Free (Blog #1086)

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Ugh. I’ve spent all day reading, first a book about energy medicine (weird even for me), then a book about quantum physics and healing (fascinating), then a book I’m editing for a client (lacking commas, but that’s why I’m here). All the while our world has been going to hell in a hand basket. Because of COVID-19, many of us are on self- or government-imposed quarantine. This is confining and, therefore, scary (nobody likes to be pinned down; well, some people do, but I digress), but perhaps it’s for the best. A friend of mine in Alabama who has the virus has had a fever for ten days (and plenty of people are dying), so this virus clearly doesn’t fuck around. Drastic times call for drastic measures. Still, it often scares the shit out of me.

Which is a problem because I only have so much toilet paper.

Earlier today a friend of mine who’s both a mom and a therapist posted on Instagram about how to talk your kids about their feelings about, well, let’s face it, the end of the world as we know it. Her suggestion was to use notecards with blanks on them and have your kids fill in the blanks. For example, I FEEL (BLANK), ABOUT (BLANK), BECAUSE (BLANK) could be filled in as: I feel SCARED, about COVID-19, because I THINK I’M GOING TO GET IT. Of course, we as adults can do this too, especially since so many of us have trouble identifying and/or talking about our feelings. Personally, I feel ANXIOUS, about COVID-19, because I DON’T WANT ME OR ANYONE I CARE ABOUT TO SUFFER OR DIE. And because I’M LOSING MY FREEDOM (to go wherever I want when I want, to eat out, to make money like I have been).

Alas, many of our fears are coming true. Businesses are closing. Cities and states are on lockdown. Most people with the virus are getting better, but no small number are dying. As one of my friends just messaged me, it’s like we’re living in The Twilight Zone. And yet, at the same time that so many things are falling apart, people are rising to the occasion, offering online courses for entertainment, education, and morale-boosting for cheap or free. Companies aren’t charging for their services for the next month or the foreseeable future. Churches are offering to bring food to shut-ins. To borrow and bastardize a famous line, it’s the worst of times, it’s the best of times.

I realize “best” may be a stretch.

Pandemics happen.

One thing about this whole pandemic business that’s got me fuzzed up is the fact that it’s happening just as this blog is coming to an end. Not to make a worldwide crisis about me and my little writing project, but I only have eleven more posts left (including this one), and I’d personally like to be talking about other things. And going out to eat after my last post to celebrate three full years of daily writing and introspection. But as my dad said earlier, “Looks like you’ll be celebrating with your family.” (They’re real partiers. Thank God we have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.) Alas, this is the way of it. Shit happens. Pandemics happen. And as for the content on this blog, my goal from the beginning has been to sit down at the keyboard every day, meet myself, and share as honestly as possible about whatever happens to be on my heart and mind. Lately, it’s been the virus. And if it’s the virus for the next ten days, so be it. I’m not going to change my format now.

I’ve talked before about how healing is 1) a non-linear path and 2) messy, and so is a blog like this. What I mean is that although I’ve written every day, every damn day for a damn while now, there have been a lot of peaks and valleys, posts that I’ve considered glorious, posts I’ve considered not so glorious. As I begin to look back on the project as a whole, however, these labels mean less and less. That is, good days and bad days don’t really matter. What matters is this project as a whole and, more importantly, me as a whole, how I’ve grown as a result of sticking to this thing. What matters is the encouragement, support, and information others have taken away as a result of that sticking. The mystics would say it like this–what helps one, helps everyone.

This concept is difficult to understand from a human, mind-only perspective, but I think it’s something we all know intuitively in our hearts. Currently people are getting upset when their neighbors don’t quarantine because they know they’re not just exposing themselves. They’re exposing all of us. So we get that we’re connected. The good news being that we’re not just connected when someone acts foolishly, we’re also connected when someone acts wisely. Meaning that I truly believe that as you work to deal with your shit, heal your past, and connect with and act from your own good heart, somehow the entire world is changed for the better. Not to put any pressure on you (like, the entire world is affected by your actions), but just to remind you that you’re a powerful being. Call it The Butterfly Effect. Just remember that just as a virus can spread around the world, so can a good idea. So can love and healing.

Mother Teresa, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr. understood this. We think of them as extraordinary humans, but in fact they weren’t. Rather, they were simply souls living up to their full potential, souls acting out of the conviction in their hearts rather than out of fear. This is the benefit to going inside and knowing thyself, the benefit to becoming familiar with and expressing yourself, the benefit of The Path. For one thing, you know what’s in your heart. You learn what power it contains. For another, having met even the scariest parts of yourself and your life with compassion, you’ve learned that there isn’t anything to fear. Or at least that there isn’t anything you can’t face and handle. This is what true freedom is about, not whether or not you’re stuck at home under quarantine, but whether or not you’re free in your spirit. Wherever you are. Whatever your circumstances.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.

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On Bracing, Letting Go, and Being Free (Blog #1058)

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In (what seems to be) my never ending search for healing and wholeness, last summer I found out about a somewhat local physical therapist who facilitates myofascial release, fascia being the connective tissue that touches and, well, connects everything in our bodies. (Even our spit is made of fascia.) And whereas I spoke to her and began making plans to see her, things came to a halt when I found out my insurance wouldn’t help with the cost. Not because the treatment wasn’t covered under my plan (it was and is), but because I’d run out of physical therapy visits for the year.

