After (Blog #1033)

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Two days ago I blogged about raking and bagging leaves in a client’s backyard and how I kept stepping in dog shit. Well, because the project was too big to finish in one afternoon, I returned today for more manual labor. And, apparently, to step in more shit. Seriously, my client’s dog acts like the whole backyard is her toilet. Fortunately, this time I came armed with plastic sacks to put my boots in so they wouldn’t dirty up my car, Tom Collins, on the ride home. Additionally, I brought slippers for wearing inside my client’s house and for driving home in. Then when I GOT home, I cleaned my rakes in the shower and my boots in the sink. Then, just to be safe, I took Tom to the car wash and cleaned him too.

He didn’t say thank you, but I know he appreciated it.

Finally, and lastly, I cleaned myself. And whereas I’ll spare you the details (I’m assuming you know how showers work), it felt fabulous. No kidding, if you ever really want to enjoy a shower, rake and bag thirty large trash sacks worth of leaves first. Just be sure that while you’re working you step in plenty of dog shit. That really makes a shower great.

You know, life is about contrast.

While raking and bagging leaves today, I listened to a glorious book by Rabbi Steve Leder called More Beautiful Than Before: How Suffering Transforms Us. And whereas I’ve read a lot of books about self-help and spirituality, I’m not sure I’ve ever read (or listened to) a book more human or full of compassion than this one. Indeed, I often had to stop working in order to fully take in Leder’s wisdom on pain and suffering, kindness and humility, and forgiveness and hope. More than once I cried. Not because the stories Leder shares are so heart-breaking (although many of them are), but because I felt that I was meeting a long-lost friend. Not Leder, mind you, although I’m sure we’d get along. Rather, I felt that I was meeting, or at least being being drawn closer to, my own good heart and soul, those parts of me that would gladly endure pain and suffering (again and again) in order to grow personally or help another.

One of Leder’s contentions is that at some point in life we all go through hell. Our bodies break down. Our relationships fail. Our friends and family die. Maybe we just have a bad day. We step in shit and don’t have our slippers with us. These are the facts of life. On planet earth, we suffer. But Leder says, “Don’t come out of hell empty handed.” That is, don’t let your suffering be in vain. Don’t let it isolate you. Rather, let it transform you and connect you to others. Both with my therapist and on this blog, I’ve talked a lot about my traumas–the fire when I was a child, my dad’s going to prison, my breakup with my ex–about the experiences that have shaken me up and turned my life upside down like a snow globe. And yet for all the stress and distress these events have caused, I wouldn’t be without them even if I could. (I can’t; you can’t.) Because they’ve brought my fears to the surface and given me a chance to face them. Because they’ve encouraged me to (get my ass to therapy and) heal. Deep down where it counts. Because they’ve left me more beautiful than before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Boundaries are about starting small, enjoying initial successes, and practicing until you get your relationships like you want them. 

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On Returning to Life (Blog #983)

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I spent this afternoon and evening with my friends Kara and Amber. The three of us first met in elementary school and, although we all live in different cities, purpose to get together several times a year. (Let’s get together, yeah, yeah, yeah.) Anyway, today we met at Amber’s house, carpooled to an Italian restaurant, and ended up staying for five hours. Y’all, it was fabulous. The food was wonderful, the company was better, and the refills were free.

I drank so much coffee.

Something the three of us discussed was the idea of holding space for something or someone, the idea being that our lives and relationships are often messy and that we need to allow room for situations and people to just be. As a fixer who likes to talk things out, this has been a tough lesson for me to learn. For the longest time when there was any amount of tension in a relationship, I’d think I had to DO something about it. Once I told my therapist it was awkward when a certain person was at my dance studio, and she said, “So let it be awkward.” This was a revelation. I didn’t have to DO anything. I could leave it alone. Today Amber pointed out that when conversations or confrontations are forced they don’t always end well. “You have to recognize when it’s not the right time,” she said.

Of course, if it’s not the right time (to say your piece or set things right), that means you have to be patient until it is.

Currently it’s 10:45 at night, and I’m absolutely buzzing. Again, I’ve had a lot of coffee. Additionally, I’ve had a lot of sugar–both at the restaurant and back at home. I’ve gone through so much peanut butter lately (I like to mixed it with grape jelly and eat it by the spoonful) that tonight Dad fastened the lid shut with electrical tape. “We just bought this jar last week, and it’s already almost empty!” he said. Then he brought my mom into it. “Judy, if this tape is broken tomorrow, we’ll know Marcus has been at it again.”

