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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Nothing is set in stone here.

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The Black Goo Part (Blog #886)

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Today, Labor Day, was fabulous. This morning I finished a house sitting/dog sitting gig. And whereas I had to pick up shit (off the carpet), I didn’t step in any (like I did the other day). I consider this a win. Funny how your standards change. Anyway, after packing up, I had lunch–barbecue chicken nachos and beer–with some friends. Then I came home and unpacked. Y’all, this took a while. Whenever I house sit, even if it’s only for a few days, I bring so much stuff–a bag full of clothes, my own water filter, my own cast iron frying pan (because cast iron is supposedly better for you than aluminum is).

Finally, I got everything put away. Everything back in its place.

This evening I taught a dance lesson, and afterwards washed my car, Tom Collins. Since acquiring Tom over two years ago, I’ve made an concerted effort to keep him clean, but alas, he’s nonetheless gotten quite filthy this summer. As I just said, I’ve been toting a lot of stuff around, as well as mowing a few lawns. Plus, it’s been raining a good deal. Consequently, Tom has been dirty, dirty, dirty inside and out. And whereas I’ve been telling myself I’m too busy to clean him up, today I decided the rest of the world could wait. I thought, It’s more important for me to feel good.

I mean, who doesn’t feel better driving a clean car?

I’ve heard some people say the secret to success is making your bed every day. I’m not sure that I believe it’s that simple, but I do think there’s something to it. That is, whenever my room is tidy or my car is clean, I feel calmer, like there’s order in the world. Conversely, whenever things are a mess, it’s like I wake up in chaos, drive to work in chaos, and–on some level–feel chaos everywhere I go. I’m always saying that the inside affects the outside, but there’s both truth and magic in the idea that the outside affects the inside. This is why how a space is organized and decorated influences your mood. This is why feng shui is a thing.

So go clean something. Feel better now.

This evening I helped some other friends run speaker wire in a store they’re helping to open. This involved two of us on a ladder attaching wire to metal trusses with zip ties and one of us down on the ground feeding the wire. Well, at one point I noticed that the dust on our hands was getting the recently painted trusses dirty, so I grabbed some rags from my car so we could wipe the trusses down. And get this shit–when I went to my car I noticed an absolutely beautiful yellow and brown moth (an Imperial Moth, I found out later) hanging out on the hood of Tom Collins.

Spoiler alert, it may have been dead. (It didn’t fly off when I drove home later, but rather got “swept away.”)

For the last few weeks while painting I’ve been listening to lectures by Stephan A. Hoeller, a gnostic mystic. In one of his talks he says that the point of life or one’s spiritual journey is not to change but rather to transform. This process of transformation, he says, is often compared to a caterpillar becoming a butterfly or moth–because the old must die in order to make way for the new. He further explains that when a caterpillar morphs into a butterfly or moth, it doesn’t simply sprout wings. Rather, during the pupa stage, it literally dissolves itself using its acidic stomach juices and becomes what Hoeller says is “a black goo” and what the internet says is a mass of imaginal or undifferentiated cells (or cells that can become anything–er–anything like a heart or liver, not anything like Liza Minelli.). It is from this black goo that the butterfly eventually emerges.

My point in sharing this example of transformation is twofold. First, if you really want to live up to your highest potential, know that it’s messy business. Between what you are and what you’ll become, there’s the black goo part. In alchemical terms, it’s called putrefaction–the dissolving of your old life (your old thoughts, viewpoints, habits, and patterns). As I’m always saying, it’s not fun. I wouldn’t recommend it. Better said, I wouldn’t recommend STAYING in this phase. How would one stay in the black goo phase? Easy–keep hanging on to your old life. Keep insisting you’re a caterpillar. Keep insisting you’ll never fly.

My second point is that any true transformation is whole and complete. Now, this doesn’t mean that if you’re on The Path you’re guaranteed to lose a hundred pounds or go from rags to riches. The transformation I’m promoting involves more than just working on the outside. It involves more than making your bed every day, although, granted, these activities might jumpstart or support in internal transformation. But back to true transformation being whole and complete. This means that it touches every area of you life. It means every area of your life will–most likely–be turned upside down (the black goo part) IN ORDER TO BE put back together in a better fashion. Jesus said, “Behold, ALL THINGS are become new” and “Except a man be BORN AGAIN, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” This means you–the old you, the caterpillar you–has to die first.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your emotions are tired of being ignored.

