I Can Do Hard Things (Blog #684)

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What to talk about?

After we discovered multiple leaks under our kitchen sink a couple days ago, yesterday my dad called a plumber, who came by late last night. Then he, or rather someone else he called, came by this morning and fixed everything. And not that it’s about me, but the plumber said my efforts to patch a particular copper pipe with putty (say that five times fast) could have worked had the line been drained and completely dry. “They claim that stuff works on a wet surface, but it doesn’t,” he said.

So much for truth in advertising!

It’s probably good my efforts didn’t work, since there were also two other leaks, one of which I knew about and one of which I didn’t. Anyway, all three leaks have been taken care of, and it didn’t break the bank. Phew. Now all that’s left to do is replace one piece of rotten wood underneath the sink and reattach a couple other pieces of wood under the cabinets. Perfect project for a rainy day.

And god knows there’s plenty of those in the forecast.

Several months ago I worked backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. And whereas it was exhausting, I absolutely loved it. Not only did I learn a lot and have a ton of fun, I met some darling people, several of whom I’m still in touch with. Anyway, let’s talk about magnets. While I was working backstage I wanted to buy a show magnet as a souvenir, since I have a show magnet collection, and I try to add to it whenever I see a Broadway play or musical. (Some shows don’t sell magnets. Harrumph. I’m talking at you, Cabaret.) Unfortunately, The Wizard of Oz didn’t have magnets to sell, since they were on backorder.

I wish I could tell you I didn’t lose sleep over this.

Okay, fast forward to recently, when I asked one of my friends who works backstage for the tour (Kelsey) if she would send me a magnet. “You bet,” she said. Well, I went to the mailbox today, and there it was! Plus, Kelsey surprised me with a Wizard of Oz Tour ball cap. Y’all, I can’t tell you how excited I was (and am) about this. The last few days I’ve been discouraged by life in general (too many rainy days), but this kind gesture picked me right up. Not only do I love, love, love getting to add to my magnet collection (which, other than books is my only collection), the magnet and hat have sent me over the moon because of my personal connection to the show. All day I’ve been thinking, Life ain’t so bad!

Thanks again, Kelsey!

I spent this afternoon at the library doing paperwork. I can’t tell you how badly I didn’t want to and how much I futzed around trying to put it off. But then I finally sat down and got started. Do one thing at a time, I told myself. Three hours later, I was 90 percent done. Now my goal is to do the rest tomorrow. Having come this far, the last 10 percent doesn’t scare me. Plus, as my friend Bonnie is constantly reminding me, I can do hard things. At this point, I’m actually looking forward to checking “paperwork” off my to-do list.

I’ve touched on this a number of times lately, but it occurs to me again that just getting started is a HUGE thing. This last weekend I was all worked up about a writing project, then Monday I was all worked up about getting patch tested at the dermatologist’s office, then today I was all worked up about the paperwork. But now the writing project is done, and the patch testing and the paperwork will be done tomorrow. I don’t know, as I was working today, I reviewed my calendar and was reminded that last year I took several big trips, helped some friends pack their two houses so they could move to Colorado, and successfully came through knee surgery. So what’s a little paperwork? I just think this is important to keep in mind, since we all have tasks we’re afraid of tackling. But again, it’s simply a matter of getting started, doing one thing at a time, and remembering, I can do hard things.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Miracles happen."

This Thing Called Life (Blog #563)

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Ten years ago my friends Gregg and Rita helped start The Oklahoma Swing Syndicate, a group that hosts a weekly swing dance in Tulsa, and yesterday was the organization’s anniversary celebration. Ten years–that’s over 500 community dances. Anyway, Gregg and Rita have always supported my dance endeavors, so last night I drove to Tulsa to surprise them. Y’all–talk about a good time. Not only did I get to see Gregg and Rita, but I also got to see a number of dance friends I haven’t seen in years. Plus, I got to see my 96-year-old friend Marina, who absolutely makes my heart melt both on and off the dance floor.

The dance itself lasted until after midnight, and since I’m house sitting for friends this weekend, I drove back to Fort Smith between one and three in the morning. And whereas the entire affair went well, I was exhausted both physically and emotionally by the time I got back. This morning I slept in, which helped, but today has nonetheless continued to be–well–a bitch. This last week presented a number of internal challenges–some of which I wrote about and some of which I didn’t–and I guess they all caught up with me. To put it simply, I’ve been in a foul mood–worried, nervous, tired.

For most of the afternoon, I tried all the tricks I know. I stuck my nose in a book. I tried being grateful. I went for a run. I ate a piece of cake. And whereas it all helped, it didn’t push me over the ledge into The Land of Contentment.

Sometimes you just don’t feel well.

