On Soulmates and Congruency (Blog #1029)

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Today I went thrift shopping with a friend. Y’all, we hit–let’s see–ten stores (and two restaurants) in six hours, and I came home with one brooch, a belt buckle, a paperweight, four books, and five picture frames. Talk about popping some tags. (That’s a Macklemore song reference, Mom). I can’t tell you how delighted I am with my purchases. And all for the bargain price of $12.50. And whereas I don’t know WHAT I’m going to do with everything I brought home (the belt buckle, for instance) I’m convinced I’ll figure out something sooner or later. For example, I’ve been sitting on an angel frame for over a month now, just waiting for the right brooch to pair it with. Well, the brooch I bought today was “it.”

It’s like every frame has its soulmate (broochmate), and you just have to be patient enough for them to meet each other.

Along these lines, lately I’ve been thinking that although, yes, some things are just ugly, most decorative items simply need the right background or environment. The above brooch, for example, just wouldn’t stand out the same against a yellow background, or in a frame three times as big. To put it succinctly, in terms of the final product, relationship is everything. A word/idea I think about a lot is congruency. Applied to my currents arts and crafts obsession, congruency asks, “Are all the involved parts working together to form a cohesive and eye-pleasing result?” If they aren’t, if the frame, background, brooch aren’t “meant to be together,” I don’t force it.

Setting them aside, I say, “Sorry, you just aren’t soulmates.”

This being said, I’m convinced most of us have the wrong idea about soulmates. Recently my mom and I were watching a tv show on which a man told his girlfriend he thought they were soulmates. The girlfriend, however, said, “I love you, I want to get married to you and have your babies, but I just don’t think we’re soulmates. I think my very first boyfriend was my soulmate.”

“Ouch,” I told my mom. “That was the wrong thing to say.”

Tact aside, who knows if these two are cosmically entwined? Hell, if they’re dating seriously, they probably are. At least in some respect. (No one comes into your life by accident.) Does this mean they’ll have butterflies for each other the rest of their lives? Doubtful. But then again, I believe that they could end up hating each other and still be soulmates.

I’ll explain.

There’s an idea in self-help and spirituality that your soulmate isn’t the person who makes your heart pitter-pat the most but is rather the person who causes your soul to GROW the most. This means the person who crawls under your skin, the one who’s got your goat, and the one you have the hardest time forgiving could very well be your soulmate. Could very well be the soul to whom–on the other side of the veil–you’re most indebted. I think about this a lot, since the older I get the more people there are with whom I’ve experienced conflict. And yet with each person and each drama, I’ve been challenged to find my voice or mature in some other way. And whereas from the outside it may have looked like a splitting off (please don’t call me again, Nancy), from the inside there was actually a coming together. That is, anytime you listen to and follow your inner guidance, you become more congruent. First with yourself AND THEN with another.

Along these lines, this afternoon at one thrift store I walked up on my friend while they were talking to the owner. He’d just handed my friend a piece of jewelry, and my friend said, “Did you make this yourself?”

Pausing ever so slightly, he said, “I did. Back in the 70s.”

Immediately I thought, He’s lying. Later my friend told me the man had said the jewelry was real turquoise, even though it was clearly just “turquoise colored.” And whereas it’s nice to have this confirmation, my point is that my intuition was talking to me, so the congruent thing for me to do was to not trust him to be honest, to not engage with him. Later, in another store, my gut told me a store owner was full of shit, so I literally walked away while he was talking to me. Normally the people pleaser in me wouldn’t have allowed me to do this sort of thing, but I thought, We know what happens when we let people verbally vomit on us because we’ve done that a hundred times before. Let’s see what happens when we take care of ourselves.

Well, I’ll tell you what happened. I walked away and I felt great. Absolutely fabulous. Then I ate this burger and felt even better.

Byron Katie says that a no to you is a yes to me. That is, when you listen to and follow your inner guidance, the answer is always yes. Yes, this brooch and this frame do (or don’t) go together. Yes, I know you’re lying to me. Yes, I’m walking away now. My therapist says when we respond honestly and authentically to people, we not only give ourselves a gift, but also give them a gift. “Even if we’re telling them to take a hike?” I say. “Even if we’re telling them to take a hike,” she says. “Because so many of us are lied to constantly. So it’s good to hear the truth for once, even if the answer’s no. Plus, whenever you’re authentic with someone, you give them permission to be authentic too.” Today my friend said, “How did you walk away from that rambling salesman so easily?”

