When Your Inner Child Throws a Fit (Blog #863)

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Two hours ago I was just about to start blogging when my dad invited me to go out for a waffle. Well, what do you think I did? That’s right, I went out for a waffle. And whereas it was delicious, now it’s now eleven-fifteen and I’m nearly too tired to write. For the last thirty minutes I’ve been here at the keyboard trying to figure out what to say. Ugh, today my emotions have been all over the place. And not that I mind talking about my emotions, I just haven’t been able to get a significant enough handle on what they are in order to do so. Maybe we can figure this out together.

This afternoon I read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by CS Lewis. Then I went to the library to tune into a live Q&A for an online class I’m taking about archetypes (among other things). Alas, when the video stream started, I found myself frustrated–first because my phone’s mobile data and internet connection had been down all day (I contacted tech support at the library and found out there was an area-wide outage), second because the video stream started thirty minutes late (they were having technical issues too), and third because Google said the rash on my right arm is ringworm (ick, gross). Later I got more frustrated because the Q&A was still going on as the library was closing, which meant I had (I chose) to sit just outside the library on a bench in the hot sun in order to stay connected to their internet and finish the video.

While I was outside, I got a headache and ants crawled up my pants.

This evening I mowed and weedeated my parents’ lawn. And whereas everything went fine, the weedeater I used was–how shall I say this?–below average in intelligence. Like, it’s one of those battery-operated numbers that won’t let you tap the end on the ground to let out more cord. Instead, every time you want more line, you have to turn the weedeater off, turn it upside down, take the lid off the line container, and release more line by hand. This gets old really quick. This GOT old really quick. Y’all, by the time I finished the lawn, I was ready to spit.

Oh well, I thought after I took a shower, at least there’s chocolate cake that the neighbor brought over. That’ll make me feel better.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” my dad said when I looked in the kitchen and couldn’t find the cake. “I ate all of that.”

AAAAARRRRRGGGAAAAHHHH.

Okay. I think we figured out my emotional roller coaster. Nothing AWFUL happened today, but I did experience a number of frustrating and disappointing situations, things I wanted to go one way that went another. Welcome to the planet, Marcus. Sometimes life throws you a curve ball. Or a dozen curve balls. A day.

Look alive.

Personally, I wish I were blogging about something else, something more “positive.” I don’t like admitting that I’m–well–human and have days that get the best of me. That being said, I’m not currently AT MY BEST. I just got over a stomach bug. My body is tired. Life’s been kicking my can for a while now. I’m not complaining. I’m okay with being kicked around a bit. Because I’ve asked the universe for a new life and I understand that–the rules says–my old life has to die first. Still, days like today, although necessary to develop character, aren’t fun.

I just said that emotionally trying days develop character. It’s true; they do. At the same time, I’ve spoken before about constriction versus freedom, and I think that which frustrates us gives us an opportunity to be free, to EXPAND. I’ll explain. The online class I watched today said that when dealing with your inner child, a common response for most people is to tell it, “Shut the hell up and sit the eff down.” But would you do this with your own living, breathing child? No. At least I hope you wouldn’t. Rather, if your child came to you crying, frustrated and disappointed, you’d OPEN YOUR ARMS WIDE and say, “It’s okay, Sweetheart. There, there. Tell me all about it.”

In other words, you’d make room for them.

Now, when your inner child throws a fit, it’s obviously not wise to let it run the show. Nor would it be wise to offer it waffles (like I did tonight) every time it doesn’t get its way. Before long, you’d have to buy all new pants! So I’m not suggesting indulging every inner temper tantrum you have. Let’s face it, few of us have hours, days, or lives that go our way. What I am suggesting is that ignoring any part of yourself is only going to amplify its voice. We’ve all seen ignored children, and it’s not a pretty sight. Well, you’re inner child is no different. It needs your attention. It needs you to acknowledge its feelings. Your feelings. It needs you to listen to you.

You need you to listen to you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is never a straight line.

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Something, Something, and Dates (Blog #77)

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Y’all, I actually worked today. Teaching dance lessons. For money. Praise the Lord.

The work day started with my friend Summer. That’s her in the picture. (If I could get my hair to do that, I would just die.) I know Summer from the Little Theater in Fort Smith and her work with improv comedy. She’s hilarious. Anyway, Summer and her husband eloped a while back, but they’re having a ceremony and reception soon, so she and her Dad came in today to work on their father-daughter dance.