Last October I was in Carbondale, Colorado, for a spiritual retreat of sorts. Exactly one year ago tonight I started feeling poorly. I didn’t write about it that night, but I did write about it the next morning when I woke up with what would turn out to be the beginning of a several-month-long sinus infection. For over a hundred days, I felt like shit. There were good days here and there, of course, but it was honestly the most challenging and emotionally taxing health situation I’ve encountered in all my 38 years. Even after I finally got my sinus issues under control, I got slammed with the flu twice in the span of six weeks (I think). It was one damned thing after another.

During this time, I was fortunate enough to get a new primary care physician, who–over the course of many months–put me through a series of tests, some of which were run by other doctors. And whereas it’s been a bitch of a year, things are MOSTLY figured out. My sinuses are still a little snotty, but I haven’t had a sinus infection in over six months. (I haven’t been able to say this in over twenty years.) Thanks to upping my Vitamin D and B12 and getting more consistent rest, my energy levels are better. Not “perfect,” but better. Recently I worked for ten days straight backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and I never once worried whether or not my body would be able to “make it.” In other words, we’re learning to trust each other.

This is no small thing.

Whenever I blog and am particularly “impressed” with something that makes its way onto the page, I copy that sentence or paragraph and put it in a separate digital notepad with the intent to add it to the “Quotes from CoCo” box you see at the bottom of each post. However, I haven’t added any new quotes to the website in essentially a year. That is, until a few days ago, when I determined to get “caught up.” And whereas it will probably take a week or two to do this, I have started the process. At first, the thought of this task was daunting, but it’s turning out to be a fun, encouraging thing, going back and re-reading the highlights and self-issued hope from this last year. Today I was reminded that “No one is immune from life’s challenges,” “You’re exactly where you need to be,” and “A storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it.”

Our struggles unearth our strengths.

I say all this because it’s easy for me to forget how far I’ve come. I have one bad afternoon, and it feels as if I’ve gotten nowhere. But we’ll ALWAYS have bad days and we’ll ALWAYS have challenges–because this is how we grow. If I were designing a universe, I’d come up with a different method for personal improvement, but this is the way it works in this universe. Our struggles unearth our strengths. (I should add that to the quote box.) Also, I think they help us connect with others. All day I tried to get myself out of my own head. I kept telling the universe, “I want to feel better.” Then tonight my friend Marla called out of the blue to discuss a writing matter. And simply because Marla’s Marla–not because she knew I felt bad and needed cheering up–she made me laugh, laugh, laugh.

And just like that, a cloud was lifted.

It seems that this is how the universe works. It answers our prayers and cries for help, but rarely does so in the manner in which we think it should. Usually, there are other people involved. Not that your own intelligence and good graces can’t carry you so far, but when you solve all your own problems, not only do you set yourself up for pride, but you also isolate yourself. My friend Kim says, “We’re made for community,” and this is a lesson I’m learning. This last year has been an amazing journey; I’m the first to admit how much I’ve grown and how much I’ve worked my ass off to do so. But it wouldn’t have been possible without the help and support of my family, friends, my therapist and my doctors, and everyone else with whom I have the privilege of dancing through this thing called life.

For all of you, I’m extremely grateful.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you want to find a problem, you will.

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The Last Day (Blog #556)

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It’s day ten working for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and it’s also the last day. This morning at nine, four dozen workers descended on the Alma Performing Arts Center and–in just under five hours–took down all the lights, backdrops, and prop boxes we put up ten days ago. We filled up four semi trailer trucks worth of Oz, and then they drove off. So now it’s over. And whereas my physical body is glad for the break–it was a long ten days–my heart is sad. This last week and a half was–well–quite magical. There were so many wonderful moments, so many wonderful people that I may never see again. And yet I’m grateful to have had these moments, to have met these people.

What I’m feeling is often called PMS–Post Musical Syndrome–that sad feeling you get when a show is over. You spend all this time together–you’re like a little family–and then it’s just–done. Everyone goes their separate ways. The stage is suddenly empty. It’s disorienting. You think, What will happen next? But perhaps the last day is also the best day, since all the hard work is over, there’s that feeling of satisfaction, and you realize, I got to be part of something beautiful. And maybe you appreciate something more when it’s over, since it helps you remember how quickly time passes, how precious each moment, each person, and each connection truly is.

I spent this evening with two of my dearest friends–Justin and Ashley–whom I used to live with. For me, it was the perfect way to celebrate this past week, a way to come back home, the way Dorothy did after visiting her magical land. This is important, I think–to visit magical lands and meet new people, but to also come back home to yourself and those who know you and love you unconditionally.

