We March Forward (Blog #1089)

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This morning I woke up a full two hours before my alarm went off. Feeling crappy. And whereas I thought it was probably due to the fact that I was fasting and hadn’t eaten in over thirty-six hours, I convinced myself I had COVID-19. Oh my gosh, y’all, it was awful, just imagining going into the kitchen (and touching every doorknob along the way) to take my temperature, discovering I had a fever, then spending the whole day aching and hacking. And giving “the lung eater” to my elderly parents, of course. If they die, my sister will kill me, I thought. Anyway, not wanting to find out I’d won the coronavirus lottery, I just lay in bed for over an hour. In terror.

Finally, I convinced myself to get up and take my temperature. Y’all, it was 97.1. Not even close to a hundred.

So I celebrated (and broke my fast) with coffee and oatmeal and a banana, and shortly thereafter felt fine. Just like any other day. When I told my sister about how terribly this virus is affecting us hypochondriacs (not the mention the people that actually have it), she said, “Boo for paranoia.” This afternoon I saw my chiropractor who works with emotions, and when I told his wife about my scare this morning (I, along with the rest of the world, clearly don’t have much else to talk about these days), she said, “Isn’t the mind a powerful thing?”

“Yeah,” I said, “it can really scare the shit out of you.”

God knows I’ve scared the shit out of myself so many times it’s not even funny. (Okay, it’s a little funny.) What’s the Mark Twain saying? “I’ve lived through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.” Amen. For all the physical illnesses I’ve dealt with over the years, no illness has been as bad as my fears about how long whatever it was would last, or if it would come back again. Well, okay, that stomach virus I had for ten days was pretty awful. But still, even at the worst of it, there was a part of me that was okay, that knew what to do. That’s the thing, we always have an inherent wisdom that knows how to survive in times of crisis. Cancel your appointments, it says. Drink lots of fluids. Get some rest and try not to shit the bed.

The good news is that as I’ve consciously worked to resolve and heal my past dramas and traumas, clean up my relationships, and cultivate peace, self-awareness, and self-acceptance, my tendency to awfulize has seriously decreased. Not that I can’t get worked up at times, especially during, I don’t know, a pandemic, but it’s not as often and doesn’t last as long as it used to. I’m just more calm.

Honestly, I imagine this is one of the reasons people don’t work on their interior more. (I’ll explain.) It’s jarring. What I mean is that when you’ve spent decades being nervous, anxious, worried, fearful, frightened, and distressed, you start thinking that’s who you actually are. Not that it’s particularly fun, but it’s familiar. Comfortable. If you do happen to catch a glimpse of peace while praying, meditating, receiving Reiki, or even skydiving (no kidding, it’s way peaceful), you pass it off as a fluke, never imagining that kind of stillness could be your new normal. But if it were to become your new normal, of course, you’d have to say goodbye to the old you, the false you, and that’s a tough thing to do.

Because we like our personas (a word that originally meant “mask”).

As far as I can tell, The Path, the personal growth path or the spiritual path, is largely about stripping away that which is not true, all the false layers we’ve added to ourselves over years in order to keep ourselves safe. The problem being, of course, that because many of the layers get put on by us, or even for us, at such an early age, we truly don’t know any different. We feel or act neurotic and think, This is just the way I was born. And yet it appears that this is another lie we tell ourselves, another fib we construct to keep from seeing whatever world we’ve constructed tumble and fall.

For me, a lot of growth and progress has come from the thought, Maybe I was wrong about that. In other words, maybe the world isn’t such a scary place, and maybe people, and God and the universe, are kinder than I ever imagined. Likewise, a lot of growth and progress has come from the thought, Maybe I was wrong about myself. Maybe I’m more talented, strong, courageous, beautiful, important, and necessary than I ever gave myself credit for. Maybe we all are. Granted, there are those whose egos are TOO inflated who might not benefit from this line of thinking, but even in these cases it seems that the real issue is the lack of awareness about one’s true and inherent value. (Thus all the posturing.) Accordingly, it’s my encouragement that if you have a judgment about yourself or the world that’s causing you pain, that you become ever more willing to be wrong about it.

What’s the saying? I’d rather be happy than right.

Something I’d like to be wrong about, and indeed am in the process of trying to be wrong about, is the idea that my body isn’t capable of relaxing, feeling good, and healing. Said another way, I’m hoping to find out that the fear I have around something going wrong or catching a worldwide virus is unnecessary. Granted, I’ve made a lot of progress on this topic. I’m not nearly as high-strung as I used to be. But, as with all things, it’s a process. Ugh. We imagine that our futures HAVE to look like our PASTS. But this is ridiculous. Because what would be the point if we simply STAYED THE SAME from womb to tomb? That’s right, dear reader, there wouldn’t be a point. And so it seems we’re meant and intended to grow, evolve, change, and transform for the better. This is the way of it. However slowly, however reluctantly, we march forward.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one dances completely alone.

