That Cold-Shower Feeling (Blog #798)

Like yesterday, today has been go, go, go. Mostly, I’ve been cleaning my friend’s house, which I’m taking care of this week. If I see one more dust bunny I’m going to scream. Thankfully, I’m almost done. I just have the kitchen left. Well, and the floors. The floors are dirty. But the vacuum cleaner will take care of that. Plus, the vacuum cleaner is fun to use. It’s like a magic wand, really. Now you see it, now you don’t. I always feel like Harry Potter when I vacuum. Dusty Potter.

If it hair-lips the king, I’m gonna finish cleaning tonight. It’s nine-thirty now, and I’d rather stay up late, finish cleaning, and wake up to a sparkling house than go to bed early, wake up, and set my bare feet down in all the dust I’ve wiped off the higher surfaces. Besides, I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow–errands to run and such. A couple just booked a dance lesson. And whereas I imagine I could TRY to squeeze everything in, I’d rather breathe. So again, I intend to stay up late and get-er-done.

Clearly, I’m trying to get the blog done too. I wish I had something more to talk about than cleaning house. I know it must be terribly exciting to read about, dear reader. Alas, this is my life. This and walking my friend’s dog, which amounts to watching him hike his back leg and pee on every tree stump, fire hydrant, and fence post in a three-block radius. It’s awesome. Still, it affords me my glamorous lifestyle–sleeping in til noon, reading and writing when other people are working “real jobs.” Every up has a down, and vice versa.

Okay, here’s a story.

After cleaning all day, I decided to take a shower before teaching dance this evening. I’d cleaned the shower this morning, so I thought, This is gonna be fun. Well, I was wrong. The hot water was broken. The pilot light on the water heater had gone out–I found out later. After I took A COLD SHOWER, this is. Talk about–what’s the word?–shocking. I think I stopped breathing for a moment. At first I couldn’t even get enough air to cuss. But then I kept soaping up, kept washing off.

After a minute, that cold water wasn’t so bad. Not that it was so good or even comfortable–it wasn’t–but it was bearable. When it was all said and done, I was actually invigorated, more awake. And not that I’m wanting to do it again–indeed, I marched my little butt down into the basement and relit the pilot light on the hot water heater (after I put some clothes on)–but there was this sense of I’m alive.

While cleaning yesterday, I listened to a lecture by Stephan Hoeller in which he pointed out how fundamentally unsatisfying life can be at times. Like, you fall in love, make some money, buy some nice things, go out with friends and still find yourself asking, Is this all there is? Hoeller’s push was for the spiritual life, a deeper connection to life itself. I know that word–spiritual–means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. In terms of where the word spirit comes from, it’s related to animation or movement. What is it that animates you? What is it that moves you? For me, it’s that thing that makes me want to read and write and create, that mysterious quality that invigorates, that cold-shower feeling of I’m alive.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.

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On Tragedy, Trauma, and Transformation (Blog #797)

Phew. I just spent the entire day working. Twelve straight hours. This morning I began cleaning a friend’s house, which I’m taking care of this week. And whereas I was a bit overwhelmed when I started (it’s a big house), I’ve just been taking it room by room, piece of furniture by piece of furniture. My friend’s dog isn’t helping. In fact, when I took him for a walk this evening in the rain, he came back in the front door and promptly shook all the water off in “my” clean living room. The nerve!

Thankfully I hadn’t mopped the floors yet.

After nearly six hours of cleaning, I switched gears and went to my friends Todd and Bonnie’s to finish installing door hardware, a project I’ve been working on for a couple weeks now. This evening I put locks back on doors–um–four locks successfully. One lock broke (whoops), and another is missing parts. Who knows where they went! Next, I took a shower. Then I taught a dance lesson to a couple who’s getting married soon. The guy was so excited that he jumped up and down. I wish all my students did this. That being said, most of my students do pay me, and that makes me jump up and down, so–next best thing.

Now I’m back at my friend’s house. After walking the dog I thought about cleaning some more but then thought it better to write before my brain quit working. However, when I sat down in this chair, everything quit working–my brain and my body. Seriously, I could pass out right this very minute. Is this what people who have jobs and work all day feel like–exhausted?

Manual labor–it’s for the birds.

I’m joking, but it actually feels good to be tired. There’s a certain satisfaction that comes from knowing I’ve worked hard not just today but lately. Todd and Bonnie’s looks so good–the doors are freshly painted (some else’s work), they open and shut properly (I hung some and other people adjusted them), and all the antique hardware absolutely pops. Likewise, the place I am now is beginning to sparkle. There’s still a lot to do (hopefully tomorrow), but I made a serious dent in things today. Recently a jet-lagged friend told me they cleaned their house instead of sleeping–because “it’ll feel so good when everything is finished.” This is the satisfaction I’m talking about, the yeah-it-was-tiring-but-I-did-it feeling.

This tired-but-satisfied feeling is what I often feel regarding this blog. I mean, after almost 800 days in a row, it’s starting to get old. Not that I don’t love it and not that it doesn’t do a lot for me–it does, it’s changed my life–but it wears me out. This is often the case with things that transform us. They take everything we’ve got and then some. While cleaning today I listened to a lecture about Goethe’s Faust (I and II), and the speaker said that Faust I ends in tragedy. Faust’s wife dies after killing their baby. (I know this is a spoiler alert, but the book is over two hundred years old, so it’s not like you haven’t had a chance to read it.) This is the deal on planet earth, the speaker said, tragedy comes with the territory. But don’t fret. Whereas a lot of modern interpretations of Faust end the story in despair (at the end of Faust I), Goethe intended and wrote a different ending (Faust II), an ending that includes Faust’s healing and transformation.

In other words, things get better.

Our traumas can transform us.

I’ve learned not to bemoan the horrible things in life. Not that you’ll never hear me complain about having a long day or an aching body. Complaining is too much fun. But in terms of the big stuff–the major traumas and ordeals–I don’t see the point in grousing. Because we all have shit happen. Considering the fact that our traumas can transform us if we let them, they don’t have to be the worst thing. Granted, transformation isn’t a passive act. You have to do your part, or your traumas could transform you into a resentful, bitter ass. Yes, there’s work to be done. Houses and door knobs don’t clean themselves, and neither do your insides. I wish it weren’t this way on planet earth. I wish The Hard Work weren’t required to achieve almost every truly satisfying thing. But I don’t make the rules around here. If you’re a phoenix and want a new life, you’ve got to go through the fire.

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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