A More Mature Look (Blog #731, Birthday #2)

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Currently it’s two-thirty in the afternoon, and I’m at Starbucks blogging. A friend I haven’t seen in a while just walked over and said I was beginning to get that “older” look. That was how he started our conversation; that was his lead-in. So that felt good. To be fair, he said it looks good on me. What he meant by “it,” I’m not exactly sure. Wrinkles? (Are you saying I’m a good wrinkle wearer? Why thank you!) Recently my aunt’s dermatologist said she tries to avoid the term “age spots.” I guess people (old people) find it offensive. Instead she says “maturity spots.” Yes, I like that better. I don’t have an “older” look; I have a “mature” look.

Words matter.

Today is this blog’s second birthday. (Happy Birthday, Me and My Therapist!) Two years ago today, I wrote my first post. Since then, I’ve written every day. I really will start talking about something else soon, but wow. I just spent the last hour crunching some numbers and using a website to turn my blog into a PDF, and here are some facts. In year one, I wrote 375,441 words, an average of 1,028 words a day. In year two, I slowed down a little, writing 286,930 words, an average of 786 words a day. That’s an overall total of 662,371 words and an average of 907 words a day for the last two years. In PDF form, in 11 point font with no columns (text running all the way across the page), this translates to 1,050 pages for year one and 1,010 for year two, 2,060 pages altogether.

When the blog turned one last year, I went out with friends and deliberately did some things to celebrate. And whereas I went out with friends last night, it wasn’t for the specific purpose of celebrating the blog; it was just a coincidence. I don’t know. Maybe year two of blogging is similar to having your second child; it’s not celebrated in the same way the first one is. When something becomes routine, it’s easy to take it for granted. Still, I’m planning a few things this week in order to on-purpose pat myself on the back for how far I’ve come both in terms of this project and my personal growth. I’m trying to remind myself, No wait. This is a big deal. This is something you can be proud of.

Words matter. This is something I’ve learned during the last two years. The way you talk to yourself matters. Because that’s all I’ve been doing for the last over 600,000 words–talking to myself. That’s all I’m doing now, just sitting down and getting my thoughts out of my head and on paper. In a way, it’s like online journaling. Having a cyber man-diary, if you will. There is one difference, however. Whereas with a journal I might simply spill my thoughts out on to the page (barf!), with this project, in each entry, I make a point to talk myself into a better place. Internally I tell myself, Here is the ugly truth. Now how can we change our perspective about it? 

Lately a theme on the blog has been practice, the idea that if you just keep showing up to something–a blog, a dance class, a relationship–you’re likely to make progress. Napoleon Hill said, “Failure cannot cope with persistence.” And whereas I’ve thought a lot about the fact that my persistently blogging is making me a better writer, I haven’t considered until today that my persistently talking myself into a better place is making me a better self-talker. That is, we all have an internal narrator who provides a dialogue about what’s going on in our lives. Maybe yours says, “You’re too fat” or “You’re inadequate.” I know mine does at times. But I’m happy to report that more and more my internal narrator says, “Sweetheart, you’re beautiful–period” and “You are more than enough.” Occasionally friends have mentioned it must be nice to have thoughts like these. Well, yes, it is. But these thoughts have been practiced. Through years of self-help material, work with my therapist, and especially this blog, these thoughts have been invited in and encouraged to stay.

You don’t need to change; your thoughts do.

Sometimes I think you have to give up. What I mean is that our society, to its detriment I think, is hyper-focused on youth, beauty, and success by the world’s standards. We’re told that getting old sucks, so avoid it at all costs, and that what matters is on the outside, not the inside. And whereas most of us when pressed would say, “That’s bullshit, utter bullshit,” it doesn’t stop us from spending our hard-earned money on creams and lasers that claim to reverse the signs of aging or buying spandex to do for our skin what it can no longer do for itself. I’m not saying you should let yourself go. But I am saying that at some point the whole charade becomes ridiculous. Morrie Schwartz, the subject of the book Tuesdays with Morrie, said, “The culture we have does not make people feel good about themselves. And you have to be strong enough to say, if the culture doesn’t work, don’t buy it.” Think about it, for decades–decades!–you tell yourself you’re too this, too that. You convince yourself that YOU need to change, rather than realizing that it’s your thoughts that do.

Words matter.

Going forward with this blog, I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I’ve told a few people (and now I’m telling you) that my goal is to reach a thousand days in a row. God willing and the creek don’t rise, that should happen just before this calendar year comes to an end. And since that’s close to a year from now, it seems reasonable to me to blog every day for another 365 days. That will be three years total. Three years–that was good enough for Jesus’s ministry, so it might as well be good enough for mine. Regardless of when it happens, I know at some point I’ll stop blogging and focus on other projects. There’s a saying that once you reach the other side of the river, you set your raft aside. That is, the important thing about this blog is not that I have reached or will reach a certain number of posts or words, but rather that it’s been a vehicle for getting myself to another place internally–a better-feeling, kinder-self-talking place.

