On The Tools (Blog #560)

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Yesterday I started reading The Tools: Transform Your Problems into Courage, Confidence, and Creativity by Phil Stutz and Barry Michaels, a self-help book (surprise) that’s turning out to be one of the most delightful reads I’ve picked up in quite a while. Currently I’m about half-way through. And whereas a lot of self-help books suggest that the answer to your fears, anxiety, and low self-esteem is understanding where they came from (duh–it’s your parents’ fault), the authors of The Tools say that such information by itself doesn’t provide dramatic change. Rather, in order to get the results we all want, we need a set of actions or behaviors to which we can turn whenever stress rears its ugly head.

In other words, we don’t just need to THINK something, we also need to DO something.

We’ve all had the experience of having a bad day, ruminating on negative thoughts, or being overwhelmed by emotions and not knowing how to turn things around. Stutz and Michaels call this state of being “the maze” (because it’s easy to get stuck there), and what I like about their book is that it offers definite ways to get out of it. The caveat, of course, is that you have to practice the suggested methods. You can’t just try them once or twice and expect your life to immediately turn around (bright eyes).

“Turn around, Bright Eyes” is a song lyric, Mom.

That being said, I’ve been toying around with one of their suggestions–the reversal of desire–today and have already noticed a difference. As I understand it, the reversal of desire essentially has to do with fear. That is, we all have certain things we would like to happen in our lives, but often don’t take action to make those things happen because doing so is uncomfortable–or outside our Comfort Zone. The authors put it more bluntly–between everything you have and everything you want is a certain amount of PAIN, and that’s what you’re afraid of experiencing (like, the pain of being rejected). But pain, they say, is the doorway to your desires, so rather than working so hard to avoid it, we could just as easily say, “BRING IT ON.”

I know this sounds twisted, but stick with me.

This afternoon I knew I “needed” to pay bills, an activity that typically induces a certain amount of anxiety for me. But rather than doing something else and AVOIDING the activity (and thus producing an immediate sense of relief), I told myself, I’m not afraid of a little anxiety–bring it on. Well–there must be something about WELCOMING YOUR FEELINGS–because I actually experienced significantly less anxiety while paying my bills today than I normally do.

On a roll, I applied this same strategy to some other paperwork I’ve been putting off–something I’ve known would take me a long time to complete. For over a year I’ve been thinking, It’s more than I can handle. But today I told myself, I’m not afraid of a little panic–bring it on. And whereas I still felt overwhelmed as I began this project, I nonetheless started it and got about ten percent done, which is ten percent more than I’ve had done for the last twelve months.

Another exercise Stutz and Michaels offer is to imagine your shadow. (Picture a situation in which you feel totally insecure and visualize all your feelings as having a physical body and face.) When I did this exercise, I immediately saw myself as an awkward prepubescent wearing elastic-band shorts with all my ribs showing and my butt being as big as a bowling ball. (It’s still as big as a bowling ball, but the rest of me has grown into it.) Then I saw myself in a number of “dorky” family photos that–until today–I would have done ANYTHING to have destroyed forever. These embarrassing self-images apparently came up because one way of describing your shadow is that it’s all the parts of yourself that you’re ashamed of.

But–

The good news is that–according to the book–your shadow is also fearless, and you can therefore visualize it standing beside you whenever you’re scared shitless. For me, this makes sense. I think about that awkward kid, and whereas even now I’m embarrassed of some of the things he did, said, and wore, HE didn’t give a single fuck. He had all the courage and bravery in the world. (It would take all the courage and bravery in the world to wear THOSE shorts.) But seriously–he simply wanted to express himself–and he did.

We all want to express ourselves.

I tried this visualization earlier when I went for a run, and it was really beautiful. I thought about that brave kid running with me–in THAT outfit–and felt freer and more energetic than I have in a long time. And get this shit. I smiled at strangers–people I’d normally be afraid of. Someone waved in my direction, and even though I thought they were probably waving at someone behind me, I waved back. It felt good to be friendly. When I noticed my socks didn’t match, I started to worry. What will people think? But then I thought about that kid again and remembered that both of us are MUCH MORE than our outfits.

