On (Not) Making Things Complicated (Blog #1064)

Leave a comment

Yesterday, through a strange and fortunate series of events, I received an impromptu but relatively in-depth personality evaluation from a woman I’d just met. And whereas I only told her my name and birthdate, she absolutely nailed me. “You’re not cut out for a 9 to 5 job,” she said, “and you don’t like being told what to do. You’d probably do well with something musical, or the written word. You’re hung up on integrity, which means you have a good bullshit meter.” And get this shit. Then she said, “Whatever you do should have your name on it. And your picture.”

I started laughing. “I have a website with ‘me’ in the title, and I post a selfie every day.”

Now, I could go on and on about the cloth this woman said I’ve been cut from. Alas, I don’t imagine many people (other than me) would find it that interesting. Still, all day today I’ve been thinking about one particular thing she told me that I imagine many people would find interesting. Or at least useful. The thing being that I like to make things more difficult than they have to be. “You kind of enjoy the challenge,” she said. “You don’t like the easy way.”

Guilty.

Not that this information came as a big surprise. For the last almost three years I’ve blogged every day, even when I’ve been exhausted, even when I’ve been sick as a dog. You know, because I’m a hard ass, and–for some reason–swimming upstream blows my shirt up. Sometimes after I fold laundry in the laundry room, instead of carrying all my clothes into my room at once, I make several trips–one for my socks, one for my underwear, and so on. Crazy? Compulsive? Perhaps. But I’m seriously hung up on being busy/productive. Filling up every minute. “Your mind is always thinking, thinking, thinking,” the lady said. Plus–at times–I have a lot of energy, and the extra effort–the long way around the  barn–helps me burn it up.

What can I say? I like the scenic route.

Something I loved about this (accurate) personality evaluation was that it wasn’t said as a judgment. Rather, it was like, This is the way you were made. These are your strengths. These are your challenges. These are your gifts. So I haven’t been thinking of the fact that I like to make things harder than they need to be as a bad thing. When you starve yourself, food tastes better. At the same time, when part of you likes a good challenge AND another part of you believes that nothing is ever good enough, well, then you’ve got a recipe for misery. For example, for years I’ve tried, tried, tried to heal a number of physical issues all the while convincing myself that I don’t really have the resources (money, information, smarts, people) to make it happen. And yet I’ve kept trying.

Which has been about as fun as pounding sand.

It’s one thing to look at a big task and not be daunted, and it’s another thing to create a big task simply because it’s within your nature to tackle one.

The conclusion I’ve come to today is that there’s a fine line between liking a challenge and setting yourself up for misery. Like, it’s one thing to look at a big task and not be daunted, and it’s another thing to create a big task simply because it’s within your nature to tackle one. Along these lines, I’ve tried as many times as possible today to take the slightly easier route. Not necessarily the easy one, but the slightly easier one. Baby steps. For example, a while back I borrowed three books from a friend and have had it in my mind to read and return them all before this weekend. Well, I finished one book a couple weeks ago and another one today. But I decided to return the third one unread. Because it didn’t look as interesting as it did before. And I have plenty of other books to read. And–most importantly–it takes a load off my “gotta get shit done” mind.

Likewise, this afternoon I returned another unread book to the library. Screw it, I thought. This evening while working to frame a brooch, I broke a small (and rather cheap, quite frankly) frame (with obviously very little inner fortitude). And whereas I tried to glue it back together, I quickly remembered my theme for today (you don’t have to make everything so complicated) and threw it away. “I’ll just go shopping and buy another one,” I told my mom.

“But, Marcus, what if you don’t find one that’s a good as the one you threw away?”

“Well, what if I find one that’s better?”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Life is better when we're not in control. When we mentally leave room for anything to happen, anything can.

"

On Finding Your Way (Blog #808)

Leave a comment

Blah. Today has been–a day. Nothing fabulous has happened, nothing terrible has happened. This afternoon I exercised, watched four thirty-minute videos about pain, fascia, and healing, and packed up my stuff at my latest house sitting gig and came home. I took a nap. When I woke up I tried some foam rolling techniques the videos I watched suggested. I think they helped, but who knows? The healing journey can be so frustrating–trying a million different things, making a little progress here, a little progress there. Still, along The Way we learn.

