On Motivation and Unconditional Acceptance (Blog #913)

Yesterday I stayed up late doing odd jobs around the house, in part because the mood hit me, in part because I didn’t want to do them today. You know, things like laundry, stuff to get ready for the upcoming week. My thought was, If I get this shit done now, I can have the day off tomorrow. Anyway, it worked. Today I rested. I chilled the eff out. This morning I slept in, read a book, then made breakfast (at noon). Then Mom and I did something we almost never do independently or together–we went to the movie theater. Y’all, we watched Downtown Abbey. It was glorious.

Stop your life this instant and go see it.

After the movie Mom and I picked up Dad and went to my aunts’ house for a late lunch–spaghetti. And whereas spaghetti isn’t on my current meal plan, I made an exception. As I’ve said, I refuse to be an all-or-nothing perfectionist about this. In fact, just to show my inner perfectionist who’s boss, I ate a piece of bread. With five different cheeses on it. (Take that, mister). I did not, however, eat two pieces of bread, nor did I eat the chocolate pie that looked oh-so delicious. After lunch I started reading a book my therapist recommended–Will the Real Me Please Stand Up?–and it said that changing your habits is less a matter of willpower and more a matter of motivation. That is, if you’re really motivated to do something (like fit into your pants), you’ll have the willpower to do it (to say no to chocolate pie).

And what if I’m simply not that motivated, Marcus?

You’ll buy bigger pants.

This evening I’ve continued to rest. By this I mean I’ve continued to read the book I just mentioned. And whereas I’m not completely done, I almost am. Mostly it’s about how to communicate authentically and openly in relationships, how to share your actual self instead of just the mask you wear. One of my takeaways is the idea that there are three things we can do when we talk to another person–ventilate (emotionally vomit on them), manipulate (consciously or unconsciously try to maneuver them to suit our needs), or communicate. (Guess which one is best.) According to the book, communication doesn’t blame, it explains. This was my experience. This is how I feel.

In terms of communication, the book says a lot about listening, how good listening does NOT involve interrupting or giving advice. I know, this sucks. It’s fun to give advice. But apparently good listening isn’t that complicated–you simply pay the eff attention (instead of checking your phone), nod your head, say uh-huh. You validate. Instead of what most of us do, which is 1) dismiss (oh, that’s not a problem!), 2) fix (here’s what you should do), or 3) upstage (if you think that’s bad, listen to what happened TO ME!).

If there’s any magic at all to therapy, any reason I’ve spent thousands of dollars over the last five-and-a-half years, this is it. My therapist listens to me. More than anyone else in my life, hands down, she doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t dismiss anything I say or want to talk about, doesn’t try to fix things or offer advice (unless I ask), and doesn’t upstage. Now, granted, she gets paid for this good behavior, and the advice she has given and the perspectives she has offered have been invaluable. But the most healing thing she’s given me is her unconditional acceptance. Because of this, never once have I felt unheard or unimportant. Never once have I felt brushed off. Consequently, I walk through life differently than I did before. I stand taller.

All because of one person.

Personally, I’m challenged by both my therapist and the book I’m reading to be a better listener. To put my phone away. To not offer advice when it’s not asked for. I mean, do any of us like unsolicited advice? I know I don’t. But doesn’t every one of us want, even need, to be heard and accepted simply for who we are, warts and all ? I know I do.

So what do we do?

We start first. We give someone else what we’d like them to give to us–unconditional acceptance. We say, “Thank you for sharing your experiences and feelings with me. I hear you, I understand, and I still like you. Don’t worry. You have don’t have to change a thing.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can rewrite our stories if we want to.

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Makeup, Filters, and Manipulations (Blog #304)

Oh my god, y’all. I just discovered a beautiful-skin button on my camera. Well, actually, it’s a sliding scale, this little thing you drag back and forth in selfie mode. (How have I not noticed this before?) On one end of the scale is “your normal, ole, raggedy-ass skin,” and on the other end of the scale is “bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, don’t you look marvelous?” Perhaps you’re already familiar with this digital witchcraft technology, but seriously–in under two seconds, every skin issue I have disappeared. The histamine in my forehead, the dark circles under my eyes, the blackheads–all of it–gone. Of course, I don’t look any different in person, but online my face is–for all intents and purposes–healed.

Thank you, Jesus.