Besides, ANYONE can wear socks that match.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A friend’s laughter takes us backward and carries us forward simultaneously.

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On Which Glasses You Choose to Wear (Blog #559)

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In my parents’ living room is a large leather recliner. It’s gorgeous, comfortable. One could really get lost in it. That being said, I’ve only once spent any significant amount of time in this recliner–when I was recovering from my sinus surgery–because my mom LIVES in this recliner. Simply put, it’s hers, and my dad and I make a lot of jokes about the fact that we rarely get to use it. Anyway, this morning while I was eating breakfast, Mom said that she’s been getting cold recently and explained, “When you sit in the recliner, it’s right under the air vent.”

So I said, “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

And then my mom, who reads my blog every day, used my own material against me. She said, “Is that what you call being passive aggressive?”

I was stunned.

“Yes,” I said. Then I added–“It’s an option.”

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and we mostly processed my time working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. It was a good experience, of course, but it was also A LOT of information (my therapist called it a “data dump”), considering the fact that I was new to much of what was going on and also new to working with so many people and having “a boss.” Not completely new, of course, but it’s been a while since I’ve worked with a such large group or for someone else–like twenty years.

As I’ve discussed here before, I told my therapist that in new situations I often think of myself as invisible or “not worthy of being noticed,” and it’s therefore shocking when people DO notice me (which they did this last week). She said this belief was “just irritating” and needed to go.

Toward the end of our session, we talked about money. This is a topic my therapist appears to be quite comfortable with, and one I’m trying to get comfortable with. My therapist says the more we talk about money, the more my brain will begin to think, This shit’s all right. Today she said I should pick an amount of money I’d like to make a day that’s not “outrageous” but the thought of which is “just enough to make you nervous.” So I did. Now my job is to simply “will it into existence.” And whereas I understand that this sounds like a bunch of new-age bullshit, my therapist says that if I pair my current work ethic with positive self-talk, the universe will respond favorably.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

I told my therapist that one of the over-arching beliefs I’ve held for–well–decades is that “maybe it’ll work for everyone else, but it won’t work for me.” Super optimistic, I know. Anyway, I’ve applied this thinking to my relationships, my health, and my finances. This is the way beliefs work–they don’t just affect one area of your life; they affect everything. Much like tinted spectacles, beliefs are the filter through which we see the world. Like, if you don’t believe in abundance, you’ll never see it. Even if you have a hundred dollars–or even a million dollars–in your pocket, you’ll think, It’s not enough.

Currently I’m sitting in a library surrounded by THOUSANDS of books and ENDLESS potential knowledge. Now, I could focus on the fact that I don’t have enough time to read all these books or the fact that there are a lot of other books I’m interested in that aren’t in this library. (Talk about lack!) Or I could focus on the fact that I have access to ALL THIS INFORMATION–basically–for free. (Talk about abundance!) The way I see it, just like being direct and being passive aggressive are OPTIONS in conversation, seeing lack and seeing abundance are OPTIONS in perspective. Yes, an objective reality exists–there are a certain number of books here. But a subjective reality also exists, and that reality depends solely on your thoughts and your beliefs, on which glasses you–and only you–choose to wear.

Wayne Dyer used to say, “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” This is what I’m trying to do–gradually adjust my thinking and beliefs when it comes to my relationships, my health, and my finances. Personally, I’m tired of believing, It’s not enough. For me, it’s lazy–that is, habitual–thinking. Today I told my therapist, “I’m done believing that things work for other people and not me. (As my favorite coffee cup says–Fuck This Shit.) My new thought is–If it can work for someone else, it can work for me.

“THANK YOU!” she said.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The truth doesn’t suck.

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A Synopsis of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (Blog #558)

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Recently I spent ten days working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. This afternoon, as an act of mourning, celebration, and education, I read the book on which the musical and movie were based–The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum–for the first time. And whereas the musical and movie contain much of the original story, they leave many notable details out.

Prepare yourself for a rather long (but entertaining) book report.

