On Slowing Down, Changing Worlds, and Seasons (Blog #1092)

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In an interview I listened to yesterday, former head hostage negotiator for the FBI Chris Voss said, “You have to go slow to go fast.” Meaning that in high-stakes or even low-stakes negotiations it pays to pump the brakes, really listen to the other party (rather than simply trying to cram your viewpoint down their throat), and communicate clearly. In dancing we say it like this: take time to do the prep, the setup. Don’t get ahead of the beat. Once I told a couple who was working on a routine for their wedding, “You’re already going too fast now, and I can promise you that you’ll go even faster on your wedding day (because of adrenaline) if you’re not careful.” Well, I was at the wedding, and sure enough they were at least eight eight-counts (sixty-four beats) ahead of the music.

Which means they finished before the song did.

Ugh. Pumping the brakes is such a challenging thing. We live in a fast-food society, and we want what we want when we want it (now). The internet and Amazon Prime haven’t helped things, since they’ve made both information and everything under the sun almost immediately available. Consequently, our natural tendency toward impatience has been encouraged. Perhaps this in one of the silver linings to our current situation with respect to COVID-19. We’re being forced to stay in, slow down (even the internet is dragging because so many people are on it), and wait. For a solution. For our jobs. For toilet paper.

As I’ve thought about the phrase “go slow to go fast” today, I’ve related it to this blog and my personal journey, one of my consistent themes being “slow down, be patient.” Not that I’ve WANTED to slow down, but it’s simply been the only way. To learn all the things I have in therapy, to learn all the things I have through this blog. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The years teach much the days never know.” Amen. This is the way of it. You can’t hurry love, you can’t rush the seasons, and you can’t speed up your own personal transformation. Not that you don’t have any say in how long it will take, since God knows you could drag your feet about it or refuse to do your part, but even when you’re doing everything you know to do, metamorphosis is not going to happen overnight.

Alas, slowing down seems to be the best way to “get there.” This is a message of myofascial release too. It’s not push hard and fast, it’s push gently (sink) and slow. It’s wait for at least five minutes. I know, I know. Who has five minutes? But the good news is that if you do go easy and you do wait, restrictions that have been rock hard for years can melt like butter. This is the “go fast” part. Meaning the best way to get quick, lasting results is to slow the hell down.

It’s counterintuitive, I know. But look at nature. The way a tree grows. The way a baby grows. Life doesn’t get in a hurry. And yet we do. Despite the fact that we ARE life. Three years ago I started this writing project wanting to get somewhere. Recognized or whatever. And boy was I in a mental hurry. But having spent every day since slowly but surely putting down hundreds of thousands of words, thoughts, and ideas and having been changed by the process for the better, I’m convinced “steady as she goes” is the only way. What’s more, now that I’m quickly approaching the end, there’s part of me that wishes I hadn’t been in such a rush in the beginning. That I’d savored The Changing more.

Tonight I started working my way through a free online class about storytelling presented by Khan Academy and the creative team at Pixar. It’s magical. Anyway, one thing the Pixar people talk about is the difference between a character’s wants and needs, two things that are often (and probably should be) at odds with each other. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy WANTS to get back home to Kansas. But what Dorothy NEEDS is to get in touch with her brains, heart, and courage. In other words, Dorothy doesn’t need to get back home to Kansas, she NEEDS to get back home to herself.

And who doesn’t really?

Thinking about the wants and needs in my life, I know that a few years ago I WANTED to move to Texas and start my career as a writer. Alas, the gods had other plans, since what I NEEDED was to first unlock the talents, sensitivities, and powers inside of me that back then lay dormant. In terms of storytelling, what I’ve undergone the last several years would be called “a character arc,” meaning that THROUGH CONFLICT and by OVERCOMING OBSTACLES, I’ve transformed into a better version of myself. Unfortunately, both in storytelling and in life, it appears conflict and obstacles are NECESSARY COMPONENTS for getting us not where we WANT to be, but where we NEED to be.

This sucks, I know.

