Follow Your Own Star (Blog #555)

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Currently it’s 2:45 in the afternoon, and my friend Bonnie and I just back from Tacos for Life, Fort Smith’s latest chain restaurant, because–tacos. Now we’re back at her house, and I’m blogging. It’s day nine working for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and we don’t start work today until 4:30, which means I have about an hour to knock this out. Tonight’s big show for the public will start at 8:00, and I don’t know how late we’ll work afterwards tearing things down. Tomorrow is “load out,” when we’ll pack everything back in the semi trailer trucks, then the cast and crew will take off down the yellow brick road for another city and another group of local workers.

A few thoughts from this week that have yet to make it onto the page–

1. Follow your own star

This last Wednesday we didn’t have to go into work until one in the afternoon, so I scheduled two hours of dance lessons with a new client–a man and his daughter who were preparing for her wedding. Anyway, that morning I picked out a blue t-shirt, and my first thought was, My pink star earrings would look fabulous with this outfit. But then I thought, Those earrings are SUPER gay, Marcus, and you don’t even know these people. So instead I put in my tiny dinosaur earrings, since they’re much more “subtle.” But then five minutes later I thought, Fuck this. I like the other earrings better. So I wore them.

And the dance lesson went fine.

Later that day I was backstage watching the show, leaning against Dorothy’s house. There were two people sitting next to me, a local couple who I’d seen several times but hadn’t met yet. Then out of nowhere the girl said, “I LOVE your earrings,” and the three of us ended up having the best conversation–about earrings, stage work, where we shop for clothes, and what the hell we’re doing with our lives. Now three people know each other who didn’t know each other before, and–from my perspective–that wouldn’t have happened had it not been for my pink star earrings. So don’t discount your inclinations; be true to yourself even in the little things. God works in mysterious ways.

2. Talk to strangers, even the drunk ones

Last night I went out with my friend Kim to hear her husband play at a local restaurant, and a lady (a drunk lady) pulled Kim out of her seat and started dancing with her. Later the woman came over, and Kim told her that I’m a dance instructor, and she said, “You used to teach at Mercy.” Y’all, statements like this are always a shock to my system, since I hold the inner thought that I’m invisible or that people don’t notice or pay attention to me in the same way that I would notice or pay attention to them. (You’re wrong, Marcus. You’re wrong.)

So get this shit.

When I closed the studio a couple years ago, it was partially due to the fact that I felt like I had a gift to offer my community, but that it was a gift my community wasn’t interested in. (My books and records, especially those last few years, seemed to reflect this notion.) Well, last night just before she left, this woman looked me straight in the eye, smiled, and said, “THANK YOU for all you’ve done for our community.” Both then and now, this compliment brings tears to my eyes, as SO MANY people have thanked me over the years, but I can’t think that anyone has ever phrased their gratitude the way this woman did. “Thank you for all you’ve done for our community.” How important it is to feel both valued and vital by others.

3. Clean up your perceptions

When I closed the studio, I wanted to “get out of this town” as quickly as possible. My attitude was “fuck this place.” That being said, let me be clear–I’m GLAD that I’ve been here these last two years. Hell, I’m glad I’ve been here for my entire life. Not that I think I’ll stick around forever, but my time here, especially these last two years, has allowed me to do a lot of healing and has taught me how to “get right” with my environment–how to see it, accept it, and embrace it for all its strengths and weaknesses. What if I’d left sooner? For one thing, I never would have encountered the drunk woman who told me that my community noticed and appreciated me. I would have been just ever so bitter. So it’s better this way–for me to stay, clean up my perceptions–to be grateful for my community in return.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You have everything you need.

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A Horse of a Different Color (Blog #554)

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It’s day eight working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and after a full week of tech work, we had our first official performance this morning–for the local middle school. Y’all, teenagers get up early; the show was at nine-frickin’ o’clock. This means I had to wake up at six-frickin’-thirty in order to be at the Alma Performing Arts Center an hour early, at eight-frickin’ o’clock. Ugh. I had to double up on my morning coffee. I guess everyone’s tired. It’s been a long week. But all the the long days have been worth it–the show went fabulously both onstage and backstage. You should have heard the kids laughing, clapping, and awe-ing.

Talk about a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Here’s a picture of me and Kirk Lawrence-Howard, who plays Professor Marvel and The Wizard of Oz. He’s fabulous. (The big wiener is one of the props Professor Marvel uses, and–understandably–the cast and crew make a lot of jokes about it.)

