On Present and Potential Patterns (Blog #909)

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Several years ago there was a fad on Facebook that involved posting pictures of three fictional (TV or movie) characters that represent you. And whereas I resisted participating in this fad at first, I eventually caved. My three characters were 1) Charlie from Scent of a Woman, 2) Rabbit from Winnie the Pooh (or the Hundred Acre Wood), and 3) MacGyver from MacGyver. When I shared photos of these three characters, I captioned each picture with an explanation of WHY I identified with that particular character. This wasn’t part of the assignment. I just did it because my Inner Rabbit told me to. Rabbit, after all, is a Perfectionist, a Control Freak.

Guilty.

I’m talking about this now not only because my Facebook memories reminded me of this little project today, but also because lately I’ve been talking a lot (a lot) about archetypes and patterns of behavior. Which are basically the same thing. Specifically, I’ve been talking about how to change or transition from one pattern of behavior (like The People Pleaser) to another (like The Assertive Business Man). Robert Ohotto points out that you can never completely get rid of a pattern. (Shit. A part of me will always be a People Pleaser.) You can, however, DEACTIVATE an old, not-so-useful pattern and ACTIVATE a newer, shinier one. Recently I demoted a pair of workout shorts to painting shorts, so I no longer wear them to the gym. Rather, when I exercise, I wear a new pair. Same thing.

One thing that’s important to understand about gym shorts is that just because they’re ON you doesn’t mean they ARE you. That is, I’m currently wearing a pair of red shorts, but that doesn’t mean that I’m red–or nylon–or holey (or holy). Rather, I’m simply using (as in, making use of) these shorts. One day, I imagine, I won’t find them useful, so I’ll demote them to painting shorts too. My point is that archetypes and patterns of behavior work the same way as our clothes do. They’re something our soul uses as a way to navigate the world and to grow, but they’re not our soul, our essential essence. Earlier I indicated that I’m a Perfectionist and a Control Freak, but it would be more accurate to say that A PART of me is concerned with being perfect, or that I have A PATTERN or HABIT of being controlling.

I make this distinction because we often identify with our patterns to the point that we believe they (we) can’t change. This is, I suppose, because so many of our patterns develop at an early age and we get attached to them. Rightly termed, these patterns are survival strategies. Like, you’re probably a People Pleaser because as a child you figured out (unconsciously) that that was the best way to not be yelled at or get your name written on the chalkboard. I know that’s part of the reason I became The Good Student. I didn’t want to get in trouble. I didn’t want to get spanked. But just because I was a Teacher’s Pet at age thirteen, does that mean I need to be one at the age of thirty-nine? No. That would be ridiculous. You don’t wear the same pair of shorts your entire life.

Getting back to the Facebook fad I mentioned, I realized this morning that identifying fictional characters to whom you relate is one way to know which archetypes or patterns of behavior you currently have active. Oh my gosh, we love doing stuff like this. We take quizzes online that tell us what Harry Potter wizard we are, even what animal best represents us. And whereas this is all well and good, my point is that just because you’re running an archetype now doesn’t mean you have to run it the rest of your life. You may think of yourself as Moaning Myrtle, but–who knows?–you could transform into Hermione Granger. (These are both wizards, Mom.)

Along these lines, today I challenged my Facebook friends: List one fictional character that you think you ARE and another that you would LIKE TO BE. My answer was: I’m Charlie from Scent of a Woman, but I’d like to be Lt. Col. Frank Slade, also from Scent of a Woman. What I meant was–at least historically–I’m bookish, a bit naive, hesitant, and loyal. I have a hard time speaking up. Like Charlie. However, I often fantasize about being brash, rude, outspoken, filthy, and unconcerned with the opinions of others (as in, Fuck you too). Like Lt. Col. Frank Slade.

Hooah!