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On Being Lighter Inside (Blog #1055)

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Here’s something cool that’s come as the result of the healing work I’ve been doing these last few years. Last week when I saw my therapist and she brought up the subject of money (like, how to make some), I didn’t want to crawl under the table. Two years ago, I would have. At the very least I would have listened to her suggestions and thought, That may be fine for someone else, but it’ll never work for me. But last week, strangely enough, I was like, Okay, yeah, I can do that. The cool thing being that I haven’t been consciously TRYING to get more comfortable discussing personal business strategies. At least not lately. And yet somewhere along the way I apparently lightened up around the topic.

This being said, today when my therapist encouraged me to set financial goals, I started to squirm. Now, let’s be clear, I didn’t aim for the floor. I just shifted in my seat. Still, I can see that I haven’t COMPLETELY lightened up when it comes to thinking about my financial future and how I want to get there (uh, in a limousine, please). That is, there’s still some heaviness around the subject.

Along the lines of lightness and heaviness, last night I read a short story by H.G. Wells called The Truth about Pyecraft, Pyecraft being an extremely fat chap of a man who ingests a magic potion in order to lose weight. Alas, the magic potion turns out to be a stickler for words. Instead of losing FAT, Pyecraft only loses weight, like the thing that, along with gravity, holds you down. Still the same size as he was before, Pyecraft begins to float, all the way to the ceiling. Of course, this is a damn nuisance, not at all what he’d hoped for. And yet he can’t undo the spell, so he does the next best thing: he puts lead in his underwear. The next thing you know, he’s back on the ground. Still big as a barn, he’s actually light as a feather. THIS is the truth about Pyecraft, the truth only he and one other person know.

And me and you too, of course.

I’ve been thinking about this story a lot today, about how it’s really quite literal. Not in a physical sense, but in a psychic sense. That is, regardless of how much our scales say we weigh, we all have histories and issues that weigh us down and cause us to be mentally and emotionally heavy. THIS is the truth about Pyecraft, that you can’t judge a person’s psychic weight by their body. Someone could be the size of a junior high cheerleader and have the weight of the world on their shoulders. Conversely, someone could weigh four hundred pounds and not be worried about a thing.

More and more, I’m more concerned with psychic weight than I am with physical weight. Not that I want to let myself go, but my psychic weight has caused me more issues than my physical weight ever has. My issues around money, being good enough, being terrified (of life)–these are the things that have weighed me down, really kept me from soaring. This, I assume, is the case for all of us, that it’s not what’s visible that keeps us from moving forward, but rather what’s invisible. Our secrets. Fortunately, there are ways to lighten up, to heal. Especially in today’s world of abundant and mostly free information. (For those interested, here’s a website I ran across recently that lists books and therapies about healing trauma, many of which have been helpful to me.) Now, obviously you have to put in the time. You’ve gotta do The Hard Work. But it’s worth it. Any effort you put to being lighter inside is worth it. It’s the difference between It’ll never work and Yeah, I can do that. And that’s everything.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For me, it's important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad they are, your circumstances can turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

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Not Just on the Roof (Blog #916)

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I took the above photo several years ago from the window of my old dance studio. (Facebook reminded me about it today.) Back then I was on the second story of a cool building in Historic Downtown Van Buren. Sometimes after everyone else left I’d sit in the window or crawl out on the roof and watch traffic go by and stare at unaware pedestrians, maybe while listening to Jamie Cullum or smoking a cigarette. Especially on evenings when the sun was setting and the sky was a Crayon box of colors, it was like my little piece of heaven. I don’t miss many things about the studio now, but I miss that spot and the feeling I had sitting there. As The Drifters so accurately said, “On the roof, it’s peaceful as can be.”

Last night I went to bed sick with sinus junk. And whereas I was hoping my probiotics would heal me during the night, they didn’t do crap, which means I woke up with more (really colorful) junk this morning. This was frustrating, but not completely disheartening. I have, after all, been down this road dozens and dozens of times before, and my body always eventually finds its balance. A word that’s been popping up in my experience the last twenty-four hours is harmony, the idea of everything working together in unison. This is what I’m hoping for–harmony in my sinuses, harmony in my body. It’s what I’m praying for. It’s what I’m working toward.

Despite my having a head full of phlegm, today has been lovely. I saw my therapist this morning, ate a tasty salad for lunch, then spent the afternoon at a coffee shop, reading, learning. Then I ran all over town in search of MORE probiotics to hopefully help my sinuses. This mission was only mildly successful–I found one new thing to try–but that’s okay. I enjoy the hunt, the trial and error. Do I enjoy hacking and coughing in the meantime? Hell no. But I have noticed the last few months that being sick carries less of a “charge” for me than it used to. What I mean is that I used to really freak out, worry, and stress every time I got sick. I’d think that God was punishing me, that if I were only a better or smarter person I wouldn’t be sick in the first place. Now most of that guilt and fear is gone. I still get sick, I just don’t beat myself up about it like I did before. Plus, I have more hope. Over a year ago I had a sinus infection that lasted three months. It was hell, but I made it. So I know whatever happens from here on out, I’ll make that too.