Here’s a picture of me and Emily Perzan, The Wicked Witch of the West. She’s also fabulous. I’d give my left nut if I could cackle half as well as she can.

At lunch, all the locals were let go for the day. However, since I was organizing the prop gondolas (the big, black boxes full of show shit) for my supervisor, I got to stay. Y’all, I absolutely adored this assignment. First, I LOVE organizing and got to COLOR-CODE the different sections of the gondolas and LABEL everything inside. (I’m over the moon for a good label.) Second, I got to be creative in HOW I labeled things. Like, whenever a prop isn’t used for the rest of the show, it’s referred to as “dead.” So for the Stage Right prop gondola, I created a section for dead props and labeled it “Where props go to die.” (Stage Left is the left side of the stage or room if you’re onstage facing the audience, Mom.)

For the Stage Right prop gondola, I created a section for dead props and did this–

Here’s a picture of the entire Stage Right prop gondola (just before I added the dead-prop labels). The mess of straw on the right side of the second shelf from the top is the Scarecrow’s legs and arm that get “torn off” by the flying monkeys.

Now it’s seven-frickin’-thirty in the evening, and I’ve been home for a couple hours. I don’t have to be back at the theater until tomorrow afternoon. (Woowho.) I just finished reading an article in this month’s GQ (Gentlemen’s Quarterly) about mental health. Like me, they recommend seeing a therapist. However, at one point while talking about overcoming anxiety, the author of the article says, “It doesn’t take a lot. We’re not talking about therapy for a year.” And whereas I appreciate the idea that a little can go a long way, I’d like to add that a lot can go a much longer way.

I’ll explain.

Typically when people call me to inquire about dance lessons, they ask, “How many lessons will this take?” Well, there’s not a very good answer to that question. At least not a definite one. Simply put, if you take one dance lesson, you’ll know more than you did before, but you’ll also LOOK LIKE you took ONE dance lesson. Conversely, if you take fifty-two dance lessons (one a week for an entire a year), you’ll not only know infinitely more than you did before, but you’ll also look INFINITELY better. In other words, you get out of something what YOU put into it. This is WHY the national tour of The Wizard of Oz is the phenomenal show that it is–the cast and crew are not only fundamentally talented, but they’ve also put in hundreds and even thousands of hours perfecting their respective skills.

It’s with this logic in mind that I ask, “Would a year in therapy be THE WORST thing in the world if it helped you significantly lower your level of anxiety and lay your longstanding traumas to rest?” Personally, I’ve been going to therapy for four-and-a-half years (every other week for three years, and once a week since then). And it’s not that I’m so totally fucked up that I require a hundred plus hours of one-on-one professional attention. But just like I enjoy dancing and want to keep growing as a dancer, I also enjoy therapy (and when I don’t enjoy the process, I enjoy the results) and want to keep growing as a person.

I don’t know–we like our stories, our entertainment, short and simple. Dorothy encounters a tornado, is swept off to Oz, get a fabulous pair of shoes, meets her three best friends, kills two witches, and manages to get herself back to Kansas in the span of two-and-a-half hours. But real progress, real personal and spiritual growth, doesn’t happen in a matter of hours. It’s a little bit here and a little bit there–consistently–over time. Over a lot of time. Now–if you only have one hour to take a dance lesson or go to therapy? Go–do it for an hour. You’ll still get something out of it. But if you decide to really dig deep and truly commit to the process–well–as the guard to the gate of The Emerald City says–“That’s a horse of a different color.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not true.

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No Tornado, No Adventure (#553)

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It’s day seven working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and all the long days are starting to catch up to me. Physically, I’m trucking right along. Emotionally, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I’m due for a good night’s rest, which, according to the science I’ve read, truly does reset your feelings to baseline. Alas, that’s not going to happen tonight, as we’ll be running the show until late this evening and have to be back early tomorrow for our first performance (for the local high school). But I think–I think–we get tomorrow night off, as well as the next morning. So maybe I can sleep in.

And since I know I’m not the only one who’s worn down and stressed out, maybe we can all sleep in.

I spent this morning painting and sprucing up more sets. However, one of them, The Oz Chamber, got called onto stage in the middle of my paint job, so it’s still not done. And whereas The Completionist in me can’t stand it, this is life–I don’t know when or even if the project will get done. Anyway, when The Oz Chamber got called in, I moved on to other matters. Specifically, I added more details to the flower pots I worked on yesterday and decorated a backup wand for Glinda (The Witch of the North), which is pictured above.

