On Returning to Life (Blog #983)

Leave a comment

I spent this afternoon and evening with my friends Kara and Amber. The three of us first met in elementary school and, although we all live in different cities, purpose to get together several times a year. (Let’s get together, yeah, yeah, yeah.) Anyway, today we met at Amber’s house, carpooled to an Italian restaurant, and ended up staying for five hours. Y’all, it was fabulous. The food was wonderful, the company was better, and the refills were free.

I drank so much coffee.

Something the three of us discussed was the idea of holding space for something or someone, the idea being that our lives and relationships are often messy and that we need to allow room for situations and people to just be. As a fixer who likes to talk things out, this has been a tough lesson for me to learn. For the longest time when there was any amount of tension in a relationship, I’d think I had to DO something about it. Once I told my therapist it was awkward when a certain person was at my dance studio, and she said, “So let it be awkward.” This was a revelation. I didn’t have to DO anything. I could leave it alone. Today Amber pointed out that when conversations or confrontations are forced they don’t always end well. “You have to recognize when it’s not the right time,” she said.

Of course, if it’s not the right time (to say your piece or set things right), that means you have to be patient until it is.

Currently it’s 10:45 at night, and I’m absolutely buzzing. Again, I’ve had a lot of coffee. Additionally, I’ve had a lot of sugar–both at the restaurant and back at home. I’ve gone through so much peanut butter lately (I like to mixed it with grape jelly and eat it by the spoonful) that tonight Dad fastened the lid shut with electrical tape. “We just bought this jar last week, and it’s already almost empty!” he said. Then he brought my mom into it. “Judy, if this tape is broken tomorrow, we’ll know Marcus has been at it again.”

“I’m not trying to hide anything,” I said. “Everyone knows I’m the one who’s eating all the peanut butter!”

But seriously, it tastes so good.

Because I’ve been feeling better lately, a phrase that’s been on my mind is “returning to life.” I’ve said previously that before a caterpillar morphs into a butterfly, it first dissolves itself into a black goo. My point being that transformation is an all-in or all-our proposition. You don’t get to be a caterpillar AND a butterfly. You can’t eat your peanut butter and have it (sitting on the counter) too. Said another way, transformation requires the death of your old life, personality, or habits. Jesus died on the cross. The Phoenix died in the flame. There’s a saying that when you seek enlightenment like a man whose hair is on fire seeks water, then–and only then–will you find it. So if you want peace, healing, or God, ask yourself–What am I willing to give up in order to have these things? Can I die? Am I truly ready to be reborn?

In my experience with transformation, returning to life means returning to life as it is, not as I want it to be. It means bringing all of my newfound vitality and everything I’ve learned to the world as it is–messy, horrific, and beautiful. This is what holding space is all about–making room within yourself for the whole of creation. The fun parts, the not-so-fun parts. Life, death, conflict, emotions. Not that you can’t work to change or improve situations or relationships, but know that your primary job is to change yourself. This is gross and always involves dying (metaphorically). But once you’re reborn, everything is different. Behold, all things are become new. For one thing, you stop hiding (I’m the one who ate the peanut butter!). For another, you realize there’s enough room here (inside your heart) for the entire universe and all that it contains–the joy, the suffering. You think, Maybe it’s not all fun, but it’s all okay. You think, This moment is just as it should be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

If you want to find a problem, you will.

"

On Stumbling Blocks and Stepping Stones (Blog #950)

Leave a comment

After forty hours of fasting, this morning I weighed. The verdict: I lost 2.6 pounds in 24 hours. That’s a total of 13.6 pounds in the last seven weeks and brings me to a weight I haven’t seen in almost two years. Well, except for that time I got the flu twice in one season. But seriously tho, the last time I got down to this weight I decided I could live without losing any more, that weighing what I did in college was enough. And not that I’m deciding it’s enough forever–because my goal isn’t to reach a certain number, but rather to eat well and exercise and see what happens–but I am deciding it’s enough for this moment.

So this evening I ate cornbread.

Tonight’s blog is #950 in a row, and for whatever reason it feels like a big deal. I guess because I remember how proud I felt when I reached #50, and this is 900 more, 900 more days of–life. (I made it.) Somewhere along the way, I do feel like something shifted. I still have bad days, of course, and all the emotions. My outer circumstances haven’t changed all that much, although I guess I have lost weight and made headway with certain physical challenges like sinus infections. And whereas other inner and outer challenges remain, the last 950 days have taught me that I can handle whatever comes my way. Even if it’s not pretty.

Especially if it’s not pretty.

Bring it on, world.

I take that back. I’m probably IN my current predicaments because I’ve said, “Bring it on, world” before. Not that it works that way. If you’re here on the planet, you’re going to face inner and outer challenges because it’s how we grow and evolve. Suffering strongly encourages us to change, to transform.

I hate this as much as you do.