A more mature place.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A break is no small thing to give yourself.

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This Is Where the Roots Grow (Blog #730!)

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It’s ten-thirty in the morning, and I’ve been awake and functional for an entire hour. Last night I dreamed that I’d stolen two piano keyboards from a warehouse and stashed them in the back of my car. Then I got stopped by the police, and an old lady kept trying to take my picture. The flash on the camera made my eyes squint. I was worried about being seen with the stolen goods, which had just been found by the cops. They’d opened my back door. The old lady was a distraction. Then I was walking back to the warehouse with the keyboards’ rightful owners, who were intent on proving the keyboards matched their other equipment and, therefore, belonged to them. I remember thinking, I hope I don’t get discovered. And yet I didn’t run away; I continued to walk.

Wow. Today’s blog is #730, which means that as soon as I hit “publish,” I will have completed two full years of daily blogging (365 x 2=730). I can’t tell you what this accomplishment means to me. As I type these words, I have tears in my eyes. Overwhelmed with pride, joy, and even grief, I’m at a loss for how to fully express what I’m feeling. I did it.

Recently I heard Dustin Hoffman say that actors should always be working. Not that they should always be in front of a camera or in a play or movie, but that they should always be working on their craft. “Read a famous play, watch a classic movie,” he said. (I’m paraphrasing.) “Pay attention. Go to the mall and observe people. Find out about the world around you.” I can’t tell you how much I adore this advice. When I started this blog two years ago, I was giving myself a lot of shit for living with my parents and not having a “real” job. Many times I’ve said that I haven’t been working. But the truth is that I have been working. I haven’t always been getting paid for my work, but for the last 730 days I’ve put my butt in a chair and worked on my craft. For thousands of hours. And when I haven’t been at the keyboard, I’ve been reading–learning about writing, psychology, and more. Plus, I’ve been paying attention to other people, my relationships, and how life works. For a writer, this is invaluable.

A tree’s roots are under the ground.

I’m not saying this to brag. Look! I’ve been using my brain! Rather, I’m saying this as an honest acknowledgment. From blog #1 I’ve said I needed to soften up on myself. That is, I’ve spent the majority of my thirty-eight years on this earth beating myself up and thinking that not only am I not good enough, but also that I don’t know enough, don’t work enough. But I’m tired of this way of thinking. For one thing, it doesn’t feel good. For another, it’s not true. I work my ass off. Just because you can’t always see it–in the form of a paycheck or completed novel, for example–doesn’t mean it’s not there. A tree’s roots are under the ground.

The last time I talked to my therapist about my thought that my life isn’t happening fast enough, she encouraged me to trust the universe’s timing. “I used to think that I needed a better job or more money,” she said, “but looking back I can see that I wouldn’t have been ready for those things at the time. So you have to ask yourself, ‘Am I really ready for something else, or am I still being prepared for it?'” Ugh. Preparation. That’s what I think this period in my life is. Growing roots. Hoffman says one of his favorite experiences in the world of entertainment involved–early on–directing a play in Fargo, North Dakota. Though it wasn’t anything big by the world’s standards, it turned out to be invaluable for what would come later. Again, the work that was important was the work that nobody saw.

Since today is the last blog of Year Two of Me and My Therapist, it feels like both this post and the day itself should be big, something grand. And whereas I imagine parts of it will be, the truth is that this post and the rest of the day will have their hits and misses. Words and moments that I think are fabulous, others will rush right over. Things I’d cut out in a heartbeat–what, this old thing?–others will cling to. After all, we each have our own set of glasses through which we see the world. Even if you wanted to, you can’t exchange your pair for another’s. I do think, however, that you can change your own pair of glasses, that you can begin to see the world, and even yourself, differently. Not in a flash, but over time. Unfortunately, that’s the only reliable way I’ve found to competently do anything–learn to dance, learn to write, or change you perceptions (which really means changing yourself). It’s simply a law of nature–strong roots don’t grow overnight.

Another thing Hoffman said is that even with all his talent, experience, and success, part of him always feels like an imposter. That he spent so many years being rejected, being interrupted mid-audition and told, “Thank you, next!” that he’s sure every film will be his last. Like, They finally figured it out–I’m a fraud. That’s what I think my dream was about last night, my feeling like other people are talented but that I’m not, that somehow I’ve stolen something that rightfully belongs to somebody else. The good news, I think, is that this perception is changing, indicated in the dream by the old woman (my old ideas) taking my picture (the way I see things). Plus, despite my fear in the dream–I hope I don’t get discovered–I continued to walk. In waking life, I continue to write because I DO want to be discovered. I imagine every artist does. But more than wanting or needing outside recognition, I know I must first have my own recognition. Regardless of what anyone else says or thinks, I have to believe in myself and what I’m doing here.

