Good and Beautiful and True (Blog #1083)

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This afternoon I saw my myofascial release wizard, and, phew, what a trip that was. By this I mean I cried. A lot. I don’t know. If you haven’t experience myofascial release or anything like it, I know it sounds odd. Marcus got a massage and cried. How strange. And I admit, it is strange. Hell, I’ve HAD myofascial release before and still think it’s odd. No, phenomenal. Phenomenal is a better word. This being said, when I had myofascial release before, it was by a lower-level practitioner, and for a shorter session. So maybe that’s the difference. Or maybe my body just wasn’t ready. That’s one thing I’ve become convinced of. If you’re body isn’t ready to let go, sweetie, you ain’t letting go. If you’re body doesn’t think it’s safe, it’s going to remain on high-alert.

High-alert. I guess that’s how I’ve felt for, oh, twenty-five years now. Granted, I’ve never experienced classic panic attacks, but I have spent ever so much time feeling nervous and unsettled, breaking out in hives, having headaches, and on and on. More than enough signs to let me know my body was, in a very real way, upset and needing attention. Like, Darling, we can’t handle this any longer. This being the go, go, going and self-pressuring. “Sometimes we keep ourselves busy so we don’t have to feel,” my myofascial release wizard (MFRW) said today as she was working on my neck and shoulders, which have been consistently tight for decades. “But what would it be like to let the weight of the world slip off your shoulders?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. “It’s been there so long.”

This is one of the challenges of healing. We live with our our pains and problems so long that we get used to them. Not that they’re ever fun, but we become comfortable with them. We even identify with them. We say, MY headaches, MY hives. We say, I’M sick, I’M stressed. Whereas some cultures say, I’m experiencing a headache or sickness, thus making an important distinction. That you and your illness are not synonymous. Of course, this is a difficult perspective to keep in mind, especially when your body’s been hurting for years. And yet more and more I’m convinced that a body that’s hurting is a body with a story that desperately needs to be heard.

Where things really got interesting today was when my MFRW worked on my belly button. “I’m going to do what’s called an umbilical cord release,” she said, “and it’s your connection to your mother.” Well, before she really even got going, I started bawling like a baby, I suppose because my mother has been clinically depressed since I was in her womb and, consequently, she hasn’t always been able to be there for me like I’ve wanted her to be. And whereas logically I can say that I understand all this, that it’s okay, alas, my inner child, that little fellow that was in her womb, is apparently not big on logic. This is to say that the story my body told this afternoon was one of sadness, disappointment, grief, confusion, and even anger. Because so many times both my parents weren’t able to be there. Because I had to grow up “too fast.”

The more I allow myself to acknowledge and feel these feelings, the more I’m convinced that my inner child (for lack of a better term) is alive and well. That is, although my driver’s license, the mirror, and my bathroom scales clearly indicate that I’m a 39-year-old man, there’s very much a part of me that’s stuck in 1994, the year I was in a terrible car accident and my dad was arrested. The year I had to grow up. “What does that boy need?” my MFRW asked. “What does he need to hear?”

Sobbing, I thought, He needs to hear that he did a good job. (A great job.) And that it’s over now and he can relax.

Something my MFRW said that stuck with me today was that whenever the wind gets knocked out of our proverbial sails and our boat gets tumped over, we often blame the people we most care about. Like, You weren’t there for me. This is your fault. But the truth is that, most likely, they got knocked out of the boat too. Because shit happens. In my case, I was clearly affected by my mom’s depression, but so was she. Ever so much more than I was. So was my entire family. When dad was arrested, my whole world shifted. But all of our worlds did. This perspective doesn’t change the feelings and emotions that got shoved down all those years ago, but it does help me let them go now. More and more I’m convinced there’s never a good reason to hang on to all that shit anyway. People say that holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the object of your anger to suffer, and I’m coming to believe this is quite literal. Our bodies pay the price for our rage.

And sadness, etc.

To be clear, I don’t think the goal is to be free from any one emotion or the information it carries. I say information because I wish that years ago, even as a teenager, I’d been able to hear what my sadness and tight shoulders were telling me. Sweetheart, we need to be cared for. We need to lighten up. We need to know we’re good enough. This is valuable information, and why I don’t think the goal is to be free from our emotions. Rather, I think we need to experience them. To let our long-buried feelings finally have their say.

Lately I’ve had a lot of experience with this sort of thing, and I freely admit that I don’t do the best job explaining it. It’s not that I get in a room, start talking about my history, and break down in tears. Rather, while in a safe place in which I feel comfortable, emotions like sadness, anger, and self-pressure (if that’s even an emotion) bubble up. Very much like the way a sneeze does. All of a sudden, you’re aware that your body has something to say, something to let go of. And you can either hold it in (ouch), or let it come out. Having gone through this process over and over again over the last month or two, the go, go, goer in me is ready to let it all out. Now. To let go of the tension in my body and experience, I guess, more freedom. Because I always feel lighter, looser on the other side of a release. And yet it appears that the body has its own timeframe for healing. As my MFRW says, “It’s baby steps.”