During the lesson I asked Summer how she met her husband, and she said they used to work at the same place, and her friends kept encouraging her to talk to him. This went on for a couple of weeks, and one day she turned around and–honest to god–bumped into the guy. Well, he’d gotten a major haircut recently, so the first thing Summer said was, “I like your hair.”

I like your hair.

Can you believe that line ended up snagging her a huz? I mean, Summer landed a hot dude (I creeped her Facebook page) with, “I like your hair.” It’s like Baby in Dirty Dancing saying, “I carried a watermelon” and ending up in bed with friggin’ Patrick Swayze. Well, first, I love that (the thing and Patrick Swayze). Second, I’ve apparently been doing everything all wrong.

The dance lessons this afternoon were at my friend Bonnie’s house, and she offered to make me a smoothie during a break. They say beggars can’t be choosers, but that didn’t stop me from trying, so I said, “What kind of smoothie? What are you gonna put in it?”

“Coffee, peanuts, hemp seeds, something, something, and dates.”

“Dates? That sounds good. I haven’t had a date in FOREVER.” (It’s funny because it’s true.)

Several weeks ago I saw a hot guy on a friend’s Instagram account, so I creeped him on Facebook. (I swear I don’t spend ALL my time creeping on people. But don’t even front like you don’t do it too.) Anyway, I did something I never do and asked my friend to hook a brother up. To my great surprise and delight, they said they’d give it their best shot. Hashtag winning.

What if tomorrow’s the day?

Well, people have lives and these things are delicate, so it’s been a slow process. But in the meantime I’ve been keeping myself busy fantasizing (not about anything naughty), slipping into little daydreams like having someone to walk with (I’m assuming this guy has legs–the picture was taken from the waist up), or going to the movies together, or wondering if my seven-year-old nephew with long hair would mind standing in as one of the flower girls at the wedding. You know, little daydreams like that.

My therapist says that daydreams like these are completely normal. A long time ago I told her that I’d meet a total stranger and immediately start thinking about marrying him, moving to a big city, maybe even having kids. She said, “I don’t know anyone who DOESN’T do that.”

Anyway, this evening I found out that the guy is seeing someone (who’s not me). What a drag. On the scale of lifetime disappointments, this one ranks pretty low. But on the scale of today’s disappointments, it pretty much takes the cake (cake!) because it’s the only one I’ve had, unless you count the thing about Summer’s hair being better than my hair, which I don’t.

In the past two years, I’ve gotten myself all worked up about a couple different assholes–I mean gentlemen–I met online. In both cases, I actually talked to them–things were going splendidly–that is until it we started planning a date. By we, I mean me, since I’M A PLANNER. (Paula Cole should write a song called “Where have all the planners gone?”) And then–crickets.

When that happened the second time, my therapist did something she almost never does. She gave me a directive. “We’ve reached the point in our relationship at which I can sometimes tell you what to do,” she said, “and I’m telling you to stop talking to guys on Tindr.” So that’s what I did. Never let it be said that I can’t follow directions. But I said, “I never even met these people. We just sent messages to each other. Why am I so disappointed? Why does it hurt?”

“That’s just the death of the fantasy,” she said.

“Well it sucks.”

At Bonnie’s tonight, there were some really strong winds. We were sitting on her front porch, so we put away the outdoor furniture to keep it from blowing away. Before I left, her electricity went kaput. On my way home, I took my usual route, which snakes through town and up a big hill into the back of my parents’ neighborhood. Just before the crest of the hill, I saw that a large tree had fallen across the road, so I had to do a thirteen-point turn, head back down the hill, and choose another route.

Before I did, I used my headlights to take a picture with the big tree. The picture doesn’t really do it justice, but I think I look all right, even if you can’t see the legs I most certainly have. But believe me when I tell you that the tree was so big it took up the entire road. Hell, there were probably little elves that make cookies living in it.

Tonight when I saw the elf tree in the middle of the road, it seemed pretty obvious that I wasn’t meant to go that way, which meant that, in effect, another fantasy had died–my fantasy about traveling down that particular road. (I’m sorry, this road is currently dating someone else.)