More and more, I do.

You can weather any storm.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The years teach much that the days never know.” Amen. In two years of daily writing, I’ve learned that something magical happens between the words, between the lines, between each time I hit “publish.” This is the part that no one sees. This is where the roots grows. Try as I might, I’ll never be able to describe this experience to anyone else who hasn’t lived it for themselves, how a practice like this can transform you. But when you’ve changed, you know it. Personally, I know what it feels like to be grounded, to grow steady in yourself. I know what it feels like to know–deep down–that you can weather any storm. There’s this inner confidence. You think, I am not a fraud. Strong roots produce strong trees.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t change what happened, but you can change the story you tell yourself about it.

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On Internal House Cleaning (Blog #729)

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Phew. Today has been a cleaning day. This afternoon my dad and I went to my aunt’s house to borrow her lawn mower and weed eater because I recently volunteered to take care of our yard this summer. As my sinuses have been acting up and my eyes have been watering just LOOKING at the weeds outside, I may regret this decision. We’ll see. Anyway, while my dad and I were at my aunt’s house, she told us her freezer had been acting up. It was frozen over in the back. Consequently, everything in the front was melting like the Wicked Witch of the West–chicken thighs, burritos, quarts of vanilla ice cream. It was a damn mess.

My dad and I did the best we could–got the ice off the removable shelves and threw all the food away. My aunt said, “I’ll just start over.” Sometimes that’s what you have to do. As for the freezer itself, we left it to defrost on its own. Short of dragging the entire refrigerator/freezer out of my aunt’s kitchen, all we could do was let it drip on to the tile floor. Thankfully, my aunt has plenty of towels.

When we got home, I dusted my room top to bottom. This hasn’t happened since November 13th of last year. (I know this because I blogged about it.) That’s four months. Don’t judge. During that time I busted my knee; cleaning was the least of my worries. Plus, I like to let the dust build up a bit. Then I can really see progress. After an hour of cleaning tonight, I thought, My god, this room sparkles. In addition to being cleaner, it’s tidier. I used cleaning as an excuse to sort through papers and books I’d let pile up. I have a makeshift bulletin board where I put inspirational cards and pictures, and I took a few of them down. (Sorry, mister, you don’t inspire me anymore!) Then I gathered several books to donate to a local library. Maybe someone else can enjoy them.

In the mood to get shit done, I cleaned my bathroom next. (After dinner because you gotta eat.) Ugh. This was really gross. You don’t realize how much soap scum is in your shower until you wipe–um, scrape–it off. But now my bathroom sparkles too.

Yippee. No more cleaning for another four months.

It’s weird how easy it is to let things get away from you. Dust and soap scum aside, it’s so easy to throw a piece of paper in a pile or set a book on a shelf and think, I’ll get to that later. And whereas the contrast is nice when you finally do get around to cleaning and tidying, it really is better if you can stay on top of things. I’m speaking in theory, of course, but I’ve heard there are some people who do this. Rather than clean an entire room (or house) at once, they’ll do the furniture one day, the windows the next, and so on. A little bit here and there.

I mean, it’s one way of living.

Tomorrow’s post will complete two full years of blogging. I keep saying this, but it doesn’t seem possible. I still so vividly remember blog #1, blog #2. Back then two years seemed impossible. But how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. How do you blog for two years? One day at a time.

The last few days I’ve talked about the internal benefits of this blog, how it’s changed my level of confidence and almost everything else for the better. This afternoon I’ve been thinking of an external benefit–my writing discipline has improved. For example, two years ago a typical post took five to six hours. Several months or maybe a year in, a post took three hours, maybe four. And whereas my posts are shorter than they used to be, now a post takes two hours max, sometimes just one. It varies, of course, but my point’s the same–writing has gotten easier with practice. In the beginning, I had to groan and grunt to get my words and emotions out of me and on to the page. Now I sit down and they just know–the page is where they belong.

Along these lines, last night I started rewatching a favorite childhood cartoon, The Care Bears Movie. Sometimes I like to do this, go back and rewatch something I watched ad nauseam as a kid. I only got about thirty minutes into the cartoon before I passed out, but even by my current touchy-feely standards, it’s kind of cheesy. “We’re your friends,” the bears say to two complete strangers. My thought–Bitch, we just met. “Feelings don’t belong inside,” they say. “Feelings are meant to be shared.” Ugh, how did that message not sink in thirty years ago?