One of the things my therapist and I discussed today was abundance, which is something she deep-down believes in and something I think sounds good if you say it fast. That being said, I’m coming around to the idea. Anyway, she’s recently been sick also, and she said that when you’re an independent operator (who gets paid by the hour) and get sick and can’t work, it’s easy to question the notion that you’re always supported by God or the universe. “But we are,” she said. “We always have more than we need.”

“I have more snot than I need,” I said.

I told my therapist that recently I’ve had some strong emotional reactions to things. For example, I got immediately angry when someone sent me a text message. I got squirmy when someone else asked me to do a certain odd job. And whereas I knew that my emotions were information from my intuitive system saying respectively, “Stand up for yourself,” and, “Run, Will Robinson,” my therapist suggested thinking of my emotional reactions as “tells.” Like, in the future when I become immediately angry or squirmy, I’ll know it’s my gut’s way of communicating, “Look alive, kid.” She said she has her tells for knowing when a potential client won’t work out and always regrets it when she goes against her inner guidance.

I realize I’m jumping around here, but this is how my therapy sessions work. Shit happens in between visits, and I make a note about it. Then when I finally see my therapist, I hop from note to note. One minute we’re talking about comedians on Netflix (we both have a thing for stand-up), the next minute we’re talking about a confrontation I’ve had or need to have, and the next minute we’re talking about relationships. Today she said, “Relationships aren’t for punks.” This came up because I’ve had a number of friendships fizzle out over the last several years and sometimes still feel gross about it. I think, Who was right and who was wrong? Am I being stubborn? Am I holding a grudge? But as my therapist explained, “Relationships are real messy. Both parties have to be adults. They have to be willing to own their shit and apologize when necessary.”

It’s easy to romanticize the past, to look back at photos and think, Those were the good old days. Bitch, please. There’s no such thing. Sure, there might have been something in your past that you enjoyed and wish you could experience again, but–I swear–it wouldn’t be the same even if you could. Additionally, we forget that life–our past, present, and future–is always a mixed bag. I miss sitting on the roof at my old dance studio. I miss that peaceful feeling. However, I don’t miss the drama of owning the studio or my lack of self-awareness at the time. Back then I had a great view of downtown, but a piss-poor view of myself and my relationships. Largely thanks to therapy and this blog, now my perspective has shifted dramatically for the better. Doing The Hard Work has made all the difference. Now I can get that peaceful feeling anywhere–because it’s inside me. Not just on the roof.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For I am a universe–large–like you are, and there is room here for all that we contain. An ego, of course, is small, and it is disgusted and humiliated by the smallest of things. But a universe is bigger than that, much too big to judge itself or another, much too big to ever question how bright it is shining.

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Slow Your Ass Down (Blog #911)

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Twice last night I dreamed that I took a break from work and drove to In and Out Burgers for something to eat. Both times, they weren’t open. The second time, they’d locked up just minutes before I got there. The waiter, a real pimply faced kid with stringy blonde hair, didn’t seem to care that I was starving. “You’ll have to go somewhere else,” he said. “We’re closed.”

This morning I mowed a lawn then came home to eat. Thanks to intermittent fasting, this has been my routine for the last twelve days–wake up, do something for a couple hours, then–after noon–eat. I get this window every day, eight hours, to eat whatever I want within reason, and then the window closes. Currently it’s four-fifteen in the afternoon, which means the window is open. I just ate two handfuls of nuts and an apple, which means I’m still hungry. I’ve been hungry for twelve days straight. I mean, it’s not awful, I just don’t have that I’m-oh-so-satisfied-because-I-just-ate-French-Toast feeling.

But my pants fit, so there’s that.

This afternoon when I got home from mowing I noticed a plate of desserts on our kitchen counter. Our neighbor, who’s a witch with an oven, had just brought them over. “You should try this bundt cake with butterscotch rum icing,” my dad said. “Go ahead. Just dip your finger in it.”

“No,” I said. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

This makes two days in a row that I’ve turned down a dessert that was sitting right in front of my face, just begging to be eaten. What is happening to me? After breakfast I thought, I wonder if I have the willpower (dedication, motivation) to keep this up for an entire year, until I’m 40. Just how bad do I want a rockin’ bod (instead of a rockin’ dad-bod)? What I finally determined was that I had the willpower to stick with things today and that I can worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Will there be exceptions made along this journey? Absolutely. I’m positively determined to not be a perfectionist about this physical transformation. Give me a special occasion, and I’ll tear up a chocolate cake. But I simply can’t believe that a weekday qualifies as a special occasion and expect to reach my goals. It’s why I haven’t made even one exception to writing this blog every day. I know myself too well. If I take a break for a  day, it’ll turn into a week.

Know thyself.

Getting back to the dream I had last night, it obviously had something to do with my diet. Any time I’ve quit cigarettes I dream about smoking, and any time I go on a diet I dream about cheeseburgers and cookies. It’s like my subconscious is saying, “Hey! Where’d all the good stuff go?” This being said, I really think the dream was driving home the idea that I can’t nourish or sustain myself with any sort of “fast food,” anything in-and-out. This applies to food, friendships, ideologies, philosophies, and work. No, it simply takes time to cultivate anything worthwhile, either inside yourself or outside yourself. It takes desire, will, intent, focus, dedication, dedication, and patience.

