On Soulmates and Congruency (Blog #1029)

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Today I went thrift shopping with a friend. Y’all, we hit–let’s see–ten stores (and two restaurants) in six hours, and I came home with one brooch, a belt buckle, a paperweight, four books, and five picture frames. Talk about popping some tags. (That’s a Macklemore song reference, Mom). I can’t tell you how delighted I am with my purchases. And all for the bargain price of $12.50. And whereas I don’t know WHAT I’m going to do with everything I brought home (the belt buckle, for instance) I’m convinced I’ll figure out something sooner or later. For example, I’ve been sitting on an angel frame for over a month now, just waiting for the right brooch to pair it with. Well, the brooch I bought today was “it.”

It’s like every frame has its soulmate (broochmate), and you just have to be patient enough for them to meet each other.

Along these lines, lately I’ve been thinking that although, yes, some things are just ugly, most decorative items simply need the right background or environment. The above brooch, for example, just wouldn’t stand out the same against a yellow background, or in a frame three times as big. To put it succinctly, in terms of the final product, relationship is everything. A word/idea I think about a lot is congruency. Applied to my currents arts and crafts obsession, congruency asks, “Are all the involved parts working together to form a cohesive and eye-pleasing result?” If they aren’t, if the frame, background, brooch aren’t “meant to be together,” I don’t force it.

Setting them aside, I say, “Sorry, you just aren’t soulmates.”

This being said, I’m convinced most of us have the wrong idea about soulmates. Recently my mom and I were watching a tv show on which a man told his girlfriend he thought they were soulmates. The girlfriend, however, said, “I love you, I want to get married to you and have your babies, but I just don’t think we’re soulmates. I think my very first boyfriend was my soulmate.”

“Ouch,” I told my mom. “That was the wrong thing to say.”

Tact aside, who knows if these two are cosmically entwined? Hell, if they’re dating seriously, they probably are. At least in some respect. (No one comes into your life by accident.) Does this mean they’ll have butterflies for each other the rest of their lives? Doubtful. But then again, I believe that they could end up hating each other and still be soulmates.

I’ll explain.

There’s an idea in self-help and spirituality that your soulmate isn’t the person who makes your heart pitter-pat the most but is rather the person who causes your soul to GROW the most. This means the person who crawls under your skin, the one who’s got your goat, and the one you have the hardest time forgiving could very well be your soulmate. Could very well be the soul to whom–on the other side of the veil–you’re most indebted. I think about this a lot, since the older I get the more people there are with whom I’ve experienced conflict. And yet with each person and each drama, I’ve been challenged to find my voice or mature in some other way. And whereas from the outside it may have looked like a splitting off (please don’t call me again, Nancy), from the inside there was actually a coming together. That is, anytime you listen to and follow your inner guidance, you become more congruent. First with yourself AND THEN with another.

Along these lines, this afternoon at one thrift store I walked up on my friend while they were talking to the owner. He’d just handed my friend a piece of jewelry, and my friend said, “Did you make this yourself?”

Pausing ever so slightly, he said, “I did. Back in the 70s.”

Immediately I thought, He’s lying. Later my friend told me the man had said the jewelry was real turquoise, even though it was clearly just “turquoise colored.” And whereas it’s nice to have this confirmation, my point is that my intuition was talking to me, so the congruent thing for me to do was to not trust him to be honest, to not engage with him. Later, in another store, my gut told me a store owner was full of shit, so I literally walked away while he was talking to me. Normally the people pleaser in me wouldn’t have allowed me to do this sort of thing, but I thought, We know what happens when we let people verbally vomit on us because we’ve done that a hundred times before. Let’s see what happens when we take care of ourselves.

Well, I’ll tell you what happened. I walked away and I felt great. Absolutely fabulous. Then I ate this burger and felt even better.

Byron Katie says that a no to you is a yes to me. That is, when you listen to and follow your inner guidance, the answer is always yes. Yes, this brooch and this frame do (or don’t) go together. Yes, I know you’re lying to me. Yes, I’m walking away now. My therapist says when we respond honestly and authentically to people, we not only give ourselves a gift, but also give them a gift. “Even if we’re telling them to take a hike?” I say. “Even if we’re telling them to take a hike,” she says. “Because so many of us are lied to constantly. So it’s good to hear the truth for once, even if the answer’s no. Plus, whenever you’re authentic with someone, you give them permission to be authentic too.” Today my friend said, “How did you walk away from that rambling salesman so easily?”