Of course, the bears make it sound simple to open up and share what’s inside you. It’s not. That is, we’re taught as children to suppress. For most of us, shutting down was–at one point–a matter of survival. For example, if you got hit every time you cried, the natural response would be to STOP CRYING. Not that you’d stop getting sad, of course, you’d just stop showing it. Like I did these last four months with the clutter and dust in my room, you’d let your emotions build up.

Why carry around more baggage than you have to?

In my experience, therapy has been, in part, about getting out and cleaning up all the emotions I shoved down and let build up over the years–anger, sadness, confusion, you name it. I think everyone needs to do this at some point–clean their internal house. Not that it’s fun to scrape soap scum off your soul, but why carry around more baggage than you have to? This blog has likewise been a good way for me to get things cleaned up. Used to, I’d let things bother me for days, weeks. Sometimes I still do, of course, but most the time I can get something sorted out on the same day it happens–right here, on this blog. This means the inevitable nonsense from one day doesn’t get carried into the next. This too has gotten easier with practice.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You’re exactly where you need to be.

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On Being Born Again (Blog #728)

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This time two years ago, I was two days away from officially starting this blog. I’d gotten the idea for it a week or so before, but on March 30, 2017, I actually bit the bullet and bought the domain. My first post was the next day, March 31, 2017, although the site didn’t go live until the first week in April. Anyway, this means I’m three posts (including this one) away from two full years of daily blogging. I’ve been reflecting on this a lot lately; I just can’t get over it. On one hand, two years seems like forever. On the other, it seems like the blink of an eye, as if I’d only written–I don’t know–a dozen posts rather than sixty dozen.

My therapist told me recently that she thought this blog was as much if not more responsible for my growth as therapy has been. I said, “The blog has been like sitting down to talk to a friend and then realizing that friend is me. It’s been my way back to myself.” Still, I’m glad I’ve had and continue to have both therapy and this blog. I’m sure just one would have been beneficial. Before this blog, therapy was beneficial. But with this blog–wow–it’s been even more so. Regardless of how long this project goes on, I’m sold on the idea of working through your thoughts and emotions. Whether with one person or the entire internet, I’m sold on the idea of honestly sharing your story.

This is me, warts and all.

The book I mentioned yesterday that my therapist recommended (by Sheldon B. Kopp) says the truth does NOT set you free. That is, facts by themselves–my boyfriend’s a cheater, my husband’s a louse, my wife is a drunk–don’t change anything. This is why, the author contends, the greatest teachers use stories and parables to teach rather than simply saying, “Your best friend’s an asshole, and you should dump them.” Because people need to be able to work things out for themselves. Said another way, if you’re unhappy for some reason, it’s not simply that a particular situation in your life needs to change; it’s that YOU do. This, of course, takes time. When I broke up with my ex, there were plenty of people who could have rightly said, “We TOLD you he was a grade-A prick.” But I didn’t need to be told the truth; I needed to live it. THAT’S what sets you free, when truth goes from something that lives between your ears to something that lives within your heart. That’s what’s transforming.

Since I started therapy five years ago, my therapist says I’m a changed man. She says the way I walk, the way I carry myself, is different. Of course, I’ve never videotaped myself walking, so I can’t say. But I do know I feel different–better, lighter, happier, more confident, less afraid, more at-home in my own skin. The list could go on. And whereas I can’t say exactly when all of this happened, I just know it has. Not that I’m always up and never down. That’s not how things work on this planet. I experience the full range of my emotions. Indeed, I feel anger and rage more than I ever have. But I also feel joy more than I ever have. That’s one of the things I’ve learned in the last five years–when you shove down a “bad” emotion, you likewise depress a “good” one. The shadow is tied to the light.

As I come to the close of two years of blogging, I’m thinking about what will be next. And whereas I plan to continue my daily online writing habit, I know it won’t last forever. By my own admission, I’m quite the hard ass about this ever day, every damn day thing, and it’s exhausting. Rewarding, but exhausting, and this body and soul can only take so much. Anyway, I’m slowly working my way around to the idea that it’s not the number (728 blogs!) that matters. It’s not the number of words, the number of readers, or the number of shares. I’ve made these things important in my head before (and probably will again), but fuck all that. No, it’s what’s happened on the inside that’s important. It’s the transformation, that thing that happens slowly, can’t be quantified, and is rarely praised by others; that morphing from one thing to another more beautiful, more authentic, and more true thing; that being born again that matters.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Who’s to say that one experience is better than another?