I used to read stories of healing and releasing like the one I just told and think there must be something wrong with me. Because I was try, try, trying and not getting the same results. Now I think it was just timing. “There’s a season for falling apart,” my MFRW says, “and a season for healing.” It just wasn’t my season yet. Granted, I was learning a lot, which I think gave me a solid foundation for my current experiences. That is, had I not read so much about the mind-body connection and the way our fascia stores our memories, I could have been seriously freaked out by all-of-a-sudden needing to wail or hiss or grunt. I could have shut it down. Which is honestly my first instinct. Because if I’m not all my pain and suffering, all my trying, all my tension, then who am I? And whereas I don’t have an answer, I’m willing to find out. Not only because I can’t keep going like this (twenty-five years is long enough), but also because I’m convinced it’s something good and beautiful and true.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one comes into this life knowing how to dance, always moving with grace."

Flipping the Script (Blog #954)

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This afternoon and evening I helped a client repair the fence in their backyard. (It was falling over, and their dog was jumping into their neighbor’s yard. Their neighbor didn’t like this.) And whereas the fence mending itself went well, while moving a heavy rock along the fence I smashed my middle finger and ripped my fingernail open. There was blood and everything.

And then I stepped in dog shit.

These things happen.

You know how you can begin a project with a good attitude, with hope in your heart that things will go fabulously, but then you start hurting yourself and stepping in shit (and there’s no one to blame but yourself) and your good attitude goes down the toilet? (I do.) That being said, today as my finger stopped bleeding and throbbing, I worked to regain proper perspective. Your finger will heal, I thought. The dog didn’t purposefully shit where he thought you’d be stepping. He just needed to go. We all need to go now and then.

Just about this time, a mosquito bit me.

Looking toward the heavens I thought, What?! I haven’t had enough for one day?

Since I only had about thirty minutes left on the fence project and hate having bug spray on my skin, I thought about taking my chances. But then I thought about how much mosquitoes love me and how badly my skin reacts to them, so I took a break, walked to my car (right through the dog shit gauntlet), and reached for the bug spray. I’d rather be covered in DEET than itching to death, I thought. For me, using the spray was an act of self-compassion, a way to prevent further suffering. Sometimes this is the best you can do. Earlier I’d put a Bandaid on my bleeding finger. It didn’t change the fact that something shitty had happened, but it did keep things from getting worse, and it did support healing.

Twenty years ago when I was a teenager, I had a family friend who was a mentor of sorts. Our relationship isn’t private, but it would take a while to fully explain, so suffice it to say that this person and I communicated by letters because their personal circumstances didn’t allow for much more. They were in poor health and had limited resources, so I did a lot for them–typed up and made copies of documents, that sort of thing. Looking back, I can see that I didn’t know how to say no. For one thing, they were an adult. I was seventeen. For another, they were offering a lot of “sage” advice about matters I was interested in at the time–the Bible, the government–and it didn’t feel like I could question them. I remember thinking I had to do whatever they said.

For the last twenty years, the letters from this person have remained in a binder untouched. When I went through all my things and had my estate sale three years ago, I thought perhaps I should toss them. But then I thought I should read them first, so I just kept them, imagining one day I would. Well, tonight was the night. I opened the binder and read all twenty-two letters. (Yes, I numbered them.) And whereas most of the contents were benign, some of this person’s statements, quite frankly, were rude and inappropriate.

“You should do as directed.”

“I haven’t heard from you in a while. I guess you only write when you want something.”

Followed by, “Send me a copy of such and such.”

The primary emotions I felt tonight were anger (because this person was brash, passive aggressive, and lacked boundaries) and overwhelm (because at the time I didn’t realize they were asking for more than a teenager could give, but I still felt obligated to act as their–unpaid–personal assistant). These are the SAME emotions I felt when I initially received the letters, of course, but I didn’t know how to express myself back then. I didn’t know how to say, “Whoa, Trigger!”

However, I do know. As I was reading the letters, I actually said, “Fuck you!” Now, does this person care? No, they died a long time ago. Besides, it’s not about them. It’s about me, about me finally letting go of an unhealthy relationship and the old emotions associated with it. Along these lines, after I talked to my family about the letters, I burned them. (The letters, not my family.) Every single page. Up in smoke in our backyard.

Sweeping off the ashy patio, I said, “The past is over” then walked back inside.

“The past is over” is a common phrase in the self-help world, but I’d like to be clear. Until I said, “Fuck you” and burned the letters tonight, it wasn’t over for me. Had I not given voice to my previously unacknowledged frustrations or had I held on to something that only upset me to read it, the past would have continued. This is the deal. You don’t just get over something. Despite what Frozen and even I sometimes say, you don’t just let it go. When your finger is smashed, you first have to admit that you’ve been hurt. You can’t just mutter, “Oh, I’m fine” when you’re really not. No matter what you’re feeling, you’ve got to be honest about it. Even if the feeling started twenty years ago. Even if the feeling isn’t “nice.”

Another way I could keep the past alive with respect to this situation would be to bitch and moan about what an awful human this person was, to go around for the rest of my life and say, “Can you believe the way they treated me?!” Now, the truth is this person didn’t treat me terribly. Sure, they were at times abrupt and overbearing, but at times they were quite endearing and kind. As my therapist says, people are complex. Even if they had been all-the-time mean and nasty, I know it wasn’t personal. Dogs shit on the ground because that’s what they do, and people are mean and nasty because–I don’t know–they are. What I do know is that how this person treated me is how they treated everyone (mosquitoes bite me, mosquitoes bite you), so what good would it do for me to complain and play the victim?

