A Cedar Inside a Seed (Blog #726)

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Today has been fabulous. This morning I woke up early to go to therapy. Because this last Sunday was five years since my first therapy appointment, I picked up cookies on the way. (My therapist likes cookies.) When I walked into my therapist’s office in a bow tie and suit jacket (and pants, of course, you pervert), she happened to be in the waiting room and commented that I looked fancy. Then she looked at her receptionist and said, “It’s our anniversary.”

She remembered.

Other than my dressing up and the cookies (with which I also had a cup of coffee), today’s session was like any other. Still, the entire time I had it in my head just how much my life has positively changed over the last five years. Even now, if I really stopped to think about the impact this one person has had on me, I’d start crying. It’s no small thing to be accepted, affirmed, believed in, and trusted. Indeed, I can say without hesitation–my therapist has, from the beginning, believed in me. More than I did. More than I do. This has been transformative. Thanks to her belief and support, I now believe in and trust myself more than I ever have.

I’ve mentioned before that scarcity is a big issue for me, and today my therapist referred to this issue as my “grand struggle.” She said we all have one. “Mine is different than yours,” she said, “but I can identify with yours.” This is why my coming to believe in myself is such a big deal. Because if you believe in scarcity–that there’s not enough money, not enough opportunity, and not enough sex (but really)–then, since you see the world through “not enough” glasses, you’ll believe you’re not enough either. You’ll have to. You’ll think, I need to learn more, I need to know more people, and I need to look different before I can be happy or successful because–I’m not enough. This, of course, is a lie. You’re either enough right here, right now, or you never will be. And that’s what I’m coming to believe, that there’s enough money, opportunity, and sex for me. That I’m enough exactly how I am.

That I have everything I need and always have.

Before I left therapy, my therapist told me that I’ve reaffirmed her belief that people can change for the better. This means the world to me. I say often that I’ve changed and that therapy has been great–better than great–for me, but since my progress has been stretched out over five years, it’s sometimes difficult to see even though I know it’s there. So it was nice to be reminded that I’m a different man than I was five years ago. Not that my fundamental me-ness has changed. My therapist told me in one of our very first sessions, “It’s my job to support you in reaching your highest potential.” Not my simply better, average, or good-enough potential. My highest potential. So she set the bar high. We set the bar high, because I agreed too–there’s a lot of possibility here, inside of me, and I’m willing to work to bring it out; I’m not willing to get to the end of my life and think, I was capable of more but settled for less. I let fear get the best of me.

Once when we were discussing a specific dream I have, my therapist said, “Do you think you can do this?” and I said, “Yes!” Then she said, “I believe you. You didn’t hesitate or waver before answering, so I know that’s your truth. And I think–I know–you can too.” Then I said, “It’s not that I don’t think I’m capable, it’s that I’m afraid. I’m afraid that my dreams won’t come true. So sometimes it’s easier to not dream than to dream and think it might not happen. The second thought hurts too much.”

Again, this thinking is a belief in scarcity, that God or the universe is capable of growing a tree, a mountain range, or a galaxy, but incapable of growing you and your dreams. Said another way, because all of life is progressive, it’s a belief that you are somehow the exception to the rule, that on a huge, whirling planet (with electricity, the internet, and peanut butter), everything is moving and evolving except stagnant little you. That stars, sunrises, and cedar trees are beautiful but you’re not. That there’s not enough growth and beauty here for all of us.

Over the years, I’ve had a thousand dance students in whom I saw some sort of potential and imagine I’ve told all of them, “You’re doing a good job. I see progress.” Unfortunately, many students have brushed these statements off. But I’ve thought what my therapist has told me before–I’ll believe in you until you can believe in yourself. I know on some level, they already do believe in themselves. Otherwise they wouldn’t be there, doing the work. Maybe they’re not firm in their belief yet, but a part of them is hoping. With both dance and therapy, I know this is enough, the hope that some part of your life can improve. Granted, like a cedar inside a seed, you start small. At times you feel small. Then one day you begin to feel it, your potential to be large, strong, and beautiful. At some point, perhaps thanks to someone who believes in you, you think, I belong here too. There’s more than enough everything to go around.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Miracles happen."

An Abundantly Good Day (Blog #719)

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I know I keep going back and forth on this topic, but after a week of sinus infection ups and downs, I woke up dramatically better this morning. Actually, as it they are wont to do, my sinuses improved in the middle of the night. That is, I received a sudden jolt of energy just as I was going to bed, so I lay wide-awake for three hours, just twiddling my thumbs. Later when I told my dad about this he said, “You could have gotten up and cleaned the house.”

“Well, I might have woken you up,” I said.

“Oh, don’t ever worry about that,” he replied.

I think I finally fell asleep about four, which means I got about four hours of sleep, since my alarm went off at eight. And whereas I’d normally be ever-not-so happy about my lack of rest, it hasn’t bothered me today because my health has been so much better than it was yesterday. Seriously, I still can’t get over how quickly the body can turn something around when it either has a mind to or gets the right support (or both). I’ve been in the best mood all day. Even my other health concerns (which, on the grand scale of things, aren’t that concerning) haven’t brought me down today. I have too much hope that they too will–one day–disappear.