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This Sucks, I know (Blog #727)

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Recently my therapist recommended the book If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him!–The Pilgrimage of Psychotherapy Patients by Sheldon B. Kopp. I started it last night and read more this afternoon and evening. And whereas I’m only about a third of the way through (55 pages), I adore it. Through the use of personal stories, metaphors, and myth, Kopp perfectly describes the journey of therapy, a journey he says often begins because a person is struggling or in pain and wants something more, something better. He relates this to the hero’s journey of all time. It’s fabulous. But beware, he says, “Everything good is costly, and the development of your personality is one of the most costly of all things. It will cost you your innocence, your illusions, your certainty.”

I know what you must be thinking–Where do I sign up?

That final sentence–it will cost you your innocence, your illusions, your certainty–was the last thing I read before falling asleep early this morning, and it’s been on my mind since I woke up. I think because it’s true. You go to therapy wanting someone else to take care of you, but you find out you have to take care of yourself. You go to therapy wanting to feel better, but also wanting your life and relationships to stay the same. (This isn’t possible.) You go to therapy wanting answers, but end up with more questions. Because nothing in life is for-sure.

This sucks, I know.

In terms of illusions, Kopp says that at some point patients (pilgrims, seekers) must give up the idea that they’re special. This is a tough one for me. Maybe for anyone in America, since we’re so focused on the individual and-the-aptly named social ME-dia is all about ME, ME, ME. But as a specific personal example, once when I was telling my therapist about a breakup, she said part of the problem I had in that relationship was that I thought I was special. That is, I saw that my ex lied to a number of people in his life, but I didn’t think he would lie TO ME. (He did.) Because I’m different somehow. Because no one else understood or cared for him like I did. Whatever. It was all bullshit. Liars lie to everyone. Even me. Even you.

This sucks, I know.

Another illusion Kopp says we must give up is the idea that we’re going to live forever. Said another way, we must accept the fact that we’re going to die. Because nothing here is permanent–not your age, not your beauty. He uses the therapy hour as a template for impermanence. Mine lasts fifty minutes, but the point is the same. For an agreed-upon amount of time, my therapist and I sit down and discuss what-the-hell-ever. Then the alarm goes off, and that’s pretty much it. Maybe we drag it out a little, but more often than not, I leave with items still on my list of things to talk about. Time’s up. We did the best we could. All good things must come to an end.

This used to really bother me, when my therapist and I weren’t able to talk about everything on my list. Now I know anything can wait. There will be other sessions. And even if they’re aren’t–because at some point our relationship will end–I know I have myself. That’s another point that Kopp makes, that ultimately we are our own teachers. Other people can help us, but nobody else can really DO anything FOR another person. That is, I can take your physical trash out to the curb, but I can’t take your mental trash out. I can show you how I cha-cha, but not how you should. Because they’re your feet, your hips, and they don’t move like mine. So each of us is responsible for himself/herself/themselves.

Pronouns are so confusing these days.

But back to not finishing things on the list and all things coming to an end. I could start crying right now if I thought I’d never see my therapist again. Not because I NEED her, but because she’s taught me that I don’t, that–honestly–I don’t need anybody. I don’t mean that to sound cold. I love you, and I enjoy our time together, just like I do with my therapist. But I know I’ll be OKAY if we never talk again because I have myself to come back to. That’s why I think I’ll cry after my last session with my therapist, whenever that is. Because I’m grateful for the work we’ve done together. I’ll be sad, sure, just like I’ll be sad when I write my last blog post. Yes, one day it will be time’s up for this project. One day it will be time’s up for EVERYTHING in life–our lovers, our health, our waistlines.

This sucks, I know.

This afternoon my dad and I took my aunt to see her dermatologist. As I read my book in the waiting room, Dad asked about the title. And whereas I haven’t gotten to that chapter in the book, I told him I think it means that if you think anyone else, including your therapist, is your savior (if you see the Buddha on the road), kill him. Said less violently, take him/her/them off the pedestal you’ve put them on. Because only you can save you. (The Buddha isn’t OUT THERE, he’s IN HERE.) Only you can take out your mental garbage, only you can clean up the relationships in your life, and only you can do anything about anything else that’s bothering you. This is YOUR life, and this is YOUR journey. So you have to take responsibility for it. You have to grow up.

This sucks, I know.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As taught in the story of the phoenix, a new life doesn't come without the old one first being burned away.

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A Cedar Inside a Seed (Blog #726)

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Today has been fabulous. This morning I woke up early to go to therapy. Because this last Sunday was five years since my first therapy appointment, I picked up cookies on the way. (My therapist likes cookies.) When I walked into my therapist’s office in a bow tie and suit jacket (and pants, of course, you pervert), she happened to be in the waiting room and commented that I looked fancy. Then she looked at her receptionist and said, “It’s our anniversary.”

She remembered.

