On Slowing Down, Changing Worlds, and Seasons (Blog #1092)

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In an interview I listened to yesterday, former head hostage negotiator for the FBI Chris Voss said, “You have to go slow to go fast.” Meaning that in high-stakes or even low-stakes negotiations it pays to pump the brakes, really listen to the other party (rather than simply trying to cram your viewpoint down their throat), and communicate clearly. In dancing we say it like this: take time to do the prep, the setup. Don’t get ahead of the beat. Once I told a couple who was working on a routine for their wedding, “You’re already going too fast now, and I can promise you that you’ll go even faster on your wedding day (because of adrenaline) if you’re not careful.” Well, I was at the wedding, and sure enough they were at least eight eight-counts (sixty-four beats) ahead of the music.

Which means they finished before the song did.

Ugh. Pumping the brakes is such a challenging thing. We live in a fast-food society, and we want what we want when we want it (now). The internet and Amazon Prime haven’t helped things, since they’ve made both information and everything under the sun almost immediately available. Consequently, our natural tendency toward impatience has been encouraged. Perhaps this in one of the silver linings to our current situation with respect to COVID-19. We’re being forced to stay in, slow down (even the internet is dragging because so many people are on it), and wait. For a solution. For our jobs. For toilet paper.

As I’ve thought about the phrase “go slow to go fast” today, I’ve related it to this blog and my personal journey, one of my consistent themes being “slow down, be patient.” Not that I’ve WANTED to slow down, but it’s simply been the only way. To learn all the things I have in therapy, to learn all the things I have through this blog. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The years teach much the days never know.” Amen. This is the way of it. You can’t hurry love, you can’t rush the seasons, and you can’t speed up your own personal transformation. Not that you don’t have any say in how long it will take, since God knows you could drag your feet about it or refuse to do your part, but even when you’re doing everything you know to do, metamorphosis is not going to happen overnight.

Alas, slowing down seems to be the best way to “get there.” This is a message of myofascial release too. It’s not push hard and fast, it’s push gently (sink) and slow. It’s wait for at least five minutes. I know, I know. Who has five minutes? But the good news is that if you do go easy and you do wait, restrictions that have been rock hard for years can melt like butter. This is the “go fast” part. Meaning the best way to get quick, lasting results is to slow the hell down.

It’s counterintuitive, I know. But look at nature. The way a tree grows. The way a baby grows. Life doesn’t get in a hurry. And yet we do. Despite the fact that we ARE life. Three years ago I started this writing project wanting to get somewhere. Recognized or whatever. And boy was I in a mental hurry. But having spent every day since slowly but surely putting down hundreds of thousands of words, thoughts, and ideas and having been changed by the process for the better, I’m convinced “steady as she goes” is the only way. What’s more, now that I’m quickly approaching the end, there’s part of me that wishes I hadn’t been in such a rush in the beginning. That I’d savored The Changing more.

Tonight I started working my way through a free online class about storytelling presented by Khan Academy and the creative team at Pixar. It’s magical. Anyway, one thing the Pixar people talk about is the difference between a character’s wants and needs, two things that are often (and probably should be) at odds with each other. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy WANTS to get back home to Kansas. But what Dorothy NEEDS is to get in touch with her brains, heart, and courage. In other words, Dorothy doesn’t need to get back home to Kansas, she NEEDS to get back home to herself.

And who doesn’t really?

Thinking about the wants and needs in my life, I know that a few years ago I WANTED to move to Texas and start my career as a writer. Alas, the gods had other plans, since what I NEEDED was to first unlock the talents, sensitivities, and powers inside of me that back then lay dormant. In terms of storytelling, what I’ve undergone the last several years would be called “a character arc,” meaning that THROUGH CONFLICT and by OVERCOMING OBSTACLES, I’ve transformed into a better version of myself. Unfortunately, both in storytelling and in life, it appears conflict and obstacles are NECESSARY COMPONENTS for getting us not where we WANT to be, but where we NEED to be.

This sucks, I know.

Naturally, we WANT this transformation to happen quickly. More often than not, we NEED it to happen slowly. (Why, Marcus?) Because every time you change something about yourself (a thought, a belief, a boundary, a perception), you quite literally change the world you’re living in. Not that you leave earth and end up on a different planet, but in effect you do. Because every time you change you end up playing by a different set rules, and that means your interactions, strategies, and results change. So you might as well be living on Mars. Or in Oz. All this to say that world-changing is jarring, so you need time to adjust and get the lay of the land. Okay, I’m single now. All right, I’m not putting up with that crap anymore. Shit, I’m quarantined.

