These Hundreds of Thousands of Words (Blog #1094)

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Phew. All day I’ve been tired, sad. And whereas I could blame lack of sleep and a number of other things, the fact is I’ve already begun to grieve the loss of this blog. Including tonight, I only have three more posts to go. I don’t know. It’s weird. Just like when a person dies you go through all those stages–denial, anger, grief, acceptance, bargaining–I’m going through those with this. Denial because, has it really been three years? Anger because of what hasn’t happened, hopes and expectations that haven’t been met. Ugh. All the feelings. The good news being that, so much more than three years ago, I’m open to all the feelings and what they have to teach me. Sweetheart, letting go is never easy.

At times throughout this process I’ve imagined that I’d, I guess, somehow be perfectly healed, or just perfect, on the other side of this thing. And that one of my final posts would be like, here’s how I did it. And how you can too for three easy payments of $127. Alas, if anyone ever pitches you such a deal, run don’t walk away. Because the fact is that no matter what a person learns, they are always and forever still growing. Still a work in progress. As much as people like me may hate it, there is no perfect to get to. If it does exist, perfection is like the casserole I made for dinner tonight. A little bit of everything. One big delicious mess.

With cheese.

This being said, I would like to take this blog as an opportunity to “sum up” what I’ve learned or how I’ve grown as a direct result of this project. My idea being that, although I despise numbered lists and bulleted sub-headings, I’ll go through my blog “categories” one by one and write a few sentences or paragraphs about each one. As these categories became self-evident early on and new ones haven’t been added in maybe a year and a half, I’ve come to see them as themes, or what this time in my life has been all about. The lessons I’ve been learning and doing my best to embody.

So here we go. I’m just going to shoot from the hip. And I’ll try to be brief. (Yeah right, Marcus.)

1. Abundance

Ugh. Does this have to be the first one? This has been a toughy for me, since, as a result of my traumas, I grew up believing that if you love something, just wait, it’ll be taken away from you. And yet my therapist, who has a real hard on for abundance, has shoved it down my throat. Yes, things leave, but other things come around. Thankfully, I have made progress. For one thing, money isn’t terrifying to me anymore. Even though I don’t have much of it. Although now I imagine if I did I wouldn’t be scared of it. It’s just paper. The most important thing being, however, that I really do believe deep down that I’ve been given an abundance of talent, love, help, knowledge, wisdom, and resources (both internal and external) with which to make my way through life. Creatively, I’ve been given an abundance of ideas. This is what counts. I know it’s rough when your bank account is strapped, but don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

2. Affirmations

A lot of self-help books are huge on affirmations, looking in the mirror and saying, “I’m beautiful, rich, and forgiving.” Or whatever. And whereas I’ve tried this shit more times than I care to admit, it hasn’t been what’s worked for me. Instead, the affirmations that have turned my life around, rather than being forced into me, have come out of me. That’s what this blog has been about. Sweetheart, be patient. I’m here for you. So if you like the idea of affirmations, go for it. But don’t open a book to find them. Open your heart.

3. Archetypes and Personalities

More and more I see the world through the lenses of “we’re all different” and “we’re all the same.” And whereas I don’t subscribe to one particular personality system, it’s helped me to be able to label people with archetypes (diva, drama queen, addict, pimp), since it allows me to get impersonal about their behavior. Or even mine. (Of course I’m worried about my outfit; I’m an artist!) Additionally, the more personality systems I study, the more I realize that every archetype and personality type is not only neutral (although it can be animated positively or negatively), but also necessary. God knows we don’t need everyone to an anal-retentive control freak. But God also knows the world would be a much sloppier place without those of us who are. (Wash your damn hands.)

4. Authenticity

This is a buzz word these days, and one my therapist actually dislikes because it’s so “hip.” To me it equates to being honest, even and especially if that honesty looks like anger, sadness, or confusion. You know, the emotions we hide behind our masks. Alas, it doesn’t seem to be something we can achieve every minute of every day (certain niceties are required in a polite society), but it is something we can strive toward. Being real. Being ourselves. My only other thought about it is that I’ve often been as surprised as anyone else when I’ve been able to be assertive or–here’s another word my therapist hates–vulnerable. Like when I cry in public or admit my faults (which, I agree with my therapist, isn’t being vulnerable, it’s being honest). Meaning we often don’t know what our authentic selves look like until they reveal themselves to us.

5. Balance

Is required and looks different for everyone. How do you know you’re out of balance in any area of your life? Your body will tell you. Learn to listen to its subtle and not-so-subtle messages. Additionally, pay attention to your relationships. If they’re full of drama, contention, or anything but an underlying peace, something is out of whack. Chances are you’ll never be able to hold the center point forever, so just keep your eyes on the middle. The rest will take care of itself.

6. Boundaries

My therapist calls boundaries the Holy Grail of personal growth. And whereas I used to think I had them, I realized I didn’t. Pro tip: if you can’t say no or if you tell the most personal details of your life to complete strangers (or vice versa), you don’t either. So get some. Learn to not only say no, but hell no. Figure out what you’re worth and don’t settle for less. Get in touch with your soul, do whatever it says, and never, under any circumstances, sell it. For one thing, it’s not yours to sell. For another, you’ll always regret it. How do you do these things? By learning to say no, hell no. And don’t worry if you “mess up.” Life will, without a doubt, give you another opportunity to excel. As with all things, having good boundaries is a process.

7. Coco’s Favorites

These blogs are my personal favorites. Many are already tagged as such, but I’ll be adding others as I work my way through reading all my old posts.

