See Above for Results (Blog #1007)

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Yesterday I communicated online with a seller from Facebook Marketplace who’d listed a couple items I was interested in. “I’d like to look at them before deciding to buy them,” I said. “Where and when would be good to meet?”

“I’ll be in Fort Smith tomorrow around 3:00,” they said.

Maybe they’ll tell me where later, I thought.

This afternoon they said, “Looks like it’s going to be about 4:30.” And whereas I was beginning to doubt 1) whether I really wanted the items and 2) if this person would actually show up, about 4:20 I went ahead and got ready to go. Climbing into the car, I messaged the seller. “Where should we meet?” I said. Alas, twenty-five minutes later I was in Fort Smith with no answer. Perhaps it’s just as well, I thought. I really don’t need to spend the money. Plus, the whole situation just felt “off.”

Recently I had a meeting scheduled with someone and the day of woke up three hours early thinking, I should cancel. However, not wanting to be a douchebag, I didn’t. For this, I paid the price. I spent the whole day with an upset stomach. Every hour I was running to the bathroom. (If this is too graphic, I apologize.) Thankfully, by the time the meeting started I calmed down. But never completely. Again, the whole thing just felt “off.” Now, nothing BAD happened, but a few days later the person with whom I met ended up being rude in a text message. Later when I discussed the matter with my therapist she said, “That’s a big deal when your body wakes you up tell you something. My guess is that queasy feeling you had is your body’s particular TELL for ‘this is going to be a waste of our time.’ Next time, cancel.”

Y’all, I get it. Cancelling would have made sense. And it’s not that I didn’t think of it. It just seemed like, well, not a very NICE thing to do. (What does your therapist always say, Marcus? Nice is a strategy–to get people to like you, to get moved up to the front of the line, to get someone in bed.) That’s what I kept thinking today on my way to meet the seller in Fort Smith, that I wanted to cancel but that it was TOO LATE, that it wouldn’t be VERY NICE. So honestly I was relieved when they didn’t respond. Because it gave me an out.

Sort of.

I’ll explain.

When I got to Fort Smith and hadn’t heard anything, I stopped by AutoZone to have my car, Tom Collins, checked. His check engine light’s been on lately. And whereas I assumed it had something to do with the fuel gauge (which lately has said I’m full one minute and empty the next), I wanted to be sure. The good news? I was right. The bad news?

“You’ll probably have to replace the entire fuel pump,” the guy said, “and that’ll run you $390.”

Plus tax, of course.

Okay, I thought, I definitely don’t need to buy anything today. So, still not having heard anything from the seller and twenty minutes after we were supposed to meet, I wrote them, “I came to town to meet you but ended up having car trouble along the way. Unfortunately, I’ll be spending my money on auto repairs. I apologize for any inconvenience.”

At which point they replied, “Wow I drove fifteen minutes.”

No “I’m sorry about your car” or anything.

Which just goes to show you that we all make everything about us.

This isn’t the way things went down in reality.

Now, do I blame this person for being upset? No. Over the years I’ve had plenty of people flake out on dance lessons at the last minute or not show up at all, and it’s frustrating. Especially if you’re counting on the money. Do I wish that they’d been more gracious about it (I mean, I drove fifteen minutes too, and my car’s broken), or that we’d both communicated more clearly in the first place? Of course. And if IFS and BUTS were candy and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas. In other words, this isn’t the way things went down in reality.

Y’all, I could go on and on about what I think both me and this other person did right and wrong in this situation. If this were a gameshow and you could all vote–I’m sure–some of you would say I’m the shithead here, and others would say the seller is. Some of you would think BOTH of us are. I think that’s the camp I’m in. Meaning that some circumstances in life aren’t cut and dried. Instead, they’re simply less than ideal. Gross.

Like, aren’t we glad that’s over?