Naturally, we WANT this transformation to happen quickly. More often than not, we NEED it to happen slowly. (Why, Marcus?) Because every time you change something about yourself (a thought, a belief, a boundary, a perception), you quite literally change the world you’re living in. Not that you leave earth and end up on a different planet, but in effect you do. Because every time you change you end up playing by a different set rules, and that means your interactions, strategies, and results change. So you might as well be living on Mars. Or in Oz. All this to say that world-changing is jarring, so you need time to adjust and get the lay of the land. Okay, I’m single now. All right, I’m not putting up with that crap anymore. Shit, I’m quarantined.

More and more my message to myself and others is, Sweetheart, be patient. Yes, there are mysteries inside you that desperately want to come out. But mysteries are never called out in a flash or forced out through screaming. (Hurry up and heal!) Rather, mysteries are coaxed out by being snuggled up to, by being deeply heard. Sweetheart, what do you have to reveal to me? I’m listening. And do please take your time. This is why we have time. Not so that we can get an answer to our problems lickety split, but so that we can be grown by both our trials and our triumphs, the way a tree is grown by life’s ever-changing seasons.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one is immune from life’s challenges.

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Time Well Spent (Blog #1012)

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For the last eight days I’ve been struggling with a sinus infection. And whereas it’s not really getting worse, it’s not really getting better either. Every morning I cough up junk. Every afternoon I feel wiped out. Every night I cough myself to sleep. All the while I pray for a solution. Not just a temporary one, but a permanent one. And whereas sometimes I think heaven must be tired of hearing from me (it’s me again, Margaret), I keep telling myself that’s not the way God works. Just because I’d be sick (I am sick, actually) of hearing from me, doesn’t mean God is. Of course, having been around for ETERNITY, he’s got this patience thing down.

Me? I’m still working on it.

This afternoon I taught a dance lesson to a couple, and when I asked if they’d practiced since I last saw them two weeks ago, they said, “No.” Now, this didn’t surprise me. Hardly any of my students practice unless they HAVE to. Like if they have a performance or a wedding coming up. Otherwise, they practice when they see me. And whereas there’s nothing wrong with not practicing (it’s job security for me), it naturally means the students progress at a slower pace than they COULD. Conversely, once I had a mentor who said it only took him a year to learn how to dance (the average is three to five years) because he worked at it every day for hours on end. And whereas this man had a natural aptitude for dancing and my students–quite frankly–don’t, my point is that just as HE CHOSE to go fast, they’re CHOOSING to go slow.

Recently I wrote about creating time, and this is what I meant. That is, to a large extent, we decide how quickly we want things to happen. Are certain things out of our control? Absolutely, a million things are. But take this, for example. This afternoon and evening I worked non-stop on an arts and crafts project I’ve been tinkering with for the last few weeks, framing antique jewelry. (I plan to post pictures soon.) And whereas it’s going slower than expected (because when you do something for the first time you run into all sorts of problems–er, challenges–you hadn’t anticipated), I should be done in a couple more days if I stick with it. My point being that I COULD drag this little project out for days, weeks, months if I wanted to.

But I don’t. I’m ready to see it finished. Which means I’m willing to put in the work.

Now, just because I’m ready to tackle this particular project doesn’t mean I’m not procrastinating like hell on plenty of others. Indeed, there are books I plan to read and books I plan to write–one day. Most likely, either it’s simply not time or I’m putting them off because I’m afraid of how my life will change–or worse, not change–once I do. Full of the fear of failure, I slow things down. I pump the brakes. Quite literally, I create (more) time.

Caroline Myss says we do this time creating thing constantly, in every area of our life. With our relationships, with our careers. Even with our resentments. Like, we decide how long it’s going to take us to get over something. We decide how long we’re going to “hang on.” We joke about this. Someone brings up an argument they had with their lover in 1983, and we say, “Still not over it?” Clearly they’re not. But they COULD be, just like my dance students COULD be further along than they are.

