When You Find Yourself at Your Worst (Blog #948)

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Ugh. It’s almost one in the morning, and I’m just now writing. Thanks to Daylight Savings, today was technically longer than usual (25 instead of 23 hours), but seriously, where did it go? This morning my aunt and I went to breakfast, then this afternoon we went antique shopping. Then I drove home (from Tulsa), taught a dance lesson, and had dinner. Then I unpacked and helped my parents with some stuff. Now here I am–braindead and unsure of what to say.

More than anything else, I’m tired. My body wants to sleep. Still, I’m pushing it to stay awake and function, and this is causing me to be increasingly frustrated. I want to throw this laptop across the room and screw this entire project. Like, what’s it gotten me anyway? Never mind the fact that it’s changed my entire life for the better. In this moment, I’m over it.

I’ve heard Caroline Myss say that we should be less concerned about who we are when we’re at our best and more concerned about who we are when we’re at our worst. You know, when we want to throw things across the room, curse people out, spend money we don’t have, and run away. According to Myss, the reason we should be concerned about this side of ourselves (rather than just chalking it up to being tired or blaming our mood on someone or something other than ourselves) is because this is the side of us that’s really running the show, influencing our health and relationships. Think about it. You don’t have an upset stomach because most of the day you’re calm; you have an upset stomach because part of the day you’re a powder keg. You don’t break up with your ex because they’re a total monster; you break up with your ex because they’re a partial monster (and yet it matters).

For me, the answer’s not about getting rid of any frustration or anger. It’s not even about not blowing up, although I think it’s wise to keep one’s outbursts to a minimum. Rather, it’s about becoming intimately acquainted with all parts of myself. This starts first with acknowledging any and all feelings (physical sensations) and emotions (states of mind) I’m having, and second with giving them a home.

I’ll explain.

This morning at breakfast I told my aunt that I have a ritual I go through whenever I buy new things. For example, with clothes I take the tags off, sometimes wash the clothes, and always hang them up or put them in a drawer. With books I remove any stickers, then put the books on my shelves. “You HOME them,” my aunt said. “You give them a home.”

Getting back to the idea of our feelings and emotions, I’m suggesting that if I were to blow up and throw my laptop across the room, I would NOT be giving my feelings and emotions a place to live. I might be expressing them, I might be externalizing them, but I would also be distancing myself from, well, myself. This is the deal whether you’re externalizing your emotions (biting someone’s head off) or internalizing your emotions (stuffing them down and pretending they don’t exist), you end up taking part of yourself and putting it “over there.” Consequently, you cut yourself off from valuable information. For example, when I’m able to sit with my tiredness and frustration and ask them what they have to say (rather than ask them to leave), they tell me that I’m pushing myself too hard, that I’m asking too much of myself mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

“Whooooaaa, Trigger,” they say.

Admittedly, my first instinct is NOT to home my feelings and emotions. When I’m upset, I’d much rather throw a fit or stuff things down than actually get curious about what’s going on. That was one of Myss’s points when she said that we should be concerned with who we are at our worst. Not like, oh, there’s a serious problem, but like, oh, I wonder why I do that. For example, one of my triggers is being told what to do, but at this point in the game I know it has nothing to do with anyone who happens to be offering me unsolicited advice. Rather, it has to do with my fears and insecurities about being able to take care of myself, about whether I know enough or am enough. Like, I should have it all figured out, and if someone’s telling me what to do, that clearly means I don’t.

If it’s not obviously, these last few statements are bullshit beliefs. Myss would call them spells, things that aren’t true but that we buy into and that have (huge) influence over us nonetheless. The good news is that once you become aware of your bullshit beliefs, you can do something about them. How do you become aware of your beliefs? Get to know yourself. HOME your feelings and emotions and listen to what they have to tell you. Get to know your triggers. When you find yourself at your worst, consider that you’re being given a window into your psyche and soul. Say, “Whoooooaaa, Trigger, this is an opportunity for me to grow. This is a chance for me to really change.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes the best you can do is metaphorically sit you ego down, look it square in the eye, and say, “Would you shut the fuck up already?”

