On Endings and Beginnings (Blog #979)

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This morning I saw my therapist and, in the midst of going through my list of things to talk about, got derailed. Even though I hadn’t planned on discussing it, I jumped on a tangent about this blog and how it’s coming to a close. (I only have 22 blogs including this one until 1,000, then 13 weeks and 6 days until THE END). “I feel like I’m entering lame-duck territory,” I said. “It’s scary. This project has been such a touchstone and healing force in my life, and I have no idea what’s coming next. I’m flailing.”

My therapist said she understood how intimidating transitions can be, AND that even if I don’t continue to blog here daily, I’ve planted A LOT of seeds. “Any number of other projects could EASILY grow out of what you’ve started,” she said. “For example, a book.” Oh my gosh, y’all, when I think about all the things I could do with what I’ve learned thanks to this blog, my mind absolutely flies. I could go on for days, in any number of formats, about how this discipline has turned my life around and upside down for the better. Recently my mom told me that although all my posts are good (thanks, Mom), they’ve really been “exceptional” lately. “You’re in the groove,” she said. “Your writing is seamless. The blog’s done for you what you wanted it to.” That is to say, it’s given me a successful writing practice. Even more, it’s given me myself.

This, of course, has been worth all the effort, time, and money spent.

I guess I’m afraid that when my last “in a row” blog is posted I’ll somehow lose everything I’ve gained. There’s a certain sadness, a heaviness that’s been stalking me, a grief I often feel when I return home from a fabulous vacation. It says, “Crap, the show is over. What now?” It says, “What if we never feel that way again?” At the same time, there’s a certain high, a sense of pride that says, “Hot damn, we did it. Not matter what happens from this point forward, we did it. Nobody can ever take that away.” Perhaps this mix of emotions is what newlyweds feel when the honeymoon is over and people start asking when in god’s name they’re going to begin popping out children. Everyone’s so focused on what’s going to happen after. It’s so difficult to be right here, right now, to sit with whatever arises–excitement, wonder, despair, confusion–on the first day, on the last day.

In Scent of a Woman, Al Pacino’s character sings, “Did you ever have the feeling that you wanted to go, and still have the feeling that you wanted to stay?” I totally get this “I want to hold on but also want to let go” feeling. Despite my deep affection for this project, as I imagine reaching 1,000 and, at the end of March, 1,095 posts, I picture an enormous weight being lifted off of my shoulders. Y’all, this daily-writing and baring-my-soul-on-the-internet bullshit has been and continues to be my choice, and, as I’ve said ad nauseam, it’s all too often exhausting. As these last three years have played host to the the most challenging health crises I’ve ever face, there have been days when life has simply been “too much” and the last thing I wanted to do was take to the web and be honest. Because it’s always easier to run and hide. This being said, I don’t recommend running and hiding. For one thing, there’s nowhere to go.

For another, you’ve gotta meet yourself sooner or later. After all, you’re with yourself all the time. You’re the one you wake up with, the one who tucks you in at night.

People say it’s the journey, not the destination. As a goal-oriented, results-focused person, I hate this. But it’s true. Since starting this project I’ve often fantasized about having so many readers or–I should be so lucky–a certain amount of monetary compensation for my efforts. (Any would be nice). Still, there are bloggers with millions of readers and authors with millions of dollars who nonetheless feel like they haven’t arrived. But how could they–how could any of us–get “there”? Again, there’s nowhere to go. There’s only “here.”

This afternoon I listened to a fabulous talk by Caroline Myss about Alice in Wonderland, and one of my takeaways was that the point of any hero’s or heroine’s journey is changing your inner world, not your outer one. The mystical and ironic consequence of changing your inner world being that–surprise!–your outer world changes too. It has to. At the very least it will look different than it did before (less scary, more manageable, ever so much more enchanting), and this is the same thing. Perception determines your experience of reality.

Along these lines, since we use words to frame our experiences, Caroline suggests flipping your language script. For example, instead of thinking of my health issues as Problems or Challenges, I could–and often do–think of them as Opportunities (to learn about myself, heal, and connect with others), Adventures (who knows what will happen next!), or Initiations (into the Greater Mysteries of life). I’ve often blogged about Going Down the Rabbit Hole, and this is what I’m talking about. Any Hero’s Journey that’s worth it salt will turn everything in your life upside down, including the way you think and talk about your experiences. This doesn’t happen because the universe is bored and feels like shaking up your life the way a toddler shakes up a snow globe. Rather, it happens because, from your soul’s perspective, your world’s been wrong-side up for a while now and it’s simply time to set things right-side up. This looks and feels like Chaos to you and me, a falling apart, but to the gods–well–it’s a Grace, a putting things back together. Our endings are our beginnings.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life proceeds at its own pace.