This evening I’ve been irritated about a business matter, which may nor may not turn out to be a big deal. Anyway, I’ve spent the entire night doing things to distract myself from thinking about it–folding laundry, downloading music files (as if I don’t have plenty to listen to already), eating cornbread. Of course, this hasn’t worked, and I’m still stuck with my feelings. The good news is that 1) recently my therapist told me she thought I was better at feeling my feelings than I give myself credit for and 2) I’ve come to understand that even uncomfortable feelings provide us with information. For example, my therapist says when she makes important business or personal decisions, she wants her heart to feel light as a feather. If it doesn’t? Then the decision’s not right. In this sense, I know that if I have feelings I want to run away from, they’re likely simply telling me that something is “off.”

Seen from this perspective, our icky feelings are our allies, in that they alert us to things we NEED to think about even if we don’t want to. For example, time and time again during the past two plus years I’ve started the day with a gross emotion and–thanks to this blog and its ability to help me process–come to a better understanding of myself, others, and the world around me. When I think about the last 950 days, the current matter that’s bothering me seems like less of a problem–not only because I’m reminded of more difficult situations that worked out just fine, but also because I’m reminded that each difficult situation offers us a pearl of wisdom if we are willing to take it.

Along these lines, earlier tonight I read a pamphlet about forgiveness that I picked up at my chiropractor’s office, and one of the points was “learn the lesson.” The point being that forgiving someone or getting past a situation is easier if you can allow it to help you grow. I’ve often said that my ex was real pill but that he was largely instrumental in getting me to therapy (thanks to his ridiculous behavior, not his encouraging words). And therapy’s changed my life. This doesn’t mean anything he did or didn’t do was right and good, of course, but it does mean he provided me an opportunity to grow.

The important part: I took it.

In my experience, few of us SEEK opportunities to grow. Like, who wakes up in the morning and says, “You know, I’ve got a free weekend coming up and think I’d like to turn my world upside and completely change my beliefs about myself, others, God, and the universe”? No, most of us have to be “offered” opportunities to grow, largely where we don’t want them. For example, I would have preferred my ex to be “the one,” to be someone he, quite frankly, was not, rather than the catalyst for my transformation. Earlier this summer a client tried to pull a fast one and get me to do twice the work I’d agreed to but for the same amount, and I would have preferred for them to be integrous, rather than my chance to speak up. My point being that we don’t get to decide how someone else behaves. We only get to decide how we respond, whether we’ll use a challenging situation to become bitter or better.

A popular concept in new age and self-help literature is that the world is an illusion. I’ve come to believe that this doesn’t mean your dining room table or headache isn’t real, although the argument certainly can be made that these things aren’t as solid as we once believed they were. Everything’s made of vibrating atoms and so on. Rather, the idea of something being an illusion is just this–that things aren’t what they seem. Something else is afoot here, Mr. Watson. Using my previous examples, what I mean is that the situation with my ex wasn’t about love or hate or any of his piss-poor behavior. Although I could have made it this, it wasn’t about me being right and him being wrong for all eternity. Likewise, everything I’ve ever been upset or worried about over the last 950 days hasn’t been about those specific things. Instead, it’s been about how I responded to them, whether or not my soul grew or shrank.

This is a mystical perspective, of course, but it’s the one that will ultimately bring you the most peace. Your diet isn’t about how much you weigh; it’s about whether or not you’re being kind to yourself. Are you losing weight as a form of self-punishment or self-love? This is the illusion part. Either way you’re on a diet, but your motivation determines whether or not you’ll be content with your results. If you’re beating yourself up, nothing will ever be good enough. If you’re loving yourself, whatever happens will be okay. In terms of your challenges, do you see them as stumbling blocks or stepping stones? Either way you’re looking at a rock. It’s just a matter of whether the rock uses you, or you use the rock.

My suggestion: use the rock.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.

"

Before You Open the Curtains (Blog #944)

Leave a comment

This morning I woke up early to go to therapy and, since I hadn’t cleaned up in a few days, took a shower. That’s right, I don’t shower every day, and there’s nothing you can do to make me. But I digress. When I’d finished scrubbing myself from top to bottom, I turned off the hot water and rinsed off in only the cold. For two whole minutes. This is something I’ve been doing recently in order to give my cardiovascular system a workout. And boy does it work. As soon as the cold water hits my neck, I all but stop breathing. But then, instinctively, I take one deep breath, practically from my toes. From that point on, the water’s cold of course, but it’s like it warms up.

What’s really happening, however, is that I’m warming up. This is the point, that one’s body should be able to thermoregulate. When it’s hot out, the body should sweat in order to cool off. When it’s cold out, the body should burn fat or shiver in order to produce heat.

For me, the benefits of cold showers go beyond the physical. For decades I’ve hated the cold, hated the winter. Mostly because I spend so much time miserable. My feet can never get warm. By the time February rolls around, my toes feel like they’re going to fall off. Anyway, all of this has amounted to my developing the belief that my body is somehow weak and unable to handle the elements. I think of homeless people or cowboys who used to sleep on the range, and I affirm to myself, I could never make it out there. I’m too fragile. A delicate flower. Currently I’m listening to Stevie Nicks sing, “Can I handle the seasons of my life?” and the old me is thinking, Yes, I can rock spring, summer, and fall, but no, I can’t handle winter.