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A Chair to Sit in (Blog #868)

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It’s nearly two in the morning, and I’m having a tough time focusing. Today has been a busy day, and I guess I’m having trouble winding down. This morning I finished a room I started painting a few days ago, then came home, ate a sandwich, and took a shower. Then I headed to Fort Smith for a meeting, a meeting that got postponed while I was on my way to it. And whereas this normally would have bothered me, it didn’t. For whatever reason, I’ve been in a fabulous mood all day and have been impervious to irritation. This is extremely ironic, since yesterday I was covered from head to toe in frustration.

Sometimes life throws you a bone.

After I had my estate sale a few years, the only piece of furniture I owned was a small bookshelf. Then last summer when my aunt had a yard sale, I doubled my furniture collection–by adding an old leather ottoman. And whereas I was set on only acquiring new things (because I was in the middle of starting a new life), I fell in love with this ottoman because it belonged to my grandparents. It even has one of grandpa’s famous cigarette burns on it. Anyway, for the last year the ottoman has simply sat in my room in front of my window. Mostly, it’s given me a place to tie me shoes.

So get this shit. Today on a whim I went to an antique store and found a lovely leather chair that matches my ottoman–for the bargain price of $24. Talk about a steal. So I bought it.

Then I bought a pillow to go with the chair.

Because when you’re my age you’ve got to think about lower lumbar support.

I can’t tell you how excited I am about having this chair. Now I can read in my own room sitting up instead of lying down. I can listen to music while sipping tea. I can have company (not everybody at once!) and offer them a place to sit instead of insisting they share my twin bed.

Boy was that getting awkward.

Now it’s three in the morning, and I keep getting distracted by other things. Plus, I’m tired. So although I hate to be abrupt, I’m going to wrap this up. Last night I mentioned that at the end of a rough day (yesterday) I got excited about a new creative idea. This idea, I’m sure, has much to do with my good mood today. This fascinates me, the idea that one’s mood can turn around just like that by thinking about something that excites you, something that gets your creative juices flowing.

And all the better if you have a chair to sit in where you can think about these things.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Give yourself a break.

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Enough (Blog #867)

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Yesterday I blogged about feeling generally irritated and frustrated by my situation in life, and today I talked to my therapist about my feelings. “Let’s just call it like it is,” she said. “You’re fucking pissed.”

“Okay, I’m pissed,” I said.

“That’s all right,” she said. “Be pissed.”

“OKAY, I’M PISSED!” I said.

So now that that’s established.

My therapist asked if I’d ever blogged about just how frustrating it is for me to be 1) living with my parents and 2) trying to “make it” as a writer or a creative. Like, what’s it like to be a starving artist? (Well, you go hungry a lot.) And whereas I told her that I have blogged about these frustrations a number of times, I also said maybe I needed to give it another shot. So here I go.

It’s frustrating as hell. (How’d I do?)

Okay, fine, I’ll dig deeper. Today my therapist said she thought part of me wanted life to wave a magic wand and make my dreams come true. Well, yeah, of course I want that. Who wouldn’t? At the same time, I know it’s not realistic–for each goal a person has, there’s work to be done. For me, it’s not that I’m afraid of the work. It’s that I’m often paralyzed by what step to take next. With a hundred creative ideas in my head, I’m not always sure which one to pursue. Also, I’m scared that whatever I do pick won’t be THE ONE. In short, I’m scared to fail. Of course, as my therapist said, “What do you have to lose?”

“At this point,” I said, “Really nothing.”

My pride, you say?

Honey, I lost that a long time ago.

Getting back to what’s frustrating for me, sure, part of it is that my life doesn’t look like what I want it to right now. However, a good deal of my frustration is due to what I’ve done internally with the facts of me life. That is, I’ve blamed myself for my situation. Like I have this dream and have taken steps toward it, but the steps I’ve taken OBVIOUSLY aren’t enough. So that means I’m not enough. I’m a failure. This is where the frustration really lies, the feeling that I’ve done my best and it–clearly–isn’t sufficient.