I didn’t say it when I posted my challenge to Facebook, but here’s what I was thinking. Just as listing characters with whom you identify is one way to pinpoint your CURRENTLY ACTIVE archetypes, listing characters with whom you’d LIKE TO IDENTIFY is one way to pinpoint your CURRENTLY DORMANT archetypes. Said differently–and pay attention because this is important–it’s one way to know what your POTENTIAL is. What pair of shorts you COULD be wearing if you were only willing to take your old ones off. For me, the key is asking, What characters am I DRAWN TO? I think Jamie Lee Curtis was fabulous in True Lies, but I don’t want to BE her, like ever. I don’t daydream about doing that strip routine for Arnold. You know, the one where she reaches for the bedpost, misses, and falls on her ass. But I DO daydream about being Lt. Col. Frank Slade, about having big enough balls to speak the truth, call bullshit, and let the chips fall where they may.

Again, the idea here is that if you have A DRAW to a pattern of behavior, there’s a STRONG POSSIBILITY that pattern already exists within you. It’s just a seed that needs to be watered and tended before it can become a tree. Today my friend Chelsea commented that she wanted to be Molly Weasley (another wizard, Mom) because Molly is a strong mother. Well, my friend Kira told Chelsea, “You’re totally Molly Weasley.” In other words, Molly Weasley doesn’t exist OUTSIDE of Chelsea, she exists INSIDE of her. She can see it, others can see it. Likewise, Lt. Col. Frank Slade already exists in me and–quite frankly–has been coming out more these last few years in terms of my learning to be assertive. Of course, for this to happen, Good Ole People Pleaser Charlie has had to sit down and shut up.

Here’s one last thing that I find fascinating. When this fictional-character fad went around Facebook originally, it seemed like everyone was doing it. At the very least, a lot of people were. However, when I posted my challenge today, only two of my friends played along. Two out of over two thousand. You do the math. Now, personally, I don’t give a shit (a la Lt. Col. Frank Slade) if people participate in my games or not. That’s not why I’m here. At the same time, I think it’s notable that we’re quick to identify and even brag about our CURRENT PATTERNS (People Pleaser, Control Freak, Creative, Book Worm) but not so quick to identify our POTENTIAL PATTERNS (The Fiscally Responsible and Grown Ass Adult).

Why aren’t we quick to identify our POTENTIAL PATTERNS, Marcus?

I’m glad you asked.

Because if I tell you I’d like to be Lt. Col. Frank Slade, that’s a bit like announcing I’d like to lose fifteen pounds. In other words, as soon as you IDENTIFY your potential, whether you realize it or not, you’ve ACTIVATED your potential. You’ve set a goal IN MOTION. This means a couple things. First, you’ve got a lot of work to do. (Pounds don’t drop themselves.) If you say you’re like Blanche on The Golden Girls, well fine. Party on, sister. But if you say you WANT TO BE Maria in The Sound of Music, you’re going to have to start by closing your legs. This is why we’re wishy washy when people ask us where we’d like to be in five years. Because it takes work to get from here to there, and most of us don’t like working (or closing our legs). Second, setting a goal IN MOTION means things are about TO CHANGE. Caroline Myss says we know this deep down, and it’s why we’ll read other people’s books (or blogs) about transformation but never take the first step for ourselves. If I’d known when I started therapy just how many of my old, not-so-useful patterns (and the relationships they got me into) would have to die in order for me to live, I’m not sure I would have started. Looking back, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your potential is always better than your present, I promise.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Growth and getting far in life have nothing to do with where you’re physically standing.

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On Dead Batteries and Patterns (Blog #889)

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This morning I began painting a client’s fence and ended up spending all day–eight hours–completing the task. And whereas the project, which involved rolling and brushing two coats of sealant on the fence, went well, both the hot sun and the labor wore me out. Seriously, I can’t tell you how done I was when it was all over. In more ways than one.

I’ll explain.