More and more my message to myself and others is, Sweetheart, be patient. Yes, there are mysteries inside you that desperately want to come out. But mysteries are never called out in a flash or forced out through screaming. (Hurry up and heal!) Rather, mysteries are coaxed out by being snuggled up to, by being deeply heard. Sweetheart, what do you have to reveal to me? I’m listening. And do please take your time. This is why we have time. Not so that we can get an answer to our problems lickety split, but so that we can be grown by both our trials and our triumphs, the way a tree is grown by life’s ever-changing seasons.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can rewrite our stories if we want to.

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What If? (Blog #1088)

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So, I don’t know, last summer or sometime I ended up with psoriasis on my right elbow. And whereas it wasn’t awful, it was irritating. So I did all the creams and potions, traditional and non-traditional, cleaned up my diet, and it went away. Honestly, for months I forgot about it. Then about a month ago, out of nowhere, well, out of my elbow, it came back. Damn it, I thought, then went to work with the same creams and potions. Alas, the problem has slowly but steadily gotten worse, despite all my try, try, trying to make it go away. Granted, the one thing I haven’t tried is cleaning up my diet.

Because, you know, peanut butter.

This being said, I have been fasting all day. This is something I was in the habit of doing once a week several months ago but let slip. I guess because I get myself into so many different “things” that it’s difficult to keep them all going. Sure, therapy has stuck. A number of things have stuck. But so many haven’t. I don’t know. I’m a technique sampler. So sue me. Anyway, there is something good about having tried so many techniques. It’s given my intuition a list of actions, things to do, to choose from. Which is why I’m back to fasting in the first place. For weeks my intuition and body have been saying, “Try that fasting deal again. We could use a break.” So I finally listened.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

This being said, I’m happy to report that even before I began my fast last night, the psoriasis on my elbow started noticeably improving. Who knows why? Granted, I have been trying all the things, but nothing new. Well, except for a very strange (so strange that I’m not going to go into it) energy-healing technique called two-pointing I read about in The Physics of Miracles: Tapping into the Field of Consciousness Potential by Richard Bartlett (a super out-there but fascinating and mind-bending read). So yeah, I did the strange thing. And stopped using my prescription steroid cream. But I’ve kept using my over-the-counter cream, vitamin E, and Himalayan salt water. Just like I was before. And no kidding. My elbow’s not itching as much, and my skin is smoother and less red. And whereas I could wake up tomorrow and things could be worse than ever, the point is I’m encouraged.

I’m hopeful.

Something I’ve been thinking about a lot the last two days, since I read it in The Physics of Miracles, is the question, “What if it were different?” It being my itchy elbow, the tightness in my neck, my finances, whatever. I can’t tell you how much I love this question. Not only because it allows for the possibility (however small or big) that things COULD CHANGE, but also because it doesn’t imply that I as the problem-haver have to come up with a solution. According to Bartlett, this possibility-allowing is a key ingredient in getting a problem to shift. That is, there has to be a change in perception (by you) that SOMETHING DIFFERENT, something BETTER, could, just possibly, come along. Because if you’re not WILLING to see something different, you simply won’t, even if it’s there.

Case in point: all the people who refuse to believe (and therefore see) that COVID-19 is to be taken seriously.

It doesn’t take much hope to make a difference.

So many times in my life I’ve been discouraged thinking that whatever issues I was currently obsessed about couldn’t improve. And yet as I look back and think of the first day I went to therapy and the first time I tried any number of things, I realize that my trying was, in effect, my way of asking, “What if my life were different?” Granted, I haven’t always believed deep down that my life would improve for the better (mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually), but nonetheless I was hoping. Now, having seen lots of improvement in all the above-mentioned areas, I know it doesn’t take much hope to make a difference. Just enough to say, “Maybe, just maybe, things could turn around.”

Currently I’m applying this idea to my body, not just to my skin, but also to my tight muscles. Earlier today I went through a series of do-it-yourself myofascial stretches, which I guess is going to be my reality for the foreseeable future. (My myofascial release therapist, like the rest of the world, is on hiatus.) Anyway, I had some nice releases. Granted, all my problems didn’t–poof!–disappear like I wanted them to. But this is apparently the deal. Instantaneous miracles are possible, but more often than not they come in incremental doses. Meaning I’ll probably need to continue stretching for weeks or months before I really start noticing lasting changes. Ugh. This is how life (especially life currently) works. Things on earth take time. So if you’re not patient, you better get patient.

And if you can’t get patient, at least prepare yourself to get frustrated.