Thanks, knee surgery.

All this to say that now that it’s the new year and that I’ve seen my primary care physician and he’s sent in a referral for treatment, I finally got scheduled to see my–hum, what shall I call her?–myofascial release wizard (MFRW) today. Ugh. Sometimes things just take a while to fall into place. That’s okay, I thought on the drive there this morning. Maybe my body will be more receptive today than it would have been six months ago.

After an initial interview about my problems, complaints, and posture, my MFRW had me lie on her table, placed her hands on my hips, and began gently pushing on my psoas. “Fascia responds to low, consistent pressure,” she said, “so I’m just going to keep pushing for three to five minutes.” Well, sure enough, after a few minutes I felt things begin to melt, shift, and move about: across my hips, my lower back, my legs, and even my ribs. “Everything’s connected,” she said, “so one part can affect the whole. Just like a sweater is woven together, so are you woven together. What’s more, every person’s WEAVE is different, so no two people get bound up or let go in the same way.”

Letting go, I thought, that would be nice. And whereas part of me did, the entire time there was another part of me that kept wanting to tense against the release, to brace for–I don’t know–the other shoe to drop. Ugh. This has been my mostly unconscious but sometimes conscious habit for years. To tighten, to constrict, to hide, to protect. Alas, after decades of this, it’s become intolerable. My head aches. My shoulder hurts. My hips, move movements have become so–inflexible.

Which makes it hard, of course, to live.

After working on my hips and midsection, my MFRW steadily rocked me back and forth, a movement called rebounding. The idea is that our bodies are largely made up of water, and just as the waves of the ocean can break apart a child’s sandcastle, so too can the water in our bodies break up our stiffened fascia. “Notice what parts flow,” she said, “and what parts feel solid like coral reef.”

“That’s easy,” I said, “my hips feel like coral reef.”

Next she moved my head and shoulders (my actual head and shoulders, not my dandruff shampoo), where she compared myofascial release to everyone’s favorite food. “You can eat a frozen pizza,” she said, “but it won’t really taste good unless you first put it in the oven and get that melty, runny cheese. That’s what we want from your fascia, for it to really let go.” What’s great is that it did. As she pressed her hands down on my shoulders, I could feel my fascia release all the way down to my (hurting) shoulder, my lower back, and even my shins. Trippy, I know, but everything’s connected.

And get this shit. When she worked on my neck, the area that’s responsible for my headaches and that I’ve tried a hundred ways to force to relax, she held out a tuning fork and said, “May I?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’m up for anything.”

Well, she tapped the tuning fork, and it began to vibrate. Then she held it against my neck, and things began to relax, to break up. Just like that. At the same time, I began to cry. “Sometimes emotions get stuck in our bodies,” she said. Go figure. All these things I’ve tried, all this pressure I’ve put on myself to heal, and yet this simple, small vibration cracked me open in a second.

Healing can happen in the blink of an eye.

Later I told my MFRW that for years I’ve carried an image in my head of a yoga instructor I once met whose hips looked so mobile, so free. “I used to be envious of him, like that could never be me,” I said, “but now I think I remember him because he’s an example of what’s possible.” I paused. “That’s what I want, that kind of freedom in my body.”

“What was the last time you felt that?” she said.

More crying. “Oh gosh,” I said. “Not since I was child.”

“So that’s your homework,” she said. “Remember when you felt that free. Remember what it looked like, felt like, sounded like, tasted like.” Additionally, I have two different stretches to do. Nothing forceful, just gentle, sustained pressure. “Wait for your body to let go,” she said. “Don’t force anything.” Lastly, I’m supposed to jiggle. (This should should be easy enough thanks to the chocolate cake I had last night.) jiggling being standing on both legs and just lightly bouncing around and, at the same time, bending over, leaning back. “If you feel something tense,” she said, “let the movement break it up.”

I can’t wait to try.

Now, did everything get fixed in one session? Of course not. Our problems aren’t created overnight, and they don’t go away overnight. So I go back next week. But I already feel looser in my body, I guess because we “took pressure out of the system.” This is a good thing. What’s even better is that I’m highly encouraged, both by my the treatment and my MFRW. And even more by my body. After the treatment I lay in a vibrating recliner (for more jiggling/rebounding), and I felt like it was saying, “Your mind may not remember what it was like to be free, but we do. We absolutely know what that felt like. And, sweetheart, we’re willing to go back there. We WANT to go back there. So just trust us. Let go and trust us. Trust yourself. Stop bracing. The worse is over.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one dances completely alone.

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Pontius Pilate and the Haters (Blog #1057)

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Tonight’s blog is #1057 in a row, the first of what I’m calling The Final Forty, since I only have forty more to go. And whereas a friend of mine told me last night that forty seemed like a lot to them, after nearly three years of this, it doesn’t seem like that much to me. Indeed, despite the fact that I’d rather be in bed right now, the thought of NOT blogging on a daily basis makes me a bit twitchy. I’ve gotten so much out of The Process that I think, What will I do when it’s over? How will I handle myself? My aunt, who thought I was going to quit at a thousand but over the holidays found out I had three more months to go, said, “You just can’t stop can you?” Well, yeah, I can–watch me, suckas–I’m just going to have to pray about it first.