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On Transformation and the Dark Night (Blog #870)

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This afternoon I continued painting the bathroom I started painting yesterday. It’s coming along. Today I rolled on a second coat, and the walls went from being one-coat-blah to there-we-go-that’s-nice. The more I paint, the more I’m reminded of the lessons it teaches. For one thing, nothing happens all at once. There’s always a process. One coat, two coats, sometimes three (all these coats get paint on me). For another, every process involves waiting. I always want to get projects done in one day, but painting goes better when you don’t–because the paint needs time to dry. Plus, whenever you walk away from something, you can come back to it later with a new perspective.

For as many rooms as I’ve painted over the years, I’m continually amazed by The Process. Both before the first brushstroke and after the last one, I stare at a room in amazement. Before I think, This is such a mess. How am I going to do this? After I think, Wow! I did it. This is SO MUCH better. Suddenly all the hard work and long hours become worth it.

Hard work and long hours are the only way I’ve found to turn a room around, by the way. You’ve simply got to put in the time and you’ve got to break a sweat (or pay someone else to) if you want solid results. Knowing this, I still get overwhelmed. Just today I thought, I’m never going to get this bathroom done. But then I reminded myself that in that moment it wasn’t my job to paint the entire bathroom. Rather, in that moment it was my job to paint the square foot of wall in front of me. Just that one square foot. So that’s what I did. Over and over again, I concentrated on the section of wall in front of me, and–eventually–I covered the whole room. This is how I’ve written 870 consecutive blogs (including tonight’s)–one blog at a time.

As I was painting today I thought a lot about change (for obvious reasons). Stephan Hoeller points out that there are three types of change–cyclical change (as in the seasons), linear change (as in growing older or trading in one vehicle or outfit for another), and transformational change (as in a caterpillar becoming a butterfly). Transformational change involves the death of an old life (the caterpillar) and the birth of a new one (the butterfly). Sticking with the house metaphor, transformational change would involve knocking down old walls and putting up new ones. (At the very least painting a wall and rearranging, or better yet, buying all new furniture–preferably nothing cheap from IKEA unless, of course, you’re in college). Hoeller says this is really why we’re down here on planet earth–not to learn something, but to transform–though few of us are willing to put in the hard work and time required to do so.

Jesus said, “Behold, all things are become new,” and I would say this is the test as to whether the process of transformation (not just linear change) has begun in your life. Is EVERYTHING at least starting to look different than it used to? Robert Ohotto explains it this way. When you have a pattern of behavior (let’s say you’re a perfectionist or a people pleaser), that pattern touches every relationship in your life. Because that pattern CREATED every relationship in your life. Well, let’s say you wake up one day and have the little thought, I’d like to stop being such a hard ass about everything, or I’d like to stop giving a shit what everyone else thinks of me. If you’re serious–whoops! This means that everything your perfectionist or people pleaser created–every relationship–now has to shift, perhaps crumble, in order to make room for more productive patterns and their subsequent creations to step in.

So look out.

This shift in relationships (to other people, to money, to yourself) is what has traditionally been referred to as The Dark Night of the Soul and what Ohotto calls The Dark Night of the Ego (because what’s dark for your soul?). Quite frankly, it’s the process I’ve been going through these last five plus years, and, although it’s a necessary part of transformation, it’s not fun. It’s why I say the truth will set you free (sort of) and why I say I don’t recommend this path. In truth, I do recommend it, but transformation is an ugly and uncomfortable business, and I’d like to be ever clear about that. In the Bible, Jonah was three days in the belly of the whale, and Christ was three days in the grave. Before the Phoenix rose anew from the ashes, it dis-integrated into ashes. Hoeller says before a caterpillar becomes a butterfly, it becomes “a black goo.” Ohotto says before you can become SOMEBODY, you must first become NOBODY. So the point has been made time and time again–death precedes life.

I don’t like this any more than you do.

[One last thing. In terms of tonight’s photo, which features me holding a sign that says, “Be awesome today,” I feel like I need to add–like, no pressure.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Allowing someone else to put you down or discourage your dreams is, quite frankly, anything but self-care.

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On Tragedy, Trauma, and Transformation (Blog #797)

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Phew. I just spent the entire day working. Twelve straight hours. This morning I began cleaning a friend’s house, which I’m taking care of this week. And whereas I was a bit overwhelmed when I started (it’s a big house), I’ve just been taking it room by room, piece of furniture by piece of furniture. My friend’s dog isn’t helping. In fact, when I took him for a walk this evening in the rain, he came back in the front door and promptly shook all the water off in “my” clean living room. The nerve!

Thankfully I hadn’t mopped the floors yet.

