On Sacrifice and Suffering (Blog #902)

Mythology. There’s an idea in mythology that in order for something new to be born, something old must die. This is illustrated in the phoenix having to die before it could rise from the ashes, Jesus having to die before he could rise from the grave, and some poor pig having to die before you could eat breakfast. Simply put, death is required for life. (It’s gross, I know.) This is why so many biblical tales feature sacrifices.

Sacrifice. That’s what I’ve been thinking about today, the fact that the giving up of one thing is required for the receiving of another. Not that I’m suggesting you go out and purchase an altar. This is all symbolic, of course. For example, this week I started a rather strict diet that includes intermittent fasting, not eating for sixteen hours out of the day. This, indeed, is a sacrifice. I’m giving up sweets, breakfast, and midnight snacks. Honestly, it feels like a death, a violent one. There’s weeping of gnashing of teeth. But I want the new life that’s on the other side of this–feeling better, fitting into my pants again–so I’m willing to pay the price.

Everything comes with a price. In the television show Once Upon a Time, Rumpelstiltskin often said, “Magic comes with a price.” And whereas most people think of magic as all smoke and mirrors, something for television, I actually believe in it. Not like magic as in Harry Potter–Leviosa!–but magic as in–what else do you call the fact that there are stars in the sky or the fact that you were born here or the fact that certain people (or opportunities) show up in your life at exactly the right time? Do these things “just happen”? Sometimes, yes. There’s some amount of grace we all experience simply because we’re alive. But certain magic requires action on your part. Joesph Campbell said, “Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.” In other words, you have to do something–follow your bliss, and it’s harder than it sounds–if you want the magic doors to open. You have to sacrifice. You have to pay the price.

The price. This evening I watched the final episode in Caroline Myss’s Sacred Power. I can’t recommend this series enough. Granted, Caroline doesn’t pull any punches. It’s not always fun stuff to listen to. But it’s needed. Tonight’s episode presented the idea that the consequence of living a congruent life (in which your head–what you think–and your heart–what you feel–are aligned) is that your life is going to change. Caroline says, “[Congruence] changes your life because it changes the speed at which you understand things.” And whereas this sounds great if you say it fast, it’s not–because it means you have to grow up and do something about whatever it is you understand. (This takes balls.) For example, I once dated someone and knew–deep down–on our first date that we weren’t right for each other. But we dated for three years because I didn’t trust my gut, because–and here’s the kicker–I didn’t trust myself. Were there good times? Absolutely. But the price I paid for thinking one thing and feeling another (for my head and my heart being disconnected) was that when the relationship ended, I was shattered.

Congruence. Now, after years of therapy and a lot of practice, I trust myself more. This year I’ve gone on dates and known in my gut–this guy’s an alcoholic, this guy’s on drugs. I’ve met people and known immediately–they have terrible boundaries. And not that in every case I’ve walked away, but sometimes I have. At the very least, I’ve proceeded with my eyes wide open. Now, I’ll never be able to prove that I’ve saved myself a lot of heartache, drama, and suffering, but I’m convinced I have. This too is a form of sacrifice–giving up one’s emotional pain for, in some cases, a night at home alone.

Suffering. Unfortunately, sacrifice is often associated with suffering. The story of Christ on the cross probably has something to do with this. That being said, there’s a story in The Acts of John that Christ danced on his way to the cross. This means he willingly gave up (sacrificed) his life for the resurrection and all that came with it. He said, “Not my will, but yours.” This is how I think sacrifice is best approached. Open your arms. Let it go, Nancy. Does it suck to give up chocolate cake for breakfast, a date with a hot guy, or time with someone fun? Sure. But it sucks worse to damage your body, date a train wreck, and be friends with someone who isn’t really your friend at all. Said another say, you either pay now, or you pay even more later.

I suggest paying now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perhaps this is what bravery really is--simply having run out of better options, being so totally frustrated by the outside world that all you can do is go within.

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happier than a pig in a shed (blog #16)

I first started swing dancing in in 1999, and my sister was my dance partner. We were both living at home (kind of like I am now), and after class each week, we’d put music on in the living room and show Mom what we learned. I remember being really excited about it.

In 2007, I got interested in Lindy Hop, which is a more advanced form of swing dancing than the one I already knew (East Coast Swing). So my friends Greg, Rita, Krista, and I would travel each spring to a Lindy Hop convention in Houston called Lindyfest. Our little group called ourselves The Lindy Dogs, and we even had matching shoe bags—like a gang—well—a West Side Story kind of gang. I remember being so starry-eyed the first time I walked into the Melody Ballroom, into the midst of hundreds of Lindy Hoppers. There’s nothing like it. It’s magic. Even now, I can see Andy Reid doing a move in my mind’s eye that I later learned and still use and teach. (If you don’t know, Andy Reid is a big damn deal in Lindy Hop.)