One of Myss’s points about all this is that we can’t decide to move slowly in terms of our resentments and expect to move quickly in terms of our healing. Because you can’t hang on and expect your body to let go at the same time. You either both hang on or you both let go. This is one of the reasons I’ve talked so much lately about letting go and forgiving. More and more, I see the price of holding grudges and being bitter (about anything) as simply too high. Now, I don’t claim to be a master at this. Nor do I have any promise that as I work to let go that my body will miraculously heal. Or heal at all. Although I do believe forgiving in one way to SPEED UP healing. Indeed, I’ve heard stories of people who forgave experiencing healing. But healing is always a grace, never a guarantee. This being said, and despite the fact that I currently feel like poop, I have experienced more physical healing these last two years (and especially these last two months) than ever before, and I don’t think it’s simply a coincidence that this has happened alongside my conscious choice to–in front of God and everybody–connect with my own good heart.

When I first sat down to write tonight I thought I was going to write about hope. Because whenever I don’t feel well I usually hit a point when I think things are hopeless. Consequently, it’s good for me to talk myself down off a ledge, to remind myself to be patient. Because the truth is there’s always hope. Likewise, as long as you’re alive you can always choose to be a better dancer, choose to be a kinder, gentler person. Even if you grow just a little bit each year, that’s something and is better than choosing not to. My point being that as long as YOU can change, your body can change, your life can change. And if takes a lifetime or an eternity to heal, to really heal?

Then it’s time well spent. And you haven’t hoped–or worked–in vain.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When the universe speaks—listen.

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On Acknowledging the Break (Blog #958)

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For the last few months I’ve been teaching dance to a couple who are about to be married. Tonight was our final lesson before their big day. Y’all, I honestly couldn’t be prouder. These two have come a long way. Granted, they still bump into each others’ feet now and then, but they keep going, and that’s the point. What’s more, they’ve put in enough time and effort to be able to concentrate on one of the finer aspects of dancing–not just properly executing the steps and patterns, but also interpreting the steps and patterns in such a way as to match their particular song.

I’ll explain.

When learning to dance, the priorities are, in order of importance, 1) getting the steps right, 2) being on beat, 3) communicating with your partner (with your body, not your mouth), and 4) proper technique. Under the category of proper technique are things like whether the heel or ball of your foot hits the ground first, whether or not your hips are moving, and which direction your head is looking. These are often subtle things, of course, but they’re not only what distinguishes one dance from another (for example, a box step can be done in both waltz and rumba, but in waltz the forward step is with the heel, and in rumba it’s with the ball–plus, the rhythm is different, but I digress), but also what distinguishes the more experienced dancer from the amateur. That is, the more experienced dancer has good technique; the amateur has poor technique.

What my wedding couple and I discussed tonight was that both interwoven in and beyond these four categories is something called musicality. As I think of it, musicality is about not only being on beat, but also about being on THIS SONG’S beat and not THAT SONG’s beat. What I mean is that you can dance east coast swing–the same steps, the same patterns–to Van Morrison’s “Moondance” and Jerry Lee Lewis’s “Great Balls of Fire,” but if someone were watching you dance on video and turned off the sound, the two dances should look distinctly different because each song has a different MOOD.

Along these lines, musicality is first about matching the ATTITUDE of a song. Keeping to my previous example, since “Moondance” is soft and laid-back, your dancing should be easy going–not frantic–if you’re dancing to it. Since “Great Balls of Fire” is upbeat and wild, your dancing should be energized and punchy if you’re dancing to it. If you don’t match the attitude of a song, something will inevitably feel and look “off.” Taking this idea a step further, something will inevitable feel and look “off” if you don’t match or at least compliment the nuances within a song. For example, often a song will have what’s called a “break,” usually 8 counts of music where some if not all of the instruments drop out but the lyrics continue. Well, musicality dictates that when the music stops, so should you. At the very least, you should stop what you’ve been doing and do something different. I think of this as ACKNOWLEDGING THE BREAK. Is it fine to IGNORE THE BREAK? Sort of. Your dance will still work. But will it work as well, will it be as magical as it could be?

No.