The new me, however, is starting to believe I can. I’ve been running around to antique malls today, and the weather has been frightful–dark, wet, forty-four degrees. And whereas I’d normally be bundled up like the Michelin Man, I’m not. Whereas I’d normally have the heater turned up in my car, I haven’t. Instead, I’ve dressed appropriately and have let the air run colder–sixty-eight degrees. Granted, my feet are still chilly, but the point is I’m not afraid of this coming season. I may never fall in love with winters, but I’m determined not to hate them. Because they’re part of life and so am I. Because more and more I believe I’m strong enough to handle whatever life hurls my way.

Let’s say it together.

I am not a delicate flower.

This morning my therapist said, “Marcus, you’re always saying that you’ve changed so much, but here’s the way I think about it. The real you, your authentic self, has always been on stage. It’s just that, before the lights were off, the curtains were drawn, and the front doors were locked. This is what the process of transformation really is, unlocking the doors, turning on the lights, opening up the curtains, and revealing more of who you truly are.” I like this way of thinking about things. When it comes to personal growth and reaching your highest potential, you’re not being asked to become someone you’re not. Chances are, you’ve probably already done that. Rather, you’re being asked to reveal exactly who you are underneath your society-approved-of facade–a messy, talented, emotional, beautiful child of life.

You were made from this life and for this life.

My therapist says it’s normal (well, regular–she poo-poos the word normal because–I don’t know–normal doesn’t exist, fuck normal) to live your life behind the curtains, that most people not only have the curtains drawn, but also have a barbed wire fence and an American Ninja Warrior style obstacle course between them and the people in their lives. And why wouldn’t we? Who doesn’t get the message from day one on this planet that SOMETHING is fundamentally wrong and shameful about themselves? You’re a sinner. You’re a worm. You’re a woman (just here to keep men from being lonely). You’re queer. You’re fat. You’re ugly. And therefore less than. And therefore unlovable. Lies. I’m not saying you’re perfect, but I am saying you’re just fine the way you are. I’m also saying you’re strong enough to handle what life hurls at you because you were made from this life and for this life. I’m saying we need you. I’m saying you don’t have to change a thing before you open the curtains.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

The more honest you are about what's actually happening inside of you, the happier you are.

"

Slow Your Ass Down (Blog #911)

Leave a comment

Twice last night I dreamed that I took a break from work and drove to In and Out Burgers for something to eat. Both times, they weren’t open. The second time, they’d locked up just minutes before I got there. The waiter, a real pimply faced kid with stringy blonde hair, didn’t seem to care that I was starving. “You’ll have to go somewhere else,” he said. “We’re closed.”

This morning I mowed a lawn then came home to eat. Thanks to intermittent fasting, this has been my routine for the last twelve days–wake up, do something for a couple hours, then–after noon–eat. I get this window every day, eight hours, to eat whatever I want within reason, and then the window closes. Currently it’s four-fifteen in the afternoon, which means the window is open. I just ate two handfuls of nuts and an apple, which means I’m still hungry. I’ve been hungry for twelve days straight. I mean, it’s not awful, I just don’t have that I’m-oh-so-satisfied-because-I-just-ate-French-Toast feeling.

But my pants fit, so there’s that.

This afternoon when I got home from mowing I noticed a plate of desserts on our kitchen counter. Our neighbor, who’s a witch with an oven, had just brought them over. “You should try this bundt cake with butterscotch rum icing,” my dad said. “Go ahead. Just dip your finger in it.”

“No,” I said. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

This makes two days in a row that I’ve turned down a dessert that was sitting right in front of my face, just begging to be eaten. What is happening to me? After breakfast I thought, I wonder if I have the willpower (dedication, motivation) to keep this up for an entire year, until I’m 40. Just how bad do I want a rockin’ bod (instead of a rockin’ dad-bod)? What I finally determined was that I had the willpower to stick with things today and that I can worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Will there be exceptions made along this journey? Absolutely. I’m positively determined to not be a perfectionist about this physical transformation. Give me a special occasion, and I’ll tear up a chocolate cake. But I simply can’t believe that a weekday qualifies as a special occasion and expect to reach my goals. It’s why I haven’t made even one exception to writing this blog every day. I know myself too well. If I take a break for a  day, it’ll turn into a week.

Know thyself.

Getting back to the dream I had last night, it obviously had something to do with my diet. Any time I’ve quit cigarettes I dream about smoking, and any time I go on a diet I dream about cheeseburgers and cookies. It’s like my subconscious is saying, “Hey! Where’d all the good stuff go?” This being said, I really think the dream was driving home the idea that I can’t nourish or sustain myself with any sort of “fast food,” anything in-and-out. This applies to food, friendships, ideologies, philosophies, and work. No, it simply takes time to cultivate anything worthwhile, either inside yourself or outside yourself. It takes desire, will, intent, focus, dedication, dedication, and patience.

I know I said dedication twice. It’s really important.

God’s not a fast-mover.

