Time Well Spent (Blog #1012)

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For the last eight days I’ve been struggling with a sinus infection. And whereas it’s not really getting worse, it’s not really getting better either. Every morning I cough up junk. Every afternoon I feel wiped out. Every night I cough myself to sleep. All the while I pray for a solution. Not just a temporary one, but a permanent one. And whereas sometimes I think heaven must be tired of hearing from me (it’s me again, Margaret), I keep telling myself that’s not the way God works. Just because I’d be sick (I am sick, actually) of hearing from me, doesn’t mean God is. Of course, having been around for ETERNITY, he’s got this patience thing down.

Me? I’m still working on it.

This afternoon I taught a dance lesson to a couple, and when I asked if they’d practiced since I last saw them two weeks ago, they said, “No.” Now, this didn’t surprise me. Hardly any of my students practice unless they HAVE to. Like if they have a performance or a wedding coming up. Otherwise, they practice when they see me. And whereas there’s nothing wrong with not practicing (it’s job security for me), it naturally means the students progress at a slower pace than they COULD. Conversely, once I had a mentor who said it only took him a year to learn how to dance (the average is three to five years) because he worked at it every day for hours on end. And whereas this man had a natural aptitude for dancing and my students–quite frankly–don’t, my point is that just as HE CHOSE to go fast, they’re CHOOSING to go slow.

Recently I wrote about creating time, and this is what I meant. That is, to a large extent, we decide how quickly we want things to happen. Are certain things out of our control? Absolutely, a million things are. But take this, for example. This afternoon and evening I worked non-stop on an arts and crafts project I’ve been tinkering with for the last few weeks, framing antique jewelry. (I plan to post pictures soon.) And whereas it’s going slower than expected (because when you do something for the first time you run into all sorts of problems–er, challenges–you hadn’t anticipated), I should be done in a couple more days if I stick with it. My point being that I COULD drag this little project out for days, weeks, months if I wanted to.

But I don’t. I’m ready to see it finished. Which means I’m willing to put in the work.

Now, just because I’m ready to tackle this particular project doesn’t mean I’m not procrastinating like hell on plenty of others. Indeed, there are books I plan to read and books I plan to write–one day. Most likely, either it’s simply not time or I’m putting them off because I’m afraid of how my life will change–or worse, not change–once I do. Full of the fear of failure, I slow things down. I pump the brakes. Quite literally, I create (more) time.

Caroline Myss says we do this time creating thing constantly, in every area of our life. With our relationships, with our careers. Even with our resentments. Like, we decide how long it’s going to take us to get over something. We decide how long we’re going to “hang on.” We joke about this. Someone brings up an argument they had with their lover in 1983, and we say, “Still not over it?” Clearly they’re not. But they COULD be, just like my dance students COULD be further along than they are.

One of Myss’s points about all this is that we can’t decide to move slowly in terms of our resentments and expect to move quickly in terms of our healing. Because you can’t hang on and expect your body to let go at the same time. You either both hang on or you both let go. This is one of the reasons I’ve talked so much lately about letting go and forgiving. More and more, I see the price of holding grudges and being bitter (about anything) as simply too high. Now, I don’t claim to be a master at this. Nor do I have any promise that as I work to let go that my body will miraculously heal. Or heal at all. Although I do believe forgiving in one way to SPEED UP healing. Indeed, I’ve heard stories of people who forgave experiencing healing. But healing is always a grace, never a guarantee. This being said, and despite the fact that I currently feel like poop, I have experienced more physical healing these last two years (and especially these last two months) than ever before, and I don’t think it’s simply a coincidence that this has happened alongside my conscious choice to–in front of God and everybody–connect with my own good heart.

When I first sat down to write tonight I thought I was going to write about hope. Because whenever I don’t feel well I usually hit a point when I think things are hopeless. Consequently, it’s good for me to talk myself down off a ledge, to remind myself to be patient. Because the truth is there’s always hope. Likewise, as long as you’re alive you can always choose to be a better dancer, choose to be a kinder, gentler person. Even if you grow just a little bit each year, that’s something and is better than choosing not to. My point being that as long as YOU can change, your body can change, your life can change. And if takes a lifetime or an eternity to heal, to really heal?