Before I stained the fence, my client and I agreed on a price. No issues there. But we also agreed on another price for me to take down no small number of decorations that were on the fence (because they didn’t want to take them down, and I obviously couldn’t work around them). Anyway, that was the original question–“What would you charge me to take this stuff down?” Again, we agreed on a price. Well, today when I finished the fence, they said, “Now you just need to put the stuff back up, and I’ll give you a check.”

I paused then said, “Let me put my things in the car, and we can talk about that.”

On my way to the car, I talked to Jesus. By this I mean I thought about how I was going to respond. The old me would have sucked it up, put the shit back on the fence, and effectively cut my rate in half. But the new me knew that if I did the work without additional pay, I’d end up resenting this person I’m currently on good terms with. So when I got back from the car, I said, “We agreed on this price for the fence, and that price for taking the stuff down, but nothing was said about putting it back up.”

“Well I just assumed,” she said.

“That’s not a good thing to do,” I replied. “If you’d asked me to take the stuff down and put it back up, my quote would have been twice as much.” Then I added, “As things stand, I’ve done everything we discussed.”

For a moment they didn’t say anything, at which point I said, “Why don’t you think about this, and I’ll be right back.”

When I returned, we agreed–I’d put the stuff back up, and they’d pay me for my time.

Recently I blogged about checking in with yourself before having important conversations (especially about money), and I’m using this as a real-life example of how it can work. When I checked in with myself, I knew I needed to confront. Did I love doing it? No. My inner people pleaser was on the floor in the fetal position screaming, Don’t make them mad. But my inner business man, y’all, was online, ready and able to speak calmly and clearly, ready to let the chips fall where they may.

This evening my friend Justin helped me–how do I say this delicately?–put a dead dog in a trash bag. Obviously, for the dog’s owner, someone I care deeply about, this was a sad event. And whereas I admit it was sad for me when I got there, it was mostly another odd job. Get the dog out of the dog house and into the trash bag. Well, Justin propped his phone up and turned his flashlight on (don’t worry, I’m not going to go step-by-step through what happened), and I said, “I have a light in my car.” But damn if not one but both of my flashlights’ batteries were dead too. Ugh, today is seriously the day of death. This evening I found out a dear acquaintance is in hospice.

After Justin and I got the job done (in the semi-dark), we went back to his house and visited, and it was only after I got home (at two in the morning) that I realized the synchronicity of the dog dying and my batteries dying too. Anyway, I’ve been chewing on it, since the idea behind synchronicity isn’t that one thing causes another thing to happen, but that two related things happen at the same time–and here’s the important part–to convey meaning. So I’ve been thinking about the meaning of the dead batteries.

For me, flashlights help you through the dark. They help you see clearly. They show you the way. Batteries, however, are what charge flashlights–they are the source of power behind that which allows you to see clearly. Well, lately I’ve been talking about changing old patterns (old batteries) for new ones, and I think this is just another way of saying the same thing. Old batteries, old patterns can’t last forever. They weren’t designed to. Yesterday I talked about seeing clearly, and I think it’s important to say again–how clearly you see others is a direct result of how clearly you see yourself. That is to say, how clearly you see your patterns. For example, today my client didn’t choose to directly ask me to put their stuff back up, but rather assumed I would and conveyed this in their full-of-assumption statement about my coming back to do more work. Well, the only reason I could see this for what it was is because I used to assume constantly, especially when it came to money.

Consequently, I got screwed a lot.

And not in a good way.

While painting today I listened to a spiritual-type podcast in which a guest told the host she’d been working on not shaming herself and had just been asked to shame someone else as part of a politics-related job interview. “What should I do?” she said. “Is just makes me sick.” Well, the host said they thought her feeling sick was a good indicator of how she felt about the job offer. They also said that sometimes the universe tests us. Said another way, sometimes life gives us opportunities to step out of old patterns and into new ones. I’m not going to shame myself or others–period. I’m not going to let people walk all over me. Sometimes life gives you a chance to change your dead batteries for new ones.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one comes into this life knowing how to dance, always moving with grace."

