Walk Through Your Doorway (Blog #1006)

Leave a comment

It’s New Year’s Eve, an hour before midnight. And whereas I’ve had more energy today than I did yesterday, I’m ringing in 2020 sick with a sinus infection. Currently I’m in my pajamas, curled up in my parents’ living room drinking hot tea. Mom’s in her chair in her nightgown on Facebook, and Dad’s on the couch watching the ball drop in New York City with a toothpick in his mouth. Our family dog is passed out on the floor. Every now and then, she farts.

It’s an enviable situation, I know.

This afternoon while running errands I stopped by the library to check out a book called As: A Surfeit of Similes by Norton Juster (the man who wrote The Phantom Tollbooth). Then, after I dropped off a late Christmas gift to and visited with my friends Justin and Ashley, I came home and read it. Talk about delightful. Y’all, it’s a children’s book, but if you like words and rhymes, it’s for you. I walked away from it both smiling and inspired.

As happy as a pig in shit. (That’s a simile, Mom, a comparison using like or as. But, to be clear, not one that’s used in the book.)

One simile that IS used in the book is “as rough as a gale,” a gale being (I found out thanks to Google) a very strong wind. (A very strong wind as in weather, mind you, not as in what happens when our dog’s sleeping.) Anyway, this made me think of Dorothy Gale, the main character in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. And whereas I don’t know if L. Frank Baum intended to give Dorothy a surname that correlates perfectly to her life being turned upside down (ultimately for the better) by a tornado, it certainly was and is fitting. What stands out to me even more, however, is the fact that Dorothy means “gift of God,” the implication of Dorothy Gale being that the tornados, the storms in our lives, are sent to us from heaven not for our destruction, but rather for our betterment.

This sucks to think about, I know.

This afternoon Justin and Ashley and I discussed our New Year’s Resolutions. And whereas all of us agreed that if you want to change something in your life you can do it any day of the year–you don’t have to wait until January 1–we all had things we’d like to see happen in 2020. In addition to the usual suspects like getting in better shape, I’d like to 1) finish this blog on March 30th, 2) start turning it into a book, and 3) buckle down on two other (young adult fiction) books I’ve begun but have neglected because–quite frankly–they terrify me. Why do they terrify me? Because, for one thing, I’m afraid they won’t be good enough. For another, I’m afraid they’ll be too good. Like, I avoid them because I believe they have the power to change both me and my life.

I think this is why most of our resolutions “fail,” why we don’t follow through. Because deep down we know that if we really stick to something–anything–it will transform us. It will turn our world upside down. Earlier tonight I looked up WHY we celebrate New Year’s when we do and found out that there’s no ASTRONOMICAL reason for it. Granted, January 1 falls nicely between the Winter Solstice (on December 21/22) and the earth’s perihelion (on January 5, when we’re closest to the sun), but that’s not it. Rather, we celebrate New Year’s in the month of JAN-uary as an homage to the Roman god Janus, the god of doorways and beginnings. Janus being the two-faced god with one face looking toward the past and one face looking toward the future. Anyway, that’s the deal. Whenever you walk through a doorway into a new world, you MUST leave your old world behind. Dorothy couldn’t take Kansas (or her loved ones in it) to Oz.

This fact that truly committing to change not only changes us but also our world and requires that we like Dorothy go alone is, again, why I think we tend to 1) keep our resolutions rather surface and 2) soon end up dropping them. (Statistics show that eighty percent of people give up on their resolutions within six weeks.) It’s also why I think the divine so often has to send storms into our our lives. Most of us need to be “strongly encouraged” to change. Recently I wrote about how we need our challenges, and this is what I meant. We need a good swift kick in pants to get us going down our own personal Yellow Brick Roads. Because given the option to steal a witch’s broomstick (that is, do something that terrifies us) or stay at home and watch Netflix, most of us choose Netflix. It’s like life sees potential in us we’re not using.

So it sends us a tornado to set us on The Path.

