The Uncomfortable Position (Blog #774)

It’s ten at night, and I’m house sitting. My friend’s dog, who’s been “asking” to go in and out all day (make a decision!) is curled up by my legs on the ottoman. Last night she slept in the exact same spot except we were in bed–a twin bed. This means that I had to morph myself into the shape of a question mark to make room for both of us. This afternoon my friend sent me a text about their dog that said, “Did she sleep under the covers?” I said, “I am NOT the kind of boy who lets someone under the covers on our first night together!”

Unless your name is Zac Efron, of course.

Other than letting my friend’s dog in and out, the day has been uneventful. I’ve read in a couple books, listened to a program about shadow work. It’s all personal growth/psychology stuff. I’ve been in a phase lately–grow, grow, grow. This is my general tendency, of course, but I also know it’s a season. At some point I’ll get distracted by Netflix or get into some television show and stop being so serious. As one thing I read today said, “The bow cannot always be drawn” or it would warp the bow and take away its tension, or that which gives it power.

Tension. There’s something we can talk about. I have a friend who’s a personal trainer, and she says when you do crunches, you want to get your body in “the uncomfortable position.” You know, the one that burns. The point being that the uncomfortable position is where you’re going to do the most good. Maybe it won’t feel good at the time, but you’ll like how your stomach looks in the mirror later. This is what I mean by tension, allowing pain to transform you. So many times over the last five years in therapy I’ve sat with emotional tension to the point I thought I was going to explode. Recently I had a heart-to-heart with someone I care about, and leading up to it was hell because I knew we needed to talk but was worried it wouldn’t go well. (It did.) And whereas I HATE that feeling of tension, that uncomfortable position, I’ve always enjoyed where it’s propelled me to.

What I mean is that on the other side of every difficult conversation, my relationships have improved. Even when the relationships themselves have been dissolved or put on hiatus, that’s still been an improvement from my perspective. Because, for example, there’s less drama, less fighting in my life. More than anything, the biggest improvement has always been my being able to speak my truth, whatever that is. (Examples–I’m hurting. I’m sorry. I don’t understand what happened. I love you, but this isn’t working for me.) This is the greatest benefit that I’ve had from the tension in my life. It’s forced me to speak up and grow up. If I hadn’t been so frickin’ miserable in my last long-term relationship, I never would have sought help in therapy or started this blog.

I can’t tell you how much I hate this, that we often (as in, all the time) have to experience tension in order to experience a release. I hate that “the uncomfortable position” is the one where growth happens. But of course it is. Because when we grow, by definition, we’re going somewhere or doing something we haven’t done before. We’re entering into the land of the unfamiliar, and the unfamiliar is always uncomfortable because we’re not used to it. But the good news is that the first time you speak up (or whatever) is the hardest, and then it gets easier from there. With all things, practice is key. Personally, I’m learning to lean into that which is uncomfortable or painful. Not because I’m kinky like that, but because I’m finally realizing that if I’m uncomfortable, if my bow is stretched, that means there’s a lot of potential power there if I use it right.

Recently I was reading that life operates according to the principle of polarity. That is, for every up there’s a down. For every period of activity, there’s a period of inactivity. For every bit of tension, a release. According to this viewpoint, the greater the down, the greater the up. Because life balances itself. This is what I mean by there’s a lot of potential power that comes from being in an uncomfortable position. Once when I was agonizing over a difficult situation, my therapist said, “I know it’s tempting to binge watch Netflix and eat chocolate cake, but you need to have a conversation. You need to speak up. I’ve been where you are, and if you really wanna be free, I’m giving you the playbook.” This is what I mean by if you use your difficult circumstances right. Anyone can run away from tension or just let it dissipate on its own. But USING that tension to propel yourself, to change yourself, that’s another matter. That’s how growth happens.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whereas I've always pictured patience as a sweet, smiling, long-haired lady in a white dress, I'm coming to see her as a frumpy, worn-out old broad with three chins. You know--sturdy--someone who's been through the ringer and lived to tell about it.