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When Something Is Over (Blog #922)

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Some things that inspired me today–

1. A laundry mat

This afternoon I ran an errand in Fort Smith and spotted a laundry mat called Sophia Laundry. The sign said, “Come clean with us.” (Sounds like a party, right?) Anyway, I took notice because Sophia means wisdom. (Philosopher means lover of wisdom.) I thought, What’s the universe trying to say? And whereas the laundry’s slogan obviously meant–get your ass over here and wash your dirty drawers–I took it like to mean–come clean, or be honest with us.

I’ve been thinking about this all day. Not that I feel like there’s something I need to confess to the people who own Sophia Laundry, or to anyone, but I do think it’s what I’ve been doing these last years in therapy and on this blog–coming clean. To me this means being as honest as possible. This may sound like fun, but it’s not. Indeed, it’s really gross. Because coming clean with yourself means getting real about what’s working in your life and what’s not (what snot). It means owning and honoring all your emotions, including your anger. It means setting boundaries about what you’ll accept and not accept from others and, more importantly, yourself. This is hard.

But this is wisdom.

2. A Walk

After I ran my errand in Fort Smith, I stopped for hot tea and ended up walking around a nearby neighborhood. When I weighed in this week I was down (1.4 pounds) but not as much as the previous two weeks (2.4 and 2.6 pounds respectively). I’ve tried not to make a big deal about it, especially since I’ve been sick and haven’t felt like getting to the gym (but have felt like eating cheese). Still, today I thought, I’ve got the time, and it’s a gorgeous day. Let’s walk. Let’s burn some calories. Along the way I thought of a situation that’s been bothering me and remembered something my therapist often says–“If I said, ‘You’ve got thirty seconds to make a decision about this,’ what would you say?” And just like that, I had my answer.

So often we complicate things, but the truth is that part of us always knows. Going back to coming clean, this is why it’s hard. Because once you admit the truth to yourself, then you have to do something about it, and this means things will change. Conversely, there’s no change–and no responsibility–in saying, “I don’t know.” I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to think, I don’t know what to feel. These are phrases we tell ourselves to slow down the speed at which change happens in our lives, to keep things the same, to not grow up. Because we’re afraid. Because we don’t trust that good things are waiting for us. Because we don’t trust ourselves to handle whatever happens–good or bad.

3. A Vacuum Cleaner

Since the beginning of August I’ve been working at a friend’s rent house, transforming the entire thing one room at a time from brown to white. And whereas I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought I’d never finish, I eventually did. About two weeks ago I completed the last room–the kitchen. Since then I’ve been working to clean out the garage, where several previous renters had left–well–all sorts of things. Anyway, the entire project wrapped up tonight. My friend and I moved some furniture that’s being sold online, they paid me, and that was that. The new renter moves in later this week.

For me, the closing of this project is bitter sweet. Am I glad to not be rolling paint on ceilings? You’re damn right I am. But will I miss the work (it’s good to be employed) and the chance it gave me to spend time with myself, listen to podcasts, and be productive? Certainly.

I’ve heard it said that we do beginnings really well. Think about it. Whenever we get a new job, spouse, or house, we break open bottles of champagne, throw parties, and post pictures on Facebook. But how often do we do this with endings? Almost never. And yet they are just as important. Indeed, endings are required for beginnings. If you don’t believe me, think about having all your previous lovers following three feet behind you the next time you go out on a date with your current one. Talk about awkward.

Yes, endings are a good thing.

With this in mind, I decided to do a small ritual in order to honor tonight’s ending, to consciously make room for something else to come along. And whereas I guess I could have gone out to eat or celebrated, I simply vacuumed out my car. This seemed appropriate because I used my car to work on this project so much that it collected a lot of work-related debris–dirt, leaves, little flakes of paint. A few years ago I rescued a couple puppies but ending up having to take them to the Humane Society before I had my estate sale. It broke my heart, but I simply couldn’t take care of them. It took me months to wash their paw prints off my car windows. It was like a part of me was holding on. More and more I don’t want to do this. When something is over, it’s over. And that’s okay. Other things will come along.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Weird and Awkward Beginnings (Blog #88)

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Today was a day for beginnings. Why some days are for beginnings and other days are for endings, I don’t know. But I suppose this is simply how the universe works. One day you pick up a cigarette. Another day you put it down. You tell yourself for weeks, maybe months, that it’s time to quit, but then one day it actually is. For me, there’s always a feeling that accompanies a fresh start. I wish I could tell you that such a feeling involved angels and trumpets, a parade where suckers are handed out to people who start diets. But that’s rarely the case. Rather, the feeling I get is more like a soft hum, something that tingles and buzzes inside of me and sounds like I’ve had enough. I’m ready. Shit. No more Camels and chocolate cake.

Or something like that.

Fortunately, today wasn’t about quitting anything. (Ugh. No one likes a quitter.) Although I guess anytime you start one thing, you have to quit another, even if it’s simply quitting not doing the thing you weren’t doing before. (I’m about to confuse myself, so I’ll just say it.) Today I started swimming again. There, I’m glad that’s out in the open, along with everything it implies. Yes, I wear Speedos (the square-cut kind). Sometimes I shave my legs (and absolutely love the way it feels). Of course, as is obvious from the above picture, I haven’t shaved anything lately. Anything–at–all.