Other than my dressing up and the cookies (with which I also had a cup of coffee), today’s session was like any other. Still, the entire time I had it in my head just how much my life has positively changed over the last five years. Even now, if I really stopped to think about the impact this one person has had on me, I’d start crying. It’s no small thing to be accepted, affirmed, believed in, and trusted. Indeed, I can say without hesitation–my therapist has, from the beginning, believed in me. More than I did. More than I do. This has been transformative. Thanks to her belief and support, I now believe in and trust myself more than I ever have.

I’ve mentioned before that scarcity is a big issue for me, and today my therapist referred to this issue as my “grand struggle.” She said we all have one. “Mine is different than yours,” she said, “but I can identify with yours.” This is why my coming to believe in myself is such a big deal. Because if you believe in scarcity–that there’s not enough money, not enough opportunity, and not enough sex (but really)–then, since you see the world through “not enough” glasses, you’ll believe you’re not enough either. You’ll have to. You’ll think, I need to learn more, I need to know more people, and I need to look different before I can be happy or successful because–I’m not enough. This, of course, is a lie. You’re either enough right here, right now, or you never will be. And that’s what I’m coming to believe, that there’s enough money, opportunity, and sex for me. That I’m enough exactly how I am.

That I have everything I need and always have.

Before I left therapy, my therapist told me that I’ve reaffirmed her belief that people can change for the better. This means the world to me. I say often that I’ve changed and that therapy has been great–better than great–for me, but since my progress has been stretched out over five years, it’s sometimes difficult to see even though I know it’s there. So it was nice to be reminded that I’m a different man than I was five years ago. Not that my fundamental me-ness has changed. My therapist told me in one of our very first sessions, “It’s my job to support you in reaching your highest potential.” Not my simply better, average, or good-enough potential. My highest potential. So she set the bar high. We set the bar high, because I agreed too–there’s a lot of possibility here, inside of me, and I’m willing to work to bring it out; I’m not willing to get to the end of my life and think, I was capable of more but settled for less. I let fear get the best of me.

Once when we were discussing a specific dream I have, my therapist said, “Do you think you can do this?” and I said, “Yes!” Then she said, “I believe you. You didn’t hesitate or waver before answering, so I know that’s your truth. And I think–I know–you can too.” Then I said, “It’s not that I don’t think I’m capable, it’s that I’m afraid. I’m afraid that my dreams won’t come true. So sometimes it’s easier to not dream than to dream and think it might not happen. The second thought hurts too much.”

Again, this thinking is a belief in scarcity, that God or the universe is capable of growing a tree, a mountain range, or a galaxy, but incapable of growing you and your dreams. Said another way, because all of life is progressive, it’s a belief that you are somehow the exception to the rule, that on a huge, whirling planet (with electricity, the internet, and peanut butter), everything is moving and evolving except stagnant little you. That stars, sunrises, and cedar trees are beautiful but you’re not. That there’s not enough growth and beauty here for all of us.

Over the years, I’ve had a thousand dance students in whom I saw some sort of potential and imagine I’ve told all of them, “You’re doing a good job. I see progress.” Unfortunately, many students have brushed these statements off. But I’ve thought what my therapist has told me before–I’ll believe in you until you can believe in yourself. I know on some level, they already do believe in themselves. Otherwise they wouldn’t be there, doing the work. Maybe they’re not firm in their belief yet, but a part of them is hoping. With both dance and therapy, I know this is enough, the hope that some part of your life can improve. Granted, like a cedar inside a seed, you start small. At times you feel small. Then one day you begin to feel it, your potential to be large, strong, and beautiful. At some point, perhaps thanks to someone who believes in you, you think, I belong here too. There’s more than enough everything to go around.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Obviously, God's capable of a lot. Just look around."

If You Slip on a Banana Peel (Blog #725)

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When I was a kid, in 1987, there was a commercial for HI-C, the juice box, that featured Harvey Korman and Tim Conway. I didn’t know it was them at the time, I just thought it was funny. I must have watched it a hundred times. In the commercial, Korman plays Mrs. Appleseed, the mother of Johnny Appleseed, who’s played by Conway (on his knees like his famous character Dorf), and is excited about the new HI-C juice box, which he claims is better than regular apple juice. Mrs. Appleseed, however, doesn’t agree, hitting her son over the head and knocking him backwards when he ask her to buy HI-C. But in characteristic Conway fashion, he pops right back up. Then, when threatened with another swat, he falls back down on his own.

After being sick all day yesterday with sinus issues, my body did that thing last night where it starts feeling better in the middle of the night and, consequently, won’t fall asleep. Today, I’ve been in the middle. I haven’t felt like a million bucks today, but I have felt–um–functional. Congested, but not miserable. Tired, but not wiped out. “Maybe you’re headed in the right direction,” my mom said. Here’s hoping. This has been so back-and-forth lately that I’m starting to feel like Tim Conway in the above commercial. Fearful of being swatted back down, I’m tempted to just stay on the floor.