According to the Baum, Aunt Em never smiles, and she, Uncle Henry, and Dorothy (and Toto) are the only characters who live in Kansas. (Later we find out that the wizard is from Omaha, Nebraska.) There’s no mention of the three farmhands–Hunk, Hickory, and Zeke–nor is there any mention of Miss Gulch, and Dorothy never runs away or encounters Professor Marvel.

When Dorothy is swept up by the tornado and lands in Munchkin Land, she finds out that the land of Oz is divided into four sections–the east, where she’s landed, where the Munchkins live, and that used to be ruled by The Wicked Witch of the East; the west, ruled by The Wicked Witch of the West; the north, ruled by The (nameless) Witch of the North; and the south, whose details we find out later. The City of Emeralds (or The Emerald City) is in the center of all four lands. The Yellow Brick Road goes from the east to The Emerald City, and there’s NO ROAD that goes to the west.

At this point in the story, The Wicked Witch of the West does NOT appear in Munchkin Land, but Dorothy does receive a pair of magical shoes from The Witch of the North, the shoes that used to belong to The Wicked Witch of the East. However, these shoes are silver, NOT ruby, and it’s only at a later point–when Dorothy changes from a red dress into her famous blue and white gingham dress–that she puts the shoes ON. The dress, which she’s brought (in her house) from Kansas is significant because all the Munchkins wear blue and believe that anyone who wears white is a sorceress. So (like Jesus), they see Dorothy as both one of them (or human) and divine.

As we all are.

As Dorothy sets off to see the Wizard–who’s referred to as The Great and Terrible, NOT The Great and Powerful–she quickly encounters The Scarecrow, The Tin Woodman, and The Cowardly Lion, much like she does in the musical and movie. Baum describes The Scarecrow–who’s supposed to have no brain–as saying things “thoughtfully” or “after some serious thought.” At first I judged these descriptions as either poor writing or pure irony, but one could argue that they are neither, as all the main characters clearly possessed that which they were seeking the whole time but simply didn’t realize it yet.

As we all do.

Another interesting point the book makes is that just as The Scarecrow didn’t have a brain (or a heart), The Tin Woodman didn’t have a heart (or a brain). But, for different reasons, one values the head above the heart, and the other values the heart above the brain, so each seeks what is important to him even though both things are “missing.” Personally, I think one should have, value, and use both their brain AND their heart.

In the scene in which Dorothy, The Scarecrow, and The Tin Woodman encounter The Cowardly Lion, the lion asks if Toto is made of straw or tin. Neither, Dorothy says, he’s “a meat dog.”

Before reaching The Emerald City, Dorothy and her friends encounter a number of trials, none of which have anything to do with The Wicked Witch of the West. Like in the musical and movie, one of these trials is the poisonous poppy field, where they initially have to leave the lion–who falls asleep–but later come back to save him. (They haul him out on a cart made by The Tin Woodman and are assisted in pulling it by hundreds of field mice.) When they do reach The Emerald City, they are required to wear green spectacles, which they are told is to protect their eyes from all the shiny objects and is something everyone has to do. Later, when it’s found out that the wizard is a fraud (“a humbug”), they’re told the spectacles are used to fool both the citizens and visitors into believing that everything is green even though in reality it’s not.

The book says that Dorothy and her friends get to see the wizard, but they have to do it separately. The wizard appears in a different form to each one, but asks them all to do the same thing–kill The Wicked Witch of the West. (Because he’s not really a wizard, he’s a afraid of her.) In the musical and movie, he asks that they bring him her broomstick, but the broomstick isn’t mentioned in the book at all–because, like Mary Poppins, the witch carries AN UMBRELLA!

Also, in the book, the witch has ONE EYE instead of two.

So Dorothy and the gang take off a-witch-hunting, but by this point, the one-eyed witch has found out about them, so she sends 40 wolves to have their asses for dinner. (The Tin Woodman chops their heads off.) Then she sends 40 crows. (The Scarecrow breaks their necks.) Then she sends a swarm of bees. (They break their stingers on The Tin Woodman’s chest.) Then she sends 12 Winkies, which are yellow, by the way, the same way the Munchkins are “blue.” (The Lion scares The Winkies off.) Finally, the witch sends the winged monkeys, whom she controls by means of a golden cap. The caveat–whoever has the golden cap can only command the monkeys three times, and this is the witch’s final “wish.”