“I’m not quite sure,” I said. “I just did it.” Looking back, I realize that something in me said, “Move,” so I moved. For once, I listened to me. For once, I was congruent.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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See Above for Results (Blog #1007)

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Yesterday I communicated online with a seller from Facebook Marketplace who’d listed a couple items I was interested in. “I’d like to look at them before deciding to buy them,” I said. “Where and when would be good to meet?”

“I’ll be in Fort Smith tomorrow around 3:00,” they said.

Maybe they’ll tell me where later, I thought.

This afternoon they said, “Looks like it’s going to be about 4:30.” And whereas I was beginning to doubt 1) whether I really wanted the items and 2) if this person would actually show up, about 4:20 I went ahead and got ready to go. Climbing into the car, I messaged the seller. “Where should we meet?” I said. Alas, twenty-five minutes later I was in Fort Smith with no answer. Perhaps it’s just as well, I thought. I really don’t need to spend the money. Plus, the whole situation just felt “off.”

Recently I had a meeting scheduled with someone and the day of woke up three hours early thinking, I should cancel. However, not wanting to be a douchebag, I didn’t. For this, I paid the price. I spent the whole day with an upset stomach. Every hour I was running to the bathroom. (If this is too graphic, I apologize.) Thankfully, by the time the meeting started I calmed down. But never completely. Again, the whole thing just felt “off.” Now, nothing BAD happened, but a few days later the person with whom I met ended up being rude in a text message. Later when I discussed the matter with my therapist she said, “That’s a big deal when your body wakes you up tell you something. My guess is that queasy feeling you had is your body’s particular TELL for ‘this is going to be a waste of our time.’ Next time, cancel.”

Y’all, I get it. Cancelling would have made sense. And it’s not that I didn’t think of it. It just seemed like, well, not a very NICE thing to do. (What does your therapist always say, Marcus? Nice is a strategy–to get people to like you, to get moved up to the front of the line, to get someone in bed.) That’s what I kept thinking today on my way to meet the seller in Fort Smith, that I wanted to cancel but that it was TOO LATE, that it wouldn’t be VERY NICE. So honestly I was relieved when they didn’t respond. Because it gave me an out.

Sort of.

I’ll explain.

When I got to Fort Smith and hadn’t heard anything, I stopped by AutoZone to have my car, Tom Collins, checked. His check engine light’s been on lately. And whereas I assumed it had something to do with the fuel gauge (which lately has said I’m full one minute and empty the next), I wanted to be sure. The good news? I was right. The bad news?

“You’ll probably have to replace the entire fuel pump,” the guy said, “and that’ll run you $390.”

Plus tax, of course.

Okay, I thought, I definitely don’t need to buy anything today. So, still not having heard anything from the seller and twenty minutes after we were supposed to meet, I wrote them, “I came to town to meet you but ended up having car trouble along the way. Unfortunately, I’ll be spending my money on auto repairs. I apologize for any inconvenience.”

At which point they replied, “Wow I drove fifteen minutes.”

No “I’m sorry about your car” or anything.

Which just goes to show you that we all make everything about us.

This isn’t the way things went down in reality.

Now, do I blame this person for being upset? No. Over the years I’ve had plenty of people flake out on dance lessons at the last minute or not show up at all, and it’s frustrating. Especially if you’re counting on the money. Do I wish that they’d been more gracious about it (I mean, I drove fifteen minutes too, and my car’s broken), or that we’d both communicated more clearly in the first place? Of course. And if IFS and BUTS were candy and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas. In other words, this isn’t the way things went down in reality.

Y’all, I could go on and on about what I think both me and this other person did right and wrong in this situation. If this were a gameshow and you could all vote–I’m sure–some of you would say I’m the shithead here, and others would say the seller is. Some of you would think BOTH of us are. I think that’s the camp I’m in. Meaning that some circumstances in life aren’t cut and dried. Instead, they’re simply less than ideal. Gross.

Like, aren’t we glad that’s over?