In terms of patience, I think this idea often gets represented in my dreams as waiters in restaurants. That is, wait-ers, people who wait. I hate that this quality is so needed for everything worthwhile–skills we learn and develop, relationships we cultivate, diets we go on. I hate it, hate it, hate it as much as you do. And yet it’s simply the way of things. God’s not a fast-mover. It takes an entire year (by definition) for the earth to travel around the sun. It takes about ninety days for the seasons to change. But you think you can change faster? Bitch, please. Slow your ass down. Take a deep breath. Do The Hard Work. Wait. The universe isn’t in a hurry.

You don’t have to be either.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Boundaries are about starting small, enjoying initial successes, and practicing until you get your relationships like you want them. 

"

On Present and Potential Patterns (Blog #909)

Leave a comment

Several years ago there was a fad on Facebook that involved posting pictures of three fictional (TV or movie) characters that represent you. And whereas I resisted participating in this fad at first, I eventually caved. My three characters were 1) Charlie from Scent of a Woman, 2) Rabbit from Winnie the Pooh (or the Hundred Acre Wood), and 3) MacGyver from MacGyver. When I shared photos of these three characters, I captioned each picture with an explanation of WHY I identified with that particular character. This wasn’t part of the assignment. I just did it because my Inner Rabbit told me to. Rabbit, after all, is a Perfectionist, a Control Freak.

Guilty.

I’m talking about this now not only because my Facebook memories reminded me of this little project today, but also because lately I’ve been talking a lot (a lot) about archetypes and patterns of behavior. Which are basically the same thing. Specifically, I’ve been talking about how to change or transition from one pattern of behavior (like The People Pleaser) to another (like The Assertive Business Man). Robert Ohotto points out that you can never completely get rid of a pattern. (Shit. A part of me will always be a People Pleaser.) You can, however, DEACTIVATE an old, not-so-useful pattern and ACTIVATE a newer, shinier one. Recently I demoted a pair of workout shorts to painting shorts, so I no longer wear them to the gym. Rather, when I exercise, I wear a new pair. Same thing.

One thing that’s important to understand about gym shorts is that just because they’re ON you doesn’t mean they ARE you. That is, I’m currently wearing a pair of red shorts, but that doesn’t mean that I’m red–or nylon–or holey (or holy). Rather, I’m simply using (as in, making use of) these shorts. One day, I imagine, I won’t find them useful, so I’ll demote them to painting shorts too. My point is that archetypes and patterns of behavior work the same way as our clothes do. They’re something our soul uses as a way to navigate the world and to grow, but they’re not our soul, our essential essence. Earlier I indicated that I’m a Perfectionist and a Control Freak, but it would be more accurate to say that A PART of me is concerned with being perfect, or that I have A PATTERN or HABIT of being controlling.

I make this distinction because we often identify with our patterns to the point that we believe they (we) can’t change. This is, I suppose, because so many of our patterns develop at an early age and we get attached to them. Rightly termed, these patterns are survival strategies. Like, you’re probably a People Pleaser because as a child you figured out (unconsciously) that that was the best way to not be yelled at or get your name written on the chalkboard. I know that’s part of the reason I became The Good Student. I didn’t want to get in trouble. I didn’t want to get spanked. But just because I was a Teacher’s Pet at age thirteen, does that mean I need to be one at the age of thirty-nine? No. That would be ridiculous. You don’t wear the same pair of shorts your entire life.

Getting back to the Facebook fad I mentioned, I realized this morning that identifying fictional characters to whom you relate is one way to know which archetypes or patterns of behavior you currently have active. Oh my gosh, we love doing stuff like this. We take quizzes online that tell us what Harry Potter wizard we are, even what animal best represents us. And whereas this is all well and good, my point is that just because you’re running an archetype now doesn’t mean you have to run it the rest of your life. You may think of yourself as Moaning Myrtle, but–who knows?–you could transform into Hermione Granger. (These are both wizards, Mom.)

Along these lines, today I challenged my Facebook friends: List one fictional character that you think you ARE and another that you would LIKE TO BE. My answer was: I’m Charlie from Scent of a Woman, but I’d like to be Lt. Col. Frank Slade, also from Scent of a Woman. What I meant was–at least historically–I’m bookish, a bit naive, hesitant, and loyal. I have a hard time speaking up. Like Charlie. However, I often fantasize about being brash, rude, outspoken, filthy, and unconcerned with the opinions of others (as in, Fuck you too). Like Lt. Col. Frank Slade.

Hooah!

I didn’t say it when I posted my challenge to Facebook, but here’s what I was thinking. Just as listing characters with whom you identify is one way to pinpoint your CURRENTLY ACTIVE archetypes, listing characters with whom you’d LIKE TO IDENTIFY is one way to pinpoint your CURRENTLY DORMANT archetypes. Said differently–and pay attention because this is important–it’s one way to know what your POTENTIAL is. What pair of shorts you COULD be wearing if you were only willing to take your old ones off. For me, the key is asking, What characters am I DRAWN TO? I think Jamie Lee Curtis was fabulous in True Lies, but I don’t want to BE her, like ever. I don’t daydream about doing that strip routine for Arnold. You know, the one where she reaches for the bedpost, misses, and falls on her ass. But I DO daydream about being Lt. Col. Frank Slade, about having big enough balls to speak the truth, call bullshit, and let the chips fall where they may.

