Leave the Raft Behind (Blog #1087)

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It’s 11:50 at night, and this is the beginning of the end. No, not of the world, although I guess that’s possible. Anything is possible these days. Rather, it’s the beginning of the end of this blog. I only have ten more posts including this one to go. And whereas I’m looking forward to having two hours (on average) of every day back to sleep, work on other projects, and do whatever the hell I want, I’m also anticipating a loss. That is, I’ve come to love my time here at this keyboard. Mostly, I suppose, because it’s been my safe haven, a place I’ve been able to run to for comfort time and time again, whenever anything–and everything–has gone wrong.

There’s a story in Buddhism, or one of those religions, that if your goal is to reach the other side of a river (enlightenment), then you’re going to have to use a raft (meditation, a guru) to get there. But once you’re on the other side you leave the raft behind. Because, well, why would you need it? You wouldn’t. Because for one thing it’s done its job already. For another, carrying around a raft for the rest of your life would be so terribly awkward.

And bad for your back

Along these lines, my original goal with this blog was to establish a daily writing practice. And whereas I don’t know if I’ll continue to write every day, every damn day, when this is over, I’ve clearly done that. What’s more, I’ve proven to myself that I have what it takes to commit to something I believe in. This writing project. What’s most important, however, is that, really without intending to when I came up with this idea three years ago, I’ve ended up committing to myself. And whereas I think this would have been the case had I–I don’t know–chosen to write a poem or a short story every day (because I would have been building self-esteem by keeping my word to myself), it’s certainly been the case given the fact that for over a thousand days now I’ve sat down and effectively been my own therapist, spiritual guide, healer, and cheerleader. There, there, Sweetheart, we’re going to get through this.

Not that I haven’t had tons of help along the way. And God knows I’ve talked ad nauseam about what that help has been. All my therapists, doctors, modalities, and such. All of which I’m extremely grateful for and have convinced me that there’s always willing help available. Ultimately, The Path is walked alone, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get plenty of support while walking it. Plenty of what Joseph Campbell called supernatural aide. And yet every day and always one finds themselves alone with their thoughts, emotions, dreams, terrors, situations, predicaments, and their past. Alas, although others can help you with these things, these things ultimately have your name written all over them. And so you must learn to deal with them.

And so you must learn to deal with yourself.

It’s weird the breadcrumbs my subconscious, or God or the universe, laid out before me when I (we?) first started this project. That is, my very first blog was titled “it’s time to soften up,” and it was about how I really wanted, needed to go easier on myself. Well, this has been an unintended and, apparently, much-cried-out-for theme these last few years. Sweetheart, chill the fuck out. Be gentle. And whereas I wish I could tell you that I’m “there,” I’m not. But I have made A LOT of progress. Still, recently I told my therapist that I have another project in mind to start after this one but that I wanted to wait a couple weeks before announcing it. “But I can still be planning and working on it,” I said.

“Or you could JUST REST,” she offered.

I mean, there’s an idea. The whole world is on pause right now thanks to COVID-19, so what better time to dramatically slow my roll? Seriously, it’s rough being stuck at home, but I may never be given this amount of free time again in my life. Time to read, time to watch Netflix, time to stretch. Time to get quiet and go inside. Time to heal. This morning I learned that my myofascial release wizard is closing her office for the time being, a fact that would normally upset me because we’ve been getting such good results lately. But more and more I’m trusting 1) divine timing and 2) that if a miracle can happen in a therapist’s office, it can happen in your bedroom.

Don’t I wish?

That was a sex joke, Mom.

Getting back to the idea of miracles (and not the “this is where the magic happens” kind), I’m learning that you have to do your part. Meaning that the chances that Jesus is going to knock on your door and strike you completely healthy are slim. But the chances that heaven is going to meet you more than halfway if you show them that you’re even remotely serious are pretty damn good. This has been my experience over and over again–with my therapist, with this blog, with my EMDR therapist, and with a whole bevy of doctors, practitioners, and helpful books. I cry out, “Help,” do what I know to do, and God (sometimes called Good) comes running.