Then it’s time well spent. And you haven’t hoped–or worked–in vain.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A break is no small thing to give yourself.

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On Acknowledging the Break (Blog #958)

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For the last few months I’ve been teaching dance to a couple who are about to be married. Tonight was our final lesson before their big day. Y’all, I honestly couldn’t be prouder. These two have come a long way. Granted, they still bump into each others’ feet now and then, but they keep going, and that’s the point. What’s more, they’ve put in enough time and effort to be able to concentrate on one of the finer aspects of dancing–not just properly executing the steps and patterns, but also interpreting the steps and patterns in such a way as to match their particular song.

I’ll explain.

When learning to dance, the priorities are, in order of importance, 1) getting the steps right, 2) being on beat, 3) communicating with your partner (with your body, not your mouth), and 4) proper technique. Under the category of proper technique are things like whether the heel or ball of your foot hits the ground first, whether or not your hips are moving, and which direction your head is looking. These are often subtle things, of course, but they’re not only what distinguishes one dance from another (for example, a box step can be done in both waltz and rumba, but in waltz the forward step is with the heel, and in rumba it’s with the ball–plus, the rhythm is different, but I digress), but also what distinguishes the more experienced dancer from the amateur. That is, the more experienced dancer has good technique; the amateur has poor technique.

What my wedding couple and I discussed tonight was that both interwoven in and beyond these four categories is something called musicality. As I think of it, musicality is about not only being on beat, but also about being on THIS SONG’S beat and not THAT SONG’s beat. What I mean is that you can dance east coast swing–the same steps, the same patterns–to Van Morrison’s “Moondance” and Jerry Lee Lewis’s “Great Balls of Fire,” but if someone were watching you dance on video and turned off the sound, the two dances should look distinctly different because each song has a different MOOD.

Along these lines, musicality is first about matching the ATTITUDE of a song. Keeping to my previous example, since “Moondance” is soft and laid-back, your dancing should be easy going–not frantic–if you’re dancing to it. Since “Great Balls of Fire” is upbeat and wild, your dancing should be energized and punchy if you’re dancing to it. If you don’t match the attitude of a song, something will inevitably feel and look “off.” Taking this idea a step further, something will inevitable feel and look “off” if you don’t match or at least compliment the nuances within a song. For example, often a song will have what’s called a “break,” usually 8 counts of music where some if not all of the instruments drop out but the lyrics continue. Well, musicality dictates that when the music stops, so should you. At the very least, you should stop what you’ve been doing and do something different. I think of this as ACKNOWLEDGING THE BREAK. Is it fine to IGNORE THE BREAK? Sort of. Your dance will still work. But will it work as well, will it be as magical as it could be?

No.

This is what my couple and I dove into tonight, the idea that because their song has an ATTITUDE of tenderness, everything they do should be soft and gentle. Like, don’t make any sudden moves. Next we discussed the idea that just as their song (like any song) has sections that are more or less emphasized (read: energized), their dancing should likewise be more or less energized during those sections. More power, less power. “Step on the gas here,” I told them. “Chill out here. Pause. Take a breath before you go anywhere.” Y’all, you should have seen the results. By simply MATCHING their ATTITUDES and MOVEMENTS to those implied within their specific song, my couple went from having a “nice” dance to a “lovely” dance.

A magical dance.

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and we discussed this idea of TIMING. It came up because I told her I had several projects on the back burner and would like to talk about which one might be best to tackle next. “We can do that,” she said, “but I’m thinking just chill out until the end of year.” This is something she’s been suggesting for a while now and something I’ve blogged about a number of times–slowing down, resting. And whereas I’ve agreed with these concepts in theory, the largest part of me has continued to be attached to the idea of go, go, going. But working with this couple of mine has really driven home for me the importance of the pause. Whether in dancing or life, the pause is absolutely necessary. Not only does it give you time to breathe, it also adds emphasis, mystery, suspense.

It’s why these one-sentence paragraphs work so well.

Crap. Did I just give away a secret?