Again, the idea here is that if you have A DRAW to a pattern of behavior, there’s a STRONG POSSIBILITY that pattern already exists within you. It’s just a seed that needs to be watered and tended before it can become a tree. Today my friend Chelsea commented that she wanted to be Molly Weasley (another wizard, Mom) because Molly is a strong mother. Well, my friend Kira told Chelsea, “You’re totally Molly Weasley.” In other words, Molly Weasley doesn’t exist OUTSIDE of Chelsea, she exists INSIDE of her. She can see it, others can see it. Likewise, Lt. Col. Frank Slade already exists in me and–quite frankly–has been coming out more these last few years in terms of my learning to be assertive. Of course, for this to happen, Good Ole People Pleaser Charlie has had to sit down and shut up.

Here’s one last thing that I find fascinating. When this fictional-character fad went around Facebook originally, it seemed like everyone was doing it. At the very least, a lot of people were. However, when I posted my challenge today, only two of my friends played along. Two out of over two thousand. You do the math. Now, personally, I don’t give a shit (a la Lt. Col. Frank Slade) if people participate in my games or not. That’s not why I’m here. At the same time, I think it’s notable that we’re quick to identify and even brag about our CURRENT PATTERNS (People Pleaser, Control Freak, Creative, Book Worm) but not so quick to identify our POTENTIAL PATTERNS (The Fiscally Responsible and Grown Ass Adult).

Why aren’t we quick to identify our POTENTIAL PATTERNS, Marcus?

I’m glad you asked.

Because if I tell you I’d like to be Lt. Col. Frank Slade, that’s a bit like announcing I’d like to lose fifteen pounds. In other words, as soon as you IDENTIFY your potential, whether you realize it or not, you’ve ACTIVATED your potential. You’ve set a goal IN MOTION. This means a couple things. First, you’ve got a lot of work to do. (Pounds don’t drop themselves.) If you say you’re like Blanche on The Golden Girls, well fine. Party on, sister. But if you say you WANT TO BE Maria in The Sound of Music, you’re going to have to start by closing your legs. This is why we’re wishy washy when people ask us where we’d like to be in five years. Because it takes work to get from here to there, and most of us don’t like working (or closing our legs). Second, setting a goal IN MOTION means things are about TO CHANGE. Caroline Myss says we know this deep down, and it’s why we’ll read other people’s books (or blogs) about transformation but never take the first step for ourselves. If I’d known when I started therapy just how many of my old, not-so-useful patterns (and the relationships they got me into) would have to die in order for me to live, I’m not sure I would have started. Looking back, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your potential is always better than your present, I promise.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

In this moment, we are all okay.

"

On Sacrifice and Suffering (Blog #902)

Leave a comment

Mythology. There’s an idea in mythology that in order for something new to be born, something old must die. This is illustrated in the phoenix having to die before it could rise from the ashes, Jesus having to die before he could rise from the grave, and some poor pig having to die before you could eat breakfast. Simply put, death is required for life. (It’s gross, I know.) This is why so many biblical tales feature sacrifices.

Sacrifice. That’s what I’ve been thinking about today, the fact that the giving up of one thing is required for the receiving of another. Not that I’m suggesting you go out and purchase an altar. This is all symbolic, of course. For example, this week I started a rather strict diet that includes intermittent fasting, not eating for sixteen hours out of the day. This, indeed, is a sacrifice. I’m giving up sweets, breakfast, and midnight snacks. Honestly, it feels like a death, a violent one. There’s weeping of gnashing of teeth. But I want the new life that’s on the other side of this–feeling better, fitting into my pants again–so I’m willing to pay the price.

Everything comes with a price. In the television show Once Upon a Time, Rumpelstiltskin often said, “Magic comes with a price.” And whereas most people think of magic as all smoke and mirrors, something for television, I actually believe in it. Not like magic as in Harry Potter–Leviosa!–but magic as in–what else do you call the fact that there are stars in the sky or the fact that you were born here or the fact that certain people (or opportunities) show up in your life at exactly the right time? Do these things “just happen”? Sometimes, yes. There’s some amount of grace we all experience simply because we’re alive. But certain magic requires action on your part. Joesph Campbell said, “Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.” In other words, you have to do something–follow your bliss, and it’s harder than it sounds–if you want the magic doors to open. You have to sacrifice. You have to pay the price.

The price. This evening I watched the final episode in Caroline Myss’s Sacred Power. I can’t recommend this series enough. Granted, Caroline doesn’t pull any punches. It’s not always fun stuff to listen to. But it’s needed. Tonight’s episode presented the idea that the consequence of living a congruent life (in which your head–what you think–and your heart–what you feel–are aligned) is that your life is going to change. Caroline says, “[Congruence] changes your life because it changes the speed at which you understand things.” And whereas this sounds great if you say it fast, it’s not–because it means you have to grow up and do something about whatever it is you understand. (This takes balls.) For example, I once dated someone and knew–deep down–on our first date that we weren’t right for each other. But we dated for three years because I didn’t trust my gut, because–and here’s the kicker–I didn’t trust myself. Were there good times? Absolutely. But the price I paid for thinking one thing and feeling another (for my head and my heart being disconnected) was that when the relationship ended, I was shattered.