This is what my couple and I dove into tonight, the idea that because their song has an ATTITUDE of tenderness, everything they do should be soft and gentle. Like, don’t make any sudden moves. Next we discussed the idea that just as their song (like any song) has sections that are more or less emphasized (read: energized), their dancing should likewise be more or less energized during those sections. More power, less power. “Step on the gas here,” I told them. “Chill out here. Pause. Take a breath before you go anywhere.” Y’all, you should have seen the results. By simply MATCHING their ATTITUDES and MOVEMENTS to those implied within their specific song, my couple went from having a “nice” dance to a “lovely” dance.

A magical dance.

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and we discussed this idea of TIMING. It came up because I told her I had several projects on the back burner and would like to talk about which one might be best to tackle next. “We can do that,” she said, “but I’m thinking just chill out until the end of year.” This is something she’s been suggesting for a while now and something I’ve blogged about a number of times–slowing down, resting. And whereas I’ve agreed with these concepts in theory, the largest part of me has continued to be attached to the idea of go, go, going. But working with this couple of mine has really driven home for me the importance of the pause. Whether in dancing or life, the pause is absolutely necessary. Not only does it give you time to breathe, it also adds emphasis, mystery, suspense.

It’s why these one-sentence paragraphs work so well.

Crap. Did I just give away a secret?

More and more I realize that just as each song has it’s own attitude and nuances, so does each season and so does each life. What’s more, we’re best served when we can TUNE IN TO and MATCH both nature’s rhythms and our own. For example, this summer I couldn’t find it within me to start a diet. The sun was up all day, and I was too busy, too frantic. But now that fall is here and even the sun is resting, I’ve found it easier to slow down and focus on taking better care of myself. Along these lines, I’m getting more and more okay with the idea that this period in my life is about chilling out and not go, go, going. It’s about learning. It’s about transforming. I told my therapist today, “It doesn’t feel like I should step on the gas right now.” It doesn’t feel like I should fill every minute with an activity, every blank space with more than it was meant to handle.

So I’m not.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Help is always on the way.

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On Others’ Beliefs and Two Left Feet (Blog #951)

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Well hell. My home internet (hotspot) is running slow tonight, and it just took me thirty minutes to get online, download today’s picture, and start a new post. I swear, at some point in my life I must have made the mistake of asking God for patience. First he made me a dance instructor (just imagine teaching an uncoordinated married couple how to samba), and now this. Seriously, if you ever want patience, come try my hotspot on a night like tonight. And no, I didn’t mean for that to sound dirty. Unless, of course, your name is Zac Efron.

Awe, it’s been a while since I’ve made a Zac Efron reference.

Recently I read an article in Psychology Today about boundaries. And whereas it was mostly focused on what we choose to share online, it brought up a good point–if you wouldn’t take out a billboard with whatever you’re saying on it, maybe you shouldn’t put it on Facebook. Because that’s essentially what you’re doing. Telling all your friends, neighbors, and God knows who else–I’m heartbroken, my bowels are WAY off today, Trump can suck an egg. This morning I saw my therapist, and she said, “That’s right. If you wouldn’t print it on a t-shirt and walk down Main Street, don’t say it.”

One idea the article presented was that Facebook and other social media platforms by design create a false sense of intimacy, that it FEELS like we’re sharing the personal details of our lives with a select few, but in fact we’re not. We’re sharing them with EVERYONE. (Don’t tell me you haven’t creeped on a stranger’s feed. Well, someone’s creeped on your feed too.) Another phenomenon that happens online is that whenever you read or watch something, it FEELS like it just happened. People watch dance videos I uploaded to YouTube years ago and respond as if whatever I did just occurred, as if they were right there in the room and I’d asked for their opinion. Don’t wear flip flops when you dance!  Get off your heels! The blonde hair was a mistake!

Of course, few of us would be so bold–so fucking rude, frankly–in person, especially with strangers. But there’s something called cyber courage (cyber rudeness) that makes us lose our boundaries and our manners. It makes us lose our patience with our fellow humans.

