My One-Sided Fears (Blog #162)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

Answers come built-in. There are no "just problems."

Not Everyone’s Cup of Tea (Blog #133)

1 Comment August 10, 2017 CoCo

Sometimes, at 330 in the morning while the rest of the western hemisphere is sleeping, I feel like sleeping too. More accurately, I feel like quitting. I mean, I love writing, but every damn day is a lot. Surely I could be happy as an underachiever, or hell–just an achiever. Anything but the balls-to-the-wall overachiever that I am. Currently I’m in Springfield, Missouri, staying with some friends, and there’s a remote control and Netflix within spitting distance of this futon, and don’t think I haven’t thought about closing this laptop and going for it.

But here I am–once again–writing. UGH.

This morning, before I’d even been awake for half an hour, I got an email that a piece of writing I submitted for a statewide contest had been rejected. (“Not accepted” was the actual phrase they used.) Well, I don’t mind saying that reading that email sucked. It still sucks. Granted, I get that it’s only one contest and blah, blah, blah, but “not acceptance” always blows in the worst way. I mean–as long as I’m being honest, since that’s what I do here (ICK)–I kind of had my heart set on that contest. A friend of mine is a past-winner, and they said I was a shoe-in. I’d already mentally spent the prize money, thought about how I would thank my parents in my acceptance speech.

I heard recently that a good percentage of our mental activity and time is spent on daydreaming–thinking Well, if this happens I’ll do this. If that happens I’ll do that. If he happens I’ll do him. So I guess all the fantasizing is very “normal,” but it still sucks.

Damn daydreams.

Just after the email came through, I had an appointment with my massage therapist, Gina, and we started talking about which of my leg muscles felt tight. I said my quads felt tighter than my hamstrings, and Gina said, “Hum, let me think.” Then she had a “lightbulb moment,” started working on my quads, and explained that they were pulling the front of my hips down. (Think of a bowl with muscles attached to the front and back. If the front is pulled down, the back will tilt up.) Gina said, “The quads are strong enough to cause your hips to tilt. They have the power to do that.”

Within minutes, I felt my quads release. Gina said, “We may have hit pay dirt.” Later when I got off the table, I could tell my hips were more level, less tilted. My butt didn’t stick out as far. (Sorry, ladies.) My hips weren’t rocked back like usual. Wow, I thought, My body is actually changing. Part of me thought this would never happen, but–it’s happening.

Later I tried to call my therapist and left a message. Then–because it’s part of my creativity homework to spend time in a sacred space–I went to sit in a church. Just walked in and sat down. No one else was there–just me and God. I felt like I was in a movie–that is until the janitor started moving around and making noise. Still, I was this big ball of emotions–disappointed about the contest, excited about my hips, wondering what to do next, whether or not I should throw in the towel, settle. Then I noticed a candle burning near the altar, and I thought about how it continued to burn–day in, day out–no matter whether or not anyone was there to see it. Just a candle burning with no need for praise or recognition.

Can I be like that candle?

As I left the church, I noticed I’d missed a call from my therapist, so I called her back and caught her in between clients. I said, “I get that dreams don’t always come true the way you think they’re going to, even if they do come true. And I’m just trying to not go into a downward spiral over this contest.”

“Contests are so subjective,” she said. “You don’t know if it was a tie and someone said, ‘Just pick one.’ Or maybe the judge had a fight with their spouse that day. Plus you have to remember–people are fucking stupid.”

So then I started laughing.

“You know, there are people who meet me for an intake and say it’s not going to work for them,” she said. “I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. I don’t want to be everyone’s cup of tea. I work REALLY HARD TO NOT BE everyone’s cup of tea.”

Yeah, I like that. I don’t want to be everyone’s cup of tea either.