Help is on the way, dear!

This evening I heard healer Charlie Goldsmith say that our emotions are meant to be felt and experienced but not held on to. “If someone told you a joke, you wouldn’t keep laughing for three weeks,” he said. And yet so many of us hold on to our anger, even when whatever it was that originally caused us to be angry was, like, fucking years ago. And not that you shouldn’t get angry when someone crosses a line or shit hits the fan. You’re just not supposed to hold on to that feeling. (Or, better said, let it hold on to you.) This is another way of saying leave the raft behind. Learn from the emotion and the experience, but don’t carry the teacher with you. Let the dead bury the dead. Let the past be over. Be right here, right now. Sweetheart, come to the other side of the river. Come home again.

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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On Shaking the Dust out of the Rug (Blog #1054)

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Today I’ve been thinking about healing. Ugh. It’s such a damn process. For example, since starting upper cervical care a few months ago, my headaches have dramatically decreased. They’re so much better, way less frequent. Indeed, there are days when I think I’m going to get a headache (I feel tension coming on), but I don’t. Somehow, my body nips it in the bud. And yet for all this improvement, I still have my challenges. Of course. Like today. My head has been throbbing. What’s the saying? One step forward, two steps back. But in my case it’s more like two steps forward, one step back.

As I understand it, this is normal. Last night I watched a bunch of videos about upper cervical care on my doctor’s website, and one of them led me to another video that discussed the healing cycle, the healing cycle being the “way” our bodies heal. Unfortunately, they don’t heal in a straight line. Rather, when things are going well, over what’s typically a three-month period, they make some progress, then regress, make some progress, then regress. Two steps forward, one step back. Whenever I get ready to go somewhere, I throw my bag in the car, then come back for my keys. Then I walk to the car, but inevitably come back again. Because I forgot my coffee. Or my deodorant. So what our bodies do makes sense to me.

They HAVE to go back, to make sure they didn’t leave anything behind or left undone.

Along these lines, one of the videos I watched last night was about something called retracing. In at least two other posts, the most recent of which you can read here, I’ve talked about a thing that can happen when our bodies heal called unwinding. Same thing. Retracing or unwinding is basically your body’s way of reliving past and unresolved stresses or traumas and–finally–resolving them. In the unwinding experience I had last summer that centered around a car accident I had when I was a teenager, my body twisted and turned and told me (instead of me telling it) what happened that night. Along with these contortions, it released emotions, mostly fear and sadness. Likewise, recently I had an experience in which I relived memories of my dad’s arrest when I was a teenager. Along with these memories came tears, facial scrunching, fist clenching, and foot stomping. From what I understand, this is the deal. Retracing isn’t just a cerebral experience; it’s a physical and emotional one, a release of previously suppressed reactions and emotions.

Recently I told a friend that the more I learn, the more I’m convinced that our traumas are physical and emotional events, not just mental ones. And that as much as I wish my mind could get me out of what my body got me into, it can’t. It just can’t. Still, this isn’t a bad thing. Because it lets me know where to look in order to heal, which is not my mind. Rather, it’s my body. Not that the mind isn’t part of it. After all, our minds, our emotions, our bodies, our spirits, and our souls are connected. This is my point. That our stresses, traumas, dramas, and diseases don’t just happen to A PART of us. They happen to ALL of us and therefore REQUIRE all of us to heal. So it’s not just about getting your head in the healing game. It’s about getting your head and your heart in there.

You know how sometimes when you clean, especially if you’re in a hurry, you half-ass do it, or skip parts altogether? Like, you sweep dust under the rug or ignore the gunk that’s piling up behind the refrigerator for “just one more spring”? Well, your house may LOOK spick and span, but YOU know that it’s not, not deep down. That dirt and crap is still there. Alas, it’s the same with our bodies. We can put on a happy face and say we’re fine, we can even talk about our traumas and dramas until we’re blue in the face, but until we allow our bodies to express what was suppressed, we’re just letting more dust pile up.

So what am I advocating? A deep cleaning.