This thinking, of course, is recipe for misery. Normally therapy puts me in a good mood, but I spent this afternoon in a pretty significant funk. I did a lot of–what’s the word?–wallowing. Not that I donned sackcloth or anything. I actually donned painting clothes and continued painting the room I started yesterday. I listened to several podcasts. In short, I was productive. At the same time, however, I gave myself a good deal of grief. For not having my act together. For not being “a success.”

Thankfully, this evening while I was taking a shower, the weight of the world fell off my shoulders. I remembered that my therapist said that as many as one-in-four people (Google says one-in-five) live in multi-generational households. “There are a lot of people like you,” she said. Then I started thinking about some steps I could take to reach my goals–and actually got excited about them. My therapist said, “Do you ever talk about how irritating writing is?” I said, “It’s not writing itself that’s irritating. It’s that it’s not paying the bills.” This is the thing about creative projects. Inherently, there’s joy in thinking about them, doing them. But you can suck the joy right out of them when you put pressure on those projects to put food on the table.

In the moments when I’m most clear, I’m proud of myself for listening to my soul several years ago, closing my dance studio, and beginning to work on a new life. I’m proud of this blog, regardless of who does or doesn’t read it, regardless of whether or not it ever makes me a dime. I get hung up on success as the world sees it, but the truth is I already consider myself a success when it comes to what really matters to me–what’s on the inside, not what’s on the outside. Do I want the outside to follow the inside? Sure. It would make a lot of things easier. But until that happens, I’m working on being okay right here, right now–irritated, frustrated, pissed off, or joyful. I’m enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We were made to love without conditions. That's the packaging we were sent with."

Each Step is Necessary (Blog #866)

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This morning I finished painting a room I started painting a couple weeks ago before The Great Upset Stomach Incident of 2019. Well, I technically didn’t paint it today. Rather, I scraped paint off the windows then cleaned up the mess I made on the floor. Then I put the light switch and electrical outlet covers back on. This is all part of the process when painting a room–the details. With respect to this particular project, twenty percent of my total time was spent either getting the room ready to paint or putting it back together after having painted it.

After finishing that room, I started on another. This room was smaller than the first, but it still took over an hour to tape off the carpet around the baseboards, scrape off some old paint that was peeling inside the closet, and get the drop cloth down. Once things were prepped and ready to go, I was ready to go. That is, I took a break so I could see my chiropractor and grab lunch. Later, I came back and got one full coat of paint applied to that room. Ugh. I’d wanted to finish the whole thing tonight, but things always take longer than you want them to.

This is what tomorrow’s for.

Several days ago I figured out the rash on my arm is ringworm, a fungus. I can’t tell you how grossed out I’ve been about it. Anyway, I’ve been putting anti-fungal cream on it and, honestly, probably overdoing it. Still, although I have to admit it’s colorful to look at, I want the damn thing gone. Well, after three days of applying the cream, I couldn’t tell a difference. I thought, Maybe I’m doing something wrong. MAYBE IT’S CANCER! But then just like that, this morning, I noticed a significant positive change. Now it’s pink instead of red. There’s new skin forming. My point is that, first, if you just look at things as they are–a half-painted room, a fungus on your arm–you can’t always tell something good is happening. Second, if you’re not patient, you’ll probably get real frustrated and and think things are worse than they are.

There’s a famous tale that gets told a lot in spiritual circles. A wise man prayed that his teenage son would always be safe, and the next day his son fell off a horse and broke his leg. “How awful,” the villagers said, but the wise man stayed silent. Later when a war broke out and most the town’s youth were drafted to their ultimate demise, the wise man’s son was spared. How could he fight with a broken leg?

So often this happens in our own lives. We think something is awful, and it turns out to be good. Today my chiropractor and I talked about my current frustrations, the chief of which is that it often feels like I’m doing everything right and not getting the results I want (in my health, in my life). However, the truth is that I have a limited perspective. I look back on my life thus far and think, All of that was necessary preparation. So wouldn’t it make sense to think that what I’m living NOW–even with all its pains and frustrations–is also necessary preparation for what I will be living LATER?

Of course it would.

Each step is necessary.