A couple of weeks ago my friend Vicki introduced to Ana Maria, one of the artists who’s participated in The Unexpected (artist/mural festival in Fort Smith) for the last three years. She currently has a pop-up gallery in downtown to showcase her work, so today she met me for a private viewing. How cool is that? How cool is that octopus mural at the top of the blog?

Way cool.

Here’s a painting Ana Maria did of two foxes. It’s called Grief.

Next to Grief hung a painting she did of an octopus and some flowers. It’s called Jubilo, which is Spanish for joy.

I said, “That’s interesting–grief and joy–right beside each other.”

This evening I drove to Springfield to attend a dance and help my friends Anne and Andy at their wedding venue because one of their regular staff members (my friend Matt) is out of town. During the drive I kept thinking about how many muscles connect to the hips, how hard it is to keep them balanced. If one set of muscles starts pulling, the others have to overwork to compensate. I kept thinking how Gina referred to the quads’ ability to cause imbalance.

They have the power to do that.

At the dance tonight, there were several times that I got completely lost in the moment, having fun, laughing. My friend Andy led me in both two-step and Lindy Hop, and it was a thrill-a-minute because I didn’t have to be in charge for once. (Ironic, I know, that I’ve been upset because things didn’t work out my way.) He even dipped me back. Yippee! Then a couple times I thought, Oh yeah, I lost that contest. I guess I’m still sad about it. But I’m having fun now. And my hips are getting better.

I suppose Ana Maria had it right–putting grief and joy beside each other. Perhaps they’re the same thing–expectations disappointed, expectations fulfilled. This is the way life goes. But when I think about someone I don’t even know judging my writing–one of probably hundreds of entries–I know that person, that situation can disappoint me, but neither has the ability to affect my balance for very long. No, I’ve decided. They don’t have the power to do that. I’ve worked too hard to not be everyone’s cup of tea. What’s more, my joy comes from within, and–at least for now–sitting at this laptop every night is what I’m called to do, what my soul demands.

So I guess I’ll write another day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

It’s enough just to be here.

The “Enough Is Enough” Button (Blog #130)

1 Comment August 7, 2017 CoCo

Last night I went to Walmart in Van Buren to buy the ingredients for dirt dessert, which are basically sugar, sugar, dairy, and Oreos. One of my creativity assignments this week was to “bake something,” so I figured I didn’t need to complicate the matter and settled on something easy. Anyway, while I was shopping, I noticed some light-up block letters used for decorating, so I rearranged the top row to spell SICK. (The only other option was TITS, and that’s not really my thing. Plus, it’s Van Buren.) Notice the letter I is actually a bottle of beer. It was the only “vowel” available, and I actually enjoyed the implication.

Been there, done that.

As it turns out, there’s a reason I’m not a cook. I screwed up the dirt dessert. Basically I thought I had to make the vanilla pudding first (with 4 cups of milk) AND THEN add an additional 3 cups of milk along with the other ingredients. Well, I was mistaken. I needed 3 cups total, not 7. So things turned out–uh–runny, more like a milkshake. That being said, the concoction did firm up a bit overnight, and it’s pretty tasty.

All day–all day–today, I’ve had a headache. Maybe I slept wrong. Maybe my body doesn’t like a month’s worth of sugar in one night. It’s difficult to say what causes these things. But it hasn’t been fun, this sort-of dull pain that just sits at the back of my head the way a vacuum cleaner salesman might sit in your living room and refuse to leave. So far I think I’ve taken Ibuprofen or Tylenol three or four times today. I lost count. Currently I have a heated rice bag around my neck and have peppermint oil slathered everywhere above my shoulders. It’s supposed to help, but I smell like a candy cane.

It’s not cute.

This evening I went out to eat with one of my favorite people, who likes to remain nameless. I mean, she has a name, uses it often, seems to enjoy it, but likes to remain nameless–on this blog. Anyway, more than once she said I was perky. (Perky–that was her exact word. I’m quoting.) I mean, I just looked up the definition. I guess perky is all right–jolly, lively, cheerful, bouncy, effervescent–that’s totally me.