But the monkeys succeed. (In the musical, a creature called The Jitterbug causes the main characters to dance until they are exhausted, at which point the flying monkeys scoop them up. The Jitterbug scene was shot for the 1939 movie–during the peak of the Lindy Hop/swing dance/jitterbug era–but was ultimately edited out.)

In the book, it’s only Dorothy and the lion who are brought to the witch’s castle; the other two friends are left in the woods to be rescued later. And whereas the lion is kept outside to starve to death (Dorothy saves him by sneaking him food each day), Dorothy is kept in “the house” to do dishes, much like Cinderella was. Of course, what the witch really wants is Dorothy’s shoes, and when she finally manages to steal ONE of them but not the other, Dorothy gets pissed off and throws a bucket of water on her, and it’s then that the witch both melts and dies.

And Dorothy gets her other shoe back.

At this point, Dorothy and the lion rescue their two lost friends, and since Dorothy has taken the golden cap from the witch, the four of them (and Toto) are ultimately transported back to The Emerald City by the winged monkeys. (These guys are better than Uber.) From here, the storyline pretty much follows the musical and movie, except that when the wizard takes off in the hot air balloon, The Witch of the North DOES NOT show up to save the day. Rather, our heroes are forced to take off on more adventures, and this time they go in search of The Witch of the South–Glinda–who lives in a land where everything is RED and sits on a throne made of RUBIES.

MGM (who made the movie) obviously COMBINED The Witch of the North with The Witch of the South.

Nowhere in the book (that I remember) is the phrase “lions and tigers and bears–oh my!” used. However, while the four friends are going south in search of Glinda, the come upon a land where everyone and everything is made of china (The Dainty China Country), and each of the characters except the lion says, “Oh my!”

Once the four travelers reach Glinda, she indeed teaches Dorothy how to use her magical shoes in order to get back home. But first she uses the golden cap, which Dorothy gives her in exchange for her help, to call three times upon the winged monkeys ato The Scarecrow back to rule The Emerald City (as the wizard asked him to do when he left in the hot air balloon), The Tin Woodman back to rule The Winkies in the west, and The (no-longer) Cowardly Lion back to rule a particular forest.

So Dorothy clicks her heels together three times and is whisked (in three steps) across “the desert” and back home to Kansas. (The shoes fall off her feet along the way.) However, during this whole ordeal, she never says, “There’s no place like home.” She does that earlier, when she meets The Scarecrow, who says he doesn’t understand why Dorothy would want to go back to dull, drab Kansas instead of staying in colorful Oz. “This is because you have no brains,” she says. “There’s no place like home.”

In the musical and movie, it’s strongly indicated that Dorothy was stuck unconscious by the tornado and has simply dreamt her adventures. But in the book, Dorothy comes running up to the farm, and Aunt Em says, “Where in the world have you come from?” Dorothy replies, “From the Land of Oz. … I’m so glad to be at home again!” And that’s it–THE END. Nothing is said about the tornado or the fact that Dorothy used their house as an airplane to go on vacation but didn’t bother to bring it back.

So that’s CoCo’s Cliff Notes for The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. But before closing, since I’m so fascinated by the symbology of this story, here a few final things that stood out to me in the book that didn’t stand out to me in the musical or movie:

1. On going into the forest

Joseph Campbell says, “You enter the forest at the darkest point, where there is no path. Where there is a way or path, it is someone else’s path; you are not on your own path. If you follow someone else’s way, you are not going to realize your potential.” So I think it’s appropriate that there’s NO ROAD to The Wicked Witch of the West. Like Campbell says of all true heroes, Dorothy and her friends must blaze their own trail.

Symbolically speaking, the forest Dorothy and her friends enter en route to The Wicked Witch represents Dorothy’s unconscious, and The Wicked Witch represents her shadow. (It’s all the same.) The Guardian of the Gates of The Emerald City is the one who says there is NO ROAD to The Wicked Witch and explains WHY this is the case–because “no one ever wishes to go that way.” Exactly, no one WANTS to face their shadow. Why would they? It’s dark, dangerous, and scary as hell. But it is–ultimately–the way home. As the saying goes, “The only way out–is in.”