Our imperfections make us relatable.

Today really has been the best day. This morning I saw my therapist, and she’s always encouraging (it’s kind of her gig) and makes me laugh. Why somebody wouldn’t want this type of relationship, I’ll never know. Talk about a shot in the arm. Later this week marks five years since my first appointment with my therapist, and I’m eternally grateful for the path my life has taken since that fateful day. Anyway, to “celebrate,” I read my therapist a post I wrote last year called “Why Me and My Therapist Are Successful,” in which I talked about–in part–the fact that my therapist is a normal damn human being like anyone else. My therapist said this was important, for me (or any client) to recognize that she’s a flawed person. “But that doesn’t mean healing can’t happen,” she said. “In fact, it means I can better understand and help someone else–because I’ve been there.” This is huge, that you don’t have to be perfect in order to be effective. Indeed, our imperfections make us relatable.

One of the things I mentioned in that previous post is that–I think–my therapist and I are a good match. Again, my therapist said this was important. “I’m not everyone’s cup of tea,” she said. “I offend a lot of people.” (This next part is simply for your consideration.) Then she said, “Well, I don’t really offend them; they offend themselves. They choose to be offended.”

Before she’s said, “People choose their reactions.”

One of the big topics my therapist and I have circled back to over and over these last five years is abundance. Or, if you want to look at the other side of the coin, scarcity. That’s my problem, apparently, is that I often want to (or have a least had a lot of practice at) looking at the scarcity side of the coin. That is, I’m plagued with feelings of I’m not enough, my knowledge and abilities aren’t enough, there’s not enough money, and the world’s not enough (to support me). Well, today my therapist said this was IRONIC, one of the universe’s little ha-ha’s, since I actually have an ABUNDANCE of talent, even if I don’t always recognize it. It reminded me of that story of the guy who searched the world over for riches and eventually discovered one of the world’s largest diamond mines on his own property. Like, Whoops, I forgot to look right here. So I’m going to keep working at recognizing those places in my life where good is overflowing this very moment.

The last two things I’m sharing from today’s therapy session are just for fun. First, at one point my therapist referred to someone as “gayer than a Judy Garland matinée.” I almost fell out of my chair. Then later when she mentioned a(n apparently fabulous) song called Carry On by Martha Wash and I said I hadn’t heard of it, she said, “If you’re not careful, you’re going to get your homosexual card revoked.” Then she paused and added, “But don’t worry; I won’t report you to the gay mafia.” Is that hilarious or what? A Judy Garland matinée. The gay mafia.

The rest of the day has been just as delightful. This afternoon I had physical therapy, and I continue to be (abundantly) taken care of and see (abundant) progress. Then I spent this evening with my friends Bonnie and Todd, and we ate (an abundance of) ice cream. But we also walked a(n abundantly) long distance to get it, so I figure it all evened out. (Balance is important.) Now it’s eleven at night, and I’m ready to call it a(n abundantly good) day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All your scattered pieces want to come back home.

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On Which Glasses You Choose to Wear (Blog #559)

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In my parents’ living room is a large leather recliner. It’s gorgeous, comfortable. One could really get lost in it. That being said, I’ve only once spent any significant amount of time in this recliner–when I was recovering from my sinus surgery–because my mom LIVES in this recliner. Simply put, it’s hers, and my dad and I make a lot of jokes about the fact that we rarely get to use it. Anyway, this morning while I was eating breakfast, Mom said that she’s been getting cold recently and explained, “When you sit in the recliner, it’s right under the air vent.”

So I said, “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

And then my mom, who reads my blog every day, used my own material against me. She said, “Is that what you call being passive aggressive?”

I was stunned.

“Yes,” I said. Then I added–“It’s an option.”

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and we mostly processed my time working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. It was a good experience, of course, but it was also A LOT of information (my therapist called it a “data dump”), considering the fact that I was new to much of what was going on and also new to working with so many people and having “a boss.” Not completely new, of course, but it’s been a while since I’ve worked with a such large group or for someone else–like twenty years.

As I’ve discussed here before, I told my therapist that in new situations I often think of myself as invisible or “not worthy of being noticed,” and it’s therefore shocking when people DO notice me (which they did this last week). She said this belief was “just irritating” and needed to go.

Toward the end of our session, we talked about money. This is a topic my therapist appears to be quite comfortable with, and one I’m trying to get comfortable with. My therapist says the more we talk about money, the more my brain will begin to think, This shit’s all right. Today she said I should pick an amount of money I’d like to make a day that’s not “outrageous” but the thought of which is “just enough to make you nervous.” So I did. Now my job is to simply “will it into existence.” And whereas I understand that this sounds like a bunch of new-age bullshit, my therapist says that if I pair my current work ethic with positive self-talk, the universe will respond favorably.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

I told my therapist that one of the over-arching beliefs I’ve held for–well–decades is that “maybe it’ll work for everyone else, but it won’t work for me.” Super optimistic, I know. Anyway, I’ve applied this thinking to my relationships, my health, and my finances. This is the way beliefs work–they don’t just affect one area of your life; they affect everything. Much like tinted spectacles, beliefs are the filter through which we see the world. Like, if you don’t believe in abundance, you’ll never see it. Even if you have a hundred dollars–or even a million dollars–in your pocket, you’ll think, It’s not enough.