People who talk about retracing say that our bodies often put Bandaids on things if they don’t have the resources to really heal them. Then later, when the resources become available, they’ll recreate whatever the pain or problem was in order to really heal it. Think of this like pulling out your refrigerator, taking an honest look at what a mess things are, then really getting down on you hands and knees and going to work once and for all. Ugh. As far as I can tell, truly healing always requires going back and cleaning up what didn’t get cleaned up before, really shaking the dust out of the rug that is your life. Of course, going back isn’t about bitching and moaning. Whoa is me, my life has sucked balls, and all that. Rather, it’s about acceptance and willingness. Something terrible happened and I wanted to scream and shout (and let it all out) but I didn’t. So I’m willing to now. Something made me sad but I didn’t know how to cry. So I’ll cry now. So that things can really be cleaned up and over. So that I can really be right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s not where you are, it’s whom you are there with.

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On Settling into Your Body (Blog #1053)

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Today I’ve been thinking about, and trying to, relax. I’ll explain. Last night I listened to a podcast that said if you audibly sigh (like, AHHHH) when you exhale enough times (five to ten seems to work for me), it will cause you to yawn and, consequently, trigger your parasympathetic nervous system. Your parasympathetic nervous system being the “rest and digest” part of your nervous system, the part responsible for relaxation and healing. Your autonomic nervous system, of course, being the “fight or flight” part of your nervous system, the part responsible for hauling ass or, if necessary, kicking ass and taking names.

Naturally, we need both parts of our nervous system. The problem being, however, that the majority of us spend way too much time in “fight or flight” mode, either because we live in a high-stress environment (like America) or because we’ve suffered a trauma and our bodies haven’t completely processed (or realized its over) yet. Or both.

More and more I realize just how much stress I carry on a daily basis in my physical body. My shoulders have been tense for decades. My hips are tight. Often I can’t bend over and touch my toes without first taking a muscle relaxer and saying three Hail Marys. You get the point. Alas, somewhere along the way I convinced myself these little aches and pains were normal, a natural consequence of growing older. But having experienced some wonderful improvements in terms of headaches over the last few months thanks to upper cervical care, I’m starting to believe, like deep down and really, that freedom from chronic pain is possible. And whereas I wish I could just push a button and–voila!–be at ease in my skin, I’m learning that this type of freedom 1) comes incrementally, not instantaneously and 2) often requires practice.

Getting back to the idea of relaxation, recently I ran across a blog that reminded me of a form of standing meditation I learned through Chi Kung. Since the blog explains it better and more in depth than I could (or even have a desire to), suffice it to say that teachers of the stance claim that it can help improve posture, increase relaxation, decrease pain, and stimulate chi (energy) flow and, therefore, promote healing. You know, in as little as ten minutes a day. And whereas I can’t personally speak to all these claims, I can say that the stance has helped me relax this last week. Like, you don’t realize how much tension you carry in your body until you begin to let it go. Even a little.

Along the lines of letting go, I’ve done the audible sigh/exhale and yawn thing several times today, either when I felt like it or when I noticed tension in my neck or shoulders. I guess part of the idea behind this practice is to “retrain” your nervous system. This makes sense to me, since my normal reaction to pain (my habit) is to brace against it rather than relax in to it. Consequently, my body has learned to be uptight and on edge constantly. Which is no fun. But after just one day of consciously letting go ever so slightly, I already feel more at ease, like there’s more space here. Plus, what’s great about this exercise is that it can be done at your kitchen table, in your car, hell, in line at Walmart. This afternoon I tried it while bending over and trying to touch my toes, and, y’all, I went from not being able to touch the ground and feeling pain and tension to being able to touch the ground and feeling loose and (mostly) flexible in only six exhales.

This experience, in addition to a number of others, convinces me that–generally speaking–our bodies absolutely CAN relax and be flexible. However, more often than not, they haven’t learned to. Better said, our nervous systems haven’t been convinced it’s SAFE to. That’s what I keep reading over and over again, that our bodies create pain and stiffness because they perceive that we’re in danger, that there’s some sort of threat. And no, it doesn’t matter that you know you’re safe, sitting here right here, right now. If your body doesn’t know it (if it hasn’t fully processed your past dramas and traumas), it continues to be “on guard.”