8. Creativity

People say they’re not creative, but I’m convinced we all are, even if it’s just in the way we make up a story about how we’re not creative, or what someone did that ruined our lives, or how awful things are (when they’re really not). Of course, creativity is better expressed through writing, dancing, knitting, planting, decorating, or whatever, and I’m certain our souls MUST, somehow, expand themselves through creating. So first stop and notice WHAT you’re creating (dinner, drama, dissent), then think about what you’d LIKE to be creating (an encouraging environment, a business, a hilarious blog). Then CHOOSE something different.

9. Dancing

Is good for a hundred reasons. Do it. Even if you don’t like it, consider that you were made to move. Some way, somehow. Your very heart BEATS. Tune into the rhythm of your life. If you ARE willing to give dancing a try, remember what my mentor Maggie tells her students. “Let dancing love you.” If not dancing, then let something, someone. Please, open your heart.

10. Dream Interpretation

I wish I were a master at this or had some of the experiences the people who write all those books about dreams do. Lucid dreaming, predicting the future, and whatnot. I don’t know, my therapist says I have the “most auspicious dreams,” so maybe it’s just easy to think someone else’s life is better or more fabulous than yours. Regardless, I do believe our subconscious/inner wisdom speaks to us a thousand different ways. Through dreams, synchronicities, hunches, bodily sensations, feelings, emotions, and even thoughts. So it’s whatever floats your boat, whatever you’re willing to listen to. Just know that it’s not all as random as it seems. Know that you can trust yourself. You’re wiser than you realize.

11. Emotions

Are not something you primarily think about. They’re something you primarily feel. Also, I hate to break it to you, they’re not something that go away when you shove them down. Like, they just hang out in the shadows. In your shadow. And whereas I wish I had a surefire way for coaxing them out, I’ve learned they come up when they’re ready. The best thing we can do is to listen. Be curious. Love, or at least make space for, whatever arises. Including frustration, anger, grief, sadness, and anything else that gives you snot bubbles. Because that’s your inner wisdom talking. For example, anger often means “get some damn boundaries.” (See above.)

12. Encouragement

Whatever you’re going through, I promise you’re not alone. Yes, your situation is unique to you and is your cross to bear, but it’s not the first time it’s ever happened. In Alcoholics Anonymous they say, “You’re only as sick as you are isolated.” Meaning that a burden is automatically lifted when you stop trying to carry it yourself. So please know that people love you and are rooting for you. Granted, they don’t always know what to say, but I guarantee there are people who would take a bullet for you in a heartbeat. People who will cry at your funeral and feel that something important, something they liked, is missing from their lives when you’re gone.

13. Facebook Live

This is where I’ve put the few live videos I’ve done and where I’ve read, out loud, other stories I’ve written. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll do at least one more when this is over.

14. Gratitude

Is often something those self-help books try to force. Don’t worry, be happy. Alas, I’ve found that gratitude, like an affirmation, works best when it springs naturally from the heart. A humbling voice, it says, “Sweetheart, you have everything you could ever need and more.” What’s more, I’m convinced this voice is always there, available even when we are most down. It says, “Life sucks, but we’ve been given this breath, and with this breath we will make it to our next. Or make it home.” So again, listen to your heart. (Not your head.)

15. Growing Up

Involves letting go of the need to blame, being your own parent most of the time, taking responsibility for your life and choices, and sucks. But is absolutely necessary. Also, it’s natural. Stop fighting it.

16. Hope

As stated in The Shawshank Redemption, “is a good thing, maybe the best of things.” So please, please, please allow as much room as is humanly or even divinely possible that even your most challenging circumstance can turn around for the better. On a dime if heaven so sees fit. Along these lines, pray for miracles and expect them to show up.

17. Improv Comedy

Is worth trying or at least taking note of. Because, like life, it requires that you think on your feet, play well with others, and not look back. Audiences may not be forgiving, but improv teaches you to be. So what if the show didn’t go well? It’s over. (Everything in your life is over.) Why is this a good thing? Because now we can play another game.

18. Letting Go

Is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. Because we like what we like and we want it last. Our relationships, our stuff, our identities, our stories and judgments about ourselves and others. Our blogs. But nothing lasts. We don’t get to keep a thing. So work on enjoying whatever it is while it’s here, then letting it go. The way the sun sets, the way a storm ceases. With grace.

19. Myths and Fairy Tales

Aren’t just cute little stories. Rather, within them are embedded the mysteries of life, our personalities, and our struggles. Best thing I ever heard on this topic was that your three favorite movies reveal the path your life is on, and I believe this more and more. Recently through EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) I realized one of my favorite movie characters (for almost twenty years now) was not only hung up on integrity (like I am) but was also embarrassed by his station in life (like I used to be). The idea being that you’re drawn to these characters and their stories for a reason. Your inner wisdom is nudging you forward, giving you a template for what’s possible. Be willing to take the trip.

20. Patience

Is almost harder than letting go. But is one of the most useful traits you could ever hope to develop. Because although the universe is capable of turning on a dime, it rarely does. What’s more, it rarely does what you want it to, when you want it to. Pro tip: the less you insist on having everything your way, the more patient you’ll be. So, in the words of Nancy Byrd Turner, “learn to labor and to wait.” Give yourself the gift of time. To grow. To heal. Nature does not proceed in leaps, and neither do we.

21. Perspective

If I could give everyone one gift, it would be the gift of perspective, the gift of being able to perceive whatever it is thats bothering you (including yourself) in a different way. Alas, since I can’t, go see a therapist. This is what they get paid for. But seriously, what if you could put on a pair of mystical glasses that allowed you to see everything in your life, even the rotten stuff, as heaven’s gift to you? What if you could turn your viewpoint upside down and really see that there’s nothing in your life by accident and that–if it’s there–it’s there for a reason? To challenge you, to grow you, to change you, and maybe even the world, for the better? What if you could look at the mountain you’re facing and, rather than asking God to remove it, absolutely know you were meant to climb it? And then put your boots on. This is my encouragement. Pick up a book, go to church, or bang your head against the wall, not until your circumstances shift, but until your perspective does. Because that’s when you will.