Having had the evening to over-process this mess, I have a few takeaways. First, more and more I’m learning to trust my intuition. That is, I’m glad I cancelled, since, based on the person’s response, I don’t think I would have enjoyed or felt good about the interaction had it gone through. Granted, I didn’t follow my intuition as soon as I could have (and thus the mess), but I did follow it faster than I would have even a year ago, and that’s progress. Which brings me to my second point–authenticity and the self-esteem necessary to pursue it are things that require PRACTICE, and this practice, rather than occurring on a grand scale (like in a court room), more often occurs in the nitty gritty of everyday life. With our friends. With our family. With total strangers we meet on Facebook.

This is the shit my therapist and I talk about, the day-to-day dramas. Sure, we discuss THE BIG STUFF, but usually the little stuff leads us to the big stuff, since the little stuff tends to touch a wound. I’m not good enough. I did something wrong. Why doesn’t everyone like me?

Of course, not everyone is supposed to like you. (Why not, Marcus?) Because you need PRACTICE liking yourself no matter what.

Seen from this perspective, I COULD be thankful for the seller’s response today. (“The response THEY CHOSE,” my therapist would say.)

Are you thankful, Marcus?

I’m working on it before your very eyes.

Over a year ago I wrote about a statue of mine I call ANY DANCING JESUS that images Christ with his arms raised overhead as if here were just beginning the chorus of “YMCA.” Anyway, this evening while futzing with a picture frame and the cover an old book, I placed the statue inside the frame. (See above for results.) In the process I remembered that, despite the fact that Jesus was the original DFF (damn fine fella), not everyone liked him either. (So what makes you think they’ll like you?) I also remembered that part of his message was to “rise above,” or see things from a higher perspective. (See above for results.) Like, for all I know, I did the seller a favor by getting them out of their house where they otherwise would have been robbed or mugged. Lastly, I remembered that by his example Christ taught us to set it free, bitch. (I added the bitch part.) That is, he taught us to forgive, forgive, forgive (ourselves and others), to let go (of our mistakes and the mistakes of others), and to not judge (anyone including ourselves).

Of course, these amount to the same thing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You have everything you need.

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On Everything Falling Apart (Blog #1004)

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Lately I’ve had a phrase stuck in my mind–smoke and mirrors. A few days ago I mentioned there’s a hole in my bathroom wall that’s covered up by a bookshelf, and this is what I mean. In reality there’s a blemish, but–presto change-o–now you see it, now you don’t. Y’all I use smoke and mirrors constantly. I use furniture to hide animal stains on rugs, magic markers to fill in scuff marks on shoes, and shoes to hide holes in socks. And don’t even get me started on the one-size-up clothes I wear to hide holiday pie.

I’ve even been known to wear concealer to cover up zits.

As most of you know, especially those of you who wear makeup, using smoke and mirrors is an uphill battle. The older you get, the harder you have to try. This morning, afternoon, and evening I helped a friend begin to organize their rather large personal library and, in the process, damaged a book cover. I was flipping through the pages, and it just snapped right in half. “Don’t worry,” my friend said. “Those covers [part of a particular series] are extremely brittle. They just keep falling apart.”

“I guess we all do,” I said.

Whether in terms of physical objects or material bodies, my point is that everything on planet earth (and in the universe) is slowly or quickly deteriorating. Nothing’s permanent. We can fool ourselves into thinking things will last, we will last, but they won’t, we won’t. You know how you can pick up a dandelion parachute (the white tuft thingy full of seeds) and, if the wind is blowing, it will disintegrate before your eyes? Well, this is what’s happening to everything and to all of us. Even if we can’t see it, we’re falling apart. Now, we may hide this fact and–somehow or other–get eighty or ninety years. We may even pass our book collections and antique pieces of furniture on to our children. But sooner or later the jig’s up for both us and our stuff.

As Kansas so aptly stated, “All we are is dust in the wind.”