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The Perfect Front (#472)

When I lived in The Big House for a few years, I had a lot of chandeliers, only one of which sold during my estate sale, what I call The Great Letting Go. Since I moved in with my parents last year, all my leftover lamps and lights have been in the garage collecting dust, getting periodically kicked or moved around. A few times I’ve tried to sell them on Facebook or Craigslist, but to no avail. Finally, a couple weeks ago I decided to dust them off and bring them in. Now two of the lights are hanging in my room (I wrote about one of them here), and three are hanging in a spare closet.

All safe and sound.

This afternoon I determined to bring in the final chandelier, my favorite one, actually. I’ve been putting it off because it’s loaded with crystals, and I’ve assumed some of them were broken or damaged during the move or while in storage. Plus, there’s not really a “great” place to hang it here at Mom and Dad’s. Our ceilings are low, and this thing is somewhat substantial and dramatic. It needs a big space. But I thought, Hanging it is better than not hanging it. At least then I’ll get to look at it.

Well–immediately after taking down the old light fixture, I realized I’d have to go to Lowe’s for a few supplies. I’ll spare you all the details, but I needed some hooks to secure the chandelier to the fixture box (in the ceiling), as well as a medallion. (The “hood” of the chandelier, the part that goes flush to the ceiling, is three inches in diameter, but the ceiling hole is four. I figured a medallion with a three-inch hole would solve this problem.) Of course, all of Lowe’s medallions have the standard four-inch opening, still too big for my chandelier’s particular hood to cover up. Shit, I’ll have to improvise, I thought.

For over an hour, I strolled around Lowe’s and then Walmart, looking for something–anything–I could turn into a suitable ceiling medallion. FINALLY I stumbled across a set of small, circular sunburst mirrors and thought, Eureka–I can take out one of the mirrors and fasten the frame to the ceiling!

If none of this makes sense, stick with me. I promise I won’t go all Bob Vila on your ass and tell you everything that happened next, step by step. Suffice it to say, in home decoration and repair, everything is a process. But here’s the most important thing–when I got home from Walmart, I took out the actual mirror part of the mirror I liked the best, then drilled several one-inch holes into its plastic backing. Here’s what it looked like when I was done.

At this point, I was ready to hang the chandelier. So that’s what I did. And whereas I was all worried about the crystals being broken or damaged, not a single one was. In fact, only three of them had slipped off. (So I slipped them right back on.) Here’s what it looks like now that I’m completely finished. (Ta-da!)

This afternoon my inner perfectionist was all a-twitter about the chandelier. Even after my taking out all the extra chain links, it really does hang a bit low for our ceilings. Also, since the mirror wasn’t made to be a medallion, it’s not “exactly” flush to the ceiling. And–I think–it’s a little small for the size of the chandelier itself. But I’ve been reminding myself–1) The chandelier is gorgeous, better than what was there before, 2) No one besides me will notice or care, and 3) A small medallion, in this case, is better than no medallion at all.

Now I’m absolutely thrilled that the light is inside. I really do adore it. While dusting it this afternoon, I noticed that–honestly–there’s nothing perfect about it. (And that’s okay.) Each crystal is hung by a bent piece of wire, and every single piece is different. (I assume they were made by hand.) Also, the carousels that hold the hooks (and therefore the crystals) are all bent. Maybe they were made that way or have just warped slightly over the years. I mean, it is an antique. But really, what a ridiculous idea–perfection. As if there is such a thing.

Whom are you really kidding?

