On Crooked Pictures (Blog #1032)

Last night and this afternoon I read two children’s books, The Boxcar Children by Gertrude Chandler Warner and From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg (say that three times fast), both of which were delightful. I’m not sure how I missed them as a child. Perhaps this is the purpose of adulthood, catching up on things you missed before and–if you were a way-too serious and anal-retentive child like me–being delighted. Not that my childhood wasn’t oftentimes filled with magic. It was.

It was just alphabetized magic.

I’ve spoken before about being an extremely neat child, about my need both historically and presently to have things just so. I mean, it’s gotten better, but it’s still a thing. According to my family, it all started after our house burned down when I was four. “That’s when you began lining up your stuffed animals according to height,” my aunt says. I can only assume that I felt out of control, that being hyper-organized was my way of keeping the monsters under the bed.

It’s weird how habits that start when you’re a child can last into adulthood. Thirty-five years pass, and one day, maybe every day, you find yourself still being afraid of loss, still grasping for control. I remember shaking, crying when I was a child when I’d get new toys for my birthday and not have a place to put them. Everything has to go somewhere, I’d think while lying in bed. There’s just not enough space in my room. Now as an adult I’m living in that very same room, sleeping on that very same bed. And whereas a few childhood photos and keepsakes remain, everything I used to be so worried about have a proper place for is now gone, given away or sold at one of half a dozen yard sales. And yet I still worry about finding the perfect spot for all my material possessions. I still spend way too much time making sure that my books and knickknacks are sitting in the “right” place and that my clothes are arranged by color.

Pro tip: this process goes faster when all your shirts are blue or black.

I guess it bothers me that at times I still get twitchy when things aren’t just so. This evening I worked on framing two brooches and nearly went into fits because I couldn’t get either one of them perfectly centered. Or because I scratched one of the frames. Honestly, it doesn’t matter why. Having worked on creative projects before (including this blog), I mentally KNOW that nothing is ever perfect. There are always flaws. And whereas it remains my contention that it’s better to create imperfectly than to not create at all, I still experience a high degree of stress emotionally when creating. I think, What if it’s not good enough? It’s like there’s this belief that if I can exactly center my projects and perfectly align the pictures on my wall, everything else will perfectly align and–somehow–prevent bad things from happening. Prevent loss from happening. From happening again.

Of course, this is only a superstition. Caroline Myss says that all compulsive rituals (like the need to have everything perfect) is about the belief that you can hold your world in place. But you can’t. Fires don’t skip your house because your books are alphabetized. Tornados don’t pass you by because they see how organized your sock drawer is. (Mine, by the way, is pretty organized.) In short, monsters come out from under your bed whenever THEY want. They don’t as YOUR permission.

This sucks, I know.

So what, Marcus?

So we enjoy our lives and our possessions exactly the way they are right here, right now, or we don’t. We see the magic all around us, or we don’t.

In terms of things having to be perfect (even now I’m thinking about starting ALL OVER on this evening’s brooches or just throwing them away, like, fuck it, what’s the point?), it occurs to me that nothing in life is perfect (and the point is fun). I’ve spoken a lot lately about how everything falls apart, and this is what I mean. All creations are essentially like sandcastles on the beach. Only here for a moment before they’re washed away. No matter how beautiful they were, no matter how ugly or off-center. Along these lines, it also occurs to me that just as I find flaws in my projects, I find flaws in my friends and family. And yet I love them wholeheartedly. Indeed, their flaws make them lovable. So more and more I’m realizing that something doesn’t HAVE to be perfect in order to bring you joy.

Crooked pictures have a certain charm about them.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

All things become ripe when they’re ready.

"

On Changing Your Patterns (Blog #848)

This morning, before I’d even gone to the restroom, I returned a missed call from the garage where I get my oil changed. Yesterday I dropped off my car, Tom Collins, at the garage and found out I needed a new set of tires. That’s always fun. But my tires weren’t the reason they called today. Instead I was told that dear Tom ALSO needs new struts. Fortunately, I already knew this. Well, sort of. My regular mechanic told me a few weeks ago that one of my struts was leaking and that he could fix it for x amount of dollars. But since I didn’t have x amount of dollars (that I wanted to spend) on car repairs at that red hot moment, I told him to wait.

But back to the phone call this morning. THAT mechanic told me that one of my struts was leaking and that–really–I should just replace the whole front suspension. “I can do that for you,” he said, “for x amount plus 200 dollars. And don’t worry, I’ve replaced 50 of those things before and have never had one come back on me.”

“Well, the truth is that I’ve already gotten a quote for that,” I said, “and they were 200 dollars cheaper.”

“Was that quote for one strut or for both?”

Hum.

