This Powerful Ocean (Blog #833)

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Hum. Since waking up this morning, I’ve felt generally blah. Mostly, I think, because of my sinuses and the fact that I didn’t get much sleep last night. I stayed up visiting friends, then got up early to have a nick in my windshield repaired. Apparently they don’t repair well during the heat of the day. Ugh, today was the day of spending money, first on the windshield, then on new brake pads. And whereas neither of these things was TOO expensive, the mechanic who replaced my brake pads said, “Crap. One of your struts is leaking. But don’t worry–I can fix it for $420.”

I can’t tell you how much I hate this news.

The last time I talked to my therapist about my financial concerns, she said, “I know it feels like you’re taking one step forward just to take two steps back, but hang in there. I’ve been exactly where you are and I promise–it won’t always be this way.”

This is my new mantra. It won’t always be this way.

In the past when I’ve been overwhelmed by money or anything else, my therapist has suggested self-care–crying, spending time with friends, anything I can do to let go and relax. So this evening, for the first time in a long time, I laced up my tennis shoes and went for walk. And whereas it didn’t solve any of my immediate problems, it did feel good to move. Hell, I even skipped part of the way. Might as well do some knee rehab, I thought. Also, although I didn’t cry, I did have one tender moment when I passed a particular evergreen tree that reminded me of several from my childhood. They were all in a row on the playground of the school I attended in first and second grade, and I remember crawling in between them to read a book or hide during hide-and-seek. Memories like this one always get me, I guess because they remind me of a time when I felt free.

This evening I started reading a book called Inner Work: Using Dreams and Active Imagination for Personal Growth by Robert A. Johnson. I’m only about fifty pages in, but so far I’m riveted. The book quotes Jung, stating that our personality (our ego) is like a cork floating in the ocean, and our unconscious is the ocean. In other words, you’re probably not aware of the vast majority of you. The good news, the book says, is that our unconscious self daily makes an effort to communicate with our conscious self and give it information it needs. Through dreams, for example, which use SYMBOLS to convey important information that we’re not aware of in our waking state.

Several times before I’ve mentioned Internal Family Systems, a psychological model that sees each of us as made up of different parts, like the Inner Critic, the Inner Child, and others. Well, Johnson says the same thing, that our unconscious is made up of different energetic patterns (thoughts, emotions, beliefs) or personalities, and that it’s these patterns or personalties that clothe themselves in the images (or symbols) of our dreams. This is why if you dream about someone you think is a real bitch (or, on the other hand, a real class act), the dream isn’t about that honest-to-god person. Rather, it’s about the real bitch in you, the real class act in you.

Another point the book makes is that if you don’t learn to work with your unconscious consciously, it’s still going to reveal itself to you–through “psychosomatic symptoms, compulsions, depressions, and neuroses.” In other words, you’d better learn how to swim or you’ll end up drowning in your own ocean.

I said recently that there’s a theory that our needs (problems, challenges) arise because something bigger than our needs is wanting to emerge from within us. Along these lines, I’m encouraged by the idea of having an unconscious that’s so much bigger than my conscious personality. Granted, my conscious personality is what I’m used to. Hi, I’m Marcus. I teach dance. I’m a nice guy, a damn fine fella. Still, my conscious personalty doesn’t have the answers to a lot of my problems. Indeed, it worries about money and gets in quite the twist when things don’t go its way. So I’m really coming around to this idea of the unconscious, this powerful ocean inside of me, this powerful ocean that is me, full of answers and resources and–above all else–free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life proceeds at its own pace.

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On Looking Back (Blog #686)

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It’s Valentine’s Day. No offense to anyone in a relationship, but–balloons, chocolates, and candy–ick. Clearly I’m not in a relationship. And whereas most days I’m okay with that, I admit it–today it’d be nice to have someone to take a selfie with so we could post it on social media and make all the single people out there jealous. Now, what I’d do with this person the other 364 days of the year, I don’t know. Anyway, in order to NOT be jealous of all the lovely couples out there posting pictures, I’ve tried to stay off the internet today. I say tried–I’ve only been mildly successful.

This afternoon I started worrying about finances. That’s a great thing to do on a day when you already don’t feel great. Then I started getting a headache and maybe a fever blister, so I took a nap. Sometimes this is my best strategy when I can’t find a good-feeling thought. Unfortunately, the nap didn’t last long, and I woke up still overwhelmed. But then a friend who’s a great listener and always makes me laugh called, and we solved the world’s problems for almost an hour. Now I don’t feel fabulous, but I don’t feel awful either, which I consider an improvement.

I guess there’s something about getting your worries and concerns out–saying them to a friend, writing them down on paper (or the internet) that makes them feel more manageable. I guess it gives you room to breathe. That’s something I’ve been trying to do lately–breathe. (I’ve also been trying to stay off the internet today). I feel like my body is asking me to breathe, to slow down, in a dozen different ways, and I really am trying to give myself a break. And yet there’s all this stress. Wayne Dyer says you could search the world over and never find enough stress to fill up a bucket. That is, it’s all in your head. I would add, however, it’s also in your body. When I get worked up, I get a headache, maybe a fever blister. I break out in hives.

Put me in a bucket, Wayne.