Along the same lines, Caroline Myss says, “Always go with the choice that scares you the most–because that’s the one that’s going to require the most from you.”

2. On recognizing your own power

When The Wicked Witch enslaves Dorothy, she KNOWS that Dorothy could use her silver slippers to escape if she only knew what to do with them. But she explains, “I can still make her my slave, for she does not know how to use her power.” I think this is a gorgeous lesson, the perfect reminder that we are all more capable than we recognize; it’s just a matter of learning how to rise above rather than be intimated by that which at first blush seems scary. Jesus obviously knew how to do this–he slept through a storm, walked on water, and danced on his way to the cross. The reason they called him Master? Because it’s not easy.

But it is possible.

3. On being wonderful

When Glinda is preparing to send The Scarecrow back to rule The Emerald City, she says it’s because “it would be a shame to deprive the people of so wonderful a ruler,” and The Scarecrow says, “Am I really wonderful?

Glinda’s reply?

“You are unusual.”

Oh the shade! (Shade is when you insult someone discreetly, Mom.)

But seriously. Perhaps these two things–being wonderful and being unusual–go hand in hand. I don’t know–we so often want to be like everyone else. But the truth is, we are ALL unusual. For all our similarities, there will never be another YOU or another ME–ever, ever, ever. So why not own and celebrate our differences? Don’t they make us wonderful?

Don’t they make us FULL of wonder?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Things are only important because we think they are.

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Handle Yourself with Care (Blog #557)

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Last night I went to bed late, so I slept in this morning as much as possible. Still, I’ve felt “off” the entire day–groggy, nervous. For the last ten days I’ve been busy from sunup to sundown, but today there’s been squat to do. Consequently, I spent the entire afternoon inventing to-do list items like making my bed, washing my car, and doing my laundry. I just haven’t been able to sit still. But perhaps all my activity has been good, as it’s allowed me to reorient to normal life after spending nearly a hundred hours in the magical land of Oz.

Sorry, Mom and Dad, but our living room isn’t nearly as fun as Munchkin Land. Especially since your dog shit on the carpet this afternoon while you were gone.

It’s weird how you can get used to a new routine so quickly. For nine days I woke up at 7:30 in the morning so that I could be at work by 9:00. (Me–an early riser!) But after the show Saturday night, I went to bed at 2:00 AM and forgot to set an alarm for our tenth and final day, Sunday. And yet just like that, my body woke me up at 8:00–technically thirty minutes “late,” but still early enough for me to shake a leg and get to work on time. I don’t know–I’ve spent a lot of years not trusting my body, thinking that every ache and pain or lingering illness is a betrayal. But if my body can wake me up to go to work, it’s obviously smart and probably capable of MUCH more than I give it credit for.

I’m trying to believe in my body more. I’m trying to believe in myself more.

Just before tech week started, I was doing my level best to be in bed by midnight or one, limit the amount of caffeine I drank, and exercise. My internal mantra–which I borrowed from fitness guru Susan Powter–was “Eat, breathe, and move.” And whereas I ate healthily during those ten days in Oz, I didn’t bother with the caffeine restriction or even try to exercise (except for all that running around I did backstage). Anyway, I’m planning to ease myself back onto the “better-choices wagon this week, to re-implement those little changes consistently. Historically I’ve given myself a lot of crap for not being “perfect,” but this is life, and life happens. My therapist says, “Don’t say you ONLY dieted for three days. Say you dieted FOR THREE DAYS. That’s huge–some people never make an effort!”

I’m trying to be gentle with myself this time, to not be such a hard-ass perfectionist. I’m trying to handle myself with care.

This evening my friend Emily, who plays The Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz, invited me to join her and a few other cast members for dinner. Oh my gosh, y’all, what a perfect way to end my journey down the yellow brick road. For a couple hours, the five of us laughed, shared stories, and celebrated the birthday of the actor who plays Uncle Henry and the Gatekeeper of The Emerald City–Michael Weaver. Thank y’all!

