On Branches-Down Thinking (Blog #791)

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This afternoon a friend and I were discussing things to do in Fort Smith, and she said that when people tell her “Fort Smith really needs this” or “Fort Smith really needs that,” she says, “Why don’t YOU do it?” Then she continued, “Most people find an excuse not to, but some people actually get involved. But really–what are you waiting on–Providence to sweep down and scoop you off your couch?” Amen. This is how I feel about a lot of things–dancing, exercise, writing, and mental health, for example. You’ve gotta get off your couch if you want to see improvement in these areas. (Well, maybe not writing and mental health. I’m on a couch right now.) A week ago I agreed to be part of an upcoming murder mystery fundraiser simply because if I want my social life to improve (and I do), I’ve got to get out of the house (sorry, Mom and Dad).

As Liza Minnelli says, you gotta ring them bells.

Recently my therapist and I were talking about complaining. You know, bitching, grousing, whining, or whinging. Similar to my friend I just mentioned, I said that I knew several people who frequently complained about this or that but that–from my perspective–refused to do anything about this or that. “I used to the same way,” I said, “but it’s just so clear to me now–they don’t have to put up with other people’s bullshit. Suffering is optional.” Well, my therapist said two things. First, that she LOVED to complain, that it was one of her favorite pastimes. And whereas this hasn’t been my observation of her, that’s probably because she’s so fucking funny whenever she does it. Like, she’d be a fabulous standup comedian, which, now that I think about it, is really a person who gets PAID to complain. So I guess it’s really not the content when someone complains, but the delivery. (Work on your delivery, people!) Anyway, second, my therapist said, “Some people really get off on being martyrs.”

Think about that.

A few weeks ago I got an unsolicited email from an online hemp (CBD oil, etc.) company asking me to promote their products on my blog. In return, they offered to promote me on their Twitter account, which–I just looked–has 452 followers. Along with their (generous) offer, they included a link to one of their blogs about mental health. I guess this is why they thought we’d be a good “fit” for each other. The Mental Health Connection. Earlier tonight I read the blog, entitled “Ten Mental Health Habits to Try in 2019.” Great, I thought, I might learn something. Well–get out your pen and paper–here they are: exercise, gratefulness, be kind, sleep, hang out with friends, chocolate (made with CBD oil), laugh, eat well, love yourself, meditate.

Okay. I have a lot of thoughts. On the positive side, I think all of these are fabulous things to do, especially the chocolate one. Personally, I know that I always feel better after I exercise, express gratitude, be kind, sleep, hang out with friends, laugh, eat well, love myself (talk kindly to yourself was their suggestion), or meditate. Super. That being said, having spent the last five years deliberately working on my mental health, I also see all ten of these suggestions as very surface recommendations. My therapist would call them “soccer mom” recommendations. No offense to soccer moms, but just to say they (the suggestions, not the moms) don’t go very deep.

They don’t really cut the mustard.

Other than “sleep” or “take a nap,” my therapist has never–not once in five years–suggested I do any of the things on the above list. Well, maybe meditate. But this isn’t because they’re bad things to do. They aren’t. Do them. Knock yourself out. But in terms of doing them in order to improve your mental health, that’s like putting a Bandaid on a broken arm. Sure, it might make you feel better, but it doesn’t really get to the root of the problem. For years–nearly a decade–I worked with exercise, gratitude journals, “being nice,” saying positive, self-loving affirmations, and meditating. The entire time I hoped that I’d be able to “spiritualize” myself in such a way as to never have to confront my problems directly–to have the hard conversations, to set boundaries, to speak my truth. Said another way, I hoped I’d never have to admit–My arm is broken, I’m hurting, and I could use a little help here.

I’ve said before that what took me to therapy was a bad relationship. Before I started therapy, I tried everything I knew–every suggestion my self-help books offered to make it better. I tried being kind and being understanding, the whole time thinking that if only I had enough inner peace, he could be a total asshat (and boy could he ever) and it wouldn’t matter. But it did–it did matter. Maybe a saint could find peace in a prison, but 1) I’m not a saint and 2) the saint would be a fool to not walk out of the prison if he suddenly learned the door was open and no one was standing in his way.

What I learned in therapy was that that relationship was simply a SYMPTOM, a natural result of past traumas, my upbringing, and my beliefs–about myself and what I was worthy of, others and how they should treat me, and the world around me. In other words, I was sick. Now, I don’t mean diagnosable. I have family members who are clinically mentally ill, and I wasn’t that. But just like my family members “laugh” when people tell them “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” or “try getting more sun,” I laugh now at the thought that hanging out with more friends or eating chocolate with CBD oil could have even come close to fixing my sickness.

Really, situation is a better word than sickness, since I don’t mean sick as in diagnosable or gross, but sick as in “something isn’t working here.” Something isn’t as healthy here as it could be/should be. As I see it now, we all have situations or things that aren’t working–a relationship, a job, a feeling or behavior that won’t leave us alone. What I’m saying is that no problem happens in isolation and that, chances are, the roots of our problems run deep. If you’d rather complain that do something about your problems–and if you’re not going to be a standup comedian–ask yourself why. Because complaining or playing the martyr is a very disempowering thing to do, whereas facing your problems directly is very empowering. Sure, you can get a lot of sympathy and you can feel sorry for yourself by staying helpless, but staying helpless never produces longterm positive results or, for that matter, self-esteem.

Why not empower yourself and walk out of your prison?