“I’m not trying to hide anything,” I said. “Everyone knows I’m the one who’s eating all the peanut butter!”

But seriously, it tastes so good.

Because I’ve been feeling better lately, a phrase that’s been on my mind is “returning to life.” I’ve said previously that before a caterpillar morphs into a butterfly, it first dissolves itself into a black goo. My point being that transformation is an all-in or all-our proposition. You don’t get to be a caterpillar AND a butterfly. You can’t eat your peanut butter and have it (sitting on the counter) too. Said another way, transformation requires the death of your old life, personality, or habits. Jesus died on the cross. The Phoenix died in the flame. There’s a saying that when you seek enlightenment like a man whose hair is on fire seeks water, then–and only then–will you find it. So if you want peace, healing, or God, ask yourself–What am I willing to give up in order to have these things? Can I die? Am I truly ready to be reborn?

In my experience with transformation, returning to life means returning to life as it is, not as I want it to be. It means bringing all of my newfound vitality and everything I’ve learned to the world as it is–messy, horrific, and beautiful. This is what holding space is all about–making room within yourself for the whole of creation. The fun parts, the not-so-fun parts. Life, death, conflict, emotions. Not that you can’t work to change or improve situations or relationships, but know that your primary job is to change yourself. This is gross and always involves dying (metaphorically). But once you’re reborn, everything is different. Behold, all things are become new. For one thing, you stop hiding (I’m the one who ate the peanut butter!). For another, you realize there’s enough room here (inside your heart) for the entire universe and all that it contains–the joy, the suffering. You think, Maybe it’s not all fun, but it’s all okay. You think, This moment is just as it should be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it.

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Free from Our Baggage and Bullshit (Blog #982)

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It’s 3:15 in the afternoon, and, like yesterday, I’m blogging earlier than usual because I have plans this evening (last night I went to a show, and tonight I’m going to a dance) and don’t want to be up until all hours writing. Not that I ended up going to bed at a respectable hour last night. Home by 11:00, I was wide awake until 4:00 in the morning. MAAAAYBE I had a smidge too much coffee at dinner. Or it could be that I’ve simply felt better lately and have had–at times–A LOT of energy. My mind starts thinking about things I could do, future projects, and then it’s off to the races. Recently I saw my therapist while I was flying high, and she said, “You’re as happy as I’ve ever seen you.”

I told my therapist that over the last two weeks I’ve felt like a cork that’s been previously held underwater and finally released. Like, WHOOSH! to the surface. She said, “That’s what happens when you’re not suffering.”

Last night my friend Marla and I went to see the comedian Randy Rainbow, and, like I’m wont to do at shows, I bought a magnet as a souvenir. Well, when I got home it was quite the chore to fit the magnet on my magnet board. Alas, after over twenty years of collecting show magnets, my board has gotten quite full. Well, thank god, I finally found a spot. BUT THEN–out of the blue–I remembered a show I saw seven years ago that I never bought a magnet for and impulsively bought it (on sale) online. But where the hell will it go? I thought.

This afternoon I remembered that well over ten years ago when I was still living at home I installed a magnet board covered in vintage movie-star-themed wallpaper on the back of a desk that we still own but whose back is to the wall. Of course, I got excited thinking that I could take the board off the desk and–somehow–mount it in my room. (I realize “mount it” sounds dirty, but I don’t mean it that way. Hell, maybe it doesn’t sound dirty. I’m single. I don’t know these things.) Anyway, down the rabbit hole of possibilities I went considering how I could frame the board and hang it and–because you can’t change one thing without changing everything–how I could rearrange everything else else in my room to accommodate it.

This, as I’ve said before, is why any type of internal or external change is stressful for us. Because deep down we know that changes are like dominos. You set one in motion and then it’s off to the races. You think, I’ll just rearrange this corner, or–I don’t know–go to therapy. The next thing you know, your world’s upside down. At which point you wonder if you’ve done the right thing. But trust me, you have. So just keep going and don’t you dare look back.

Lot’s wife turned to a pillar of salt.

While thinking about my magnet board project I started to get overwhelmed. My Inner Perfectionist told me it had to be “just so,” that there was a right way and a wrong way to do it and that it was MY JOB to figure it out. “Don’t fuck this up,” it said. Thankfully, I ended up telling that guy to give it a damn rest. Because there’s no such thing as perfect, and there’s certainly no way to do this project–or this thing called life–wrong. Granted, there are consequences (results) to our choices, but they’re not as grave as we might imagine. Life is meant to be fun, not so serious.