So all I can think is that a lot of times our plans and fantasies don’t work out. A LOT OF TIMES they don’t work out. And that can hurt and that can suck. But just because one road doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you can’t turn around, try another one, and still get to where you’re going. Isn’t that what an adventure is? And as for that guy, my friend said they hadn’t given up, so I guess it’s possible that a road that’s blocked today could clear up tomorrow. I’m really okay either way, but what if tomorrow’s the day to bump into someone and say, “I like your hair”?

What if?

[In the spirit of this post, I’m sharing one of my favorite songs maybe ever, “Ring Them Bells” by Liza Minnelli. (Will and Grace taught me, “Judy, Liza, Barbara, Bette–These are names I shan’t forget.) It’s about the true story of a woman who traveled around the world and met her future husband, only to find out that he already lived next door to her in New York City. It’s fabulous.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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wheel of fortune (going down) (blog #29)

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Currently, I’m in Tulsa, Oklahoma, it’s one-thirty in the morning, and I feel fat. For the last week, I’ve been noticing how the skin around my stomach has given up the good fight, how it’s gotten so tired of holding itself together that it’s taken to resting on the top of my pants. When I lean sideways in my chair, I can feel the skin below my waist and the skin above my waist push together, and it feels like two lumps of Play Doh fighting each other for King of the Mountain. It’s not amusing.

I made the mistake last night of looking at this hot guy’s Instagram. By anyone’s standards (including his own, I’m sure), he’s ridiculously gorgeous. It should be against the law to look like that. It should definitely be against the law to post so many selfies when you look like that. And even though I sat at the breakfast table and scrolled through his entire account (while I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and thought about the abs I used to have), I couldn’t find a single bad picture of this guy. (My therapist would call this good presentation.) So the more I looked at his muscles–his chest was for sure a solid b-cup–the fatter I felt. My only consolation was that he was probably stupid.

All I could think was, God I’m so glad I have this brownie.

So this afternoon I went to Panera Bread for comfort food, and there was this kid working the counter who had no more than a twenty-six inch waist. (He was also wearing makeup that was flawless, so good for him.) Anyway, he’d obviously put some thought into his appearance, and whenever I run into someone like that, it immediately makes me stand up straighter, suck in my gut, and think, God, I wish I weren’t wearing a t-shirt with a dinosaur on it. So when he asked me if I wanted a pastry for 99 cents, I was like, Fuck yes.

Well, the kid gave me my coffee cup, but then he walked away without giving me my pastry, so I had to stand there like a little girl on Halloween waiting for her candy. I honestly felt embarrassed, like, Hey man, I like brownies, okay? Don’t make me beg. It’s not my fault my metabolism slowed down.

So all this was going on in my head as the kid with the teeny-tiny waist and perfect eyelashes boxed up my brownie. And when he handed it to me, I said thank you, and then he said the worst possible thing he could have ever said. He said, “You’re welcome…SIR.”

SIR.

Now I’m fat AND old. What a great day.

But wait, it gets better.

While I was waiting on my food to arrive (yes, it involved bread), I opened my laptop, checked my email, and found out that I was not accepted for a writer’s colony in Massachusetts that I applied for last year. And even though I knew there over six hundred applicants and they were only taking eight, my hopes were high (just like my cholesterol). Of course, once I read the email, they went straight now. KER-SPLAT. And all I could think was, GOD I’M SO GLAD I HAVE THIS BROWNIE.

My immediate reaction to rejections like this is to give up on my dream, like, I suck at writing, and I should just get a job at a donut shop. Well, anytime I start to feel like shit, I try to keep myself from feeling like shit, so I started thinking, I hate the cold. I don’t want to spend the winter in Massachusetts anyway. I don’t need you and your writer’s colony and your–acceptance. But, of course, that didn’t really work. As my friend Bruce said when talking about dancing, “It doesn’t matter how nice a rejection is, it’s still a rejection.”

So I called my friend Marla and told her about the rejection and the brownie and the skinny kid with the good foundation. And when I told her that he called me sir, Marla said, “That little bitch.”

So that made me laugh.

This evening I drove to Tulsa to work on dance with my friends Matt, Anne, and Andy. I got to town a little early, so I went shopping for sweatpants because what better way to increase your self-esteem than to buy sweatpants? Well, the shopping didn’t help, since I couldn’t find what I wanted. I guess sweatpants are only in season during the winter. Geez, what do people do in the springtime when they need an elastic waistband? (I can’t believe I just said that.)