After nearly six hours of cleaning, I switched gears and went to my friends Todd and Bonnie’s to finish installing door hardware, a project I’ve been working on for a couple weeks now. This evening I put locks back on doors–um–four locks successfully. One lock broke (whoops), and another is missing parts. Who knows where they went! Next, I took a shower. Then I taught a dance lesson to a couple who’s getting married soon. The guy was so excited that he jumped up and down. I wish all my students did this. That being said, most of my students do pay me, and that makes me jump up and down, so–next best thing.

Now I’m back at my friend’s house. After walking the dog I thought about cleaning some more but then thought it better to write before my brain quit working. However, when I sat down in this chair, everything quit working–my brain and my body. Seriously, I could pass out right this very minute. Is this what people who have jobs and work all day feel like–exhausted?

Manual labor–it’s for the birds.

I’m joking, but it actually feels good to be tired. There’s a certain satisfaction that comes from knowing I’ve worked hard not just today but lately. Todd and Bonnie’s looks so good–the doors are freshly painted (some else’s work), they open and shut properly (I hung some and other people adjusted them), and all the antique hardware absolutely pops. Likewise, the place I am now is beginning to sparkle. There’s still a lot to do (hopefully tomorrow), but I made a serious dent in things today. Recently a jet-lagged friend told me they cleaned their house instead of sleeping–because “it’ll feel so good when everything is finished.” This is the satisfaction I’m talking about, the yeah-it-was-tiring-but-I-did-it feeling.

This tired-but-satisfied feeling is what I often feel regarding this blog. I mean, after almost 800 days in a row, it’s starting to get old. Not that I don’t love it and not that it doesn’t do a lot for me–it does, it’s changed my life–but it wears me out. This is often the case with things that transform us. They take everything we’ve got and then some. While cleaning today I listened to a lecture about Goethe’s Faust (I and II), and the speaker said that Faust I ends in tragedy. Faust’s wife dies after killing their baby. (I know this is a spoiler alert, but the book is over two hundred years old, so it’s not like you haven’t had a chance to read it.) This is the deal on planet earth, the speaker said, tragedy comes with the territory. But don’t fret. Whereas a lot of modern interpretations of Faust end the story in despair (at the end of Faust I), Goethe intended and wrote a different ending (Faust II), an ending that includes Faust’s healing and transformation.

In other words, things get better.

Our traumas can transform us.

I’ve learned not to bemoan the horrible things in life. Not that you’ll never hear me complain about having a long day or an aching body. Complaining is too much fun. But in terms of the big stuff–the major traumas and ordeals–I don’t see the point in grousing. Because we all have shit happen. Considering the fact that our traumas can transform us if we let them, they don’t have to be the worst thing. Granted, transformation isn’t a passive act. You have to do your part, or your traumas could transform you into a resentful, bitter ass. Yes, there’s work to be done. Houses and door knobs don’t clean themselves, and neither do your insides. I wish it weren’t this way on planet earth. I wish The Hard Work weren’t required to achieve almost every truly satisfying thing. But I don’t make the rules around here. If you’re a phoenix and want a new life, you’ve got to go through the fire.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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On Myths and Where the Magic Happens (Blog #518)

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“For as God uses the help of our reason to illuminate us, so should we likewise turn it every way, that we may be more capable of understanding His mysteries; provided only that the mind be enlarged, according to its capacity, to the grandeur of the mysteries, and not the mysteries contracted to the narrowness of the mind.” — Francis Bacon

Today I have adjusted to being back home in Arkansas. By this I mean that I’ve spent the entirety of the day hiding from the rest of the world. I did make a few phone calls this afternoon and am currently at the dinner table blogging while my parents watch the nightly news and my laundry goes round and round–but otherwise I’ve been locked in my room reading three different books, all of which I’m having to swallow and digest in pieces. And whereas my default is to think, Ugh. I have so many MORE books that I want to read and finish, and there’s just NOT enough time, today I’ve been working on accepting the fact that there will ALWAYS be more books than I have time to read.

And good. I’d rather be overly fascinated with and wanting to learn from life than to be bored with it.

Earlier while reading a book about fears, I started thinking about the fact that all throughout elementary, junior high, high school, and college, I was a straight-A student. At one time I would have said this as a matter of pride, but now I don’t see it as something to brag about; it’s simply a fact. And whereas school always came easily and I didn’t really have to “try hard” to get good grades, I do remember being deathly afraid of getting a B–of being less than perfect.

Whatever perfect means.

Ick. I guess I’ve never been able to completely shake the feeling that less-than-average, average, and slightly better-than-average just aren’t good enough–it’s gotta be the best–I gotta be the best. (If you identify with this thinking, I can only assume that you’re as exhausted as I am.) This “affection for perfection” is what, I think, is ultimately behind my desire for everything in my life to be just so. I want my body to feel a certain way, I want my closet arranged in a particular order, and I want my books completely read. There is, after all, nothing like a to-do list or a to-read list that’s all checked off.