I think those first two or three years at Lindyfest were the best because it was all about my love of swing dancing and time spent with my friends. I remember once when all of us Lindy Dogs were in the car together, and I said that I was “happier than a pig in shit.” Well, Greg thought I said “happier than a pig in a shed,” so that kind of became our group’s inside joke, and it still gets used ten years later.

But despite hundreds of great memories like this one, something happened over the course of the last ten years that quite frankly, sucks. Simply put, I started judging myself and comparing myself to other people on the dance floor. I imagine it all started out pretty innocently, mostly because I wanted to get better, and being a rule follower and a teacher’s pet, I wanted to do things “the right way.”

I used to watch the television show Once Upon a Time, and the character Rumpelstiltskin always said something like, “Everything comes with a price.” And whereas I’ve known for a long time that the price of judging yourself and comparing yourself to others is being less creative on the dance floor, I’ve been thinking lately the price is even higher than that—you also lose your joy—which, at least for me, was the reason I started dancing in the first place.

Tonight I taught a beginner East Coast Swing lesson to a large room full of mostly college students. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve taught the exact same material, but something was different about tonight, and I think it had to do with the fact that pretty much every single person in the room didn’t know shit about swing dancing. Basically, it was a room full of virgins. They don’t know Peter Strom from Peter Rabbit. And they were SO excited. There was a guy named Chase (wearing a shirt that said “I am the best” except “the best” was crossed out and replaced with “blessed”) who asked me to teach him the pretzel (a move where your arms get all twisted up like, well, a pretzel). I don’t think any self-respecting Lindy Hopper would be caught dead doing the pretzel, but almost all new swing dancers love the shit out of it. I remember enthusiastically asking my teacher when I could learn it. So I showed it to Chase—because it’s fun. The result?

More joy.

There was a kid named Jake there tonight, and he was happier than a pig in a shed. He had the biggest grin on his face during the entire lesson. Like, he was dripping with glee. Personally, I usually play my emotions pretty close to my vest, so later I just asked him, “Why are you so happy?” And get this shit. He said, “I’m just glad to be here.” Like, it was that simple. Nothing about self-judgment or comparing himself to others.

Since starting this blog, I’ve had a number of people tell me that they admire my courage, my honesty, and my vulnerability. I appreciate all of those comments, but it usually feels like they’re talking about someone else because I was literally shaking when this site went live, and there’s still part of me that likes to pretend that no one’s reading it.

I was telling one of my friends tonight that the primary goal for this blog was and still is for me to write on a more consistent basis. So far it’s working. But tonight I noticed an added benefit that I hadn’t anticipated. But before I can tell you what it was, I need to back up a moment.

For the longest time, I’ve only presented a certain side of myself on social media and in my dance classes. And whereas that side was honest, it wasn’t complete. As I think about it now, it felt like being a half person, a person who didn’t have a sexuality, a person who didn’t talk about feeling embarrassed or less than, and a person who didn’t say fuck. As a consequence to living that way, I am almost always nervous in social situations. Like, I’ve been comfortable as a teacher, but not as just a person who walks around and introduces himself and asks people how they’re doing or if I can help. I can only assume that was because I wasn’t really at home in myself, and I always felt like someone would discover that other half of me and judge me for it.

And it’s not that I intend to talk about every single thing in my life on this blog, but my therapist says that part of the goal of being authentic is to have as few secrets as possible. So that’s partly what’s happening here in a rather public way. It’s a place where, having been honest with myself first, I can be honest with others. I have a sexuality, sometimes I’m embarrassed and feel less than, and I say fuck (every fucking day). And I think Jesus is okay with all of that, thank you very much.

So about that added benefit. I was more relaxed and less nervous tonight than I have been in years. I felt at home in my own skin. I didn’t fiddle with my phone so I didn’t have to talk to people. I just talked to people, and I never once thought, What if they find out about that other part of me? And guess what?

More authentic joy.

I told some of my friends tonight that I envied the virgin swing dancers because their excitement and enthusiasm for swing dancing was untainted by self-judgment and imagined standards of “good enough.” But I think that if you love something, that love never goes away. It’s like you can run yourself ragged working for this standard of perfection and you can get really far away from where you started. But the good news is, that love inside that shows up as joy or enthusiasm is your authentic self, and it just sits there, patiently waiting for you to come back to it, to come back home to yourself and remember that not only are you good enough exactly as you are, but you’re also—just glad to be here.

[Special thanks to Greg, Rita, and Krista (pictured first, with me) for you authentic love of swing dancing. You’re like family. Also thanks to Sydnie Meltzer Kleinhenz, who helped me teach the virgins tonight and also provided the additional photos. You rock step like a rock star. Lastly, thanks to the NWA Swing Dance Society for a truly beautiful evening. It was magic.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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 Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

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