That’s right, it wouldn’t.

Life isn’t out to get you.

In the world of speech and debate, which I was involved with in high school and college, there’s something called a turn. A turn is when one side brings out a piece of evidence supporting their argument and–later–the other side shows that the evidence, properly interpreted, ACTUALLY supports THEIR side. The kids these days would call this flipping the script, and it’s what I suggest doing anytime you smash your finger, step in dog shit, get bitten by a mosquito, or unearth something from your past that upsets you. That is, use a difficult situation for your benefit. Rather than playing the victim, play the victor. If it’s a simple injury or irritation, use it as an opportunity to slow down and practice self-care. Remind yourself that life isn’t out to get you. If it’s something more serious and involves another person, consider it a chance to practice emotional expression, boundary setting, and better communication. Even if the person is dead, see that they’ve helped you get clear about something important and that–going forward–you can be that much more clear with yourself and others.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love stands at the front door and says, “You don’t have to change a thing about yourself to come inside.”

"

When You Find Yourself at Your Worst (Blog #948)

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Ugh. It’s almost one in the morning, and I’m just now writing. Thanks to Daylight Savings, today was technically longer than usual (25 instead of 23 hours), but seriously, where did it go? This morning my aunt and I went to breakfast, then this afternoon we went antique shopping. Then I drove home (from Tulsa), taught a dance lesson, and had dinner. Then I unpacked and helped my parents with some stuff. Now here I am–braindead and unsure of what to say.

More than anything else, I’m tired. My body wants to sleep. Still, I’m pushing it to stay awake and function, and this is causing me to be increasingly frustrated. I want to throw this laptop across the room and screw this entire project. Like, what’s it gotten me anyway? Never mind the fact that it’s changed my entire life for the better. In this moment, I’m over it.

I’ve heard Caroline Myss say that we should be less concerned about who we are when we’re at our best and more concerned about who we are when we’re at our worst. You know, when we want to throw things across the room, curse people out, spend money we don’t have, and run away. According to Myss, the reason we should be concerned about this side of ourselves (rather than just chalking it up to being tired or blaming our mood on someone or something other than ourselves) is because this is the side of us that’s really running the show, influencing our health and relationships. Think about it. You don’t have an upset stomach because most of the day you’re calm; you have an upset stomach because part of the day you’re a powder keg. You don’t break up with your ex because they’re a total monster; you break up with your ex because they’re a partial monster (and yet it matters).

For me, the answer’s not about getting rid of any frustration or anger. It’s not even about not blowing up, although I think it’s wise to keep one’s outbursts to a minimum. Rather, it’s about becoming intimately acquainted with all parts of myself. This starts first with acknowledging any and all feelings (physical sensations) and emotions (states of mind) I’m having, and second with giving them a home.

I’ll explain.

This morning at breakfast I told my aunt that I have a ritual I go through whenever I buy new things. For example, with clothes I take the tags off, sometimes wash the clothes, and always hang them up or put them in a drawer. With books I remove any stickers, then put the books on my shelves. “You HOME them,” my aunt said. “You give them a home.”

Getting back to the idea of our feelings and emotions, I’m suggesting that if I were to blow up and throw my laptop across the room, I would NOT be giving my feelings and emotions a place to live. I might be expressing them, I might be externalizing them, but I would also be distancing myself from, well, myself. This is the deal whether you’re externalizing your emotions (biting someone’s head off) or internalizing your emotions (stuffing them down and pretending they don’t exist), you end up taking part of yourself and putting it “over there.” Consequently, you cut yourself off from valuable information. For example, when I’m able to sit with my tiredness and frustration and ask them what they have to say (rather than ask them to leave), they tell me that I’m pushing myself too hard, that I’m asking too much of myself mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

“Whooooaaa, Trigger,” they say.

Admittedly, my first instinct is NOT to home my feelings and emotions. When I’m upset, I’d much rather throw a fit or stuff things down than actually get curious about what’s going on. That was one of Myss’s points when she said that we should be concerned with who we are at our worst. Not like, oh, there’s a serious problem, but like, oh, I wonder why I do that. For example, one of my triggers is being told what to do, but at this point in the game I know it has nothing to do with anyone who happens to be offering me unsolicited advice. Rather, it has to do with my fears and insecurities about being able to take care of myself, about whether I know enough or am enough. Like, I should have it all figured out, and if someone’s telling me what to do, that clearly means I don’t.

If it’s not obviously, these last few statements are bullshit beliefs. Myss would call them spells, things that aren’t true but that we buy into and that have (huge) influence over us nonetheless. The good news is that once you become aware of your bullshit beliefs, you can do something about them. How do you become aware of your beliefs? Get to know yourself. HOME your feelings and emotions and listen to what they have to tell you. Get to know your triggers. When you find yourself at your worst, consider that you’re being given a window into your psyche and soul. Say, “Whoooooaaa, Trigger, this is an opportunity for me to grow. This is a chance for me to really change.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Miracles happen."

Not Just on the Roof (Blog #916)

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I took the above photo several years ago from the window of my old dance studio. (Facebook reminded me about it today.) Back then I was on the second story of a cool building in Historic Downtown Van Buren. Sometimes after everyone else left I’d sit in the window or crawl out on the roof and watch traffic go by and stare at unaware pedestrians, maybe while listening to Jamie Cullum or smoking a cigarette. Especially on evenings when the sun was setting and the sky was a Crayon box of colors, it was like my little piece of heaven. I don’t miss many things about the studio now, but I miss that spot and the feeling I had sitting there. As The Drifters so accurately said, “On the roof, it’s peaceful as can be.”

