Clouds Change Like That (Blog #969)

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Eeek. Maybe it’s the bed I slept in last night (I’m house sitting), but I’ve had a headache all day. And whereas I’ve been popping pills left and right (we all have our limits), nothing has helped. Well, I won’t say that. (You just did, Marcus.) Nothing has COMPLETELY helped. Still, it’s been a good and productive day. Last night I went down the rabbit hole of downloading a bunch of previously uploaded music from my streaming service because I read that the service would soon be going out of business (who knows if it’s true?), so, despite a few hangups this afternoon (like not having enough space on my hard drive and having to shuffle things around to my virtual drive), I got ‘er done.

Now I’m the proud owner of nearly 2,000 music files I’d previously forgotten were mine. Which brings me to another point. As I look back on my spending all day organizing this stuff, part of me thinks, Marcus, you’ve wasted your time. Three years ago you lost all your files in a hard drive crash and survived. Aren’t you just clinging now, holding on to what’s left? But another part thinks I’m not hurting anyone. And besides–I’m SIGNIFICANTLY less attached to the files than I was three years ago. I could lose them again tomorrow and be like, Whatever; eff it. Plus, today–if only for today–I’ve enjoyed listening to songs that used to make me smile and want to dance. That still do.

This afternoon while downloading music I simultaneously watched a documentary about Thich Nhat Hanh, the famous mindfulness teacher. (And yes, I know that my doing two things at once was anything but mindful. Life is ironic.) Anyway, in a particularly touching section of the documentary, a little girl asked Thich Nhat Hanh how she could stop being sad about her recently deceased dog. He said, “This is a tough question,” then explained that if you see a cloud that makes you happy and then it disappears, you’ll think, My cloud is dead. But with mindfulness you can realize that the cloud isn’t dead but rather transformed–into the water that you drink, even into a loved one. For me this means that everything changes–and nothing ever truly dies. Enjoy what you have while you have it. When it leaves you, try to let it go.

Try to move on with life.

Tonight I keep getting distracted by this music stuff. At eight I sat down to blog and thought I’d first “just look into” what it would take to switch streaming music services altogether. Well, the next thing I knew I got swept into converting all my playlists from one site to another, then I got wrapped up in the features of the new site. (So shiny!) When all was said and done, four hours had gone by, I’d cancelled my old subscription (that I’ve had for over five years ), and signed up for the new one (with the first three months free). And whereas some of my songs from the old service aren’t on the new one, it’s too late now. What’s done is done. There’s no looking back.

Goodbye old songs.

While going through this music-server changeover process, I started to drag it out–transfer a few playlists a day, think about my options, etc. But, again, I got carried away. Plus, I noticed my first service’s billing cycle renews in a few days, so I thought, It’s time to jump. Rip the bandaid off, Marcus. Let’s do this. Honestly, I think this is the best way to do things sometimes. Looking back, the most formative decisions I’ve made have been largely impulsive. Sure, I’ll take a dance class. I’ve GOT to see a therapist this week. I’m miserable–I’m closing my studio and selling all my stuff. I know, I’ll start a blog! I don’t regret any of it. This is my unsolicited advice: if your heart is calling you, don’t wait–dive in. See where life takes you. Clouds change LIKE THAT.

You can too.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. And whereas it's just a single step, it's a really important one.

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believing in magic (blog #12)

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​About a month ago, my therapist gave me a book called Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There. She kind of stuck it in my face and read me the title three times in a row–I guess for emphasis. Maybe she thought I needed to chill the eff out. (She probably got this idea from me, since I’d just said that I needed to chill the eff out and stop judging myself for sleeping in and not being productive constantly.)

The book is written by Sylvia Boorstein, a Buddhist, and is about developing the practice of mindfulness, or being in the present moment. (Don’t worry, you don’t have to be a Buddhist in order to be mindful.) There’s a concept Sylvia talks about called “seeing with fresh eyes” that’s been popping into my head a lot, especially today. It’s the idea that you can look at something as if you’ve never seen it before.

So tonight I drove about an hour to Springdale to teach a dance class, and on my way home, I kept noticing the full moon. And it’s like part of me thought, Oh yeah, there’s the moon. But then I thought about seeing with fresh eyes, and it was the most gorgeous thing, this floating, glowing, giant orb, hovering over the shadowy mountains, illuminating the night. I mean, have you ever just stared at the moon? (If not, I don’t recommend trying it while you’re driving. But still, definitely try it.)

The poet Rumi says, “Trade your cleverness for bewilderment.” I could be wrong, but I think this is the same idea as seeing with fresh eyes. I know that for me it’s so easy to look at things like the moon, or another person, or the fact that I don’t really have a job right now and automatically label or judge it. It’s easy for me to be clever, to think that I know what something means, like, this sucks because I said so. But I think what Sylvia and Rumi are suggesting is that fresh eyes don’t judge. They look at things in wonder. Every moment, every moon is new. Each face is beautiful. Sitting there is just as good as doing something, maybe even better.

After dance tonight, I had dinner with my friend Andrew. (That’s his picture above. Obviously, he blinked.) When I told him I didn’t know what I was going to write about later, he asked what I did today. I told him I went to Springdale to teach, so he said I should write about the tunnel you have to drive through to get to Springdale. At first I thought that was a terrible idea. I mean, it’s just a tunnel (it’s just a moon), but then Andrew, who recently turned twenty-eight years old, kept talking. He said that every single time he goes through the tunnel, he holds his breath and makes a wish. Well, he also touches a piece of metal (like his key ring), which I didn’t know was a thing, but he said was “basic wishology.” He said this hold-your-breath-and-go-through-the-tunnel-while-touching-a-piece-of-metal ritual had been going on for close to nine years now.

Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever heard?

Honestly, I think it’s beautiful. Maybe it’s a little superstitious, but beautiful nonetheless. I think it’s like looking at life with fresh eyes, trading your cleverness for bewilderment. Andrew called it believing in magic. And whereas I don’t know that I want to start holding my breath every time I go through a tunnel (I have terrible lung capacity), I do think I want to renew my belief that anything can happen. What’s more, anything can happen even without my having to do something every minute of every day. Anything can happen while I’m just sitting here. I mean, there’s a moon in the sky!

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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