For all these reasons (and not that anyone asked), my advice is terms of resolutions and life in general is–don’t let yourself off easy. Don’t say, “I want to lose five pounds” or “I want to eat better.” If you do, fine. These are noble causes that, if taken seriously, will change your life for the better. Still and instead, I recommend doing something that terrifies you, something that really has the potential to draw out your potential and turn your life upside down for the better. I think about my decisions to really commit to therapy and this blog and how, although for the rest of my life my weight is sure to fluctuate, these two choices have helped me find a space within myself that’s unmovable. A space that can weather any storm. I think about the power that one perspective truly embodied–like “my storms are a gift from God”–has to transform a person, the peace it can offer, and I think, What are you waiting for? I know it’s scary, but walk through your doorway. Leave your old world behind.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

There’s nothing you can do to change the seasons or hurry them along.

"

My Gargoyles, Edward and Bronius (Blog #461)

1 Comment

Two days ago while cleaning out my closet, I found the instructions for a lava lamp, a piece of my childhood that I got rid of long ago in a yard sale. Lamps were a big thing when I was little. I had the purple lava lamp, a red twirling “siren” lamp, even a lamp that tossed rainbow-colored lights onto a whirling string (and is hard to explain). As an adult, I’ve collected mid-century modern lamps, lamps of unusual shapes and sizes, swag lamps and chandeliers that I used at my dance studio and old home, The Big House.

There’s always been something about the light.

When I had my estate sale, most of my lamps and chandeliers found new homes. Two lamps I couldn’t part with, however, are now in my newly redecorated room. Three chandeliers and three swag lamps I kept by default–they didn’t sell. For over a year now, they’ve been collecting dust in my parents’ garage, and no one on Craigslist or Facebook has wanted to pay what I’m asking. So I’ve been working on getting them inside the house this week. One at a time I’ve been cleaning them up, and if I haven’t been able to use them in my room (there’s only so much space in here), I’ve been hanging them in a spare closet.

This is something I’ve been hesitant to do. For the last year, anytime I’ve seen the chandeliers in the garage, part of me has wished they were gone. It took a lot to have that big sale, and their being around has served as a reminder of all the things that I no longer have, the place I called home for three years where I no longer live. Still, I’ve been making peace with where I am and have recently thought, At least for now, Marcus, these lamps belong to you, so let’s use them and take care of them.

In the process of cleaning up my lights this afternoon, I decided to hang one in my room. Because of the way it’s constructed, I didn’t think it would work at first, but my dad encouraged me to try, and it did. (Thanks, Dad.) Anyway, it’s antique–French, I think–with a heavy alabaster shade and a handful of hanging crystals. Atop two gargoyles have been attached. They’re not old, but they have that feel. I originally found this chandelier on eBay after days of searching for gargoyle lights. I just got obsessed over them because of their history and what they represent.

Technically, “gargoyle” means “spout,” as they were often used to decorate drain pipes in medieval architecture. However, depending on the history you read, gargoyles were also seen as guards and were placed on churches to keep evil spirits away. (What demon would want to go near something so ugly?) Plus, there’s something about them representing our shadow, that dark part of ourselves that we push away to the corners and refuse to look at or dance with. What with all my work in therapy, I figured gargoyles were the perfect creature to have around, a symbolic gesture that I was willing to embrace all aspects of myself–the good, the bad, the ugly.

For me, decorating is quite psychological.

As gargoyles can be thought of as guards, I named the two gargoyles atop my chandelier Edward and Bronius, both titles that mean “protector.” I don’t honestly believe that they kept me safe while living in The Big House, but I also never had a problem while the three of us resided there. (I’m just saying.) Plus, this is something I like to do, name my inanimate objects, especially the ones with faces. It makes my world seem more personal, more magical. I realize I’m almost forty, but–

why should I have to stop imagining?

We are surrounded by the light.

So now Edward and Bronius watch over my bedroom. A few of their crystals broke, apparently, while being moved, but–so what?–life isn’t perfect. And whereas all my favorite lamps and lights used to be spread throughout one big house, now they’re concentrated in one single bedroom–mine. I’m surrounded by their light–the light–and I love it. Maybe more now than before, since I’d mentally “lost” some of these objects, and now they’re “found.” This is the way I’ve come to think about myself–lost and now found–not because of some religious experience, but rather because I’m learning to love all parts of myself, to feel protected and at home here, in me, where the light and the dark dance together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

It’s okay to ask for help.

"

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)

"

There’s a lot of magic around you.

"