Last night I went to bed sick with sinus junk. And whereas I was hoping my probiotics would heal me during the night, they didn’t do crap, which means I woke up with more (really colorful) junk this morning. This was frustrating, but not completely disheartening. I have, after all, been down this road dozens and dozens of times before, and my body always eventually finds its balance. A word that’s been popping up in my experience the last twenty-four hours is harmony, the idea of everything working together in unison. This is what I’m hoping for–harmony in my sinuses, harmony in my body. It’s what I’m praying for. It’s what I’m working toward.

Despite my having a head full of phlegm, today has been lovely. I saw my therapist this morning, ate a tasty salad for lunch, then spent the afternoon at a coffee shop, reading, learning. Then I ran all over town in search of MORE probiotics to hopefully help my sinuses. This mission was only mildly successful–I found one new thing to try–but that’s okay. I enjoy the hunt, the trial and error. Do I enjoy hacking and coughing in the meantime? Hell no. But I have noticed the last few months that being sick carries less of a “charge” for me than it used to. What I mean is that I used to really freak out, worry, and stress every time I got sick. I’d think that God was punishing me, that if I were only a better or smarter person I wouldn’t be sick in the first place. Now most of that guilt and fear is gone. I still get sick, I just don’t beat myself up about it like I did before. Plus, I have more hope. Over a year ago I had a sinus infection that lasted three months. It was hell, but I made it. So I know whatever happens from here on out, I’ll make that too.

One of the things my therapist and I discussed today was abundance, which is something she deep-down believes in and something I think sounds good if you say it fast. That being said, I’m coming around to the idea. Anyway, she’s recently been sick also, and she said that when you’re an independent operator (who gets paid by the hour) and get sick and can’t work, it’s easy to question the notion that you’re always supported by God or the universe. “But we are,” she said. “We always have more than we need.”

“I have more snot than I need,” I said.

I told my therapist that recently I’ve had some strong emotional reactions to things. For example, I got immediately angry when someone sent me a text message. I got squirmy when someone else asked me to do a certain odd job. And whereas I knew that my emotions were information from my intuitive system saying respectively, “Stand up for yourself,” and, “Run, Will Robinson,” my therapist suggested thinking of my emotional reactions as “tells.” Like, in the future when I become immediately angry or squirmy, I’ll know it’s my gut’s way of communicating, “Look alive, kid.” She said she has her tells for knowing when a potential client won’t work out and always regrets it when she goes against her inner guidance.

I realize I’m jumping around here, but this is how my therapy sessions work. Shit happens in between visits, and I make a note about it. Then when I finally see my therapist, I hop from note to note. One minute we’re talking about comedians on Netflix (we both have a thing for stand-up), the next minute we’re talking about a confrontation I’ve had or need to have, and the next minute we’re talking about relationships. Today she said, “Relationships aren’t for punks.” This came up because I’ve had a number of friendships fizzle out over the last several years and sometimes still feel gross about it. I think, Who was right and who was wrong? Am I being stubborn? Am I holding a grudge? But as my therapist explained, “Relationships are real messy. Both parties have to be adults. They have to be willing to own their shit and apologize when necessary.”

It’s easy to romanticize the past, to look back at photos and think, Those were the good old days. Bitch, please. There’s no such thing. Sure, there might have been something in your past that you enjoyed and wish you could experience again, but–I swear–it wouldn’t be the same even if you could. Additionally, we forget that life–our past, present, and future–is always a mixed bag. I miss sitting on the roof at my old dance studio. I miss that peaceful feeling. However, I don’t miss the drama of owning the studio or my lack of self-awareness at the time. Back then I had a great view of downtown, but a piss-poor view of myself and my relationships. Largely thanks to therapy and this blog, now my perspective has shifted dramatically for the better. Doing The Hard Work has made all the difference. Now I can get that peaceful feeling anywhere–because it’s inside me. Not just on the roof.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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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.

"

Each Step is Necessary (Blog #866)

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This morning I finished painting a room I started painting a couple weeks ago before The Great Upset Stomach Incident of 2019. Well, I technically didn’t paint it today. Rather, I scraped paint off the windows then cleaned up the mess I made on the floor. Then I put the light switch and electrical outlet covers back on. This is all part of the process when painting a room–the details. With respect to this particular project, twenty percent of my total time was spent either getting the room ready to paint or putting it back together after having painted it.

After finishing that room, I started on another. This room was smaller than the first, but it still took over an hour to tape off the carpet around the baseboards, scrape off some old paint that was peeling inside the closet, and get the drop cloth down. Once things were prepped and ready to go, I was ready to go. That is, I took a break so I could see my chiropractor and grab lunch. Later, I came back and got one full coat of paint applied to that room. Ugh. I’d wanted to finish the whole thing tonight, but things always take longer than you want them to.

This is what tomorrow’s for.