As we’re not known for our SHORT conversations, Justin and I stayed up until two-thirty. Now it’s three-thirty, and I’m at finally home and looking forward to going to bed. But obviously there’s this blog. Hum. How to keep it short?

In the Northern Hemisphere, there are two highly recognizable constellations–Ursa Major, which contains the Big Dipper, and Orion (the Hunter). And whereas the Big Dipper is visible year-round, Orion is only visible for about five months in the fall and winter. Well, two nights ago, Friday, while driving home at two-thirty in the morning, I saw Orion for the first time since I got interested in astronomy this last spring. Wow. There he was on the eastern horizon–unmistakable–big as day–well, big as night.

Gorgeous.

Opposite Orion, on the western horizon, was my dear Pegasus, the constellation that used to be on the eastern horizon at two-thirty in the morning a few months ago. Ugh, this is the way the universe works. For a while a star –a constellation–is rising, and then it’s overhead, and then it sets, gone for a season or perhaps forever. Likewise, we meet people, we dance together, and we say goodbye. Who’s to say if we will meet again? My therapist says that life is long–you never know who or what will cycle back around. Personally, I think it’s important to remember that for every setting star, there’s another on the horizon. In other words, life’s stage is never truly empty–there’s always something or someone to love or be grateful for. And–well–even if something were to happen and I NEVER saw Orion or my newfound friends again, I’ll ALWAYS remember that one night and that one time when we were together for one brief but beautiful magical moment.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things are moving as they should.

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Follow Your Own Star (Blog #555)

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Currently it’s 2:45 in the afternoon, and my friend Bonnie and I just back from Tacos for Life, Fort Smith’s latest chain restaurant, because–tacos. Now we’re back at her house, and I’m blogging. It’s day nine working for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and we don’t start work today until 4:30, which means I have about an hour to knock this out. Tonight’s big show for the public will start at 8:00, and I don’t know how late we’ll work afterwards tearing things down. Tomorrow is “load out,” when we’ll pack everything back in the semi trailer trucks, then the cast and crew will take off down the yellow brick road for another city and another group of local workers.

A few thoughts from this week that have yet to make it onto the page–

1. Follow your own star

This last Wednesday we didn’t have to go into work until one in the afternoon, so I scheduled two hours of dance lessons with a new client–a man and his daughter who were preparing for her wedding. Anyway, that morning I picked out a blue t-shirt, and my first thought was, My pink star earrings would look fabulous with this outfit. But then I thought, Those earrings are SUPER gay, Marcus, and you don’t even know these people. So instead I put in my tiny dinosaur earrings, since they’re much more “subtle.” But then five minutes later I thought, Fuck this. I like the other earrings better. So I wore them.

And the dance lesson went fine.

Later that day I was backstage watching the show, leaning against Dorothy’s house. There were two people sitting next to me, a local couple who I’d seen several times but hadn’t met yet. Then out of nowhere the girl said, “I LOVE your earrings,” and the three of us ended up having the best conversation–about earrings, stage work, where we shop for clothes, and what the hell we’re doing with our lives. Now three people know each other who didn’t know each other before, and–from my perspective–that wouldn’t have happened had it not been for my pink star earrings. So don’t discount your inclinations; be true to yourself even in the little things. God works in mysterious ways.

2. Talk to strangers, even the drunk ones

Last night I went out with my friend Kim to hear her husband play at a local restaurant, and a lady (a drunk lady) pulled Kim out of her seat and started dancing with her. Later the woman came over, and Kim told her that I’m a dance instructor, and she said, “You used to teach at Mercy.” Y’all, statements like this are always a shock to my system, since I hold the inner thought that I’m invisible or that people don’t notice or pay attention to me in the same way that I would notice or pay attention to them. (You’re wrong, Marcus. You’re wrong.)

So get this shit.

When I closed the studio a couple years ago, it was partially due to the fact that I felt like I had a gift to offer my community, but that it was a gift my community wasn’t interested in. (My books and records, especially those last few years, seemed to reflect this notion.) Well, last night just before she left, this woman looked me straight in the eye, smiled, and said, “THANK YOU for all you’ve done for our community.” Both then and now, this compliment brings tears to my eyes, as SO MANY people have thanked me over the years, but I can’t think that anyone has ever phrased their gratitude the way this woman did. “Thank you for all you’ve done for our community.” How important it is to feel both valued and vital by others.

