On Creation (Blog #1069)

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This morning I woke up at 4:30 to work backstage for the national tour of Trolls Live! in Fort Smith. Until 7:45 this evening. And whereas it was fun and absolutely magical, Daddy is worn the eff out. Seriously, I’ve said many times before that I’m not cut out for manual labor, and even the personality test I took recently agreed. You’re not meant for nine to five work, it said. So it’s good that tomorrow is the last day working the production. That’s the deal. Today they set up and did one show, then tomorrow they’ll do two shows, pack up, and hit the road.

And I’ll hit the hay.

Today they asked that we not take or post any pictures from backstage (that’s called a boundary), but, y’all, the sets, props, and costumes were stunning. Giant flowers, fluffy grass, velvet curtains, feather boas galore. And everything in every color. No kidding, it was like a box of crayons exploded. And whereas I spent most the day with my mouth open feeling like I was in the middle a cartoon (hello, childhood memories!), for many of the the cast and crew (who have been on the road with this show since October), it seemed to be just another day at work. Ho-hum. This reminded me that we can be surrounded by beauty and mystery and totally lose touch with it. We can look at a sunrise or a loved one and think, Oh, yeah, that old thing. I guess it’s all right.

I don’t recommend this.

Joseph Campbell says you can draw a circle around anything and say, “What is it?” The idea being that everything–without exception–is a mystery. Sometime try this with your hand. Just hold it out and stare at it, without thinking, It’s a hand or It’s an old, wrinkly hand. Just stare at it and see if you’re not struck with wonder. That it’s alive and that it can move. That it exists.

That you exist.

From what I understand, we lose the wonder of things when we label them. Either as objects or adjectives. That is, as soon as you say, “It’s a hand” or “He’s a jerk,” you move away from The Mystery. Of course, we’re all doing this all the time. We make a million assumptions each and every day about what things are. And yet the truth is–and I know this is mind twister–you only think it’s a hand because someone told you it was. (And what if they were wrong?) You only think he’s a jerk because you told he was. (And what if you were wrong?)

Byron Katie says, “Who created the world? You did.” Now, does this mean the person you see in the mirror every day waved a magic wand and made something appear out of nothing? No. At the same time, yes. What I mean is that when you open your eyes every day, the world is there. The Mystery is there. The one in the mirror doesn’t create that. But the one in the mirror does create your experience of the world. By naming it, by labeling it, whatever you want–good or bad, too hot or too cold, terrifying or peaceful, ho-hum or magical.

I suggest magical.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one's story should end on the ground."

The Water Wouldn’t Let Me Worry (Blog #935)

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What a delightful day. This afternoon I helped a friend work on their deck for two and a half hours, and that was it. By 3:15 I was a free man. And whereas the old me would have gone to a coffee shop and read a book, the new me grabbed a smoothie and headed to Natural Dam.

I’ll explain.

Yesterday I wrote about my taking a 10-day online class with Wim Hof, who promotes deep breathing and cold exposure as ways to tap into your potential, reset and exercise your nervous and cardiovascular systems, relieve stress, and heal. Today was day eight of the class, and the suggested assignment was 1) spend thirty minutes walking in nature, preferably barefoot, and 2) if possible, go for a swim in cold water. Since Wim suggests doing all this in a pair of shorts (fewer clothes means more cold exposure and more vitamin D), today was the perfect day for it–it was 66 degrees outside. Any less and this self-avowed cold hater may not have been on board.

Something that’s come across my radar screen the last few months is the idea that being in nature is good for us. I know, I know, it makes sense, fresh air and whatever. Wim points out that we exhale carbon dioxide, and trees inhale carbon dioxide. Conversely, trees exhale oxygen, and we inhale oxygen. So no wonder being in nature feels good. We are one system. Tonight I watched a documentary called Heal for Free about the benefits of grounding or earthing, physically connecting with the earth by walking barefoot or touching a tree. And whereas I can’t say anything about the science behind it, I do know it feels good. This afternoon I walked the trails at Natural Dam for half an hour, and it was absolutely fabulous.

Of course, I had to be careful while walking barefoot. There were plenty of hard rocks and sharp stickers along the way. That being said, I simply watched where I was going and moved slowly. Perhaps this is one of the benefits of walking barefoot–it forces you to be mindful. Plus, there’s something about literally touching the earth that feels good. There’s something primal about it.