Several days ago I figured out the rash on my arm is ringworm, a fungus. I can’t tell you how grossed out I’ve been about it. Anyway, I’ve been putting anti-fungal cream on it and, honestly, probably overdoing it. Still, although I have to admit it’s colorful to look at, I want the damn thing gone. Well, after three days of applying the cream, I couldn’t tell a difference. I thought, Maybe I’m doing something wrong. MAYBE IT’S CANCER! But then just like that, this morning, I noticed a significant positive change. Now it’s pink instead of red. There’s new skin forming. My point is that, first, if you just look at things as they are–a half-painted room, a fungus on your arm–you can’t always tell something good is happening. Second, if you’re not patient, you’ll probably get real frustrated and and think things are worse than they are.

There’s a famous tale that gets told a lot in spiritual circles. A wise man prayed that his teenage son would always be safe, and the next day his son fell off a horse and broke his leg. “How awful,” the villagers said, but the wise man stayed silent. Later when a war broke out and most the town’s youth were drafted to their ultimate demise, the wise man’s son was spared. How could he fight with a broken leg?

So often this happens in our own lives. We think something is awful, and it turns out to be good. Today my chiropractor and I talked about my current frustrations, the chief of which is that it often feels like I’m doing everything right and not getting the results I want (in my health, in my life). However, the truth is that I have a limited perspective. I look back on my life thus far and think, All of that was necessary preparation. So wouldn’t it make sense to think that what I’m living NOW–even with all its pains and frustrations–is also necessary preparation for what I will be living LATER?

Of course it would.

Each step is necessary.

My chiropractor’s suggestion was for me to see how much I could embrace. That is, often when things aren’t going how we want them to, we push against the universe. We go to work with a scowl on our face and curse and spit at every opportunity because we feel we’re being put upon by life. (Or is that just me?) But there is another option. Personally, I know I have it within me to ENJOY whatever it is I’m doing, whomever I’m around (well, almost). I can EMBRACE the moment–half-painted room, a fungus among us, this is my life right here, right now. I can recognize that everything is part of The Process. I can recognize that each step is necessary. I can recognize that all things are progressing, healing as they should.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

"

On Tick Bites, Emotions, and Self-Acceptance (Blog #817)

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This morning my dad said he had an area on his back that had been “itching for weeks” but that he couldn’t see. You know that spot in between your shoulder blades. Well, sure enough, he had what I initially thought was a mole that was red and inflamed. Pissed off, really. Dad said, “I’ve been scratching it with the back scratcher.” Alas, this story doesn’t end here. As I took a closer look at Dad’s mole, I discovered it was a tick. An honest-to-god, bloodsucking dog tick. And, y’all it was still alive. I can’t tell you how grossed out I was. (I’ll spare you the picture I took.) I thought, These things wouldn’t happen if you had your own apartment, Marcus. Still, I rubbed the tick with an alcohol swab, and it backed out. Then I flushed it down the toilet.

Following The Great Back Tick Incident of 2019, I rushed around today from one thing to another. First I taught a dance lesson. Then I saw my therapist. Then I saw my physical therapist. Then I saw my massage therapist, then my chiropractor. I know, I know, all this help, and I STILL have problems. What can I say? It’s hard out here for a pimp. Anyway, finally, this evening, I attended my friend Marla’s short story writing class. And whereas I stayed up late last night and TRIED to write the middle of the story I started last week, I didn’t get very far, just a hundred words.

When I confessed my “sin” of not having written more this last week, Marla said, “That’s okay, you got a hundred words. A hundred words is something.” And whereas my inner perfectionist disagrees and thinks a hundred words isn’t “enough,” I know she’s right. A couple months ago I completed what was supposed to be a 1,000 piece puzzle only to find out that a single, solitary piece was missing. Talk about wanting to pull my hair out. Still, the point remains, every piece of a puzzle is important. Likewise, every word, sentence, and paragraph in a story is important. For one thing, you never know where something will lead, what something is connected to.

This is what I keep telling myself as I’m working on my short story, that it’s just as important to get all the pieces laid out on the table as it is to put them all together. Indeed, when writing, you’ve got to find out what you’re working with. This means sitting down consistently and shaking your conscious and subconscious minds out onto the page. THEN you can begin to arrange, THEN you can begin to make sense of things. Marla says writing is “so healing” because, in effect, you get to use your characters to work through all your issues. I agree. Even though I haven’t written a lot of fiction, this project has taught me that if you want good writing, you’ve got to let everything inside you bubble up.

Lately I’ve been having dreams in which either I or someone else has been 1) yelling or 2) behaving like a slut. Always in these dreams there’s another person, or me, doing just the opposite–speaking calmly or being a perfect gentleman. My therapist says the meaning of the dreams is obvious. Good Boy Marcus and Bad Boy Marcus are “trying to figure things out.” This is what you have to face whenever you write or otherwise decide to work on yourself–that, in the words of Uncle Walt (Whitman), you contain multitudes. For me this means that although I’m almost always a “real nice guy,” I have the potential to be (and sometimes am) a real prick. (“What’s wrong with being an asshole?” my therapist says.) Though I’m usually a finicky prude, I have the potential to be a real whore.

As one book I read about one’s shadow said, the back is as big as the front.