At one point today my friend said, “Here’s a stack of books I’ll probably never use but am just not ready to get rid of.” Y’all, I totally get it. A few years ago I sold or gave away of over 80 percent of my worldly possessions and yet often still have trouble letting go. I look at a few of my books and pieces of jewelry and think, I’m taking YOU to the grave. Of course, this is nonsense. Ultimately, we don’t get to hang on to anything in this life–not our books, not our jewelry, not our Pink Floyd records. Not even our bodies. Whether by choice or by force, we eventually have to let go.

So all the better if we can, as my gay Uncle Randy used to say, set it free.

Now, does this mean that I’m going to voluntarily get rid of what little I have left (which is a lot by much of the world’s standards)? Does this mean I’m suggesting we all have estate sales? Hell no. But I am suggesting we do whatever we can to let go mentally and emotionally whether or not we let go physically. For me this looks like allowing myself to get excited about and enjoy physical objects (including my body and–sometimes, but not nearly enough, dear lord–the bodies of others), but not allowing myself to buy into the incorrect notion that any one thing or group of things can or will provide me with everlasting happiness. Indeed, I’m convinced that if it all disappeared tomorrow–my books, pictures, and clothes–I’d still have everything I need to live a joyful and content life.

Albeit a naked one.

More and more I think there’s nothing wrong with owning stuff as long as your stuff doesn’t own you. Like, does it add to your life, or take away from it? Is it a burden? This morning I was driving to my friend’s and noticed ALL THE TREES along the way. Like, there wasn’t just one tree or two trees, there was an abundance of them. So I don’t think we can rightly say that God is a minimalist. That being said, he’s clearly not ATTACHED to things either. This evening I watched an absolutely glorious sunset–full of purples, reds, oranges, and yellows. I wanted to hang on, stretch it out, take a picture. Buy a souvenir! Not God, however. He just let it go. Like, No big deal. Let’s forget it ever happened. Because he gets how things work here. Everything that’s born, dies. Period. The wind carries us all away.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is all right and okay.

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On Arguing with Ghosts (Blog #905)

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This morning I met some friends to watch their four year old son play soccer. Talk about the cutest thing ever, a bunch of toddlers doing their best to kick a ball down a field (in the correct direction) and into a goal. Bless their hearts. The second cutest thing? Nobody keeps score. The kids dress up, kick the ball around, make goals, and whatever, but it’s all just for fun. No winners, no losers.

After the game my friends and I went to lunch then went back to their house and crashed on their couches. That’s right–we all took naps. This was seriously the best thing for me. So often I fill up every minute of every day. I go, go, go. But taking a nap forced me to slow down, to stop, stop, stop.

I should do this more often.

This evening I stayed home, did laundry, and spent a few hours doing myofascial release. This amounted to lying on lacrosse balls and poking myself with a Theracane, which is basically a plastic cane with knobs in various locations you use to put pressure on trigger points (fascial knots) until they release. I did this one night earlier this week on my lower body, so tonight I worked on my upper body. And whereas I had mild success with some knots, others melted away like butter. I could feel an immediate letting go in my body, a chain reaction of relaxation. Do I feel perfect? No. But I feel good enough to know that I’m headed in the right direction.

The lesson: any letting go is good letting go.

Earlier this week I saw several funny drawings online about “titles of honest books.” One was called Hypothetical Arguments I’ve Won in the Shower: Volume 1 of 16. Is that funny or what? And, as one of my friends commented, “So true.” Anyway, tonight I went for a walk and thought a lot about just how much time I spend mentally arguing with people I no longer talk to in reality. My personal answer is “too much time,” but the truth is that any time mentally arguing about something that’s already over is too much time. Why?

Because it’s over.

My therapist says sometimes we get into these cerebral debates because we so often bite our tongues in real life. Like, if we authentically expressed ourselves more, we wouldn’t have a need to go round and round in our heads. Screw you and the horse you rode in on, and all that. (As if people ride in on horses anymore.) In my experience, this is true. The more I speak up, the more I’m able to feel good about whatever has happened. I guess that’s part of the deal with those situations we can’t let go of–we don’t like the way they turned out, so we keep them alive between our ears, or between someone else’s ears if we’re wont to bitch and moan about them.