I know I said dedication twice. It’s really important.

God’s not a fast-mover.

In terms of patience, I think this idea often gets represented in my dreams as waiters in restaurants. That is, wait-ers, people who wait. I hate that this quality is so needed for everything worthwhile–skills we learn and develop, relationships we cultivate, diets we go on. I hate it, hate it, hate it as much as you do. And yet it’s simply the way of things. God’s not a fast-mover. It takes an entire year (by definition) for the earth to travel around the sun. It takes about ninety days for the seasons to change. But you think you can change faster? Bitch, please. Slow your ass down. Take a deep breath. Do The Hard Work. Wait. The universe isn’t in a hurry.

You don’t have to be either.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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On Change and the Secret to Happiness (Blog #892)

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Today I made myself rest. First, I slept in. Then I finished reading a book. Then I did something I almost never do unless I’m sick–I binge watched a television series (The Deuce, season two). Then I took a nap. And whereas I’ve felt groggy ever since, I know it helped. I’ve been pushing my body hard lately, working both inside and outside (in the hot sun), and no one can go forever. I can’t go forever.

This evening I visited with a friend then went solo to IHOP to eat dinner and work on another creative project. Years ago I used to go to IHOP all the time–with friends, by myself. Well, get this shit. There’s a waitress I got to know, and she still works there. Tonight she remembered what I always order. She even remembered how I like my meat and eggs cooked (medium and over medium) and which pancakes are my favorite (Harvest Grain and Nut). Talk about wow. You think people don’t notice you, that you’re not important. But they do. You are.

Tonight while chatting with my friend I referenced a moment of frustration I had with someone in their seventies and said, “They’re not changing.”

My friend said, “I’m in my sixties and I’m not changing.”

So I want to talk about change.

Yesterday I had lunch with my friends Kara and Amber, and both of them are into the enneagram, a method of personalty assessment (like Myers-Briggs). According to Kara, I’m a 4 (The Individualist or The Romantic) with a 3 wing (The Aristocrat). From what I’ve since read online, all of this sounds pretty accurate. One website listed nine jobs that are common for 4s with a 3 wing, and I’ve either had or aspire to have six of them. And whereas I don’t intend to go into all the details about my specific personality type, I will say this. 4s apparently feel fundamentally misunderstood. “That’s right,” I told Kara, “I often think that other people just don’t get me.” But I’m working on this. Because for someone else to understand that you don’t feel understood is clearly to have been gotten.

My talking about personality types is, believe it or not, related to change. What I mean is that we often think our personalities are set in stone. Like, I’m a 4 with a 3 wing, and I’m gonna stay a 4 with a 3 wing. Well, this may or may not be so. I know that when I first did Myers-Briggs when I was sixteen, I was an ENTJ, and now I’m an ENFJ. Given some more time, I wouldn’t be surprised if I switched from an E (extrovert) to an I (introvert) because more and more I get a charge from being alone. In terms of the Myers-Briggs questionnaire, I’m already on the fence.

Richard C. Schwartz, who created Internal Family Systems, says personality tests simply show us how our various “parts” have organized. For example, if you think of yourself as shy, it may not be that YOU are shy, but simply that a PART of you is, a part of you that’s running the show. What I like about this approach is that it leaves room for change. It leaves room for your shy part to become more outgoing and assertive, or for another part to take charge. It means you’re not stuck in stone.

Conversely, when I said the person I knew wasn’t changing, I meant they WERE stuck in stone. And whereas this could be a compliment if a person were gregarious and kind, it wasn’t, since this person was rude, bossy, and controlling. Years ago I would have put up with it. In this instance, I pushed back. I said, “Listen, I know what I’m doing.” Referencing a mutual friend of ours, this person said, “I can’t figure out why they think you’re so nice.”

I said, “I used to be a lot nicer.”

For me, being less “nice” than I used to be is huge progress. I realize on the surface this may sound off, but as my therapist says, nice is a strategy. Nice is something you are to secretaries when you want to see their boss. It’s something you are to hair dressers when you want them to do a good job. It’s something you are to strangers and even friends when you want them to like you.

Nice is what I used to be. Now I’m more concerned with being authentic and kind. Because what I’ve learned is that you can be kind–and honest. You can be kind–and assertive.

After years of studying personality types, I continue to be fascinated by them. I probably always will be. At the same time, I’d like to suggest a couple things. First, just because you have a certain trait doesn’t mean it’s something that will never change. Indeed, if you think of yourself as fundamentally fearful, nervous, shy, grumpy, or awkward, know that these traits are perfect fodder for transformation. I’m not saying you’ll go from being an Emily Dickinson recluse to an Oprah Winfrey socialite, but I am saying you really don’t know what’s inside you wanting to emerge until you dig in and do The Hard Work.

