When Your Inner Child Throws a Fit (Blog #863)

Leave a comment

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)

"

Better that you're true to yourself and the whole world be disappointed than to change who you are and the whole world be satisfied.

"

Looking Like a Marcus (Even If I Don’t Feel Like One) (Blog #406)

Leave a comment

I’ve been staring at the screen for thirty minutes. Well, checking Facebook. Regardless, I’ve been avoiding the blog. I’m tired today. I’d rather go to bed than write. It was almost five in the morning when I finished last night’s blog about my issues with money, and I was up early this morning (before noon) to attend a comedy workshop in Fayetteville. The point is, I didn’t get a lot of sleep. But who does, really?

Let’s talk about something else.

The comedy workshop I attended was put on by Theater Squared and the cast of their current play, The Hound of the Baskervilles, which I saw last week. (It was hilarious.) The workshop was hosted at the library, and when I got there and saw that there were only a few people in the class, I thought, Shit, I’m going to have to participate. Y’all, I almost turned right around and drove back home. But then I thought, I came here to learn something, so I stepped outside my comfort zone and into the room.

As a general rule, I like meeting new people. Not that I’m “one of those” who get chatty on airplanes or anything, but I certainly could (given enough scotch). Today, however, I wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone new, to be “nice,” to participate. But as I was sitting in my chair and fiddling with my phone, the older lady next to me broke out in a grin and said, “Hi, I’m Janice. What’s your name?”

Reminding myself to smile, I said, “Marcus.”

Janice gasped audibly. “Of course you are!”

I laughed. “Of course I am?”

“Yes,” she proclaimed. “You LOOK like a Marcus.”

Later Janice said she meant I looked stately (like the Romans who originally coined my name), which no one has ever told me before, but I took as a good thing. I just looked up stately on the internet, and it means, “having a dignified, unhurried, or grand manner.” Talk about a high-octane compliment. My head is getting bigger as we speak. And yet, in that moment earlier today, I’m quite sure I didn’t have “a grand manner.” A nervous manner, for sure. First, I was in a new situation. Second, ten minutes after the workshop started, I noticed a missed call from the insurance company of the guy who rear-ended me last summer. Crap, I thought, they’re gonna want to talk about money. I couldn’t stop worrying about it the entire class. All I could think about was calling them back and getting it over with.

Unhurried my ass.

The workshop itself went great. First we talked generally about how a play is written, then talked about how a play (specifically a comedy) is interpreted. And whereas I mostly paid attention, took notes, and “let” everyone else participate, I did get out of my seat to join in an exercise in which a number of choreographed dance steps were performed. Y’all, it really was a fabulous workshop, and my big takeaway was that even when something on stage looks spontaneous, chances are that it’s not. Rather, every sigh, glance, step, and gesture has likely been planned out and rehearsed over and over again.

Three hours later, when the workshop was finished, I called the insurance company back, but they’d already gone home for the day. Consequently, I’ve spent all evening running scenarios in my head–things going my way, things going almost my way, things not going my way at all. I keep telling myself that whatever happens when we talk, it will just be a conversation, and I’ve had plenty of conversations before. But I really am starting to get fed up with the whole ordeal, which has now dragged on for over ten months. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I already feel as if my health and entire life are also on hiatus. Seriously, if only I could get paid for being a professional foot-tapper and watch-looker-at-er.

What if being patient now will make whatever comes later that much sweeter?

One of the concepts discussed in the workshop today was that not only does a play have a beginning, middle, and end, but almost every part of a play has a beginning, middle, and end, as well. For example, if one actor looks at another, that look has a point at which it starts, is held for a certain amount of time, and is then completed. One of the points to this conversation was–don’t rush from beginning to end–the middle is what MAKES the ending. This was a great reminder for me. So often I feel as if my life is on hold, like I’m just biding my time until I settle this accident claim, find consistent work, or whatever. But what if this is the middle part of my story? What if being patient now will make whatever comes later that much sweeter, that much more satisfying? If that’s the case, then surely this is an opportunity for me to practice being unhurried, even if that’s not my default way of acting. Surely I could rehearse “unhurried” over and over again until it actually were spontaneous for me to live in a stately, dignified, and grand manner–like a man perfectly at ease with the speed of life.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of.