For years I’ve imagined that if I ever found The Thing that worked in terms of healing, I’d shout it from the rooftops. Alas, whereas I’ve found several things that have been helpful, I’ve never found The Thing. I imagine this is because The Thing doesn’t exist. That is, what’s helpful for one person may not be helpful for another, and life doesn’t offer us panaceas. Rude, I know. Still, the silver lining is that panaceas don’t seem to required. The videos I watched this afternoon, which really were fabulous, promoted a program that costs between $500 and $900. Ugh. At that cost, who can AFFORD to heal? Thankfully, healing isn’t a lock that can only be opened by one key. At least in my experience, there’s more than one way to heal, more than one way to skin a cat.

Meow.

Lately one of my mental challenges has been trusting my path and not comparing it to someone else’s. I imagine comparison has always been a thing on planet earth, but what with social media and all, it seems to be an even bigger thing now. Unfortunately, comparing ourselves to others isn’t limited to the areas of looks and talents. Oh no, we even compare our mental, emotional, and physical well being against that of others. We think, They’re pain free, they have more peace than I do, they’re BETTER than I am. And then guess what? Whether or not those things are true (and how could you ever know that?), we’ve made ourselves inferior. We picture ourselves failures for, I don’t know, having a blah day or a pain in our back, even though we’re anything but.

Recently I read that everyone is on a different path and that sure, perhaps we all came from and are going to the same place eventually, but everything in between is a totally individual journey. As such, we each come to the the planet with a different set of looks, skills, challenges, and set of circumstances that is “right” for us and for us alone. Seen from this perspective, comparing ourselves is pointless. Why does someone else have a smaller nose, more money, and a better singing voice than you do? Because they need it for their journey. You don’t. Why are you better at math, decorating houses, and listening (it’s a skill) than someone else is? Because that’s what your path requires. Theirs doesn’t.

This is what I mean by trusting my path. It’s so easy for me to think that I need to be smarter, wiser, healthier in order to “succeed” or get to wherever I’m going–because people who are already “there” seem to be these things. Of course, this is an illusion, one I’m working on dispelling. I’m working on coming around to the idea that life fills your journey’s backpack with whatever it is you need, when you need it. I’m coming around to the idea that if I don’t yet have something, it’s not necessarily that life is keeping something from me, but rather that it’s not best for me, or best for me right now. This is difficult to do, to not only accept what comes along, but also to want what you have, to look in you journey’s backpack and say, “Okay, this is what I have to work with, and I’m going to make the best of it. I’m going to find My Way. I’m going to trust that this is enough, that I’m enough, to get me back home.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

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

"

Any Dancing Jesus (Blog #456)

1 Comment

Last night I drove to Springfield, Missouri, to attend a weekly dance at The Savoy, a ballroom owned by my friends Anne and Andy. My friend Matt was there, and it was the perfect thing–dancing, seeing friends–a way to get away. Anne and Andy rent The Savoy for weddings and events, so after the dance I helped them and Matt set it up for a local graduation. When we finished at 1:30 in the morning we went for tacos, then I crashed at Anne and Andy’s place, which is above the ballroom.

Unfortunately, I didn’t sleep great, at least at first. Probably too much beer, which was my payment for helping set things up. Also, I apparently got sunburned yesterday at my friend CJ’s farm. My back looks like something you’d find at a Western Sizzlin’ Steakhouse. Point is I must have dehydrated myself, since I woke up in the middle of the night with a headache. But then I drank a glass of water, took some Tylenol, and went back to bed, and things were better this morning.

Phew.

I’ve spent the day dicking around Springfield with Matt. First we went to Chipotle for lunch, then perused a handful of antique stores. Later we grabbed frozen custard, then came back to the ballroom so Matt could work the graduation, which is going on now. Everyone else is downstairs, and I’m blogging upstairs. Whenever the event is over, I’ll help get things ready for a wedding tomorrow (or at least help eat the leftover graduation cake). As I’m pretty beat from all the sun, dancing, and calories, I’m hoping to get a nap in first.

It may not happen.

Before my estate sale, I boasted a modest collection of religious figurines–Jesus on the Cross, the Mother Mary, a Buddha or two–I had all my spiritual bases covered. And whereas I liked all the statues for different reasons, the only one I didn’t sell was Jesus on the Cross, a mid-century modern piece I affectionately refer to as Rock Star Jesus, since his hips and arms are kind of kicked off to one side. In addition to looking like a dancer (and the fact that there’s a story in the Acts of John about Jesus dancing before his crucifixion), Rock Star Jesus reminds me to surrender joyfully to the trials of life.

I wrote a blog about Rock Star Jesus, surrendering, and resurrection here.