3. Clean up your perceptions

When I closed the studio, I wanted to “get out of this town” as quickly as possible. My attitude was “fuck this place.” That being said, let me be clear–I’m GLAD that I’ve been here these last two years. Hell, I’m glad I’ve been here for my entire life. Not that I think I’ll stick around forever, but my time here, especially these last two years, has allowed me to do a lot of healing and has taught me how to “get right” with my environment–how to see it, accept it, and embrace it for all its strengths and weaknesses. What if I’d left sooner? For one thing, I never would have encountered the drunk woman who told me that my community noticed and appreciated me. I would have been just ever so bitter. So it’s better this way–for me to stay, clean up my perceptions–to be grateful for my community in return.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.

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No Tornado, No Adventure (#553)

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It’s day seven working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and all the long days are starting to catch up to me. Physically, I’m trucking right along. Emotionally, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I’m due for a good night’s rest, which, according to the science I’ve read, truly does reset your feelings to baseline. Alas, that’s not going to happen tonight, as we’ll be running the show until late this evening and have to be back early tomorrow for our first performance (for the local high school). But I think–I think–we get tomorrow night off, as well as the next morning. So maybe I can sleep in.

And since I know I’m not the only one who’s worn down and stressed out, maybe we can all sleep in.

I spent this morning painting and sprucing up more sets. However, one of them, The Oz Chamber, got called onto stage in the middle of my paint job, so it’s still not done. And whereas The Completionist in me can’t stand it, this is life–I don’t know when or even if the project will get done. Anyway, when The Oz Chamber got called in, I moved on to other matters. Specifically, I added more details to the flower pots I worked on yesterday and decorated a backup wand for Glinda (The Witch of the North), which is pictured above.

Here are yesterday’s pots.

Here are the same pots today.

Last night I dreamed I was driving home on the interstate and a fast-moving tornado was coming in my direction. I wonder if I’ll be okay, I thought, and then woke up. Of course, I assume the tornado image came from The Wizard of Oz, but I think it’s interesting symbolically, since tornadoes represent chaos and destruction. In Dorothy’s story, the tornado is this big, scary thing that rips her away from her family and the only world she’s every known. It’s terrifying.

I think of the worst things that have happened to me, and without exception they’ve all felt like tornadoes, these huge, strong, uncontrollable forces that have come into my life and ripped me away from whatever I held dear at the time. God, I felt so helpless when our house burned down, so powerless when my dad went to prison, so heartbroken when that relationship ended. But that’s what it’s like when a tornado comes into your life. One minute your feet are on solid ground, and the next minute you’re up in the atmosphere, floundering. And who knows where you’ll land–or if you’ll even land at all?

All you can do is surrender.

Personally, I think tornadoes get a bad rap. After all, had Dorothy not been picked up by her tornado, she never would have landed in Oz or faced her fears and overcome them. Clearly, she wasn’t doing that on her own, so she needed a nudge (a shove) in the right direction, and the tornado was obviously the only thing strong and powerful enough to separate her from her old way of thinking and being. Say what you will about the tornado, but it ultimately got Dorothy over the rainbow (to her true self). Personally, I wouldn’t trade any of my tornadoes, any of the terrible things that have happened in my life. Not a single one. Because they gave me my chops. They made me who I am. And I like who I am.

No tornado, no adventure.

I’m not saying you should write a thank-you note to the tornadoes in your life (because sometimes tornadoes are people–you know it and I know it). But I am saying that a story without a tornado (a little drama to shake things up) is no story at all. That is–no tornado, no adventure. And not that you should go inviting storms into your life (don’t worry–they’ll invite themselves), but consider that a storm may be the only force capable of prompting you to dig deep and unlock the power, beauty, and magic that you’ve been hiding within yourself–let’s face it–for way too long. This is, after all, how nature works. Only under pressure does a piece of coal turn into a diamond.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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On One’s Inner World (Blog #552)

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It’s day six working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and last night we stopped rehearsal abruptly when the fog machines set off the fire alarm. And whereas the actors were released early (the stage was FULL of fog), the crew stayed to work on sets and props. My job was to “spruce up” the flower pots used in Oz, one of which is broken in half and turned into a crown for The Lion when he sings If I Were the King of the Forest. This involved hot-glueing some foam around the edges, painting the foam gold, painting the rest green, then re-arranging the flowers and greenery.

Here’s a look at the finished products.

Since “the locals” didn’t have to report until one this afternoon, this morning I got to sleep in–at least a little–until eight-thirty. And weird–just like yesterday, I woke up in THE BEST mood. However, unlike yesterday, my joy has NOT dissipated. Currently it’s six in the evening, and I’m still all grins and giggles.

Go figure.

From ten to noon, I taught a dance lesson at my friend Bonnie’s house for a man and his daughter, who’s getting married this weekend. I imagine this has a lot to do with my good mood. First, dance is such a delightful thing, and it’s wonderful work, helping a dad dance with his daughter. Second, I’m in my element when I’m teaching dance. You know, it’s my thing. It makes me happy.