Whenever I find myself thinking, What if my life were different?, it’s amazing how quickly certain parts of me begin to shut down my hope for something better. I guess because I don’t want to be disappointed (again). But really, these parts of me (and I’ve come to realize they are only parts, not the whole of me), are real Debbie Downers. They say, “That’ll never work. Maybe other people can heal, but we can’t. We can’t afford to.” The “I can’t afford it” line is a favorite of mine, one I used to use all the time–and still often do–when I think something could be helpful for me. Well, the universe is ironic. Lately I’ve been getting fabulous treatment and results via EMDR and myofascial release, and–because I’m poor–my insurance pays for everything. Turns out I can’t afford it. And yet I can still do it.

Tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor.

Anything can turn around.

Despite the wonderful turnarounds I’ve been experiencing recently, I still find myself doubting, thinking, Yeah, I’ve improved, but things can’t get even better. In fact, they’ll probably get worse. It’s that whole other shoe dropping thing. I catch myself wondering HOW things will improve, like I’ve gotta come up with all the answers. Despite the fact that everything good that’s come into my life has, yeah, involved me, but it’s also involved some sort of miracle. Some sort of extra help or “well, that worked out better than I planned.” So this is my encouragement to you if you dare to wonder, What if my life could be different? Don’t try to figure out the how. Or say it’s not possible. Because it’s a big universe. A huge universe full of possibilities and answers. A gigantic universe that cares about you and, yes, your problems. So just sit in this fact for a while. Anything can turn around. If you’re willing to see it (What if you were willing to see it?), the whole world is overflowing with miracles.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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What are you really running away from?

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You Can Go Home Again (Blog #1047)

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Last night while blogging I half-assed listened to an audio track about relaxation and the diminishment of pain. And whereas I didn’t catch all the details, one thing I did absorb was the prompt to notice some part, any part, of your body that isn’t in pain, that feels good. “How do you know this part is all right?” the audio asked. “It feels natural, comfortable.” The idea being that all of our bodies should feel that way, or at least ARE CAPABLE of feeling that way. So both last night and today I’ve been trying to literally relax into this idea, to first notice parts of my body that are tense, and second let them soften.

Of course, my natural inclination when something hurts is to brace against it. But I really like this concept of softening. The audio suggested that our bodies are our HOMES, and I can’t tell you how much I love this thought. Looking around my physical home (my room), I’ve spent a lot of time getting everything just so. I’ve hung and rehung pictures, arranged books, organized my closet, cleaned sheets, fluffed pillows, dusted shelves. And all for what? So I can be COMFORTABLE, so I can feel AT HOME. So that’s how I’ve been thinking about my body today, that it’s been INTENDED as a space where I can feel safe, at ease, and at rest. And why shouldn’t I feel comfortable in my own skin?

Like, I live here.

Now, I wish I could tell you that this one shift in perception, thinking that my body is my home rather than simply a worn-down motel on Midland Avenue, has turned my life around in the last twenty-four hours. Alas, it has not. It has, however, made a difference. Thanks to this one idea, I’ve found myself not only breathing deeper but also letting go more. It’s difficult to explain, but it’s like I’ve been able to allow my body to more fully inhabit the space it occupies, to lean into being right here, right now. You know that feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop? Well, it’s the opposite of that. An exhalation. What’s the word I’m looking for?

A relief.

This afternoon I started reading Daniel Keyes’s Flowers for Algernon, a science fiction novel about a mentally challenged adult, Charlie, who undergoes brain surgery to make him a genius. And whereas Charlie hopes to go into the surgery “dumb” and wake up “smart,” the doctors tell him that’s not the way these things work. Rather, he should expect to see changes over a period of time. “It could happen so slowly that you may not even notice a difference at first,” they tell him. Of course, this is the way it goes. And yet little by little Charlie learns to spell correctly, use proper punctuation, remember his dreams and his life, and–here’s the heartbreaker–realize that people he thought were his friends had been making fun of him for years. Now, by yours and my standards these things DO happen fast. Charlies goes from an IQ of 70 to an IQ of 185 in a matter of months. But the point remains.

Our progress is never as swift as we dream it will be. We proceed by fits and starts.

Shakespeare said, “How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?” This has been my experience. Six years ago I began therapy, and although I’ve grown and healed a lot, it’s happened so slowly that I can’t say exactly when and where it happened (other than inside me). It’s been a tough conversation here, a confrontation there, a cry fest or rage fest–I know know–once every month or two. So too has my body healed, is healing. Here and there. Granted, I’ve had some pretty remarkable experiences and improvements in the last few months, but they weren’t like, one and done instant miracles. Plenty of things still hurt, gurgle, or produce excess mucus. This is the deal. When you haven’t been home in a while, you don’t move back and get totally settled in just like that. There’s always work to do. And yet it can happen. You CAN go home again. Home to your body. Home to your soul.