At your service.

Okay, I might as well just say it. I’m starting a new project (in addition to this one because I apparently want to sleep less). The name of the project and website (which isn’t up yet) is called I Want the World to Know. I just started a Facebook page tonight (go like it when you’re done here). It’s seriously in the beginning stages, but the idea is that I’m going to start asking people, “What do you want the world to know?” or “What’s your best advice?” Then I’ll share the answers, with maybe a picture of the person, online. In my mind, the answers will cover a range of topics–self-help, relationships, automobile care, cooking (don’t use too much milk for dirt dessert!). You know, any little thing that might change your life for the better.

So far I’ve only gotten answers from a couple of people. But I asked my friend tonight, and she said she just got back from a trip to Iceland. She said the people there all lived about the same, meaning that both teachers and doctors lived in houses that were similar sizes–no one was too extravagant. What’s more, she said they seemed content with what they had. They weren’t saying, “More, more, more.” So she said that she would tell the world, “Find your ‘enough is enough’ button and be happy. Just because something is good doesn’t mean more will be better.”

Well, I guess to prove the point, she suggested that we SPLIT dessert. (Yeah, sure, I can do that. Considering all the sugar I had last night, that would probably be a good thing.)

Isn’t that adorable?

Since I got home tonight I’ve been thinking about the “enough is enough” button, and I think it has a lot of applications. Obviously, it could apply to anything we buy and collect, as well as food we eat (sugar!), and beer we drink (SICK!). But I think there are a lot of other situations where this wisdom could apply. I know that more than once I’ve reached the point in life where enough was enough. It’s like everything was “fine” until one day when it wasn’t. Maybe that meant I ended a relationship, quit a job, or finally had that difficult conversation because not having it was tearing me apart.

I guess we all have our limits. At some point we take a pain pill, go to the doctor, go the gym. I’ve said before that it was a bad, bad, really bad relationship that got me to go to therapy. But honestly, that was just my “enough is enough” button. I needed to go anyway. Not because I’m any more fucked up than you are, but because I needed some professional help in processing life. I needed boundaries because most people don’t have them. I needed to stop judging myself so much. I needed to believe in myself more. I mean, who doesn’t need all that?

I’m not suggesting you should go to therapy, but I am suggesting therapy is one way to make your life better.

It seems we all have a tendency to overindulge–in material possessions, in addictions, in bad relationships. The upside to this, I suppose, is that it shows us where our “enough is enough” button is, lets us know how much we’re willing and not willing to put up with. (We’re talking about boundaries here.) In my experience, having less–less stuff, less sugar (ugh), less bad behavior–is almost always better. Finding that “enough is enough” button, of course, can take time. But if you know where it is and you haven’t already–for crying out loud–push the damn thing.

[I would love to hear what you want the world to know, what your best advice is. Please message me on Facebook or at me (at) meandmytherapist (dot) com with your story. Or hell, let’s SPLIT a dessert and talk about it in person.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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.

Searching for Abundance (Blog #128)

2 Comments August 5, 2017 CoCo

For at least ten years there’s been a candlestick knitted out of yarn that’s hung on the doorknob in our kitchen. Green and white, it’s meant to be holiday decor and stand upright when you put a cardboard toilet paper roll inside it.

Doesn’t that sound cute? (And by cute I mean something a straight person would think of?)

Well, this morning my aunt Donna Kay (my dad’s sister) dropped by the house and noticed the knitted candlestick for the first time, I guess because it was off the door handle and on the kitchen table. Holding it up, she said, “What’s this?”

“It’s a penis warmer,” I said.

Then my aunt started laughing and said, “Wow. I’ve never seen one that big before.”

Welcome to my family.

Dad told my aunt that my grandma–their mother–had made the knitted candle/penis warmer, that she must have given it to us as a gift before she died. My aunt said, “Why?”