Here are yesterday’s pots.

Here are the same pots today.

Last night I dreamed I was driving home on the interstate and a fast-moving tornado was coming in my direction. I wonder if I’ll be okay, I thought, and then woke up. Of course, I assume the tornado image came from The Wizard of Oz, but I think it’s interesting symbolically, since tornadoes represent chaos and destruction. In Dorothy’s story, the tornado is this big, scary thing that rips her away from her family and the only world she’s every known. It’s terrifying.

I think of the worst things that have happened to me, and without exception they’ve all felt like tornadoes, these huge, strong, uncontrollable forces that have come into my life and ripped me away from whatever I held dear at the time. God, I felt so helpless when our house burned down, so powerless when my dad went to prison, so heartbroken when that relationship ended. But that’s what it’s like when a tornado comes into your life. One minute your feet are on solid ground, and the next minute you’re up in the atmosphere, floundering. And who knows where you’ll land–or if you’ll even land at all?

All you can do is surrender.

Personally, I think tornadoes get a bad rap. After all, had Dorothy not been picked up by her tornado, she never would have landed in Oz or faced her fears and overcome them. Clearly, she wasn’t doing that on her own, so she needed a nudge (a shove) in the right direction, and the tornado was obviously the only thing strong and powerful enough to separate her from her old way of thinking and being. Say what you will about the tornado, but it ultimately got Dorothy over the rainbow (to her true self). Personally, I wouldn’t trade any of my tornadoes, any of the terrible things that have happened in my life. Not a single one. Because they gave me my chops. They made me who I am. And I like who I am.

No tornado, no adventure.

I’m not saying you should write a thank-you note to the tornadoes in your life (because sometimes tornadoes are people–you know it and I know it). But I am saying that a story without a tornado (a little drama to shake things up) is no story at all. That is–no tornado, no adventure. And not that you should go inviting storms into your life (don’t worry–they’ll invite themselves), but consider that a storm may be the only force capable of prompting you to dig deep and unlock the power, beauty, and magic that you’ve been hiding within yourself–let’s face it–for way too long. This is, after all, how nature works. Only under pressure does a piece of coal turn into a diamond.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Freedom lies on the other side of everything you're afraid of.

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On One’s Inner World (Blog #552)

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It’s day six working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and last night we stopped rehearsal abruptly when the fog machines set off the fire alarm. And whereas the actors were released early (the stage was FULL of fog), the crew stayed to work on sets and props. My job was to “spruce up” the flower pots used in Oz, one of which is broken in half and turned into a crown for The Lion when he sings If I Were the King of the Forest. This involved hot-glueing some foam around the edges, painting the foam gold, painting the rest green, then re-arranging the flowers and greenery.

Here’s a look at the finished products.

Since “the locals” didn’t have to report until one this afternoon, this morning I got to sleep in–at least a little–until eight-thirty. And weird–just like yesterday, I woke up in THE BEST mood. However, unlike yesterday, my joy has NOT dissipated. Currently it’s six in the evening, and I’m still all grins and giggles.

Go figure.

From ten to noon, I taught a dance lesson at my friend Bonnie’s house for a man and his daughter, who’s getting married this weekend. I imagine this has a lot to do with my good mood. First, dance is such a delightful thing, and it’s wonderful work, helping a dad dance with his daughter. Second, I’m in my element when I’m teaching dance. You know, it’s my thing. It makes me happy.

And it’s ALWAYS GOOD to get paid for doing something you love.

This afternoon at the Alma Performing Arts Center, we ran the show–from start to finish–without stopping. And whereas some of the cast has been practicing in partial costumes, today was the first time everyone was in full costume with full makeup. Oh my gosh, y’all–it was absolute magic. There’s so much talent here, and it’s such a glorious story. Whenever I don’t have sets or props to move, I hide behind one of the curtains and just watch.

Somewhere, over the rainbow, there’s a land that I dreamed of once in a lullaby, where troubles melt like lemon drops…

That rainbow song gets me almost every time. Who hasn’t dreamed of a better place, a better life? I know I have. I do–all the time. The lovely thing is that I’m beginning to think it’s actually possible, that you can have what you dream of, that your entire world can turn on a dime for the better. And yet, I know that I’m already in a better place than I used to be, even though I physically haven’t gotten out of the county I grew up in. Likewise, I have a better life than I used to, even though you wouldn’t guess it if you were to look at the clothes I wear or add up the amount of money I bring home. But on the inside–where it counts–EVERYTHING looks better than it did before.