Currently I’m sitting in a library surrounded by THOUSANDS of books and ENDLESS potential knowledge. Now, I could focus on the fact that I don’t have enough time to read all these books or the fact that there are a lot of other books I’m interested in that aren’t in this library. (Talk about lack!) Or I could focus on the fact that I have access to ALL THIS INFORMATION–basically–for free. (Talk about abundance!) The way I see it, just like being direct and being passive aggressive are OPTIONS in conversation, seeing lack and seeing abundance are OPTIONS in perspective. Yes, an objective reality exists–there are a certain number of books here. But a subjective reality also exists, and that reality depends solely on your thoughts and your beliefs, on which glasses you–and only you–choose to wear.

Wayne Dyer used to say, “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” This is what I’m trying to do–gradually adjust my thinking and beliefs when it comes to my relationships, my health, and my finances. Personally, I’m tired of believing, It’s not enough. For me, it’s lazy–that is, habitual–thinking. Today I told my therapist, “I’m done believing that things work for other people and not me. (As my favorite coffee cup says–Fuck This Shit.) My new thought is–If it can work for someone else, it can work for me.

“THANK YOU!” she said.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.

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Life’s Labyrinth (Blog #448)

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Today was the summer solstice, the “longest” day of the year. (I had to take a nap to get through it.) For the next sixth months, the amount of sunlight we have will gradually decrease each day. Yes, dear reader, the long, slow march to winter has begun. I’m not excited about this. (I hate winter.) Historically, today is a day of celebration (the sun is high in the sky!), but it feels like a death to me. There’s only one longest day a year, and now it’s over–dead–just like spring is dead, just like increasingly longer days are dead.

I really liked these things.

I saw my therapist this morning, and we talked about relationships (friends, students, lovers). This was in the context of my tendency to people please, my desire to follow-up with everyone in my life to make sure they are “okay” or not mad at me. My therapist’s advice–don’t chase anyone. It’s desperate, needy, and stems from a “lack” mentality. Abundance, she says, is where it’s at. (Step right up and get you some!) My personal jury is still out on this one, but I’m considering it.

It SOUNDS like a good idea.

After therapy, I went to the park to read and watch hot guys jog around without their shirts on. Last year I started a book on mythology by PL Travers (the woman who penned Mary Poppins) and recently picked it back up. The book, called What the Bee Knows, is a collection of essays that Travers wrote for a magazine, so they are sort of all over the place topically. But an image that stuck with me from today’s reading was that of a labyrinth, this maze-like path that loops back on itself. Travers says life is like this, moving around in circles. We think we’re lost, that we’re going backwards, but that’s just The Way.

Going backwards. That’s how I feel a lot. I’m living with my parents. I don’t have “a real job.” I’m almost forty. Shouldn’t I be passed all this by now? Passed–my past? Even in therapy there are times I think, Are we STILL talking about my desire to please people?

Yes, yes we are.

You can’t get lost.

Back home this evening, I rested before teaching a dance lesson. For dinner my dad made chicken nuggets, then I went for a walk to make myself feel better about the fact that I ate so many of them. For a while I did my usual route, up down one block, then the next. Finally I stopped at a labyrinth at a nearby church and walked the path. I guess it was on my mind from the book this afternoon, but I like to do this sometimes, start on the outside of the circle, wind my way around and around until I hit the center. This is how a labyrinth is different from a maze. A maze has multiple entries and exits, or at least several possible ways to get where you’re going. Plus, there are wrong turns and dead ends. But labyrinths aren’t like that–they have one entry, the same exit. You can wind around getting to the middle (that’s the point) but you can’t get lost.

This is what I love about a labyrinth–there’s only one way. Perhaps this is why so many people use them as a meditative device. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm as you walk around in circles. Early on in the labyrinth you’re within steps of reaching the center–your goal–but then you’re taken away from it. Within minutes, you’re far away from it. All the looping back is frustrating and seems inefficient. But then you realize that looping back is, essentially, a way to time travel–to clean up your past–to pick up anything you dropped along The Way. So eventually you learn to trust the path you’re on.

This is something I’m working on, letting go of how I thought I’d “get there” and accepting each step along my particular journey. Every day it’s something new, something old. Oh, this again. Haven’t we been here before? I mourn the death of longer days, the changing of The Seasons, but this too is part of life’s labyrinth. Here, there’s one way in, one way out. Everything moves in circles. Everything loops back and repeats itself. You and the stars are no different–each on your own heavenly path. So one day you move a little closer to The Center, the next a little further away. No matter. The Center awaits. There are no wrong turns.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life proceeds at its own pace.

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Shattered (Blog #410)

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Last week I saw my therapist and we talked about money, a subject that almost always makes me twitchy. “It’s like your heart is in your throat,” she said. That night I went for a run to chill out, then wrote a blog in which I explored how my childhood feelings about money have apparently gotten all mixed up with my current feelings about money. You can read the blog here, but the big takeaway was that I was completely overwhelmed once as a teenager when I had to meet with our bank regarding our failure to make mortgage payments (since Mom was sick and Dad was in prison), and that feeling of “I’m in over my head when it comes to money” has never completely gone away.