“You know, I don’t know. I’d have to ask him.”

Now, in my mind, there wasn’t anything else to say. HOWEVER, the guy on the other end of the phone kept talking, pushing. “Is your guy going to replace just the hydraulic shaft or also the spring? Because I’ll replace everything–on both sides,” he said.

“As I just said, I don’t know.”

“Well, you should ask your mechanic,” he said, then started talking about labor. “And I know we’re more expensive on hourly, but I can get this done in two hours, and that’s not much.”

At this point I’d had enough. I hate being told what to do. I hate pushy, needy, I’m-great-just-ask-me kind of people. I still had to pee. So I did something I rarely do–I interrupted the asshole.

“I appreciate the information,” I said, “but I’m done with this conversation.”

“Okay,” he said, then hung up.

Then I hung up.

Fifteen minutes later the secretary at the garage called.

“Your car is ready.”

A word that’s been coming up for me lately is PATTERNS. No kidding, it’s shown up in multiple books I’ve been reading, on podcasts I’ve listened to, and has even been mentioned by friends. Usually this in-my-face approach is a sign the universe wants me to learn something. At least that’s how I take it. Anyway, the idea is that if you want something to change in your life, it’s not just a matter of changing that one thing. Rather, it’s about changing, or at least being willing to change, a whole host of things. Because everything in life is connected. Said another way, if you want different results, you have to be willing to alter (read: sacrifice) your current patterns and allow new ones to take their place.

How do I explain this? If you brush your teeth every day, that’s a habit. If you always use the same type of toothbrush, that you buy at the same store and keep in the same place on your counter, and you always floss before and rinse and spit afterwards, that’s a pattern. If you brush, then wash your face, then take your nighttime meds, then put on your pajamas, that’s a pattern. Also, it’s a ritual. And if you don’t think even a “little” ritual like this is a big deal, try changing yours by doing everything you normally do in reverse. Or let your friend or lover teach you a new way of brushing your teeth, folding your clothes, or loading the dishwasher, then never go back to your way again. See if you don’t put up a fuss.

Maybe a big one.

The idea here is that we create rituals in order to manage some part of our psyche (and this is why we don’t easily change them). Caroline Myss says you could go through daily rituals and directly correlate each one to one of your seven chakras. You lock your doors for your survival (chakra one), you wear cute underwear for your sexuality (chakra two), you check the mirror for broccoli in your teeth for your self-esteem (chakra three) and so.

Many rituals, of course, involve other people. Our patterns definitely do. For example, recently I was in a pattern of going to see my chiropractor every two weeks. However, when my insurance benefits (for chiropractic and physical therapy) ran out because I’d use so many visits for physical therapy after my knee surgery, I went to a different (more affordable) chiropractor. On the surface this seems like a small choice, but there’s no such thing. That is, my decision to change chiropractors not only affects where I drive every week or two, but also affects the amount of money each chiropractor (and even their staff) makes. It affects the quality of care I get (because each chiropractor approaches the body differently). Because my second chiropractor wants to take dance lessons, my small decision ultimately influences how he and his wife will spend time together, where they may go out on Friday nights, whom they may meet there.

I’m going on about all this to drive home a couple points. First, little things can be big things. If you grabbed a corner of your shirt and twisted it, then kept twisting, eventually you’d see an effect up to your shoulder. This is because your shirt itself is a pattern, a woven tapestry, and you can’t change one part without changing the rest. This is how your life and relationships work. In terms of my interaction with the garage mechanic this morning, it may seem like a little thing for me to have interrupted him and voiced my frustration, but for me it was big huge because I’ve never done anything quite like that before. My pattern historically has been to not interrupt, to be nice, to go along to get along, to let it go. But by changing my reaction in one interaction, that means it will be easier to change it in others. Plus, I’ll carry around less internal frustration–because when you’re honest and direct rather than insincerely polite, you undo emotional knots rather than create them.

In other words, I laid the groundwork for a new pattern today.

Tonight I heard Robert Moss, who’s an expert on dreams and dreaming, say that sometimes our dreams alert us to new ways of being, new possibilities. Like, the last few years I’ve had a bunch of dreams about being aggressive, even yelling. So, according to Moss, that’s a part of my psyche that wants to emerge–a more forceful Marcus. Recently I blogged about the benefit of doing things symbolically. An example is that this afternoon I mowed my parents lawn and instead of doing it the way I always do, I mixed it up. Instead of mowing this section then that section, I did that section then this section. Instead of using diagonals lines, I used horizontal and vertical lines. Nothing “huge,” but it served the same purpose as my cutting off the pushy mechanic did. Both were my way of communicating to my unconscious–I am willing to change my patterns. I am willing to do things differently. I am willing to get different results.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.

"