Anyway, today I swam a thousand meters–sixteen hundred is a mile–and it felt great. When I first started swimming four years ago, I liked it, but it was difficult because it always felt as if I was sucking in more water than air. But after a few years, I started to get the rhythm of it. We’ll see how the summer goes, but I really think the sinus surgery I had is going to make all the difference, since I can actually breathe now. I mean, I haven’t swum in a year, but the ten laps today seemed easier than anything I’ve ever done before.

Messages from other people are requests, not requirements.

This afternoon before I went to the pool, I got two voicemails–two!–from my dentist’s office. I didn’t even listen to the second one, but the first one requested a “verbal confirmation” that I would be at tomorrow’s teeth cleaning. This after I verbally made the appointment last week and digitally confirmed by text a few days ago. I told my dad, “I’ve forgotten appointments before, but I’m an adult. I said I’ll be there, and I’ll be there. Hell, they used to send emails too.”

Dad said, “Marcus, not everyone keeps a calendar. I don’t think you realize how stupid some people are.”

The old Marcus would have called back to confirm, but the new Marcus thought, “Fuck that. I have better things to do.” Of course, it’s taken a long time for me to come around to this way of thinking. Really, I’ve spent most my life returning every text message, every email, every phone call. But therapy has taught me that messages from other people are requests, not demands, certainly not requirements.

Today at the pool I focused on my breathing, lifting my head every odd-numbered stroke so that I alternated sides. For the longest time, I’ve only come up on my right side, and I think that’s contributed to the imbalances in my body. Of course, lifting on the left side today felt weird, awkward, anything but smooth. I probably swallowed some pool water, so don’t even try to remind me how many little kids pee in it every day. I mean, they make chlorine for a reason!

While swimming, I was thinking about how often we to run away from anything that feels weird, awkward, anything but smooth. I know I used to see that in dance a lot. If people didn’t get something “right away,” they’d get frustrated, cry, even walk away. But–and I hate this–any new thing takes time to master, whether it’s dancing, swimming, or setting boundaries with secretaries at your dentist’s office. (My next step is to call them and say, “I have an appointment tomorrow and would like a verbal confirmation that my dental hygienist will be there.”)

A couple of years ago I had three incidents happen–bam, bam, bam– that involved bad customer service. In one instance, I was treated rudely at a medical facility, and in another given incorrect change at a restaurant. (It may sound high-minded, but I HATE IT when servers owe me $9.13 and bring me back $9.00 instead, like the rest doesn’t matter.) So when I talked to my therapist about these incidents and said I wanted to write letters to all the respective managers, she leaned forward in her chair, raised her eyebrows, and said, “DO IT!”

So I did, and it felt great.

In the case of the medical facility, I believe someone lost their job, or at least got a stern talking to. Either way, the manager said that if I had to return, please contact him personally. I also got a gift certificate from the restaurant. But none of that was the point to the letter writing. The point was to express myself, to confront a damn problem for once. Honestly, I’m still not a pro at confrontation. I usually have to be pushed pretty far before I’ll speak up. In any form, confrontation feels anything but smooth. But just like my breathing at the pool, it’s a hell of a lot better than it used to be because I’ve been willing to practice, even with little things like not returning phone calls that I simply don’t want to return.

This evening I started reading a book called The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to High Creativity by Julia Cameron. The book has been around for twenty-five years, but I’d never heard of it until a few weeks ago when two people told me about it within the space of a few days, which I figured meant the universe wanted me to read it. (God works in mysterious ways.) Well, I’m only a couple chapters in, but I’m riveted, and I already have homework. Specifically, starting tomorrow, I’m supposed to starting writing, by hand, three pages (called Morning Pages but will be Afternoon Pages in my case) about anything and everything that comes to mind. Sometimes called “brain drain,” the idea is that the practice gets out all the junk that’s currently blocking any creativity.

I’ll let you know how it goes, but I’m both excited about nervous about the idea. Excited because it makes sense, and I want to see how it changes my creative life. Nervous because, like learning to swim again and learning to handle confrontations, it’s probably going to feel weird and awkward for a while.

There are angels there to help, but they don’t blow trumpets.

They say that if you want a different life, you have to let go of the one you have. You have to do things differently. Personally, I’m finding that changes that really matter are usually a process. Maybe there are angels there to help, but they don’t blow trumpets because they know beginnings are pretty much always rough and not really trumpet-worthy. But anything you consistently work at–dancing, swimming, finding your voice, creating–will eventually smooth out. Just give it a little time, and it won’t feel weird or awkward at all. No, you’ll get the hang of it, and–what’s more–you’ll have a different life, a life that tingles and buzzes–and feels great.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All emotions are useful.

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