More and more I realize that just as each song has it’s own attitude and nuances, so does each season and so does each life. What’s more, we’re best served when we can TUNE IN TO and MATCH both nature’s rhythms and our own. For example, this summer I couldn’t find it within me to start a diet. The sun was up all day, and I was too busy, too frantic. But now that fall is here and even the sun is resting, I’ve found it easier to slow down and focus on taking better care of myself. Along these lines, I’m getting more and more okay with the idea that this period in my life is about chilling out and not go, go, going. It’s about learning. It’s about transforming. I told my therapist today, “It doesn’t feel like I should step on the gas right now.” It doesn’t feel like I should fill every minute with an activity, every blank space with more than it was meant to handle.

So I’m not.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Miracles happen."

On Ritual and Good Results (Blog #690)

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All day I’ve had my nose stuck in a book–Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt. I rarely read fiction, but this is delightful. Plus, it’s not even fiction; it’s nonfiction, a true story of hospitality, weirdness, and murder in the town of Savannah. This afternoon I plowed through two hundred pages, half the book. I can’t wait to finish it. Alas, I have things to do, places to go, people to see.

Yeah right, Marcus.

Every day, at least lately, I make it a point to do three things–practice chi kung (a meditative/healing art), write this blog, and go to the gym or otherwise rehab my knee or work out my upper body. I don’t know, it’s like I can breathe a sigh of relief whenever I check those items off my to-do list. Not that those things in and of themselves keep the world spinning, but they do provide a certain amount of structure to my otherwise unstructured day/life, so they keep my world spinning. They’re grounding. Again, it’s not the specific acts, it’s the rituals around them.

Something about the idea of ritual, of at least repetition. In the acknowledgments of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, the author says it took him years to pen his tale. This struck me because what what took him years to write will probably end up taking me days to read. But for years, I’m assuming, this guy had to repeatedly, as one writer says, keep his butt in a chair and, well, write. And now, over twenty years after the book was first published, I’m able to enjoy it because he did, because he had a ritual.

Earlier tonight I received several messages on Facebook from someone wanting to know about Lindy Hop, and it made me want to dance again. Like really dance, more than the basics. Unfortunately, thanks to my knee, that’s not going to happen anytime soon. But again, it made me realize that part of the reason I love dancing is because I’ve invested so much of myself into it. I couldn’t even begin to count the hours I’ve spent learning, practicing, teaching. Is it big deal in the grand scheme of things to lay off several months in order to get back to what I love doing? Absolutely not. Is it necessary to be ritualistically dedicated in my efforts to get to where I want to be? Absolutely.

Good results come from ritual; they don’t just materialize.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this. I guess I’d like to be clear that having a ritual, although it provides stability, is often pretty damn boring. Think about brushing your teeth. Do you LOVE it? Probably not. But do you LOVE having clean, sparkling, cavity-free teeth? (I know I do.) Well, it’s the same with dancing, writing, or transforming your body. Learning the thing–dragging your ass to class or the gym, sitting down to write every day–isn’t fun. But there’s a sense of pride and accomplishment that comes after the fact, a payoff that’s greater than the sum of its parts. That’s what I’m trying to remind myself, because I have things I want to happen that won’t until I start the not-fun work, that good results come from ritual; they don’t just materialize. It’s just a matter of getting into a habit.

And no, not a nun’s habit.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Pressure, it seems, is necessary to positive internal change. After all, lumps of coal don't shine on their own.

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We Can All Dance Together (Blog #177)

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Tonight I went to a birthday party for my friend Al. For the last couple months, Al and our friend Donna have been taking dance lessons and preparing a surprise routine for the party. Honestly, they’ve worked their butts off. Anyway, the party tonight was in Fort Smith at the old Shipley Baking Company. Unfortunately, it no longer smells like fresh bread, but it’s an awesome venue. I kept wishing I still hosted swing dances, as it would have been a great option for Southern Fried Swing, the mostly annual Lindy Hop convention I use to organize.

As Dad says, such is life.

Here’s a picture of the outside of the venue. The neon sign says, “Bakery,” which you can sort of make out, but sort of not because apparently my phone camera was drunk tonight. Anyway, the former bakery is open-air, which worked out super, since it’s fall. Granted, it’s Arkansas, which means it was humid. But there were fans strong enough to blow the wig off a drag queen, so the only people breaking a sweat were those of us on the dance floor. Not that I went around checking everyone’s armpits, I’m just guessing.