In terms of The Process, more and more I’m learning to trust it. For example, for a while now I’ve had it in my mind that three years was the appropriate or “right” amount of time for me to blog. And whereas one of my original thoughts was that this blog would turn my life around on the outside (it hasn’t, by the way), it’s ended up turning my life around on the inside. So that’s good. Plus, just over the last few months, things have begun to turn around on the outside as well. For example, I’ve come across a couple healing things that have been extremely helpful. Consequently, I’m feeling better than I have in a long time. I hoping more, believing more.

This is no small thing.

Getting back to trusting The Process, I’ve learned that trusting The Process involves trusting–and following–your gut. Like, three years of blogging felt right, I’m doing it, and things are working out. Even my final blog number (I have this weird thing with numbers) is working out. Like, I thought it was going to be a 6 (365×3=1,095 / 1+9+5=15 / 1+5=6), but I realized recently it’s going to be a 7 because of leap year (1,095+1=1,096 / 1+9+6=16 / 1+6=7). And 7 is the number of completion. (But I thought your favorite number was 9, Marcus. Didn’t you want your final blog to be a 9?) Sure I did. And it is, in months. 3 years=36 months, and 3+6=9. Bam. And whereas I’ll never be able to prove to anybody that this “means” anything or that it’s confirmation I’m doing the right thing (for me), I don’t need to.

This is part of my message, if you want to call it that. Whatever path you’re on should make perfect sense to you. However illogical it may seem to someone else. What’s more, you should be absolutely convinced your path was sent to you by the gods. Like, I’m on a divine mission, get out of my way, bitches. Now, I’m not suggesting you think of yourself as Jesus Christ (they put people in institutions for that), but I am suggesting that, like Christ, you care more about your inner guidance than you do the wisdom of your friends, family, and the rest of the world. Ugh. That guy had it figured out. When Pontius Pilate and the Haters (sounds like a band name, I know) tried to get Jesus to defend himself, he refused. Rather, he stayed silent. Talk about inner strength and certainty, a man who didn’t need to explain himself to anyone other than heaven. Although I’m sure it was tough for him to keep his mouth shut. In this sense, Pilate was a tool for Christ’s transformation, an opportunity for him to take possession of his own spirit instead of giving it over to the day’s drama.

They didn’t call Jesus Master for nothing.

Hum. I didn’t mean to talk about Jesus, but here we are, and perhaps that’s okay. (It’s okay.) I mean, I started off talking about trusting The Process, and Jesus clearly trusted The Process. Granted, he told his dad, “I can think of other things I’d rather do on a Friday afternoon,” but still, he sacrificed: his will, his desires, his–um–life. Alas, this is what The Path often looks like. Sacrifice. Giving up.

Letting go, damn it.

In my experience, sacrifice and letting go aren’t the worst things. For example, this blog has been a sacrifice–a sacrifice of my time, my sleep, my health, my finances (websites don’t host themselves). And yet for all I’ve given up to make this thing happen, it’s given me so much more in return. From what others tell me, it’s given them so much more too. So if you had to sacrifice something, everything, in order to follow your heart’s desire and get more in return, wouldn’t it be worth it? If you had to let go of your old life in order to step into your new one (and you do), wouldn’t you gladly? I mean, here’s the deal. You HAVE to let go of everything when you die anyway. Why not get it over with now and spend the rest of your life free?

Caroline Myss says most of us don’t trust the divine because we think God’s going to take away our material possessions or–I don’t know–ask us to hang on a cross. And whereas these are valid concerns–God’s done it before–more and more I believe that heaven is on our side, rooting us on, just wanting us to see what’s important (what’s inside) instead of what’s not (what’s outside). Not that what’s outside is bad. Stuff’s absolutely not a problem, as long as you control it and not the other way around. Death isn’t a problem either. Jesus looked it square in the eye and said, “You have no power over me.” Not that death couldn’t take his body, it obviously could and did, but it couldn’t take his spirit. This is what The Path and The Process are all about, using both your inspirations and challenges (whatever your personal Pontius Pilate and the Haters look like) not as indicators that tell you how you’re doing (compared to others), but as tools for transformation.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one is immune from life’s challenges.

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On Settling into Your Body (Blog #1053)

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Today I’ve been thinking about, and trying to, relax. I’ll explain. Last night I listened to a podcast that said if you audibly sigh (like, AHHHH) when you exhale enough times (five to ten seems to work for me), it will cause you to yawn and, consequently, trigger your parasympathetic nervous system. Your parasympathetic nervous system being the “rest and digest” part of your nervous system, the part responsible for relaxation and healing. Your autonomic nervous system, of course, being the “fight or flight” part of your nervous system, the part responsible for hauling ass or, if necessary, kicking ass and taking names.

Naturally, we need both parts of our nervous system. The problem being, however, that the majority of us spend way too much time in “fight or flight” mode, either because we live in a high-stress environment (like America) or because we’ve suffered a trauma and our bodies haven’t completely processed (or realized its over) yet. Or both.