There are, of course, other theories as to why we do this, why–let’s just call a spade a spade–we can’t forgive a person or situation. We want to be right. We want to humiliate them. We don’t want to be humiliated (again). We want revenge. We want control. Because we don’t trust God or life to take care of things. Because we think we know better.

At lunch today my four year old friend dropped his chocolate chip cookie on the floor. (Shit happens.) And whereas I personally would have eaten it, his mom said, “Don’t put that in your mouth. Here’s a snickerdoodle.” Alas, our little buddy still cried. This is what’s great about children–if they feel something, they express it.

Thankfully, he was over it in no time.

Now, I realize that if someone’s really done you wrong, you might not be able to get over it so quickly as our pal got over his chocolate chip cookie. If someone’s betrayed you, I doubt a snickerdoodle will make it better. But my point is that it is possible to move on. So many of us get stuck in thought loops of revenge and bitterness that go on for decades. I recently heard a story about someone who said, “I’ll never forgive you.” Now, I obviously don’t know what’s happened for this person since, but that’s a lot for anyone to carry around for any amount of time. Because in order to not forgive, you have to stay angry and you have to be mean. Simply put, you have to disconnect from your own good heart. This comes with a price.

A price that hurts you more than anyone else.

My prayer tonight as I was walking and thinking about the things I can’t get over–and to be clear, I don’t seethe about them day in and day out, but I do spend time thinking about them that could better be spent otherwise–was, Lord, give me the strength to drop it. Just that simple. Give me the strength to drop it.

One of the things that occurred to me tonight was just how exhausting it is to keep score with everyone in my life. They broke my heart. They were an asshole. I’m a winner, they’re a loser. Whatever. It’s so tiring to play judge and jury with everything that happens in one’s life. This was wrong, and now I’m going to be mad about it the rest of my life. Please. Those soccer-playing toddlers have it figured out. We don’t have to keep score. There are no winners, there are no losers. Other people hurt us. We hurt other people. Shit happens. If you’re doing the best you can (damn it), everyone else is too. It’s not your job or responsibility to make yourself miserable, to rob yourself of the joy of this present moment, by arguing with ghosts. It’s not my job either.

It’s my job to let it go (even a little), to drop it (like it’s hot), to set it free, Nancy.

It’s my job to forgive.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want.

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The Grace of Forgiveness (Blog #887)

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Something my therapist and I almost never talk about is forgiveness. “I just think it’s a really personal thing,” she says whenever we do talk about it. I agree. I grew up in the church and know all the admonitions–forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors, forgive seventy times seven. And yet in my experience forgiveness has never been something I’ve been able to force myself to do even though it comes highly recommended by our lord and savior Jesus Christ. It’s not like taking out the trash, a task you accomplish even if your heart’s not in it. No, when it comes to forgiveness, you have to mean it.

I’m talking about this now because this morning in my Facebook memories a quote popped up from Caroline Myss: “Identify one piece of unfinished business (this could be a person or a task), then do one thing to bring it to closure. If you find that you’re unable to do so, you’ve identified a major power leak and a serious block to your healing. Your goal: to understand that all experiences either make you bitter or better.”

For me, my unfinished business was, well, a number of people. I’ll explain. Since starting therapy I’ve consciously ended–or at least put on hold–quite a few relationships. Like, enough to seem ridiculous. And whereas I don’t regret any of these choices, I do think in several cases I could have gone about it better. Granted, I only know this in hindsight, since I’ve learned other, better ways of communicating. This being said, there are several people that if I were to run into them, it would be awkward. “Let it be awkward,” my therapist says. Still, these situations, these people, feel like unfinished business to me.