Joseph Campbell says all the myths and fairy tales are about changes in consciousness. As I’ve said before, this is evidenced in Dorothy’s story–who at first is unable to save her everything, her Toto, from Miss Gulch but later is able to find it within herself to “melt her fears” by dissolving The Wicked Witch of the West. Campbell says, “The hero’s journey always begins with the call. One way or another, a guide must come to say, ‘Look, you’re in Sleepy Land. Wake. Come on a trip. There is a whole aspect of your consciousness, your being, that’s not been touched. So you’re at home here? Well, there’s not enough of you there.’ And so it starts.”

Since I re-read this quote recently, I’ve been fixated on the part that says, “So you’re at home here? Well, there’s not enough of you there.” To me this means that OF COURSE it’s COMFORTABLE to think the same thoughts you’ve always thought and do the same things you’ve always done; OF COURSE it’s UNCOMFORTABLE to change. In my experience, like Dorothy’s, it takes every ounce of your brains, your courage, and your heart to overcome your fears, change your habits and behavior, and transform you inner world. But when you do The Hard Work, what used to be black-and-white transforms to color. It’s that dramatic. And it’s not that the outer world has changed; it’s that YOU have.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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On Soaring and Sinking (Blog #551)

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It’s day five working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and I woke up this morning in THE BEST MOOD. I really don’t know what came over me, but I started dancing as soon as I got out of bed, then grooved and shimmied all the way into the kitchen. I even plugged my earphones into my phone and turned up Christopher Cross. It’s all right, I think we’re gonna make it. But then in an effort to spin while moving from the refrigerator to the counter behind me, I dropped an egg on our open dishwasher, and it splattered all over the clean dishes. WHOOPS!

Arriving at the Alma Performing Arts Center, I was THAT GUY–the one who’s smiling and bouncing up and down with joy for no apparent reason. I don’t know–maybe having a routine and working a job that I enjoy is doing me good. Who knows? This was at nine o’clock, and I normally don’t even crack a smile until after noon. But this really has been a wonderful week. I’ve even been looking forward to driving home late at night and seeing my parents. They’ve been feeding me dinner and helping me make sure my paint clothes are clean, ready to go for the next day. As I eat, we talk about our day and catch up on each other’s respective soap operas. I often make self-deprecating remarks about living with my parents, but I think that needs to stop, since I wouldn’t have these positive memories otherwise.

Currently I’m on lunch break, which is only thirty more minutes. (Since I have other business to attend to at dinner, I’m blogging now.) Hum. I might have to finish writing late tonight. We’ll see. Anyway, somewhere during the last four hours, my good mood from this morning seriously dissipated. In its place has come a lot of internal chatter, mumbo-jumbo, and bullshit, which I think has mostly to do with my feeling like a stranger here. To be clear–everyone I’ve encountered–the cast, crew, and volunteers–are kind, considerate, and professional. Still, I don’t really KNOW anyone. At lunch and dinner when everyone else goes off in pairs or groups, I eat alone–just me, an apple and some peanut butter, and my computer.

This isn’t the easiest thing to do, observing–but not participating with–others who are having a good time. Not that people don’t talk to me or include me in things. I’ve certainly had plenty of those moments. But being the new guy isn’t the same as being the old friend or the established relationship. I don’t blame anyone for this situation. I am, after all, temporary help, and it takes time to form bonds. It was set up to be this way, and it’s ALWAYS awkward trying to figure out where you fit in.

Because I think we all–fundamentally–want to fit in.

You always have yourself to come back to.

Sitting down to write helps. I’m glad I’m doing this now instead of later. Because I’m reminded that no matter what kind of day I’m having–one that soars or one that sinks–I always have myself to come back to. As of yesterday, I’ve been doing this blogging thing for 550 days in a row(!), so I have plenty of documented evidence to remind me that people are people (doing the best they can), circumstances change, and emotions cycle through like the seasons. It’s all right, I think we’re gonna make it. Through everything, my job is to take care of me. And I can. I can be gentle and work with whatever arises, whatever shows up to be my teacher today, whatever shows up to bring me back to myself.

[Today’s top photo is from The Wicked Witch’s Chamber. I helped paint it (the bottom part). In this scene, Dorothy asks The Wicked Witch, “How did you get so mean?” The Wicked Witch replies, “Lots and lots of practice.” I imagine this answer also applies to how one becomes kind or gentle with oneself or others. Lots and lots of practice.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Normal people don’t walk on water.