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 What’s Gained In Between (Blog #1028)

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Last week I replaced a headlight in my car, Tom Collins. However, before I did, I replaced THE WRONG headlight in my car. That is, I replaced the high beam on the driver’s (my) side rather than the low beam. Because under the hood it was and is the easiest light to get to, the most obvious. Of course, the high beam didn’t need replacing, and so after I changed it I still had a light out. Y’all, I was so frustrated. I checked fuses and everything. Thankfully, I finally figured out 1) I’d changed the wrong bulb and 2) where the right bulb was located.

At which point I changed that one, and everything was fine.

Well.

Last night I noticed that my passenger’s side blinker was going out (you know how your dashboard indicator light will flash, flash, flash, and click, click, click real fast when there’s a problem), so today I removed my passenger side taillight assembly in an effort to change the turn signal bulb. So. The assembly has three bulbs, and I guessed the blinker was the smallest one. Wrong. Then I guessed it was the one next to the smallest one, and that was it. However, I didn’t have a bulb that was the correct size. Only one that was ALMOST the correct size. So my sweet mother got me the correct bulb at Walmart (she was going anyway), and I changed it.

And things still didn’t work.

What the hell? I thought.

Finally I realized my car, like all cars, has TWO passenger-side blinkers. One in the back and ONE IN THE FRONT. Oh, THAT’S the one that’s out! I thought. Duh. So I changed that one.

And everything worked fine.

Despite the fact that I often get upset in these situations–like, why didn’t I figure things out sooner?–today I’ve been thinking about how nothing is ever truly a waste of time. For example, a few days ago I framed this fleur-de-lis brooch.

And wheres I told myself I only had one shot to get it centered correctly, I screwed it up. That is, I drilled a hole in the backboard (an old book cover), and it was a little to the left. Crap, I thought, crap, crap, crap. Well, ever persistent, I made the hole bigger, until it was centered. Or almost centered. Then I invented a new way to “hang” the brooch. It’s a little hard to explain, but usually I use a screw and a nut and “set” the brooch pin on the nut. Well, because the nut would have held the screw off-center, I left the nut out and instead used a screw and a washer. This ended up being the perfect thing. Without the nut in the mix, there was a little wiggle room, just enough space for slipping the brooch pin in between the washer and screw head and holding the pin in place, on center.

I hope this explanation makes sense.

Even if it doesn’t make sense, my point is that with each brooch framing mistake I make, I’m learning. Likewise, each time I replace the wrong bulb in my car, I’m learning. As a recovering perfectionist, I wish I could get all things right the first time, but still. Next time, things will go a lot faster.

As far as I can tell, this “mistakes are required for learning” thing applies not only to car repair and arts and crafts, but also to relationships and healing. God knows I haven’t mastered those things yet. But I’m willing to keep trying, and I think we have to be. To ask for help when we need it and to keep getting back in the ring with our friends and family and our chronic problems. (And yes, I realize your friends and family may BE your chronic problems). Anyway, more and more I’m realizing that the point isn’t a quickly changed lightbulb or perfectly centered brooch. The point isn’t perfect relationships or perfect health. Rather, it’s the learning. It’s what’s gained in between the falling down and the getting back up again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes you have to go back before you can go forward.

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Just You Wait, Mountain (Blog #1020)

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This afternoon I saw my upper cervical care doctor. And whereas it took an hour to get there and over two hours to get back (because I kept stopping at antique stores), I was in and out of the office in five minutes. “You look good today,” the doctor said after checking a scan of my neck, “so I’m going to leave you alone.” That’s the deal, he operates by the–if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it–policy. Not that I’ve felt like a million bucks lately. Indeed, my back has been hurting and I’ve been fighting a sinus infection. And I told the doctor this. But he reminded me that just because you feel bad doesn’t mean your body isn’t healing. “You’ve been dealing with a lot of issues for a long time, and it’s just going to TAKE SOME TIME for your body to clean things up.”

Then he added, “For a while, you’ll experience remnants.”

Remnants, what a perfect word for those parts of our past (emotions, patterns, illnesses) that creep up every now and then and threaten to never go away. Yesterday I started painting the inside of some cabinets and cabinet drawers for a friend, and even after two coats of white, the ugly (dirty, filthy, rotten) brown that was there before still peeked out in places. And whereas I was tempted to think I’ll never get things how I want them, experience has taught me the value of persistence. So this evening I returned and applied a third coat. Now we’re talking, I thought as I rolled over the previous two layers of white. Hasta la vista, ugly (dirty, filthy, rotten) brown.