But this evening I thought, Give it a fucking rest, Nancy. You don’t have to finish every book you start. What’s wrong with being a B reader?! Which felt good. Later, while updating my website and the fees I charge for different services (like teaching dance or remodeling houses), I noticed that some of the fees were formatted like this–$50/hr–and others were formatted like this–$50 / hr. Specifically, I noticed that some of the fees don’t have spaces before and after the slash and that and others do. Anyway, normally I’d go back and format them all the same, but tonight I thought, It’s been like that for four years, and just left it alone–not perfect, but part of the “good enough” club–something a B-student would do. Which felt fabulous.

Miraculously, the world’s still spinning.

One of the books I started reading today is called The Hero: Myth/Image/Symbol by Dorothy Norman. Much like the work of Joseph Campbell, it compares myths from different cultures and highlights their similarities, the point being that all the great myths, more than conveying FACTS, convey TRUTHS about a person’s individual potential. They speak about the journeys we’re on and–if we let them–have the power to transform our souls and spirits. I say “if we let them” because if you read a myth as either pure fact (history) or pure fiction (entertainment), it won’t do much for you. But if you read them as INTENDED, as being ABOUT YOU and, therefore, relatable and relevant to YOUR life, well–as the celebrities say about their bedrooms–this is where the magic happens.

As I understand it, the myths, like proper symbols, are designed to evoke or draw out of us our higher potentialities or levels of consciousness. In other words, they’re about personal transformation–transformation that, as the quote at the beginning of tonight’s blog communicates, doesn’t change “the mysteries” to fit the individual, but rather changes the individual to fit “the mysteries.” Connecting this idea to what’s happened for me today, it means that I could spend the rest of my life trying to order my PHYSICAL world around by organizing the shit out of everything and completing every book and project I start, but that would be, ultimately, fruitless and frustrating because the PHYSICAL world doesn’t need changing. My INTERNAL one does.

It is I (my way of thinking) that must enlarge.

Transformation ain’t for sissies.

I wish I could tell you that even a small shift in consciousness or seeing yourself or the world is something you can do quickly and easily, like, in a weekend. Alas, this has not been my experience. Rather, every positive change I’ve undergone in my life in terms of thinking and behaving has been long-fought and hard-won. This, incidentally, is why virtually all myths include a mountain to climb, a giant to kill, a dragon to tame, or a golden something (fleece, goose egg, take your pick) to snatch from an ogre. Transformation, the myths tell us, ain’t for sissies. What’s more, this process takes time and, as the book I’m reading says, “is impossible to hasten.” I realize this doesn’t sound like a pep talk, but the myths tell us that The Hard Work is worth all your energy and effort, which is why so many fairy tales and myths end with a victory, a marriage, a resurrection (like that of the Phoenix, the Christ, Lazarus, or even Harry Potter), or some other cause to celebrate.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is all right and okay.

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On Flight Delays and Volatile Emotions (Blog #511)

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What a damn day.

This afternoon I drove to Tulsa to fly to Washington, DC, for a swing-dance event. HOWEVER, after boarding the plane and sitting on the tarmac for nearly two hours while a mechanical issue was being worked on, I and all the other passengers were informed that SOME of us would not only miss our connecting flights, but would also ultimately NOT arrive at our intended destinations until tomorrow. And whereas I was originally NOT one of the people who would be delayed overnight, by the time the whole thing was said and done, I was.

“You can either spend the night in Tulsa and fly out at 6:30 in the morning,” the smiling gate-agent said, “or spend the night in St. Louis on us and fly out at 9:00 in the morning.”

Of course, dear reader, you know I’m not a morning person.

“I’ll spend the night in St. Louis,” I said. “Will my checked bag be there when I arrive?”

“Yes,” she said, “yes it will.”

At this point, I really wasn’t the slightest bit put upon or pissed off. I mean, I’ve never had this overnight-delay thing happen before with an airline, but I HAVE been delayed before. Shit happens. Hell, my entire life feels like it’s been on layover for over a year now, so what’s one more day? As I’m just going to the dance event as an observer (in order to offer feedback from a business consultant’s perspective), it’s not like I HAVE to be there this red-hot minute. And whereas I was recently ticked off by an American Airlines flight that was delayed and was (in my opinion) handled poorly, this afternoon I was actually delighted by the way today’s airline–Southwest–dealt with everything. First, they gave me a voucher for the hotel, then they gave me $200 in flight credits that I can use anytime within the next year. And get this shit–when the guy next to me ordered an alcoholic drink during the flight that FINALLY took off for St. Louis, they wouldn’t let him pay for it.