22. Relationships

Seems to be the medium through which everything happens. The bullshit, the learning, and the healing. So look alive. Like or not, no one is alone. We’re all in this together.

23. Self-Acceptance

Means coming to love yourself warts and all, not putting up such a damn front, and being gentle with yourself and others. It means accepting every part of you–even the ugly, angry, and sad parts. The weird thing? The more you accept yourself exactly as you are, the more you accept others and the world exactly as they are. And vice versa. This is why Jesus said don’t judge. Because that which you hold against someone else, sooner or later, you’ll hold against yourself. But as you accept That Which Is Unacceptable in yourself or another, That Which Is Unacceptable becomes your teacher. All parts come bearing gifts. Hold out your hands.

24. Spiritual Practice

Looks different for everyone but is something I’m convinced we all long for and participate in somehow. Maybe one person does it in the kitchen, the way they lovingly prepare the perfect meal to feed their family. Maybe another does it in a chapel. I grew up as a Christian. Last night I prayed the rosary. Now I don’t know what to call myself. More and more, the labels are unimportant. It’s the experience I’m after, the inner knowing that I’m part of something bigger than myself. The conviction that every time I take a breath, God breathes with me. I’m after what the mystics know, the truth that every life, every rock, and every molecule is both sacred and holy.

25. The Physical Body

This could be an entire series of posts. And has been. Suffice it to say that every experience we have on this planet is granted to us through our physical organism. And whereas my personal temptation has been to ignore my body’s signals (information, guidance, wisdom) or be mad it at for hurting or being sick (not good enough), I’ve learned that it is the master and I am its pupil. I am in its classroom, and I must play by its rules. So more and more I’m learning to love, honor, and take care of my body, this gift I’ve been given. Granted, it’s easy to compare yourself to others and find fault with your body, but then you miss The Mystery. Then you miss the wonder that is you.

26. Therapy and Healing

Is actually a thing. And whereas I could go on and on about different therapies and modalities I’ve tried and succeeded with, really, it all started the day I picked up the phone and called my therapist. One little choice that was really a big choice. “I think I need help,” I said. Thankfully, my therapist was a good fit for me, and her office became a safe place, a sacred place, where I could begin to put myself back together. And whereas I’ve done a lot of work on my own, I think this is a huge part of the process. Having a witness. Not someone that does the work for you, but someone who sees you and believes in you. Maybe more than you do. Someone who is willing to stick with you through it all. Another big part being what my therapist told me that first session. “For this hour we’re going to do two things: sit in truth and not judge ourselves.” So whatever path you choose, I suggest taking these two gems with you. The truth (it will set you free) and non-judgment. I promise, you’ll get further faster if you do.

27. Transformation

Is not only possible, but necessary. Just like a caterpillar can’t stay a caterpillar forever, we as humans can’t stay our old selves forever. Indeed, we’ve been designed to grow, change, transform, evolve. To forget that which is behind and press forward toward the mark. To be burned in the ashes and rise again. To die on the cross and ascend three days (or three years) later. This is written in our stories, and this is written in our cells. So just find a way to accept it. Then get on with the process. Set your foot upon The Path. Entertain the idea that you are more (insert positive adjective here) than you ever thought possible.

28. Travel Writing

Hasn’t been a huge part of my journey or this blog but is still worth mentioning. One lesson from traveling being that, just like that, the universe can take you on a trip, put someone on your path, or put you on someone else’s. Just like that, you can be in a whole new world. With a whole new perspective. JRR Tolkein said, “Still round the corner there may wait, a new road or secret gate.” Believe in this magic. Trust that as one journey ends, another is beginning.

29. Writing

Isn’t for everyone, but is for everyone. At least, words are for everyone. Personally, these words, these hundreds of thousands of words, have changed my life. Once a writer friend pointed out that I was literally writing into existence the life I wanted to live. Sweetheart, hang on for one more day. Things will get better. Lately I’ve been hashtagging all my posts #healing. And whereas I’ve thought of these statements and labels as simply my way of hoping or just description, well, in the beginning was the word. Seriously. Think of the world you create when you say something is “possible” versus the world you create when you say something is “impossible.” Notice how your thoughts, feelings, emotions, attitude, and actions change depending on which world you decide to inhabit. Crazy, I know. And that’s just one little word. Now, have the words I’ve written these last three years MADE my life change? I could never prove that. But my life has changed, and surely it’s at least partly due to the fact that at some point I started telling myself a different story. A story I wanted to hear. One of healing, forgiveness, self-acceptance, hope, transformation, and transcendence. A story in which I was the hero and there was a happy ending.

And surely anyone can do this.

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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True (Blog #1091)

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Today has been go, go, go. This morning, from a very safe distance, I saw my therapist. Then this afternoon I went for a walk while listening to an interview with Chris Voss, the former lead hostage negotiator for the FBI. About negotiating. Then when I got home I put on some sunscreen and–for the first time this year–mowed my parents’ lawn. And whereas the lawn currently looks great, my face and shoulders do not. Apparently I was a little late on that sunscreen. The sun during my walk did me in. Y’all, I am SO red. So uncomfortable. I want to jump out of my skin. But only from the neck up.

So that’s something.

This evening I listened to another interview (about the opportunities for growth we all have thanks to COVID-19), and now here I am. It’s eleven at night, and–simply put–I’m ready for a break. First, from the day, which has been full of both physical and mental work. (Learning is a brain strain.) Secondly, from this pandemic situation. Seriously, it’s taking its toll on everyone. Sure, we’re at home, but we’re stressed out, tired, worried, fearful. So many generous people are offering online classes for free to keep us entertained and better us, but I for one can’t keep up with all of them. Hell, I couldn’t keep up with all the information in my life before. Who cares if I have a little more time on my hands now? There are only so many hours in the day. And now that spring is here, unless my parents’ grass gets the coronavirus, more and more of my time is about to be spent knocking weeds over.