Something I’ve been chewing on the last few days is having sympathy and empathy for other people and their experiences. What I mean is that–like we all do–I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about myself, trying to understand me. And whereas this has been extremely helpful, it’s also often left me scratching my head when it comes to others. Part of this head-scratching, I think, is simply a matter of what comes easy to one person doesn’t necessarily come easy to another. This is why teaching dance has been good for me. I pick up on dance things fairly quickly, so any time I run across someone who doesn’t, especially if I’m hungry or in a bad mood, it’s a chance for me to consciously practice patience. A chance for me to take a deep breath and remind myself that this person isn’t tripping over their two left feet IN ORDER to piss me off.

There’s a popular idea that people are doing the best they can in any given moment. I once had a friend who told me some of the most intimate details (traumas) of their life the very first time we ever hung out. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this should have been a red flag–because when you have good boundaries, you reserve the intimate details of your life for those who have earned the right to hear them. My point being that I don’t believe my friend was intentionally having poor boundaries; they simply had never been taught them. My therapist and I talk about this a lot. Most of us (including me and my therapist) didn’t grow up being taught to set limits with ourselves and others, being taught to be direct (and kind) in conversation.

Getting back to the idea of a thing being easy for one person but not for another, I often make the mistake of believing that simply because I’ve learned or have started to learn something, the entire world has. Of course, this isn’t true. Today I told my therapist that I wished people could be more straightforward, and she said, “Marcus, for some people, being straightforward would be as terrifying as you walking out that door, suddenly being in China, and not knowing a lick of Chinese.” This is what I mean about having sympathy and empathy for someone else’s experience. In writing there’s the idea that even if a character isn’t the hero of YOUR story, they’re most certainly the hero of THEIR story. My point being that you may get upset with people in your life for having certain political leanings or–I don’t know–being bad dancers, but for them, their beliefs and two left feet make perfect sense. Absolutely perfect sense. For them, you’re the odd one.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

The Last Word (Blog #925)

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Currently it’s four in the afternoon, and I feel gross. For the last week and a half I’ve been fighting sinus junk and losing. Last night my dad came down with a sore throat, and today he said, “It’s your fault. You gave it to me.”

That’s me, a giver.

Thankfully, Dad and I have been able to rest today. Last Tuesday, right after I got sick, Dad had a pacemaker put in. “Don’t touch the dressing or take a shower for ten days,” the doctor said. And whereas I remember thinking that ten days was SO FAR away, it wasn’t. This morning Dad had his dressing removed, and everything was fine. Anyway, now Dad’s taking a nap in his room, and I’m in bed–horizontal–in mine. Outside the temperature is dropping. Fall is here. Life is slowing down, urging me to.

Later tonight I plan to go out dancing. Not because I have a ton of energy, but because I think it will be enjoyable to move, to see my friends. Having dealt with sinus issues most of my life, I have a lot of memories of dancing not at my best. There was that holiday performance at a local department store. I could barely stand to get ready. There was that miserable trip down to Houston. Thankfully my fever broke once we arrived. Anyway, in every case I somehow made it, dragged my ass out onto the dance floor and managed to have fun. That’s the point, of course, fun.

Years later, I’d rather have the memory of dancing while sick than not dancing at all. Which is why I plan to get myself together and get out of the house later. Now, granted, if I were at death’s door, running a fever and coughing constantly, I’d stay in. But it’s not THAT bad. I just need to take it easy, pace myself. Perhaps do more talking than dancing. Leave when my body says leave.

One way I’m pacing myself today is getting this blog done now instead of later. So when the dance is done, I’m done. Today’s blog is #925 in a row, and I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve forced myself to stay awake to finish writing. This has been my choice, of course–to write at night, to write at all–but I’m sure my body has paid the price. Our bodies always pay the price. Sometimes they shut us down, force us to rest whether we like it or not. Personally, listening to my body is one of the toughest things I do. I’d much rather tell it how it should feel instead of listen to how it does. Alas, our bodies always get our attention.

They always have the last word.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For me, it's important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad they are, your circumstances can turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

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It’s Time to Change My Sheets! (Blog #912)

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Phew. It’s been a busy twenty-four hours. Last night I attended a swing dance at an airport hanger/museum in Northwest Arkansas. The best part? A bunch of my dance friends were there, including several who drove down from Springfield. Talk about a party. I had as much fun visiting and dancing last night as I have since I don’t remember when. This is the weekend I always hosted my annual swing dance convention, Southern Fried Swing, so maybe that’s it. Like part of me associates this time of year with, well, a good time. And although I miss Southern Fried Swing, I don’t know, last night might have been better. Only because I didn’t have to foot the bill. Or stay late to clean the floor.