Now, whenever I feel like something needs to be done about a less-than-perfect relationship, my first reaction is to show up on someone’s doorstep and say, “We need to talk.” However, I know what it feels like to KNOW a conversation needs to be had, and I didn’t feel that this morning–about anyone. What I did feel, however, was that for–well, a bunch of folks–I needed to take one small but specific step toward closure. (What step, Marcus?) I’m glad you asked. I needed to pray for them.

Once a friend in Alcoholics Anonymous told me one way to get over resentment was to pray for the person you’re pissed off at–for thirty days. “Keep it simple,” they said. “Pray for their health and happiness and be done with it.”

“Even if I don’t mean it?” I said.

“Even if you don’t mean it.”

The good news is that as I went through “my list” this morning, I did mean it. May you be happy, healthy, and free of suffering, I thought as I imagined each person. Then I added, I release you to the universe. In a few cases, I felt resistance–like, screw them–and I figured this was a good sign that I absolutely needed to keep up the exercise. Occasionally I find myself in mental arguments with people (Fuck you, Nancy!), and this too, I think, is a sign that there’s unfinished business or something to forgive. My AA friend says that neutrality is the goal when it comes to your “enemies.” You don’t have to feel warm and fuzzy about them, but you do need to stop hating them. You need to sop fantasizing about humiliating them on national television.

Or is that just me?

Caroline says this is the deal when we’re unwilling to forgive–we can’t give up our desire for control, our desire for vengeance. It’s why I added the line about releasing the person to the universe. Personally, I’ve come to the point where all those fantasies about evening the score with people are just too heavy to carry. So let the universe deal with the sons of bitches. I’m tired of thinking about them. I have other shit to do.

Another thing Caroline says is that for every person you struggle to forgive, consider that someone else is struggling to forgive you. And also–for everyone you’re in therapy over, consider that someone else is in therapy over you. Ouch, I know. Still, I find comfort in the idea that everyone has their side of the story because it reminds me to not get too married to mine. Whether on purpose or not, I know I’ve caused other people pain. That’s something I tried to remember as I thought of the people in my life that push my buttons–I only know my side of the story. I push people’s buttons too.

Tonight I sprayed a friend’s fence with bleach then washed it off with a hose in order to remove years worth of dirt, grime, and algae. And whereas it was successful, I could do it two more times and there’d still be gunk on the fence. Sometimes I think forgiveness is like this–something that requires more than one pass. There’s an idea that the only reason you need to forgive someone is because you judged them in the first place (think about that), and maybe this is why it can take a long time to forgive. We have to come to a different understanding about what happened. We have to judge differently. These things don’t happen overnight.

Other times I think, You either forgive or you don’t. When I had my estate sale I let go of a lot of physical items. Three years later, they’re still gone. This means I really let them go. I didn’t half let them go. For me, this is the goal of forgiveness–letting go all the way. Not hanging on to resentment even a little. As my friend Randy used to say, “Set it free. Set it free.”

For me, freedom is the goal, and I think forgiveness is one of the best vehicles to get there. Because who suffers when you’re pissed off, angry at, or resentful toward someone else? That’s right, you do. That being said, I used to view forgiveness as a way to get out of having to have difficult conversations or to set boundaries with people. Like, I’ll just forgive them, and then I won’t have to stand up for myself. This doesn’t work. (I repeat, this doesn’t work.) This, I think, is why my therapist doesn’t push forgiveness. In terms of fixing problems in your life and relationships, and these are my words not hers, it’s not a heavy lifter. Yes, it can heal what nothing else can, but if you’re being abused, it’s more important for you to get the hell out of dodge than to be forgiving. Once you’re safe, then you can forgive. This is the grace of forgiveness–it keeps the anger and the angst from continuing. It stops you from abusing you (and others). It ends the past and lets you be free right here, right now. Of course, forgiving someone doesn’t mean you’ll want to go to dinner with them. (If things were really bad, you probably won’t.) It does mean, I’ve had enough suffering. I’m moving on with my life.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t change what happened, but you can change the story you tell yourself about it.

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