On Patterns and Parts (Blog #874)

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Today I was supposed to see my therapist then see my acupuncturist. And whereas I did see my therapist, I totally spaced out about my acupuncturist. Well, not totally. I remembered thirty minutes before my appointment. But then I went to the bank and the thought evaporated. I don’t have anything to do until this evening, I thought, so I ended up going to an antique store then to a coffee shop. Finally, forty-five minutes into what would have been my acupuncture session, I remembered. Oh crap, I thought, and called their office. However, no one answered. So I left a message.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what happened.”

After hanging up, my first inclination was to feel bad, to beat myself up for not remembering. But then I reminded myself that you can’t remember what you can’t remember, and it’s not like I on-purpose tried to screw anyone over. I also reminded myself that this isn’t a habit of mine. I hardly ever miss appointments. I’m typically–what’s the word?–reliable.

About an hour later, I got a call back. It was fine, they said, shit happens (my words). “We can reschedule for next week,” they said. “Although it’s possible someone could no-show today.”

“What are the chances TWO PEOPLE would do that in ONE DAY?” I said.

“You’d be surprised,” they said.

Actually, having run a dance studio for eleven years, I wouldn’t be.

But I digress.

Lately I’ve been talking a lot about patterns of thought and behavior and parts of one’s personality. For example, most of us have an inner perfectionist and/or an inner self-critic. These are the voices that started to come online for me this afternoon when I realized I’d missed my appointment. However, and I don’t mean to make this sound like it was easy, I simply wouldn’t let them. You know how sometimes part of you (your inner child) wants to eat a piece of cake, but another part of you (your inner adult) puts its foot down and says no? Well, it was like that. My inner adult said, “We are not going beat ourselves up over this. Clearly we weren’t meant to be there today. We’re always saying things happen for a reason, and now’s our chance to act like it.”

“But what if they don’t like us?” my inner people pleaser said.

“That’s their problem,” my inner adult said. “At least we like us.”

My point in sharing my internal dialogue is to drive home three points. First, patterns and parts that we find undesirable (like perfectionism or people pleasing) never disappear completely. (Only a perfectionist would want them to). This is a good thing. Tonight I bought flowers for some friends and spent ten minutes getting the length of the stems just right so the flowers wouldn’t be top heavy and cause the vase to fall over. Boy was I ever glad to have my perfectionist around THEN. Which leads me to my second point. Patterns and parts need guidance (self-leadership is the term Richard C. Schwartz uses) from you as to WHEN to either show up or shut up. (This takes practice.) Lastly, if you’re wanting to change or transform a pattern or part, you need a different pattern or part to take its place. For example, your adult could step in for your child, and your king or queen could step in for your people pleaser (because kings and queens don’t find their self-worth in the opinion of others–they know their value is inherent).

Other than my missing my appointment, the day went great. Actually, better than great. I had fun at the antique store, I got caught up with an online class at the coffee shop, I chatted with one of my best friends on the phone, and I had dinner with other friends this evening. This is another way to work with patterns and parts you want to gear down. When the day is over, take an objective inventory. Ask yourself, “Would things have gone better if I’d beaten myself up (more)?” In my case, the answer is always no. Self-flagellation never makes things better. However, understanding and accepting ever part of myself does. What’s more, when I understand and accept every part of myself, I don’t have to “force” myself to change. Rather, change happens on its own (over time). This is the power of becoming conscious of your own patterns and behaviors. It’s like, When I beat myself up, that hurts. So you stop doing it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whatever needs to happen, happens.

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On Cleaning Things Up (Blog #872)

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Today I finished painting the bathroom I started on last week. When I first began, the walls were weak green, the ceiling brown. Now everything–the walls, the ceiling, the trim (the toilet, that bath tub, the sink)–is white. Simply white. Room by room, the entire house is becoming white. Simply white. And whereas I’m personally not a huge fan of wall-to-wall white rooms, in this case I like it. For one thing, the rooms were pretty dirty/dingy before, so the white really cleans things up. For another, since the rooms are rather small, the white opens them up, reflects more light.