And it’s ALWAYS GOOD to get paid for doing something you love.

This afternoon at the Alma Performing Arts Center, we ran the show–from start to finish–without stopping. And whereas some of the cast has been practicing in partial costumes, today was the first time everyone was in full costume with full makeup. Oh my gosh, y’all–it was absolute magic. There’s so much talent here, and it’s such a glorious story. Whenever I don’t have sets or props to move, I hide behind one of the curtains and just watch.

Somewhere, over the rainbow, there’s a land that I dreamed of once in a lullaby, where troubles melt like lemon drops…

That rainbow song gets me almost every time. Who hasn’t dreamed of a better place, a better life? I know I have. I do–all the time. The lovely thing is that I’m beginning to think it’s actually possible, that you can have what you dream of, that your entire world can turn on a dime for the better. And yet, I know that I’m already in a better place than I used to be, even though I physically haven’t gotten out of the county I grew up in. Likewise, I have a better life than I used to, even though you wouldn’t guess it if you were to look at the clothes I wear or add up the amount of money I bring home. But on the inside–where it counts–EVERYTHING looks better than it did before.

Joseph Campbell says all the myths and fairy tales are about changes in consciousness. As I’ve said before, this is evidenced in Dorothy’s story–who at first is unable to save her everything, her Toto, from Miss Gulch but later is able to find it within herself to “melt her fears” by dissolving The Wicked Witch of the West. Campbell says, “The hero’s journey always begins with the call. One way or another, a guide must come to say, ‘Look, you’re in Sleepy Land. Wake. Come on a trip. There is a whole aspect of your consciousness, your being, that’s not been touched. So you’re at home here? Well, there’s not enough of you there.’ And so it starts.”

Since I re-read this quote recently, I’ve been fixated on the part that says, “So you’re at home here? Well, there’s not enough of you there.” To me this means that OF COURSE it’s COMFORTABLE to think the same thoughts you’ve always thought and do the same things you’ve always done; OF COURSE it’s UNCOMFORTABLE to change. In my experience, like Dorothy’s, it takes every ounce of your brains, your courage, and your heart to overcome your fears, change your habits and behavior, and transform you inner world. But when you do The Hard Work, what used to be black-and-white transforms to color. It’s that dramatic. And it’s not that the outer world has changed; it’s that YOU have.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Better that you're true to yourself and the whole world be disappointed than to change who you are and the whole world be satisfied.

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From Forty Feet Away (Blog #549)

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I’m currently backstage at the performing arts center in Alma working with the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. It’s dinnertime. After two full days of thinking, What the hell did I get myself into?, I’m beginning to find my stride. It’s work, of course–my body’s stiff in the all the wrong places–but today has actually been the most fun I’ve had so far. I guess this is because I’m gaining confidence in the tasks I’ve been asked to complete and also getting to know some of the people I’m working with. I keep telling myself, You can talk to strangers, Marcus. Strangers can talk to you.

Despite the fact that I thought I’d be working with props today (and therefore dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a colorful t-shirt), I’ve spent the entire day (the entire fucking day) painting. This is why you shouldn’t let people know you’re good at something–they’ll keep asking you to do it. (Thankfully, I brought paint clothes to change into.) Last night one of the girls and I worked on the trees for the Tin Man’s House, so my job today has been to finish the rest of that set–touch up the bushes in the back, spruce up the grass floor, and completely redo the base. This has been quite the challenge, matching all the colors, but I’m getting better and better at mixing paints together. I feel like Bob Ross.

“We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents.”

Here’s a picture of the base BEFORE I started this morning. Notice that it’s pretty banged up from being on the road.

The base–I’ve been told–is supposed to look like bamboo. (I didn’t get that either.) But apparently in Oz, bamboo is white and shadows are blue. Anyway, in order to make this particular base look like some of the others used in the show, I started with a solid coat of white, sponged on blue all the way around, added blue lines about half an inch or an inch apart (this took forever), sponged on more blue, and finally added some red/brown grass at the bottom. Take a took.

Here’s a picture of the “grass” before. Well, the right side is before. The left side has one coat of sponged-on new green.

Here’s the grass after. I used three–well, I think, five–different greens.

Despite the kinks in my shoulders this project has produced, I really am proud of it. I absolutely adore musical theater–it has such power to positively affect a person–and I love that I’ve gotten to participate from the other side, to play one small part.