Having had the evening to over-process this mess, I have a few takeaways. First, more and more I’m learning to trust my intuition. That is, I’m glad I cancelled, since, based on the person’s response, I don’t think I would have enjoyed or felt good about the interaction had it gone through. Granted, I didn’t follow my intuition as soon as I could have (and thus the mess), but I did follow it faster than I would have even a year ago, and that’s progress. Which brings me to my second point–authenticity and the self-esteem necessary to pursue it are things that require PRACTICE, and this practice, rather than occurring on a grand scale (like in a court room), more often occurs in the nitty gritty of everyday life. With our friends. With our family. With total strangers we meet on Facebook.

This is the shit my therapist and I talk about, the day-to-day dramas. Sure, we discuss THE BIG STUFF, but usually the little stuff leads us to the big stuff, since the little stuff tends to touch a wound. I’m not good enough. I did something wrong. Why doesn’t everyone like me?

Of course, not everyone is supposed to like you. (Why not, Marcus?) Because you need PRACTICE liking yourself no matter what.

Seen from this perspective, I COULD be thankful for the seller’s response today. (“The response THEY CHOSE,” my therapist would say.)

Are you thankful, Marcus?

I’m working on it before your very eyes.

Over a year ago I wrote about a statue of mine I call ANY DANCING JESUS that images Christ with his arms raised overhead as if here were just beginning the chorus of “YMCA.” Anyway, this evening while futzing with a picture frame and the cover an old book, I placed the statue inside the frame. (See above for results.) In the process I remembered that, despite the fact that Jesus was the original DFF (damn fine fella), not everyone liked him either. (So what makes you think they’ll like you?) I also remembered that part of his message was to “rise above,” or see things from a higher perspective. (See above for results.) Like, for all I know, I did the seller a favor by getting them out of their house where they otherwise would have been robbed or mugged. Lastly, I remembered that by his example Christ taught us to set it free, bitch. (I added the bitch part.) That is, he taught us to forgive, forgive, forgive (ourselves and others), to let go (of our mistakes and the mistakes of others), and to not judge (anyone including ourselves).

Of course, these amount to the same thing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things are moving as they should.

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Crowning (Blog #891)

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Today, for the first time in over a year, I caught up with my friends Kara and Amber. The three of us went to high school together and usually reunite several times a year. However, this last year–for whatever reason–it’s been difficult to coordinate schedules. “We tried,” Amber said today. “We made plans.” But once I got stuck in a major traffic jam and couldn’t make it (we all live in different cities). Once Kara had a friend who passed away. Once the weather was bad. Shit happens. Alas, we finally saw each other today.

We ate pizza.

We talked about everything.

We ate pie.

It was fabulous.

After (our very long) lunch, I went shopping this evening, mostly because my birthday is next week and I hate wearing old, worn-out, frumpy clothes on my birthday. Anyway, I ended up with two pairs of pants, a t-shirt, and a pair of (ridiculously comfortable) shoes.

Even better, everything was on sale.

I imagine that discussing my wardrobe is riveting for you, dear reader, but I bring it up to say this. Three years ago when I was preparing to have my estate sale, I had all sorts of wild clothes. (Recently a boy asked me, “Do you want to be wild and make out?” and I replied, “Please, I’m OLD. I’m not wild.” This is how you know you’re almost forty. And that your therapy is paying off. You turn down twinks. But I digress.) By wild clothes I mean–clothes of every different color and pattern. But when I had my estate sale, all of that went away. Ever since, I’ve worn mostly black, white, and gray. A while back somebody referred to my wardrobe as–utilitarian.

That’s another word for sexy, right?

I’ve said before that my plain-Jane wardrobe of the last few years has been due to the fact that I’ve been in mourning. This is (in my opinion) funny, but accurate. What I mean is that when I closed my studio and had my estate sale, it was in an effort to start or birth a new life, a life as a writer. As I’ve said over and over again–in order to be born again, one must first die. (This sucks, I know.) So the life I’ve been mourning has been–my own.

Along this path, it’s been suggested by others that 1) I may have overdone it when I had my estate sale and 2) I could spruce up my ho-hum clothes. All I can say is that everything I’ve done and everything I’ve worn has felt right at the time. Two years ago it felt absolutely right to wear a black t-shirt every day. Appropriate. So I did.

What’s fascinating to me is that I’ve noticed a shift in what feels appropriate–authentic–to wear this last year. Slowly, I’ve been introducing color. Not because it’s been suggested to me or as a strategy to perk myself up, but because something inside of me has changed. (Inside first, outside second.) The two pairs of pants I bought today are green and pink, respectively. The t-shirt I bought is yellow. Y’all, it’s been almost three years since I’ve owned or worn a yellow shirt. I take this an indicator that whatever phase I’ve been in is coming to a close and a new one is beginning. I’m not saying my mourning phase is completely over and that I’m being born again, mind you. But I do think it’s possible I’m–what’s the word?–crowning.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you're not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied.