More and more I realize just how much stress I carry on a daily basis in my physical body. My shoulders have been tense for decades. My hips are tight. Often I can’t bend over and touch my toes without first taking a muscle relaxer and saying three Hail Marys. You get the point. Alas, somewhere along the way I convinced myself these little aches and pains were normal, a natural consequence of growing older. But having experienced some wonderful improvements in terms of headaches over the last few months thanks to upper cervical care, I’m starting to believe, like deep down and really, that freedom from chronic pain is possible. And whereas I wish I could just push a button and–voila!–be at ease in my skin, I’m learning that this type of freedom 1) comes incrementally, not instantaneously and 2) often requires practice.

Getting back to the idea of relaxation, recently I ran across a blog that reminded me of a form of standing meditation I learned through Chi Kung. Since the blog explains it better and more in depth than I could (or even have a desire to), suffice it to say that teachers of the stance claim that it can help improve posture, increase relaxation, decrease pain, and stimulate chi (energy) flow and, therefore, promote healing. You know, in as little as ten minutes a day. And whereas I can’t personally speak to all these claims, I can say that the stance has helped me relax this last week. Like, you don’t realize how much tension you carry in your body until you begin to let it go. Even a little.

Along the lines of letting go, I’ve done the audible sigh/exhale and yawn thing several times today, either when I felt like it or when I noticed tension in my neck or shoulders. I guess part of the idea behind this practice is to “retrain” your nervous system. This makes sense to me, since my normal reaction to pain (my habit) is to brace against it rather than relax in to it. Consequently, my body has learned to be uptight and on edge constantly. Which is no fun. But after just one day of consciously letting go ever so slightly, I already feel more at ease, like there’s more space here. Plus, what’s great about this exercise is that it can be done at your kitchen table, in your car, hell, in line at Walmart. This afternoon I tried it while bending over and trying to touch my toes, and, y’all, I went from not being able to touch the ground and feeling pain and tension to being able to touch the ground and feeling loose and (mostly) flexible in only six exhales.

This experience, in addition to a number of others, convinces me that–generally speaking–our bodies absolutely CAN relax and be flexible. However, more often than not, they haven’t learned to. Better said, our nervous systems haven’t been convinced it’s SAFE to. That’s what I keep reading over and over again, that our bodies create pain and stiffness because they perceive that we’re in danger, that there’s some sort of threat. And no, it doesn’t matter that you know you’re safe, sitting here right here, right now. If your body doesn’t know it (if it hasn’t fully processed your past dramas and traumas), it continues to be “on guard.”

More and more I’m grateful to my body for always trying to keep me safe. Sure, it’s frustrating when something hurts, but I’m coming to truly believe that if the brain, body, and nervous system can create pain, they can uncreate it. This is when healing really gets fun, when you begin to see what a wonder you truly are, what you’re really capable of. All of a sudden or over a period of time (and what’s the difference, really?), tensions relax, pain that showed up out of nowhere goes back to where it came from, and you let go of the notion that things will never get better. Settling into your body, your home, you breathe deeper than you have in years. Finally, you feel safe.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Miracles happen."

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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It’s okay to ask for help.

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On Freedom (Blog #826)

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Two years ago on July 1 I was in a car accident. It was the death of my Honda Civic Polly. And whereas it wasn’t the death of me, it certainly left it’s mark. (I was rear-ended in the worst way. That’s a sex joke, Mom.) For one thing, my neck continues to hurt. It feels permanently braced. I get a lot of headaches. And whereas I’m working on healing, it’s a process. A process, that’s what the entire accident ordeal was–a process of seeing doctors, talking to insurance agents, and buying a new car.

The new car part is why I’m blogging about all of this now, on July 4th, because it was precisely two years ago today when I first saw, met, and test drove my now car, Tom Collins, whom I love and adore greatly. I remember it like it was yesterday. I pulled up at the car lot on America’s birthday thinking I was about to test drive a different car (a Ford Focus–ick), but the lot owner said, “The SUV we talked about yesterday came in a day early.” Indeed, there on in the middle of the lot sat a Hyundai Sante Fe, doors open, sparkling clean, and blaring one of my favorite songs on the radio–Africa by Toto. Well, I hopped in to go for a spin, and the rest is history. Before I got three blocks away, I knew This is it. Later my dad said, “Marcus, bite the bullet. You won’t be satisfied with anything else.”

Boy was he right. Two years down the road (haha), Tom Collins and I couldn’t be happier. Well, he’d probably be happier if he had new brake pads, but I should be able to take care of that next week. And by “I” I mean my mechanic. But seriously, I enjoy Tom Collins now as much as ever. I absolutely adore his heated seats, power windows, sunroof, and tons of storage space. He’s continues to be simply perfect for me.

All of this to say that earlier today I was contemplating whether or not I was happy or grateful that I was in that car accident, since without it I wouldn’t have acquired Tom Collins, the car that’s taken me to San Francisco and back, to Colorado and back. The car that’s taken me to therapy for the last two years. I thought, Am I GLAD that guy slammed into my bumper and gave me a seemingly permanent crick in my neck? Hum. That’s a good question.