"

How Life Proceeds (Blog #203)

1 Comment

It’s two in the afternoon, and it seems like I just did this twelve hours ago–because I did. Currently my sister is on her way to pick up Christopher from school, she has Ander in tow, and I have the house to myself. God willing and the creek don’t rise, I’m going out tonight. I guess you could call it a date. It’s been so long, I’m really not sure what the rules and definitions are anymore. Regardless, I’m meeting a boy for drinks, and it sucks to ditch a cute face in favor of a laptop. Not that I don’t love y’all, but let’s see if we can wrap this up before Daddy hits the town, okay?

Also, I’d really like to take a nap. I don’t mind saying this no-oxygen, sort of sick thing is a real drag. I used to have a boss that said that–What a drag, what a serious drag. All things considered, it could be a lot worse. But yeah, a nap would be good. And I should probably hydrate. Well, shit. I just realized I didn’t hit the right button to start my laundry for tonight. No worries–if at first you don’t succeed…

Drink. (To be clear, I don’t endorse drinking to solve your problems. Or anyone else’s.)

Well, shit again. I just saw a mouse run across the kitchen and back again. This must be his time of day to do cardio. I hope he doesn’t expect me to join him, at least until my lungs can get acclimated to the altitude. He could be waiting a while. We all could be waiting a while.

This morning my sister and I took Ander to story time at the local library. Y’all, it was the cutest thing. There were all these tiny people running around, and one of the boys had round red-rubber glasses strapped and fastened around his little head. My friend Leah calls kids like him “false advertisement,” since they look cute but will throw up on you before the week is over and not think twice about it. Also, once you have one, you can’t take them back. Anyway, the lady in charge of story time was wonderful. Today she wore an orange apron for Halloween, so I kept forgetting she wasn’t a Home Depot employee. But still, she read to the kids, played games, and used props. Had it been me, I could have been totally frustrated that all the little tots weren’t paying attention, but she was so patient. Amazing.

When we got back from the library, my sister and I changed clothes with the intention of painting in her master bedroom. She and her husband have been remodeling it since they’ve moved in. Anyway, we couldn’t find any rollers, so she ended up cutting in while I did the hard work of taking off light switch plates and trying to entertain Ander, who insisted on being underfoot. This went on for less than an hour before Dee-Anne had to leave to pick up Christopher. She said a lot of days she feels like saying, “Fuck it–these pink walls aren’t that bad,” since it’s so difficult to get stuff done with kids running around and wanting attention.

Obviously, there’s a reason they invented Benadryl and the Disney channel.

Now the wash is almost done, and I just took a lap around the house in search of inspiration. Normally I write at the end of the day, plenty of things “have happened,” and there’s a well of information to draw from. But this is clearly different–the sun is still up. What happens while the sun is up? Really, all I can think about is that nap. Also, I leave in a few days, and I’m feeling as if I’m running out of time. There were several things I wanted to do, but they simply haven’t happened yet. So it’s possible I won’t watch a movie, go country dancing, or see the Catholic chapel with the dirt that performs miracles. Que sera, sera.

Last night I started reading a book about writing, and the author says that artists need a lot of down time, a lot of time to “do nothing.” Maybe this looks like going for a walk, but only if going for a walk is not a to-do list item. Like, it should be relaxing. (I’ve heard this before and have been really slow to come around to this notion.) The idea is that inspiration and creativity happen in the present moment, and most of us wouldn’t recognize the present moment if it hit us between the eyes because we’re so busy running around stressing and fretting.

If this last part sounds familiar, please raise your hand.

Obviously, that last picture was a setup. My sister said, “Christopher doesn’t stress or fret about anything.” This is where I really believe children are our teachers. They’re almost always focused on what’s in front of them and not imagining they’d be better off somewhere else. When they do get upset because they’d rather be watching TV instead of eating brussel sprouts, they pitch a fit, it’s over quickly, and they don’t bitch or blog about it the next day. Children don’t give a shit how long it takes to paint a bedroom, whether or not there’s a mouse in the house, or whether or not they’ve been on a date in the last year.

Life proceeds at its own pace.

Of course, children can’t drive or pick up their own socks, so it’s not like they’re perfect. Still, today I’m reminded to accept life as it comes. Sometimes this looks like go, go, go. Things get done left and right. Other times it’s as if your every routine and desire have lain down for a long winter’s nap. You wake up, and not matter how hard you push, what gets done gets done. Just as your head hits the pillow you think, Is this really my life? Well, obviously the answer is yes. What happens, happens. One day your child grows up and stops needing so much attention. Somehow the walls get painted. Even if they don’t, life proceeds at its own pace. Constantly, quietly it saunters along, refusing to be hurried.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

One thing finishes, another starts. Things happen when they happen.

"