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Talk about a Serious Gain (Blog #362)

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It’s two in the morning, it’s been a long but good day, and I don’t know what to write about. Tonight’s blog is number 362, the first of “the final four” that will complete “year one,” so it feels like it should be profound. But–chances are–it won’t be. Still, at least I’m here writing. Barring something catastrophic, I’ll soon be celebrating having written every day for a year, at which point it won’t matter which posts were profound and which weren’t. At that point what will matter is that each post, just like each piece of a puzzle, has contributed to the entirety or the wholeness of this project.

Today my therapist and I celebrated the anniversary of our first session together, which was technically four years ago this last Saturday. (My friend Bonnie refers to this date as my “psycho-versary.”) Granted, the “party” wasn’t a huge deal–like, Zac Efron didn’t jump out of a cake or anything. We didn’t even have streamers. But we did take a few moments to acknowledge all the progress I’ve made and all the work that both of us have done these last several years. This is something I hope to do more often–stop and recognize how far I’ve come, rather than simply thinking, But I have so much further to go.

Tonight I taught a dance lesson at a friend’s house, and this afternoon she sent me a message that said, “If you show up early, the boys (her young sons) would like to show you the Legos they put together over spring break.” Y’all, these kids are adorable. For maybe twenty minutes they showed me their all the toys and gadgets they’ve put together recently. And despite the fact that most the toys were recommended for children below the age of ten, I was fascinated. I used to play with similar toys when I was their age, and I still love figuring out how one thing connects to another.

As the boys were showing me their treasures, they kept using a phrase I’ve never heard children use before. They’d say, “One new thing we gained is this robot” or “One other thing we gained is this dinosaur.” That word–gained–is something I’ve been chewing on tonight. First, I’ve been thinking about the fact that gain implies something positive and worthwhile, something you’re proud to have. Like, I’d never say, “I gained another sinus infection.” But I’ve also been thinking that in order to gain something, you have to lose something else. In order to gain something, you have to pay a price. The boys, for example, may not have had to purchase their toys, but somebody did, and the boys at least had to spend their time putting the toys together.

As I think about it now, I realize that how a person spends their time and resources is a dead giveaway as to what they value. Like, I can look at the boys’ room and tell they LOVE building things, creating things, and learning. Personally, I love these things too. Also, I love and value writing, which is why I write this blog every day (every damn day). Granted, I lose or give up plenty in order to do so–hours of my time, hundreds of my dollars (for web hosting and design), and missed opportunities (time with friends, etc.). Sometimes, I’m sure I have bitched about these losses. Just tonight I told my friend Bonnie that I was “still” living with my parents. But I’m reminded that for every thing I’ve (willingly) given up in order to write this blog and practice my craft, I’ve GAINED so much more in return.

For one thing, I love, like, and accept myself a hell of a lot more than I used to.

Big gains come at a high price.

Naturally, this same line of thinking could be applied to my time in therapy. Today I told my therapist that of all the good things that have come out of four years of therapy, the very best–like, above and beyond all the others–has been reconnecting with my authentic self, my truth. Talk about a serious gain. The more authentic I am (the more I share myself “warts and all”), the more comfortable I am in my skin and in the world around me and the less anxiety, stress, and nervousness I feel. Sounds great, right? Well, it is. But big gains, naturally, come at a high price. In my case, I’ve spent countless hours and dollars on therapy, books, and other personal growth material. I’ve shed a lot of tears and had a lot of hard conversations.

Still, every minute, every cent, and every challenging thing has been worth it because I’ve gained me. (Now I think, What a terrible thing, to live without yourself.) In this sense, just like I think every blog post is important because each is a link in an unbroken chain, I’m starting to think that every good, bad, and ugly thing in my life is important, perhaps even necessary, because each has somehow brought me to where I am now, this place where I’m meeting myself. I’m always saying that I don’t recommend this inward journey (because it’s hard), but that’s not true. It is hard, but I absolutely recommend this inward journey because in my experience it’s the only way to really put the pieces of your life together, to see how one thing connects to another, to finally become whole.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can rise above. You can walk on water.