Good question.

As I recall, Grandma was a terrible gift-giver. Maybe I’ve just forgotten the good ones. But I remember once when I was in high school (high school!) having a birthday and getting a Nike t-shirt from her. I realize that actually sounds pretty cool for a grandma, but I’m pretty sure it was a knock-off that came from a second-hand store. Even before I put it on, the seams were unraveling. But Grandma was so proud because it had been a bargain. There I was reaching into the sack, sifting through the tissue paper, and she was saying, “Marcus, I paid five dollars for that.”

Uh, thanks, Grandma.

I think that was the same year I also got a pair of tennis shoes from her. They were cheap, thinner than cardboard, solid white except for the fact they had a hint of green in them. It’s hard to explain, but they had–a patina. They almost glowed. Oh, and another thing–they had velcro straps–the kind used for toddlers and old people. And here’s the kicker–she’s actually bought the shoes (out of a magazine, I think) for my grandpa, EXCEPT HE DIDN’T WANT THEM.

So she gave them to me, her grandson.

Well I guess I could mow the lawn in them. What could it hurt? I’m already a virgin. I might as well stay one.

Maybe it sounds critical, but it’s not meant that way. This is just who Grandma was. Constantly ill, she rarely wore anything other than her nightgown and only used her bra and teeth for special occasions. She passed away when I was in college, and this is the stuff I remember about her. She couldn’t keep a secret–no way. Every Christmas one of us family members would be mid-way through getting a package open, and she’d say, “That’s a pair of underwear. Incase they don’t fit, I put the receipt in the box–they cost eight dollars.” Then she’d add–

“Save that bow, I can reuse it.”

Honestly, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say my issues with scarcity and abundance go back a LONG way. I mean, couldn’t we afford new bows, shoes without velcro straps?

This afternoon, as part of my creativity and abundance homework, I had to find five interesting rocks (I’m not kidding), so I went to Creekmore Park. Well, I discovered pretty quickly that rocks are EVERYWHERE, which I guess was the point of the exercise. There is natural abundance all around us.

The first interesting rock I found was in a dried-up creek bed, hiding amongst the mosquitoes. (Nice try, rock.) It was shaped basically like the state of Arkansas and because it was painted red and said “Go Hogs,” I assumed it had been both tampered with and placed there by human hands. For a moment I thought I should leave the rock where I found it, as it was probably part of some geocaching game (hide something and leave clues online as to where its hidden). But having just spent thirty minutes trying to find ONE INTERESTING ROCK, I decided the universe had left it there specifically for me, so I snatched it right up.

Finding the other four rocks took about an hour and was harder than I thought because–to quote my therapist–I’m picky as a motherfucker. (This should come as no surprise.) Considering this fact, I could definitely cut Grandma some slack. I mean, she didn’t know that I was a budding homosexual with high standards. That being said, I’m sure there were clues–this photo, for example.

How I didn’t come out sooner, I don’t exactly know.

This evening I filled my car up with gas and was all “crap, that’s a lot” when I saw the total. This is pretty much my reaction to buying anything lately, since my income arrives in fits and starts. Honestly, I don’t like that reaction, but I know it’s been there on some level for quite a long time. What? You paid more than five dollars for a t-shirt? You think you’re BETTER THAN ME because your shoes have LACES? So I appreciate the exercise of really seeing ALL the rocks in nature, coming around to the idea of abundance bit by bit. Even though I only took home five rocks, there were SO MANY. They were everywhere, and I’d just never really recognized them before.

Now as I remember Grandma, I don’t think the best gifts she gave us were physical objects. No, definitely not physical objects. Rather, I think her best gifts were the endless stories we now have to share, the things we’re still bitching and laughing about all these years later (penis warmer!). This fact reminds me that abundance truly does comes in many forms–in rocks, in stories, in a family’s laughter–all of which, like a good Christmas bow, can be saved for later and used over and over again.