Or gone away at all, really.

Of all the blogs I’ve written, that one about going to the bank as a teenager was perhaps the most emotional for me, meaning I broke down crying while writing it. Granted, I’ve cried plenty of times while blogging, but this was ugly crying, not movie-star crying. Serious boo-who-who-ing. Anyway, I saw my therapist this afternoon, and I read the blog to her and cried some more. “See, this–is–wha-what ha-ha-happens,” I said, adding that I hated the fact that I’m a thirty-seven-year-old man who feels like a teenager when it comes to anything financial. “I’m a fuh-fuh-fucking mess.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Let it out.”

Later, when I was more calm, my therapist said, “You’ve never told me that story before. That was a big deal, and it makes absolute sense that you responded the way you did. Anyone in your circumstances would walk away from that experience thinking that money was scary, dirty, and hard to come by.”

“It’s not?” I said.

As we continued to flesh things out, I told my therapist that I’ve thought about that day at the bank a lot over the years. It’s not like I haven’t known “that was a bad day.” But seriously, until I broke down while blogging about it last week, I didn’t realize what a formative event it was for me, how intimidating and frightening it was. “You were acknowledging it in your head, but not in your heart,” my therapist said. “You normally don’t do a lot of crying in here, but the fact that you are now is a good thing. It means you’re ready to get this sorted out and heal. It means you’re ready to grieve for that teenager.”

I think that’s such a poignant word–grieve–since I don’t often fully acknowledge what all I lost when my dad went to prison. Obviously there was the childhood thing–I grew up way too fast. But then there were things I lost you might not think of, like my sense of power, my feeling of belonging in this world, my pride in my circumstances. Oh yeah, and that feeling I had when I was a kid about how money was exciting and fun, something to be enjoyed (and not overwhelmed by). Where did that part of me go?

Because I’d really like it back.

My therapist says that your past doesn’t determine your future, that just because things were shit when you were a teenager doesn’t mean they have to be shit forever. (God, I hope she’s right.) She also says that with everything that went on in my childhood, I could have EASILY ended up addicted to drugs, and the fact that I didn’t only goes to show how resilient I am. (So that’s something.) I hope my repeating this compliment doesn’t sound like bragging, since I’ve never once used the word resilient to describe myself (before now), and I didn’t plan it this way. It’s not like there was a moment in my childhood when I thought, Dad’s in prison and the bank is on our back, but I’m not going to shoot heroin up my arm–no, sir, not me–I’m going to be resilient!

No emotion is ever truly buried.

But seriously, I don’t know why one person who’s dealt a shit hand in life turns to drugs and another doesn’t. Likewise, I don’t know why my sister has always been one to cry about things in the moment and I’ve (apparently) always been one to bury my emotions for decades. But I do know from personal experience that no emotion is ever truly buried. You may keep it down for a while–fool yourself and others–but it’ll come up somehow. (Just you wait.) Also, getting back to that long list of things I lost when I was a child like my feeling of belonging and pride in my circumstances, I don’t think these things were ever truly lost. Separated, maybe. But surely I can reconnect with them. Surely anyone can reconnect with themselves. For what is resilience but this, the firm belief that all shattered things can somehow be put back together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Totally Mixed Up (Blog #405)

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Last year, in the midst of starting this blog, I began walking late at night. It was a good way to get out of the house, clear my head, and organize my thoughts before sitting down to write during the wee hours of the morning. At some point I began jogging, running, something I hadn’t done in forever because of a hip that’s historically given me a lot of grief. I had to start slow, but eventually worked myself up to eight miles. And whereas my hip never fell in love with running, it did tolerate it, especially if I took time to stretch my legs and didn’t pound the pavement every day.

When my immune system went haywire last October, my night-time strolls and midnight marathons took a long vacation. There was just no way. Even if I’d felt like a million bucks, I’m not sure I would have left the house, since it was winter and cold outside, and I hate winter and cold outside. All this to say that despite my aversion to pollen and even though spring is literally in the air right now, last night I went for a jog–one mile. Let’s just see how our body responds, I thought. Well, the jog went great–but get this shit. As I was jogging, it was like my body was remembering every walk or run I’ve ever been on. I took a route I used a lot last year, and all these memories came back of specific podcasts I was listening to along those streets, of particular thoughts and emotions I was sorting out before blogging about them.

That’s weird, right?–the way your memories get tied to distinct locations or activities and can come flooding back at a moment’s notice? It’s like the past and the present get totally mixed up in your head.

Today I saw my therapist, and we talked about money. Y’all, I hate talking about money. First of all, no one ever taught me how. Second of all, growing up, most of my experiences with money were negative. Like, we never had enough of it, or what we did have (in the form of possessions) was taken away (in a house fire), stolen, or repossessed. This is why I write so much about abundance–it’s something I want to believe in, but haven’t always had a lot of proof of. So today when my therapist and I were talking about a couple business situations like the insurance claim regarding my car accident last year, I practically broke into a cold sweat. “You’re all twitchy,” she said. “Yeah,” I replied, “because I’m afraid I won’t be able to handle myself.”