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The View from Stage Left (Blog #550)

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Today is day four working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and it’s once again dinner time. This has been an interesting experiment, getting up early (at 7:45) and working all day. Last night we left at 11; I think I finally passed out about 1. Due to this schedule, dinner is really the only time I have to blog. That’s another interesting thing, forcing my brain to pump out a post in about an hour. (Dinner is an hour and a half, and it takes me about twenty to thirty minutes to edit after having written). Anyway, currently I’m sitting backstage, stage left, in the dark at a prop table. I’m surrounded by a butterfly net, a giant hourglass, and the bucket of water Dorothy uses to melt the old witch.

Which old witch? The wicked witch.

Stage Left is where I spent all of last night, this morning, and this afternoon. As of now, everyone here is “running the show,” going scene-by-scene and song-by-song working out lights, sound, choreography, and everything else. As I’m part of the prop team, my job has been to help move sets and props on and off at the appropriate times. I wish you could see what goes on back here. I wish you had the view from stage left. For all the magic that happens on stage, there are dozens of people making it happen backstage. It’s this magical machine that’s planned down to the smallest detail. (For example, pulley ropes, light cues, and pieces of tape that designate where the sets go–called spike marks–are all color-coded.)

My predominant thoughts today–

1. On synchonicity

The universe is real trip sometimes. In yesterday’s blog I casually mentioned feeling like Bob Ross, since I’ve been painting so much. Well, not an hour later, I struck up a conversation with one of the carpenters on the tour and noticed that he was wearing a Bob Ross lanyard! There was Bob’s face hanging around his neck, and the exact quote I’d used written along the lanyard itself. “We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents.”

Crazy.

2. On receiving

In the last few weeks, I’ve blogged twice about the rich symbolism contained within the story of The Wizard of Oz, once in my birthday blog, and most recently here. I won’t go over the whole thing again, but suffice it to say this is a story that clearly speaks to my consciousness, as it’s about finding your voice, facing your worst fears, and becoming self-empowered, and this is a journey I’ve been on (or at least am currently on, since I’m not sure one ever “gets there”). Anyway, I think it’s pretty fantastic that I should end up HERE backstage at THIS SHOW. What a gift to receive. I’m absolutely having the time of my life. Thinking about what all that had to happen to bring me and this show together–well, it nearly brings me to tears.

Here’s a stage view of the Tin Man’s House and the Forest Trees that I helped paint/touch up.

3. On what one witch says to another

There’s a line in the show that I’d forgotten about, but which stopped me in my tracks when I heard it today. Dorothy has just gotten to Oz, and The Wicked Witch of the West is threatening her. Remember–she’s not really upset that her sister is dead, but is QUITE pissed off that Dorothy has taken her sister’s shiny shoes. (It’s always about footwear.) Anyway, Dorothy is shaking in her boots–well, her ruby red slippers–but then Glinda the Good Witch (who represents Dorothy’s guiding consciousness) says, “Be gone! You have no power here.”

Wow, what a powerful lesson. What a beautiful command to remember whenever our fears present themselves to us. “Be gone! You have no power here.”

4. On reaching the emerald city

After a full day of running the show, we’re just to the part where Dorothy and her friends reach The Emerald City. I’m still working the symbology of The Emerald City out, but I would compare it to my therapist’s office in my own tale. It’s where you go for hope. However, it’s also the place where you think someone else is going to solve your problems (like, Dorothy and her friends want The Great Oz to answer all their requests), but later find out that you have to do The Hard Work yourself; you still have to melt your witch (that is, face your shadow) and get yourself back home.

God, it’s such a long journey. So very fucking long and difficult. (I don’t recommend it; watch Netflix instead.) Anyway, when Dorothy and her friends first arrive, The Emerald City Gatekeeper says, “Have you come far?” Yes, of course, they have. We all have. So very fucking far. The Gatekeeper’s response?

“Believe me, every step is worth it.”

Honestly, this has been my experience. THE JOURNEY is tough stuff, but every difficult step is more than worth it. The results are so much better than anything Netflix has to offer. So run away, find your brain, your courage, and your own good heart, and kill your witches. Then get yourself back home, my dear. But know this–no one will believe the journey you’ve been on. (Dorthy’s family didn’t believe her.) No matter, since YOU will know–you’ve transformed. You’re different than you were before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sure, we forget it plenty of times, but on the inside we’re all shining. This is what gives me hope, knowing that we are all radiant.