More and more I’m grateful to my body for always trying to keep me safe. Sure, it’s frustrating when something hurts, but I’m coming to truly believe that if the brain, body, and nervous system can create pain, they can uncreate it. This is when healing really gets fun, when you begin to see what a wonder you truly are, what you’re really capable of. All of a sudden or over a period of time (and what’s the difference, really?), tensions relax, pain that showed up out of nowhere goes back to where it came from, and you let go of the notion that things will never get better. Settling into your body, your home, you breathe deeper than you have in years. Finally, you feel safe.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Miracles happen."

On Winning the Hour and Returning to Balance (Blog #1051)

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Currently it’s 4:22, and I’m at the library. On Valentine’s Day. It’s sexy, I know. I just finished up some editing work for a friend and client. When I wrap up this blog, I plan to grab dinner–alone–then meet my friend Kate to see my friend and her husband Aaron in a play at the Fort Smith Little Theater. Based on the photos he’s been posting, at some point during the play he’ll be dressed as a woman. Red wig, fishnet stockings, two-inch heels and everything. Talk about exciting. One minute you’re hanging out at the library, and the next minute you’re really getting a show. This is life, full of twists and turns.

Lately I’ve been thinking about how it doesn’t take much. Like, it doesn’t take much to make your day a good day, it doesn’t take much to heal. Recently I said that doing the right thing isn’t difficult, it’s just figuring out what the right thing is that’s challenging. Yesterday I consulted with the woman whose blog first turned me onto the fact that the bacteria L. sakei can help tremendously with sinus issues. And whereas I tend to overdo the application of this little bad-bacteria-fighting critter, she said, “A little dab will do ya.” This is what I mean by “it doesn’t take much to heal.” I mean it doesn’t HAVE to take much to heal. So you don’t necessarily have to go all out. Just do whatever you need to do in order to bring balance, to tip the scales back to Center.

Along these lines, last night I ordered an air purifier for my room. Now, I read a long time ago that cleaner air is good for your sinuses, but the whole prospect of picking out an air filter and cleaning the air in our entire house seemed too overwhelming, impossible. But last night I figured that even if I breathe cleaner air only while I’m sleeping, that’s a third of the day, and a third of the day is nothing to sneeze at. (This, of course, being my hope, that I won’t be sneezing as much.) Anyway, usually I’m so all-or-nothing. But more and more I’m realizing there’s a lot of room in between, a lot of room where healing can happen. Indeed, more and more I believe that healing doesn’t occur at the extremes.

The lady I spoke to explained it this way. In everyone’s sinuses are bacteria, viruses, and fungi, much like in every neighborhood are juvenile delinquents. But these delinquents are only a problem if their parents go out of town and aren’t able to keep them in check. Again, this is the idea of balance. It’s not that we have to ALWAYS filter our air or can NEVER eat chocolate cake. We just don’t want things to get our of control. This, of course, is a subtle and delicate task.

Back to the idea of things not taking much, this morning a family friend of ours came over to discuss having me frame some of their antique brooches. Anyway, we ended up chatting about her new Fitbit, which helps her keep up with how many steps she takes each day. Well–and you may know this, but it was news to me–apparently every hour you take so many steps, Fitbit says, “You won the hour.” Is this delightful or what? I told my friend that it was going to be my phrase for the day, especially after she said she won the hour by coming over and visiting and laughing with me and my family. That’s the deal, we make happiness and contentment out to be these huge things, something OUT THERE, but winning the hour doesn’t take much, returning to balance doesn’t take much. It just takes being present. To the little things that happen right here, right now. Like laughing with a friend, eating dinner alone (and enjoying your own company), seeing your pal wear fishnet stockings.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.

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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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Ultimately, we all have to get our validation from inside, not outside, ourselves.