Earlier when I started to take tonight’s selfie, I decided to turn around. There’s a saying in psychology–the back is as big as the front–and since my front gets plenty of attention on this blog (God knows), I figured my back should get some too. I’m being cheeky here (and in the photo), but there really is something to this idea. We all have this face we show to the world–the one that smiles, the one that’s “nice,” the one that lives in the house where everything is “just so.” The Perfect Front. But that’s all it is–a front. I mean, whom are you really kidding? You want your chandeliers and pictures to hang perfectly straight? Good fucking luck. Life is messy and emotional. In fact, it’s damn ugly at times. That’s what The Imperfect Back is–all the things we don’t want to look at, all the parts of ourselves and the world we think are bad or wrong or embarrassing. But these parts deserve our attention too and (like my chandelier) are worthy of being seen. Plus, we forget that it’s not ultimately about The Perfect Front OR The Imperfect Back. It’s never about what’s outside, what’s physical. It’s about what’s inside, the light.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Better that you're true to yourself and the whole world be disappointed than to change who you are and the whole world be satisfied.

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Marcus and the Beanstalk (Blog #97)

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This evening I learned that the story of Jack and the Beanstalk is basically about sex. (As Joey on Blossom used to say, “Whoa!”) Remember how Jack gets sent to the market to sell their cow, Milky White, and he trades it for magic beans instead? Well, apparently Milky White represents the mother’s milk, the dependency of the child on his parents. The beans represent Jack’s personal seed, his puberty, his coming of sexual age. And the beanstalk? Well, that’s Jack’s penis. Oh my, look how it grows!

Take all the time you need to process this information.

This afternoon I was on the phone four different times regarding the car accident I was in last week. The first phone call was minutes after I woke up, and I don’t mind saying the lady at Allstate was a bitch. Uh, ma’am, I don’t feel as if I’m in good hands right now. Maybe she was doing her job, but she was rude. I realize a lot of people take advantage of the system, but it sucks to have the shit knocked out of you first by a car, and then by an insurance agent.

The good news is that after the company made an offer for my totaled car, I countered, and today we compromised at seventy percent of the difference in my favor. So I’m getting ninety-four percent of what I asked for. Or, as the rude lady on the phone said, “You will IF we accept liability.”

“Oh,” I said. “Is that still a question?”

The next lady I talked to was my specific case manager, and she was delightful–also doing her job, but delightful. She explained that liability had not been accepted only because they hadn’t spoken to their client yet, the gentleman who hit me. So that’s just standard. She also said that they gave me a rental car prematurely, but not to worry about it. But then she called back and said, “You might want to worry about it–take it back until we’ve decided for sure that we’re liable. Otherwise you might have to pay for it yourself.”

“Well shit.”

So I put on my shoes and was about to walk out the door, but then she called back–like–it’s me again, Margaret. “Okay, don’t worry! I spoke with our client. You don’t have to take the car back. You’re good to go.” I said, “Thank you!” and thought, If we talk one more time today, I’m going to feel obligated to invite you to my wedding.

Amongst everything else, the lady and I talked about how reimbursement for the car would work, how medical coverage and payment would work, and how she’ll be calling every seven to ten days to check up on my progress. Meet my new best friend, the insurance agent. The next time she calls I’m going to ask who her celebrity crush is. Just based on her phone personality, I’m going to guess she’d say Taye Diggs, and I could definitely support that. Me too, girl. Me too.

Despite the fact that things are going as well as possible, I’m really anxious to have it all settled, get the reimbursement check, and purchase a new car. (I picked one out yesterday, and it’s being held. Details will be forthcoming. Now you can be anxious with me.) Additionally, spending all that time on the phone today–being a damn adult–wore me out. I always feel like I’m on the defensive in these situations, watching out for every dollar. (It’s not like I have a goose that lays golden eggs over here!) And I hate that. I’d much rather assume the best of people and trust everyone. I’d also much rather have a goose that lays golden eggs.

This evening I felt like I needed to do something for me. So for the first time in over six months, I drove my antique car, a 1977 Mercury Comet. It’s name is Garfield (because it’s orange, duh). Y’all, I’m not a car person, but I’m a THAT CAR person. I LOVE Garfield. I got him in 2005, the same year I opened my dance studio, and he’s perfect for spring, summer, and fall evenings, since he doesn’t have working air conditioning. But he’s super handsome, has a V8 engine, and gets lots of compliments from old guys at gas stations. (Ooh-la-la.) Honestly, he’s one of my favorite possessions–ever.