My chiropractor’s suggestion was for me to see how much I could embrace. That is, often when things aren’t going how we want them to, we push against the universe. We go to work with a scowl on our face and curse and spit at every opportunity because we feel we’re being put upon by life. (Or is that just me?) But there is another option. Personally, I know I have it within me to ENJOY whatever it is I’m doing, whomever I’m around (well, almost). I can EMBRACE the moment–half-painted room, a fungus among us, this is my life right here, right now. I can recognize that everything is part of The Process. I can recognize that each step is necessary. I can recognize that all things are progressing, healing as they should.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Of all the broken things in your life, you’re not one of them–and you never have been.

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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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if you're content with yourself and you're always with yourself, then what's the problem?

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Working on Myself (Blog #539)

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It’s six-thirty in the evening, and I’m headed to work (to dance) in an hour. I’ve spent the day exercising and reading. Mostly reading, since I’ve been pushing myself to finish an autobiography I started this last weekend. Just a while ago I sat down at home to write the blog, but the internet on my phone, which is also the internet I use for my laptop, was dragging ass. It was slower than Christmas! This tends to happen during the day when everyone else and their mother (no offense, Mom) are on the airwaves. That’s another reason why I’ve traditionally blogged at night–the internet is faster.

Slow internet is one of the MOST frustrating things I consistently run into with this project. Or any project. Earlier today I tried to watch some dance videos, but they wouldn’t download. Ugh. I’m so spoiled. What did people do before this miracle–high-speed internet–existed? (What?! They played outside? No way.) Anyway, since my life is plenty full of frustration already, I decided to leave the house and blog elsewhere. (Some problems have easy answers.) Now I’m at a local cafe and just ordered a smoothie, since, in addition to being frustrated, I’m apparently starving.

These two feelings–frustration and hunger–do not go well together .

Okay, I’m sipping on the smoothie and calming down. Everything’s going to be all right, Marcus. Everything is going to be all right.

Hum. I’m not sure exactly when this bad mood creeped up on me. Maybe it has to do with some of my dreams last night. Or the fact that I woke up early-early this morning and couldn’t go back to sleep. Or this new routine–going to bed and waking up sooner, drinking less coffee, working out–I’m trying to put into place. It has been my experience that whenever I try to whip myself into shape (that’s a rather graphic phrase, now that I think about it), “the old me” puts up a good fuss. What?! We’re not sleeping in anymore? We have to do push-ups?!

Boo. Hiss.

This afternoon I started looking over an exercise program that proposes to correct postural imbalances, something that’s a concern of mine. And whereas several of the elements of the program require a gym membership (which I don’t have), I’m telling myself that any information or progress is good information or progress and that I don’t have to incorporate every suggestion one-hundred percent in order to see benefits. As a recovering straight-A student and teacher’s pet, this shift in thinking is a big deal for me.

Huge.

You have to have a practice if you want to see results.

I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point during the last 539 days, I started thinking of this blog as my job. Like, it’s not a hobby or something I do just for fun. It’s work, and I take my work seriously, which is why I continue to do it every day, every damn day. Granted, this work doesn’t have regular hours, but I’m trying to get it that way. Likewise, even though I don’t have a typical job or schedule, I’m trying to organize my daytime hours. Once my therapist told me, “If I’m not working, I’m working out,” and that’s been on my mind today, especially while exercising. She was talking about physical health, but to me her mantra means that you have to have a practice, a routine of some sort, if you want to see results in ANY area of your life. Considering my circumstances, maybe a better way for me to say it would be, “Even though I’m not working in the traditional sense, I’m working on myself (by exercising my body, mind, and soul).”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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What are you really running away from?

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Another Star Rises (Blog #521)

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Last night before I left my cousin’s house, his daughter put my hair in a pony tail then put my t-shirt in one as well–by scrunching up one end and wrapping a pink rubber band around it. She thought it was so cute. Truth be told, I did too. “I feel like an 80s lady,” I beamed. Still, as Dad and I walked out the door, I removed the “pony tails” and gave my cousin’s daughter back her rubber bands. You know–

All good things must come to an end.

During the drive back to Arkansas, while we were passing through a particularly dark patch of road, I asked Dad if we could pull over and look at stars. (He said yes). Oh my gosh, y’all, there was my dear friend The Milky Way and her cast of characters all around her–The Big Dipper, Draco, Cassiopeia, The Northern Cross, Scorpius–each of them in all their glory. Considering how long it’s been since I’ve seen them so clearly, it really was the most refreshing thing, a much-needed site. “It truly is wonderful,” Dad said.