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On Lies and the Simple Truth (Blog #1040)

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It’s midnight. For all that’s happened today and for all that I’ve been thinking about, I can’t for the life of me think of what to say. (There. That’s two sentences. Good job, Marcus.) Some days it’s easier to write than others. Okay, here we go. This morning I woke up feeling kind of junky, but now I think I feel better. Do other other people do this, go back and forth about whether or not they feel well? My body loves me, it loves me not. More and more I’m convinced that when it comes to our bodies, something is always working, something is always not working. We feel how we feel right here, right now.

For weeks I’ve been dreading this coming Wednesday. Because for weeks I’ve been fighting sinus stuff, and this Wednesday I have to work from sun up until after midnight. What if I feel miserable? I’ve been thinking over and over (and over) again. Then last week I started feeling better. (Whoopie!) Then two days ago I relapsed. (Boo.) Now I don’t know what’s going to happen. (Do we ever?) Yesterday I dreaded working all day today cleaning at a client’s, and yet it went fine. I was a little wiped out, but no where near exhausted or disgustingly sick. Indeed, I worked at my own pace and even enjoyed a book on tape as I scrubbed, dusted, swept, and mopped.

All that worry for nothing.

The book I listened to today was a juvenile fiction novel, but yesterday while raking leaves for my parents I finished listening to William Dameron’s The Lie: A Memoir of Two Marriages, Catfishing, and Coming Out. Talk about powerful. It’s about how the author, a gay man, maintained the illusion of being a straight man (by dating women, being married to a woman, having children, etc.) for decades. And whereas he obviously had to tell a lot of lies in order to keep his act up, he says it all started as a child when he first BELIEVED a lie, the notion that gay people aren’t worthy of love and a happy life.

You can be yourself.

I think about stuff like this a lot, about how lies complicate your life but the truth keeps it simple. I can’t speak for Dameron and have never been married (to a woman or a man), but I know what it’s like to be in the closet, and it’s full of lies and complications. You say, Oh, no, I like women. I just haven’t met the right one. You blow smoke up everyone else’s ass AND your own. All the while you’re trying to cover up your mannerisms and natural speech patterns. You lower your voice. You avert your eyes. Complicated. But when you’re honest, what’s to hide? You can be yourself. If anyone asks or you feel like sharing, you’ve got a one liner that goes, “I’m gay.” Even if someone says it’s not natural, you know it’s natural for you. Even if they say, “You’re going to hell,” it doesn’t change the facts. So you say, “Okay, I’m gay and I’m going to hell. Good. God knows SOMEONE needs to give that place a makeover.”

Simple.

I’m using being gay as an example, but this “lies are complicated, the truth is simple” formula can be applied to anything. Today at my client’s house there was a lot of clutter, and I caught myself thinking, They should be more organized (just like a fundamentalist might think, They should be more straight), the complicated part being that I then went down the rabbit hole of everything this person was doing “wrong” according the Gospel of Marcus. In short, I judged my neighbor (and forgot that their clutter was the reason I had a job today). But then I reminded myself that 1) it was their life, their house, and their clutter and 2) no one can be any more organized (or straight or kind or responsible) than they are in this moment. In the future, maybe. But not right here, right now. Right here, right now, we are as we are–organized, disorganized gay, straight, responsible, irresponsible, sick, not sick.

And that’s the simple truth, Ruth.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"There are a lot of benefits to being right here, right now."

On Mirages and Illusions (Blog #1009)

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Recently my friend Aaron, who’s an absolute clothes horse but is also trying to minimize, gifted me several pairs of shoes. (Lucky for me we’re the same size.) Y’all, in one night, he doubled my collection. “Some of them are kind of beat up,” he said, “but they should clean up nicely.” Well, last night and today I went to work scrubbing, washing, and polishing one pair at a time, and Aaron was right. They’re going to work out just fine. Are they pristine/perfect? No, but they’re pretty swell.

Thanks, Aaron.

Lately I’ve been talking about how everything falls apart sooner or later, and yesterday I referred to physical objects as mirages. That is, you can spiff up your kicks with a new set of laces, but don’t fool yourself, it’s days are numbered. If it’s on this earth, it was designed–to dissolve. This means NOTHING is pristine/perfect.