Last year when I had my estate sale, I decided it was time to say goodbye to Garfield. It took a while, but I made peace with the idea, especially since I thought the extra money would help get me to Austin. Well, the sale came and went, but no one made an offer on Garfield. So for the last several months, he’s sat in my parents driveway collecting dust and working on a nice case of tire-rot. Every time I see him, I think I need to spruce him up, put him on Craigslist. But I’m always afraid he won’t sell or won’t sell for “enough,” and that makes me afraid that I’ll never get to Austin. Basically it’s been easier to pretend he’s not there.

But because I’m always happy when I’m driving him, I got him out tonight–checked his fluids, aired up his tires. I said I was going on an errand, but because I drove the back roads, it took an hour and a half to buy two bags of coffee. The wind in my hair, the roar of the engine, the weight of the all-metal car barreling down the road–I loved every minute of it. However, there was a faint feeling of sadness, like you might get if you were having lunch with your best friend and you knew it was one of the last times. Maybe one of you is moving and can’t take the other. You both know it’s best, you know you can’t stay together forever, but you don’t really want to say goodbye either.

Eventually you have to grow up and face your giants.

When Jack climbs the beanstalk, he’s confronted by the representation of his parents, the giant and his wife. This imagery represents Jack growing up, becoming an adult. Once or twice the giant’s wife protects Jack, hides him in an oven or whatever. Here the oven represents one’s desire to not grow up, but rather return to the womb.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, how nice it would be to be a child again, to be protected, to be taken care of. Isn’t that part of the reason we love fairy tales? Doesn’t everyone want someone to sweep them off their feet, some charming partner with whom to live happily ever after in a world without car wrecks and bitchy insurance agents? But obviously, that’s not the way it works, and some days being an adult is almost more than you can handle. (I don’t recommend being one if you can help it.) Of course, you can’t go back and be a kid again, at least not permanently. Maybe you get a few moments here and there, an hour free of responsibility, your foot on the gas of an antique car. But eventually you have to grow up and face your giants. Sooner or later, we all say goodbye.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Along the way you’ll find yourself, and that’s the main thing, the only thing there really is to find.

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one hand in the light (blog #25)

This morning I woke up in Wichita, stumbled into my friend Megan’s kitchen, and made two pieces of toast with apricot preserves. While Megan and I were talking, our friend Tina came in from the garage apartment where she and her husband stayed during the dance weekend. Well, Tina must be a morning person because she was SUPER perky—way too perky for Marcus on a Monday. But I guess her good mood started to rub off, and before I knew it, we were all telling stories and laughing about how we keep ourselves awake on road trips. (All of our go-to strategies include making loud animal noises.)

I know it’s not the same on paper as it would be in person, but it was one of those glorious moments that I thought, God, life is fun sometimes. This was actually worth getting up for.

And then the last twelve hours happened.

I’ve been sitting at my computer for about an hour, trying to sort out my feelings and what I wanted to write about. For the majority of that time, I kept thinking that I could pull the wool over my own eyes and talk about what a great day it was. Granted, there were highlights—animal noises for breakfast—but there were frustrations as well. And rather than try to pass it all off as “I’m just tired,” I’ve decided to be honest about it instead. As it says at the top of the page, “The truth will set you free (sort of).”

The first frustrating thing was my GPS took me the wrong way out of Wichita, and I’m still not sure how it happened. But after several miles of unfamiliar highway, I realized my GPS was guiding me home via the Ozark National Forest, turning a four-and-a-half-hour trip into a six-hour one. So I got turned around and back on track, but I lost enough time that I had to substitute gas station food in place of an honest-to-god restaurant. (And that did not bless me.)