Honestly, I don’t like this setup. I’d much rather think of myself as all this and none of that. However, having spent years believing that parts of me were bad and needed to be ignored, silenced, flushed out, or otherwise done away with and having tried unsuccessfully to eradicate these parts of my personality, I’ve finally come around to a rather novel concept–total self-acceptance. This means all of the Marcuses are welcome here–Marcus the Nice Guy, Marcus the Asshole, Marcus the Prude, Marcus the Slut (as long as he’s not stupid). Now, does this mean that I’m going to go to any of these extremes? No. (Don’t worry, Mom.) But it does mean that every part of me is going to be heard before any final decision is made about pressing matters.

There’s an idea in the world of healing that your body only creates pain or discomfort when it believes there is something wrong. For example, my dad’s back itched because his skin had a tick attached to it. So the itching was actually a good thing. It was a signal that something needed attention. This is what I’m truly coming to believe about our emotions–that every single one of them is there to help us. They show up to say, Houston, we have a problem. Or, if it’s anger that shows up, Houston, we have a fucking problem! Of course, at times our emotions can be explosive. In my experience this happens when I shove them down. Oh no, I’m not angry. Alas, ignored emotions, like ignored ticks, only grow bigger. So the sooner you listen to (every part of) yourself, the better.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whatever needs to happen, happens.

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On One’s Shadow and Being Whole Again (Blog #802)

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This afternoon I started reading a book by psychologist Sheldon Kopp called Mirror, Mask, and Shadow: The Risks and Rewards of Self-Acceptance. The idea behind it is one I’ve been attracted to for a while now–that certain parts of ourselves get asked to sit in the corner or are disowned altogether early in our lives and do us more harm than good when we continue to ignore them. These are the parts of ourselves we’re ashamed of, embarrassed by, or–worse–refuse to acknowledge whatsoever. Examples include suppressed rage, anger, assertiveness, and sexual fantasies (like, homosexual desires, kinky stuff, or anything society would disapprove of like–um–thinking about, talking about, or having sex). These are parts of ourselves that–when repressed–cause us to think or act “out of character,” that can really twist our positive self-image if we happen to have one.

What I mean by twisting our positive self-image is that many of us like to think of ourselves as good people. Christians, even. We like to think we’re kind, loving, and patient. But then someone cuts us off in traffic or otherwise pushes our buttons, and the worst comes flying out. As one internet meme says, “If you think hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, you’ve obviously never seen a gay man slightly inconvenienced.” In other words, there are times when we can all really cut someone else off at the knees. Personally, I know that my inner critic has really been barking lately. This evening I went to a bookstore, and it was hurling silent insults at not only the employees but also at the authors of most the books I picked up. What do they think they know?! it said.

My point in sharing this personal example is that if I were married to the idea of being a “good” person (which I’m not, although perhaps I’m engaged to it) and were also married to the idea of being as honest with myself as possible (which I am), I’d have a problem, since, at least internally, I can be a real asshole. On a daily if not weekly basis part of me gets frustrated or irate with almost everything and everyone–my life situation, my parents, my dance students, my friends. Sometimes the pot boils over. For the most part, I’m okay with this. Not that I want that upset part of me to take over–I don’t–but I wouldn’t be doing myself any favors by trying to shove it down, ignore what it has to say, or calling it (or myself) “bad” for existing.

This is my therapist’s approach when it comes to any and every thought in my head. Over the last five years, I’ve dumped everything on her, everything I’ve ever been hesitant to admit–sometimes I want to rip people’s heads off, sometimes I want to fuck people’s heads off. Of course, in therapy, I get specific about my fantasies. And whereas I don’t intend to do that here (you’re welcome), I’m touching on the subject to say that my therapist has never, not once, batted an eye. In fact, she’s encouraged even what I’ve considered to be my grossest, most perverted imaginations–not for me to ACT on them, mind you, but to think about them. As I understand it, this approach allows one’s shadow to be acknowledged and integrated rather than suppressed. Suppression, apparently, is the problem. That’s what causes you to suddenly blow your top or–God forbid–hurt yourself or someone else. That’s what causes you to do something you later regret and think, I have no idea where THAT came from.

Well, it came from your shadow. From the parts of yourself you’ve kept in the dark all these years. From the parts you’ve shoved down.

Kopp says our shadow parts are primitive and awkward, but not wholly bad. “You have learned to consider them evil, or at least sinister,” he says. “They are, instead, merely the rest of you. Together, you and your shadow make a complete self. Though your shadow may contain some destructive potential, it also embodies lost vitality, highly personal creative possibilities, and everything you always wanted to know about yourself but were afraid to ask.”

Later he says that if we don’t consciously own our shadow, we’ll inevitably project it. “You may unconsciously select other people to act out aspects of your own hidden self, or even encourage others to behave in ways that serve you as an alter ego. If it meets the other person’s needs, he or she may at the same time be using you as a reciprocal shadow. How many couples live Laurel and Hardy lives, each a caricature of the other’s disowned self?” This idea fascinates me. I’m aware of relationships–couples, friends–in which one person is WAY outspoken and other other WAY shy. Or one person is totally stoic and the other totally emotional. It’s like both people know on some level that a balance is needed, and so, unable to find that balance within themselves, they find it without.

I’m quite sure I’ve done this. For example, for the longest time, and even now (obviously), I talk a lot about my therapist. My therapist says this, my therapist says that. Often when I share stories about her, it’s about some wildly assertive thing she’s said. Told someone to fuck off or go to hell or whatever. Well, my talking about her isn’t about my idolizing her or being enmeshed with her, but rather about that assertive part of me that I long ago pushed down wanting to come back up. That is, just as we project the worst parts of ourselves onto our villains, we project the very best parts of ourselves onto our heroes. The important thing, of course, is to recognize that we’re projecting–the evil or the good that we see “out there” isn’t really out there at all. It’s in here.