All this to say that not everything stops during a quarantine. You still have to take care of your lawn (although some people clearly don’t), and you still have to take care of yourself (although some people clearly don’t). Perhaps more than ever, this is THE time to take care of yourself, to really make sure you have the internal foundation required to weather a storm. Because, Buddy, it’s pouring. And whereas you can’t stop the rain, you can do everything in your power to keep it from drenching you. Alas, all too often we stand in the middle of a storm, being soaked through and through, and tell ourselves and our friends, “I’m fine. Really I am. Nothing to see here.”

This morning Facebook reminded me of two quotes I posted on this day several years ago. The first quote, by Cooper Edens said, “If your friends don’t recognize you, throw away your disguises.” Along the same lines, the second quote, by Paul Laurence Dunbar, said (in part), “We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes. This debt we pay to human guile, With torn and bleeding hearts we smile.” With torn and bleeding hearts we smile. How true, how true. Later in the poem Dunbar says, “Let them [the world] only see us, while we wear the mask.”

Standing in the middle of a storm, we say, “I’m fine. Really I am. Nothing to see here.”

Yesterday was my six-year therapy anniversary, my shrink-iversary. So today my therapist and I discussed how  much I’ve grown, how different and better my life is now than it was six years ago. And how different it might have been. “I think you’d still own the dance studio,” she said, “and be surrounded by unhealthy relationships.” Amen. “But I want you to know that for as much as you’ve changed, the person you are today is the person who walked into my office six years ago. I mean, deep down, he was in there. You haven’t become someone new. You’ve simply peeled away the layers that were covering up who you really are.”

In other words, I’ve taken off my mask.

This getting-real process, of course, is a process, and it’s not like I think I’m done, or as authentic as I ever will be. I’ve just made some important strides. And whereas I could talk every day for three years about the specifics of The Path (and have), I believe it starts with getting honest. It starts with admitting to yourself that you’re standing in the middle of a storm getting absolutely drenched and, in fact, you are not fine. Really you’re not. Granted, there’s not an answer in this admission, but there is a relief that comes in letting go of your old story. In letting down your mask, if even for a moment.

This is a scary thing to do, I grant. When you’ve spent decades with walls up, the thought of bringing them down is terrifying. In the interview I listened to today Chris Voss said that when he’s in negotiations with someone and they have their walls up, he says, “Sounds like you don’t trust me yet.” Later he explained, “State the obvious. Tell the truth. It has a profound effect on people.” Amen. Start where you are. I’m scared, I’m nervous, I don’t know what to do. I’m soaked. Whatever.

The truth will set you free.

The last thing my therapist and I discussed today was something I wrote about here several days ago, that part of me is scared to stop this blog next week because it’s been such a good thing for me, because it’s been a healing place for me to meet myself in any given storm. “It’s given me myself back,” I told her, “and I don’t want to lose that.” But she said, “You can’t lose that. It’s inside of you.” Indeed, what I’ve gained from this practice of daily introspection hasn’t come from without, it’s come from within. And I’m convinced it’s been there my entire life, just waiting for me to find it, to find me. What’s more, I’m convinced this is the case for all of us, that there’s a part of us, behind the mask, that is, in a word–

true.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Growth and getting far in life have nothing to do with where you’re physically standing.

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When Something Is Over (Blog #922)

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Some things that inspired me today–

1. A laundry mat

This afternoon I ran an errand in Fort Smith and spotted a laundry mat called Sophia Laundry. The sign said, “Come clean with us.” (Sounds like a party, right?) Anyway, I took notice because Sophia means wisdom. (Philosopher means lover of wisdom.) I thought, What’s the universe trying to say? And whereas the laundry’s slogan obviously meant–get your ass over here and wash your dirty drawers–I took it like to mean–come clean, or be honest with us.

I’ve been thinking about this all day. Not that I feel like there’s something I need to confess to the people who own Sophia Laundry, or to anyone, but I do think it’s what I’ve been doing these last years in therapy and on this blog–coming clean. To me this means being as honest as possible. This may sound like fun, but it’s not. Indeed, it’s really gross. Because coming clean with yourself means getting real about what’s working in your life and what’s not (what snot). It means owning and honoring all your emotions, including your anger. It means setting boundaries about what you’ll accept and not accept from others and, more importantly, yourself. This is hard.

But this is wisdom.

2. A Walk

After I ran my errand in Fort Smith, I stopped for hot tea and ended up walking around a nearby neighborhood. When I weighed in this week I was down (1.4 pounds) but not as much as the previous two weeks (2.4 and 2.6 pounds respectively). I’ve tried not to make a big deal about it, especially since I’ve been sick and haven’t felt like getting to the gym (but have felt like eating cheese). Still, today I thought, I’ve got the time, and it’s a gorgeous day. Let’s walk. Let’s burn some calories. Along the way I thought of a situation that’s been bothering me and remembered something my therapist often says–“If I said, ‘You’ve got thirty seconds to make a decision about this,’ what would you say?” And just like that, I had my answer.

So often we complicate things, but the truth is that part of us always knows. Going back to coming clean, this is why it’s hard. Because once you admit the truth to yourself, then you have to do something about it, and this means things will change. Conversely, there’s no change–and no responsibility–in saying, “I don’t know.” I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to think, I don’t know what to feel. These are phrases we tell ourselves to slow down the speed at which change happens in our lives, to keep things the same, to not grow up. Because we’re afraid. Because we don’t trust that good things are waiting for us. Because we don’t trust ourselves to handle whatever happens–good or bad.