When Matt and I were antique shopping today, I bought another statue of Jesus, this one brass, small enough to fit in your pocket. (A travel-sized savior, if you will.) This statue, I guess, implies a cross but doesn’t actually have one. Or perhaps it represent’s the resurrection, the triumphant return, the rising. Regardless, Christ’s arms are raised higher than normal, as if in praise, as if in celebration, as if to say, “Friday was a rather bad day, but now let’s party.” The whole thing made me think of a recent picture my friend Bonnie took of me in Nashville, in which I adopted a similar pose under a sign marked “receiving.” You can read about it here, but my idea was that raising my arms represented my willingness to receive all the good (and even the not so good) life and the universe have to offer.

Your story isn’t about your physical challenges.

All this to say that I thought the new statute with its outstretched arms was the perfect reminder of a hundred things–surrender, resurrection, joy in all circumstances, receiving and abundance, even asking for a hug. (Come to papa.) This is the deal with a symbol. It can mean so many things. After four years of therapy, I look at the statue’s out-turned palms and think, There was a man with good boundaries, someone who could say no–to money changers, to temptation, to compromising his soul. (Or maybe those flicked-out wrists just mean Jesus knew how to vogue.) I know I’m making jokes about a sacred figure. I know that as of this afternoon I’ve effectively started a collection of Whirling Messiahs. But having had a challenging year, I actually take these statues seriously, since they remind me that Jesus had his challenges too and–what’s more–surpassed them. If you believe the story in the Acts of John, he danced passed them. This, I think, is the message of any dancing Jesus, that your story isn’t about your physical challenges, but rather your soul’s rising.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

"

Dents in My Sheetrock (Blog #348)

1 Comment

Currently I’m in my room, propped up in bed with a bunch of pillows. The overhead light is off, and the lamp beside my bed illuminates my makeshift workstation, another pillow. Across the room are two closet doors, both of which open up to the same closet. In between the doors there’s a small section of sheetrock about eight inches wide, painted brown like the rest of the room. Several days ago while stretching on the floor, I noticed that there were dozens of dents in that small section of the wall, little pea-sized holes, kind of low to the ground. At first perplexed by these dents in my sheetrock, I then remembered how they got there.

When I was a kid, maybe eight, maybe nine, I had a dart board. The board itself was made of plastic and was rather like a hairbrush–it had these round pegs that stuck out in order to “catch” the darts, which were also made of plastic but had a round, metal tip on the end of each one. As I recall, I would hang the board on one of my closet doorknobs, scoot back as far as I could, and throw the darts toward the board. Well, I guess I wasn’t a very good marksman, as evidenced by the pockmarks still in the sheetrock.

Noticing the dents in the wall several days ago, the perfectionist in me wanted to fill them in with spackle and repaint the wall. But then I thought better to leave them, since covering them up would be a lot of work and they remind me of my childhood. What’s more, they remind me that I once played darts not be perfect and hit the mark every time, but simply to play. They remind me that if for only a brief time in my life, it was enough to try.

Recently I read that when you’re working on personal growth, a lot of changes take place when you’re unconscious or dreaming. You do whatever you do during the day–going to therapy, meditating, or reading self-help books–then everything gets processed or “downloaded” at night. According to this theory, positive and fundamental changes in one’s character or personality happen often slowly and over time, but they do happen. Because they happen while one is sleeping, these changes, when manifested during the day as different attitudes, moods, and behaviors, can come as a surprise. Like maybe after years of accepting someone’s inappropriate behavior, one day you find yourself looking them squarely in the eyes and saying, “Get your hands off my ass.” Later you think, “I don’t know what got into me. I NEVER would have done that before.”

Of course, that’s exactly the point. The old you wouldn’t have.

This idea has been on my mind lately because of online criticism. I’ll explain. When I owned the dance studio I used to upload class-review videos to YouTube. This went on for a number of years, and even as my technique improved, I left all the old videos (with my less-than-perfect technique) online. Looking back at them, I sometimes cringe, either at the way I looked or the way I danced. I think, I should have been better than that. Still, I leave the videos because, much like the dents in my sheetrock, they tell a story. Watching them, I see someone who was doing the best he could at the time. Also, I see how much progress that person has made.

Sometimes people bitch.

Added together, the videos on my YouTube channel have been watched over five-and-a-half million times. Occasionally, maybe once every week or two, I get a notification that someone has commented on one of them. Usually, these comments are positive. Someone will say, “Thanks” or “This really helped me out.” But sometimes people bitch. Last week someone said, “You should NEVER teach dance in flip-flops. This isn’t serious.” Just today someone else said, “After you break a move down, DO IT FULL SPEED!”