In other words, the thing you hate or love in another isn’t about them–it’s about you.

I’m not saying that if you spot something base and immoral–or even sublime–in the world that it exists in you in equal proportion. But I am saying that the very worst and the very best exist in you as possibilities or potentials. As others have pointed out, each of us could be a Hitler. Each of us could be a Mother Teresa. For me, growth has come through acknowledging the opposite potentials within me. For years, decades, I tried to banish parts of myself or simply deny them. Oh no, I’m not angry. I’m not horny as hell. Now I’m more interested in the truth. What do I think and feel, regardless of what someone or some book says I should? Give me the truth. Give me every part of myself. Make me whole again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t change what happened, but you can change the story you tell yourself about it.

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Cussing Out My Inner Director (Blog #278)

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A few days ago my apparently very intelligent car, Tom Collins, told me that one of my tires had low pressure. This happened a couple months ago with the same tire. Luckily I was right by a gas station. Even better, it was one with free air. How about that? Sometimes life throws you a bone. The next day my brother-in-law said, “Did you know you have flat tire?” Well shit. I guess I ran over a nail. Sometimes life takes the bone back. As my dad said, “Son, you’re starting the new year off right.”

Today has been overwhelming. It began when my alarm went off in the middle of a dream in which I was both ill-prepared and late for a stage performance. I couldn’t get my hair to “do right.” Consequently, there was an announcement that the show would start six or seven minutes late. The director was not amused. When I tried to explain myself, she went straight for my gut and said, “You’re not even that entertaining.”

“Fuck you,” I said, and that was it.

This was not a pleasant way to wake up, my heart already racing. Additionally, I knew I had a lot to do today, including getting the flat tire repaired, finishing a book due back at the library, and writing today’s blog before teaching dance tonight. This is something I like to do–create lists of things I “have” to do that really aren’t that important. I mean, the flat tire was important–I need my car this week. But is it really the end of the world if I don’t finish a library book? Can’t I check it out again? And haven’t I written late at night plenty of times before? Still, I give myself these deadlines.

Now it’s four in the afternoon, and most of my to-do list is done (except the blog). Since I was stressed out, my dad took charge of the flat tire situation. The tire store is just a couple blocks away, so he called them and told them what was going on–we’ve got a flat tire and no way to air it up. Well, one of the guys actually came to the house with an air compressor and blew the tire up enough to get it to the shop. How great is that? Anyway, while that was being done, I finished the book I mentioned, the one about sinus health I’ve talked about before. (I’ve had the book for a full six weeks.)

On one hand, I’m glad to have the book finished. On the other hand, I’m overwhelmed (again) by all the recommendations it provided. My body really isn’t feeling great today, and when that’s the case, I just can’t think about buying two dozen vitamins, installing an air filter, finding (and paying for) an acupuncturist, starting a meditation practice, and learning to walk on water. Talk about frustrating. The book said that people with sinus issues often have “unexpressed anger,” but honestly, the main thing I’m angry about is the fact that I’ve been so fucking sick for three months and that getting better sounds about as easy as obtaining enlightenment. Maybe if I threw the book across the room, that would help. Or I could just start cussing more.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I know part of my frustration with not feeling well is the deadline thing. Like, next week I’m seeing a new doctor, but I think, I need answers now. I need to feel better now. This mentally, of course, contributes to my running around the internet, spending all my time and money looking for the latest home remedies and snake oils. I realize I’m not being patient. If anything, I’m being desperate. That sounds about right. I’m desperate for things to improve.

I plan to talk about it in therapy, but I think the dream was about deadlines too, that feeling of pressure I put on myself to perform, whether that’s daily blogging or making something “great” of my life. I want everything to be just so, and it feels as if life isn’t moving fast enough. Perhaps not so deep down, I feel like I’m not good enough. “You’re not even that entertaining.” The good news, of course, is that I told the harsh director to fuck off, meaning my subconscious is starting to question all my self-judgments and artificial deadlines. It’s saying, “Wait a damn minute, I’m doing the best I can here.” This is something I have to keep telling myself, that I’m doing the best I can, I have plenty of time, and there’s nothing to be desperate about.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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learning to be aggressive (blog #5)

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When I got the idea last week to start this blog, I was thinking it was going to be a pretty cheap endeavor. But I have this problem with perfectionism and wanting things done a certain way. My therapist says I’m “fussy.” (She also admits to being fussy herself, and I recently decided to join her in “owning” my fussiness, which looked like my sitting on a couch and literally saying, “I’m okay with being fussy.”) What that means is that the blog did not end up being cheap, at least by my current standards. During the design process, I purchased a design template for 49 dollars, thinking that would be it. Oh no, apparently purchasing a design template is a bit like buying the plans for a house but not actually building it. So there was another option to install the design (for 99 dollars), which I ended up buying. Conveniently, the install INCLUDED a credit for a design theme.

Which I didn’t freakin’ need because I’d already paid for one.

Oh well, I told myself. At least I’m on the internet–I’m blogging! (Tell all your neighbors.)