When my supervisor saw the completed Tin Man’s House, she said, “Marcus, that–looks–gorgeous!” Someone else said, “That’s the best that thing will ever look.” Of course, I know where all my mistakes are, all the details that could have been “better,” whatever that means. But one of the the construction guys said, “You have to remember that people with cataracts are looking at these sets from forty feet away.” This is a good reminder. Personally, I think it applies not only to musical scenery but also to humans. We’re so tough on ourselves. We pick ourselves apart. We zoom in our bodies and imagine our “flaws” to be bigger than they really are, flaws another might not even see, acknowledge, or care about. From forty, or even four feet away, another might remark, “You–look–gorgeous!”

[Incidentally, I realized on the way to work this morning that yesterday’s blog (#548) officially marked a solid year and a half of blogging. Woowho! And so this journey continues.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

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My Emotional Oil Can (#547)

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It’s six in the evening, and I’ve been working–like, honest to god working–since eight this morning. Y’all, this is manual labor–for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz–unloading boxes, painting sets, whatever they want (that’s what I do). I didn’t even know this was a thing, working backstage for a touring musical. But apparently this show hires three or four dozen locals wherever they go. I got involved because I have a friend who runs the performing arts center here in Alma, where the show will go on next weekend.

As I understand it, a show will often “load in” the day before or even the day of a performance and “load out” the day after. However, the crew and all their equipment came in a full week early in order to touch up sets and run rehearsals for anyone new on staff. So this is my full-time job for the next ten days, including today. Anywhere from 8 to 12 hours a day, with union-mandated breaks for lunch and dinner. I’m currently on my dinner break–in my car–blogging.

I’ve got an hour to finish writing. And eat something. I should probably eat something.

This morning I helped unload boxes full of god knows what from three semis. I guess the show has four semis, but one isn’t here yet. Then I stood around for a good while doing really not a damn thing. As someone who’s used to being productive every minute of every damn day, this was a challenge for me–to wait. I mean, I’m being paid and WANT to be useful, helpful. But I guess that’s part of the deal–you work when someone asks you to work–which someone did eventually ask me to do. “Can you pick up donuts for everyone?” my friend said.

“Gladly,” I said.

Y’all, I don’t know if this donut thing is going to happen every day, but I personally think god has a sick sense of humor–asking a man who’s trying to lose weight to be the donut runner. Can you believe that I picked up 120 donuts and a dozen bagels for everyone here and didn’t eat a single one of them? Instead, I ate a protein bar.

We’ll see how long my resolve lasts.

At lunch I ran home to grab a change of clothes, as I was assigned to the prop mistress, and she said we’d be painting sets. I think that’s the right term, prop mistress. Regardless, I’m this girl’s bitch, and I’ve even been given an official title–prop head. That means that the other three or four prop people will be my bitches–I think. (I’m trying to not let it go to my head.) Anyway, back to the painting. I thought I gave that up when I quit remodeling houses, but no. I’ve spent the entire afternoon working on Dorothy’s house (that goes through the tornado and lands on the Wicked Witch of the East), the scarecrow’s post/cornfield, and–I think–Aunt Em’s chicken coop.

This process, I hate to admit, has been more stressful than I anticipated. As one of the boards on Dorothy’s house was damaged, I had to start with a blank piece of plywood and mix layer of paint with layer of paint until it looked like old, rickety wood. What’s more, it had to match–or blend–with the rest of the house. Of course, I’ve had to do all this to someone else’s specifications, which has been a humbling lesson for me. I’m so used to being in charge, especially in charge of all my creative endeavors. But today I’ve been the student, “the help.” When critiqued, my ego has hated it. When praised, it’s soared.

Criticism and praise. Two sides of the same coin. Either way, same pay.

It’s fascinating being on this side of a musical, all the little details you’d never think of sitting in your seat watching the show, the lights and cords you never see–the hidden doors and hinges. It all matters. As I’ve agonized over every brush stroke, I’ve thought, The better this is, the more magic it creates for the audience. On the back of the Tin Man’s set, there’s a note that says, “Did you remember the oil can?” This clearly has to do with the show, but I started thinking about the Tin Man and how he represents a person’s heart, and how a person’s heart can freeze up or get rusty if they don’t take care of it with their emotional oil can. Personally, I keep thinking, Am I finding reasons to complain, or to be grateful? Am I taking things personally, or giving grace to others and myself? Am I freezing up, or keeping my heart open?

Am I remembering my emotional oil can?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Miracles happen."

On Melting Witches (Blog #544)

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Tonight I finally finished cleaning the house that belongs to my friends who recently moved. It’s been a process, and I didn’t tackle the master bedroom until tonight because we needed to get new carpet installed first, which happened last week. Anyway, this afternoon I filled a bucket with soap and water in the kitchen and hauled it upstairs into the bedroom. Then, like I did in the rest of the house a couple weeks ago, I scrubbed every wall from top to bottom, then wiped down the baseboards. It was a slow process.