I hate this as much as you do.

In an effort to accommodate all my new days-numbered footwear, this afternoon I added a shelf to my closet by taking a metal shelf from our garage and attaching it to the wooden shelves I already have. And whereas my dad said it looks tacky because all the shelves don’t match, I figure I’m the one who has to look at it and, although I certainly appreciate excellence in craftsmanship and would adore something fancier, it’s better than heaping my shoes on top of one another. What’s the saying? It’s good enough. Plus, since we didn’t have any spare wooden shelves lying around, I’m rather proud of myself for solving my storage dilemma without having to spend any money.

You know, I’m living–wait for it–on a shoestring budget.

One thing I’ve been thinking and meaning to write about lately is the idea that just as physical objects are mirages, so are we. And whereas I mean that our days are numbered too, I also mean that every day we get up, get dressed, and put on a show. We hide this body “flaw,” we cover up that emotion. With makeup, with jewelry, with a new pair of shoes. People ask us how we’re doing, and we smile and say, “Couldn’t be better. Finer than frog hair.” Even if we’re falling part. And whereas I don’t think there’s anything wrong with putting your best foot forward, lately I’ve been reminding myself to not automatically assume someone else is “better” than me or has their shit together just because they have their outfit together. Just because they say they’re great. You know, don’t compare your inside to someone else’s outside.

Because you never know what’s going on with someone.

This evening I flipped through a copy of GQ Magazine, and y’all, some of the clothes those celebrities wear cost more than I make in a month. In one photo Jennifer Lopez was sporting a necklace that cost as much as our house. My point being that especially in a magazine largely supported by advertisers, these images are mirages, illusions specifically crafted and designed to make us feel and believe that we’d be better off (sexier, happier, more lovable) if only we had THOSE clothes or THAT life. Now, I don’t fault them for doing this, since we do this to each other all the time. Wouldn’t you be better off with a wooden shelf instead of a metal one? Or married, pregnant, with a job, or in a different city? And so on. Instead of just being happy with the way things are right there, right now.

Instead of just being happy with the way YOU are right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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On Being Stuck with Yourself (Blog #955)

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Lately I’ve been talking about my need for patience. I still don’t have any. At least today anyway. All I want to do is scream. For whatever reason, I’m currently Mr. Cranky Pants.

In an effort to keep my bad mood away from the rest of the world, I’ve spent this afternoon and evening locked away in my room watching movies. First I watched Damn Yankees, the musical about Shoeless Joe from Hannibal, MO, starring Tab Hunter, Gwen Verdon, and Ray Walston. Then I watched Jerry Maguire, starring Tom Cruise and Cuba Gooding, Jr. Somehow I missed this one in the nineties. (I must have been busy in the closet.) Anyway, you know the film–“Show me the money,” “You had me at hello,” “I DID NOT SHOPLIFT THE POOTIE.”

Unfortunately, these wonderful films did little to uplift my spirits. It’s just been one of those days. This evening I stopped up the toilet. Later as I was leaving one room for another, I whipped around and hit my forehead on the doorframe. I can’t tell you how unamused I was.

Earlier this week I had acupuncture, and the lady read my pulses. Supposedly they reveal a lot about you. Feeling my right wrist, she said, “Stressed?” Uh, yeah, who isn’t? Then she felt my left wrist and said, “Are you VERY depressed?” I mean, she didn’t even asked if I WAS depressed, but rather stated it as a fact. Like, I know you are depressed, now tell me how bad it is.

“I don’t think I am,” I said. “It runs in my family, but I don’t struggle with it.”

Of course, her comment was the wrong thing to say to a hypochondriac. You know the power of suggestion. I started thinking, Maybe I am depressed. This lady could know something I don’t. I mean, my pulses SAID. Crazy, I know. (Don’t worry, I’m in therapy.) But seriously, it took me a while to convince myself that I knew more about my mental states than a total stranger did. (A very nice lady, but a total stranger.) A couple years ago I saw a woman who claimed to be able to interpret my physical health by looking into my irises, and although she gave me a long list of things that she thought were wrong, she said NOTHING about my sinuses, my major complaint at the time. My point is that just because someone has a certificate hanging on their wall (my therapist would call it a receipt) doesn’t mean they know more about you and your body than you do.