Along these lines, I ended up putting my project aside to blog for today. Maybe I’ll focus on it next week, maybe I won’t. The world doesn’t turn on my decision. Sure, there will be a domino effect, but–either way–I’ve determined it’s not a big deal.

Last night after the show Marla and I went through a drive-thru to get an ice cream, and–I guess because I have long, fabulous hair–the guy at the window said, “Good evening, ma’am.” Well, I just sat there, letting him figure out that I’m a dude (although I certainly grant it’s getting harder and harder to tell these days). Anyway, he took our order and later when he handed us our frosty treats said, “Good night, sir.” Some people would have been offended about the mix up. But as soon I rolled up my window, Marla and I burst out laughing. This is the power that we have. It’s not life or god who decides if something is a big deal or not–it’s us.

Our perspective determines our experience of reality.

While looking over my magnet collection last night, I remembered with whom I attended each show. And whereas I no longer talk to several of the people who occupy my show memories, I’m proud to say that my memories with them are still fond ones. Thinking of them or the time we spent together doesn’t trigger any resentments. This is good. Not that I want to call them up and go for coffee, but I also don’t want to suffer when I think about them. (The past is over unless we keep it alive.) This afternoon my mom found a picture of me and my sister that neither I or my sister remember seeing before. In it we’re both smiling and laughing big as day. My sister said, “We look so happy.” That’s the deal. Happiness is our natural state. Children know this. We were made to float, not sink through life. And we can. Free from our baggage and bullshit, we WHOOSH! to the surface.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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if you're content with yourself and you're always with yourself, then what's the problem?

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On Sacrifice and Suffering (Blog #902)

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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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It's the holes or the spaces in our lives that give us room to breathe and room to rest in, room to contain both good and bad days, and--when the time is right--room for something else to come along.

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We Could Use a Little Help Here (Blog #828)

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Well gross. I’m out-of-town for the wedding of some dance students and woke up sick morning. Sinus crap. I’ve been fighting it all week. I thought I was on top of it, but it appears to be on top of me. I hate that. Anyway, it’s 11:30 in the morning, and despite the fact that I haven’t left the place where I’m staying or done anything today, I’m blogging now because–come hell or high water–I’m attending that wedding this evening and don’t want to force my body to stay up late in order to blog. This is what I’ve realized, that even though I can’t immediately solve my sinus infection problem, I can do little things to support my body and decrease how much we suffer from it.

Down with suffering.

I said I haven’t done anything today, but that’s not exactly true. That’s never exactly true. Even if you lie in bed and snore all day, that’s SOMETHING. Well, after I got up an hour and a half ago, I ate breakfast (a protein bar and fruit), then read about thirty pages in a book I recently started about headaches. Today I learned that tension headaches (which I have) can be triggered by stress, anxiety (defined as fear without an object), and depression, as well as certain foods (often nitrate-containing) or liquids (alcohol, caffeine, or the withdrawal of caffeine).

The book said that for those of us who experience tension headaches it’s important to remove triggers. Granted, if your job is stressful, you may not be able to remove your job (or punch your boss in the face), but you can work at how you respond to your job or boss. For example, you could go for a walk or try meditation. Serenity now! For Type A personalities, the book suggested scheduling in time to relax. Like, make yourself shut off your phone, lie down, and stare at the ceiling fan. Or listen to the birds chirping. Or pet your dog or cat.

Another suggestion was to tense your major muscle groups (biceps, calves, quads, butt, back, shoulders, and neck) one-by-one and then relax them. The idea being that–if you do this enough–they get the message that if and when they get tense, the next thing they should do is relax. This theory made sense to me, so I tried it. (I let go a little. It was nice.) Once I heard someone say that just like you speak English (or whatever), your muscles speak a language too, a language they’ve been taught. So if your body is constantly tensed and stressed and you want it to behave or feel differently, you have to teach it how. You have to teach it a new language. You have to take time to say, Sweetheart, there’s nothing to worry about. You can let your guard down now.

I’m working on all of this, although it’s often overwhelming to think about and do when I’m sick. That is, when I feel like crap from a sinus infection AND have a headache (or even just tight muscles), I want to throw in the towel. More than that, I want to yell and scream at my body, Get yourself together. I get so impatient with myself. And yet when I don’t feel well, this is exactly the time that patience for myself is needed–because my body is clearly communicating that it’s had enough of the push, push, pushing, and the go, go, going. It’s clearly saying, We could use a little help here. We could use a little understanding.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Both sunshine and rain are required for growth.

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