Will I feel this way when it’s 42 degrees outside? I doubt it, but I’m open to the idea.

As good as walking in nature felt, what felt even better–and yes I’m being serious–was slipping into the cold waters of Mountain Fork Creek (the creek that feeds Natural Dam). That’s right, I did it, I got in. And whereas I don’t know how cold the water was, I know it was certainly chilly. Still, once I took a few deep breaths and submerged myself to my neck (I had to lie flat because I apparently picked a shallow spot to climb in), I was okay. Granted, I never got warm, but I did stop shivering and actually relaxed. And whereas it wasn’t deep enough to swim, I did kick my legs around and managed to stay in for–I’m guessing–five minutes.

Believe it or not, I can’t wait to do it again. For those five minutes–and this is the point of cold exposure–I was absolutely present, just enjoying the sensations, taking in the gorgeous sights. (Have you ever lay in a running creek and really looked at a tree overheard or stared at the horizon?!) Seriously, when you’re in cold water, you’re too busy breathing to think about your bills. I tried, but the water wouldn’t let me worry. What’s more, when it was over, I was left with a natural high, a sense of being truly alive, like I was bigger, stronger than I was before.

I’ve never gotten this feeling from watching Netflix.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

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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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If another's perspective, another's story about you is kinder than the one you're telling yourself, surely that's a story worth listening to.

"

Don’t Get Cocky (Blog #914)

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Two weeks ago I started an intermittent fasting/mostly paleo diet because–it was time. And whereas I’ve been hungry a lot (for cake and cookies), my first week I lost 2.6 pounds. As of this morning I’ve lost another 2.8 pounds, bringing my total loss to 5.4 pounds. I can’t tell you how tickled I am. My metabolism works. Five pounds–that’s half a bowling ball. Another five pounds and I just might be able to fit into my non-stretchy jeans without having to spray my legs with WD-40 first. I’m so excited I could eat cheese.

Today itself has been pretty laid back. This morning I finished reading the book I started yesterday, Will the Real Me Please Stand Up? Then I started another (short) book about the psychology of numbers and colors, then another about social media marketing. Then my dad, my aunt, and I went to the gym, where I took today’s selfies. Just look at those legs. Grrrr.

My mantra today has been–don’t get cocky. What I mean is that, hey, I’ve lost five pounds–I’m the king of the world. But ultimately I’d like to lose between ten and fifteen pounds AND get my body back into the shape it was several years ago when I was featured in a “hottie” calendar. Or better shape. Really, the goal is simply to treat my body as good as possible and see what happens. I don’t have to have a six-pack. But I would like to be pain free, and I know enough to know that achieving this goal will require my bringing my body (and posture) back into balance. Which means getting my ass to the gym. Anyway, my point is that yes, I’ve had a good couple weeks. But now’s not the time to celebrate with cinnamon rolls. Now’s the time to stay focused and keep doing what I’m doing.

Because it’s working.

Last night I reviewed my goals for the previous week and made goals for this one. And whereas I’m checking off most of what I set out to do, there are a few things items I’m not checking off. This isn’t because the tasks are all that difficult, but rather because–I can see now–I was a bit too ambitious starting off. That is, it just doesn’t make sense to change one’s diet, gym routine, and every other routine in one week. Since this is a yearlong journey, it makes more sense to make little changes week by week or even month by month. Having seen through therapy and this blog that making little changes consistently over time works, I know this to be a solid strategy.

Even if part of me wants to fit into my tiny pants NOW.

There’s this weird thing that happens when you look at old pictures of yourself. Maybe you’re familiar with it. You think, Gosh, I’d give anything to look like that again, even if at the time you thought you looked fat and terrible. My point is that few of us are ever present with our bodies. We’re always chasing what used to be, what could be. Or worse, we’re comparing ourselves to others, to bodies that never will never be our own. So I’m doing my best to appreciate whatever my body looks and feels like right here, right now.

Speaking of how my body feels, this afternoon I came down with more sinus junk, just like I did last Monday when I lost a couple pounds. (Is this the thanks I get for eating asparagus?) My friend Sydnie says that whenever you fast, your body has an opportunity to clean stuff up and out (instead of digesting), so it’s not uncommon to produce more mucus and such. I hope this is it. Like, things get worse before they get better. Regardless, I’m doing what I know to do, hoping for the best, and leaving the rest to the gods. I used to flip shit and imagine the worst every time I started feeling bad, and I just can’t let myself do that anymore. It’s too tiring and never seems to help me heal any faster.