So here’s what I came up with. In addition to giving me Tom Collins, that accident provided me several opportunities. For one thing, it gave me a chance to face my scarcity and talking-about-money issues by dealing with the insurance company of the guy who hit me. (They were asshats, by the way, although very “nice” about it.) For another, it allowed me to accept help from my doctors and caregivers, as well as from my insurance company, who, oddly enough, started covering me the very day of the accident. So, even thought it might sounds like a weird thing to say, yeah, I’m glad I was in that car accident.

Not that I want to repeat it.

It’s weird how we’re often so reluctant to say we’re glad something “bad” happened. It’s like we think we’re inviting trouble, more of the same, if we see the positive side to a difficult situation, so we say things like “not that I want to repeat it” in order to clarify–Hey, Universe, no more car wrecks. I don’t approve of this sort of thing. All of this is superstition. Being grateful for difficult circumstances (or even difficult people) that bring out the best in you doesn’t make them right or wrong or pleasant or fun. It simply means that you rose to an occasion and are happy you were given an occasion to rise to. For me, it’s becoming less and less of a question of whether or not I’m GLAD for the shit things that happen in my life. Why? Because it doesn’t matter whether I’m glad about them or not. Either way, they happen. Except it DOES matter whether or not I’m glad–to me. That is, in this moment I can bitch and moan about that terrible day two years ago and enslave myself. Or I can be glad and set myself free. It’s that simple. I choose to be free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.

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Unbound (Blog #821)

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Currently it’s almost midnight, and I’m just sitting down to write. Where has the day gone? Of course, I know. Last night I was up until four, so I slept in this morning. This afternoon I drove out-of-town to teach a two-hour dance lesson, and this evening I ran errands and helped my aunt assemble some new lamps she recently bought. Then I came home and surfed the internet to wind down. Now here I am, typing, trying to focus but mostly distracted by the fact that I’m tired and feel a little gross. I hope I’m not coming down with something.

I hope I can stop worrying about it.

For the last several weeks I’ve been attending a short-story writing class taught by my friend Marla. The idea behind the class is that we the students will produce a fully fleshed-out short story (of about 1,500 words) by the end of the class, this coming Tuesday. That’s three days from now. And whereas I’ve STARTED a short story and have about 400 words, I’m at a loss for where to go next. For the last four nights (including tonight), I’ve told myself I’d sit down and work on “that thing,” and yet it hasn’t happened. Instead, life has happened. There have been lawns to mow, lessons to teach, books to read, blogs to write, and interwebs to surf.

Ugh, this has caused a lot of internal tension. I keep thinking I’ve GOT to finish that story, that I’ve GOT to have something to read this Tuesday, and that it’s GOT to be good. Great even. And yet I haven’t made writing–or at least trying to write–that story a priority. Consequently, this has become a reason for me to–metaphorically speaking–kick myself in my own shins. Geez, Marcus, would you stop being so lazy? What’s wrong with you? Way to let everybody down.

Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Last night I started reading a book by David Spangler called Everyday Miracles: The Inner Art of Manifestation. I’ve read a lot of books along these lines, and, so far, this one is the best. At least it makes the most sense to me. The author says he’s always had difficulties with traditional approaches to manifestation like positive thinking, affirmations, and rote visualization, and that’s been my experience too. Anyway, I’m only about halfway through the book, but one of the things it suggests when you’re wanting something in your life to change is to 1) get in touch with your current essence and 2) get in touch with the essence of that which you desire. For example, because I get a lot of tension headaches, I’d like to manifest a life without tension headaches. (Is that so much to ask?) So when I did the “essence” exercises last night, my current essence felt like “tension,” and my desired essence felt like “freedom.”

As I’ve thought about this today, I’ve realized that more than feeling tension in my head, I feel constriction. Like things are clamped down, not as open as they could be. Also, I’ve realized that I feel constriction in almost every area of my life–in my finances (scarcity), in my body (in my head, neck, shoulders, and hips), and in my relationships (because, until recently, I’ve so often bitten my tongue or hidden who I really am). In this sense, the headaches I experience are a mirror for how I really feel deep down–bound up. This is what it feels like when I’m afraid of being sick or afraid of not producing a short story or anything else in my life, like I’m–um–frozen.

Stuck.

I’m working on this. Physically, I’m doing all that I know how to do–exercising, stretching, myofascial release. In terms of the pressure I put on myself to be healthy or “get shit done,” I’m trying to listen to my body. For example, when I finish blogging, I’m going to bed. Rather than force myself to stay up and try to write or do other work, I’m giving myself a pass. Hell, Marla told me that if I don’t finish my story, “that’s okay.” There you have it, permission from the teacher to not be perfect. Ugh. Trying to be perfect. Again, that feels like constriction. But permission to not be perfect, that feels like freedom. Going easier on myself, that feels like freedom. This is something I’m learning, that freedom, more than anything else, is a state of mind, a place you visit inside yourself where you can let go–let go of all constrictions and self-imposed expectations and be yourself, unbound.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it.