3. A Vacuum Cleaner

Since the beginning of August I’ve been working at a friend’s rent house, transforming the entire thing one room at a time from brown to white. And whereas I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought I’d never finish, I eventually did. About two weeks ago I completed the last room–the kitchen. Since then I’ve been working to clean out the garage, where several previous renters had left–well–all sorts of things. Anyway, the entire project wrapped up tonight. My friend and I moved some furniture that’s being sold online, they paid me, and that was that. The new renter moves in later this week.

For me, the closing of this project is bitter sweet. Am I glad to not be rolling paint on ceilings? You’re damn right I am. But will I miss the work (it’s good to be employed) and the chance it gave me to spend time with myself, listen to podcasts, and be productive? Certainly.

I’ve heard it said that we do beginnings really well. Think about it. Whenever we get a new job, spouse, or house, we break open bottles of champagne, throw parties, and post pictures on Facebook. But how often do we do this with endings? Almost never. And yet they are just as important. Indeed, endings are required for beginnings. If you don’t believe me, think about having all your previous lovers following three feet behind you the next time you go out on a date with your current one. Talk about awkward.

Yes, endings are a good thing.

With this in mind, I decided to do a small ritual in order to honor tonight’s ending, to consciously make room for something else to come along. And whereas I guess I could have gone out to eat or celebrated, I simply vacuumed out my car. This seemed appropriate because I used my car to work on this project so much that it collected a lot of work-related debris–dirt, leaves, little flakes of paint. A few years ago I rescued a couple puppies but ending up having to take them to the Humane Society before I had my estate sale. It broke my heart, but I simply couldn’t take care of them. It took me months to wash their paw prints off my car windows. It was like a part of me was holding on. More and more I don’t want to do this. When something is over, it’s over. And that’s okay. Other things will come along.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Take your challenges and turn them into the source of your strengths.

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Let’s Talk about Poop (Blog #819)

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This morning I mowed my parents’ lawn, and because the grass was both thick and damp, made an absolute mess of myself. You should have seen my legs. They looked like they belonged to someone of a different nationality. I had my shirt off, and even my back was covered in filth. Afterwards, when I was in the shower, the water slowly washed it all away. For a moment the dirt, mud, and grass swirled around the shower drain then eventually went to live somewhere else, somewhere other than my body.

Last night I redecorated my room because yesterday afternoon I bought a new (to me) statue at an antique store and wanted to display it. As I mentioned in last night’s blog, finding a place to put the statue led to rearranging almost everything on the piece of furniture where the statue now sits. This “moving around” process has continued today. After I mowed the lawn and took a shower, I combed through all of my on-display possessions in an attempt to listen to the voice inside me that was telling me it was time to “purge,” to clean up my room like I’d just cleaned up my body. And whereas when it was all over I’d gathered up a handful of books to donate to a local library, I first had an internal struggle.

My “purge” voice said, “Get rid of that book. You don’t need it. Let someone else enjoy it.”

Then my “hold on” voice said, “But it’s pretty. It has a nice cover. I like it.”

Then my “scarcity” voice said, “What if we NEED it later? What if we never find another book like it? What if there’s NOT ENOUGH?”

Finally, Marcus at the Head of the Table made a decision. “We’re getting rid of that book,” I said. “End of discussion.”

Honestly, I was almost swayed by my “hold on” voice. I’ve let go of a lot over the last few years–most of my worldly possessions and not a few relationships. Haven’t I given up enough already? Can’t I hold on to a book if I want to?

Well, yes and no.

I’ll explain.

Our souls don’t cling to A Thing.

I have a lot of possessions that I like and enjoy but am not “attached” to. This means my butt might pucker a little if someone were to break or steal them, but, by the end of the day, I could gladly part with them. However, there are certain items that part of me clings to, that like Gollum in The Hobbit says, “We needs it.” This is when I absolutely know the best thing to do is buckle down and balls-to-the-wall set it free. Because we’re born into this life with nothing, and we leave with nothing, and I’ll be damned if a book or any other physical possession is going to turn me into a “hanger-on-er.” Our souls arrive free, and they leave free. They don’t cling to A Thing.

Byron Katie says that “letting go is sometimes experienced as sadness,” but that ultimately the sadness you feel isn’t about letting go of any possession (or person), but rather about letting go of your beliefs–the belief that you NEED something (or someone), the belief that you’re more or less because you have it (or them) or not. Yesterday I said that because everything in life is connected, changing one thing means changing everything. This applies to physical, outer-world changes, and especially to non-physical, inner-world changes, or–beliefs. As Katie would say, the letting go of a belief is the letting go of “a whole world.”

So of course you’d be sad.

Last night I went to dinner with my friend Kate and her four-year-old son. We all rode to the restaurant together, and at some point during the ride Kate’s son–out of the blue and unprovoked–said, “Marcus, let’s talk about poop.” Kate and I laughed, and I said, “Okay, let’s talk about poop.” Later I told Kate, “That’s going to be the name of a blog post,” and it’s pretty much been all I’ve been able to think about today, mostly because poop is the perfect metaphor for letting go and getting rid of that which no longer serves you. Sooner or later, you gotta do it. If you don’t, you’re gonna have a problem.

So get this shit. (See what I did there?) Today Kate’s husband, Aaron, posted a meme about that feeling you get when you’re ALMOST HOME but losing the “I gotta go number two” battle. I’ll spare you the visual details, but my initial reaction to his bathroom humor was the same as Aaron’s Mom, who said, “That’s really GROSS.” Well, Aaron, ever the comedian, responded, “The truth is gross, Mom.”

Amen. Truer words were never spoken.