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

As for me, I’m going to bed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s never too late to be your own friend.

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Use the Difficulty (Blog #898)

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Last night, for my thirty-ninth birthday, I went out to eat with several of my dear friends. It was the perfect thing–good people, good food, good god I’m getting older. But seriously, it was a fabulous night. Yesterday I joked that thankfully no one had sung to me or put a sombrero on my head. And whereas last night no one put a sombrero on my head, the wait staff did sing to me. Which I was fine with, since they also brought me a chocolate dessert (!) with four candles on it. I guess one candle for every 9.75 years I’ve been alive. When they finished singing, one of the waiters smiled and said, “Congratulations.”

I was like, “For making it this long?”

After dinner my friends and I went downtown for live music, a band none of us had ever heard before. My friend Justin described it as a mix of blues, rock, and folk. You know, good-ole-boy stuff. For me, it was just the right thing. Not over-the-top amazing, but solid nonetheless. Enjoyable. One of the last songs they played before we left was a swing tune, so Justin and I danced east coast swing together. It was awesome. Except that my hips hurt today. Maybe this is part of getting older. (Congratulations.)

Whenever I dance with another guy in public, especially in Fort Smith, Arkansas, I’m self-conscious. I think, I wonder if people are watching. I wonder if I’m going to get beat up. Personally, I don’t think anyone should have to fret about their safety if they’re simply doing something (or someone) they love, but this is the world we live in. I didn’t make the rules. Plus, I’m starting to think people as a whole are more accepting, or at least less aggressive, than I thought they were. Last night while Justin and I were dancing a big “dude” came out of the bathroom and looked at us. Then he just kept walking. Like, no big deal. Now, I don’t know what he was thinking–it could have been, Disgusting, or I wish I could do that (or him). Either way, it turns out there was enough room in the bar, in the world for all of us.

This afternoon I spent some time reading Terry Gross’s All I Did Was Ask, a compilation of interviews Terry’s conducted on National Public Radio’s Fresh Air. One of the last interviews I read was with Michael Caine, the actor. In it he shares one of the best pieces of advice he ever received. The deal was that once he was supposed to walk into a room, through a doorway, but there was a chair on the other side that was in his way. His director said, “Use the difficulty.” Caine said, “What do you mean?” So the director explained, “If it’s a drama, pick up the chair and smash it. If it’s a comedy, trip over the chair and fall on the floor.”

Use the difficulty. I can’t tell you how much I love this. Five-and-a-half years ago I was absolutely heartbroken and depressed. Looking back, I guess I could have, would have gotten over it eventually. Instead, I was more proactive and started therapy. Hands down, it’s the best decision I’ve ever made. Likewise, I’ve had a number of other challenging relationships over the years. Instead of seeing them as “a bunch of bullshit,” I’ve seen them as opportunities for growth–chances for me to speak up, set boundaries, or change unproductive patterns. Think of a difficult person or situation in your life–maybe a health problem. What if instead of complaining you thought, This is a chance for me to dig deep, to really change, a chance for me to get my act together? What if instead of pushing your challenges away you thought, This situation belongs to me. It has my name written all over it?

More and more, this is the way I’m coming to see my life. I can look at every challenging thing in my past and see how it’s been a chance for me to mature. I could whine and bitch that the world isn’t the same for guys who dance together, but the truth is that’s just the difficulty I’ve been given, and it’s my choice whether or not to use it. Aren’t you given similar choices on a daily basis–the chance to be patient, the chance to be forgiving? Regardless of what’s challenging for you, ask yourself, Will I use my difficulty, or will my difficulty use me? In terms of me and whether or not I dance in public, I know that if I let my fears control me, I could very well end up sitting down for the rest of my life. Or I could stand up, dance, and let the chips fall where they may. I could get ever more so comfortable in my own skin and see that–most of the time–people respond positively to that. And if they don’t? That’s their difficulty, their chance to grow.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is all right and okay.