Persistence, that’s one of the things I’ve been thinking about tonight. The idea that if you just keep at something, eventually you’ll have a breakthrough (or a breakdown). Not that you should go barking up the wrong tree (you’re not gonna turn a homo straight, ladies). Pick your battles, know when you’re licked, and all that. But more and more I’m convinced that we don’t experience success in learning, dancing, remodeling, healing, and even praying simply because we quit trying. Because we give up. Because we think, This is going nowhere, and throw in the towel. Earlier this week I was thinking maybe I’ll just have to deal with sinus infections for the rest of my life, and my mom (randomly) mentioned a product I haven’t tried before, something she read about on her Facebook feed. Now, will it help? Hell if I know. It hasn’t even arrived yet. But the important thing is that I’ve decided to give it a whirl.

In this, there is hope.

Of course, all these things I’ve touched on–healing, persistence, and hope–require patience. Ah, there’s the rub. For anything that takes time (and what doesn’t?), we have to be willing to wait for it. Better said, we have to be willing to endure, to trust that things are going to work out. I think about the way a blade of grass can push itself through concrete, the way running water can make a rough stone smooth–given enough time. Most of us look at the mountains in our lives and think, Impossible. I could never get that thing to move. But not the rain. Knowing the power of persistence, it thinks, Just you wait, mountain. Give me enough time, and I’ll wear you down. Indeed, I’ll throw you into the sea. There won’t be a remnant left.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Boundaries aren’t something you knock out of the park every time.

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On Upcycling Your Past (Blog #988)

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Last weekend I got the idea to start a magnet board project, and yesterday I got the idea to start a picture frame project. And whereas a lot of my inspirations never come to fruition (this is the nature of the beast), today I started working on both of these ideas. Although I guess I technically started earlier in the week when I went to Lowe’s to buy supplies–spray paint, mounting hooks, etc.–for the magnet board. Or maybe I started before that when I had the notion to create. Hell, this probably all goes back to that fateful morning in 1979 when my parents skipped church to conceive me. Who knows when anything starts or stops?

But I digress.

For the magnet board I first took the pieces of wood framing I already had and cut them to the proper size. Having gone back and forth about whether to frame the board on the front (where it would look pretty and hold down the decorative paper on the board) or on the back (where it would allow more space for magnets and provide an easy way to hang the whole thing on the wall), I finally decided on the front. This is the deal with decisions. You worry and worry and then–poof!–you make a decision. Like an adult. Anyway, then I put one coat of spray paint on the boards and ironed the decorative paper as flat as possible while they dried. Then I put on a second coat of spray paint and turned my attention to the picture frame project I talked so much about yesterday.

As my plan was to hunt down a used book with an appealing cover for the mounting board/backdrop for my picture frame, I changed out of my paint clothes, switched shoes, and got ready to go. But just as I was leaving the house I decided to rifle through a box of religious books my mom had set aside for our upcoming spring garage sale. Well, I hit pay dirt. (Apparently Christians know how to make pretty books.) I found beautiful covers in blue, purple, black, and gold. And whereas I decided on blue for this current project, my mind went wild with possibilities for other projects. I even started showing my parents–like, Look at this, look at this. Well, when I showed my dad a golden cover with golden etching next to my golden frame and golden brooch (the object I’ve been thinking about displaying inside the frame), he said, “That’s TOO MUCH gold.”

“Not if I painted the frame purple,” I said.

He just looked at my mom and shook his head. “There’s something wrong with that kid.”

“You’re witnessing creativity in action,” I said.

As I sit here now, neither my magnet board nor picture frame project is complete. For the magnet board, the paint is still drying. Some things just take time. (No matter how much I wish things were complete, I can’t change the laws of spray paint.) And whereas for the picture frame project I got the book cover cut and mounted and a hanger attached to the back, I still haven’t decided WHAT to put in the frame. I love the idea of having my golden leaf brooch on display, but I also like the idea of wearing it and therefore don’t want to hot glue it down. Alas, I don’t know WHAT I’m going to do. The upside to being undecided? Anything could happen. The possibilities are endless.

With respect to everyday living, the lesson here is that we can focus on (put inside the frame of our attention) anything we want. When we wake up each day we can say, “Am I going to whine, bitch, and complain about the world I see? Or am I going to be grateful that I’ve been given one more day to live here and–here’s an idea–do something about it?”