Take these things with a grain of salt.

Maybe the whole shaker.

All this being said, days like today make me think I could spend more time acknowledging my feelings. Not that I’m depressed–I’ve been depressed before and know what that feels like–but on a lot of levels I am worn down, frustrated, and irritated. Just last night I unearthed two emotions (anger and overwhelm) that were decades old. And whereas I’d like to think that one can take the lid off Pandora’s emotional box and be free from all consequences within twenty-four hours, I know that’s foolishness. No, if you’re going to invite your feelings over to play, you can’t tell them to go home for dinner. First of all, you are home. Second of all, your feelings show up and leave when they want to.

In other words, you’re struck with yourself.

Don’t worry. This is a good thing. In the story of Pandora’s box, the LAST emotion to come out, the one with the final say, was HOPE.

The poet Rumi said, “In the hand of Love I am like a cat in a sack; Sometimes Love hoists me into the air, Sometimes Love flings me to the ground.” To me this means that no matter what kind of day you’re having, there’s love underneath it all–somewhere. For example, in the midst of my frustrations today, I’ve managed to laugh–at the movies I watched, at my life (if it were anyone else’s it’d be hilarious), at my own stubbornness (I will have a bad day, I will). On an ever deeper level, my emotions have been inviting me to come back to myself, to make room for even this. So often when I have an uncomfortable feeling, I want it to go away. But more and more I’m realizing the work is about accepting all parts of yourself right here, right now. Even your frustrations, irritations, and anger.

In light of this, I’m considering getting a t-shirt made–Bad attitudes welcome here. And on the back–My bad attitudes, not yours.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.

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On Intuition, Healing, and Self-Care (Blog #940)

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Things I’ve been thinking about today–

1. Intuition and emotions

This morning while cleaning a client’s house I listened to a podcast that pointed out that intuition speaks to us in a number of ways. For example, gut feelings, dreams, and even messages from other people. Another way intuition speaks to us, it said, is through our emotions. Like a lot of people, I don’t love this fact, since getting information from your emotions requires feeling them first–and I’d much rather think about my feelings than feel them. Still, I’ve written before about how anger lets us know that our boundaries are being violated, so it makes sense to me that even uncomfortable emotions convey information, information we may need.

For example, yesterday I was absolutely exhausted. Consequently, I felt foggy and irritated. Well, for once, I listened to my body. Last night I went to bed at 11:15 PM and slept for almost twelve hours. And whereas I haven’t felt fresh as a daisy today, I have felt better. I’ve been able to keep my eyes open and even work all afternoon.

Framing my tiredness in the context of intuitive information, I can see that my body was letting me know something important, that I needed rest, that I needed self-care. So often we think of intuition as these big flashes of insight or visions or angels that come to us in our sleep. And yet the truth is that we’re being guided every minute of every day. Yesterday I said that life isn’t complicated, and apparently intuition isn’t either. It starts with how you feel right here, right now.

2. Healing

As I just mentioned, I slept a good part of the day yesterday. And whereas my first instinct when my body is dragging is to think that something is wrong, today I’ve been thinking it’s possible that something is right. Caroline Myss points out that when you’re sick, you really don’t know what it is that needs healing. Sure, you may have certain symptoms you want to go away, but what if those symptoms are there to alert you to something more important–poor boundaries with others, for example, or less than ideal dietary choices? Along these lines, I’ve been thinking that my body’s cry for sleep could quite simply be a cry for healing. That is, how do I know what’s being fixed while I slumber? I’ve changed a lot mentally and emotionally these last several years, and to think that my body doesn’t need a chance to “catch up” would be ridiculous. More and more I think that I don’t have to understand why my body’s asking for something, so much as I simply have to give it what it’s asking for.