Yesterday I told myself that I was going to take myself to a movie this afternoon. Since Valentine’s is the day of love, I reasoned, I might as well spend it with someone I care about. Alas, this plan didn’t happen. Instead, I went to the grocery store, where I bought a basketful of fruits and vegetables because I’m trying to add juices to my diet. I say trying because when I got home and made my first juice (spinach, celery, pineapple, and ginger), I discovered our blender is officially a wimp. Seriously, what’s the point of having blades and a motor if you’re no match for a stalk of celery? But whatever, I made it work. And you should have seen me drinking that green stuff. I felt so freakin’ healthy.

Then I had tacos for dinner.

Earlier when I was talking to my friend, I brought up a few bad days from my past–the day my dad went to prison, for example. I said, “Compared to that day, today was a breeze.” And not that I think a day has to be the worst day ever in order to be recognized as difficult. I really hate when you’re struggling and someone says, “It could be worse” or “There are starving children in India.” Granted, it could be worse–things can always be worse–and that doesn’t mean you’re not struggling right here, right now. Still, I do think it’s important to remember that things HAVE BEEN worse–not because pain is a contest–but because looking back can remind you what you’ve come through. It can remind you how strong and capable you are. It can remind you that even the worst situations can come to an end. In short, it can remind you to–

hope.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In other words, there's always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it's also technically impossible.

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An Anything but Awkward Kid (Blog #577)

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It’s eleven at night, and I’m blogging from my phone–one letter at a time–because I spilled tea on my laptop keyboard yesterday. (It’s currently drying out. I hope.) We’ll see how this goes. I don’t have spell check on here.

This afternoon I finished reading a book about money by Seth Godin. I already returned the book to the library, but there was a line in the section about buying houses that went something like this–“Never fall in love with something you can’t afford.” Is that great or what?

Personally, I wish I’d heard this piece of advice BEFORE I started dating.

This evening I got a wild hair and began organizing my printed photos, a project that has been on my mental to-do list for a while now. Anyway, I pulled out Rubbermaid tub after Rubbermaid tub full of pictures from my closet, laid everything out before me, and quickly got overwhelmed. Y’all, I took A LOT of pictures in my teens and early twenties. Granted, I was on the yearbook staff in college and had access to a decent camera, but whatever.

So. Many. Pictures. And barely organized.

Here’s a random dance photo of me and my friend Kira performing at the Dr. Pepper Stage at the Fort Smith Rodeo. Our group used to do that every year.

Taking deep breaths and reminding myself that any progress is better than nothing, my first task was to separate the pictures into large groups–summer camp, dance, high school, and college. Quickly, I thumbed through a hundred memories. What a trip this was, looking back over a solid decade of my existence, a dozen haircuts, waist sizes, and ages. There I was 18. There I was 30. Did either of these men even know the first thing about life?

Does this one?!

Here’s a picture of me and my friend Cameron, who drove from Texas to surprise me for my 30th birthday. I felt like shit that day, for my surprise party. I’d been sick for weeks, and–honestly–was not amused by the surprise itself. I was and am, however, deeply touched by all my friends who showed up.

After my “first pass,” I began grouping the photos more specifically–birthday parties, college yearbook staff, family photos from 2001 (the year Dad came home from prison). I also started throwing pictures away. I know this amounts to sacrilege for some people, but really, what need do I have of photos that are blurry? Or of photos of people I don’t remember or of couples who are no longer married?

Like I’m gonna pull THOSE out the next time one of them comes over to visit. Remember that time you married an asshole?! (God, that was THE BEST CAKE.)

I’ve said before that my butt’s always been the same size (roughly the size a bowling ball) and that I’ve just grown into it. Well, here’s proof from my pre-teen years and the swimming pool next door. Notice the super-cool elastic waist band.

Here’s another picture from several years later (I think). Surely I’d started puberty. Either way–same butt, bigger body.

After a few hours of this picture-sorting business, all while sitting on the floor, my body said stop. So I’ll get back to it tomorrow, or at least that’s my plan. Considering I have stacks of photos blocking my closet door, I NEED to get back to it tomorrow if I ever want to wear clean clothes again.

Even with “just a little bit” of this project completed, I already feel all the emotions. There are so many pictures of people, grandparents, who are no longer alive. People I used to spend SO MUCH time with, and yet now we hardly speak. And it’s not like–in most cases–we knew the end was coming. It just did. One day, things weren’t the same as they used to be. This is life–people pass away and people move away. People fall in love with other people who aren’t you.

And there’s no going back.

Aside from all the emotions and a definite feeling of–Where did the time go?–I’m enjoying getting the photos in a rough chronological order. I am, after all, a neat freak, and it’s good to have my memories nearly stacked away. Plus, I don’t know, there are times I know I wasn’t fully present for my life, times I was just keeping my head above water and maintaining appearances, and those memories are jumbled. So the pictures are helping me get things straight. Oh yes, this happened, and then this happened, and then THAT happened.

I hope that makes sense.

The other thing I like about this project is that I’m finding more compassion for myself. Back then I felt so awkward. Even lately, so often I’ve looked at old photos and picked myself apart, like, Why did I ever wear that outfit, or stand that way? But today I’ve seen a kid who was under immense emotional and physical stress who was doing the best he could. A kind kid. A good looking kid. An anything but awkward kid. A kid I’d give anything if I could go back and tell, “You’re gonna be all right, baby. I promise. You have everything you’ll ever need inside you. Relax. It’s all going to be okay.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same.

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