“Don’t worry about it,” they said.

Talk about customer service. I’m such a bitch about these sorts of things, and they handled the entire situation like complete pros. My only objection: I wish I’d known about the free drink thing BEFORE I ordered a Ginger Ale. Still, I thought, This could work out. A free night in a hotel (I like hotels)–a good night’s rest–travel vouchers!

Arriving in St. Louis, I de-boarded the plane and found my way to baggage claim. This is the point in the story where things start to go downhill. After an hour of waiting, my bag still hadn’t shown up. So I checked with an agent. “Oh,” she said, “the computer says it never left Tulsa.”

“That’s not cute,” I said.

“No, it’s not,” she said.

“Well,” I said, “what about the fact that now I’m going to have to pay for a toothbrush and toothpaste and such?”

“Well, since the hotel has those things complimentary,” she said, “we can’t reimburse you for that.”

“Okay,” I said.

But here’s the thing–when I got to the hotel, they said those items WEREN’T complimentary and that I’d have to pay for them. Well, that I’d have to pay for them IF they had them, since they had toothbrushes but were OUT of toothpaste, and–OBVIOUSLY–a toothbrush isn’t much good WITHOUT toothpaste to put on it. So now my mouth is going to taste like a bag of assholes tomorrow morning.

And that’s not cute either.

Now I’m downstairs in the hotel at TGI Friday’s eating dinner and trying to drink enough beer to not give a shit about this frustrating situation. I keep telling myself, This isn’t personal. I’ve met several nice people who are in the same predicament as I am. And I’m safe. If I want to, I can Uber myself to Walmart to buy toothpaste and a clean pair of underwear (on my dollar). But what’s the point? Why spend money I don’t HAVE to when I can just rough it for the next twelve or so hours and hopefully be reunited with my stuff? And considering that I have to be up early tomorrow to do the whole airport security thing again, why stay up later than I have to?

How can I rework this?

How to conclude this? Currently I’m awash with emotions. And whereas normally I give myself a hard time anytime I’m frustrated, pissed off, or anything less than gracious (you know, I AM from the south), this evening I’m giving myself more latitude to feel worn out and upset. I mean, I am. That’s the truth. One thing today did provide was a lot of time to read my book about alchemy, and it said that volatile substances or emotions are actually what you want if you’re interested in transformation. In other words, it’s okay to get upset or angry or whatever because, as an alchemist, you need some type of base material to work with, some sort of lead you can take into your laboratory and turn into gold. Like, here’s a situation that’s currently weighing me down. My flight’s delayed. I don’t have any toothpaste. Now how can I rework this so that it becomes a positive instead of a negative, a reason to be grateful rather than a reason to gripe?

I’m working on it.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

[In case you didn’t notice, check out the girl who photo-bombed today’s selfie on the plane. When I spotted her just a few minutes ago, I laughed out loud. So that’s something.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The truth doesn’t suck.

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On Symbols and Transformation (Blog #494)

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Today I have done nothing but eat, sleep, and read. I’ve read so much, my brain has turned to slush. I expect any minute now it will run out my ears and onto my shoulders. Even if it did, I’m too tired, too physically depleted to care. I’ve been wiped out all day, despite sleeping in this morning and taking a nap this afternoon.

My body is a mystery.

Currently it’s past midnight, and I’m on information overload. Earlier I finished a book on the meaning of symbols, and since then I’ve read a few chapters in a book about hypnosis and over a hundred pages in a six-hundred page book about alchemy and mysticism. Don’t ask me to intelligently summarize anything I’ve read today. Not that I haven’t learned anything, but it just hasn’t congealed yet. My inner perfectionist wishes I had instant understanding and recall of everything I read, but that’s simply not the way learning works for me. I need exposure and then application before understanding comes.

And sleep, I need sleep.

One thing I have learned–about symbols, specifically–is that they speak to both our conscious and subconscious minds. A simple as letters on a page or as complex as a mandala, symbols can range from the jewelry you put on each day to the dreams have each night, and are essentially forms of communication–a crown that denotes royalty, black clothes that indicate mourning, a red door that means “you’re welcome here.” And whereas some symbols have to be explained, others are automatically comprehended by the subconscious. For example, the four points of the cross stand for the four elements (fire and water, air and earth) or the four cardinal directions (north and south, east and west) of the physical world. So–among other things–the image of Christ on the cross is about going beyond all pairs of opposites. It’s about finding your center point, your immovable spot, your soul. But if you’re organically drawn to this image, no one has to tell you what it means. Part of you gets it.