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Makeup, Filters, and Manipulations (Blog #304)

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Oh my god, y’all. I just discovered a beautiful-skin button on my camera. Well, actually, it’s a sliding scale, this little thing you drag back and forth in selfie mode. (How have I not noticed this before?) On one end of the scale is “your normal, ole, raggedy-ass skin,” and on the other end of the scale is “bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, don’t you look marvelous?” Perhaps you’re already familiar with this digital witchcraft technology, but seriously–in under two seconds, every skin issue I have disappeared. The histamine in my forehead, the dark circles under my eyes, the blackheads–all of it–gone. Of course, I don’t look any different in person, but online my face is–for all intents and purposes–healed.

Thank you, Jesus.

That being said, I think I look kind of ridiculous. That’s why I’m laughing in the photo above. I mean, that’s simply not my face. Additionally, the photo makes me think of my senior photos. This afternoon my friend Bonnie stopped by the house (with more food!), and she was looking at them, since they’re hanging on my parents’ walls. I said, “Those are heavily–heavily–airbrushed.” Mom added, “Of all the times for Marc’s acne to flare up.”

Maybe God’s a dermatologist.

The worst of the acne, I remember, was a dime-sized scab, smack-dab in between my eyebrows. Talk about an angry-looking son-of-a-gun. I’m honestly not sure what God was thinking when he invented acne. As if teenagers don’t have enough challenges, so let’s give them something that will boil, bleed, scab, scar, and puss-up–on their faces. Like, welcome to planet earth–don’t expect it to be easy, kid. (Uh, thank you, Lord?) Who knows? Maybe God’s really a dermatologist, or gets some sort of commission at the JC Penny’s makeup counter. I don’t mean this to sound sacrilegious, I’m just saying–it would explain a few things.

On one hand, I’m grateful that there are things like airbrushing and makeup. In my entire adult life, I’ve only used them occasionally, but they have come in handy a number of times (like my senior photos or that time I never performed on Broadway). My friend George says, “Ain’t no barn that don’t look better with a little paint on it.” With this is mind, when I look at my senior photos, I’m grateful that big zit isn’t there. But whereas I’m all for putting your best foot forward, I hope I don’t ever get used to being “heavily airbrushed” because it just doesn’t seem real to me. It feels like I’m trying to fool both me and everyone else about the way I look. I suppose someone else’s motivation for covering up imperfections could be different. (That’s okay.)

I’m not trying to start a debate about makeup. (Thankfully I don’t seem to have many debaters for readers.) I’m honestly not exactly sure where I’m going with this, since I don’t feel strongly one way or the other about the topic. Like, I’m mostly for being authentic and doing the best with what God gave you. But I also do my hair every day, pick out clothes that fit just so, and have ears that are pierced. I use filters on Instagram. Even on this blog, I almost always take my pictures from a certain angle to ensure that my chin doesn’t look bigger than my forehead. So I’m okay with making changes and “manipulating reality.” I just want to be perfectly clear. Anytime you see a picture of me online or anywhere else–that’s not the real me–it’s just a picture.

Maybe this point seems obvious, but I think it bares fleshing out. Recently I interviewed someone and wrote a story about them for an online project. I did this sort of thing for five years when I used to work for a local magazine, and my intent–every time–is to leave out anything that might be construed as negative. I guess this could be viewed as makeup for storytelling, presenting the person in the best light possible. But even when my intentions are best, the interviewee isn’t always completely pleased. In this recent case they said, “Well, I would have phrased that differently. I would have left that part out.” My response to this sort of thing is always the same–“Of course you would have. But this is my story about you, not your story about you.”

Insert smiley face here.

You can’t manipulate anyone into loving you.

Okay (I got it). Here’s where this is going. All of us work so hard to put our best foot forward. I guess we should. I mean, don’t let yourself go, honey. (Gay guys like to call everyone “honey,” Mom.) Still, I’m coming to believe that you can airbrush and make up and filter all you want–do what makes you happy–but it won’t make a damn bit of difference–a real difference, that is. Like, I can spend twenty minutes on capturing the perfect selfie and think I look flawless, and you can take one look at it and think, God, his hair’s a mess, and I wish he’d stop wearing the same shirt every day. In other words, if you’re making yourself up to get someone else’s approval–stop it–because you can’t manipulate anyone into loving you. People either embrace you for who and what you are–or they don’t.