“I’m not quite sure,” I said. “I just did it.” Looking back, I realize that something in me said, “Move,” so I moved. For once, I listened to me. For once, I was congruent.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We're allowed to relabel and remake ourselves.

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When Something Is Over (Blog #922)

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Some things that inspired me today–

1. A laundry mat

This afternoon I ran an errand in Fort Smith and spotted a laundry mat called Sophia Laundry. The sign said, “Come clean with us.” (Sounds like a party, right?) Anyway, I took notice because Sophia means wisdom. (Philosopher means lover of wisdom.) I thought, What’s the universe trying to say? And whereas the laundry’s slogan obviously meant–get your ass over here and wash your dirty drawers–I took it like to mean–come clean, or be honest with us.

I’ve been thinking about this all day. Not that I feel like there’s something I need to confess to the people who own Sophia Laundry, or to anyone, but I do think it’s what I’ve been doing these last years in therapy and on this blog–coming clean. To me this means being as honest as possible. This may sound like fun, but it’s not. Indeed, it’s really gross. Because coming clean with yourself means getting real about what’s working in your life and what’s not (what snot). It means owning and honoring all your emotions, including your anger. It means setting boundaries about what you’ll accept and not accept from others and, more importantly, yourself. This is hard.

But this is wisdom.

2. A Walk

After I ran my errand in Fort Smith, I stopped for hot tea and ended up walking around a nearby neighborhood. When I weighed in this week I was down (1.4 pounds) but not as much as the previous two weeks (2.4 and 2.6 pounds respectively). I’ve tried not to make a big deal about it, especially since I’ve been sick and haven’t felt like getting to the gym (but have felt like eating cheese). Still, today I thought, I’ve got the time, and it’s a gorgeous day. Let’s walk. Let’s burn some calories. Along the way I thought of a situation that’s been bothering me and remembered something my therapist often says–“If I said, ‘You’ve got thirty seconds to make a decision about this,’ what would you say?” And just like that, I had my answer.

So often we complicate things, but the truth is that part of us always knows. Going back to coming clean, this is why it’s hard. Because once you admit the truth to yourself, then you have to do something about it, and this means things will change. Conversely, there’s no change–and no responsibility–in saying, “I don’t know.” I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to think, I don’t know what to feel. These are phrases we tell ourselves to slow down the speed at which change happens in our lives, to keep things the same, to not grow up. Because we’re afraid. Because we don’t trust that good things are waiting for us. Because we don’t trust ourselves to handle whatever happens–good or bad.

3. A Vacuum Cleaner

Since the beginning of August I’ve been working at a friend’s rent house, transforming the entire thing one room at a time from brown to white. And whereas I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought I’d never finish, I eventually did. About two weeks ago I completed the last room–the kitchen. Since then I’ve been working to clean out the garage, where several previous renters had left–well–all sorts of things. Anyway, the entire project wrapped up tonight. My friend and I moved some furniture that’s being sold online, they paid me, and that was that. The new renter moves in later this week.

For me, the closing of this project is bitter sweet. Am I glad to not be rolling paint on ceilings? You’re damn right I am. But will I miss the work (it’s good to be employed) and the chance it gave me to spend time with myself, listen to podcasts, and be productive? Certainly.

I’ve heard it said that we do beginnings really well. Think about it. Whenever we get a new job, spouse, or house, we break open bottles of champagne, throw parties, and post pictures on Facebook. But how often do we do this with endings? Almost never. And yet they are just as important. Indeed, endings are required for beginnings. If you don’t believe me, think about having all your previous lovers following three feet behind you the next time you go out on a date with your current one. Talk about awkward.

Yes, endings are a good thing.