Not it’s ten o’clock. Like yesterday, I’m awash with emotion, feeling everything from sadness to gratitude. Mostly, I’m tired. It’s especially difficult to know where to put everything when you’re tired. With any luck I’ll be curled up in bed soon with a book in my hands. Oh, Reading, how I have missed thee! Yes, this is what I need–to settle in and settle down, to read a few chapters, and finally to drift off to The Land of Nod, where anything is possible and everything works itself out one way or another.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one dances completely alone.

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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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You can be more discriminating.

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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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Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not true.

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A Horse of a Different Color (Blog #554)

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It’s day eight working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and after a full week of tech work, we had our first official performance this morning–for the local middle school. Y’all, teenagers get up early; the show was at nine-frickin’ o’clock. This means I had to wake up at six-frickin’-thirty in order to be at the Alma Performing Arts Center an hour early, at eight-frickin’ o’clock. Ugh. I had to double up on my morning coffee. I guess everyone’s tired. It’s been a long week. But all the the long days have been worth it–the show went fabulously both onstage and backstage. You should have heard the kids laughing, clapping, and awe-ing.

Talk about a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Here’s a picture of me and Kirk Lawrence-Howard, who plays Professor Marvel and The Wizard of Oz. He’s fabulous. (The big wiener is one of the props Professor Marvel uses, and–understandably–the cast and crew make a lot of jokes about it.)

Here’s a picture of me and Emily Perzan, The Wicked Witch of the West. She’s also fabulous. I’d give my left nut if I could cackle half as well as she can.

At lunch, all the locals were let go for the day. However, since I was organizing the prop gondolas (the big, black boxes full of show shit) for my supervisor, I got to stay. Y’all, I absolutely adored this assignment. First, I LOVE organizing and got to COLOR-CODE the different sections of the gondolas and LABEL everything inside. (I’m over the moon for a good label.) Second, I got to be creative in HOW I labeled things. Like, whenever a prop isn’t used for the rest of the show, it’s referred to as “dead.” So for the Stage Right prop gondola, I created a section for dead props and labeled it “Where props go to die.” (Stage Left is the left side of the stage or room if you’re onstage facing the audience, Mom.)

For the Stage Right prop gondola, I created a section for dead props and did this–

Here’s a picture of the entire Stage Right prop gondola (just before I added the dead-prop labels). The mess of straw on the right side of the second shelf from the top is the Scarecrow’s legs and arm that get “torn off” by the flying monkeys.

Now it’s seven-frickin’-thirty in the evening, and I’ve been home for a couple hours. I don’t have to be back at the theater until tomorrow afternoon. (Woowho.) I just finished reading an article in this month’s GQ (Gentlemen’s Quarterly) about mental health. Like me, they recommend seeing a therapist. However, at one point while talking about overcoming anxiety, the author of the article says, “It doesn’t take a lot. We’re not talking about therapy for a year.” And whereas I appreciate the idea that a little can go a long way, I’d like to add that a lot can go a much longer way.

I’ll explain.

Typically when people call me to inquire about dance lessons, they ask, “How many lessons will this take?” Well, there’s not a very good answer to that question. At least not a definite one. Simply put, if you take one dance lesson, you’ll know more than you did before, but you’ll also LOOK LIKE you took ONE dance lesson. Conversely, if you take fifty-two dance lessons (one a week for an entire a year), you’ll not only know infinitely more than you did before, but you’ll also look INFINITELY better. In other words, you get out of something what YOU put into it. This is WHY the national tour of The Wizard of Oz is the phenomenal show that it is–the cast and crew are not only fundamentally talented, but they’ve also put in hundreds and even thousands of hours perfecting their respective skills.

It’s with this logic in mind that I ask, “Would a year in therapy be THE WORST thing in the world if it helped you significantly lower your level of anxiety and lay your longstanding traumas to rest?” Personally, I’ve been going to therapy for four-and-a-half years (every other week for three years, and once a week since then). And it’s not that I’m so totally fucked up that I require a hundred plus hours of one-on-one professional attention. But just like I enjoy dancing and want to keep growing as a dancer, I also enjoy therapy (and when I don’t enjoy the process, I enjoy the results) and want to keep growing as a person.