For me, this is (finally) starting to be okay, and I think it has to do with authenticity. In other words, the more I accept myself exactly as I am, the more I genuinely like me and the less I care whether anyone else does or not. For one thing, no one else’s story about me will ever be my story about me. It’s just not possible. What’s more, no one’s story about me–including my own–will ever be completely accurate. Like, if I say my skin looks fabulous, and you say it looks just okay, who’s to say which of us is right? Isn’t it just a matter of opinion, and isn’t the truth probably somewhere in between? I’m not saying criticism doesn’t bother me, but I am saying it bothers me much less than it used to. I get over it faster. Also, I know there will always be something to criticize about this body if I or anyone else wants to criticize it. Better then to love this body (and every body), without conditions, which is to say, just as it is, with or without makeup, filters, and manipulations.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is all right and okay.

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Taking My Mind Back (Blog #221)

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Today I’ve been all over the emotional map–North, South, East, and West–in anything but a straight line. I saw my therapist this afternoon, and that’s almost always a shot in the arm. I mean, she’s hilarious and insightful. As per usual, we tackled “the list” of all the thoughts, problems, and curiosities I couldn’t stop thinking about this last week. Probably half our time was spent on dreams I’ve had lately, which included a hot sex dream and a dream about Hillary Clinton. (To be absolutely perfectly clear, those were two distinct, separate dreams.) I’ll spare you the lengthy analysis, but when it was over, my therapist said, “You really have the best dreams.” Well, not once in my life have I ever thought my subconscious would get such a glowing review, but now that it has, I sort of want to put it on my resume. Marcus Coker–can get shit done even in his sleep.

Feel free to roll your eyes.

In case it needs to be restated–my therapist detests social media. If you’ve looked at what people are posting lately, I’m sure you can figure out way. Anyway, today she had a whole slew of new anti-social-media stickers on her laptop, the biggest of which said, “Social Media Personality Disorder.” I said, “Oh, like, I’m neurotic because someone didn’t like my post or said something negative?”

She said, “Exactly.”

Beneath that sticker was one that said, “Take your mind back.” Tying the two sentiments together, my therapist said, “Don’t hand your mind over to other people. You know who you are.” To me this means that I can’t let a news feed filled with cats and political arguments tell me how to feel every day. What’s more, if I spend the day scrolling, comparing myself to others and looking for outside validation, I’m only going to end up feeling worse about myself. So ultimately, unless I want to be neurotic, I have to be responsible for my thoughts and feelings. This, of course, is the very essence of authenticity.

A couple months ago I started a small remodel project–replacing a door threshold–for my friend Ray. Well, it’s dragged on and on because the threshold had to be special ordered, and I guess the shipping department kept sending the product to a different store location. Not knowing this, the store I was working with kept ordering new ones–a total of three of them, in fact. Anyway, shit happens. I finally picked up the threshold today, was immediately deflated because I realized I didn’t have the proper tools to remove the excess length, then got excited when I went to Ray’s because I discovered it was exactly the right size.

Sometimes life throws you a bone.

I guess technically–in this case–I threw myself a bone, since I’m the one who would have specified the length of the threshold when I ordered it. That being said, I’m willing to share the credit with life. Very magnanimous of me, I know.

The project itself went really well, albeit slower than I desired. Since some of the wood in the door frame was rotten, I needed to replace it, and this meant using a saw. Well, the only saw blade I had was dull, and for a while I dicked around hoping I could make it work. Dull blades are useless, of course, so then I tried chiseling the wood and even sanding it in order to make it the right size. This felt like trying to teach a cat how to bark. Well, I finally gave up, gave in, made the long haul back to the hardware store, and bought new blades. Y’all, things went MUCH faster after that. Who’d have thought? Now–after all this time–the project is finished.

Phew.

Feeling rather accomplished, I celebrated by playing with Ray’s new kitten, Leo. I’m really not a cat person, but I love black cats, and Leo was SO CUTE. Not only did he let me hold him in my arms like a baby, he also wore a black-and-white bow tie for the occasion. Talk about a class act. But seriously–a kitten in a bow tie! Could anything be more adorable?