In my adventures in mental health and personal and spiritual growth, the truth is nasty, filthy, a monster, and rarely fun. Like poop, it’s anything but cute. What I mean is that it’s hard as hell to get honest with yourself and others. Since starting this journey, I’ve had more difficult conversations with people I love or have loved than I care to recount. Often these conversations looked like confrontations, confrontations I either started or was on the receiving end of. My therapist says, “Is it fun to have these talks? No. Would I rather talk about something trivial? Yes. But uncomfortable, truthful conversations are the foundation or healthy relationships.”

In my experience, although I wish there were another way, this is accurate. For years, decades, I tried to hold on to my secrets until they were finally too much and I got the courage to tell my therapist, my friends, and family, “Let’s talk about poop. Let’s talk about the shit in our lives.” Again, these hard conversations, as well as letting go and changing, aren’t pleasant, but they’re the only reliable ways I’ve found to produce inner peace, further self-acceptance, and foster true connection with others. This is something Jesus forgot to say directly, that the truth will set you free–you’ll like the results–but you ain’t gonna like the process.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one's story should end on the ground."

And Now for My Next Trick (Blog #612)

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After injuring my knee yesterday while performing a dance routine, I spent last night in my mom’s recliner. Since I tend to toss and turn in the middle of the night, I was afraid I’d make things worse if I were in my bed. Plus, my bed’s a waterbed, and I imagined getting in and out of it wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world. Ugh, it’s amazing what you take for granted when you’re well and healthy. Last night and today my parents have had to do everything for me–get me my toothbrush and medications, plug in my phone and laptop, hand me my pillows, make my breakfast. And whereas I did manage to dress myself for the day, I had to lie down on the floor to do so, and my parents had to tie my shoes.

This afternoon, with the aid of crutches I borrowed from my aunt, I made my way to The Fort Smith Little Theater to rehearse for an upcoming holiday variety show that I committed to being in a few weeks ago. And whereas the original plan was for the entire improv comedy group I’m in to perform in the show, it ended up being just me. So today I joined with several junior high and high school students to prepare for a musical improv sketch–you know, the kind where we sing songs about random situations the audience suggests. Anyway, other than my having to sit for most of the rehearsal, or simply stand there on crutches while the others danced about, it was great fun. Not only did I learn some new things (I’ve never done MUSICAL improv before), it was good to get out of the house and be around the young and vivacious.

That being said, I kept looking at those teenagers thinking, Be CAREFUL with your legs! Don’t take your knees for granted!

After working at the theater, I drove to a friend’s house in Fort Smith to pick up another pair of crutches, since the ones I got from my aunt were a couple inches too short for me. My friend’s husband handed me the crutches and said, “And now for my next trick!” Hum. I’m not sure if that’s as funny on paper as it was in person, but it really did make me laugh out loud. I got this image of me about to do the stunt I did last night and saying, “Hey, y’all, watch this.” Whatever. As I told someone at the theater today, the part where I jumped over my friend’s head went really well, I just didn’t stick the landing.

This evening I’ve been planted in a comfy chair in the corner of our living room with my legs propped up on an ottoman. Mostly I’ve been scrolling through social media or reading a book. I think I fell asleep at one point. I really haven’t felt that great today. I’ve been tired, worn out, and slightly nauseated. Emotionally, I keep bouncing back and forth between Everything will be all right and If one more frickin’ thing goes wrong, I’m going to absolutely snap. In this moment, I’m leaning toward the second viewpoint, and I’m okay with that. What I mean is that so often when life throws me a curve ball, I immediately put up my defenses and formulate “a plan.” For instance, in my current situation I’m already thinking about going to doctors, doing physical rehab, and coming out of this thing “better than ever.” But THAT thought is honestly more exhausting than my knee injury, and what actually feels good in this moment is to simply sit with this feeling of overwhelm, to really get okay with not being in control or having all the answers.

But back to the theater. Improv comedy is hard enough, but musical improv is even harder. I mean, you’ve got this guy playing the piano, and when it’s your time to make up a verse, you really can’t stall for more than four bars. If you do, it gets awkward. But the advice that was given to us today was 1) your verses don’t HAVE to rhyme and 2) if you can’t come up with a good story, just state the facts. For example, we sang a song about stars, so my “just the facts, ma’am” verse went like this: “Stars are bright / Stars do twinkle / Stars are far, far away / They make me smile.” My point is that often I try to take my difficult circumstances and turn them into poetry, like this isn’t so bad because look at what I learned. However, sometimes this is simply too difficult to do, especially when the shit has seriously hit the fan within the last twenty-four hours.

So if I were to sing a song about what’s going on with my leg, my first verse would go–

My body’s tired
My knee is throbbing
I’m oh-so-very frustrated
I feel like I could cry (if only I knew how)

Then the chorus would go–

This camel’s back is broken
This camel’s back is broken
This camel’s back is broken
No more straws for me

I know this “woe-is-me” tune isn’t profound, but as our musical improv teacher said, “It’s the truth, and the truth is interesting, compelling, and beautiful, and it certainly gets the job done.” That is, saying something simple yet truthful is better than standing there with your thumb up your butt and not saying (or singing) anything at all. Of course, staying silent is tempting; it’s terrifying to create on the fly, to have NO IDEA what’s going to come out of your mouth at the moment you open it. But that’s the darling thing about improv. Sometimes you hit on something really lovely. So I’m trying to remember this, that I don’t have to have a plan for healing (or even my life), that I don’t have to know what my next trick will be. Rather, I can simply start with the facts–I’m hurting, I’m overwhelmed–and see where this truth takes me and how it sets me free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some days, most days, are a mixed bag. We cry, we laugh, we quit, we start again. That's life. In the process, we find out we're stronger than we thought we were, and perhaps this is healing.