Second, The Hard Work can happen at any age. My therapist says that unfortunately many people are just “children growing older.” This is what I mean about being set in stone, being either willfully ignorant of your immaturities or not caring enough to do something about them. The good news is my therapist also says she sees people in their sixties, seventies, and even older changing all the time. They get hooked up with a good therapist or simply decide they’ve had enough suffering. After decades of witnessing life and its atrocities, of being disconnected from their authentic, kind selves, they finally figure out the secret to happiness–Life’s not changing, so I have to be the one to do that.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever.

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The Experience of Living (Blog #884)

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What a fabulous day. I spent this morning getting a slow start where I’m house sitting, doing some things online. Then I painted for a few hours, and–for whatever reason–was in the best mood. I guess my body felt decent, I was making good progress, and I had my tunes turned up. I didn’t finish the room I’m working on, but hey, it’ll get done soon enough. What’s the saying? All things in good time.

This evening I went to dinner with my parents and an extended relative we’ve recently reconnected with (my second cousin). And whereas you might think, Gosh, Saturday night with your family–that’s hot–it actually was. I had the best time. I guess there’s something about being around family, people who have known you forever.

Of course, the margaritas may have helped.

After we finished eating, my second cousin invited me to go bowling with him and a couple of his friends. My first thought was to call it a night, to come back to where I’m staying and–I don’t know–watch Netflix. But then I thought, Hell, Marcus, live a little. Get to know your family. So after I ran back to the house to let the dogs out (again, who let the dogs out? I did) I hauled my happy ass over to Midland Bowl and joined the party on lane 31.

Y’all, I can’t tell you what a trip this was. When I was in junior high, I used to spend every Wednesday afternoon at Midland Bowl. My sister and I were part of a league–The Wednesday Juniors. For years I partnered with my friend Jeff. First we were Double Trouble, then The Terrible Twosome. Intimidating, right? Anyway, bowling was my social life–my sports life (sexy, I know). I had my own ball and bag. I used to go out of town to tournaments. I had patches–and trophies! I still have: so–many–memories.

Alas, that was decades ago, and any time I’ve tried to bowl since it’s just been a disappointment. Like, I have all this knowledge in my head about what should happen–the mechanics and physics of throwing a ball down a lane–but I’m sorely out of practice. In the last twenty years, I’ve been lucky to break a hundred maybe twice. However, tonight–for whatever reason–I did. My second cousin, his friends, and I bowled two games, and my first score was 124. Then–get this shit–my second score was 151. Granted, the second game I was given a free strike because the pin setter screwed up, but still. There were several throws when I was able to relax and everything just came back–get your alignment, breathe, settle in, take four steps, swing back, follow through.

Right in the pocket.

What I loved about tonight more than getting a decent score (there’s a sex joke there somewhere) was the fact that–for whatever reason–I didn’t give a shit. What I mean is that when I’ve bowled in the past my perfectionist has shown up in full force and taken the fuck over. Like, You should be better than this. You used to be on a league. Geez, you’re screwing this up. You’re a total failure. But tonight there was VERY LITTLE of that. Rather, it was about having fun spending time with new people. Several times when I got up to throw the ball I thought, It doesn’t matter WHAT the hell happens–I’m still worthy. This is one way I know The Hard Work is, well, working. Situations that used to trigger me don’t now (as much). Things that used to bother me don’t anymore (as much).

This is what you want as you proceed down The Path. Progress, not perfection. The experience of living, not the final score.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are surrounded by the light.

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Your Best Is Good Enough (Blog #852)

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This afternoon I saw my chiropractor, the one who works with the mental/emotional/energetic causes of physical problems. This continues to be a trip. Today was my third appointment, and the man’s gotten more done with me than a handful of other chiropractors have in six times the visits. For the longest time I’ve been constantly aware of tension in my neck. And whereas it’s still there, now there are days I don’t even think about it. This is progress. This is good progress. That being said, the guy’s methods are weird.

I say weird but I only mean they’re weird compared to most medical people’s methods. I’ve spent a lot of time in the alternative healing community, and I’ve seen some really strange shit. Compared to that stuff, my chiropractor’s methods are really quite benign. Today he used muscle testing to get at the underlying emotions behind my long-time struggle with sinus infections. The positive word that came up (the emotion I feel before a sinus infection) was RELIABLE. The negative emotion (during and after a sinus infection) was INADEQUATE. Phew. There’s a can of worms. The last two years, which have been full of medical tests (that have basically said I’m healthy as a horse), have been filled with my trying to decide whether or not me and my body are reliable or inadequate.

The jury’s still out.

In truth, inadequacy is a pervasive emotion for me. Recently I blogged about my feeling like not enough, and I suppose this is the same thing. There’s a scene in Mr. Holland’s Opus when a former student of Mr. Holland’s, now a grownup, is shutting down Mr. Holland’s music program due to budget cuts. He says, “We’re doing the best we can, Mr. Holland,” and Mr. Holland yells, “Your best is not good enough!” Both of these characters are firmly entrenched in my psyche, the part of me that says, “Dammit, I’m doing everything I know to do,” and the part that is always demanding more. You know, The Perfectionist. The Hard Ass.