The low point for the evening was checking the mail when I got home. Remember when I went to the emergency room a few weeks ago for a skin infection? Well, I got the bill today, and apparently my insurance didn’t pay for anything–not a cent was spent. Talk about a huge bummer, letdown, and disappointment. I tried to stop myself, but I immediately commenced freaking out. I can’t afford this. I should’ve gone to a regular doctor. Shit–I want chocolate chip cookies–This is a terrible day to be on a diet. Y’all, if it’s not obvious, it’s really difficult for me to stay calm in these situations. I went through a similar ordeal after I had sinus surgery this year (which turned out fabulously, despite my worrying), and every time the feeling is the same–I just want the whole thing over with.

This is probably something I should bring up in therapy, the way I flip shit whenever I see a piece of paper that says, “Balance due.” It probably has something to do with the fact that I was handed the family checkbook–which didn’t have much money in it, by the way–at the age of fifteen when Dad went to prison. Now that I think about it, I’m sure it has everything to do with that.

Anyway, it took me a while to talk myself down off the ledge. For a while I tried to ignore the issue by reading a book about writing I found at a used bookstore this afternoon. Then I decided I had to move, so I went for a run, even though it was drizzling and cold outside. Considering the fact that I’m just getting over three weeks of being sick, this may not have been the smartest move. Still, I had to do something to burn off my nervous energy, which I guess I had a lot of because I ended up running six miles. Along the way I remembered that 1) what’s done is done, 2) my life could be much, much, worse, and 3) it’s possible this could turn out better than I’m thinking it will. Around mile five, I actually laughed when I thought of one of my favorite comedy sketches.

Last month when I was in Colorado at a spiritual retreat, the teacher said, “Joy is not in the object.” This statement came out of the observation that most of us behave as if joy is in the object. Like, we want a new car, a new house, or a new boyfriend because we think having those things will make us happy. But if happiness resided in those particular things, they’d make everyone happy or they’d make us happy all of the time. Well, when I laughed while running tonight, I realized that just as joy is not in the object, neither is anxiety, nervousness, or stress. In other words, if a hospital bill were truly the source of my worry, I wouldn’t be able to laugh until it were taken care of. The fact that my mood can change, however, shows me that my reaction has very little to do with a sheet of paper and everything to do with me.

Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

Personally, I think this is really good news, since I have a better shot at controlling myself than I do controlling the outside world. But the point is that the outside world really can’t control your internal one unless you let it–nothing outside of you can tell you what to think or feel. Granted, part of me is still freaking out about the medical bill, but the adult that’s sitting in this chair knows that I’ll call the hospital tomorrow and start a conversation about what can be done. Like the threshold project, I’ll want everything to be wrapped up as soon as possible, but I’ll remind myself that some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store. In this way, I hope to take my mind back from all the many people, places, and things to which I’ve let it wander, gently coaxing it back home to rest where it belongs.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s not where you are, it’s whom you are there with.

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My Authentic Response to Criticism (Blog #145)

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Tonight’s blog may be one of the most difficult I’ve ever written. I’ll explain. I have a personal rule for the blog that I won’t use it as a means to call someone out specifically, meaning I don’t consider this the place to say, “Jack, you’re a real asshole,” or, “Suzy, those yoga pants make you look like whore.” Aside from those being unkind statements, this is a blog about (my) authenticity, vulnerability, and mental and spiritual health, and I don’t consider it the venue to pick a fight. All that being said, tonight’s blog is going to approach that line because–and only because–I’ve promised that I will also and always write about what’s on my heart. So far, I have. In over one hundred and forty posts, I haven’t once tried to fake my emotions or stray from what I knew needed to be said–and I’m not going to start tonight.

So, to borrow a phrase I’ve heard once or twice from my therapist, we’re about to have a confrontation.

The first thing I saw this morning was that someone had posted a comment on yesterday’s blog that was pending approval. Well, I’m not sure that my people pleaser will ever not be the first one to have a voice, so I immediately thought, Oh God, I hope someone’s not mad. I guess I could post the entire comment, but the essence was: 1) I hate the bandana you wear on your head, 2) Your hair is too beautiful to cover it up, 3) Please stop it, and 4) I love you and am just being honest.

As I’ve said a number of times, my therapist says that online communication is rife with misunderstandings, so I’d like to be clear–the tone of the comment, in my opinion, was mostly lighthearted, complimentary (they called me handsome), and well-intended. They even said, “I have no right to encroach on what you determine makes you happy in life.” With this much, I agree.