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On My Defenses (Blog #548)

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Today is day two working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and it’s currently dinner time. Yesterday evening I worked along with my supervisor painting the wicked witch’s castle and was absolutely rung out when we called it a night at 10:30. I had paint everywhere. Still, the cool thing about working on these pieces is finding out how all the smoke and mirrors work. For instance, despite the fact that the bottom or inside of the witch’s castle is hollow, they make it looks like she melts into the floor. Absolute magic!

Take a look at the almost-finished product. There’s just a little touch up to do.

This morning we unloaded the final semi truck, then hung the backdrops up. This is apparently called a Drop Party. (Drop it like it’s hot.) Here’s something fun–this show uses 6 to 8 painted drop cloths, which I was told can easily cost $10,000 a piece. Think about that the next time you think ticket prices are high. Entertainment this good doesn’t come cheap! Anyway, all the painted cloths are missing a section in one of their bottom corners, a part that’s been deliberately cut out. This is called a Boston Square, since the city of Boston requires that a section of all drop cloths be cut out, sent in, and verified as flame retardant.

This afternoon I worked repairing and touching up two giant trees that are used in Oz. This has been my favorite project so far, as it’s been a lot like repairing and touching up walls–patch the holes, sand them down, cover up the scuff marks. But in this case, since both trees are completely blue, it was just a matter of mixing darks and lights and “swirling” them together with my hands. Y’all, it was like finger painting. So fun. So pretty. That being said, my fingers are a complete mess. I guess the sticky foam I used to patch the holes and the super glue I used to put some of the chipped-off pieces back on also STICK TO HUMAN FLESH. (Mine). So now I look like I murdered a Smurf with my bare hands.

Here’s a picture of me and the tree trunks. The tree tops are currently hidden behind one of the side curtains (which are called “legs”). But I swear–they look gorgeous.

After I finished with the trees, I worked a little more on the witch’s castle, then returned to Dorothy’s house, which was one of my projects yesterday. Y’all, this house is the bane of my existence. One of the boards needed to be replaced, so my job has been to make the new board look like the others. This is almost impossible, since each board is a mixture of–I don’t know–half a dozen paints. And despite the fact that my supervisor keeps calling me an artist, I’m much more comfortable smearing paints with my fingers than I am using a brush to try to make a new board look like an old board. Anyway, I nearly started crying, as my inner perfectionist was really giving me shit about the whole affair. “This isn’t good enough,” he kept saying.

But then, like an angel, my supervisor said, “That looks AWESOME, Marcus. Be done!”

Sometimes we are our own worst critic. And by “sometimes,” I mean, “all the time.”

This last year I’ve blogged several times with my problem/obsession with body odor. The issue started after I’d been on antibiotics, and I’ve tried everything under the sun to clear it up. Well, I really thought I had it tackled. I haven’t noticed it in a solid month. But every time I’ve raised my arms today, I’ve thought, Dear God, is that me?! I don’t know–maybe it’s just normal “man smell” and not what I dealt with before. It’s been such a struggle and point of neurosis for me, I really can’t be objective about it. But it’s still been stressing me out. It’s one thing to be offensive to myself, but I don’t want to be offensive to anyone else. And whereas during this ENTIRE ordeal, no one has avoided me or said anything about it (even my friends with whom I dance), I keep imagining myself as Pig Pen from Charlie Brown, walking around with a cloud of stench about me.

This is me AFTER four years of therapy.

Not last night but the night before, I dreamed that an acquaintance of mine, whom I would describe as a kind, gentle man, was wearing a concealed pistol on his right shoulder. When I woke up, I thought, This has to do with the fact that I’m so defensive, always on guard. Like, I know my inner perfectionist is SUCH A HARD ASS because deep down, I’m really afraid of not being good enough. Perhaps more than that, I’m afraid of making someone mad or angry, even though I can’t remember the last time someone “went off” on me. And I think it’s appropriate that the pistol was on this guy’s right shoulder, as my right shoulder is where I carry A LOT of tension and is the cause–I think–of the headaches I get at least two or three times a week. They’re miserable–exhausting. Being constantly on guard is miserable–exhausting. So I’ve been telling myself I’ve got to get this gun off my shoulder. I can’t keep being so hard on myself. I have to let my defenses down.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

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My Emotional Oil Can (#547)

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It’s six in the evening, and I’ve been working–like, honest to god working–since eight this morning. Y’all, this is manual labor–for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz–unloading boxes, painting sets, whatever they want (that’s what I do). I didn’t even know this was a thing, working backstage for a touring musical. But apparently this show hires three or four dozen locals wherever they go. I got involved because I have a friend who runs the performing arts center here in Alma, where the show will go on next weekend.