A few days ago, a guy named Zach contacted me via email to follow-up on the installation of the website theme, and I thanked him, kindly explained the ordeal I just explained to you, and asked if it would be possible to get a refund on the twice-paid-for theme. Well, Zach wrote back a very nice response–offering to sell me another upgrade for 150 dollars–and not saying anything about the refund.

For a couple of days, we go back and forth, and I offer to call in and talk to him on the phone. (My therapist says this is always a preferable way to communicate.) So I woke up two days ago, and there it is, this email from Zach that says he’s looking forward to going over how he can help me build a more complete website.

Well, I’m sure this is just something he’s been taught to say, the same way everyone at Chick-fil-a is taught to say, “My pleasure,” but I immediately got angry, like, why is it so hard to answer, or at least acknowledge, my damn question?

For the longest time, I thought it was wrong to get angry, like it wasn’t a spiritual thing to do. Consequently, someone could treat me like shit, and I’d think it was my problem. Like, you do whatever you need to do–hell, you can even cheat on me–I can find the zen here somewhere. (Serenity now!) Then one day my therapist pointed out something obvious. She said, “You’re not a monk.” It took me a couple of days for my ego to get over this revelation, which probably just goes to prove her point exactly. (Let’s all say it together–I–am not–a monk.)

I recently read a book by the psychologist Peter Levine that referred to emotions as “practical action programs that work to solve problems often before we are even aware of them.” (I think that’s pretty close to the exact quote.) What that means to me is that our emotions are there for a reason. Focusing specifically on anger, which is sometimes referred to as aggression, it usually shows up to let us know that a boundary has been crossed, that something is not okay.

Along the same lines, Chinese medicine looks at all emotions as equal. There aren’t good ones and bad ones, even if some of them seem more presentable or socially acceptable. And whereas we usually only think of anger as a problem when there’s too much of it, it can also be a problem when there’s too little of it. The example my chi kung teacher uses is–think of an abused person who won’t leave their abuser–that’s a person who could use more anger because it would get them out of that situation.

Lately, that’s been my experience with anger. Like, a couple of years ago, I was in a yoga class with an instructor I had just met. So things were going pretty well, and I’m just stretching and relaxing and generally congratulating myself for being out of bed before 6:30 in the morning. Then all of a sudden, the teacher starts talking about her preacher and some story about the guy’s nephew, and, as Wayne Dyer says, I went from “blissed to pissed.”

When I analyzed the situation with my therapist, it became clear that the anger and aggression I was feeling was letting me know that a boundary had been crossed–yoga class wasn’t an appropriate place for the teacher’s personal stories that had nothing to do with yoga. (Uh, people are trying to relax here!) At the very least, the strong emotion let me know that I needed to find another class, one more inline with my particular intention for yoga.

I realize that my yoga experience is not quite the same as being in a physically abusive relationship, but if something isn’t good for us, something isn’t good for us. And whether we need to leave a yoga class or a relationship, the point is the same–we need to leave. And often, anger is the wakeup call that gets us to pack our bags.

Getting back to Zach the Website Guy, I interpreted the anger I felt as my body’s way of letting me know I needed to either brace for a confrontation (fight) or go in a different direction (flight). In this instance, I chose flight, meaning I just called the general customer support number and started fresh with someone else. I ended up talking to a nice guy named Tyler who pretty quickly refunded the money for the design theme. And guess what? Not only did I get what I asked for, but the anger went away too.

Had I not been willing to listen to the anger I was feeling (like had I stayed in the yoga class or continued to email Zach back and forth), I can only assume the anger inside me would have increased. In the past, I was pretty good at ignoring my anger, so it usually just showed up in other ways (upset stomach, anxiety, depression). And whereas I used to think that people who screamed, or slammed doors, or flipped the bird, or told people to “Go to hell, asshole” were anything but healthy, I’m starting to think those are all completely acceptable and healthy behaviors, especially if they help you do what anger wants you to do–establish a boundary. In other words, if someone isn’t respecting you, don’t walk out and slam the door just so you can walk back in it the next day. Slam the door and stay gone until the respect shows up. And if it never does, at least you respected yourself enough not to stay.

I read recently that ideally the anger (or whatever emotion) we feel should always be in proportion to the current moment. That means that if you get cut off in traffic and you totally lose your shit or pull a gun on someone, you’ve got a big problem. More specifically, it means you’re probably not dealing with the anger you’re feeling in other circumstances in your life, anger that might be there for a legitimate reason (like your partner cheating on you or your boss taking advantage of you). So you deal with those situations, and then you’re not yelling at little old ladies in big Cadillacs.

I really like looking at anger and aggression in this way. I guess for the longest time it’s felt like my emotions were something to overcome, something to not feel, something to shove down. But now I’m seeing them as my allies and friends, practical action programs that scout out each and every situation like radar detectors, letting me know not only what yoga instructor or customer support representative to interact with, but also what relationships to scale back or even walk away from.

Honestly, even now I’m not all that comfortable with anger. When I took the picture for this blog, I couldn’t help thinking, I don’t know about this–I never flip the bird–and I NEVER do it in pictures. But a lot of my dreams in the last couple of months have involved my yelling at people. And I can only assume that means my conscious mind is becoming more comfortable both with feeling anger and actually doing something about it when necessary.

And if other people don’t like it, you know what they can do (see above photo).

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Not knowing what's going to happen next is part of the adventure."