Criticisms like these used to wear me out. I’d lose sleep over them, call my dance mentor over them. Am I doing something wrong? Should I quit teaching dance because a stranger in Ohio doesn’t like my haircut? Thankfully, at some point, I quit getting bent out of shape by unsolicited bullshit. I’d check the profiles of people who were criticizing my work, and they almost never had their work online, so I started thinking, If you know so much, you do it. Still, afraid of upsetting someone, I never would engage.

But lately I’ve noticed that I’m more inclined to reply to negative feedback. I’m not interested in starting an argument with a total stranger, since we were all on Facebook during the last political season and know how well that typically turns out. And I’m not saying I reply to every ignorant-ass comment that comes my way. But I’m tired of not standing up for myself when someone, for no good reason, takes a swing at me. So in response to the comment about how I should never dance in flip-flops (which I “mostly” agree with, actually), I said, “We all get to make our own choices.” In response to the comment about how I should demonstrate a move at full speed, I said, “Uh–please say please.”

I mean, god, at what point did it become okay to deem yourself the director of someone else’s life just because you own a keyboard?

This is the fundamental character change I mentioned earlier, the one that can happen when you’re not noticing. Four years ago I never would have stood up to a cyberbully or said, “That’s enough, asshole.”

Recently I’ve been writing about the fact (fact) that I’ve been sick. Earlier today a friend said they thought I was looking for sympathy. I’m not exactly sure where this comment came from, but it bothers me. As I’ve said before, I don’t like being sick. I hate it. I’m like, so over it. But let me be crystal clear–I’m not asking for anyone’s pity or sympathy. (Kindness, maybe.) Life is hard for all of us, and I don’t believe that it’s “unfair” for me specifically or that I’ve gotten a raw deal on this planet just because I have chronic sinus problems. In sharing my experiences, my intent isn’t to whine. Rather, even when I’m at my lowest, I think I work my ass off to provide hope, inspiration, and support not only for myself, but also for others.

Despite all my challenges in life, I think I do a pretty good job of refusing to believe that the world is anything but a good place to live.

In reply to the comment about my looking for sympathy, I simply said, “No, I’m honestly sharing my story.” (And I’m not holding a gun to anyone’s head and forcing them to read it, by the way.) As if you need my permission, feel free to disagree. I get that not everyone will interpret my motivations and my story as I do. That’s okay. I think any person who “puts themselves out there” has to ultimately make peace with the responses they get from others, even when those response aren’t asked for, even when those responses are negative, even when those responses seem to be aimed like darts.

Honestly, if I’m looking for anything on this blog or in my life, it’s understanding. My guess is that’s all any of us really want–to be understood. (And maybe to win the lottery would be nice.) But one thing I’d like to be explicit about–the one and only person I want and need to understand me–is me. If anything good and positive and lasting has come out of this writing project, this is it. It’s taught me to love, accept, and support myself in a way I never did before it started. Because of this small miracle, I’m not looking for understanding–or anything–from anyone else. If I have it, great–thank you. We all like praise and crave support. But what I’m saying is that if I woke up tomorrow and a thousand people on YouTube said my dancing was shit, I might have a bad day, but I wouldn’t stop dancing. If everyone stopped reading my blog–if my statistics dropped to zero–I wouldn’t stop writing.

Tonight I noticed a total-word-count feature on my blog for the first time. Since starting the blog almost a year ago, I’ve apparently written over 350,000 words, an average of over 1,000 a day. When I consider these words and when I consider the videos I’ve uploaded to YouTube, I know they aren’t all “perfect.” (If you’d like to find something wrong with any of them, it’ll be easy enough for you to do.) But perhaps these efforts are much like the dents in my sheetrock on the other side of the room, less about being perfect and more about how I’m simply trying to figure things out, just like everyone else is.

Doing what you love is never about gaining acceptance from others.

In my experience, when you put yourself out there and play the game, you have a few hits and just as many misses. And God knows you don’t make everyone else happy. But this is no reason to quit or be discouraged, since doing what you love and feel called to do is never–never–about gaining acceptance from others. Indeed, if the entire world rejected you because of the “dents” they perceived in your life, and yet you utterly loved and accepted yourself, what difference would the entire world make?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

We are all connected in a great mystery and made of the same strong stuff.

"