That being said, I think I look kind of ridiculous. That’s why I’m laughing in the photo above. I mean, that’s simply not my face. Additionally, the photo makes me think of my senior photos. This afternoon my friend Bonnie stopped by the house (with more food!), and she was looking at them, since they’re hanging on my parents’ walls. I said, “Those are heavily–heavily–airbrushed.” Mom added, “Of all the times for Marc’s acne to flare up.”

Maybe God’s a dermatologist.

The worst of the acne, I remember, was a dime-sized scab, smack-dab in between my eyebrows. Talk about an angry-looking son-of-a-gun. I’m honestly not sure what God was thinking when he invented acne. As if teenagers don’t have enough challenges, so let’s give them something that will boil, bleed, scab, scar, and puss-up–on their faces. Like, welcome to planet earth–don’t expect it to be easy, kid. (Uh, thank you, Lord?) Who knows? Maybe God’s really a dermatologist, or gets some sort of commission at the JC Penny’s makeup counter. I don’t mean this to sound sacrilegious, I’m just saying–it would explain a few things.

On one hand, I’m grateful that there are things like airbrushing and makeup. In my entire adult life, I’ve only used them occasionally, but they have come in handy a number of times (like my senior photos or that time I never performed on Broadway). My friend George says, “Ain’t no barn that don’t look better with a little paint on it.” With this is mind, when I look at my senior photos, I’m grateful that big zit isn’t there. But whereas I’m all for putting your best foot forward, I hope I don’t ever get used to being “heavily airbrushed” because it just doesn’t seem real to me. It feels like I’m trying to fool both me and everyone else about the way I look. I suppose someone else’s motivation for covering up imperfections could be different. (That’s okay.)

I’m not trying to start a debate about makeup. (Thankfully I don’t seem to have many debaters for readers.) I’m honestly not exactly sure where I’m going with this, since I don’t feel strongly one way or the other about the topic. Like, I’m mostly for being authentic and doing the best with what God gave you. But I also do my hair every day, pick out clothes that fit just so, and have ears that are pierced. I use filters on Instagram. Even on this blog, I almost always take my pictures from a certain angle to ensure that my chin doesn’t look bigger than my forehead. So I’m okay with making changes and “manipulating reality.” I just want to be perfectly clear. Anytime you see a picture of me online or anywhere else–that’s not the real me–it’s just a picture.

Maybe this point seems obvious, but I think it bares fleshing out. Recently I interviewed someone and wrote a story about them for an online project. I did this sort of thing for five years when I used to work for a local magazine, and my intent–every time–is to leave out anything that might be construed as negative. I guess this could be viewed as makeup for storytelling, presenting the person in the best light possible. But even when my intentions are best, the interviewee isn’t always completely pleased. In this recent case they said, “Well, I would have phrased that differently. I would have left that part out.” My response to this sort of thing is always the same–“Of course you would have. But this is my story about you, not your story about you.”

Insert smiley face here.

You can’t manipulate anyone into loving you.

Okay (I got it). Here’s where this is going. All of us work so hard to put our best foot forward. I guess we should. I mean, don’t let yourself go, honey. (Gay guys like to call everyone “honey,” Mom.) Still, I’m coming to believe that you can airbrush and make up and filter all you want–do what makes you happy–but it won’t make a damn bit of difference–a real difference, that is. Like, I can spend twenty minutes on capturing the perfect selfie and think I look flawless, and you can take one look at it and think, God, his hair’s a mess, and I wish he’d stop wearing the same shirt every day. In other words, if you’re making yourself up to get someone else’s approval–stop it–because you can’t manipulate anyone into loving you. People either embrace you for who and what you are–or they don’t.

For me, this is (finally) starting to be okay, and I think it has to do with authenticity. In other words, the more I accept myself exactly as I am, the more I genuinely like me and the less I care whether anyone else does or not. For one thing, no one else’s story about me will ever be my story about me. It’s just not possible. What’s more, no one’s story about me–including my own–will ever be completely accurate. Like, if I say my skin looks fabulous, and you say it looks just okay, who’s to say which of us is right? Isn’t it just a matter of opinion, and isn’t the truth probably somewhere in between? I’m not saying criticism doesn’t bother me, but I am saying it bothers me much less than it used to. I get over it faster. Also, I know there will always be something to criticize about this body if I or anyone else wants to criticize it. Better then to love this body (and every body), without conditions, which is to say, just as it is, with or without makeup, filters, and manipulations.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We’re all made of the same stuff.

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