With this in mind, I decided to do a small ritual in order to honor tonight’s ending, to consciously make room for something else to come along. And whereas I guess I could have gone out to eat or celebrated, I simply vacuumed out my car. This seemed appropriate because I used my car to work on this project so much that it collected a lot of work-related debris–dirt, leaves, little flakes of paint. A few years ago I rescued a couple puppies but ending up having to take them to the Humane Society before I had my estate sale. It broke my heart, but I simply couldn’t take care of them. It took me months to wash their paw prints off my car windows. It was like a part of me was holding on. More and more I don’t want to do this. When something is over, it’s over. And that’s okay. Other things will come along.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Give yourself an abundance of grace.

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The Universal Salve (Blog #803)

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The dog I’m taking care of this week wakes me up at 6:30 every morning to go for a walk. A natural night owl, this routine does not impress me. Still, I knew it was “a thing” when I signed up for the gig. Today I flopped back down on the mattress after our stroll, intent on getting some more rest. And whereas I finally fell asleep, it took a while. When my alarm went off two hours later, I was in a daze. Surely it’s not to time get up already, I thought. And yet it was. It was time.

The day itself has been go-go-go. First I had therapy, then physical therapy. Then I saw my chiropractor (it clearly takes a village to keep this mind and body in shape), then came back “home” to walk the dog and shove some food down my throat. Then I went to my friend Marla’s writing class. I was thirty minutes late, but–shit–it was one of those days. We do the best we can.

Back at the house, I noticed I missed some calls from my parents. Then I saw them drive by and thought, Oh crap. Someone has died. They couldn’t get me on the phone, so they’ve chased me down. Thankfully, this was not the case. They just happened to be in the neighborhood at my aunt’s and wanted to take me out for a late dinner. Anyway, it was the nicest surprise, the perfect end to a long day. We had lovely conversation, laughed a lot, said “I love you.”

Lately I’ve been thinking about embarrassment. My embarrassment. The truth is, and I feel like I’ve said this before but jokingly, there are a lot of things in my life I don’t love right now. A lot of things I’m embarrassed by. Like, uh, living back at home with my parents. Like walking other people’s dogs for a living. Not that I’m not grateful for a place to stay and money in my pocket–I am–but I’m almost forty and–believe it or not–have other aspirations for my life. Aspirations that don’t involve picking up warm poop with a plastic bag. On the one hand (the hand I pick up the warm poop with), it’s not something I’m–um–proud of.

On the other hand, and I was thinking about this on the way to therapy today, I am proud of myself. What I mean is that even if no one else knows or acknowledges it (and I don’t expect anyone to), I know what’s inside of me. I know what my dreams are, what I have to offer, and what the deepest parts of me both want and need to express. I could go into detail, but suffice it to say that if I got to the end of my life and, looking back, realized I’d lived my life like everyone else or lived for the approval of others, I’d regret it. This is to say that although I often feel embarrassment about not having a lot to show outwardly for these last few years, I have zero regrets about the internal work I’ve done. Plus, I do have the outward work of this blog, and this blog has forever changed me for the better–as a human being and as a soul.

This is no small thing.

Additionally, these last few years have afforded me a lot of opportunities for healing with respect to my family. My parents and I have had numerous conversations–truthful, healing conversations–that never would have happened had I not been living back at home. At least they hadn’t happened in the thirty-six years prior to my return.

My therapist says that some people think that you can heal anything with Vick’s Vapor Rub. “Some people think it’s a universal salve,” she says. “Well, the universal salve for most every emotional problem we ever have is honesty.” This has been my experience–that simply by stating the truth, healing begins. It’s why I’m saying tonight that I often feel embarrassed. I’m not looking for anyone to make me feel better about my situation, for acceptance, or even for understanding. I’m just stating facts. On the one hand I feel embarrassed. On the other hand I’m proud and grateful and wouldn’t change a thing.

I get that this is a paradox. Go figure. Life is a mystery.

My therapist and I have an ongoing discussion about being vulnerable and being honest, since it’s popular in today’s culture to equate the two but we don’t. That it, I don’t consider myself vulnerable for getting on the internet and saying I’m gay, I’m terrified of money, or I’m embarrassed. Because these things are–at least some of the time–true. Well, the gay thing is all-of-the-time true. As I told my mom tonight when we were discussing these topics, “Maybe I’d be vulnerable if I believed I needed a certain response from people, but I don’t. Children are vulnerable. Kidnapping victims are vulnerable. But someone who simply states the truth and lets the chips fall where they may–I think that person is anything but vulnerable. I think that person is strong.” At least I feel strong whenever I’m honest, strong being the exact opposite of how I felt all those years when I was trying to hide the truth in an effort to manage other people’s impressions of me.