3. Self-care and time management

When I went to bed early last night, the productive part of me was worried that I wouldn’t have enough time today to clean my client’s house and do everything else I had planned for this evening. (I’m having dinner with my family later then going out with friends.) Well, my worries were unfounded. This morning and afternoon I began tackling my chores. And whereas I’m not completely done, I’m close enough and can finish tomorrow. This afternoon I mentally worked out the rest of my day. I thought, If I work until five, then blog for an hour and fifteen minutes, that will give me thirty minutes to shower and get to dinner and so on. Two years ago I wouldn’t have planned at all. I would have waited until after going out to blog and, consequently, would have really been exhausted. But currently I’m not worried, frantic, or tired. I have twenty minutes to get this blog posted, then I can enjoy the rest of my evening. This is another way to care for yourself–manage your time well.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We follow the mystery, never knowing what’s next.

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Recognition (Blog #938)

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This morning I lay in bed and thought, Maybe this afternoon I’ll go for a hike. Well, sometimes decisions are made for you. When I got up and looked out the window, it was pissing and pouring. So I didn’t hike today. Instead, I went out for breakfast with my family (today is my sister’s AND my aunt’s birthday), then I came home and worked out. And whereas I didn’t go balls-to-the-wall, my current healthcare philosophy is that something is better than nothing, that it’s more important to get into the habit of exercising than it is to do everything perfectly.

Perfectionism. Screw that.

After working out in my room, I got a burr up my butt to clean it (my room, not my butt). I guess I kept noticing all the I’ll-deal-with-that-later piles while I was standing up stretching and all the dust bunnies and clumps of (my) hair while I was lying on the floor yoga posing. Anyway, I thought, I can whip this place into shape in a hour. And whereas it took longer than that, I got it done–I dusted, vacuumed, rearranged. Now I’m lying in bed, basking in the glow of my hard work. One reason perfectionism is violent is because it won’t let you do this, actually enjoy your accomplishments. It keeps telling you something you did wasn’t good enough, that there’s still more to do.

Down with this sort of thing. There’s ALWAYS more to do. Tonight I’ve been thinking I still have a small pile of papers to sort through, and then there’s my closet. And my bathroom and the garage if I get on a role. Eeek. I could really get overwhelmed if I wanted to. But I don’t. I’d much rather enjoy what has been done. Recently I had someone point out that this was a benefit to slowing down and resting, the realization that a lot has already been accomplished. Take this blog, for example. I often get so bogged down in thoughts about what’s next–a book, perhaps–and how I’m not working on that thing that I feel like a lazy writer. But the truth is I’ve written every day for the last 938 days. I’m not lazy. Plus, as a result of my consistent effort, I have endless material for future projects and have learned more than I could ever fully express.

Yes, a lot has already been accomplished.

Along these lines, six weeks ago I started a diet and exercise program. Basically, I gave myself a year to get in shape. Well, this last week I’ve been obsessing over the fact that my weight loss has come to a standstill. Despite my consistently making healthy choices, I may have even gained a couple pounds that I had lost. Again, this is where perfectionism could really trip a bitch up. That is, it’d be easy for me to go down the rabbit hole of “what a waste of time” and “if I can’t weigh what I did in high school than I might as well be three hundred pounds.” But I’ve been reminding myself that I’m in this for the long haul. I’ve been thinking, Just keep making good choices and see what happens. Be patient.

We can be happy right here, right now.

Lowering my I’ve-gotta-have-it-right-now expectations and slowing myself down helps. Because when I take my focus off what I want to happen that hasn’t and put it on what actually has, I’m pleased. For example, I’ve lost a solid eight pounds, I have more energy, and my clothes feel better. When I saw the doctor a couple weeks ago, the nurse said my blood pressure was “fabulous.” Ten months ago I was on crutches about to have knee surgery. Now my knee isn’t perfect, but I can walk, run, and dance again. More and more I understand that things will never be exactly like we want them to be. They’ll always be something to work on, something to improve. That’s okay. It doesn’t mean we can’t be happy right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

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