On Pause (Blog #1084)

Today I’ve mostly stayed at home. This afternoon I went to my aunt’s house to help her with a computer problem and borrow a card table, and this evening I went for a walk (exercise is good for your immune system), but that’s it. Otherwise I’ve been around the house. Eating. Reading. Eating some more. Ugh. Pandemics are stressful. As one of my friends lamented on the phone yesterday, “I’m going to gain weight. I’ve accepted it. It’s just going to happen.” Alas, there are so many things happening right now that we need to accept. That are so hard to accept.

If you don’t know what they are, turn on the news. Or check your bank account.

This afternoon, from home, from a distance, I spoke to my therapist. In terms of COVID-19, she said everyone’s life has been put ON PAUSE, that it’s clearly time for all of us to slow down, slow the fuck down. “I feel really sorry for people whose identities are wrapped up in being productive or being social for the wrong reasons [so they can post about themselves online],” she said. “They’re about to get a serious reality check.”

“Right,” I said, “because if your self-worth is centered around doing things, what happens when you can’t do them?”

This is a serious and valid question, one, I think, we’re all being given time to consider. Along these lines, my therapist referred to this time in history as “a gift.” Not because people are terrified, sick, and dying, but because our collective go, go, going has come to a serious halt. Perhaps because we haven’t been able to do it for ourselves, life has pumped the brakes for us. Consequently, we HAVE to slow down, gather around our families, search our interiors, and think about the things that really matter: life, death, what we prioritize, the way we treat each other. Of course, all of this is not only scary as shit, but also a lot to handle at once. My therapist said, “Everyone is real crazy right now. So when you go to the grocery store you have to be psychically prepared to walk into a wall of fear.” In other words, tits up. Life right now ain’t for sissies.

As if it ever was, is, or shall be.

Joseph Campbell tells a story with this moral. Something about how little baby turtles that are born on a beach come crawling out of their hatched eggs and head straight for the ocean. And not only are there the waves to deal with, but–bam! right off the bat–there are seagulls swooping down to eat them. So like, this planet isn’t for the faint at heart. You gotta be tough. But not too tough. Because you don’t want to become bitter. Ugh. This is the challenge that Jesus talked about. To be wise as serpents (look alive, little turtles!) and–at the same time–innocent as doves (don’t hate the seagulls for being seagulls; they know not what they do).

I borrowed the card table from my aunt’s today because I have some editing work to do this week. And whereas I’d normally go to the library to work, thanks to COVID-19 and social distancing, I now need to work from home. Me and the rest of the world. Alas, the only table or workstation we have here is our kitchen table, and that part of the house is way too noisy for concentrating. So I set the card table up in my room as a makeshift desk, and now my room, more than ever, has become my little corner of the globe. True, the card table bounces a little with every keystroke, but it doesn’t suck. Indeed, as I look around my room, I think, I like it here. It ain’t the library, but if I absolutely had to, I could get sick and die here, content.

Not that I want to die, and not that my chances of dying are high. But as I’ve said before, at some point you have to consider your own mortality and what you’re really all about. For me this looks like asking myself if I can find peace no matter what. When I’m being productive, when I’m lazing around. When I’m healthy, when I’m sick. When I’m being embraced by others, when I’m alone. This is no small task, of course, and is the undertaking of a lifetime. And yet I’m proud to report that significant progress can be made in a fairly short amount of time. Having sat down every day for almost the last three years with the express intention of meeting and coming to know myself, I’ve realized I actually like who I am. And that I don’t need anything out there to make me feel good in here. Sure, chocolate cake, a load of money, and a hot lover wouldn’t suck, but there are increasingly more days when, in the absence of all that, I’m totally elated. The mystics say this is the big cosmic joke, when you finally get that everything you thought was important isn’t. That you don’t need “a thing” to make you happy.

What? My bank account is empty, and there’s not a roll of toilet paper in sight?

Hilarious.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's the holes or the spaces in our lives that give us room to breathe and room to rest in, room to contain both good and bad days, and--when the time is right--room for something else to come along.

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The Weight of the World (Blog #230)

For the last four-and-a-half weeks, I’ve been sick.  Granted, I haven’t been battling a major disease and I haven’t lost a limb. But I have had an infection that’s refused to leave my sinuses, even though I’ve asked it politely to go somewhere else on a number of occasions. I swear, it’s like I’ve had a door-to-door evangelist up my nose, and nothing the internet has suggested for home remedies has made it skedaddle. So far, not only have I changed my diet and added supplements, but I’ve also washed my sinuses out with hydrogen peroxide, baby shampoo, Betadine, garlic water, and apple cider vinegar. Honestly, I don’t think the world-wide web is a safe place for someone with my personality, since I’m obviously willing to put half my kitchen cabinet up any orifice I can find just because a guy named Bob from Ohio said to. I mean, in the last month I’ve put so many things up my nose that I’m beginning to feel like a member of The Rolling Stones.