Honestly (get it, we’re talking about truth), this is the only reason I’m as honest as I am, because of the results. Time and time again the simple truth has given me healing (with myself and with others) and peace of mind. People call me brave, bold, crazy, whatever for putting everything out there. Everyone’s entitled to their opinions, but in my opinion these labels aren’t accurate. For me, if I’m anything, I’m just lucky enough to (finally) be able to see what works and what doesn’t. Trying to impress others, ignoring your feelings, and biting you tongue–these things don’t work. The truth does. Is it scary, foreign, and often difficult to tell the truth, to be honest first with yourself and then with others? Damn right it is. But does it get easier the more you do it, and does the truth set you free?

Absolutely.

So, in plain language, this is the ticket you’ve been looking for. Listen close. To quote Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman, “I’m giving you pearls here.” If you want to be free, start by getting honest.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The truth doesn’t suck.

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Unadulterated (Blog #790)

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What to say, what to say? I’ve spent the day, most of it, with my face buried in my laptop, either reading books or looking at books on online stores or libraries. If I could do this every day, I’d be a happy camper. That being said, I’m sure my eyes would fall out, if my brain didn’t fall out first. At one point this evening I HAD to stop reading a fascinating book about Chartres Cathedral–did you know that the Notre Dame (Our Lady) cathedrals in France are laid out in relation to each other in the shape of the constellation Virgo?–because I was absolutely famished. Later I stopped to exercise. A body has to eat. A body has to move.

One of the books I read this afternoon was by Guy Kettelhack and was about–quite frankly–gay men and sex. And whereas I don’t intend to go into details (you’re welcome), the author had a lot to say about how we, as people in general, suppress or try to ignore various aspects of ourselves. Our sexuality, for instance. Because we think certain parts of ourselves are good and holy, and other parts of ourselves are wicked and vile. At the very least something we shouldn’t talk about on the internet. But Kettelhack says, “Every part of you is true.” The idea behind this statement, I think, is that even those desires, fantasies, and emotions we deem socially unacceptable, first of all, exist whether we want them to or not. Second, they exist because they have something to offer us. Third, and along the lines of yesterday’s blog, we’d do better to interact with all of our parts consciously rather than unconsciously.

Another thing Kettelhack says is that permission is letting yourself be who you already are. In terms of sexuality, I know that I’ve spent a lot of time (historically) trying to convince myself I wasn’t something I am–gay. But in other terms, I’ve also spent a lot of time trying to convince myself I wasn’t a number of other things–upset, angry, unhappy, even happy. This has caused me to distrust my own body and emotions and instead try to substitute who I am for what I’ve thought I should be–as told to me by the church, a self-help book, or even so-called friends. This is one of the worst things, I think, that a person could do–discount their own inherent wisdom, the truth of their experience because someone else says something different.

And yet it happens every day.

This isn’t to say that if you have a sexual urge or unpleasant emotion (like anger) that you should take it out on the world around you. But it is to say that you’ll get further by acknowledging how you really feel than by depressing your authentic desires and internal reactions. Recently I was considering confronting someone, and my therapist said, “Do you want to but feel like you ‘shouldn’t’?” And whereas that wasn’t the case, it reminded me of countless other situations in which I felt like I “shouldn’t” speak my truth or do what I really wanted to because it wasn’t socially appropriate, I imagined I’d hurt somebody’s feelings, or I was afraid someone wouldn’t like me.

It’s not your job to make anyone else happy.

The problem with this way of living, of course, is that it puts someone else’s imagined experience above your actual experience. Or even their actual experience above your actual experience. Either way, you’re the one who ends up suffering. I’ve known people–usually gay people–who have married someone just to make that person, their parents, or god happy. But here’s a slap in the face–it’s not your job to make another human being, your parents, or even god happy. (If god hasn’t figured out how to be happy after all this time, that’s his problem.) Indeed, you CAN’T make anyone else happy. Sure, maybe you can do something nice and evoke a smile, but when has anybody else been able to make YOU happy? Like, permanently, deep down? It just doesn’t work that way.