“Then it’s my job to support you emotionally until you do feel like you can handle yourself,” she said.

Since leaving therapy this afternoon, I’ve continued to be a nervous wreck. It’s a little better now because I went for another run earlier–two miles–and that helped burn up some energy. But even as I’m propped up in my childhood bed, I can remember where I was sitting when I was handed the family checkbook as a teenager, how I felt completely inadequate to do what was being asked of me. I can remember exactly where I was sitting at the bank the afternoon I met with our loan officer and told him we could no longer afford our mortgage payments as long as Dad was in prison. I was sixteen. On one side of the desk was this confident man in a suit and tie, three times my age, and on the other side was overwhelmed me in a pair of jeans and maybe a collared shirt, crying, embarrassed. And even though twenty years have elapsed between then and now, when it comes to money, I guess a large part of me still feels like that little kid–all twitchy. It’s like the past and the present are totally mixed up in my head.

How do you fix a problem that’s twenty years old?

Now it’s three in the morning, and I don’t know how I’m going to sort this one out. I guess I don’t have to tonight, but I do want to–get it sorted out–at some point. I simply can’t keep living on this side of the desk, practically paralyzed by the world of business, by–the world. And yet, how do you fix a problem that’s twenty-years old? How do you learn to walk again, let alone run when your legs are trembling with fear? Honestly, I don’t know. But perhaps you start by recognizing that despite your past and your trembling legs, you’re still standing. Perhaps you start by realizing that life even in its most intimidating moment wasn’t able to completely knock you down. Because surely that fact alone would mean that you are strong, much more capable of handling yourself than you were previously giving yourself credit for.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whereas I've always pictured patience as a sweet, smiling, long-haired lady in a white dress, I'm coming to see her as a frumpy, worn-out old broad with three chins. You know--sturdy--someone who's been through the ringer and lived to tell about it.

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On Waiting for Answers (Blog #393)

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Currently I’m cranky and have a headache. (Let’s see if I can work myself into a better mood.) I woke up this morning with a skin relapse–a sudden flare-up where no one wants a flare-up–maybe due to a different bath soap or a new body odor powder, both of which I used yesterday. Regardless, the flare-up wasn’t fun. Since apparently I’m so sensitive, this afternoon I went to Walmart and bought sensitive-skin soap. Then I came home and took a shower to wash any irritants off and “start all over.” Now things are–I don’t know–better.

It’s hard to tell.

Despite this setback, today promised to be a great day. For several months I’ve been going back and forth with a local hospital because my insurance didn’t cover a trip I took to the emergency room back in October for another skin issue. (What can I say, it’s been a rough year.) Anyway, the hospital had graciously granted me charity services (at 100%) last year when I had sinus surgery, and that charity applied to some, but not all–it turns out–of the emergency room services (because the charity was based upon when a service was billed and not simply received). So a few months ago a kind person in customer service suggested I reapply for the charity to cover everything, which I did. But whereas the first time the application process was simple, this time it’s been back and forth. I send stuff in, they ask for more, and so on. Well, today I got their final answer–approved!–once again at 100%–retroactively for eight months and proactively for six.

Talk about good news!

Y’all, I can’t tell you what a shot in the arm this was. My therapist is always saying that the universe is abundant, and despite my often Eeyore attitude about money and things going my way, I may have to start agreeing with her. Personally, I think this could have been worked out a little faster, but maybe we’re back to my therapist’s whole thing about patience. Just wait, things will work out.

My primary reaction to this good news was both relief and excitement. My secondary reaction, however, was panic. I started thinking about the other financial quandaries I have. Y’all, I almost got online and started looking at my accounts. Then I stopped myself. Marcus, all that will be there later (God knows). How about we just enjoy a win for once? So that’s what I did–I went for a walk, got a small sunburn, read a book, took a nap. Hey–sometimes life doesn’t suck.

Unfortunately, my good mood didn’t last long. This evening before teaching dance I got online to pay a bill, but thought, I’d better make sure the money I deposited yesterday through the night-drop actually deposited. Well, shit, it hadn’t. Like, not a trace of it. Immediately I freaked out about losing not-a-small-amount of cash (at least in my world), not being able to pay the bill, and accruing late fees. So despite the fact that it was after hours, I called the bank and actually got someone in customer service, who filed what’s called “a dispute” and said I should hear something in three business days. “Is it possible the envelope got stuck in the night-drop?” I said.

“Yes, a lot of things could have happened,” they replied. “It could have been deposited in someone else’s account.”

I can’t tell you how not amused I was by this answer. Actually, I’m still not amused. Rather, I’m worried that the abundant universe of this afternoon has suddenly become not-so-abundant. Like, I’ll take that good news right back, please and thank you. Also, I’m put out that I’ll be getting up early tomorrow to go the the bank where I deposited the money to see if I can get a quicker answer there. In short, I’m mad that I have to deal with it and am impatient for a resolution.

Damn if good news doesn’t travel the slowest.