Going back to the list of ten things to try for mental health, I see them as a bit like trying to grow a tree from the branches down. We see all these lists on the internet–be kind, be grateful, laugh, treat yourself well. But these aren’t things you can simply force yourself to do, at least for very long. Rather, they are the fruits of healthy roots. (I rhymed!) So work on your roots. Go to the heart of your problems and deal with them directly, then you will naturally be grateful, kind, and all those other things. Then you’ll naturally treat yourself lovingly because you will have cleared away enough junk to connect with the love that organically resides in your heart. Affirmations push truth into us. The Hard Work cracks us open and lets truth flow out. We see other people who have walked The Path and think that if we ACT like them, we will EXPERIENCE their peace. But again, this is branches-down thinking. Trees grow from the roots up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your emotions are tired of being ignored.

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We Follow the Mystery (Blog #222)

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Once again, I have no idea where to begin, or for that matter, where to end. I’ve spent the evening reading and reading some more, and I’ve gone through my nightly routine–flossed and brushed my teeth, washed my face, prepared my bed for sleeping. I’ve looked everywhere for inspiration, something to write about, but nothing has seemed remarkable. Sometimes blogging is like watching paint dry. Would something–anything– happen already? For the last twenty-four hours, I’ve been reading a book about writing called Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, and Natalie says that if you don’t know where to start, talk about food, so I’ll try that.

Also, do we like Natalie or what?

After one full week of clean eating, I can officially say that it sucks. It’s nice to fit in my jeans and all, but tonight I went grocery shopping for my parents and kept putting item after item into the basket and thinking, Can’t eat that–can’t eat that. Oh, butter bread! Definitely can’t eat that. This afternoon I had salmon and vegetables for breakfast, and tonight I had hamburger patties and vegetables for dinner. Every meal is essentially like the last. This is the part that sucks–no variety. Well, wait. I did have a pickle tonight–that was exciting. Of course, since I’m speaking about a literal pickle and not a euphemistic one, what I actually mean is that it wasn’t exciting at all.

Whenever I eat well for a week (or God forbid two), I always think that should be enough time to reach my ideal weight and feel like Liza Minnelli in Cabaret. Fabulous! My friend George refers to this kind of thinking as “wanting a parade” for making good decisions. (Bring on the band!) Obviously, my expectations are too high. Every day I wake up wanting instant results, but my body always says exactly what the button on my cashier at the grocery store tonight said–Nope! Not today. This is almost enough to make me want to go back to eating chocolate cake for breakfast. Almost.

Somehow you arrive, always astonished when you do.

On nights like tonight, writing feels like the diet–ho, hum–routine–is it really worth it? Words that work show up about as often as winning lottery numbers. Whenever the last word does show up, I think, God, I’m glad THAT’S over. Other nights I sit down at the laptop, and it’s like a miracle. I can’t type the words fast enough. I get to the end of the post and think, Brilliant.  Rarely is there an indication beforehand of what kind of night it’s going to be, so I’ve decided that creativity is a lot like that asshole friend who says, “Follow me to the party,” but never uses his damn turn signal along the way. So you just take the trip and try to keep up. Feeling mostly lost and out of control the entire time, somehow you arrive, always astonished when you do.

Natalie says this is normal. Some days your writing soars, some days it sinks–never mind–keep writing. This reminds me of a principle taught in The Bhagavad Gita, one of the Hindu scriptures–take action, but let go of the results. In other words, eat better, but don’t expect to gain anything from it. Sit down to write every night, but don’t expect it to go anywhere. This, of course, is a tough pill to swallow. Personally, my inner control freak thinks it’s a bunch of shit. (Is it any wonder I don’t have a dot in the middle of my forehead?) That being said, I don’t remember the last time a day, a diet, or even a simple blog post ended like I thought it was going to. So how much control does my inner control freak really have?

Not a lot, that’s how much.

I find this idea of not having much control both terrifying and exciting. It’s like, I didn’t make the sun rise this morning or hang the stars in the sky, but I’d like to think I could get through the day on my own, thank you very much. But take today, for example. I had it all planned out. First I’d go to the chiropractor, then I’d go to the library to read Natalie, then I’d come home, eat, and go shopping. Well, I got to the chiropractor, but before I could point my car in the direction of the library, my body said coffee, so I ended up at a coffee shop. That’d be normal enough, I suppose, but I ran into one of my old friends, someone who said they’d uncharacteristically had a couple dreams about me lately, so maybe it wasn’t an accident that we ran into each other. Who’s to say why anything happens the way it does?

We follow the mystery, never knowing what’s next.

As I understand it, this is how the mystery of life works. You wake up every day, and even if you have a plan, you try to be open to whatever happens. You do your best to let go of the idea that you’re leading the way. You think, “I want coffee,” then your ego takes credit for it when you’re holding a cup of joe in your hands. But where did that thought come from? That’s the mystery. Tonight at the grocery store I kept noticing a booklet called The Science of Emotions, so I bought it and started reading it. Now it sits on a stack of several other books, some of which are mine, some of which belong to the library. (I eventually ended up there this evening.) I can’t tell you what I’m going to do with all that information anymore than the man in the moon can, just like I can’t tell what the results of my boring diet will be. Still, I’m learning that not knowing is the exciting part, just like arriving anywhere is the astonishing part. (Look, we got to the last paragraph!) Also, I’m beginning to believe that each new moment is not only a starting point full of possibilities, but is also a destination that looks like right here, right now. In this sense and without turn signals, we follow the mystery, constantly arriving, never knowing what’s next.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"You can't change your age, but you can change what your age means to you."