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Let’s Live a Little! (Blog #885)

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This morning the three dogs I’m taking care of woke me up at six-thirty to piddle and eat breakfast. (Like, they wanted to, not they wanted me to.) Anyway, one of them–I swear–is the slowest eater on God’s green earth. If you don’t guard her bowl, the other two sneak in and “offer” to help her finish her meal. Normally I stand nearby, but today I slumped on the floor and read a book until she FINALLY at the last bite. Then I moved to a chair and kept reading for thirty minutes so everything could digest and they could go outside again. Wouldn’t you know it? They wouldn’t “go.” Oh well, I thought, and went back to bed.

Three hours later I woke up and found shit on the carpet.

Dogs can be so rude.

After eating breakfast, I brushed my teeth and got ready to do more painting, since the room I’m working on now is ever so close to being done. Alas, five minutes before I’d planned to walk out the door, my friends Kate and Aaron invited me to go to Parrot Island, our local waterpark. And whereas the go-go-goer in me thought about saying, No thanks, I’ve got work to do, the rest of me thought, It’s a holiday weekend. I can paint any day. And I’ve never been to Parrot Island. When Kate said they’d been gifted four day passes, meaning we could all go for free, I said, “I’ll be right there.”

Y’all, I have no regrets. The waterpark was lovely. We did some lazy river-ing, some wave pooling. Aaron and I even went down a couple of the big kid slides, the kind of you have to be taller than 48 inches and more than 100 pounds (check and check) to go down.

The kind that give you a wedgie.

After the waterpark we changed clothes and went to eat at a place called YW Poke, but that Kate and Aaron’s four year old calls Poke Bowl. (He even has a song about it.) I guess a Poke Bowl is the place’s main menu item. It’s basically sushi in a bowl. The one I got–The Duke–was absolutely delicious.

When all this was over, we did some shopping (I did some window shopping), then went to Cherry Berry for frozen yogurt. This was also delicious.

And fattening. It was fattening.

“This is what we do on the weekends,” Aaron said, “just eat.”

Since today was my first time going to Parrot Island, YW Poke, AND Cherry Berry (I live a very sheltered life), Kate said it was “a day of firsts for Marcus.” I love this, that there are, and always will be, new experiences to have, new things to try. So often it’s easy to get stuck in a rut–get up, feed the dogs, (clean up their shit), go to work, go to bed. And yet it takes so little to break up our routines and qualify as an adventure. Let’s go to the waterpark! Let’s go to that new restaurant! Let’s–I don’t know–live a little!

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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The Experience of Living (Blog #884)

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What a fabulous day. I spent this morning getting a slow start where I’m house sitting, doing some things online. Then I painted for a few hours, and–for whatever reason–was in the best mood. I guess my body felt decent, I was making good progress, and I had my tunes turned up. I didn’t finish the room I’m working on, but hey, it’ll get done soon enough. What’s the saying? All things in good time.

This evening I went to dinner with my parents and an extended relative we’ve recently reconnected with (my second cousin). And whereas you might think, Gosh, Saturday night with your family–that’s hot–it actually was. I had the best time. I guess there’s something about being around family, people who have known you forever.

Of course, the margaritas may have helped.

After we finished eating, my second cousin invited me to go bowling with him and a couple of his friends. My first thought was to call it a night, to come back to where I’m staying and–I don’t know–watch Netflix. But then I thought, Hell, Marcus, live a little. Get to know your family. So after I ran back to the house to let the dogs out (again, who let the dogs out? I did) I hauled my happy ass over to Midland Bowl and joined the party on lane 31.

Y’all, I can’t tell you what a trip this was. When I was in junior high, I used to spend every Wednesday afternoon at Midland Bowl. My sister and I were part of a league–The Wednesday Juniors. For years I partnered with my friend Jeff. First we were Double Trouble, then The Terrible Twosome. Intimidating, right? Anyway, bowling was my social life–my sports life (sexy, I know). I had my own ball and bag. I used to go out of town to tournaments. I had patches–and trophies! I still have: so–many–memories.

Alas, that was decades ago, and any time I’ve tried to bowl since it’s just been a disappointment. Like, I have all this knowledge in my head about what should happen–the mechanics and physics of throwing a ball down a lane–but I’m sorely out of practice. In the last twenty years, I’ve been lucky to break a hundred maybe twice. However, tonight–for whatever reason–I did. My second cousin, his friends, and I bowled two games, and my first score was 124. Then–get this shit–my second score was 151. Granted, the second game I was given a free strike because the pin setter screwed up, but still. There were several throws when I was able to relax and everything just came back–get your alignment, breathe, settle in, take four steps, swing back, follow through.