As I understand it, a show will often “load in” the day before or even the day of a performance and “load out” the day after. However, the crew and all their equipment came in a full week early in order to touch up sets and run rehearsals for anyone new on staff. So this is my full-time job for the next ten days, including today. Anywhere from 8 to 12 hours a day, with union-mandated breaks for lunch and dinner. I’m currently on my dinner break–in my car–blogging.

I’ve got an hour to finish writing. And eat something. I should probably eat something.

This morning I helped unload boxes full of god knows what from three semis. I guess the show has four semis, but one isn’t here yet. Then I stood around for a good while doing really not a damn thing. As someone who’s used to being productive every minute of every damn day, this was a challenge for me–to wait. I mean, I’m being paid and WANT to be useful, helpful. But I guess that’s part of the deal–you work when someone asks you to work–which someone did eventually ask me to do. “Can you pick up donuts for everyone?” my friend said.

“Gladly,” I said.

Y’all, I don’t know if this donut thing is going to happen every day, but I personally think god has a sick sense of humor–asking a man who’s trying to lose weight to be the donut runner. Can you believe that I picked up 120 donuts and a dozen bagels for everyone here and didn’t eat a single one of them? Instead, I ate a protein bar.

We’ll see how long my resolve lasts.

At lunch I ran home to grab a change of clothes, as I was assigned to the prop mistress, and she said we’d be painting sets. I think that’s the right term, prop mistress. Regardless, I’m this girl’s bitch, and I’ve even been given an official title–prop head. That means that the other three or four prop people will be my bitches–I think. (I’m trying to not let it go to my head.) Anyway, back to the painting. I thought I gave that up when I quit remodeling houses, but no. I’ve spent the entire afternoon working on Dorothy’s house (that goes through the tornado and lands on the Wicked Witch of the East), the scarecrow’s post/cornfield, and–I think–Aunt Em’s chicken coop.

This process, I hate to admit, has been more stressful than I anticipated. As one of the boards on Dorothy’s house was damaged, I had to start with a blank piece of plywood and mix layer of paint with layer of paint until it looked like old, rickety wood. What’s more, it had to match–or blend–with the rest of the house. Of course, I’ve had to do all this to someone else’s specifications, which has been a humbling lesson for me. I’m so used to being in charge, especially in charge of all my creative endeavors. But today I’ve been the student, “the help.” When critiqued, my ego has hated it. When praised, it’s soared.

Criticism and praise. Two sides of the same coin. Either way, same pay.

It’s fascinating being on this side of a musical, all the little details you’d never think of sitting in your seat watching the show, the lights and cords you never see–the hidden doors and hinges. It all matters. As I’ve agonized over every brush stroke, I’ve thought, The better this is, the more magic it creates for the audience. On the back of the Tin Man’s set, there’s a note that says, “Did you remember the oil can?” This clearly has to do with the show, but I started thinking about the Tin Man and how he represents a person’s heart, and how a person’s heart can freeze up or get rusty if they don’t take care of it with their emotional oil can. Personally, I keep thinking, Am I finding reasons to complain, or to be grateful? Am I taking things personally, or giving grace to others and myself? Am I freezing up, or keeping my heart open?

Am I remembering my emotional oil can?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Confidence takes what you have and amplifies it. Confidence makes anyone sexy.

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Life As Explosion (Blog #201)

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It’s three in the morning, and I just got back from a long night of dancing. I’m exhausted, and most of me would rather be in bed. Since this is a blog about honesty, I can say that. The house is supposed to be quiet, but one of my nephews is apparently awake, and I think my sister just got up to check on him. Seriously, is this what parenting is like, cooking meals and running a professional taxi service during the day, then playing night watchman when the sun goes down? I don’t know how parents get anything done. Well, yes I do–they put their children in front of a television. But still, my hat is off to you people.

This afternoon my sister and I went to Costco. Y’all, I’d never been to one before, and it was pretty damn ridiculous. There were giant televisions, cheap alcohol (name brand!), and a hotdog stand. It was like an adult carnival plus Hanes underwear in bulk. What’s more, there was a refrigerated vegetable room bigger than my parents house and twice as tall. (Who the hell is eating so much lettuce?) And did I mention it was freezing? I had to put on a long-sleeved shirt just so we could walk halfway across the room and pick out some strawberries.