My first thought after reading the comment this morning was, That’s hilarious. Thank God it wasn’t something serious. Actually, I started to say as much. But I hadn’t woken up yet, and that response didn’t feel quite right, even though it did feel like “a nice thing to say.” My therapist says that nice is a strategy, in light of which I would have to admit–the only reason I would dismiss such a criticism would be to not rock the boat and to make sure someone likes me (and my hair and anything I put on it). Of course, if you’ve ever tried to manage what someone else thinks of you, you know–it’s exhausting.

I wish I could tell you that the comment rolled over me like water off a duck’s back, but I can’t. It’s not that I’ve had a bad day, but it’s sort of felt like a piece of food that slowly molds and rots in your refrigerator. It’s something you can’t put your finger on at first. But then one day you open the door and know exactly what stinks.

I remember a couple years ago when I went out-of-town–maybe New York City or New Mexico–and I wore a cowboy hat that I named Jose (after the guy who made it). I fucking loved it, and told myself I’d wear it more often when I got home. But damn it, there’s something oppressive about Fort Smith, something that says, “Conform,” so I didn’t. When I talked about it in therapy, my therapist said, “Give it a whirl–be yourself.” Recently when I spoke to her about an incident similar to today’s that I can’t remember, she told me that sometimes when well-meaning people criticize her fashion choices, she says, “I do whatever the fuck I want.”

Amen.

I would like to acknowledge that everyone–everyone–has a right to their opinion. Also, I’ve yet to censor anyone’s comments on this blog, my YouTube channel, or Facebook, since I don’t consider it my job to tell other people what to think, say, or, for that matter, what to wear. So everyone is welcome to say what they want, but let me be perfectly clear–just because you have a thought about my life, doesn’t mean that it’s beneficial or that I want to hear it. I mean, when was the last time someone came up to you and said, “Alice, that jean skirt makes your butt look unattractive,” and you said, “Why thank you, Edna, you’re a saint. What else can I change about me?” So in short, I don’t consider my hair (or any other part of my life) a democracy.

According to my dad tonight, that’s why I’m not married.

My mom (who’s currently bald from chemotherapy) said, “I don’t care what you do with your hair. I’m just glad you have some.”

It may be too late, but I really don’t want this blog to be about one specific comment, since it’s not the first time I’ve been told, “The blonde hair was a mistake,” “You won’t be able to get a job if your hair is blue,” or “Those pants make you look gay,” to which if given the chance to do it all over again I’d respectively say, “Fuck off,” “How the hell do you know that, Dad?” and “Good–I am gay.” Also, I know that my natural tendency is to be defensive, to be–in the words of my therapist–dukes up. This tendency, I’m sure, comes from the fact that I essentially raised myself, so criticism of any sort always feels like someone saying that I didn’t do a good job (even though I did a fucking great job, thank you very much) or that I failed in some way.

Additionally, I’d like to acknowledge that although I don’t do it online, I often have critical thoughts about others and will frequently voice these opinions to my friends. Jesus, that dress is ugly. Those shoes make her look like a construction worker. Caroline Myss says that these sorts of thoughts and comments stem from the idea that someone else’s life only exists in order to make me happy. Like, “I’d feel better if you’d stop dressing like a lumberjack, Janice.” Obviously–and I can only speak for myself on this one–that’s an arrogant and flawed way to address one of God’s fellow creations. So to anyone to whom I’ve minimized in this way, I apologize and am working on it.

Lastly, I’d like to say something about my experience with honesty. I know I make a big deal about it here, and perhaps it deserves a little more attention. From what I understand, honesty means being true to yourself, whatever your experience. My therapist says that if you’re angry or hurt or whatever, you don’t bite your tongue because it doesn’t feel good to bite your tongue. By not being honest, you damage yourself in some way. She also quotes a spiritual guru and says, “Be kind whenever possible. It’s always possible.” To me this means that just because it’s honest to say, “Those pleated pants went out of style twenty years ago, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in that Ban-Lon shirt,” doesn’t mean it’s necessary.

Personally, I hate the fact that I may get up tomorrow and hesitate to put a bandana on my head, even though I know it keeps my beautiful hair out of my face when I drive down the interstate with my windows down, something that never ceases to make me feel totally free. Ultimately, I think we all are worthy of that unbridled feeling of freedom, that feeling that says, “I love me, I love everything about me, and I don’t give a shit if anyone else likes it or not.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our burdens are lighter when we share them.

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