Right in the pocket.

What I loved about tonight more than getting a decent score (there’s a sex joke there somewhere) was the fact that–for whatever reason–I didn’t give a shit. What I mean is that when I’ve bowled in the past my perfectionist has shown up in full force and taken the fuck over. Like, You should be better than this. You used to be on a league. Geez, you’re screwing this up. You’re a total failure. But tonight there was VERY LITTLE of that. Rather, it was about having fun spending time with new people. Several times when I got up to throw the ball I thought, It doesn’t matter WHAT the hell happens–I’m still worthy. This is one way I know The Hard Work is, well, working. Situations that used to trigger me don’t now (as much). Things that used to bother me don’t anymore (as much).

This is what you want as you proceed down The Path. Progress, not perfection. The experience of living, not the final score.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"I believe we're all courageous, and I believe that no one is alone."

Now Green Grass Grows (Blog #836)

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I’ve spent today reading three different books online–The Kingdom Within: The Inner Meaning of Jesus’ Sayings by John A. Sanford, Cathedral by David Macauley (about gothic architecture), and What Your Childhood Memories Say about You by Dr. Kevin Leman. And whereas I love reading and learning, after several hours of this my eyeballs felt like they were going to fall out of my head and roll around on the floor, so I shut my laptop and went for a walk.

While strolling, I thought about the book I’d just been reading, about childhood memories. The author of the book contends that we form how we see ourselves and the world around us basically by the age of eight and that our early memories can clue us in to not only who we are and what we believe, but also why. Anyway, I started scanning my memory banks and came up with several instances when I felt excited about learning or figuring things out, as well as several instances when I felt afraid or embarrassed. This is important, the book says–if it’s really a formative memory, there will be an emotion attached to it.

Because I’m currently tired and would like to keep this short, I don’t intend to go into my specific memories. Plus, I’ve already discussed a number of “the biggies” here before. What I will say, however, is that although I haven’t finished reading the book, I already agree with its premise. Those emotions I just mentioned–excitement (about learning or figuring things out), fear, and embarrassment–continue to motivate nearly everything I do.

Here’s one way to think about all this. While walking tonight in downtown Van Buren, I stopped by what’s left of what used to be my family’s home, which burned down when I was four. The building itself has since been cleared, and there’s a park. Still, one brick wall remains, and even after thirty-five years, you can still see black smudges all along it. What I mean is that simply because something happened forever ago (when you were a child) doesn’t mean it can’t leave a long-lasting and permanent impression.

For me, the impression that the fire left was Something bad is going to happen. It really was a horrific night. Although my family was spared, nine people died in that fire, along with many of my stuffed animals. The next thing I knew, I was sleeping at a friend’s house, being given someone else’s toys to play with. Another emotion that comes up in a lot of my early memories is confusion, and perhaps the fire is where that feeling started. How confusing for a four-year-old to one day be living in a newly built three-story home and the next day be living on his friend’s pullout couch.

Because our home that burned really was lovely and then it was all gone, I think another impression the fire left was Good things get taken away. This is a belief that’s been reinforced for me a number of times–when Dad went to prison, when our new cars got repossessed. When all that happened, in my teens, both me and my family started getting more hand-me-downs. When I graduated high school, a family I deeply love gave me a car. And whereas it did the job and it was mine(!) for a few years, it was in rough shape. So, without meaning to, I guess I developed a spinoff belief of Good things get taken away–that I’m only worth second-rate things. Used things. Things nobody else would want.

This isn’t easy to talk about it. I don’t like the fact that something, a number somethings, that happened so long ago continue to influence my attitudes and behaviors even today. And yet they do. They continue to have sway over my platonic and romantic relationships (like, I don’t deserve the best), my relationship with money, how I think about healing, and even how I go for a walk. Because when you believe Something bad is going to happen, it’s difficult to ever relax. When you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, it’s hard to let your guard down.