While cutting the blue book cover down to size, the part of me that loves books and believes they’re meant to be read died a little. Tossing the rest of the (religious!) book in the trash, I felt like a sinner. Still, I remember what it felt like to be under the thumb of religion, and it wasn’t good. So it also felt refreshing to take something heavy and turn it into something light, to upcycle a piece of my past. With this is mind, I wrote the name of the book and its author on the back (er, inside) of the book cover to remind myself that as one thing–a book, an idea, a way of being–dies, it makes room for something else to be born.

Nothing is ever wasted.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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On Returning to Life (Blog #983)

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I spent this afternoon and evening with my friends Kara and Amber. The three of us first met in elementary school and, although we all live in different cities, purpose to get together several times a year. (Let’s get together, yeah, yeah, yeah.) Anyway, today we met at Amber’s house, carpooled to an Italian restaurant, and ended up staying for five hours. Y’all, it was fabulous. The food was wonderful, the company was better, and the refills were free.

I drank so much coffee.

Something the three of us discussed was the idea of holding space for something or someone, the idea being that our lives and relationships are often messy and that we need to allow room for situations and people to just be. As a fixer who likes to talk things out, this has been a tough lesson for me to learn. For the longest time when there was any amount of tension in a relationship, I’d think I had to DO something about it. Once I told my therapist it was awkward when a certain person was at my dance studio, and she said, “So let it be awkward.” This was a revelation. I didn’t have to DO anything. I could leave it alone. Today Amber pointed out that when conversations or confrontations are forced they don’t always end well. “You have to recognize when it’s not the right time,” she said.

Of course, if it’s not the right time (to say your piece or set things right), that means you have to be patient until it is.

Currently it’s 10:45 at night, and I’m absolutely buzzing. Again, I’ve had a lot of coffee. Additionally, I’ve had a lot of sugar–both at the restaurant and back at home. I’ve gone through so much peanut butter lately (I like to mixed it with grape jelly and eat it by the spoonful) that tonight Dad fastened the lid shut with electrical tape. “We just bought this jar last week, and it’s already almost empty!” he said. Then he brought my mom into it. “Judy, if this tape is broken tomorrow, we’ll know Marcus has been at it again.”

“I’m not trying to hide anything,” I said. “Everyone knows I’m the one who’s eating all the peanut butter!”

But seriously, it tastes so good.

Because I’ve been feeling better lately, a phrase that’s been on my mind is “returning to life.” I’ve said previously that before a caterpillar morphs into a butterfly, it first dissolves itself into a black goo. My point being that transformation is an all-in or all-our proposition. You don’t get to be a caterpillar AND a butterfly. You can’t eat your peanut butter and have it (sitting on the counter) too. Said another way, transformation requires the death of your old life, personality, or habits. Jesus died on the cross. The Phoenix died in the flame. There’s a saying that when you seek enlightenment like a man whose hair is on fire seeks water, then–and only then–will you find it. So if you want peace, healing, or God, ask yourself–What am I willing to give up in order to have these things? Can I die? Am I truly ready to be reborn?

In my experience with transformation, returning to life means returning to life as it is, not as I want it to be. It means bringing all of my newfound vitality and everything I’ve learned to the world as it is–messy, horrific, and beautiful. This is what holding space is all about–making room within yourself for the whole of creation. The fun parts, the not-so-fun parts. Life, death, conflict, emotions. Not that you can’t work to change or improve situations or relationships, but know that your primary job is to change yourself. This is gross and always involves dying (metaphorically). But once you’re reborn, everything is different. Behold, all things are become new. For one thing, you stop hiding (I’m the one who ate the peanut butter!). For another, you realize there’s enough room here (inside your heart) for the entire universe and all that it contains–the joy, the suffering. You think, Maybe it’s not all fun, but it’s all okay. You think, This moment is just as it should be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Give yourself an abundance of grace.

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On Others’ Beliefs and Two Left Feet (Blog #951)

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Well hell. My home internet (hotspot) is running slow tonight, and it just took me thirty minutes to get online, download today’s picture, and start a new post. I swear, at some point in my life I must have made the mistake of asking God for patience. First he made me a dance instructor (just imagine teaching an uncoordinated married couple how to samba), and now this. Seriously, if you ever want patience, come try my hotspot on a night like tonight. And no, I didn’t mean for that to sound dirty. Unless, of course, your name is Zac Efron.

Awe, it’s been a while since I’ve made a Zac Efron reference.