The one who’s real fun at parties.

This afternoon I read Transforming Fate into Destiny: A New Dialogue with Your Soul by Robert Ohotto. It’s glorious. Read it and give it to all your friends for Christmas. But really. In a New Age/Self-Help culture that claims you can manifest or have whatever you want, this book is a breath of fresh air. Robert explains that, yes, we can create magnificent things in our lives. Each of us is more powerful than we give ourselves credit for. However, each of us also came into this life understanding that there would be certain limitations (or boundaries, I love a good boundary), so we have to work within those fated guidelines.

For example, no matter what I put on my vision board, I’m never going to be the first female President of the United States. (Crap.) Because I’m a man. Likewise, I’ll never be straight (sorry, ladies), be six-foot-two (dang), look or sing like Zac Efron (dang again), or have different parents. Because my sexuality, height, looks, and parents have already been decided. And so have yours.

So get over it.

Now, what I do with what’s already been decided, that’s a different story. As I understand it, if I do nothing but sit on the couch every day and eat bonbons, that’s my choice. However, in choosing to not be an active, conscious participant in my life, not only will I not mature, but I’ll also feel as if my life is out of my control. Jung said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will run you life and you will call it fate.” Robert says, “If you don’t access direction from within, your life will be directed from without.” (Oh snap.) However, if I choose or anyone chooses to do The Hard Work and grow the eff up, well, now we’re cooking with gas. My therapist says her job is to support me in reaching my highest potential, and your highest potential is another way of talking about your destiny. What’s actually possible for YOU? Not that guy over there, but you. What, exactly, is inside you that’s eager, waiting, and willing to be born?

This, of course, is the million dollar question, and only the gods and your soul have the answer.

Also–fair warning–because all things worth having require sacrifice (of your time, talents, and ego), should you choose to pursue your highest potential, some days are really gonna suck.

I still recommend it.

Getting back to my chiropractor’s weird ways, I repeat, they’re only weird because they’re not conventional. It’s becoming more in vogue to discuss the mind-body-soul connection, but in my experience, it’s mostly lip service. I mean, when I get a headache, give me a Tylenol. And yet I know there’s more to it. This is what I’ve run into hundreds of times along The Path. This is what you’ll run into when reaching for your highest potential or working to transform your fate into destiny. You’ll know there’s more inside you that’s wanting to come out. But because your path is different from everyone else’s, it will feel weird, you’ll question it, and you’ll feel inadequate.

Keep going. You are not alone. Your best is good enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be more discriminating.

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Paix et Travail (Blog #818)

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Six months ago today I had knee surgery to repair my ACL. And whereas I still have progress to make–things aren’t perfect yet–I’ve technically reached all my milestones and hit the “all clear” point. As of now I can jump, spin, dance, and swim. Wow. Talk about the end of a long journey. Again, there’s still work to do. This morning I walked down a steep driveway, and my left leg felt a bit wobbly. My surgeon says it will take a full year to regain my strength. But I don’t have to limit my activities anymore. Now–supposedly–my new ACL is getting good enough blood flow to be considered “healed.”

To celebrate, this afternoon I ate a cheeseburger (and fries) and went shopping. There’s a shelf in my bathroom that has an empty spot on it (oh no!), and although I rarely shop for knickknacks (at least since I had my estate sale and became a minimalist over two years ago), I thought, Maybe I can find something to put on that shelf. And whereas I didn’t find anything for my bathroom, I did end up buying a medium-sized statue for my room at a local antique store. Basically the statue is a hot (shirtless) dude holding a flag. I’d admired him a number of times over the years, but–alas–he cost more than I wanted to spend. However (thankfully?), he was much more affordable today because at some point he’d been damaged. Like, now he’s missing a finger and part of his flag pole (and yes, I mean that literally). Oh well, I thought, I had knee surgery six months ago. I understand not being perfect.

I can’t tell you how exciting getting the statue was. For one thing, I’d completely forgotten about him, so it was like a surprise. Oh yeah, I like him! For another thing, the shop owner gave me a discount off the (already less than it used to be) sticker price. Knowing there would be some savings because they had a sale going on, I said, “Oh, that’s even better than I was hoping for.” Seriously, I almost squealed. On top of all this, I had the best time talking to the shop owner, who chatted with me for over thirty minutes about some of the pieces in the store and how she got started in the business in the first place. “The banker tried to convince me that a shop like this would never make it,” she said. “That was thirty-six years ago, and we’re still standing.”

Thinking about my knee and my anything-but-perfect life, I thought, Me too, lady. Me too.

This evening I spent over an hour shuffling things in my room in order to accommodate the statue. You know how moving one thing means moving everything. No kidding, over seventy-five percent of the books and other items I had on the piece of furniture where the statue is now got rearranged. This, I think, is why people are afraid of change (in their lives, not on their shelves). Because everyone, deep down, understands that you can’t change one thing without changing it all. The example I often use is that if you develop even one ounce of self-esteem (Oh yeah, I like me!)–watch out–every relationship in your life is about to be turned upside down. Said another way, when you change the way you see yourself, you change the way you see–and interact with–the entire world.