The way I think about it, symbols CALL US to be something we CAN BE but aren’t currently. They’re like examples, seeds that are planted in our minds that, if properly tended to, can grow into the thing they stand for. Honestly, I’m not sure they work if they’re used logically and rationally and not mysteriously. Like, several years ago I bought a picture of a man dancing, then later bought a chandelier with several children dancing along the edges. I’m a dancer, of course, but it wasn’t about that. The IMAGES simply compelled me. They still do. Looking at them now, I know it’s because, deep down, I associate them with freedom. They communicate to my spirit (or rather, they communicate FROM my spirit) that there’s another way–a lighter, less encumbered way–to move about in this world.

I hope this makes sense. The point is that symbols have the power to awaken within us dormant energies or ways of being if used correctly. By correctly I mean that you have to personally identify with the symbol–it has to to you in some way, and no one else (including me) can tell you what a specific symbol means. If you look at the crucifix and want to vomit because you had a bad experience in Catholic school–well–find yourself another image. Or if dancers don’t give you a sense of peace and freedom but the beach does, go with that.

Put some sand on the back of your toilet. Hang a picture of the seashore on your wall.

The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

Lately I’ve been chewing on the idea that both symbols and the subconscious are powerful and capable forces. For years I’ve read about people who were “free” and wondered if I ever would be one of them. Internally, that is. But I’m learning to trust that just as I can read information, apply it, and watch it come together, I can also trust that I’m attracted to the symbols I’m attracted to for a reason; my life is coming together too. In other words, the symbols that fascinate us aren’t there to tease us (look what you can’t have); they’re there to transform us. Personally, I’m coming to respect them more and more. Because they work. I used to look at those dancers and think, Wouldn’t that be nice to be free? But now I think, Yes, it IS nice, this feeling of freedom. Sometimes it even comes so naturally, I think, Part of me has been a dancer all along.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is never a straight line.

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Scared of Everything (Blog #417)

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It’s one in the morning, and I’m at my friend Bonnie’s house using her fancy, in-the-air, high-speed internet. I just finished working on a travel writing story and am now onto the blog. I keep getting distracted by QVC and the Home Shopping Network, two channels that Bonnie is flipping back and forth between on the big screen TV on the other side of the room. Thank God I’m not a girl or into drag because I’d be buying one of everything–little strappy sandals, dangly earrings–and all of it on sale for five easy payments of $29.99.

Look away, Marcus, look away.

The travel writing story I’m working on is due tomorrow, so naturally I didn’t start working on it until yesterday. I put it off, put it off, and really worked the whole thing up to be a big monster in my head. I thought, This is going to be awful. I mean, I’ve never written a travel writing story before now. That being said, I have WRITTEN before, so yesterday I just dug right in–and it wasn’t that bad. Three hours later, I was more than halfway done. But then I did the same thing today, practically convinced myself, I can’t do this. But then I did. Except for changes that come back from my editor, I’m done. (Phew.)

Although I do have to get pictures together, and that terrifies me.

I’m not sure why I scare the shit out of myself about everything even remotely new–writing a travel story, meeting a stranger, hell, taking a trip down the vegetable aisle. I’ve never picked out an eggplant before! I’m sure this started somewhere in my childhood, thinking that something was going to go wrong. And yet I have years of evidence that something–most things, actually–are going to go right. Sure, I’ve never written a travel story before, but I’ve written plenty of other stories, and all of them have been “good enough” or better. Even the ones that came back from my editor marked “start over” were stories that I learned from.

Like, don’t do that again.

Earlier tonight I taught a dance lesson and showed a couple how to do a dip, a move that’s almost always a disaster initially. Everyone has to figure our how to hold their own body, then the guy has to support the girl, and the girl has to trust the guy to support her. It’s a lot. But after a while, things start to come together, and I guess it’s that way with everything new in life–awkward at first, but then you find your rhythm. That’s how it’s been with this blog. I used to sit down petrified. What am I going to say now? And whereas I occasionally still think that, for the most part, this project has become a lot like brushing my teeth–a routine.

It’s a big deal.

Maybe I’ll always have a trepidation about new things–job opportunities, improv shows, visiting foreign cities. But more and more I’m trying to interpret that feeling not as my body’s way of saying, “Don’t do this,” but rather my body’s way of saying, “You HAVE to do this.” Because now that I’ve written the story I’m thinking, What was all the fuss about? That was easy! That was even fun. I’m proud of myself. It may seem like a little thing, writing a thousand-word story, but I think it’s a big deal anytime you do something you’ve been scared of doing, anytime you prove to yourself that you’re more capable than you previously thought you were.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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None of us is ever really lost. At least we're never really alone. For always there is someone to help point your ship in the right direction, someone who sees you when you can't see yourself.