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On Rip Van Winkle (Blog #820)

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I’ve said before that I sometimes have dreams of yelling at people. Saying, “Fuck you, Nancy!” and things like that. Well, I also have daytime fantasies of telling people off, courtroom-type dramas in which I either replay a situation that happened weeks or years ago or imagine a future circumstance in which I get to tell someone to “Go to hell, Harry!” I don’t know if you do this sort of thing, but it’s fun. At the same time, it’s exhausting, since it’s like the past is never over, the future never safe.

It’s like you’re never–what’s the word?–free.

When I’ve talked to my therapist about these fantasies, we’ve agreed it’s because I’ve spent so much of my life not saying what I really feel. By trying to be everyone’s friend and get everybody to like me I’ve essentially created an imbalance. That’s what the dreams and fantasies are about, evening things out, since, really, I’m neither Mr. Nice Guy or Mr. Asshole. I’m somewhere in between I’m Fine and I’m Pissed Off As All Get Out.

We all are.

Because the pissed-off part of me refuses to go away on its own, I’ve been working on speaking up when I’m angry. Not because it’s fun or pleasant, but because, in my experience, every part of me deserves to be heard and–here’s something–staying silent doesn’t work. Well, it works if you want to make other people happy instead of yourself and–consequently–create a lot of internal anxiety, nervousness, tension, and stress. Not to mention a stomach ulcer and inauthentic relationships. Biting your tongue is great for these things. However, having tried people pleasing, biting my tongue, and being “nice” for decades and realizing (finally) that they can’t give me what I want (personal freedom, inner peace, and happiness), I’m trying something novel–honesty.

A couple examples.

Lately I’ve been posting my blogs to my Instagram account, and after I posted yesterday’s blog, someone I don’t even know, a mental health worker in Texas, commented, “Love this! Mental health is so important! Check out my profile if you’d like; I’m all about giving people the tools they need in order to get to be where they want to be!” Well, this immediately pissed me off, and not just because they used an exclamation point at the end of every sentence. I kept thinking of a business friend of mine who always says, “Build a relationship with me before you try to sell me something.” Anyway, two years ago I would have brushed the whole thing off thinking, What if I upset this person? What’s it even matter? But as I’ve said before, our emotions show up for a reason, and if we don’t listen to and honor them, we’re going to pay the price.

So I responded: “Thank you, and I agree. Also, my comments section is for conversation and isn’t intended as a billboard for total strangers to use. #boundaries”

Immediately, I felt better. And whereas part of me wondered if I ruined this person’s evening, the majority of me didn’t care. Because they showed up on my turf and started it. If they had a bad evening, they did that. Plus, and this is an important point, I wasn’t a total dick. In other words, although my pissed-off fantasies often involve name-calling and violence (and if yours don’t, you’re not being honest with yourself), I didn’t demean this person as a human or “fight dirty.” Instead, I firmly said, “I’m not okay with what you did there.”

Along similar lines, tonight my Dad and I went to Waffle House, and our waiter was, in my opinion, a little too friendly. I don’t know, I like space when I eat, and this fella was up in our grill, dancing and singing around our table. Then when he brought our ticket and Dad said he couldn’t read the small print and I said I’d help him, the waiter stood there watching and eventually said, “Are you gonna make him wait?” To which I replied, “Well, I’m waiting for to walk away.” (He did.) Why did I say this? For one thing, because I didn’t want to discuss money and this guy’s tip in front of him. For another, it was the plain, simple truth–I WAS waiting for him to walk away.

A while back I ran into someone with whom I’d had a bit of a falling out. In my mind the whole situation was a big damn deal, but, really, things were just awkward. In this respect, the running into each other was a good thing because it forced a changed in my perspective. Also, it gave me a chance to be honest. That is, when the falling out was eventually brought up by the other person, I got real serious and said, “We can talk about that if you’d like.” In response, they said, “Oh, it’s no big deal. Water under the bridge.” And whereas I was thankful they didn’t call me a bastard or throw their drink on me, I had a hard time believing it truly wasn’t a big deal, or at least a little deal. If that had been the case, they wouldn’t have brought it up.

My therapist says that most of us live our lives unconsciously. This means we’re not truly aware of our thoughts, feelings, and emotions, and THIS means we’re not truly in touch with our own behavior. Consequently, we say things like “it’s fine” and “water under the bridge” even if we don’t mean it. (Here I’m speaking from my personal experience, as I grant that I can’t know what was true for the person I mentioned above.) We play nice and bite our tongues, then wonder why our stomach hurts or why we dream about throwing things. The truth slips out in sarcastic comments and passive aggressive statements.

Remember the story of Rip Van Winkle? I read it tonight, and it’s about an unhappy, passive, “hen-pecked” husband who’d rather attend to anyone’s business but his own who falls asleep for decades. When he wakes up, his entire world has changed. There are new shops in town, his wife is dead. He’s absolutely elated–he’s finally free. Again, this is about living unconsciously versus consciously. When you’re unconscious, you “go along to get along,” you put everyone else first. When you’re conscious, you’re free, free to be yourself, whatever that looks like–happy, elated, somber, pissed-off.

Freedom is worth all the effort.