Moving one thing means moving everything.

You can’t change one thing without changing it all.

The statue I purchased this afternoon was originally sculpted by Charles Perron and is entitled “Paix et Travail,” which is French for “peace and work.” I didn’t realize this about the title when I bought the statue, but I think it’s one of those cool universe things, since my goal here (in therapy, on this blog, and in life) is more inner peace, and I often talk about doing The Hard Work. For me, the two go hand in hand. That is, if you want real peace in your life, there’s a lot of damn effort involved. It means looking at and cleaning up your past, owning your shit, having difficult conversations, and being willing for everything in both your interior and external worlds to change. Conversely, a certain amount of inner peace, or at least inner stability, is a prerequisite for doing The Hard Work because–again–it completely shuffles your deck and cuts it in half, and you’ve got to be centered enough to say, “Even if my entire world falls apart, I’m not going to. Instead, I’m going to come together.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you're not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied.

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The Prep and the Primer (Blog #814)

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This afternoon I helped my friend Kim start painting her kitchen. I say “start painting” because, like nearly every other damn thing in life, it’s going to be a process. (I hate that.) That being said, we made a lot of progress. Before today the entire kitchen–the walls, the baseboards, the molding–was apple green. Now only about half of it is. So even though there’s more to do, it’s clear you can get a lot done in a day.

So why not take a day and do something?

Kim said her least favorite part of painting was the prep work–scrubbing the walls clean, patching any holes. Alas, her husband, Grant, insists on “doing things right.” Personally, I agree with both of them–the prep work needs to be done, and it’s no fun doing it. Likewise, I don’t enjoy putting primer on walls, or, truth be told, the putting first coat of paint on walls. Because things still look sloppy, incomplete. No, for me, the fun part is the last coat of paint, when it all comes together. Then what REALLY thrills me is putting the room back IN ORDER, hanging pictures up and such.

Gay, I know.

The obvious point is that you can’t put pictures up without first doing the prep work, then doing the primer coat (if needed), then doing the first coat, and so on. Again, it’s a process, a process that if not “done right” is gonna be obvious. We’ve all seen rushed painting jobs before and thought, This person cuts corners.

Or is that just me who judges someone’s entire personality by how they paint a room?

Currently I’m house sitting for a friend and am in their living room. The last time I blogged here (in this particular room) was about six months ago. I remember because I’d recently injured my knee and–because my surgeon told me I didn’t need my crutches (because “you don’t need your ACL to walk”)–was re-teaching myself how to walk and negotiate stairs. Talk about things you take for granted. I remember having to lie on the ground to wiggle my pants on and off. Now, like before my accident, I can put my pants on standing up.

Don’t be jealous.

Everything worth having takes time.

This last week I was discussing my knee injury with a friend of mine who is a personal trainer and said that I have a ways to go. For example, it’s still challenging to jump using my injured leg, to use that leg to lower myself down (steps or into a chair), or to put weight on that knee. However, my friend said, “But look how far you’ve come.” Is that a wonderful encouragement or what? So often I get hung up on progress not yet made, on walls not yet painted, instead of focusing on That Which Has Been Accomplished. I want to get to The End, to the hanging pictures part, so the temptation is to half-ass, rush through, or get impatient with The Process. But if five years in therapy and two years of daily blogging have taught me anything, it’s that everything worth having takes time. Also, I’ve learned that the work that really pays off is the work that nobody sees. It’s the prep and the primer. That’s why they call it The Hard Work–because it’s tedious and boring and nobody is going to praise you for doing it (probably not even your mother). But damn if it doesn’t make all the difference.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one comes into this life knowing how to dance, always moving with grace."

On Branches-Down Thinking (Blog #791)

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This afternoon a friend and I were discussing things to do in Fort Smith, and she said that when people tell her “Fort Smith really needs this” or “Fort Smith really needs that,” she says, “Why don’t YOU do it?” Then she continued, “Most people find an excuse not to, but some people actually get involved. But really–what are you waiting on–Providence to sweep down and scoop you off your couch?” Amen. This is how I feel about a lot of things–dancing, exercise, writing, and mental health, for example. You’ve gotta get off your couch if you want to see improvement in these areas. (Well, maybe not writing and mental health. I’m on a couch right now.) A week ago I agreed to be part of an upcoming murder mystery fundraiser simply because if I want my social life to improve (and I do), I’ve got to get out of the house (sorry, Mom and Dad).

As Liza Minnelli says, you gotta ring them bells.