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I’ll Take the Slow Grind (Blog #256)

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Last night I listened to an interview with Bob Walter, the man who runs the Joseph Campbell Foundation. (You know I’m a big Joseph Campbell fan.) Well, apparently at one point Bob and Joe started a publishing company to get Joe’s message out, and Bob had to be a little pushy. “No one is interested in this stuff,” Joe said.

“You mean you get discouraged?” Bob said.

“Of course I get discouraged,” Joe said. “I’m human.”

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and the collection of stickers on her laptop continues to grow. Since I last saw her, she’s added a “no texting” sticker, as well as one of a skeleton sitting at a computer that says, “The Internet–Please enjoy everybody’s opinion.” Also, she had two new rings on her fingers, both of which were serious bling and could easily anchor a medium-sized boat in the middle of a hurricane. Naturally, I was jealous. To be clear, I’m not talking about diamonds–this was straight up costume jewelry. “Absolutely fabulous,” I said.

“You know, I’m trying some new things,” she said.

Most of our time today was spent talking about personal change, about how it’s not as easy as everyone, all the people who write books, make it out to be. This is one of my pet peeves lately, that self-help material, vitamin shops, and online yoga classes aren’t more up front about the fact that while helpful, they’re not a panacea. Rather–and I get that everyone’s trying to make a dollar–they make it sound like if you buy their product, you’ll be eternally happy, find the perfect sex-hungry partner, and have wrinkle-free skin. I can’t tell you how long I bought into this crap. I still struggle with it. Who doesn’t want a magic bullet?

“You’re not the only one who’s been given that impression,” my therapist said. “But transformation is real fucking hard. It’s the slow grind. There’s no other way.”

The–slow–grind. No kidding. That’s been my experience. I’ve spent more time in the self-help, psychology, philosophy, and spirituality aisles in the bookstore than anyone else I know–I have a rockstar therapist I’ve seen consistently for over three years–these are just facts. And if there’s something I could pass on from all my time and effort, it’d be this–a better life is completely possible, but it’s a long, tough ride to get there. (Saddle up, partner.) I realize this isn’t what people want to hear–I don’t want to hear it–but it’s the truth. “It just takes patience,” my therapist says. “And patience is a bitch.”

After therapy I had lunch with my friend Ray. I haven’t seen him in maybe a month, and it was truly a shot in the arm. We laughed, then laughed some more. For a while Ray and I talked about getting discouraged, the slow grind, and being patient as change occurs. Ray said he thought a big element of success was simply continuing to show up–to therapy, a support group, even a dance class. Again, I guess this is the idea that change and transformation come in little pieces. Rarely is something a “one and done.”

Being authentic isn’t for sissies.

I can’t tell you how much I hate this–little pieces, being patient, all of it. I wish transformation were easier, and, like Joe, I often get discouraged with this path. Being authentic isn’t for sissies. I get on the internet, read everybody’s opinion, and it’s easy to feel as if I’m doing something wrong. People comment online and send me private messages, tell me I’d be better off if I did something different with my hair, wore other clothes, didn’t cuss so much, or smiled more. I mention this because it’s something else most teachers don’t talk about. They tell you to be authentic–wear gaudy jewelry if you want to!–but they don’t tell you that the more true to yourself you are, the more pushback you get, often from people you care about.

I don’t mind saying this sucks.

I realize this take on the long, tough ride of transformation and the challenges of being authentic isn’t exactly encouraging. It wouldn’t sound great on an infomercial. But wait, there’s more–it gets worse before it gets better! But I wouldn’t be sharing these opinions if they weren’t my honest experience and if I didn’t absolutely believe that all the hard work and all the continuing to show up were worth it. Because I do. Sure, there are days when I get discouraged and feel like I’m going nowhere. I’m human too. But I’ll take my worst day now over my best day five years ago because now I’m being real. I’m closer to myself every day. And if the slow grind is what it takes to get me closer to myself, I’ll take the slow grind.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of.

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Road Trips, Reunions, and Rise and Fall (Blog #196)

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9:06 AM

Believe it or not, I’ve been awake for an hour. I got to Wichita last night around 10:30, visited with my friends Megan and Kevin for a while, and crashed pretty hard sometime between midnight and one. My friends stashed me in the apartment above their garage, so I’m currently fighting the temptation to play with all the Legos in here that either belong to their two boys or to Kevin. Before I passed out last night I checked the distance I have to drive to Denver today, and it should take about eight hours, provided I don’t stop to eat, get gas, or go to the bathroom. So we’ll see how it goes. I’m pretty sure Tom Collins (my car) and I are going to need a few breaks.