It seems these are two lessons the universe and I have been working out A LOT this last year–patience and abundance. I know I talk about them plenty here, in terms of both money and health. I guess it’s all the same. But here’s what I’m learning. The fact is that many answers don’t come quickly–and damn if good news doesn’t travel the slowest–but that doesn’t mean answers don’t come. And maybe good news is more satisfying when you have to wait for it. Maybe having to wait gives you a chance to work with all your fears, to see what you’re still holding onto, to see what’s holding you back. Then you can work on letting go of those things and on moving forward, ready to fearlessly receive the good news that’s surely on its way to meet you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of.

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Dealing with My Bullshit Thoughts (Blog #139)

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The first day I went to therapy, I told my therapist about everything I could think of that might make a difference–the terrible relationship I was in, our house burning down when I was five, Mom being sick, Dad going to prison–every trauma I was aware of. And then I had to pee. Seriously. I remember standing in the bathroom thinking, Okay, there, I said it. I wonder what she’s going to say. Well, she was super professional, didn’t call me fucked up or anything. Rather, she said, “It sounds like you and your boyfriend have zero boundaries and that you have some family of origin issues [Who doesn’t?].” And that was that, end of session one.

Fast forward three years and about a hundred sessions later, and my therapist has never once said, “Tell me about your father,” or, “Let’s talk about that kid that used to beat you up.” She said once that she believes when the subconscious is ready to deal with something (to heal), the topic will come up on its own. So far, she’s been right. At one point or another, we’ve returned to all those initial traumas, even some other ones. We’ve talked about everything.

Well, almost everything.

Today we talked about–money. There, I said it. The topic came up because I mentioned the dream board I’m working on, and it would appear that dreams cost money (if you want them to come true). As the conversation went on, I shared an exercise I did recently where I listed my knee-jerk thoughts about money. Two things–it wasn’t pretty–and my therapist said knee-jerk thoughts (like my mother-in-law is _________) tell us how we really feel about something. To summarize, most of my thoughts about money are negative.

There’s not enough money. Money causes arguments. Money isn’t spiritual.

After I read the list, my therapist said, “That was intense.” I said, “That was intense to say out loud.” Honestly, it felt like throwing up in the backseat of your friend’s new car, like, I feel better, but now what do we do? Well, once again, my therapist didn’t freak out or say that I had an insurmountable problem. Instead, she started by reminding me where my beliefs came from. We talked about my childhood and all the bullshit that went on, the cars that were repossessed when Dad went to prison, the box from the Baptist church full of charity food that sat in a corner and silently proclaimed, “We can’t afford to eat.”

“It’s completely understandable that you’d have issues with scarcity and abundance. You had some bad programming,” she said.

Then she added, “And ninety percent of that list is BULLSHIT,” at which point she took out a pink highlighter and marked the two thoughts about money that I’m apparently allowed to keep because they’re actually true–1) money is freedom (of choice) and 2) money is fun. But the thought that I’d have more money if I were smarter? That one has to go. She said, “Do you know anyone with a lot of money that’s NOT as smart as you are?”

“Well yeah.”

“Okay then.”

The rest of today, I pretty much felt like shit, which I’m assuming is because we poked the bear, stirred up a bunch of junk that’s been sitting around for a while. On top of that, my initial response whenever I realize there’s serious work to do is to get overwhelmed. Oh my god, how am I going to stop believing all these things I’ve been believing for my entire life? Well, after I taught a dance lesson this evening, I finally had an idea.

Village Inn has free pie on Wednesdays. (As my friend Kara says, “It’s hard not to eat your feelings. They taste so good.”)

Really, I spent a good portion of the evening trying to figure out how I could blog about something else tonight. I swear, this vulnerability and honesty shit is for the birds. I mean, I don’t LOVE talking on the internet about my general fears and insecurities, and I certainly don’t LOVE talking on the internet about my specific fears and insecurities (money, money, my education, my body, my talent, and money–and also money). Part of me would just prefer not to do it. There may be some pride involved. But when I checked out at Village Inn tonight, the lady at the register started talking to me about an employee she’d just got off the phone with. She said, “She hasn’t worked in a month. She’s been on vacation in Spain.”

I thought, Now why do I give a shit?

But I said, “Oh that’s nice.”

Then the manager jumped in and said, “I’d love to go to Spain,” so I said, “Do it!” But then she said, “I don’t have enough money, I can’t afford it,” which is honestly my first thought lately whenever someone suggests seeing a play, going to dinner, or riding the train at Creekmore Park for a quarter. Then I figured if the Village Inn lady and I have this issue around scarcity, that’s at least two of us, and maybe there are others. So–in an effort to be real–I’m talking about it.

Sometimes when I think about the road that lies ahead and turning my scarcity truck into an abundance mobile, it feels impossible. But this evening I’ve reminded myself that I’ve tackled a lot of big issues over the last several years. I’ve come a long way with a lot of excellent help. So I have to trust that this too is an issue that’s come up at the right time, that it’s only rocking my emotional boat now because it’s time for it to heal.

Let’s do this shit.