The good news is that all of this is getting better. All of this is better than it used to be. For me, a lot of healing has come through writing and this blog, through simply stating the facts–I was scared when I saw the smoke that night, I was embarrassed my Dad went to prison, and I was embarrassed I couldn’t afford my own car. As I understand it, something magical happens when you can, with compassion, be a witness to your own life. Also, for me it’s been important to really grasp how much my difficult childhood experiences laid the groundwork for my personality, a personalty that although it experiences a great deal of fear and embarrassment, also experiences a great deal of inner fortitude and determination to overcome. I wouldn’t trade these positive qualities for the world. This is how life works. Whenever it takes something away from you, it gives you the opportunity to cultivate something better in return.

At the spot where our house once burned down, just next to that smoke-stained wall, now green grass grows.

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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On Electric Park and Freedom (Blog #812)

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Several years ago while working for a local magazine, I learned about a super-cool amusement park that was located in Fort Smith from 1905 to 1920. The park was called Electric Park, a common name for such places at that time, and located where Kay Rogers Park (the fairgrounds) is now on Midland Boulevard. Then Midland wasn’t paved, and patrons of the park traveled there from downtown Fort Smith by streetcars (trolleys), which, handily enough, were owned and operated by the owners of the park, the Fort Smith Light and Traction Company.

So basically those guys were making bank.

What drew me to the story of Electric Park were the cool buildings they had there. A combination of moorish, crystal palace, and oriental onion dome architecture, they were absolutely beautiful. When I first saw a picture of one of the structures, I said, “Where is that?!” I got so excited to see it in person. Of course, the park and all its buildings were long gone. (Fort Smith tears everything down.) Still, I heard there was a book about Electric Park written by a local author, Stan Kujawa, but for years Amazon has continually said it was out of print.

Bummer.

A few weeks ago while perusing my Amazon Wish List, I saw the Electric Park book and had the bright idea that the Fort Smith Library might have a copy. Well, they did, so I checked it out and have been reading it. (During this time I also found print and digital versions of the book for purchase online.) And whereas I don’t intend this post to be a book report, since I really don’t have anything else to talk about, I’m going to share some of the book’s highlights.

In its heyday, the park had a casino, a dance hall, an auditorium that sat 2,200 people, and a roller coaster and regularly hosted vaudeville acts, orchestras, bands, and public speakers. The book by Kujawa reproduces dozens of newspaper advertisements for the park, and in one a woman named Squire Kate said that a woman’s joy in life should be her husband and children, that any woman who prefers a canine and a childless life would “frown on man and rant against the simple life of the home.” Clearly she was talking about lesbians. This is something I noticed while reading the book–that for as advanced as people were a hundred years ago–hell, the park owners were responsible for building the Midland Bridge from Fort Smith to Van Buren–they could be just as prejudiced (or more) than we are today. For example, only whites were allowed at the park.

Often people say, “We’ve come a long way.” Uh, have we? So we’ve integrated amusement parks and stopped performing in blackface, which apparently was common at Electric Park. Yes, lesbians can stay home with their dogs, and gay people can marry. These are good things. But god, we sure have taken forever to get here, and prejudice, discrimination, and mistreatment (harassment, murder) still happen. Have we really come that far? Ugh. Freedom isn’t difficult in theory. It works like this–if you can go to a park or get married, everybody can. Period, end of story. If everyone really got this, it wouldn’t take a hundred years for things to change. The world would look different by noon tomorrow.

But I digress.

On a more lighthearted note, I was tickled by many of the reproduced newspaper advertisements for the park. One advertisement encouraged readers to “come and meet the best and most refined people.” (Oh la la.) A hot air balloon was called “a big gas bag,” which I just thought was a term Grandma used for Grandpa. When the flowers were in full bloom, it was called a “pansy shower.” One of the shows brought to town in 1911 included five boxing kangaroos. Dancing was referred to as “trip the light fantastic,” apparently because dancers are “light” on their feet.

In 1920 Electric Park closed, and the buildings were torn down and sold for materials. My entire life I’ve visited the fairgrounds where Electric Park once stood and never knew its history. I’ve ridden rides there, gone to the rodeo, danced. And whereas I can imagine that it used to be a better place, certainly a prettier place than it is now, the truth is that life doesn’t change much. Buildings go up, buildings come down. Look at the photos of faces a hundred years ago, and those faces aren’t much different than ours today. People then enjoyed getting out and being amused just like we do now. They had their fears and prejudices just like we do now, except we have ours in air conditioning.

You’re the one who’s trapping you.