Congruence. Now, after years of therapy and a lot of practice, I trust myself more. This year I’ve gone on dates and known in my gut–this guy’s an alcoholic, this guy’s on drugs. I’ve met people and known immediately–they have terrible boundaries. And not that in every case I’ve walked away, but sometimes I have. At the very least, I’ve proceeded with my eyes wide open. Now, I’ll never be able to prove that I’ve saved myself a lot of heartache, drama, and suffering, but I’m convinced I have. This too is a form of sacrifice–giving up one’s emotional pain for, in some cases, a night at home alone.

Suffering. Unfortunately, sacrifice is often associated with suffering. The story of Christ on the cross probably has something to do with this. That being said, there’s a story in The Acts of John that Christ danced on his way to the cross. This means he willingly gave up (sacrificed) his life for the resurrection and all that came with it. He said, “Not my will, but yours.” This is how I think sacrifice is best approached. Open your arms. Let it go, Nancy. Does it suck to give up chocolate cake for breakfast, a date with a hot guy, or time with someone fun? Sure. But it sucks worse to damage your body, date a train wreck, and be friends with someone who isn’t really your friend at all. Said another say, you either pay now, or you pay even more later.

I suggest paying now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Why should anyone be embarrassed about the truth?"

On Being Less Attached (Blog #895)

Leave a comment

Last night I spilled hot tea on my phone and two of the buttons stopped working. So after I blogged, I shut my phone down, removed the battery, and sealed my phone in a Ziploc bag full of rice. According to the internet and some (but not all) of my smart friends, the rice is supposed to suck the moisture out of the phone and–voila!–return it to normal working condition. (I’ve had moderate success with this method before. It’s worked for my phone but not for my laptop. And yes, I spill hot tea on my electronics a lot. Always after I’ve stopped carrying insurance on them, I should add.) Anyway, being without my phone has been a bit like being without my penis, I’m sad to say. That is, we’re pretty attached.

When I was in my early twenties and all my friends had cell phones, I refused to get one. “I don’t need one,” I said. Instead, I used my parents’ landline. I memorized everyone’s numbers. (Remember when that was a thing?) But when I turned twenty-five, I caved and got a flip phone. And me and my phone have been married ever since. Like almost everyone else in America, I’m rarely without my device. Not that I’m proud of this, but facts are facts.

Since I usually use my phone for my alarm clock, last night I used an honest-to-god alarm clock instead. Consequently, I didn’t sleep well. I wasn’t sure it would go off. I set it for eight this morning and–on my own–woke up at six-forty-five. Well, I never went back to sleep. But here’s the great part. Instead of picking up my phone and mindlessly scrolling through Facebook and Instagram, I meditated and contemplated. Not like I closed my eyes and chanted, but last night I talked about my phone’s “death” as an opportunity for me to unplug and even get my nose out of other people’s business, so for over an hour this morning I considered these things. What’s really important to me? I thought.

When I finally rolled out of bed, I pulled my phone out of the rice, put the battery back in, and–with hope–pushed the power button. Thankfully, it worked. Everything operated as if nothing had happened. Except that I’d “lost” my contacts because I’d purposefully disconnected my accounts so they wouldn’t be exposed in the event I had to take my phone to a repair shop. But anyway, back to the good news. No serious problems. Still, I decided to turn my phone off and put it back in rice just to be on the safe side. Would it be the worst thing in the world to disconnect for a day? I thought.

No, no it wouldn’t, I thought back.

After eating breakfast and showering, I went to therapy, and my therapist told me I had really big balls (“elephantiasis” was her word) when I told her about my confronting someone recently. “I don’t know how you’re sitting there with your legs crossed,” she said. “Your nuts seriously must be cantaloupe-sized.”

“It’s just because I’ve been hanging out with you for five years,” I said.

Recently I’ve talked a lot about changing patterns and behaviors, and I use this story as an illustration of the idea that when you’re wanting to change or transform, it’s important to have a role model. This is why people in Alcoholics Anonymous have sponsors. You need someone who acts as an example of what you want to be. For me that example has mostly been my therapist. However, I also often think about Doc Holiday as portrayed by Val Kilmer in the movie Tombstone. The guy’s an absolute badass. He says what he wants and doesn’t take shit from anyone. Granted, he’s the sharpest shooter in the wild west and can back up his words with a his bullets, but still, the point remains. In order to reach our potential, we need mentors, people who say (by either their words or actions), “This is possible. Look what you can become.” Indeed, I don’t think it’s an accident that Tombstone has been one of my top-five favorite movies since it came out. It’s like a part of me knew–There’s something here to aspire to.