Inch by inch.

This evening I took a break for dinner, then returned to my friends’ former bedroom to vacuum the new carpet, since the installation process left the place looking like what might happen if a litter of puppies were let loose in a store full of teddy bears. And whereas I began with the main vacuum attachment–the one with the motorized brush the “sweeps” everything up into the machine, the rotary motion of the brush just whacked all the little carpet pieces from one spot on the floor to another. Well, there’s more than one way to skin a cat, so I used another attachment, one without a motor. However, since this attachment was the size of a pocket harmonica, it didn’t make for quick work. You should have seen me down on my knees pushing and pulling this thing back and forth across five hundred square feet of carpet.

Inch by inch.

Caroline Myss says that when you’re working on becoming conscious, you’ll inevitably create situations in your life in which you’re forced to face your fears, situations that will allow you to bring your shadow into the light. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy is unable to speak up to Miss Gulch when the old hag takes away her everything, her dog Toto. (Toto means “everything” in Latin.) So before she can get back home (to her authentic, empowered self), Dorothy has to face Miss Gulch in the form of the Wicked Witch of the West. When she does, she soaks the witch with water, and the witch melts away. At this point, Dorothy has the witch’s broom. That is to say, her conscious self now has the power that previously belonged to her unconscious fear.

This tale has been on my mind today because I recently turned down a job offer, a dance thing. And whereas I’m absolutely certain that I made the right decision, it was a difficult decision to make because it brought up all my fears about scarcity and lack. Like, What if other opportunities don’t come along? And what if I disappoint someone?

Scarcity, lack, and what my therapist calls “fear of the response”–these are my big witches.

Joseph Campbell says that when you’re on YOUR path and not someone else’s, you don’t have to worry about facing your witches (he calls them dragons) because you’ll have help along the way. His term for this help is magical aid. Dorothy has Glinda the Good Witch, Cinderella has her fairy godmother, Luke Skywalker has Yoda, and Frodo has Gandalf. Personally, I have my therapist, who’s reminded me on a number of occasions that you can NEVER go wrong when you trust yourself (as in, this isn’t right for me right now) or act from an attitude of abundance instead of lack (as in, there will be other opportunities).

There’s a verse in the Bible that says, “No one, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of heaven.” I often say that I don’t suggest the path of personal and spiritual growth to others. My point is–this path, though rewarding, is not fun, since once you give the light of your consciousness permission to go roaming about in the dark of your internal basement, it will end up cleaning your entire house inch by inch. In other words, it will affect every part of your life–every relationship, every dynamic, every personal viewpoint.

Toto.

Melting witches is messy business.

This internal cleaning and process of transformation feels like being slung about by a tornado and NOT like skipping down the Yellow Brick Road. You will WANT to look back and you will WANT to quit, since it is in no way whatsoever enjoyable to have all your witches and dragons trotted out before you so that you can stare them down and become empowered. Granted, the results are lovely, but the process itself is terrifying. Often, there’s (figurative) bloodshed involved. (My recent situation worked out well, but in facing other fears and confronting other issues, I’ve lost friendships.) Simply put, melting witches is messy business. I don’t recommend it.

That is, of course, unless you want to get back home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance is a lot like gravity--it's everywhere.

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On Myths, My Birthday, and Metonic Cycles (Blog #532)

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There’s a theory regarding myths and fairy tales that they exist not to convey historical facts or to simply entertain us, but rather to teach us truths. Better said, they exist to teach us truths about ourselves. In other words, you should be able to identify every character (at least every main character) in a myth or fairy tale as PART OF your own psyche. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, Glinda the Good Witch would be your light or conscious self, and The Wicked Witch of the West would be your shadow or subconscious self. Interpreted this way, the marriage of a prince and princess (or the rescuing of a damsel in distress by a gallant knight) would signify the coming together of two opposite forces within you, such as your light and shadow sides, your conscious and subconscious selves, your yin and yang, your male and female powers, your sun and moon.

This “joining together” is the idea behind “happily ever after” and is what the mystics call “going beyond the pairs of opposites.” In the Biblical tradition this transformation from “duality” into “oneness” is depicted as the going back to The Garden of Eden or eating from the Tree of Life rather than from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. (Note that Good and Evil are, again, opposites.) In the Hindu tradition, this marriage or re-union is alluded to (for instance, in proper yoga) when a person’s Kundalini energy rises from their first chakra (at the base of their spine) and flows up their spine in a criss-cross pattern through two “opposite” channels called the Ida and the Pingala and eventually “comes together” at their seventh chakra or the crown of their head. In drawings this is depicted as two snakes criss-crossing up a spine and is, interestingly enough, the same process that the symbol of the Staff of Hermes (the Caduceus) “speaks” of.