When the party was over, I just left.

Today has been go, go, go. I didn’t mean for this to happen. This morning I thought, I’ll just spend a few hours painting a client’s deck, and that’ll be it. And whereas I did spend a few hours painting, I also spent a few more. You know, I got on a roll. I thought, If I finish this today, I won’t have to come back tomorrow. Well, form follows thought, so that’s exactly what happened. I finished.

Let’s hear it for the boy.

Here’s a picture of the deck half painted with one coat of paint.

Here’s a picture of the deck fully painted with two coats of paint. The light spots are where the paint is still wet. It continues to dry as we speak.

Y’all, waiting for paint to dry is the worst. Waiting for anything is the worst. What I mean is that I really like projects to be “finished,” and although I got a ton of work done today, this project won’t be officially completed until two days from now. This is when the paint will be dry enough for me to put the furniture I took off the deck back on. Again, this means waiting. This means being patient. Currently my laundry is washing, and it’s the same deal. Because I can’t wiggle my nose and instantly make my clothes clean and dry, I simply have to wait the best as I can.

My method of waiting, usually, is to do things while I wait. To be productive. You know, like an American. Tonight while my laundry has been washing I’ve been doing little things around the house–scrubbing a couple stains in the carpet, throwing away expired toiletries, cleaning out my shower drain (it was full of my hair–and a toenail). I’d intended to blog while doing laundry, but the odd job thing started. I kept thinking, While I’m at it, I might as well.

I might as well clean my tennis shoes. I might as well bleach my teeth. I might as well change the sheets on my bed.

It has been a couple months.

I have a journalist friend who jokes that the purpose of time is to keep everything from happening at once. Think about it. If we could wiggle our noses and make everything happen lickity split, it’d be cool, but in exercising the magic to speed things up, we’d also be losing the magic of experiencing the thing–of painting this board then that board, of folding the laundry, of doing the odd jobs. When I think back on my twenty years of dancing, I wouldn’t–even if I could–wiggle my nose and make my nineteen-year-old-newbie-dancer self know everything I know now. Why? Because I’d miss out on the experience of twenty years of learning, twenty years of traveling, twenty years of dancing with my friends. It’s that worn-out thing that everyone says–it’s the journey, not the destination.

Last night I had some fabulous dances. For some of them, I pulled out moves I learned five, ten, and twenty years ago. Seen from this perspective, my dances last night were decades in the making. And although I didn’t know these dances were going to happen, in one sense I’ve been waiting to have them all my life. Didn’t you wait your entire life to do whatever you did today–even if was just eat today’s breakfast, wash today’s laundry? Think about it. Whatever you’re doing right here, right now, has been a long time in the making. And you’ve been oh-so patient. Or not. Either way, rather than making it ho-hum moment, enjoy it. Like, Finally! It’s time to change my sheets.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We're allowed to relabel and remake ourselves.

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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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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.

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Our Burdens Fall Away (Blog #840)

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It’s ten-thirty at night, and I’m plum tuckered out. Last night I stayed up reading a theory about the mathematics of creation and got so excited thinking about it that it was three in the morning before I finally wound down. (I’m a nerd, I know. But an even bigger nerd had to write the theory, so there’s that.) Then this morning I got up early to help a friend move. But then the stars didn’t align, and they postposed. Well hell, I was already awake, so I made breakfast and did more reading. Then I exercised and read some more. Seriously, y’all, have you tried reading?

It’s great.

What really made me tired, however, was not turning pages. True, I’m a delicate flower, but not THAT delicate. No, what wore me out was mowing. Recently I picked up a couple lawn care gigs and did them both this afternoon. Mowed and weedeated. Maybe this was a mistake, tackling both jobs in one (very hot) day. My lower back sure seemed to think so. Oh well, it’s over now, and I have the entire weekend to recover. This was my logic in working so hard today, that I’d have more time later to relax.