But I digress.

I guess my nephew Ander and I have a lot in common because that boy is always hungry. After the vegetable freezer he started asking for food, so my sister opened up a package of cheese right there in the middle of the tomato sauce section and gave him a slice. Maybe this is a mom thing, but I was mortified. I thought, We haven’t paid for that yet! Well, I bit my tongue, but Ander obviously wouldn’t have given a shit anyway because he had a slice of delicious cheese in his hands. I mean, he threw the wrapper on the floor and started munching away. (I picked up the wrapper and sneaked it in my pocket like, Nothing to see here.)

Thankfully, the cops didn’t show up.

After Costco and before we picked my other nephew up from school, we went to Chick-Fil-A and ended up talking about how frickin’ friendly they are. You know, they always ask your name, smile, and say “my pleasure” whenever you say, “Thank you.” Who are these people? I mean, I’m all for customer service, but sometimes I feel like I’ve walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone whenever I step on their property in search of a simple chicken sandwich. Geez. My pleasure. (It’s weird, right?) Just once, could someone say, “You’re welcome”?

Is that too much to ask?

Okay, so I’m not sure how to introduce this next section without talking about gay cowboys. I realize that’s a weird transition, but it’s true. A couple years ago I was having a bad day/week/month and took myself to a gay bar in Dallas called The Roundup because there’s nothing like a bunch of homosexuals in Wranglers to make a boy feel better. Really, I don’t care who you are, you should go. They have a great dance floor, and everybody two-steps with everybody else. Guys dance with guys, girls dance with girls, girls lead as guys follow. It’s just a happy thing–perfect for shattering stereotypes and fun for the whole family.

Anyway, that was the night I met my friend Kaleb. We met on the floor, then danced and danced and danced some more. I don’t mind saying it was pretty magical. You know how you ladies always get excited when some handsome guy leads you around the dance floor? Well, despite my profession, I’ve never really gotten that, at least from a follower’s perspective. But I got it that night, thanks to Kaleb. The man could (and can) flat dance. I don’t remember the last time I had so much fun.

As it turned out, Kaleb was also visiting Dallas to get away–from Albuquerque–where he teaches ballroom dancing. (Isn’t that wild?) So for the last couple years we’ve kept loosely in touch, and I messaged him this afternoon to see if he wanted to go to a swing dance. (He said yes.) Y’all, a couple times I thought the altitude and lack of oxygen was going to kill me, but I survived and had a fabulous time. Kaleb and I took turns leading and following, no one gave us funny looks, and a few people even clapped.

I guess Kaleb or I could have said, “No need for applause, it was my pleasure.”

Give me a break.

When the swing dance was over, Kaleb and I headed to a local gay bar called Sidewinders for karaoke. That’s right, not only am I gay, but sometimes I sing karaoke. There, I said it. (And if anyone repeats any of this on the internet, we–are–finished.) Anyway, there weren’t a lot of people out tonight, so Kaleb and I had room to dance while other people sang. Again, so much fun. And then–and then–the cast from the national tour of An American in Paris showed up because–where else would they be on a Tuesday night? No, seriously, the cast just had a big turnover, and tonight was a lot of the members’ first city, first night, first performance, so they went out to celebrate at Sidewinders (as one does). They were dancing and we were dancing–some of us introduced ourselves and some of us didn’t–but it was just this beautiful thing–several Americans in Sidewinders.

Tonight Kaleb told me there’s a couple theories when it comes to art. (I don’t know how he knows this.) One theory says that art is meant to stand the test of time, that it should be around for generations and be enjoyed by as many people as possible. Another theory says that art is transitory, that it’s meant to pop up rather suddenly then disappear, like a flower that only blooms for a night. This theory, Kaleb said, is called “art as explosion,” and I’ve been thinking about it the last few hours. We spend so much of our lives trying to hang on to things we can’t hang on to. We paint paintings and take pictures trying to remember the people and experiences that make us feel loved and alive, hoping to grasp that which is most lovely to us. Of course, this is not possible. Thankfully, that which is lovely happens constantly if we have the eyes to see it. It looks like a child rebelling in the middle of a grocery store by eating cheese that hasn’t been paid for yet, a smile on the face in the drive-thru window, and a roomful of people dancing together. This is the very mystery of life, of course–one moment, one miracle exploding into the next.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are all connected in a great mystery and made of the same strong stuff.

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