Joseph Campbell says that all of this is exactly what’s being depicted in Homer’s The Odyssey, in which Odysseus represents a person’s male or solar power, and Penelope represents a person’s female or lunar power. You remember the tale–Odysseus is separated from his wife (that is, from himself), but through a series of events that include Odysseus’s going into the underworld (that is, his subconscious self or shadow side), the two are eventually able to be reunited (as one whole, integrated person).

I say all this to say–this morning at 8:47, I not only turned 38 years old, but I also completed my second Metonic Cycle.

I’ll explain what a Metonic Cycle is shortly, but first let’s talk about how I partied.

My birthday celebrations officially started last night with dinner with my dear friend Ray. We ate at one of my favorite restaurants in Fayetteville–Theo’s. It was delicious. Plus, the conversation was delightful. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so much. The whole thing was the perfect slow-start to my big day.

This morning–believe it or not–I actually woke up early in order to do a Live Video on Facebook at the time I was born. I’ve wanted to do another video since hitting my 500th blog post a month ago, but life and work have been a real bear lately. Whatever–it worked out this way–and in the video I thanked the readers of the blog (that means you), as well as read an essay about accepting help, saying goodbye, and realizing you’re doing better than you think. Anyway, if you want, you can watch the video below or alternatively on the Live Videos page at the top of the blog. It’s about 22 minutes.

This afternoon I went out for Mexican food with my friend Bonnie (I love Mexican food), then we went to Fort Smith’s new bookstore (I love bookstores), Bookish. The store was super cool, and Bonnie gifted me with a book about the stars and constellations. Afterwards, we went to Starbucks where they gave me a FREE DRINK (of my choice) just because it’s my birthday. How cool is that? Then we went back to Bonnie’s house and ate part of a scrumptious chocolate cake she made me. Y’all, I drank a WHITE-CHOCOLATE mocha while eating CHOCOLATE cake WITH VANILLA ice cream. Talk about joining together things that are opposites!

Seriously–it was nothing short of a spiritual experience.

To top off the day’s festivities, I went out to eat with my parents this evening. I know, super exciting. My life is really sexy. I can read the headline now–Thirty-Eight-Year-Old Man Goes to Dinner with His Mom and Dad (Who Happen to Be His Roommates) on His Birthday. But we really did have a lovely time. I mean, we WERE all together 38 years ago and we’re STILL all together now.

Why not have a little party?

In short, it’s been a fabulous day. Not only have I spent time with some of my darling friends and family, but I’ve also been ravished online with well-wishes and words of encouragement. (Thank you if you participated in this virtual celebration. If you didn’t, it’s not too late. I’m totally okay with belated kindnesses.) Anyway, as I said yesterday, what’s not to like about growing older?

But back to the completion of my second Metonic Cycle. (Hum. How do I explain this?) For the longest time, society has observed a solar calendar in which a year is basically 365 days long. However, some historical societies observed a lunar calendar in which a year is basically 354 days long. (Certain religious groups still use this lunar method for keeping time and calculating holidays.) Anyway, a Metonic Cycle is a period of 19 solar years (or 235 lunar months) and is a way of linking or JOINING TOGETHER the two calendars. Think of it like this–if the Sun and the Moon were (from our point of view) occupying the same space in the sky, it would take 19 years for them to RETURN to that same space in the sky at the same time.

Does anyone want to guess how long Odysseus and Penelope were separated from each other in The Odyssey?

That’s right–19 years.

Another way to think of the Metonic Cycle is that if the moon were in Scorpio at the time you were born (like it was for me in 1980), it would take 19 years for the moon to return to Scorpio AND be in the SAME PHASE as it was when it was there before. For me this means that the moon was WAXING CRESCENT in Scorpio on the morning I was born, it was waxing crescent in Scorpio again on the morning of my 19th birthday, and it was the same thing again this morning.

You can live happily ever after.

Now. Does this “mean” anything? I don’t know that it does. I’ve scoured the internet for theories about why your 19th, 38th, 57th, and 76th birthdays might be significant or important but can’t find a single one. Personally, I know that 19 was a big year for me, since I started dancing just two weeks after my 19th birthday, and that’s certainly been a significant PHASE in my life. But does this mean something just as significant will happen during these next 19 years? Again, who knows? It’s fun to think about. Surely if the sun and the moon can come back together after years of being separated, anything is possible. And surely if princes can marry princesses and knights can rescue damsels in distress, then I can marry myself and I can rescue myself, and I can live happily ever after.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can hang on and put everything safely in its place, and then at some point, we’re forced to let go.

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