Rather than write today’s blog in one sitting and therefore postpone my departure time, I’m trying something different–a play-by-play. Basically I’ll be writing “live” as I stop for lunch or whatever. Or maybe the next timestamp will be tonight when I get to Denver. Either way, think of this as an adventure. You can even imagine yourself on the trip with me if that makes it more exciting for you. Now that we’re up and dressed, our first stop is inside the house to see about breakfast and caffeine.

Here we go.

10:18 AM

Jackpot. Megan hooked me up with breakfast–fruit, toast, coffee. She has some sort of magical device made by space aliens that attached to her toaster and makes hard-boiled eggs. What will they think of next? Now I’m getting close to leaving. Just need to pack up the rest of my things, throw them in Tom Collins, and Denver, here I come.

Here’s a picture of Megan and me at breakfast. That little guy she’s holding is a Lego dude with a sword. Hello!

1:40 PM

After about three hours of driving, I just stopped because my gas tank and my bladder told me to. Now my gas tank is full and my bladder is empty, whereas it was the other way around just a few moments ago. So far the only thing to report is that one of the gentlemen in the restroom didn’t wash his hands before walking out. Otherwise, all is well. I’ve been listening to “Despacito” on repeat (bom bom), as well as a lecture by psychologist James Finley on the relationship between trauma and transformation. In part of the talk he used the phrase, the holiness of ordinariness, which I love. It’s the idea that within each moment, there’s something of the sacred. Since things are always changing, today’s particular sun will never shine in quite the same way. In this light, even the flat plains of Kansas look beautiful, each windmill its own miracle.

4:22 PM (MST)

Okay, now I’m in Mountain Standard Time, so it feels like I woke up an hour earlier than I actually did. I’m starting to get tired. For one thing, all the driving. For another, I’m all a mile high and there’s not a lot of air up here. Thank god my brain doesn’t need oxygen to function. Oh wait. I just got gas and am about to run through Taco Bell and hit the road again. I just have a couple more hours to tonight’s destination, and I just realized Tom Collins is a murderer–there are hundreds (hundreds) of dead bugs on the front of my car. Maybe if I’d left that Jesus fish on the back of Tom Collins he’d have better morals. Regardless, I hope he feels good about himself. Anyway, time for a burrito.

12:32 AM (MST)

I arrived in Denver about six hours ago and am just getting to my laptop. I’m staying with my friend and dance mentor, Maggie, and one day I should probably write an entire blog–or book–about her. She’s short, loud, Italian, and good as gold. Her dance studio is connected to her house, and this honestly feels like a second home to me. Not only is it the place where I learned it was okay to cuss in front of dance students, but it’s also the place where I’ve learned most of what I know about ballroom dancing and been encouraged more times than I can count. Last year when I was thinking about closing the studio and moving to Austin, Maggie’s the one who said, “If you’re not happy, you gotta start over.”

Anyway, when I walked in the door, Maggie gave me a big hug, then I watched her teach waltz for half an hour. Afterwards she taught a group class in swing, so I got to watch and participate. I always forget how funny Maggie is. She’s like a drill sergeant, a stand-up comedian, and Mother Teresa all rolled into one. Outside her studio she has a huge water fountain where she’s added a sign that says, “Ryzan Falls.” Get it–rise and fall? (It’s a dance thing.)

After dancing, Maggie and I went out to eat with her roommate, Jon. Oh my god, y’all, we had so much fun catching up, sharing our dramas, eating carbs. Maggie told me that last year her boyfriend was learning a dance move from YouTube, and when he showed it to Maggie and asked if she knew the instructor (because all dance instructors know each other), she said, “Yes, actually–that’s Marcus! He’s my student.”

Isn’t that wild?

Now I’m wishing I had more time to spend here. Maggie and her friends and students are always so welcoming, and Denver has so much to offer. I’ve been out dancing here so many times, and there’s a great used bookstore. Plus, I love watching Maggie teach. I always learn something and never fail to laugh. That being said, I’m in town for different reasons this time, so rather than feel as if I’m missing out on something, I’m trying to remind myself that it’s a treat to simply be here at all. A miracle, really.

Even though, like, I wasn’t born in the Great Depression, it still amazes me that in one day I can wake up in Wichita and fall asleep in Denver, but that’s what happened today. In between were hundreds of miles, moments, and memories. Who’s to say which ones were ordinary, which ones holy? What makes one thing better than another? Perhaps that’s just a game we play with ourselves. Each day the events of our lives, like our moods, rise and fall, and what if the divine is right there in the middle of us like a steady beat, just waiting for us to notice and to get in time with the music?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In other words, there's always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it's also technically impossible.

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