And by relax I mean read.

Recently I finished a book called Rules for the Dance by Mary Oliver, about how to read and write poetry. It’s stunning. For anyone who loves words, whether you’re into poetry or not, I recommend it. Anyway, one of the notes I took from the book was about ballads, which are a particular type of poem and–often–set to music. Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers, for instance. Anyway, if in a ballad there’s a line that repeats itself at the end of every stanza, that’s called a refrain. The line “I can’t help falling in love with you” in Elvis Presley’s song Can’t Help Falling in Love is a good example.

Okay, heres’ the part that interests me–the refrain is sometimes referred to as the burden.

I’ll explain.

Recently I had someone say something that was intended as a joke but hit a nerve with me. A small nerve, mind you, but a nerve nonetheless. And whereas I had a chance to say something about it, I decided to let it go. My therapist says, “You can’t confront all day every day–well, you could because people are full of bad behavior, but that would be exhausting.” My point is that having decided to not say anything about the matter, I was left with it in my head. So for the better part of a day I mentally replayed (repeated) the situation, imagining different outcomes.

I’ve done this so many times with so many different things it’s not even funny. Talk about wearing yourself out. Byron Katie says , “Who is more hurtful: the person who wronged you once or you for reliving it over and over in your head?” I hate this, but whenever I ask myself this question, I always have to answer–I am more hurtful. This is what I mean by the refrain being a burden. People say rude things. They cut us off in traffic. Even worse. In an instant, it’s done with. And yet we rewind and repeat the very worst in our lives. In so doing, we refuse to let the moment pass. Instead, we hold on–we hold grudges.

We punish ourselves.

Eckhart Tolle has a book called The Power of Now, which–if I recall correctly–is largely about the healing power of the present moment. For example, right now it’s quiet. There’s just a faint hum of a florescent light and the clack of my keyboard. I’m tired and my body hurts somewhat, but all the grass and dirt from this afternoon have since been washed away, and even the blisters on my hands have begun to repair themselves. And whereas I could sit here and imagine all sorts of both mildly irritating and actually horrific things that have happened in my past, the fact is that they now only exist in my memory. This is what’s beautiful about this present moment. Every horrific thing is over. Right here, right now, if we don’t repeat them, our burdens fall away. Right here, right now, we begin to heal. Right here, right now, there is grace for us.

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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Tits Up (Blog #824)

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Sometime yesterday I (apparently) found the magic probiotic/kimchi combination to heal my sinus infection. Last night after I blogged, my energy level kicked up, and I couldn’t fall asleep. Oh well, I’ll take being tired over being sick any day. Tired–that’s what I’ve been today, since I got up early to teach a dance lesson. Again, I’m fine with this. It’s nice to be employed. Did you hear that, Universe? I’m grateful for both feeling better and having work to do.

So please let’s keep this up.

Currently it’s one-forty-two in the afternoon, and I’m blogging now because I have a doctor’s appointment shortly and then the short-story writing class I’ve been attending for the last month. Earlier today, after my dance lesson, I went to Kinko’s and printed off a dozen copies of the story I finished yesterday, so everyone in the class can have one to either criticize or praise. Or both. Or remain silent.

I’m preparing myself for all reactions.

During this morning’s dance lesson, the wedding couple I’ve been working with practiced one of their stunts. You know that little moment at the end of Dirty Dancing when Patrick Swayze lifts Jennifer Grey over his head, like, no big deal. Well, it’s been going–um–okay, but today it just wasn’t happening. The groom’s arms were tired. His knees hurt (because another part of the dance requires his spinning on his knees). The bride was nervous. Ugh. It’s a big deal to trust someone else to hold you above their frickin’ head. There’s a part of the lift that requires the girl to push off the guy’s shoulders and immediately go into that “light as a feather” pose, and she kept hanging on.

Girl, I get it.

It’s hard to let go.