Recently my therapist and I were talking about complaining. You know, bitching, grousing, whining, or whinging. Similar to my friend I just mentioned, I said that I knew several people who frequently complained about this or that but that–from my perspective–refused to do anything about this or that. “I used to the same way,” I said, “but it’s just so clear to me now–they don’t have to put up with other people’s bullshit. Suffering is optional.” Well, my therapist said two things. First, that she LOVED to complain, that it was one of her favorite pastimes. And whereas this hasn’t been my observation of her, that’s probably because she’s so fucking funny whenever she does it. Like, she’d be a fabulous standup comedian, which, now that I think about it, is really a person who gets PAID to complain. So I guess it’s really not the content when someone complains, but the delivery. (Work on your delivery, people!) Anyway, second, my therapist said, “Some people really get off on being martyrs.”

Think about that.

A few weeks ago I got an unsolicited email from an online hemp (CBD oil, etc.) company asking me to promote their products on my blog. In return, they offered to promote me on their Twitter account, which–I just looked–has 452 followers. Along with their (generous) offer, they included a link to one of their blogs about mental health. I guess this is why they thought we’d be a good “fit” for each other. The Mental Health Connection. Earlier tonight I read the blog, entitled “Ten Mental Health Habits to Try in 2019.” Great, I thought, I might learn something. Well–get out your pen and paper–here they are: exercise, gratefulness, be kind, sleep, hang out with friends, chocolate (made with CBD oil), laugh, eat well, love yourself, meditate.

Okay. I have a lot of thoughts. On the positive side, I think all of these are fabulous things to do, especially the chocolate one. Personally, I know that I always feel better after I exercise, express gratitude, be kind, sleep, hang out with friends, laugh, eat well, love myself (talk kindly to yourself was their suggestion), or meditate. Super. That being said, having spent the last five years deliberately working on my mental health, I also see all ten of these suggestions as very surface recommendations. My therapist would call them “soccer mom” recommendations. No offense to soccer moms, but just to say they (the suggestions, not the moms) don’t go very deep.

They don’t really cut the mustard.

Other than “sleep” or “take a nap,” my therapist has never–not once in five years–suggested I do any of the things on the above list. Well, maybe meditate. But this isn’t because they’re bad things to do. They aren’t. Do them. Knock yourself out. But in terms of doing them in order to improve your mental health, that’s like putting a Bandaid on a broken arm. Sure, it might make you feel better, but it doesn’t really get to the root of the problem. For years–nearly a decade–I worked with exercise, gratitude journals, “being nice,” saying positive, self-loving affirmations, and meditating. The entire time I hoped that I’d be able to “spiritualize” myself in such a way as to never have to confront my problems directly–to have the hard conversations, to set boundaries, to speak my truth. Said another way, I hoped I’d never have to admit–My arm is broken, I’m hurting, and I could use a little help here.

I’ve said before that what took me to therapy was a bad relationship. Before I started therapy, I tried everything I knew–every suggestion my self-help books offered to make it better. I tried being kind and being understanding, the whole time thinking that if only I had enough inner peace, he could be a total asshat (and boy could he ever) and it wouldn’t matter. But it did–it did matter. Maybe a saint could find peace in a prison, but 1) I’m not a saint and 2) the saint would be a fool to not walk out of the prison if he suddenly learned the door was open and no one was standing in his way.

What I learned in therapy was that that relationship was simply a SYMPTOM, a natural result of past traumas, my upbringing, and my beliefs–about myself and what I was worthy of, others and how they should treat me, and the world around me. In other words, I was sick. Now, I don’t mean diagnosable. I have family members who are clinically mentally ill, and I wasn’t that. But just like my family members “laugh” when people tell them “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” or “try getting more sun,” I laugh now at the thought that hanging out with more friends or eating chocolate with CBD oil could have even come close to fixing my sickness.

Really, situation is a better word than sickness, since I don’t mean sick as in diagnosable or gross, but sick as in “something isn’t working here.” Something isn’t as healthy here as it could be/should be. As I see it now, we all have situations or things that aren’t working–a relationship, a job, a feeling or behavior that won’t leave us alone. What I’m saying is that no problem happens in isolation and that, chances are, the roots of our problems run deep. If you’d rather complain that do something about your problems–and if you’re not going to be a standup comedian–ask yourself why. Because complaining or playing the martyr is a very disempowering thing to do, whereas facing your problems directly is very empowering. Sure, you can get a lot of sympathy and you can feel sorry for yourself by staying helpless, but staying helpless never produces longterm positive results or, for that matter, self-esteem.

Why not empower yourself and walk out of your prison?

Going back to the list of ten things to try for mental health, I see them as a bit like trying to grow a tree from the branches down. We see all these lists on the internet–be kind, be grateful, laugh, treat yourself well. But these aren’t things you can simply force yourself to do, at least for very long. Rather, they are the fruits of healthy roots. (I rhymed!) So work on your roots. Go to the heart of your problems and deal with them directly, then you will naturally be grateful, kind, and all those other things. Then you’ll naturally treat yourself lovingly because you will have cleared away enough junk to connect with the love that organically resides in your heart. Affirmations push truth into us. The Hard Work cracks us open and lets truth flow out. We see other people who have walked The Path and think that if we ACT like them, we will EXPERIENCE their peace. But again, this is branches-down thinking. Trees grow from the roots up.

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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