And drink a juice box.

Despite my frustrations with my sinuses, today has been delightful. This afternoon I went to the gym with my dad and aunt and hit a personal milestone since having my knee surgery three months ago tomorrow–I ran two miles (on the treadmill). Oh my gosh, y’all, I broke a sweat and everything. Hopefully, it just gets better from here. After the gym, we went back to my aunt’s house and ate a late lunch/early dinner with my other aunt. We shot the shit. I drank a cup of coffee. Then my dad and I went to the gas station and Walmart. These memories, I realize, aren’t grand. However, knowing that time with our loved ones is always limited, I hold them fondly. More and more, in my book, it takes less and less to qualify as a good day.

Last night I watched the movie Analyze This. It’s a comedy about a mob boss (Robert DeNiro) who sees a therapist (Billy Crystal) for anxiety attacks. They’re keeping him from killing people. And getting an erection.

No, not at the same time.

There’s a scene in the movie where DeNiro says to Crystal, “No one can find out I’m seeing you. They’ll think I’m crazy.” Oh my gosh, unfortunately, this is true. My therapist says it’s “worse” with middle-aged and older people, but that society as a whole believes seeing a therapist is a sign of weakness. Like, I couldn’t do this on my own. But in my experience, seeing a therapist means that you’re strong. Because you’re willing to fight for yourself. Plus, we all need help, support, and skills from time to time, and god knows our culture does a piss-poor job of educating its members about emotions, boundaries, relationships, and trauma (which we all experience by virtue of being alive). Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual. In my opinion, there’s no shame in taking dance lessons because you don’t know how to dance, and there’s no shame in seeing a therapist because you don’t know how to navigate (insert your problem here).

One of the things I appreciate about the movie is that it makes light of topics that are really quite serious. For example, when DeNiro and his thugs keep barging in on Crystal’s private life (like Bob does with his therapist in What About Bob?), Crystal says, “Your boundaries are terrible.” In real life, people with bad boundaries cause us stress. In the movies, they make us laugh. Or, in the sentiment of a famous Mel Brooks quote, if I slip on a banana peel, that’s a tragedy; if YOU slip on a banana peel, that’s a comedy.

I’ve been thinking about this banana peel idea all day long. Call it human nature, but if someone else gets swatted down repeatedly by life, I can see the humor in it. If it happens to ME, well, that’s a different matter. But today I’ve been especially aware that, from the right twisted viewpoint, the life circumstances that I push so hard against are actually funny. Independent, thirty-eight-year-old lives with his parents. Colon-cleansing health-nut can’t get well to save his life. Personally, taking this comedic view makes my circumstances more bearable. Not that I hold this “isn’t it hilarious that I feel like ass?” viewpoint every minute of every day. My therapist says, “Tragedy plus time equals comedy.” That is, if you can’t see the humor in your challenges, maybe you just need more time. (Or maybe you don’t have a sense of humor.)

I hope it’s not the latter. A good sense of humor is a life-saver.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When you hide your hurt, you can’t help but pass it on. It ends up seeping, sometimes exploding out.

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You Can Best Your Monsters (Blog #724)

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Five years ago today I had my first therapy session. Happy anniversary to me and my therapist (the people, not the blog)! Holy crap, y’all, I’ve come a long way and changed dramatically, both inside and outside. In the last five years I’ve confronted my demons and verbalized my deepest fears. I’ve learned to say no (to bad relationships), learned to say yes (to myself and healthy behaviors), and learned to speak my truth. And whereas it may sound like a silly thing to celebrate–the day I started seeing my shrink–I will forever be grateful for my therapist, her presence in my life, and what I’ve learned from her. Even if I were to never see her again, I know I’ve been forever transformed because of her. My life is on a better path.

So pass the cake.

Yesterday I blogged about feeling better and healing from my on-and-off sinus infection. I’d tried something different that seemed to the trick. Alas, I woke up in the middle of the night sick again, and I’ve felt weak and congested all day. It’s been back-and-forth like this for a while now, and it’s beginning to wear me out. I feel like I’m constantly having the rug pulled out from under my feet. Like my body and the universe are giving me health for a day then saying, “Nope. Just kidding. We take it back.” It makes me want to quit trying, to just give in and be sick every day, every damn day, to cry uncle.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m not built like that.

This afternoon I’ve been brainstorming “next steps” and things to try. In my experience, there are always more things to try. And whereas this is overwhelming–because how do you decide what to try next?–it leaves room for hope. Last year I had a sinus infection for three months and finally found something that knocked it out for a year, so surely I can find a solution this time. Not that this is fun to do when you’re sick, drag your ass all around town and the internet looking for answers. My resolve comes and goes.