By the time I got home, I had about half an hour, so I unpacked the car and checked the mail before heading back out for a dance lesson. Well, I got two bills in the mail that were connected to the sinus surgery I had two months ago. (Isn’t that exciting?) So I opened them, and all I could think was that I made straight A’s in math all through junior high, high school, and college, and medical bills still don’t make a damn bit of sense to me. I finally figured out one of the bills this evening, but it took two calculators and four hours of guided meditation. As for the other bill, I’ll have to call someone to figure out why my balance online shows as zero but I keep getting statements in the mail. I should probably drink before I dial that number.

After the dance lesson, I had dinner with a friend who has a lot of muscles and a great tan and wore a tank top so it was all out in the open. Oh, and he didn’t touch the bread on the table. (What the hell?) Our conversation eventually turned to his committed relationship, and he even showed me the rings he wanted for his engagement one day. And whereas I’m quite happy for him (and his muscles and his committed relationship), the whole situation made me feel fat and out of shape and lonely, so I kept reaching for the bread basket because—you know—carbs have always been there for me.

A few months ago I told my therapist that I was feeling lonely. I don’t recall exactly what was going on at the time, but I think it was mostly about all the changes that have taken place since I started therapy. And whereas I consider it all to be a net positive, there have still been a lot of goodbyes—to a lot of physical stuff, to the dance studio, to a lot of relationships that although unhealthy, were also with people I cared for. So some days, I said, it feels like I’m starting all over again, doing this all by myself.

My therapist told me that first off, I’m not alone. No one is ever alone. Second, she said that being able to sit with that feeling of loneliness, as unpleasant as it may be, is really the root of strength. (If only I could sit with my loneliness and develop strength that looked good in a tank top.)

One of my favorite authors, Pema Chodron, says something similar. She says that our task is to sit with whatever emotion arises, without judgment and without running our story about it. She says that whenever we try to make a feeling go away, we unwittingly cultivate a subtle aggression against ourselves, but that by allowing a feeling to just be, we practice self-compassion.

Well, as my friend Suzanne says, “That sounds good if you say it fast.” I mean, I think what Pema says is true, but I would add these thoughts—sometimes that aggression you cultivate against yourself is not so subtle, and sitting in the midst of an uncomfortable feeling and not reaching for the bread basket is damn hard. (I guess if it were easy, everyone would have abs.)

As I’m typing now, one of my favorite things in the whole world is sitting across from me. It’s a photograph of the dancer Erick Hawkins, and the photographer Barbara Morgan took it, maybe in the 1940s. For a while, Erick was married to Martha Graham, one of the biggest names in modern dance, and Barbara’s photo shows him dancing on one leg, arms outstretched, one reaching back toward the light, the other reaching forward toward the shadows.

Well, I’ve had the photo for several years, and it’s always one of the first things I unpack when I move. (I move a lot. If you haven’t heard, I’m currently living with my parents.) If no other photo gets displayed, this one does. And maybe if you buy me a glass of scotch, I’d be willing to talk about everything it means to me, but it’s personal, and it’s late, and I couldn’t do it justice now. But what I will say is that for the last two weeks, what I’ve noticed most about the photo is the shadows, the way the dancer is turned toward them, actually stretching out to them with one hand.

Naturally, there’s a lot of talk about the shadow in psychology, and it always seems to get this bad rap, like it’s the evil twin in your family, something to be afraid of. At the very least, you don’t want to invite him to Thanksgiving. But I heard once that the shadow simply represents the unknown. It’s the parts of ourselves we haven’t looked squarely in the eye yet, the parts we run away from, the parts we don’t want to sit with and understand. And as a psychological image, I think it’s rather mysterious and beautiful that the dancer’s face is turned directly toward the dark. He doesn’t turn his back on his shadow. Rather, he invites it in.

So on days like today, I’m reminded to lean into my frustration, to get closer to my loneliness, to sit with all the parts of myself that I consider to be dark or unpleasant because all of it is still part of me. And I can keep one hand in the light, and I can turn my face toward my shadow, and I can reach out my hand and we can dance together, and it can be mysterious and beautiful.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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