Now it’s nine at night, and my phone is still shut off. I’m thinking I’ll let it continue to dry out until tomorrow afternoon. And whereas I’ve had a couple twitchy, compulsive moments (like reaching for my phone after therapy or whenever I’ve put my car in park), it really has been the best thing. For one thing, I’ve been more intentional. Instead of letting someone else decide what I should think about, I decided what I should think about it. This morning I read the preface for a book after breakfast. This afternoon I paid bills. Tonight I had dinner with some dear friends and was absolutely present (when I wasn’t staring at the hot waiter). I can’t imagine I missed out on anything on social media. Also, I never once felt bad because some friend or stranger was bitching or talking about politics. Or because I was comparing my life to someone else’s. Rather, I was simply living–less attached.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Some days, most days, are a mixed bag. We cry, we laugh, we quit, we start again. That's life. In the process, we find out we're stronger than we thought we were, and perhaps this is healing.

"

On Change and the Secret to Happiness (Blog #892)

Leave a comment

Today I made myself rest. First, I slept in. Then I finished reading a book. Then I did something I almost never do unless I’m sick–I binge watched a television series (The Deuce, season two). Then I took a nap. And whereas I’ve felt groggy ever since, I know it helped. I’ve been pushing my body hard lately, working both inside and outside (in the hot sun), and no one can go forever. I can’t go forever.

This evening I visited with a friend then went solo to IHOP to eat dinner and work on another creative project. Years ago I used to go to IHOP all the time–with friends, by myself. Well, get this shit. There’s a waitress I got to know, and she still works there. Tonight she remembered what I always order. She even remembered how I like my meat and eggs cooked (medium and over medium) and which pancakes are my favorite (Harvest Grain and Nut). Talk about wow. You think people don’t notice you, that you’re not important. But they do. You are.

Tonight while chatting with my friend I referenced a moment of frustration I had with someone in their seventies and said, “They’re not changing.”

My friend said, “I’m in my sixties and I’m not changing.”

So I want to talk about change.

Yesterday I had lunch with my friends Kara and Amber, and both of them are into the enneagram, a method of personalty assessment (like Myers-Briggs). According to Kara, I’m a 4 (The Individualist or The Romantic) with a 3 wing (The Aristocrat). From what I’ve since read online, all of this sounds pretty accurate. One website listed nine jobs that are common for 4s with a 3 wing, and I’ve either had or aspire to have six of them. And whereas I don’t intend to go into all the details about my specific personality type, I will say this. 4s apparently feel fundamentally misunderstood. “That’s right,” I told Kara, “I often think that other people just don’t get me.” But I’m working on this. Because for someone else to understand that you don’t feel understood is clearly to have been gotten.

My talking about personality types is, believe it or not, related to change. What I mean is that we often think our personalities are set in stone. Like, I’m a 4 with a 3 wing, and I’m gonna stay a 4 with a 3 wing. Well, this may or may not be so. I know that when I first did Myers-Briggs when I was sixteen, I was an ENTJ, and now I’m an ENFJ. Given some more time, I wouldn’t be surprised if I switched from an E (extrovert) to an I (introvert) because more and more I get a charge from being alone. In terms of the Myers-Briggs questionnaire, I’m already on the fence.

Richard C. Schwartz, who created Internal Family Systems, says personality tests simply show us how our various “parts” have organized. For example, if you think of yourself as shy, it may not be that YOU are shy, but simply that a PART of you is, a part of you that’s running the show. What I like about this approach is that it leaves room for change. It leaves room for your shy part to become more outgoing and assertive, or for another part to take charge. It means you’re not stuck in stone.

Conversely, when I said the person I knew wasn’t changing, I meant they WERE stuck in stone. And whereas this could be a compliment if a person were gregarious and kind, it wasn’t, since this person was rude, bossy, and controlling. Years ago I would have put up with it. In this instance, I pushed back. I said, “Listen, I know what I’m doing.” Referencing a mutual friend of ours, this person said, “I can’t figure out why they think you’re so nice.”

I said, “I used to be a lot nicer.”

For me, being less “nice” than I used to be is huge progress. I realize on the surface this may sound off, but as my therapist says, nice is a strategy. Nice is something you are to secretaries when you want to see their boss. It’s something you are to hair dressers when you want them to do a good job. It’s something you are to strangers and even friends when you want them to like you.

Nice is what I used to be. Now I’m more concerned with being authentic and kind. Because what I’ve learned is that you can be kind–and honest. You can be kind–and assertive.

After years of studying personality types, I continue to be fascinated by them. I probably always will be. At the same time, I’d like to suggest a couple things. First, just because you have a certain trait doesn’t mean it’s something that will never change. Indeed, if you think of yourself as fundamentally fearful, nervous, shy, grumpy, or awkward, know that these traits are perfect fodder for transformation. I’m not saying you’ll go from being an Emily Dickinson recluse to an Oprah Winfrey socialite, but I am saying you really don’t know what’s inside you wanting to emerge until you dig in and do The Hard Work.