Sometimes my therapist shares helpful examples from her personal life, and recently she told me that she was involved in some difficult circumstances that required her being honest. And whereas my experience of her is that she LOVES confrontation (because she’s told me this before), she said that lately it’s been challenging. Because sometimes life is hard and doesn’t let up. “Would it be easier to roll over or let things slide?” she said. “Of course it would. But I did that for years, and I’m not going back to sleep.” Both then and now, this statement–I’m not going back to sleep–brings tears to my eyes. Because as difficult as it is to speak up, advocate for myself, and have difficult conversations, the consequences of staying silent are worse. I’ve been asleep, and it’s hell. And not that I claim to be fully awake, but, if like Rip Van Winkle, it takes me twenty years (or twenty lifetimes) to fully wake up, so be it. Having tasted freedom, I know freedom is worth all the effort.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's the holes or the spaces in our lives that give us room to breathe and room to rest in, room to contain both good and bad days, and--when the time is right--room for something else to come along.

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On Electric Park and Freedom (Blog #812)

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Several years ago while working for a local magazine, I learned about a super-cool amusement park that was located in Fort Smith from 1905 to 1920. The park was called Electric Park, a common name for such places at that time, and located where Kay Rogers Park (the fairgrounds) is now on Midland Boulevard. Then Midland wasn’t paved, and patrons of the park traveled there from downtown Fort Smith by streetcars (trolleys), which, handily enough, were owned and operated by the owners of the park, the Fort Smith Light and Traction Company.

So basically those guys were making bank.

What drew me to the story of Electric Park were the cool buildings they had there. A combination of moorish, crystal palace, and oriental onion dome architecture, they were absolutely beautiful. When I first saw a picture of one of the structures, I said, “Where is that?!” I got so excited to see it in person. Of course, the park and all its buildings were long gone. (Fort Smith tears everything down.) Still, I heard there was a book about Electric Park written by a local author, Stan Kujawa, but for years Amazon has continually said it was out of print.

Bummer.

A few weeks ago while perusing my Amazon Wish List, I saw the Electric Park book and had the bright idea that the Fort Smith Library might have a copy. Well, they did, so I checked it out and have been reading it. (During this time I also found print and digital versions of the book for purchase online.) And whereas I don’t intend this post to be a book report, since I really don’t have anything else to talk about, I’m going to share some of the book’s highlights.

In its heyday, the park had a casino, a dance hall, an auditorium that sat 2,200 people, and a roller coaster and regularly hosted vaudeville acts, orchestras, bands, and public speakers. The book by Kujawa reproduces dozens of newspaper advertisements for the park, and in one a woman named Squire Kate said that a woman’s joy in life should be her husband and children, that any woman who prefers a canine and a childless life would “frown on man and rant against the simple life of the home.” Clearly she was talking about lesbians. This is something I noticed while reading the book–that for as advanced as people were a hundred years ago–hell, the park owners were responsible for building the Midland Bridge from Fort Smith to Van Buren–they could be just as prejudiced (or more) than we are today. For example, only whites were allowed at the park.

Often people say, “We’ve come a long way.” Uh, have we? So we’ve integrated amusement parks and stopped performing in blackface, which apparently was common at Electric Park. Yes, lesbians can stay home with their dogs, and gay people can marry. These are good things. But god, we sure have taken forever to get here, and prejudice, discrimination, and mistreatment (harassment, murder) still happen. Have we really come that far? Ugh. Freedom isn’t difficult in theory. It works like this–if you can go to a park or get married, everybody can. Period, end of story. If everyone really got this, it wouldn’t take a hundred years for things to change. The world would look different by noon tomorrow.

But I digress.

On a more lighthearted note, I was tickled by many of the reproduced newspaper advertisements for the park. One advertisement encouraged readers to “come and meet the best and most refined people.” (Oh la la.) A hot air balloon was called “a big gas bag,” which I just thought was a term Grandma used for Grandpa. When the flowers were in full bloom, it was called a “pansy shower.” One of the shows brought to town in 1911 included five boxing kangaroos. Dancing was referred to as “trip the light fantastic,” apparently because dancers are “light” on their feet.

In 1920 Electric Park closed, and the buildings were torn down and sold for materials. My entire life I’ve visited the fairgrounds where Electric Park once stood and never knew its history. I’ve ridden rides there, gone to the rodeo, danced. And whereas I can imagine that it used to be a better place, certainly a prettier place than it is now, the truth is that life doesn’t change much. Buildings go up, buildings come down. Look at the photos of faces a hundred years ago, and those faces aren’t much different than ours today. People then enjoyed getting out and being amused just like we do now. They had their fears and prejudices just like we do now, except we have ours in air conditioning.

You’re the one who’s trapping you.

There’s an idea in spirituality that if you want to free the world, free yourself. Byron Katie says that freedom comes from loving the thoughts in your head. Said another way, freedom starts inside. Because if you don’t have peace inside, you’ll always feel trapped. And if you don’t recognize the fact that you’re the one who’s trapping you, you’ll blame your lack of freedom on something outside of you, another race or religion, “those people,” canine-owning lesbians, whatever. You’ll spend your entire life thinking that the world needs to change instead of realizing you do. Because, let’s face it, wanting the world, or even one person in it, to change is hopeless (absolutely hopeless). But changing yourself, freeing yourself, that’s something possible.

That’s something even a big gas bag could do.