As if the place itself weren’t cool enough, Al served up a fantastic taco bar and free drinks. Talk about being in heaven. I was one happy camper. Funny enough, most the week I’ve been fretting, thinking that I needed to find a friend or date to go with me. I mean, I sort of tried, but finally said, “Fuck it. I’m used to doing things alone.” But trying to find a companion did make me think about my circle of friends. I’d like to tread lightly here because I think of myself as having wonderful friends, wonderful one-on-one friends. However, I don’t think of myself as having a group of friends, a “tribe” if you will. I used to have the dance studio, but it’s different leading a group and being part of one. Plus, I feel like I could do better about having friends in the gay community. I only feel mildly sorry for myself about this whole matter, but–going forward–it’s something I’d like to work on.

You know, we all have fantasies, but I imagine if I ever did find a group of homos (that’s short for homosexuals, Mom) to hang with, maybe we’ll be like the Sharks or Jets from West Side Story. We wouldn’t have to get in fights, mind you, but we could at least roll up our sleeves, do a little singing, surely a little choreographed dancing. Maybe–just maybe–we could have t-shirts that said, “We put the GAY in gang.”

Something like that–I’m still thinking it over.

The reward is really in the thing itself and how you grow in the process.

Anyway, the party tonight was a smash. When Al and Donna performed their dance, it was tough for me to get outside of teacher mode. I kept running the routine in my head. Next up is one basic, then a girl’s turn, then a guy’s turn. You know how you want your friends to succeed. Well, they did–they nailed it. Later Al and I talked about all the hard work they put in–all the time and effort for two minutes on the dance floor. As I think about it now, I guess it’s like everything I’m putting into this blog. I think about it “paying off” one day, but the reward is really in the thing itself–the learning, the practicing, and how you grow in the process.

The universe is a funny place. After all my fretting about having someone to be with and talk to tonight, Al introduced me to a group of his friends from Kansas City, a literal bunch of stellar men. Al said, “You should get to know them.” Well, the next thing I knew, we were all standing around eating tacos, talking, being–you know–friendly. When the party was over, we went back to Al’s house, chilled out. Uh, a few of us may have danced to the Dream Girls soundtrack. (It all happened so fast.) Now that I think about it, I guess it was all very Sharks and Jets–minus the rolled up sleeves.

I can’t tell you the number of insecurities that come out whenever I’m in a new setting, especially if there’s dancing. Part of me is always comparing, sizing everyone up, wondering what other people are thinking. I usually think anyone who is attractive, wealthy, or talented has EVERYTHING figured out. (I realize this isn’t logical.) Anyway, maybe you’re like this in some way. If so, you know–it’s exhausting. I’m glad to say it’s a lot better for me than it used to be. Just since starting this blog, I’m more comfortable in my own skin than I ever have been. Like learning to dance, progress happens bit by bit.

At the venue tonight there was a sign, I’m assuming leftover from the days of sourdough and rye. It said, “Waste is our biggest competitor.” This could be taken a number of ways, but my mind went to all the time and effort I waste comparing myself to other people, worrying about shit that almost never happens, and generally being afraid of my own shadow. Obviously, all that takes a lot–a lot–of energy, energy I could be using to connect with others, imagine all the good things that could happen, and dance with rather than run from my shadow.

I told my mom tonight that I’m almost always happy to write this blog late at night when the rest of the world is quiet and it’s just me and the clicking of the keyboard. Sure, I’m tired plenty of nights, but I consider this a sacred, mysterious time worthy of being tired for. But tonight in the company of both new and old friends as I was invited to crash on a couch and wake up to a pancake breakfast, I almost convinced myself I could pull double blog duty tomorrow. Still, now I’m at home, it’s five-thirty in the morning, and I’m keeping the promise I made to myself–I won’t fall asleep until this is done. So rather than thinking about what I may be missing out on, I choose to be grateful for what’s happened, is happening, and could happen. Honestly, I’m coming to think of all of life as sacred and mysterious, a place where friendly faces can show up out of nowhere and make you feel welcome, a place where outdated beliefs can fall away and we can all dance together like something you might see in a movie.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes we move with grace and sometimes we move with struggle. But at some point, standing still is no longer good enough.

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