Second, The Hard Work can happen at any age. My therapist says that unfortunately many people are just “children growing older.” This is what I mean about being set in stone, being either willfully ignorant of your immaturities or not caring enough to do something about them. The good news is my therapist also says she sees people in their sixties, seventies, and even older changing all the time. They get hooked up with a good therapist or simply decide they’ve had enough suffering. After decades of witnessing life and its atrocities, of being disconnected from their authentic, kind selves, they finally figure out the secret to happiness–Life’s not changing, so I have to be the one to do that.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

All things become ripe when they’re ready.

"

On Dead Batteries and Patterns (Blog #889)

Leave a comment

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

I’ll explain.

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

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

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

“Well I just assumed,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Consequently, I got screwed a lot.

And not in a good way.

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

We follow the mystery, never knowing what’s next.

"

The Black Goo Part (Blog #886)

Leave a comment

Today, Labor Day, was fabulous. This morning I finished a house sitting/dog sitting gig. And whereas I had to pick up shit (off the carpet), I didn’t step in any (like I did the other day). I consider this a win. Funny how your standards change. Anyway, after packing up, I had lunch–barbecue chicken nachos and beer–with some friends. Then I came home and unpacked. Y’all, this took a while. Whenever I house sit, even if it’s only for a few days, I bring so much stuff–a bag full of clothes, my own water filter, my own cast iron frying pan (because cast iron is supposedly better for you than aluminum is).

Finally, I got everything put away. Everything back in its place.

This evening I taught a dance lesson, and afterwards washed my car, Tom Collins. Since acquiring Tom over two years ago, I’ve made an concerted effort to keep him clean, but alas, he’s nonetheless gotten quite filthy this summer. As I just said, I’ve been toting a lot of stuff around, as well as mowing a few lawns. Plus, it’s been raining a good deal. Consequently, Tom has been dirty, dirty, dirty inside and out. And whereas I’ve been telling myself I’m too busy to clean him up, today I decided the rest of the world could wait. I thought, It’s more important for me to feel good.

I mean, who doesn’t feel better driving a clean car?

I’ve heard some people say the secret to success is making your bed every day. I’m not sure that I believe it’s that simple, but I do think there’s something to it. That is, whenever my room is tidy or my car is clean, I feel calmer, like there’s order in the world. Conversely, whenever things are a mess, it’s like I wake up in chaos, drive to work in chaos, and–on some level–feel chaos everywhere I go. I’m always saying that the inside affects the outside, but there’s both truth and magic in the idea that the outside affects the inside. This is why how a space is organized and decorated influences your mood. This is why feng shui is a thing.

So go clean something. Feel better now.

This evening I helped some other friends run speaker wire in a store they’re helping to open. This involved two of us on a ladder attaching wire to metal trusses with zip ties and one of us down on the ground feeding the wire. Well, at one point I noticed that the dust on our hands was getting the recently painted trusses dirty, so I grabbed some rags from my car so we could wipe the trusses down. And get this shit–when I went to my car I noticed an absolutely beautiful yellow and brown moth (an Imperial Moth, I found out later) hanging out on the hood of Tom Collins.

Spoiler alert, it may have been dead. (It didn’t fly off when I drove home later, but rather got “swept away.”)

For the last few weeks while painting I’ve been listening to lectures by Stephan A. Hoeller, a gnostic mystic. In one of his talks he says that the point of life or one’s spiritual journey is not to change but rather to transform. This process of transformation, he says, is often compared to a caterpillar becoming a butterfly or moth–because the old must die in order to make way for the new. He further explains that when a caterpillar morphs into a butterfly or moth, it doesn’t simply sprout wings. Rather, during the pupa stage, it literally dissolves itself using its acidic stomach juices and becomes what Hoeller says is “a black goo” and what the internet says is a mass of imaginal or undifferentiated cells (or cells that can become anything–er–anything like a heart or liver, not anything like Liza Minelli.). It is from this black goo that the butterfly eventually emerges.

My point in sharing this example of transformation is twofold. First, if you really want to live up to your highest potential, know that it’s messy business. Between what you are and what you’ll become, there’s the black goo part. In alchemical terms, it’s called putrefaction–the dissolving of your old life (your old thoughts, viewpoints, habits, and patterns). As I’m always saying, it’s not fun. I wouldn’t recommend it. Better said, I wouldn’t recommend STAYING in this phase. How would one stay in the black goo phase? Easy–keep hanging on to your old life. Keep insisting you’re a caterpillar. Keep insisting you’ll never fly.

My second point is that any true transformation is whole and complete. Now, this doesn’t mean that if you’re on The Path you’re guaranteed to lose a hundred pounds or go from rags to riches. The transformation I’m promoting involves more than just working on the outside. It involves more than making your bed every day, although, granted, these activities might jumpstart or support in internal transformation. But back to true transformation being whole and complete. This means that it touches every area of you life. It means every area of your life will–most likely–be turned upside down (the black goo part) IN ORDER TO BE put back together in a better fashion. Jesus said, “Behold, ALL THINGS are become new” and “Except a man be BORN AGAIN, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” This means you–the old you, the caterpillar you–has to die first.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

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

"