Recently my aunt asked me what I love about the stars, so I’ve been trying to put my finger on it. Obviously, if you’ve had a chance to see the stars lately, they’re stunning. What’s more, in our often chaotic world, they’re something predictable. They appear to move about, of course, and do, but I like the fact that I can consistently find the same stars and shapes basically “where I left them.” There’s a sense of surety in that. But mostly I love the stars because no matter what kind of day I’m having–a good day or a shit day–I can lie down under the heavens and find peace. It’s like a forgetting of all my problems and worries. At the same time, it’s like a remembering that not only is everything connected, but also that I’m not supposed to have all the answers.

Wonderful, after all, means “full of wonder.”

Today I have been impressed with the fear that there’s not enough time. This afternoon the fear showed up with regard to reading, since I realized I’ve started–but not finished–over a dozen books in my personal library. And, despite the fact that I’ve been in therapy for four years and have come a long way in this department, there’s still part of me that feels like I “should” finish them. Like, a “better” person probably would. And yet, I’m having so much fun starting NEW books. Anyway, then the fear showed up with regard to the stars this evening when I went for a walk, since I realized a number of stars I could find consistently earlier this summer are no longer visible. This is due, of course, to the earth’s trek around the sun, which blocks our view of stars on the other side of it. In other words, as summer disappears, certain stars and planets (my friends!) disappear too.

And just when I was getting to know them.

It’s this weird paradox I have inside me. On the one hand, I feel like my life isn’t moving fast enough. On the other hand, I feel like it’s moving too fast. I think, An entire day has gone by, and there’s so much of that book left to read. Or, Wait, come back! I LOVED that star.

Toward the end of my walk tonight, this frustration with the speed of life hit me like a ton of bricks. I turn 38 soon, and there’s so much I wished would happen by now that hasn’t. Will these things ever happen? I don’t know. So many of our hopes and dreams, it seems, are like stars that slip slowly below the horizon. Maybe next year they’ll return. Of course, we forget–I forget–that with each setting star, another star rises. Tonight I spotted Capella for the first time, the brightest star (or group of stars, rather) in the constellation Auriga. What a delight she was! And no way I could have seen her in the spring. Surely this is the gift of seasons that change, stars that set, and books that we put down–of all good things and even dreams that come to an end–that as one wonderful thing disappears, another wonderful thing begins to shine.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's really good news to find out that the world isn't as scary as you thought it was."

one hand in the light (blog #25)

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This morning I woke up in Wichita, stumbled into my friend Megan’s kitchen, and made two pieces of toast with apricot preserves. While Megan and I were talking, our friend Tina came in from the garage apartment where she and her husband stayed during the dance weekend. Well, Tina must be a morning person because she was SUPER perky—way too perky for Marcus on a Monday. But I guess her good mood started to rub off, and before I knew it, we were all telling stories and laughing about how we keep ourselves awake on road trips. (All of our go-to strategies include making loud animal noises.)

I know it’s not the same on paper as it would be in person, but it was one of those glorious moments that I thought, God, life is fun sometimes. This was actually worth getting up for.

And then the last twelve hours happened.

I’ve been sitting at my computer for about an hour, trying to sort out my feelings and what I wanted to write about. For the majority of that time, I kept thinking that I could pull the wool over my own eyes and talk about what a great day it was. Granted, there were highlights—animal noises for breakfast—but there were frustrations as well. And rather than try to pass it all off as “I’m just tired,” I’ve decided to be honest about it instead. As it says at the top of the page, “The truth will set you free (sort of).”

The first frustrating thing was my GPS took me the wrong way out of Wichita, and I’m still not sure how it happened. But after several miles of unfamiliar highway, I realized my GPS was guiding me home via the Ozark National Forest, turning a four-and-a-half-hour trip into a six-hour one. So I got turned around and back on track, but I lost enough time that I had to substitute gas station food in place of an honest-to-god restaurant. (And that did not bless me.)

