thinking about this fact as I observed each individual performer. Like, just as I worry about or am over the moon about something, so every other person on planet earth is worried or over the moon about something.

Just as I think my story is important (exciting, frustrating, boring, not good enough), so does everyone else.

Thinking about this has done a couple things for me. First, it’s given me more compassion for my friends, family, and even total strangers. For whatever they might be going through. Most of us, myself included, are so focused on what concerns us as individuals–how we feel, what we eat or don’t eat, what we wear–that we forget the fact that others are concerned about these same things. This should connect rather than separate us. Second, this viewpoint has helped me take life less personally. For example, my struggle with sinus infections FEELS personal because it’s my head that’s full of mucus, but knowing that thousands upon thousands of other people also struggle with sinus infections (or something equally rotten) reminds me that the universe doesn’t have a bullseye on the back of MY head.

It has a bullseye on the back of all of our heads.

But seriously, I don’t believe the universe is out to get us. Rather, I believe it’s out to grow us, to expand our hearts, to connect us. I also believe the individual challenges WE ALL FACE help us grow, expand, and connect. Granted, it’s tempting to think, I’m the only one, and use your pain and sorrow as a means to isolate and separate. But more and more, I don’t recommend this. I don’t recommend going it alone. Rather, I suggest reaching out for help when you need it and giving help in return when asked. I suggest thinking, I’m not terminally unique. We’re all in this together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We all have inner wisdom. We all have true north."

Let’s Start Over (Blog #1010)

Okay. It’s 3:40 in the afternoon, and I’m blogging now because I’m going to a party tonight with my friends Aaron and Kate. Additionally, I’ve had a sinus infection for the last week and don’t imagine that staying up late to write (again) will help it go away. Currently I’m wishing it WOULD go away, and it occurs to me that I’ve spent a good deal of my life wishing things were different than they are–an illness, a feeling, a relationship, my bank account. So now I’m trying to let life exist, to actually relax into instead of push against THIS moment. This exhausted, snot-filled, weak, achy moment. Which feels like an eternity to me (WHEN will it end?!) but is simply another moment to eternity.

A necessary moment, I trust, in the grand scheme of things.

Earlier today I got a message from Kate about the party tonight. “Be at our house at 5:30 because we’re going to dinner first.” Then she added a laughing emoji and said, “I made your evening plans for you.” And whereas I’m usually a control freak about being told what to do, in this case–for a lot of reasons–I didn’t care. Indeed, I was delighted. “It’s okay,” I replied, “I’m looking forward to getting out of the house.” Anyway, this whole exchange has got me thinking about control, the way we sometimes pitch a shit-fit when someone tells us what to do and sometimes we don’t.

And we’re nowhere near logical about it.

A while back I had an experience in which I wanted someone’s approval and didn’t get it–and that bothered me. Alas, had it been any other person or even a different day of the week, I probably wouldn’t have cared. After some time had passed, I didn’t care with this person. This is what I mean about control, how we have to have things a certain way–our way–in order to be happy or satisfied. I MUST have their approval, and so on. If it’s someone else’s idea or opinion that happens to disagree with yours? Well, then it must be wrong. THEY must be wrong. Because God forbid someone other than you–someone other than me–should be right.

Along these lines, Byron Kate says that if you want to give someone a gift, let them be right. “People LOVE to be right,” she says. So like, let them have the last word. This, of course, is both a difficult and miserable thing to do. But more and more I’m seeing the wisdom in not putting up a fuss about insignificant things (in forgiving), in letting people be who they are (whether they approve of me or not), and in not trying to change someone else’s world (the world where, according to them, I very well may be wrong). Recently I watched two people arguing online about a dance matter. Now, they were using well-constructed sentences and gentlemanly language, but–let’s be clear–they were attacking each other. At the very least, they were picking a fight. (Incidentally, the dance didn’t care.) Have I done this sort of thing before? Sure. But the older I get, the more I hope I do less of it.

Why, Marcus?

Because it’s not my job to control how anyone else dances, behaves, or thinks. This includes friends, family, lovers, and perfect strangers. Granted, I could try to change someone else (and believe me I’ve tried), but talk about exhausting. So more and more I’m learning to let others think and do as they will. My therapist would say, “Like you, THEY’RE AUTONOMOUS.” Likewise, I’m learning to let God, to let life, do as it wills. This means doing my best to heal and succeed, whatever that means, but letting go of the results. It means relaxing into THIS moment whatever it looks like. It means, no matter what’s happened the day before, saying, “Okay, sweetheart, here we are–right here, right now. Let’s start over.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Along the way you’ll find yourself, and that’s the main thing, the only thing there really is to find.

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On Mirages and Illusions (Blog #1009)

Recently my friend Aaron, who’s an absolute clothes horse but is also trying to minimize, gifted me several pairs of shoes. (Lucky for me we’re the same size.) Y’all, in one night, he doubled my collection. “Some of them are kind of beat up,” he said, “but they should clean up nicely.” Well, last night and today I went to work scrubbing, washing, and polishing one pair at a time, and Aaron was right. They’re going to work out just fine. Are they pristine/perfect? No, but they’re pretty swell.

Thanks, Aaron.

Lately I’ve been talking about how everything falls apart sooner or later, and yesterday I referred to physical objects as mirages. That is, you can spiff up your kicks with a new set of laces, but don’t fool yourself, it’s days are numbered. If it’s on this earth, it was designed–to dissolve. This means NOTHING is pristine/perfect.

I hate this as much as you do.

In an effort to accommodate all my new days-numbered footwear, this afternoon I added a shelf to my closet by taking a metal shelf from our garage and attaching it to the wooden shelves I already have. And whereas my dad said it looks tacky because all the shelves don’t match, I figure I’m the one who has to look at it and, although I certainly appreciate excellence in craftsmanship and would adore something fancier, it’s better than heaping my shoes on top of one another. What’s the saying? It’s good enough. Plus, since we didn’t have any spare wooden shelves lying around, I’m rather proud of myself for solving my storage dilemma without having to spend any money.

You know, I’m living–wait for it–on a shoestring budget.

One thing I’ve been thinking and meaning to write about lately is the idea that just as physical objects are mirages, so are we. And whereas I mean that our days are numbered too, I also mean that every day we get up, get dressed, and put on a show. We hide this body “flaw,” we cover up that emotion. With makeup, with jewelry, with a new pair of shoes. People ask us how we’re doing, and we smile and say, “Couldn’t be better. Finer than frog hair.” Even if we’re falling part. And whereas I don’t think there’s anything wrong with putting your best foot forward, lately I’ve been reminding myself to not automatically assume someone else is “better” than me or has their shit together just because they have their outfit together. Just because they say they’re great. You know, don’t compare your inside to someone else’s outside.

Because you never know what’s going on with someone.

This evening I flipped through a copy of GQ Magazine, and y’all, some of the clothes those celebrities wear cost more than I make in a month. In one photo Jennifer Lopez was sporting a necklace that cost as much as our house. My point being that especially in a magazine largely supported by advertisers, these images are mirages, illusions specifically crafted and designed to make us feel and believe that we’d be better off (sexier, happier, more lovable) if only we had THOSE clothes or THAT life. Now, I don’t fault them for doing this, since we do this to each other all the time. Wouldn’t you be better off with a wooden shelf instead of a metal one? Or married, pregnant, with a job, or in a different city? And so on. Instead of just being happy with the way things are right there, right now.

Instead of just being happy with the way YOU are right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In other words, there's always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it's also technically impossible.

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