As the saying goes, happiness is an inside job.

Your inside job.

My therapist says that when you’re honest, first with yourself and then with others, you give both you and others a gift–the gift of you authentic response. By being honest (and the honest truth is different than your honest opinion), you give others permission to do the same. Because we all teach by example. Like, if I live a closeted life or pretend to be someone I’m not, I teach others that “this is the way.” But if I live an authentic life, one in which I speak my truth and honor my body and emotions, I naturally imply that it’s good and safe and right for others to do the same. I suggest, and I’m saying it clearly now, You don’t have to hide anything about yourself in order to be accepted or loved.

From my perspective, the world is lacking in honesty and authenticity. Granted, the words gets a lot of lip service these days. But if they were truly “a thing,” the world would be a different place. That is, if you think you have truth in your life and yet your life looks the same as it did ten, twenty, or thirty years ago, I’m gonna suggest maybe you don’t. Because truth is married to change. It comes into your life like a wrecking ball–it has to–in order to remove all that is false within you–your false perceptions, your false beliefs, your false relationships. This is why I pay my therapist so much money. My friends tell me, “Maybe it’ll work out. Give him a chance.” My therapist tells me, “He’s a fucking asshole. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but he is.” But I do want to hear it, even if it destroys my fantasies–because I’ve lived under illusions for decades and know they don’t lead anywhere but Pain and Suffering.

No, give me something honest. Give me something real. Turn my life upside down if you have to, but give me something true.

Back to the constellation Virgo being associated with gothic cathedrals. There’s a lot of theories as to why. For example, Virgo is associated with the spring (she’s technically a late summer zodiac sign, but she first appears in the sky in the spring), with new life (the new life you’ll have if you let truth wreck your old one). Also, Virgo is The Virgin. Again, the virgin birth is often used to symbolize the birth of one’s spiritual (rather than physical) life. And whereas virgins are immediately thought of as sexually pure, symbolically they remind me to be internally pure. Not pure as in text-book perfect, but pure as is wrecking-ball honest. Pure as in “I can handle the truth,” even if isn’t pretty or socially acceptable, which (here’s something that sucks) it rarely is. Pure as in unadulterated–integrated in all your parts; whole in your body, heart, and mind; complete .

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We think of hope as something pristine, but hope is haggard like we are.

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My Authentic Response to Criticism (Blog #145)

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Tonight’s blog may be one of the most difficult I’ve ever written. I’ll explain. I have a personal rule for the blog that I won’t use it as a means to call someone out specifically, meaning I don’t consider this the place to say, “Jack, you’re a real asshole,” or, “Suzy, those yoga pants make you look like whore.” Aside from those being unkind statements, this is a blog about (my) authenticity, vulnerability, and mental and spiritual health, and I don’t consider it the venue to pick a fight. All that being said, tonight’s blog is going to approach that line because–and only because–I’ve promised that I will also and always write about what’s on my heart. So far, I have. In over one hundred and forty posts, I haven’t once tried to fake my emotions or stray from what I knew needed to be said–and I’m not going to start tonight.

So, to borrow a phrase I’ve heard once or twice from my therapist, we’re about to have a confrontation.

The first thing I saw this morning was that someone had posted a comment on yesterday’s blog that was pending approval. Well, I’m not sure that my people pleaser will ever not be the first one to have a voice, so I immediately thought, Oh God, I hope someone’s not mad. I guess I could post the entire comment, but the essence was: 1) I hate the bandana you wear on your head, 2) Your hair is too beautiful to cover it up, 3) Please stop it, and 4) I love you and am just being honest.

As I’ve said a number of times, my therapist says that online communication is rife with misunderstandings, so I’d like to be clear–the tone of the comment, in my opinion, was mostly lighthearted, complimentary (they called me handsome), and well-intended. They even said, “I have no right to encroach on what you determine makes you happy in life.” With this much, I agree.