By the time I got home, I had about half an hour, so I unpacked the car and checked the mail before heading back out for a dance lesson. Well, I got two bills in the mail that were connected to the sinus surgery I had two months ago. (Isn’t that exciting?) So I opened them, and all I could think was that I made straight A’s in math all through junior high, high school, and college, and medical bills still don’t make a damn bit of sense to me. I finally figured out one of the bills this evening, but it took two calculators and four hours of guided meditation. As for the other bill, I’ll have to call someone to figure out why my balance online shows as zero but I keep getting statements in the mail. I should probably drink before I dial that number.

After the dance lesson, I had dinner with a friend who has a lot of muscles and a great tan and wore a tank top so it was all out in the open. Oh, and he didn’t touch the bread on the table. (What the hell?) Our conversation eventually turned to his committed relationship, and he even showed me the rings he wanted for his engagement one day. And whereas I’m quite happy for him (and his muscles and his committed relationship), the whole situation made me feel fat and out of shape and lonely, so I kept reaching for the bread basket because—you know—carbs have always been there for me.

A few months ago I told my therapist that I was feeling lonely. I don’t recall exactly what was going on at the time, but I think it was mostly about all the changes that have taken place since I started therapy. And whereas I consider it all to be a net positive, there have still been a lot of goodbyes—to a lot of physical stuff, to the dance studio, to a lot of relationships that although unhealthy, were also with people I cared for. So some days, I said, it feels like I’m starting all over again, doing this all by myself.

My therapist told me that first off, I’m not alone. No one is ever alone. Second, she said that being able to sit with that feeling of loneliness, as unpleasant as it may be, is really the root of strength. (If only I could sit with my loneliness and develop strength that looked good in a tank top.)

One of my favorite authors, Pema Chodron, says something similar. She says that our task is to sit with whatever emotion arises, without judgment and without running our story about it. She says that whenever we try to make a feeling go away, we unwittingly cultivate a subtle aggression against ourselves, but that by allowing a feeling to just be, we practice self-compassion.

Well, as my friend Suzanne says, “That sounds good if you say it fast.” I mean, I think what Pema says is true, but I would add these thoughts—sometimes that aggression you cultivate against yourself is not so subtle, and sitting in the midst of an uncomfortable feeling and not reaching for the bread basket is damn hard. (I guess if it were easy, everyone would have abs.)

As I’m typing now, one of my favorite things in the whole world is sitting across from me. It’s a photograph of the dancer Erick Hawkins, and the photographer Barbara Morgan took it, maybe in the 1940s. For a while, Erick was married to Martha Graham, one of the biggest names in modern dance, and Barbara’s photo shows him dancing on one leg, arms outstretched, one reaching back toward the light, the other reaching forward toward the shadows.

Well, I’ve had the photo for several years, and it’s always one of the first things I unpack when I move. (I move a lot. If you haven’t heard, I’m currently living with my parents.) If no other photo gets displayed, this one does. And maybe if you buy me a glass of scotch, I’d be willing to talk about everything it means to me, but it’s personal, and it’s late, and I couldn’t do it justice now. But what I will say is that for the last two weeks, what I’ve noticed most about the photo is the shadows, the way the dancer is turned toward them, actually stretching out to them with one hand.

Naturally, there’s a lot of talk about the shadow in psychology, and it always seems to get this bad rap, like it’s the evil twin in your family, something to be afraid of. At the very least, you don’t want to invite him to Thanksgiving. But I heard once that the shadow simply represents the unknown. It’s the parts of ourselves we haven’t looked squarely in the eye yet, the parts we run away from, the parts we don’t want to sit with and understand. And as a psychological image, I think it’s rather mysterious and beautiful that the dancer’s face is turned directly toward the dark. He doesn’t turn his back on his shadow. Rather, he invites it in.

So on days like today, I’m reminded to lean into my frustration, to get closer to my loneliness, to sit with all the parts of myself that I consider to be dark or unpleasant because all of it is still part of me. And I can keep one hand in the light, and I can turn my face toward my shadow, and I can reach out my hand and we can dance together, and it can be mysterious and beautiful.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Kindness is never a small thing."