[Images from Electric Park by Stan Kujawa.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be more discriminating.

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On Autonomy (Blog #741)

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Currently it’s eight-forty-five in the evening, and I’m lying in bed wearing yesterday’s clothes. I hate that my daily selfies are a dead giveaway as to how often I take a shower and change outfits. Or don’t, rather. Fuck it. I’m not here to impress anybody.

This afternoon I read twenty pages in a three-hundred page book I started over a month ago. This made one hundred pages total. Which book doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I just couldn’t get into it, despite the fact that I often found myself smiling or laughing out loud. Anyway, even though I have a giant hard-on for completing things I start, I finally said screw it and permanently closed the cover. This is the second time I’ve done this recently and is perhaps an indication that I’m finally learning that just because you’ve invested in something doesn’t mean you have to keep investing in it.

I have a difficult time with the idea that things in life aren’t fixed or permanent. I think, If you start a book, you should finish it. Likewise, I think if you start a diet or workout regimen, it should last forever. I’m a “til death do us part” type of guy. Of course, this puts a lot of pressure on a person (me). A few months ago when I had knee surgery and started rehab, I also gave up coffee. But a week ago I picked it back up. At the same time, I started slacking on my rehab. I was out-of-town house sitting and just got out of the routine. And whereas part of me gets that “shit happens,” another part of me feels like I’m sinning–for quitting a book, for not being at the gym this very minute, for consuming caffeine (gasp).

I blame the ten commandments.

I’ll explain shortly.

After I quit the book I just mentioned, I started (and finished) one my therapist recommended about knowing your personal value. It was written specifically for women, but I found it helpful. All too often I underrate myself or what I have to offer. Too many times I’ve provided fabulous service to people in exchange for peanuts or their kind words. So they’d like me. But at the book said, compliments don’t pay bills.

One of my takeaways from the book was that YOU determine your value. Also, YOU are responsible for making sure you get paid what you’re worth or that others treat you like you want to be treated. I’m talking about boundaries. Rarely is anyone else going to say, “Gosh, Betty, we really should be paying you more for all you do around here.” Or, “You know, Jack, I’ve been thinking, and I interrupt you constantly and would like to apologize for that.” Rather, each of us has to stand up for ourselves.

This sucks and is hard to do.

Of course, before you can stand up for yourself, you have to know what your personal rules are. Said another way, you have to draw a line in the sand before you know whether or not someone has stepped over it. This is where the ten commandments come in. What I mean is that for the longest time I took my personal rules from a book–The Bible. Not just the ten commandments, but a lot of other commandments too. For example, I used to not eat pork because The Bible calls swine’s flesh (as well as homosexuality) an abomination. Think about that the next time you eat a ham sandwich. (Or sleep with someone of the same sex.) I’m not here to debate The Bible, but my point is that it’s easy to adopt someone else’s rules for your life. There’s a certainty in it. You think, The Bible says, my doctor says, my therapist says.

What’s harder, of course, is to take personal responsibility for every choice you make, to not lay praise or blame on an outside source. One of the exercises I’ve done in therapy is to write out a list–here’s what I’ll accept, here’s what I won’t accept. As an example, I don’t like it when people, especially women, touch me without being invited to (like, would you like to dance?). And whereas I’ll accept them touching my shoulder, I won’t accept them touching my hips or my butt. That’s my rule. That’s my boundary. Not because The Bible says so, but because I say so. Right or wrong, it’s my choice.

So hands off.

Having shared this rule about my personal space, I admit that I don’t enforce it all the time. Recently I ran into someone at Walmart and let them hug me even though I was anything but into it. I mean, it was midnight and I was taken by surprise. My defenses were down. If I had it to do over again or my leg worked better, I’d say, “No thank you” or run away. But shit happens. Anyway, my point is that even when we have rules for our lives, nothing ever works or is true one-hundred percent of the time. That is, nothing in life is that certain because life isn’t that certain. Said another way, life is fluid, like our emotions or the weather. We want something solid, a rule we can follow all the time, but there’s no such thing. Things are always changing.

This means our rules are always changing too. I’m not arguing for extremes in morality. I mentioned the ten commandments, but not to suggest that one day it’s not okay to envy or kill you neighbor and the next day it is. I only brought them up to say that often, for me, my personal rules (like, finish what you start and don’t drink coffee) feel as if they have been handed down to my by the heavens and, therefore, have cosmic consequences if broken. Of course, this is not the case. I made those rules up and can break them if I want to. Because, for one thing, I’m not even the same person I was when I made the rule. Like the weather and everything else in life, I’ve changed since then.

Even though my clothes haven’t.

This is the most difficult thing for me, letting myself and what I need change from day-to-day. Because I’d prefer something more permanent, something fixed, something certain. My friend Bonnie says that I thrive on a good routine. She’s right. I do. Still, I’m coming to think that routines and rules are like seasons. They last a while, then they disappear. If they come back again, fine. If they don’t, fine. I’m free to determine what’s best for me from moment-to-moment. I’m free to invest in a book, behavior, or relationship for hours or years then decide it’s no longer working for me. (Bye, Felicia.) We are all this free. We are all autonomous.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your emotions are tired of being ignored.

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