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Maybe (Blog #392)

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Currently I’m just overwhelmed enough–by allergies, finances, and an upcoming weekend full of travel and, therefore, potentially stressful food decisions. That’s right, it’s only my first week on Autoimmune Paleo, and I’m already planning to go out-of-town–to Tulsa to perform in an improv comedy show and to Little Rock to see a play (for inspiration). Surely I can get a salad almost anywhere, but it’s so much easier to just eat “what the hell ever” when I’m crisscrossing the south. That being said, I’m already seeing the benefits of this diet, so I’m sticking to it. Not only have I lost eight of the ten pounds I gained while travel writing, but I think my skin is less irritated also. (It’s hard to tell).

But seriously, eight pounds. That’s the difference between my boobs bouncing up and down–or not–when I swing dance.

This evening I watched a YouTube video by an Autoimmune Paleo lady who said that it’s easy to get frustrated with your body when it doesn’t do what you want it to. Her suggestion was to get frustrated with your disease or problem, sure, but love your body. At first I thought this was a great idea, but the more I think about it, the more I think it sounds like hate the sin, love the sinner. (I’ve yet to figure out a good way to do this.) I mean, if my body has an problem, isn’t that problem PART OF my body–at least until it’s not? If I’m hating my immune system problem, am I not still hating my body? Wouldn’t it be better to love all of it? Not that I don’t get frustrated–I do–but I’m working on accepting myself just as I am and being grateful for my challenges because of what they reveal in me (more patience, kindness, and self-care).

One thing I did appreciate about the video is that the lady suggested being grateful for the parts of your body that DO work, recognizing the places where your body is knocking it out of the park DESPITE whatever handicap it’s facing. This is a great reminder for me. I’ve felt tired and allergy-y today, but I’ve still had more energy than I did on an average day two months ago. This afternoon I was able to go through a stack of mail, and this evening I went through “a stack” of email, in addition to cooking a meal and running a couple errands. It may sound like just a normal day, but I’m trying not to take normal days for granted. Also, I’m trying not to be overly irritated that I’m currently wiped out after “just a normal day.” I keep telling myself, My body is doing the best it can.

We’re all doing the best we can.

The truth sets you free in more ways than you can imagine.

Today my writer friend Gwen made me cry–in a good way. She’d apparently read one of my blogs from a few months ago and commented, “I love how you are healing yourself by writing the story you want to live.” This statement took me totally by surprise in the best way possible, I guess because–uh–it’s true. (God, I hope it’s true.) And maybe Gwen’s words touch me so much because I didn’t fully realize that that’s what I was doing until she said it. Like, I didn’t set out to heal myself or write the story I wanted to live thirteen months ago when this blog started. I did, however, set out to be honest, so maybe the truth really does set you free. Maybe it sets you free in more ways than you can imagine or dream possible.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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It Doesn’t Feel Like Bleeding Anymore (Blog #366, Birthday #1)

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So. We meet again.

Yesterday was my 365th blog post (wow), which means that today is technically my “blog birthday” or “blogiversary.” (I celebrated with my friends pictured above–Jennifer, Me, Nathan, Aaron, and Kate. Aaron and Kate’s little boy picked out the balloons and tiny dinosaur that I’m holding. The dinosaur was perfect because of this post.) Anyway, one year ago today I was at the library, writing my very first post–about how my shirts reeked of fabric softener (thanks, Mom) and how I needed to soften up. Since then (March 31), even though this site didn’t go live until April 4th, I’ve written one post per day. In the beginning it was tough work. I’d stay up all night, sometimes for six or seven hours, banging my head against the wall hoping something–anything decent–would fall onto the page.

At some point, however, I didn’t have to try so hard. If I found myself struggling, thinking, What am I going to write about?, I’d just say that–“It’s three in the morning, my back hurts, and I’d rather be doing something else.” If I were editing my posts for a book, I’d cut out “primer” statements like these, but I think they work here and at least help to get me going. Anyway, not only is the process faster now (some posts take an hour; yesterday’s final post took four and a quarter), but I also trust it more.

Suddenly you see a sign.

Earlier today I told my dad that I know not every post is “out of the park.” (Look, Ma, I’m a homosexual and just used a sports analogy.) In my mind I look back over the last year and definitely have my favorites, ones that either made me cry or laugh from start to finish. As a recovering perfectionist, I’d love for them all to “soar,” but I realize that’s simply not possible. Some days I feel like shit or am simply tired of digging deep and examining my past (believe it or not). But as I told my dad, here’s the funny thing–when I sit down to write a blog, I rarely know in advanced if it’s going to flop or fly. Sometimes I think I have nothing good, touching, or encouraging to say, then as I’m typing, something of that nature just pops up. It’s like you’re driving down a road at night with no particular destination and suddenly you see a sign for somewhere interesting. Turning the wheel, you think, Oh! THAT’s where I’m going.

Several people online and in person have asked me what’s next. “Are you going to keep writing?” they say. Well, the short answer is yes. Writer’s write, and now that I’ve established a daily practice, I don’t intend to stop. Plus, it doesn’t “feel right” to end this project. Going forward, I’m sure my direction will change. Early on when I started writing, certain “themes” developed, issues I was dealing with, things my subconscious obviously wanted to work out. And not that all my problems are solved because I’ve been talking about them for a year, but I’m sure different themes and issues will present themselves for “year two.” Personally, I can’t wait to see where this road leads me. That being said, I do have other projects I’d like to work on (including turning this last year’s work into a book), so I imagine that some of my posts will be shorter or less introspective.

This morning I got up early (like, before nine o’clock) to meet my friend Marla for cinnamon rolls, coffee, and more celebration. Marla gave me my first official writing job at a local magazine and has been a wonderful friend and writing mentor for quite a while now. One of my “cast of characters” here on the blog, she was part of my very first blog post and in my very first blog post picture, so it felt fitting for us to meet today–although, honestly, I would have preferred to meet in the afternoon. (If you ever want to find out how much I like you, ask me to get up early.)