As always, I’ll let you know how it goes.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you want to become who you were meant to be, it's absolutely necessary to shed your old skin. Sure it might be sad to say goodbye--to your old phone, to your old beliefs, anything that helped get you this far--but you've got to let go in order to make room for something new.

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The Bumper Sticker Was Right (Blog #135)

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Today was really great, and I’d love to tell you about it except for the fact that my brain stopped working approximately three hours ago. That being said, I’ll try. I mean, who needs a brain anyway? Look around–they’re like boyfriends. Plenty of people get by without one.

This afternoon I had a massage from my friend Rod, whom I met last year about the time I was closing the studio and selling all of my worldly possessions. When it comes to bodywork, Rod’s basically a ninja. The man gets more done in an hour than most people get done in ten, and I give him a ton of credit for setting my body on the path of transformation and healing it’s currently on. Plus, he’s just a cool guy. I mean, he’s got a bumper sticker that says, “Something wonderful is about to happen,” and he let me pee in his backyard and wash my hands in a rain barrel afterwards. It all felt so–primal. GRRR.

I haven’t seen Rod since last year, so we spent a few minutes talking about the car accident and what I thought was going on in my body, and I told him that–among other things–I thought my shoulders were rotated forward. He said, “Well maybe they were, but from my perspective, you look great. You’ve come a long way since the last time I saw you, so let’s just do a ‘tune up’ today.” Oh my gosh–best tune up ever. I felt things relax in my legs, back, chest, and neck that have been tight for months–years. I walked in with a heel lift and walked out without it because Rod got my hips and legs almost completely level.

Rod said the issues I have with my right leg and hip were almost certainly “an occupational problem.” This afternoon I taught a Lindy Hop lesson, and I could feel certain muscles “talking to me,” so I was like, “Yep. Shit. I wish I had known this ten years ago.” But what do you do? At least now I can move forward with more awareness, more prevention, more time on a foam roller. And thank God we figured it out now instead of in another ten years.

Before I go any further, I need to say this–I’ve always had a fascination with stand-up comedy. I did a little bit in high school, and I still fantasize about doing more. (Once I shared this dream with one of my oldest friends, and he said, “Are you funny?” Insert eye roll emoji here.) Anyway, it’s been on my mind lately because one of my creativity assignments a couple weeks ago was to write down ten things I wanted to do “if I didn’t have to be perfect” or “if I were allowed to.” I’ll spare you the other nine for now, but stand-up comedy was one of them.

Okay, back to today.

When I left Rod’s, something wonderful happened (besides the massage). I went to Chipotle. (But wait, there’s more.) When I walked in the door, a guy sitting at a table said, “Marcus, what are you doing here?” Well, I’d forgotten his name (Chris), but I recognized him as someone who’d taken a lesson from me several years ago when I was in town. We chatted for a while, and he said–of all things–he’s running a comedy club in town, there’s a show tonight, and I should come–for free. I said, “Sure. Maybe I’ll be there.” Then I remembered the list.

“No wait–I’ll be there.”

“Open mic night is every Sunday,” he said.

HUM. “I’m gone Sunday. I’ll have to give that some more thought.”

So I went to the show tonight and had a swell time. Chris sat me down front with a few strangers, and one of the ladies ended up being a dancer who’s taken some lessons here at the studio my friends own. (Small world and so forth.) All in all, it was a hilarious evening. A few jokes fell flat, but plenty of them soared, and there was even a table of people who got asked to leave for talking too much and causing a scene. (As one of my friends said later, “People–you can’t take them anywhere.”) It was kind of awkward when the comic said, “You’re ruining it for everyone,” but at least it gave me something to write about.

As fate would have it, there was a fresh-cookie company right by the comedy club that stays open until three in the morning. I’m just going to say it–I BOUGHT A DOZEN CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES (and a glass of milk). So I sat down at a table outside the store, ate two cookies, drank the milk, and thought That bumper sticker was so right–something wonderful IS HAPPENING. (See top photo.)

Y’all. The couple who got married at the ballroom tonight had a cake topper that looked just like them and their two dogs. Did you people know this was a thing? I didn’t know it was a thing, but then again, I don’t go cake topper shopping–well–ever because I’m single AF. (AF stands for “as fuck,” Mom.) Anyway, look at this beauty.

Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen? I saw it this afternoon in the ballroom and got all warm inside. Then tonight I met the couple, and I felt like I was meeting celebrities. OMG, I saw you on top of a cake this afternoon! But seriously, look at these two. Whoever made that cake topper did a great job.

Today I’d told Rod that I’d started to notice other people’s posture, that I’ll see someone walking down the street with their head stuck out in front of them or their back rounded and think, “That’s got to hurt.” Rod said one of the ideas with good bodywork is to get the body aligned properly so it’s working with gravity and not against it. (Hold a book out, let it go, and watch it drop to the floor. That’s the force that’s acting on your body at all times, so it makes the most sense to have everything “stacked up” properly.)