Ta-da!

This evening I taught a dance lesson, went to the library to take an online class, then helped a friend who’s in the process of painting a room at his work. Thankfully, I didn’t have to paint, just hang a few pictures. However, I also helped try to remove paint from a piece of plexiglass they were using to keep the backs of chairs from damaging one of the walls they were painting. The old paint stuck to the plexiglass when they took the plexiglass off the wall. Anyway, I say “try to remove paint” because, y’all, getting paint off plexiglass is tough. We tried paint thinner, ammonia, Pine-Sol, and even whitening toothpaste (which actually worked the best). Alas, we were only partly successful. At least half the paint hung on for dear life. Finally, we gave up for tonight.

More chemicals will be tried tomorrow.

Today I started reading a new book about Internal Family Systems (IFS), a school of psychology that views one’s individual mental and emotional patterns as separate “parts.” For example, most of us have an inner child, an inner perfectionist, an inner grouch. And whereas a lot of self-help and spiritual approaches would say you should banish or be rid of certain thoughts, emotions, or parts, IFS suggests not only welcoming all pieces of yourself, but also integrating them. I’ve noticed this general idea in several other approaches as well, like anything that promotes getting to know your shadow, or even Byron Katie’s The Work, which suggests questioning (dialoguing with) your stressful thoughts.

More and more, these approaches make the most sense to me because they promote true self-acceptance and unconditional love. That is, most of us think we will love ourselves when we look, think, or feel a certain way because we think we’re not good enough or worthy enough as we are. We imagine a body that weighs less or a mind that’s more “pure” is “better” than the one we have now, so we set goals to change ourselves. However, as Pema Chodron points out, when we do this we create a “subtle aggression” toward ourselves. Of course, it is possible to go about changing ourselves because we love ourselves, because we want to take the best care of ourselves possible, rather than thinking we need to change because we’re fundamentally wrong or unworthy. This shift in motivation, of course, makes all the difference.

Both while I was painting over the weak green in the bathroom this afternoon and while I was doing my best to scrub paint off the plexiglass this evening, I thought about how challenging change can be. Our old ways of thinking and our old patterns of behaving die hard. Lately I’ve been working on not being such a perfectionist, but twice after finishing the bathroom I put my paintbrush away then got it back out because I saw spots that needed touching up. Now, I’m okay with this because I like to do a good job when I work and I didn’t get neurotic about it. This is how I know my perfectionist pattern is–um–losing its charge. I didn’t obsess for the rest of the day. I didn’t tear down all the wallpaper.

I’ll explain.

A friend of mine says that a well-balanced person will see a corner of wallpaper that’s peeling off and, like, grab the superglue. A perfectionist, however, will tear down all the wallpaper and remodel the entire room. This second option, obviously, is nuts, and yet many of us spend our entire lives overreacting, thinking everything has to be just so. We pace the floor or give ourselves panic attacks when everything isn’t. We forget to breathe.

Getting back to the idea that old patterns die hard, I’ve found a major step in changing not-so-productive patterns to more productive ones is first recognizing how the old patterns have been helpful. Tonight I made a list of several old patterns that I think have been trying to “gear down” for a few years now (things like perfectionism, self-criticism, and people pleasing), and for each one listed HOW that patterns came to my aid when I was a child. For example, a perfect, people-pleasing child is less likely to be spanked or yelled at, is more likely to be fed and taken care of. When dialoguing with your different parts, IFS suggest asking them, “How old do you think I am?” Most likely they’ll come back with a number in the single digits. The point: your parts or patterns don’t always know that you’ve grown up, that their “help” isn’t as needed now as it was at one time.