I don’t know–we like our stories, our entertainment, short and simple. Dorothy encounters a tornado, is swept off to Oz, get a fabulous pair of shoes, meets her three best friends, kills two witches, and manages to get herself back to Kansas in the span of two-and-a-half hours. But real progress, real personal and spiritual growth, doesn’t happen in a matter of hours. It’s a little bit here and a little bit there–consistently–over time. Over a lot of time. Now–if you only have one hour to take a dance lesson or go to therapy? Go–do it for an hour. You’ll still get something out of it. But if you decide to really dig deep and truly commit to the process–well–as the guard to the gate of The Emerald City says–“That’s a horse of a different color.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Damn if good news doesn't travel the slowest.

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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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You've really got to believe in yourself and what you're doing. Again, it comes down to integrity and making something solid of yourself, something that's so well-built on the inside that it can handle any storm.

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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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Healing is never a straight line.

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On Soaring and Sinking (Blog #551)

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It’s day five working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and I woke up this morning in THE BEST MOOD. I really don’t know what came over me, but I started dancing as soon as I got out of bed, then grooved and shimmied all the way into the kitchen. I even plugged my earphones into my phone and turned up Christopher Cross. It’s all right, I think we’re gonna make it. But then in an effort to spin while moving from the refrigerator to the counter behind me, I dropped an egg on our open dishwasher, and it splattered all over the clean dishes. WHOOPS!

Arriving at the Alma Performing Arts Center, I was THAT GUY–the one who’s smiling and bouncing up and down with joy for no apparent reason. I don’t know–maybe having a routine and working a job that I enjoy is doing me good. Who knows? This was at nine o’clock, and I normally don’t even crack a smile until after noon. But this really has been a wonderful week. I’ve even been looking forward to driving home late at night and seeing my parents. They’ve been feeding me dinner and helping me make sure my paint clothes are clean, ready to go for the next day. As I eat, we talk about our day and catch up on each other’s respective soap operas. I often make self-deprecating remarks about living with my parents, but I think that needs to stop, since I wouldn’t have these positive memories otherwise.

Currently I’m on lunch break, which is only thirty more minutes. (Since I have other business to attend to at dinner, I’m blogging now.) Hum. I might have to finish writing late tonight. We’ll see. Anyway, somewhere during the last four hours, my good mood from this morning seriously dissipated. In its place has come a lot of internal chatter, mumbo-jumbo, and bullshit, which I think has mostly to do with my feeling like a stranger here. To be clear–everyone I’ve encountered–the cast, crew, and volunteers–are kind, considerate, and professional. Still, I don’t really KNOW anyone. At lunch and dinner when everyone else goes off in pairs or groups, I eat alone–just me, an apple and some peanut butter, and my computer.

This isn’t the easiest thing to do, observing–but not participating with–others who are having a good time. Not that people don’t talk to me or include me in things. I’ve certainly had plenty of those moments. But being the new guy isn’t the same as being the old friend or the established relationship. I don’t blame anyone for this situation. I am, after all, temporary help, and it takes time to form bonds. It was set up to be this way, and it’s ALWAYS awkward trying to figure out where you fit in.

Because I think we all–fundamentally–want to fit in.

You always have yourself to come back to.

Sitting down to write helps. I’m glad I’m doing this now instead of later. Because I’m reminded that no matter what kind of day I’m having–one that soars or one that sinks–I always have myself to come back to. As of yesterday, I’ve been doing this blogging thing for 550 days in a row(!), so I have plenty of documented evidence to remind me that people are people (doing the best they can), circumstances change, and emotions cycle through like the seasons. It’s all right, I think we’re gonna make it. Through everything, my job is to take care of me. And I can. I can be gentle and work with whatever arises, whatever shows up to be my teacher today, whatever shows up to bring me back to myself.

[Today’s top photo is from The Wicked Witch’s Chamber. I helped paint it (the bottom part). In this scene, Dorothy asks The Wicked Witch, “How did you get so mean?” The Wicked Witch replies, “Lots and lots of practice.” I imagine this answer also applies to how one becomes kind or gentle with oneself or others. Lots and lots of practice.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are surrounded by the light.

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