Well, thank God for Matt, Anne, and Andy. We spent over three hours dancing, and most of that was working on lift and aerials, which completely distracted me from the bad attitude I was enjoying before they came along. While we were working, Anne and I were the ones who were getting picked up, tossed about, and flipped over. I can’t tell you how much fun it was. I also can’t tell you how much my body is hurting even as I type this. I guess my hips are tight, or maybe I pinched something in my lower back, but every time I try to stand, it’s like I end up with a right angle at my waist, and even though I’m on my feet, I’m still looking at the floor. So I have to do this whole pep talk routine with my body–Come on, you can do it, just a few more inches and we’ll be vertical.

Honestly, it feels like I’ve been slapped around a lot today. Like life didn’t have anyone else to pick on, so it was my turn. When I was walking out of Panera Bread earlier, I saw the cover of a local magazine that said BITTER on the front, and I thought, “Yes, I am.” Well, I’ve done a lot of blogging this last week about being patient, accepting myself as I am, and trusting that God is intelligent and wise enough to get me where I need to be. And in this moment, I kind of want to take it all back.

So if you ever get the idea to start a blog and say something stupid like, “You can find joy in every circumstance,” don’t. Because chances are whoever’s in charge up there is gonna say, “Wanna bet?” (If you don’t think that this is the way life works sometimes, read the Book of Job.)

Okay, breathe, Marcus.

Joseph Campbell, who was a scholar on myths and religions, tells the story of the Wheel of Fortune. He says that most people live on the outside of the wheel. The gods bless them, their fortunes go up, and they’re happy. But then the gods curse them, their fortunes go down, and they’re sad. But Joseph says the goal is to live your life in the center of the wheel, to find that spot inside yourself that is unmovable. Then you can look at the gods and say, “Give me your best shot. Whatever it is–good or bad–up or down–I’m not going anywhere. I plan to thrive no matter what.”

Personally, I’m reminded that that’s my goal, to meet life’s disappointments and aches and pains not only with Ibuprofen, but also with renewed resolve to hold my center. And sure, I might get knocked off-balance now and then. I might need a brownie and a few friends on days like today. But make no mistake, I’m not going anywhere. Give me your best shot. I plan to thrive no matter what.

[Thanks to Anne for the first picture. It was taken just before I was flipped backwards. I decided not to show you the picture that was taken mid-flip because I think my butt looks big and the shorts I’m wearing make me look naked.]

UPDATE: My friend Marlene dared me to post this, so I am. Also by Anne.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All emotions are useful.

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well, that’s disappointing (blog #8)

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There’s an English slang word that I learned about earlier this year. The word is coddiwomple. It means “to travel purposefully toward an as-yet-unknown destination,” and that’s exactly what’s about to happen. In other words, I don’t know where I’m going with this blog, but, like any good man, I intend to make good time getting there.

For breakfast this morning, I walked to Hardee’s, and although I didn’t realize it, I had my heart set on a steak and egg biscuit, which was a staple item for me several months ago when I was in the midst of fixing up the old house I was living in and getting ready to move. Well, when I got to Hardee’s, I was informed that the steak and egg biscuit was no longer available. It actually took three people to confirm this fact, and the last one, a lady, said, “That was a seasonal item, and the season is over.”

Well, I almost walked out the door, like, Screw you people. I’m taking my business elsewhere. But I was in a hurry to get to the dentist to have two cavities filled, so I decided to stay and eat a fried chicken biscuit instead. (And yes, the irony of eating fast food thirty minutes before going to the dentist to have cavities filled is not lost on me. All I can say is, make hay while the sun shines.) Anyway, it wasn’t the worst breakfast I’ve ever had, but it certainly wasn’t worth getting a cavity over and tasted a lot more like disappointment than chicken.

Always one to overanalyze, I started thinking way too much about why I was so let down about the steak and egg biscuit season being over. I mean, it’s just a steak and egg biscuit. From Hardee’s.

The first place my mind went was this time about a year and a half ago when I’d asked a friend to do me a favor and host another dance instructor who’d come into town to teach for a convention I used to organize. Well, my friend ended up having some of his friends over that night, and my dance instructor was upset, partly, because he thought they were too loud. My first reaction was to get angry, since I thought my friend’s actions reflected poorly on me, so I brought it up in therapy thinking that I’d be agreed with. But I wasn’t. My therapist said that I’d asked someone to do something for me, and then I got angry because they didn’t do it the way I would’ve. She said that I should have been more clear about my desires, said something like, “I’d like you to host someone, please, but I don’t want you blast Michael Buble music until three in the morning. How do you feel about that?”