Although I’ve had my doubts about abundance for roughly thirty years (give or take a week), my therapist says it’s what life is all about. I mean, if you look around, there’s more than enough for everyone–more than enough air to breathe, ground to walk on, backyards to pee in. Abundance, I guess, is a lot like gravity–it’s everywhere. She says you actually have to work pretty hard to find scarcity. Sure, I guess you can find it. Like, where have all the cowboys gone? But I’m starting to think of scarcity a little bit like that cake topper of the cute couple–it may seem a lot like the real thing, but it’s not even close. Rather, the real thing is that our needs are met and then some, we’ve all come a long way, and something wonderful is always about to happen.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.

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Searching for Abundance (Blog #128)

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For at least ten years there’s been a candlestick knitted out of yarn that’s hung on the doorknob in our kitchen. Green and white, it’s meant to be holiday decor and stand upright when you put a cardboard toilet paper roll inside it.

Doesn’t that sound cute? (And by cute I mean something a straight person would think of?)

Well, this morning my aunt Donna Kay (my dad’s sister) dropped by the house and noticed the knitted candlestick for the first time, I guess because it was off the door handle and on the kitchen table. Holding it up, she said, “What’s this?”

“It’s a penis warmer,” I said.

Then my aunt started laughing and said, “Wow. I’ve never seen one that big before.”

Welcome to my family.

Dad told my aunt that my grandma–their mother–had made the knitted candle/penis warmer, that she must have given it to us as a gift before she died. My aunt said, “Why?”

Good question.

As I recall, Grandma was a terrible gift-giver. Maybe I’ve just forgotten the good ones. But I remember once when I was in high school (high school!) having a birthday and getting a Nike t-shirt from her. I realize that actually sounds pretty cool for a grandma, but I’m pretty sure it was a knock-off that came from a second-hand store. Even before I put it on, the seams were unraveling. But Grandma was so proud because it had been a bargain. There I was reaching into the sack, sifting through the tissue paper, and she was saying, “Marcus, I paid five dollars for that.”

Uh, thanks, Grandma.

I think that was the same year I also got a pair of tennis shoes from her. They were cheap, thinner than cardboard, solid white except for the fact they had a hint of green in them. It’s hard to explain, but they had–a patina. They almost glowed. Oh, and another thing–they had velcro straps–the kind used for toddlers and old people. And here’s the kicker–she’s actually bought the shoes (out of a magazine, I think) for my grandpa, EXCEPT HE DIDN’T WANT THEM.

So she gave them to me, her grandson.

Well I guess I could mow the lawn in them. What could it hurt? I’m already a virgin. I might as well stay one.

Maybe it sounds critical, but it’s not meant that way. This is just who Grandma was. Constantly ill, she rarely wore anything other than her nightgown and only used her bra and teeth for special occasions. She passed away when I was in college, and this is the stuff I remember about her. She couldn’t keep a secret–no way. Every Christmas one of us family members would be mid-way through getting a package open, and she’d say, “That’s a pair of underwear. Incase they don’t fit, I put the receipt in the box–they cost eight dollars.” Then she’d add–

“Save that bow, I can reuse it.”

Honestly, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say my issues with scarcity and abundance go back a LONG way. I mean, couldn’t we afford new bows, shoes without velcro straps?

This afternoon, as part of my creativity and abundance homework, I had to find five interesting rocks (I’m not kidding), so I went to Creekmore Park. Well, I discovered pretty quickly that rocks are EVERYWHERE, which I guess was the point of the exercise. There is natural abundance all around us.

The first interesting rock I found was in a dried-up creek bed, hiding amongst the mosquitoes. (Nice try, rock.) It was shaped basically like the state of Arkansas and because it was painted red and said “Go Hogs,” I assumed it had been both tampered with and placed there by human hands. For a moment I thought I should leave the rock where I found it, as it was probably part of some geocaching game (hide something and leave clues online as to where its hidden). But having just spent thirty minutes trying to find ONE INTERESTING ROCK, I decided the universe had left it there specifically for me, so I snatched it right up.

Finding the other four rocks took about an hour and was harder than I thought because–to quote my therapist–I’m picky as a motherfucker. (This should come as no surprise.) Considering this fact, I could definitely cut Grandma some slack. I mean, she didn’t know that I was a budding homosexual with high standards. That being said, I’m sure there were clues–this photo, for example.

How I didn’t come out sooner, I don’t exactly know.

This evening I filled my car up with gas and was all “crap, that’s a lot” when I saw the total. This is pretty much my reaction to buying anything lately, since my income arrives in fits and starts. Honestly, I don’t like that reaction, but I know it’s been there on some level for quite a long time. What? You paid more than five dollars for a t-shirt? You think you’re BETTER THAN ME because your shoes have LACES? So I appreciate the exercise of really seeing ALL the rocks in nature, coming around to the idea of abundance bit by bit. Even though I only took home five rocks, there were SO MANY. They were everywhere, and I’d just never really recognized them before.

Now as I remember Grandma, I don’t think the best gifts she gave us were physical objects. No, definitely not physical objects. Rather, I think her best gifts were the endless stories we now have to share, the things we’re still bitching and laughing about all these years later (penis warmer!). This fact reminds me that abundance truly does comes in many forms–in rocks, in stories, in a family’s laughter–all of which, like a good Christmas bow, can be saved for later and used over and over again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.

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