Recently I read an article in Psychology Today about boundaries. And whereas it was mostly focused on what we choose to share online, it brought up a good point–if you wouldn’t take out a billboard with whatever you’re saying on it, maybe you shouldn’t put it on Facebook. Because that’s essentially what you’re doing. Telling all your friends, neighbors, and God knows who else–I’m heartbroken, my bowels are WAY off today, Trump can suck an egg. This morning I saw my therapist, and she said, “That’s right. If you wouldn’t print it on a t-shirt and walk down Main Street, don’t say it.”

One idea the article presented was that Facebook and other social media platforms by design create a false sense of intimacy, that it FEELS like we’re sharing the personal details of our lives with a select few, but in fact we’re not. We’re sharing them with EVERYONE. (Don’t tell me you haven’t creeped on a stranger’s feed. Well, someone’s creeped on your feed too.) Another phenomenon that happens online is that whenever you read or watch something, it FEELS like it just happened. People watch dance videos I uploaded to YouTube years ago and respond as if whatever I did just occurred, as if they were right there in the room and I’d asked for their opinion. Don’t wear flip flops when you dance!  Get off your heels! The blonde hair was a mistake!

Of course, few of us would be so bold–so fucking rude, frankly–in person, especially with strangers. But there’s something called cyber courage (cyber rudeness) that makes us lose our boundaries and our manners. It makes us lose our patience with our fellow humans.

Something I’ve been chewing on the last few days is having sympathy and empathy for other people and their experiences. What I mean is that–like we all do–I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about myself, trying to understand me. And whereas this has been extremely helpful, it’s also often left me scratching my head when it comes to others. Part of this head-scratching, I think, is simply a matter of what comes easy to one person doesn’t necessarily come easy to another. This is why teaching dance has been good for me. I pick up on dance things fairly quickly, so any time I run across someone who doesn’t, especially if I’m hungry or in a bad mood, it’s a chance for me to consciously practice patience. A chance for me to take a deep breath and remind myself that this person isn’t tripping over their two left feet IN ORDER to piss me off.

There’s a popular idea that people are doing the best they can in any given moment. I once had a friend who told me some of the most intimate details (traumas) of their life the very first time we ever hung out. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this should have been a red flag–because when you have good boundaries, you reserve the intimate details of your life for those who have earned the right to hear them. My point being that I don’t believe my friend was intentionally having poor boundaries; they simply had never been taught them. My therapist and I talk about this a lot. Most of us (including me and my therapist) didn’t grow up being taught to set limits with ourselves and others, being taught to be direct (and kind) in conversation.

Getting back to the idea of a thing being easy for one person but not for another, I often make the mistake of believing that simply because I’ve learned or have started to learn something, the entire world has. Of course, this isn’t true. Today I told my therapist that I wished people could be more straightforward, and she said, “Marcus, for some people, being straightforward would be as terrifying as you walking out that door, suddenly being in China, and not knowing a lick of Chinese.” This is what I mean about having sympathy and empathy for someone else’s experience. In writing there’s the idea that even if a character isn’t the hero of YOUR story, they’re most certainly the hero of THEIR story. My point being that you may get upset with people in your life for having certain political leanings or–I don’t know–being bad dancers, but for them, their beliefs and two left feet make perfect sense. Absolutely perfect sense. For them, you’re the odd one.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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Something I’m Real Shitty at (Blog #931)

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Last night I worked backstage at Beautiful: The Carole King Musical until 2:30 in the morning. Guess who didn’t feel beautiful by the time it was over? That’s right, this guy. And probably everyone else who was there too. Yesterday morning we started load-in at 7:45 and didn’t finish until 4:15. Well, what went up in over six hours (we had a lunch break) came down in four or five. You should have seen it. As soon as the show ended, everyone started moving, packing up props, stashing away hair, makeup, and costumes, and taking down lights, backdrops, and speakers (they seriously bring all their own stuff). Slowly but surely, everything that was taken off the four semi-trailers was put back on, except perhaps several pieces of gaffer tape still stuck to the stage floor.

By the time I got home, it was three in the morning. I promptly crashed. And whereas I woke up at ten, I went back to sleep until noon (just in time for breakfast). I’ve been fighting some sinus junk for over two weeks now, and I thought, My body could the rest. That being said, I haven’t exactly taken today easy. After breakfast I ran to Fort Smith for a quick meeting and what I thought would be a short handyman project. Alas, it turned into a long handyman project and ended up taking most the early evening, until I had a dance lesson. Granted, I slowed down after my lesson, but I also frittered away a lot of time scrolling through my phone, which means it’s now past eleven and I’m still up writing.

My writing late at night isn’t unusual, of course. But today I’ve been thinking about something my therapist said recently–“Marcus, you’re real shitty at listening to your body when it needs a break. You’re real good at doing plenty of things, but you’re real shitty at that.”