Going forward, I really don’t think I can be trusted to drive the information super highway without proper supervision.

Anyway, when I woke up this morning, things had gotten worse. I was sweating, kind of shaky, and absolutely devoid of energy. A friend recently suggested buying a powerful blend of herbs, and I considered that for a moment. Maybe I could try one more thing, since God knows I’m a try-er. But then I quickly ran through the mental list of money I’ve spent over the years on vitamins, herbs, and minerals, teas and tinctures–hell, all the colon cleanses–and each thing practically guaranteed to work. No, I thought, I quit. Hands to heart and heart to God, I quit. So before my feet even hit the floor this morning, I dialed the number for my ear, nose, and throat doctor. I thought, I’m tired of doing this alone.

I guess that’s what it’s felt like lately, that I’ve been alone in this struggle. (No offense to Bob from Ohio, of course.) Normally, I’d be okay with that. I’ve gotten used to doing most things by myself over the last twenty-five years. My shoulders are usually up for carrying the weight of the world. But today they rolled over, tapped the floor three times, and cried uncle. Whenever that happens, I know I’m really sick. It’s like there comes a point when nothing in my external world has changed, but the skies are suddenly darker and it feels as if the sun will never shine again. And it’s not that I have to be absolutely miserable or dying in order to feel this way–I just have to be exhausted from trying so hard.

That’s what I’ve felt like today, exhausted. Like, don’t ask me to do a damn thing and certainly don’t ask me to give a fuck, since I’m out of fucks to give. All afternoon I’ve walked around in a stupor, pretty much faking it, the whole time wanting to curl up in bed and have someone else take care of me. I’m not sure that this desire ever really goes away, the desire to return to the best parts of childhood, even to the womb where things were dark and warm and safe. Some psychologists talk about birth trauma, which, simply put, is the trauma we all experience as the result of being suddenly projected into the cold, vulnerable light of day. Of course, nobody gets to go back, and once you’re here, it’s tits up, chest out, and weight of the world on your shoulders.

Life ain’t for sissies.

This afternoon while scrolling Facebook, I noticed a post from a woman I used to work with. She was asking for prayers, since her husband has shingles–again. Later I saw a post from a guy I met in an airport restaurant and haven’t spoken to since. He’s younger than I am, and he’s been having back pain and losing weight without explanation. He said he was finally going to the doctor today and that he just wanted to feel good again. (Right?) I mean, my own mother has breast cancer. These things remind me that even though it often feels like I’m alone with the weight of the world on my shoulders, I’m not alone. Sure, maybe my friends and I aren’t dealing with the exact same challenges, but I’m not the only one who gets sick more than he wants to or the only who looks for answers and can’t find them.

Tonight I had dinner with my friends Bonnie and Todd, and Bonnie said that for the longest time she was into natural remedies. Hell, she had four home births. Anyway, Bonnie’s big thing back then was essential oils, which, as she said, “Will cure amputations.” But now, instead of being “all natural” and “never western” in terms of healing, she takes a more balanced approach. This too reminds me that I’m not alone in my experiences. I’m not the only one to get caught up in the idea that the big, bad bacteria in my sinuses are no match for my kitchen spices. And I’m not saying I’ve always been disappointed with do-it-yourself healing. I told Bonnie that there’s a natural supplement that cures my hemorrhoids every time. Like, in two days things down there go from razor blades to daisies. (Daisies!) That being said, that’s the one miracle cure I’ve come across in the last decade.

So I’m going to the doctor tomorrow–my appointment is in the morning. And it’s not like I suddenly think doctors have all the answers. They’re human too. If I were going to a doc-in-the-box, I’d probably get a steroid and an antibiotic, and those things certainly have side-effects that frustrate me. But I’m seeing my specialist, someone who knows my history and always listens to my concerns with compassion. As much as getting better, that’s what I’m looking forward to, talking to someone who deals with this all the time and can intelligently discuss options.

No offense to Bob from Ohio, of course.

Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

I guess we all have our breaking point. Some days we look at our problems and feel like trying again, going back in the ring, putting a little more weight on our shoulders. We don’t mind being alone. Other days we feel like quitting. We look at whatever it is we’ve been fighting and say, “That’s it. You win. I gave it the old college try, but you’re bigger than me.” Realizing our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world, we finally ask for help. Now we’re not alone, and some of the weight has shifted. With less on our shoulders to carry, we naturally stand taller and see things differently than we did before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perfection is ever-elusive.

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