When I think about the all-white rooms that I’ve been painting, they remind me of a blank page, full of possibility. Now, are they truly a blank page? No. There are imperfections. There are flecks, even broad strokes of the paint that used to be there before. Underneath the sink or whatever. This has been and continues to be my experience with change and transformation. It’s not that you start completely over. Rather, you update yourself. You start bringing in new patterns, running new software. You clean things up. You reflect more light.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It takes forty years in the desert for seas to part.

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let’s talk about people pleasing (if you don’t mind) (blog #3)

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Yesterday morning I overslept and missed a breakfast appointment with a friend of mine. I don’t usually do that sort of thing, but I was super tired the night before and didn’t bother to check my calendar because it’s pretty empty these days. (As it turns out, if you want more free time, all you have to do is quit your job.)

When I realized my mistake, I immediately sent a text to my friend that said, “Oh shit, I way overslept,” then I called and left a voicemail apologizing. A day later, I haven’t heard back from her, so I can only assume she showed up to our appointment and had to endure her eggs benedict and coffee with cream without the pleasure of my company. (How miserable.) I really don’t know my friend well enough to know for a fact whether or not she’s upset with me, but I typically assume the worst, so I spent a good part of yesterday convinced that I’d made her mad and that she was just waiting for the right moment to send me a nasty text message IN ALL CAPS telling me what a piece-of-shit human being I am. (One of my friends refers to this sort of thinking as “awfulizing.”)

I also kept thinking, Maybe she’s not mad. Maybe she dropped her phone in her coffee, or choked on a piece of gluten-free bread and had to go to the emergency room. Maybe she’s just too busy to get back to me. (Maybe SHE has a job.) Or maybe she replied, “No big deal. Glad you finally got some rest. Let’s try it again,” but forgot to hit the send button. Maybe she has Attention Deficit Disorder.

Well, thank God for margaritas because after I drank one last night, I decided I didn’t give a shit whether she was mad or not. It was like magic. The truth was obvious–what other people think of me is none of my business. (I usually hate that fact, but it goes down a lot easier when you’re drunk. A spoonful of sugar…or whatever.)

As I’ve thought about the whole thing today, I know the anxiety I was feeling yesterday stems from being a people pleaser, from putting everyone else’s feelings and opinions before my own. I think this is a pretty common thing, but I don’t think it’s the way we’re born. I think we’re more authentic than that.

I remember being in first grade, and one of the teacher’s would hand out cartons of milk every day, and she’d always pick a helper first. Well, my favorite teacher was an older lady named Miss Jackson, and she’d been on vacation or something. So the day she comes back, she walks into the room, and I just remember wanting to help her pass out the milk. So I run up to her and throw my arms around her and make a big damn deal out of it, like a puppy who’s gotten into the Mountain Dew–PICK ME, PICK ME.

Well, the school I attended had more than one teacher in the classroom, so although Miss Jackson reacted to my enthusiasm graciously, the other teacher thought my behavior was inappropriate, so I had to sit down, or write sentences, or something, and some other kid helped Miss Jackson pass the milk out.

I guess I’ve felt guilty about that day for close to thirty years now. Maybe embarrassed is a better word. Not like it keeps me up at night, but it’s just been hanging out in the shadows, this feeling that I did something wrong. I guess it’s felt like it’s not okay to draw attention to myself, or ask for what I want in a big way. I remember really loving Miss Jackson, looking up at her and really wanting to help, and then my memory just goes to the floor. I don’t remember the other teacher’s face or name, but I can hear the sound of her voice and her anger.

Looking at it now, I have more compassion for that little kid, the one with all the enthusiasm and love, the one who only wanted to help. I think he was just being a kid. And I’m sure the other teacher meant well when she made me apologize, but the truth is, I wasn’t sorry–I was ashamed. More accurately, I was shamed into being sorry. So if I had the chance to do it all over again, I’d say, “I’m not sorry, Miss Jackson.”