Earlier at Kinko’s I forgot to hit the “collate” option, and my pages printed like this–page 1, page 1, page 1–page 2, page 2, page 2. Anyway, I had to sort them myself by hand on an empty counter–page 1, page 2, page 3–page 1, page 2, page 3–and when the manager came over to see if I needed any staples or paper clips, I imagined that he saw the first page of my short story, then I got embarrassed because–What will he think? What will anyone think? Maybe it’s a bit of what I felt like when I started this blog. Here I am world, this is me.

In the Netflix serious The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, the main character is a standup comedian, and her manager–a real dude of a lady–always has the same encouragement for her client before she goes on stage–“Tits up.” This has become “a thing” with me and some of my friends, and I’ve started using it with my dance students, even though they haven’t seen the series. It means–stand up straight, lift your head (don’t look at the ground!), and BE PROUD. In all areas of my life, I’m working on this, on not shrinking or shying away or feeling ashamed, but rather being comfortable and confident in my skin and in my work, however much I weigh, however I happen to feel, and regardless of what others think.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If anything is ever going to change for the better, the truth has to come first.

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On Fermentation (Blog #512)

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Well shit. After waking up at 6:15 this morning and rushing to and through the St. Louis airport just to sit on the tarmac (again!) for over an hour (due to lightning), I finally made it to Washington, DC, this afternoon. The good news–my luggage made it too. In fact, it was one of the first onto the conveyor belt. The bad news–almost everything inside was wet. I guess they left my bag outside while it was raining. Oh well. I took a complimentary (hotel-sponsored) shuttle to the hotel where I’m staying, got checked into my room, and laid my clothes out to dry.

When I told one of my friends about my problems yesterday and today, she said, “The flight home will be better.”

Let’s hope she’s right.

I’m here in the nation’s capital for the International Lindy Hop Championships, one of the largest and well-known swing-dancing competition events in the world. This is my first time here, my maiden voyage, and I’ve come mostly to observe. And despite the fact that I’m not competing or taking classes, normally I’m intimidated in new dancing situations. But today I’ve felt at home–comfortable in my own body and heart. What’s more, I’ve seen some friendly faces–people who know my name and seem to like me. So that helps.

The weekend here is jam-packed with things to see and do. I’m not sure what’s going on now, but I do know that dinner starts before long, so that’s my priority. Well, after I take a shower and brush my teeth. Since I was stuck in St. Louis last night while my luggage was stuck in Tulsa, I haven’t used an honest-to-god toothbrush in over thirty-six hours. Granted, I did scrub my teeth with my finger and a bar of hotel soap (that tasted ever so slightly like lemon), but that’s wasn’t the same thing. Also, I know washing my mouth out with soap sounds gross, but it was my best option at the moment and wasn’t as bad as you might think. Try it for yourself sometime.

Just don’t swallow!

Currently my brain is mush. I could really use a nap. That being said, I can’t stop thinking about fermentation. Odd, I know, but I finished reading my book about alchemy on the plane today, and fermentation is one of the seven phases of what alchemists call The Great Work. And not that they have to happen in a certain order, but fermentation is step number five and is basically the step in The Great Work (or self-work or spiritual work) in which “the hard part” has been done and now you simply wait as everything in your life putrifies, breaks down, and rots. It’s not pretty or fun, but that’s why St. John of the Cross referred to this stage as The Dark Night of the Soul.

Of the seven stages, this is the one I currently identify with the most, as it’s the one in which you feel as if nothing in your life is working–because nothing in your life is; it’s not supposed to. Rather, by design, all the things you once held dear–including your values, relationships, and precious opinions–are intended to break down and fail you so that YOU can be transformed. The books advice? Wait. Do nothing. Don’t try (because you’ll fail). Try resting for a change.

This advice is frustrating for a do-er like me, of course, but what I love about this alchemical way of looking at the world is that it reminds me that you can’t force The Process. Sometimes the best you can do–the most appropriate thing you can do–is wait. Be still. What’s more, I’m reminded that just as suddenly as problems and frustrations can show up in our lives, they can disappear. At SOME point, the fermentation process does end, and a new, transformed life emerges.

At–some–point.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Normal people don’t walk on water.

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