My first thought after reading the comment this morning was, That’s hilarious. Thank God it wasn’t something serious. Actually, I started to say as much. But I hadn’t woken up yet, and that response didn’t feel quite right, even though it did feel like “a nice thing to say.” My therapist says that nice is a strategy, in light of which I would have to admit–the only reason I would dismiss such a criticism would be to not rock the boat and to make sure someone likes me (and my hair and anything I put on it). Of course, if you’ve ever tried to manage what someone else thinks of you, you know–it’s exhausting.

I wish I could tell you that the comment rolled over me like water off a duck’s back, but I can’t. It’s not that I’ve had a bad day, but it’s sort of felt like a piece of food that slowly molds and rots in your refrigerator. It’s something you can’t put your finger on at first. But then one day you open the door and know exactly what stinks.

I remember a couple years ago when I went out-of-town–maybe New York City or New Mexico–and I wore a cowboy hat that I named Jose (after the guy who made it). I fucking loved it, and told myself I’d wear it more often when I got home. But damn it, there’s something oppressive about Fort Smith, something that says, “Conform,” so I didn’t. When I talked about it in therapy, my therapist said, “Give it a whirl–be yourself.” Recently when I spoke to her about an incident similar to today’s that I can’t remember, she told me that sometimes when well-meaning people criticize her fashion choices, she says, “I do whatever the fuck I want.”

Amen.

I would like to acknowledge that everyone–everyone–has a right to their opinion. Also, I’ve yet to censor anyone’s comments on this blog, my YouTube channel, or Facebook, since I don’t consider it my job to tell other people what to think, say, or, for that matter, what to wear. So everyone is welcome to say what they want, but let me be perfectly clear–just because you have a thought about my life, doesn’t mean that it’s beneficial or that I want to hear it. I mean, when was the last time someone came up to you and said, “Alice, that jean skirt makes your butt look unattractive,” and you said, “Why thank you, Edna, you’re a saint. What else can I change about me?” So in short, I don’t consider my hair (or any other part of my life) a democracy.

According to my dad tonight, that’s why I’m not married.

My mom (who’s currently bald from chemotherapy) said, “I don’t care what you do with your hair. I’m just glad you have some.”

It may be too late, but I really don’t want this blog to be about one specific comment, since it’s not the first time I’ve been told, “The blonde hair was a mistake,” “You won’t be able to get a job if your hair is blue,” or “Those pants make you look gay,” to which if given the chance to do it all over again I’d respectively say, “Fuck off,” “How the hell do you know that, Dad?” and “Good–I am gay.” Also, I know that my natural tendency is to be defensive, to be–in the words of my therapist–dukes up. This tendency, I’m sure, comes from the fact that I essentially raised myself, so criticism of any sort always feels like someone saying that I didn’t do a good job (even though I did a fucking great job, thank you very much) or that I failed in some way.

Additionally, I’d like to acknowledge that although I don’t do it online, I often have critical thoughts about others and will frequently voice these opinions to my friends. Jesus, that dress is ugly. Those shoes make her look like a construction worker. Caroline Myss says that these sorts of thoughts and comments stem from the idea that someone else’s life only exists in order to make me happy. Like, “I’d feel better if you’d stop dressing like a lumberjack, Janice.” Obviously–and I can only speak for myself on this one–that’s an arrogant and flawed way to address one of God’s fellow creations. So to anyone to whom I’ve minimized in this way, I apologize and am working on it.

Lastly, I’d like to say something about my experience with honesty. I know I make a big deal about it here, and perhaps it deserves a little more attention. From what I understand, honesty means being true to yourself, whatever your experience. My therapist says that if you’re angry or hurt or whatever, you don’t bite your tongue because it doesn’t feel good to bite your tongue. By not being honest, you damage yourself in some way. She also quotes a spiritual guru and says, “Be kind whenever possible. It’s always possible.” To me this means that just because it’s honest to say, “Those pleated pants went out of style twenty years ago, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in that Ban-Lon shirt,” doesn’t mean it’s necessary.

Personally, I hate the fact that I may get up tomorrow and hesitate to put a bandana on my head, even though I know it keeps my beautiful hair out of my face when I drive down the interstate with my windows down, something that never ceases to make me feel totally free. Ultimately, I think we all are worthy of that unbridled feeling of freedom, that feeling that says, “I love me, I love everything about me, and I don’t give a shit if anyone else likes it or not.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.

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