I don’t think one incident like that completely shapes a person’s personality, but I think it plays a part. Although it’s so much better now, when I was a kid, my dad could get pretty angry and sarcastic. I remember a couple of times telling him how I felt, like, “Dad, I really want you to listen to this thing, and you keep leaving the room,” or “Dad, I’d like you to ask permission before you open my desk drawer,” and he’d just get angry. His voice would get really loud, and then he’d walk off.

I think the consequence of incidences like these was that I started to shut down. I’m not blaming anyone, I’m just thinking (and blogging) about it. I stopped expressing my feelings for fear of making someone else upset. I hated it when teachers were mad at me and when Dad raised his voice, so I did everything I could to be the teacher’s pet, the perfect little child who never got his name on the blackboard. I became a people pleasure. It seemed to be working pretty well for a while, but I can’t say I recommend it. It’s exhausting.

Personally, I think childhood is a bum-deal. It’s like all this bullshit happens that shapes you as a person before you’re old enough or smart enough to really get what’s going on. So you spend thirty years making yourself small and not having a voice, worrying about what everyone else thinks, afraid someone’s going to yell at your because you honest-to-god overslept and missed a Saturday morning brunch (gasp).

I had a gay friend tell me a couple of months ago that he’d slept with a girl on a recent vacation. When I asked why, he said, “She asked.” (Oh, of course, that’s why–she asked.) I’m sure there’s more to the story, but it became this big joke, like, all you have to do to sleep with me is ask. Whatever makes you happy, I’m glad to do it.

I could make fun of my friend all day long, but the truth is, I get it. I can’t tell you the number of times that I’ve taught a dance lesson or taken care of someone’s animals for shit-pay all because they asked or simply because I didn’t have the balls to say, “Thank you, but I’m worth more than that.” Hell, once I dated a guy and waited until after we’d slept together to inquire if he had any sexually transmittable diseases. (Thank God he didn’t.) It may sound pretty fantastic, but I was just too afraid to speak up sooner. I wanted his approval more than I wanted my own.

My therapist says that People Pleaser Marcus used to be this big giant in my head that ran the show. He made all my decisions. She jokes about this list of birthdays I told her about that I used to keep when I was in my twenties. That was before Facebook told you everything, so the list was pages long, and I’d check it every week so I could send text or MySpace messages to everyone I really didn’t know that well because I wanted them to like me. Then for a while, I just accepted every friend request I received, whether I knew someone or not.

Well, now my therapist says that People Pleaser Marcus has shrunk down to the size of tiny gnome. (She even made her voice real squeaky and held her thumb and index fingers like half an inch apart to emphasize how much progress I’ve made. Teacher’s pet!) His voice is still in my head, and that’s why I get nervous when I think someone’s mad at me, or I still worry about what other people will think when they read about the most intimate details of my life. But the good news is that People Pleaser Marcus isn’t running the show anymore. (We call the guy in charge Marcus at the Head of the Table.) As evidence, the birthday list is gone. Last year, I de-friended 600 friends (uh, total strangers) on Facebook. That was one in four. If I didn’t know the person or how we met, or if we never talked or interacted, they were gone. So now I’m left with people I actually know and actually care about. And what’s better–no one said anything. No one got mad.

What I’m learning now is that even if someone else does get mad, people choose their own reactions. People choose whether or not to be gracious, whether or not to raise their voice and walk off. And honestly, someone’s else reaction is all about them and not about me. I guess my challenge lately has been to be more like a cat because they don’t care if you get mad at them. They don’t care if you scream and throw them off the counter twenty times, they just jump right back up if that’s where they want to be. They say, “PICK ME, PICK ME, I wanna help with the milk” and they’re not embarrassed about it.

Cats, after all, are authentic. They don’t shut themselves down to make someone else happy. Cats express themselves. Cats don’t give a fuck.

Let’s be more like cats.

[Special thanks to Oscar and Riley (whom I’m taking care of this week for better-than-shit pay) for looking totally uninterested and not giving an eff about what anyone thinks about this blog post. Both of you inspire me.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Not knowing what's going to happen next is part of the adventure."