I didn’t disagree with her.

This conversation started because of my recent and longterm struggle with sinus infections. I told my therapist, “I have a lot of goals, writing and personal projects. Recently I started dieting and getting back to the gym, and then this crud happened. So I don’t know if I’m supposed to slow down or push myself.” Well, my therapist did NOT recommend pushing myself. “Your body IS talking to you,” she said.

“Well, I know that,” I said. “I just don’t like what’s it saying.”

“Like, take a nap?” she offered.

“Yeah, like that.”

I’m going to try to do better about this. Normally when I see a free moment or day on my horizon, I fill it up. Or allow it to be filled up. But after I get through the next couple of days, my schedule looks free, and I intend to keep it that way. I plan to lie around the house, watch television. In a word, rest. Even if this doesn’t heal me, it can only help me. Like most Americans, I’m hung up on being productive, but my therapist says some of the healthiest countries in the world are the least productive by our standards. “They work an average of four hours a day,” she says. “What do you think about that?”

This concept, of course, is tough for me to wrap my mind around. I know I don’t have a regular nine to five, but I’m so used to being busy, go-go-going even when my body doesn’t feel like it. Because I think I should. Because I think I have to. Because–quite honestly–I’m in the habit of doing so. But I am determined to (gently) slow down. I’m determined to listen to my body, even if means working less, even if it means lying in bed for a week, a month, or more. I’m convinced–like packing a semi-trailer, healing takes time. It can’t–and won’t–be rushed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When the universe speaks—listen.

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Moment by Moment (Blog #929)

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Well crap, I’m still sick. I promise one day I’ll get better and talk about something else. But when you’re sick, it consumes your thoughts. At least it does mine. Mostly I’ve been concerned about tomorrow because I’m supposed to work all day. Like from the buttcrack of dawn until after midnight. And whereas I’m not concerned about the work itself, I am concerned about being able to be fully present. I want to do a good job. I want to have a fun day. I want to feel good.

Dear lord, I’m ready for a miracle.

Alas, what I want and what the lord wants are often two different things. (Ain’t that the truth, Ruth?) I wanted to wake up feeling better today, but I didn’t. That being said, once I got up and around, things went all right. This afternoon my mom and I went grocery shopping, then I went to see my chiropractor, then I bought a pair of tennis shoes. Then I came home, ate dinner (thanks, Mom and Dad), did laundry, and packed a healthy lunch and snacks for tomorrow. That is one “good” thing about being sick–I’m all the more conscious about what I eat. Granted, my eating well never dramatically improvs my sinus infections, but it does help me feel better in general.

At this point, I’ll take what I can get.

Whenever someone faces a chronic problem, I think they inevitably have to wrestle with worthiness. What I mean is that I think we often settle for whatever shitty thing is happening in our lives because we don’t believe we are worthy of better–better health, better finances, better relationships. We grow up being asked, “Who do you think you are?” like all we deserve is what’s left over, which–let’s face it–is usually crap. But I like Oprah’s answer to that question–“I’m a child of God.” I don’t think that means we should all be millionaires, but I do think it means we should raise our standards.

There’s this funny thing about taking what you can get. On the one hand, acceptance is a thing. That is, if you’re sick or broke or in a terrible relationship, you have to accept it first. In terms of my present condition, it’s my job to make peace with the fact that sinus infections are my longterm and current struggle. No amount of whining will change this. But just because you accept something doesn’t mean you have to accept it forever. Said another say, it doesn’t mean you can’t hope for and work toward something better. I know that daily I’m racking my brain in order to find an answer to these infections. I’m approaching them physically, spiritually, and emotionally. Because I do think I’m worthy of feeling good on a daily basis.

Even if they don’t go away, these infections have become my teacher. For one thing, I’ve learned a lot about my body, a lot about healing. For another, I’ve learned a lot about patience, about being in the moment. For example, when I’m sick, the worst parts of my day are normally when I go to bed and when I first wake up. That’s when I hack and cough up all sorts of colorful junk. Historically, I’ve let that colorful junk set the tone for my day. If the junk is gross, for the rest of the day I constantly remind myself how sick I am. But the truth is the majority of my day is bearable. I cough a little. I’m a little low on energy. It’s not awful in reality, just in my head.

As I’m thinking about it now, I’m reminded that–somehow–I’ve made it through the last two weeks. I’ve gotten up, gone to work, run errands, whatever. I’ve made tomorrow out to be a big damn deal because it’s a longer day than normal, but I’ll make it–I know I will–the same way I’ve made it the last two weeks. The same way we all get through life. Day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.

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