Y’all, if you ever want to feel good about yourself, ask Marla to write you a letter. This morning Marla gave me a beautiful, gorgeous, encouraging letter–a congratulations for my big milestone. Here’s a small part that I’d like to share. “Ernest Hemingway said, ‘There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.’ You did not so much bleed as you did heal.”

Y’all, I agree with both Ernest and Marla. (I’ll explain.)

Like Hemingway, I’ve come to believe that writing isn’t hard. What is hard however, is bleeding, exposing yourself, being honest. What’s hard is driving down a dark highway not knowing where you’re going, all the while knowing that others are watching. But, if you can get past that part, if you can learn to care more about yourself and what you’re doing, what you believe you’re called to do, that’s where it gets easy. As soon as you’re okay with bleeding, admitting that your life is a mess and you’re just as lost as the next person, that’s the sweet spot.

It’s a bitch that it works this way, I know, and all I can say is this–I didn’t make the rules down here.

Like Marla, I believe that I’ve healed (a lot) this last year. Not that I don’t still have things I’d like to work on and improve, but thanks to my therapist and this blog, I’ve slayed a lot of dragons in the last 365 days. And here’s what I’d say to anyone–before you can put yourself back together, you have to be okay with letting yourself completely fall apart. You have to look at every “unacceptable” thing in your life–all your faults, foibles, and fears–and find a way to love yourself anyway. In other words, you have to be “okay” with bleeding. Ironically, when you are, it doesn’t feel like bleeding anymore. It just feels like being honest.

It just feels like the truth.

The setting free process never looks like you think it will.

A year ago I subtitled the blog “The truth will set your free (sort of).” (I wrote a blog about it here.) A year into my truth-seeking and truth-sharing process, I absolutely agree with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. The truth will set you free. (Hey, the guy knew a few things.) I’m still sticking to the “sort of” part though, since the setting free process never looks like you think it will. But much like the writing process, much like driving down a dark road, I’m coming to trust the process of life, to be okay with only being able to see as far as my headlights reach, to trust that the mystery of life leads us toward healing and freedom and not away from it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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I don't think anyone came to this planet in order to get it right the first time. What would be the point?

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Listening to Your Gut (Blog #298)

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You know how sometimes people, especially southern people, will compliment you and insult you at the same time? Like, I just love that shirt you’re wearing! It completely covers up your muffin top. (Uh, thanks?) Well, I had something like this happen not too long ago. I ran into an acquaintance, and in the midst of catching up, they said something unkind about me. (I’m intentionally being vague.) It was said as a joke, and since we were in public, people nearby were laughing–hell, I was laughing. But as soon as it happened, I felt my solar plexus tighten up, the way it might if some guy in a van handed your toddler a lollipop or you were on the Titanic and felt ice-cold water rushing into your cabin. Like, Houston, we have a damn problem. The conversation quickly moved on and ended, but there was no denying what my gut–my physical body–was telling me. This person wasn’t joking–they were being a douchebag. Sure, they’d disguised their insult, but it was an insult still the same.

I walked away like, Thanks for this big wooden horse. Where did you say it came from again–Troy?

Today I had therapy and told my therapist about this situation, with more specifics than I’m including here. “Am I making something out of nothing?” I asked. “Am I just being sensitive?” My therapist said that no, I was reading things correctly. She said, “They weren’t even being a douchebag. Douchebags cut you off in traffic. They were being straight-up mean.” Then she said, “You may not have done anything about it in the moment or called them up later and gave them what-for, but it’s a really big deal that you instantly knew there was a problem and that your body is speaking to you like that.”

Honestly, I think we all know when something is “rotten in Denmark.” Caroline Myss says that our chakras, our energetic bodies, are always “scanning” our environment and giving us feedback. Like, You need to get out of here now, This job isn’t right for you, That guy can’t be trusted, or, Something’s wrong–call your mother. Most of these messages come through our third chakra (located at the solar plexus), a feedback loop which is alluded to in such statements as, “I can feel it in my gut,” and, “He makes me sick to my stomach.

Personally, I know that my gut has been talking me for a long time, but I also ignored it for a long time. Had the Trojan Horse deal happened five years ago, I would have thought about it for days and convinced myself they were just joking. I would have thought, They hugged me! As I understand it, a person’s relationship with their gut (or instinct or intuition) is like any relationship. It has to be nurtured. In other words, it’s not that your gut ever stops talking to you, but it only speaks loudly and clearly if you freaking listen it. This loudly and clearly part is what I’m currently focused on. I told my dad about this situation tonight, and he said, “Were you offended?” I said, “No, I wasn’t offended–I just KNEW I was being sold a pile of shit.”

The truth has to come first.

This quick-read, I think, is the result of all the work I’ve done in therapy and on this blog. As I see it, it’s the result of authenticity. The clearer you see what’s going on inside of you, the clearer you see what’s going on outside of you. It’s that simple. I’m not saying I’m the absolute-truth meter in all situations, but I am saying that the more I develop a rapport with the truth, the more it sets me free from everything unlike it, including “fake” relationships. This process isn’t always fun, and I don’t necessarily recommend it, but my therapist says the benefits “will serve you until you’re six feet under.” Plus, it beats inauthentic living and lying to yourself. I mean, whether it’s a run-in with a Trojan Horse, a bad relationship, or a miserable job, you can ultimately only do something about a problem when see it for what it actually is–a problem. And if anything is ever going to change for the better, the truth has to come first.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can't build a house, much less a life, from the outside-in. Rather, if you want something that's going to last, you have to start on the inside and work your way out, no matter how long it takes and how difficult it is.

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