I said I could have said that, but this sort of thing had never come up before. And then my therapist said, “You’ve been really fortunate. You’ve been spoiled.” (Spin this however you want, but it didn’t feel like a compliment.)

So after the thing at Hardee’s this morning, I started wondering if that was it, if I was just spoiled. And then I started thinking of all the words that are associated with being spoiled, words like rotten and brat, and then I felt like shit because I was convinced I was an entitled little twit who almost always gets his way and throws a temper tantrum every time Hardee’s changes it’s menu. (Sometimes my therapist says that I’m married to suffering, and looking at what I’ve just written, she may be right about that.)

Then I started thinking what a perfectly disgusting word spoiled is, how we should probably ban it from the English language–at least when used to refer to humans and not eggs–because it’s never used to build anyone up. It’s always used to put someone in their place, like, “Who do you think you are, wanting a steak and egg biscuit from Hardee’s?”

So up until the time the dentist put a drill in my mouth, this idea of being spoiled was all I could think about, and I kept trying to figure out the difference between feeling like you’re worthy of good things (like a decent, fast food breakfast) and feeling like you’re spoiled, ready to be thrown out with the sour milk. I’m still not sure I have an answer, but I think it has to do with the difference in feeling like you’re entitled to something as opposed to just wanting it. And I think how severely you react to the disappointments in your life will let you know which side of the fence you fall on.

By the time my cavities were filled and I could no longer open the right side of my mouth, I decided I wasn’t spoiled. Yes, I’m fortunate, but there are so many things a lot bigger than breakfast that don’t go my way. And I didn’t throw a tantrum this morning, I just felt disappointed. More accurately, I felt sad.

A little over three years ago, I was about to break up with my ex. I’d been convinced we were going to get married, but we were fighting all the time, and it was usually about something stupid, like the fact that I wouldn’t go to McDonald’s a block away and get him a McFlurry. (And no, he was not in a wheelchair or somehow unable to walk or drive himself.) Well, I was fucking miserable. Some days I’d just lie in bed and stare at the wall. Then one night we went out to eat at Ed Walker’s, and all I really wanted was a piece of chocolate cake. I had my heart set on it. Like, my life may suck right now, but at least there’s chocolate cake.

So I ask the waitress if they have chocolate cake today, and she says yes. But then she brings German Chocolate Cake, and I start fighting back tears because IT’S NOT THE SAME THING, BITCH.

No, I didn’t say that, but it was probably written all over my face.

Later my ex said that the waitress probably thought I was crazy, which, of course, I was. But I wasn’t crazy because I started crying over German Chocolate Cake–I was crazy because I was dating him. And I was disappointed he wasn’t the one, and I was sad because I loved him, and there was no way in hell that it could work. So I shoved those feelings down at home, and they all came rushing back up as soon as they had a decent chance and I was too focused on chocolate cake to stop them.

So here’s where we ended up, here’s where we coddiwompled. First, the disappointment over breakfast this morning really wasn’t that big of a deal. But it did cause me to stop and realize that there are actually some pretty big disappointments in my life right now, a lot of things bigger than cheap biscuits that haven’t turned out like I thought they would, things that I had my heart set on. And although I don’t want to start feeling sorry for myself, I think it’s okay to feel sad about those things. I think it’s okay to grieve the death of my fantasies. It’s okay to be sad when seasons end. And maybe that means for a while, I need to spoil myself–sleep in a little later, eat my favorite breakfast even if it’s bad for me, go out for chocolate cake. After a while, I’m hoping, sadness will let me go because I listened to it and didn’t shove it down, and then I can strike out with purpose toward an as-yet-unknown destination with nothing to hold me back.

[As a side note, there’s part of me that feels my ex is largely responsible for this blog. In the first place, he’s the reason I went to therapy. In the second, he gave me this laptop. My therapist says that he doesn’t deserve any credit because it was how I responded to the shitty situation that made the difference. But as Andrew Solomon says, “If you banish the dragons, you banish the heroes.”]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"When you’re authentic, your authenticity is enough. You don’t need to compare."