There’s an idea in spirituality that if you want to free the world, free yourself. Byron Katie says that freedom comes from loving the thoughts in your head. Said another way, freedom starts inside. Because if you don’t have peace inside, you’ll always feel trapped. And if you don’t recognize the fact that you’re the one who’s trapping you, you’ll blame your lack of freedom on something outside of you, another race or religion, “those people,” canine-owning lesbians, whatever. You’ll spend your entire life thinking that the world needs to change instead of realizing you do. Because, let’s face it, wanting the world, or even one person in it, to change is hopeless (absolutely hopeless). But changing yourself, freeing yourself, that’s something possible.

That’s something even a big gas bag could do.

[Images from Electric Park by Stan Kujawa.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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Yesterday’s Casserole (Blog #796)

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This evening I attended a writing class taught by my friend Marla. And whereas we mostly discussed short stories and what they are (it’s a short-story writing class), we did have one assignment. The Prompt was “I don’t know why I can’t forget–.” We were supposed to take it from there. We had fifteen minutes. So rather than fill up tonight’s space with what I did today, I’d like to share what I wrote, since I think it’s something more organic and true. It begins below in non-italics (regular print).

However, before we begin, a few things–

Earlier in the class while introducing myself and talking about the blog, I said that I’ve learned to trust the writing process, to simply sit down and be honest. I said, “I know that whatever needs to come up, will.” This is true, my trusting the process. Not just in writing, but in therapy and life. I’ve come to believe that if I do my part, life will do its part. For example, when Marla gave the assignment tonight, I immediately knew how I would complete the rest of The Prompt. One specific thing came to mind. Then I started getting images, word associations. A quick mental outline formed. Fifteen minutes later, I was done.

Sometimes I think this is the best way to go about things, down and dirty. My therapist says our knee-jerk answers and gut reactions are often–usually–what’s most true for us. I’ve been listening to an audio program about one’s shadow (the inner shadow, not the outer one), and it says the same thing–that our first thought is usually our best thought, or at least the most potentially healing one. Like, if you said, “I’m most afraid of–” or “I’m terrified that people will find out–” and then quickly, without thinking, filled in the blanks, you’d probably find out something really important about yourself.

For the assignment tonight I wrote about something that, quite honestly, has annoyed the hell out of me for years. Something akin to a song that gets stuck in your head. And yet, tonight that thing ended up giving me more than it’s ever taken away. Caroline Myss says that you think something you can’t get out of your head–a little memory–is just an irritation, but that it’s actually there for a reason. That if you dig a little deeper, you may heal in some way. This was my experience tonight and is what I mean by Trusting the Process. Two decades of being irritated by something I’ve wished I could forget, and–bam!–in fifteen minutes that thing turned me upside down for the better. Because I finally listened (to myself).

As one writer has said, the subconscious is extremely efficient.

Yesterday’s Casserole
By Marcus Coker

I don’t know why I can’t forget my junior high science teacher saying, “Water is the universal solvent.” Over twenty-five years have passed since I first heard these words, and I still can’t—for the life of me—get them out of my brain. I’ll be taking a shower or washing the dishes, really scrubbing the dirt off, and a picture of Janice Massey, this middle-aged woman in a flower-print dress, will pop into my head and I’ll hear those words.

“Water is the universal solvent.”

I’ve thought a lot about this over the years, way more than I’d like to admit. Of all the useless facts to remember. I wish I could forget it. “Water is the universal solvent.” It’s like this broken record that plays in my brain every time I use water to clean something, every time I use water to soften something. “Water is the universal solvent,” my brain keeps saying.

“I know that!” I reply.

“Do you?” it says. “Do you really?”

Hum.

Thinking back to junior high and Mrs. Massey’s science class—that’s when we had that bad car accident. That’s when Dad left. That’s when, really, I stopped crying. Everything, I guess, was too much for me to handle, to talk about. Maybe, just maybe, I stiffened my upper lip, let myself get hard. You know the way old junk—yesterday’s casserole–will build up on your dishes if you don’t wash them off now and then. This is what I’ve been learning these last few years, that you can’t let the junk build up. You can’t stop crying. Recently I was writing about that bad car accident and absolutely broke down in tears because I realized how scared I was that night, how much I’d pushed down. Sobbing as I remembered, it felt like something softened, like my plate was cleaner somehow, like something finally dissolved.

Water is the universal solvent.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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