Recently I came across the questions, “Could you accept your pain as part of your experience without wanting it to change in any way? Could you include it as part of all that is you?” I really like these questions. So often when I’m in pain or experiencing something unwanted, like a sinus infection, I push against it. My body tenses, my breathing shortens. It’s like how a kid closes their eyes believing whatever it is they don’t want to see will disappear if their face is clenched tight. Of course, this just adds more stress to your system and causes you to hyper-focus on the problem. So I’ve been trying today to not let my current struggle be the only thing I’ve thought about, to let it be part of my day, but not my day entirely.

I’ve been mildly successful.

This afternoon I re-read some old blog posts, and it’s the biggest trip, reading my inner thoughts and wonderings from the perspective of almost two years later. It’s like knowing how my own story’s going to end. For example, today I read about my being concerned over hospital bills and body odor and thought, Don’t worry, kid, it’ll all work out. Or at least if it doesn’t, you’re not going to die. Part of me knows that two years from now, I’ll look back at this current challenge and think the same thing. I made it. And yet another part frets.

A week from today will be my second blogiversary. If I can make it seven more posts (including tonight’s), I will have completed two full years of daily writing. Wow. Like meeting my therapist, this project has transformed my life for the better. A few times over the last two years, people have commented that I do quite a bit of complaining or bitching here. I know I talk about being sick a lot (because I’ve been sick a lot). But the premise of the blog is this–first, I spill my guts about something that’s bothering me, then I do my damnedest to work myself into a better place, to find hope. Sure, I wish I could just straight to the hope part; I wish I could be sunshine and rainbows every day, every damn day. But even after five years of therapy, I haven’t figured out how to never let anything get to me. (Maybe you have.) I have, however, figured out to take even the scariest monsters in my life and shine a light on them. I’ve figured out how to shrink them down to size.

When I think about being sick, it’s really the fear that gets me. Because it’s not a problem to be sick for a day or a month. Even a year, I suppose. But you think, What if this lasts forever? What if there is no answer? Talk about tensing up. That shuts you down. But since starting therapy and especially since starting this blog, I’ve come to believe that everything is workable and everything is faceable. Not that you’ll feel confident every moment of every day or always handle yourself with grace, but deep down a part of you will never waver, a part of you will know. You can do this. You’re just as big as anything that scares you. You can best your monsters.

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 Being in Touch with Your Emotions (Blog #723)

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Yesterday I blogged that I was going to give myself the weekend to be sick, that I’d wait until Monday before trying to “mount a defense.” Or anything else given how little energy I had. (That was a sex joke, Mom.) That didn’t happen. After I posted the blog, I went to the website where I first heard about the probiotic (L. Sakei) that I’ve used half a dozen times to banish my sinus infections. There I read that if the probiotic previously worked for you but hasn’t lately, it can be because your body has acclimated to it. Switch it up, the site said. If you’ve been using the powder, try kimchi (fermented cabbage), or vice versa. Or take a regular probiotic capsule, break it open in you mouth, and swish the contents around.

In short, do what you gotta do to get your sinus flora back on track.

About midnight, hopeful, I went to Walmart. There I picked up the cheapest probiotic I could find ($10 for 8 strains and 14 billion active cultures) and a jar of kimchi ($6). On my way to the cash register I decided, Even if this doesn’t work, I’ll go shopping for another product tomorrow. If I have to drop a hundred bucks to find something that works, it’ll be better than being completely wiped out and congested. Back at the house, I started with the probiotic–broke it open, swished it around in my mouth. (Apparently the critters can crawl into your sinuses from your throat, but there’s no evidence they can make it up there from your stomach.) Then I poured some kimchi juice into a small glass, dipped my pinky into it, and swabbed my nostrils; then I gargled and swallowed what was left.

Fingers crossed, I thought.

An hour later, while lying in bed watching old episodes of Soap, I thought, I think I feel better. Still, I wasn’t sure. After all, wishful thinking is a real thing. But two hours later when I was wide awake and couldn’t sleep to save my life, I was certain I had more energy. Yes, I was coming back online. Two hours after that, at five in the morning, my congestion cleared. About six, I finally fell asleep. Thankfully, I’ve felt better all day. My nose has been a little snotty, but I’ve had more energy and haven’t hacked up anything disgusting. This morning I reapplied last night’s treatment and will do so again shortly. Here’s hoping it continues to do the trick.

I know I’ve been talking about this a lot lately and am beginning to sound like The Boy Who Cried My Sinuses Are Healed. Over the last three weeks, I’ve woken up sick/woken up better so many times it’s not even funny. The way I see it, my sinuses are simply having a hard time finding their balance. Still, I’m grateful they’re trying. I’m also grateful there are websites like the ones I mentioned earlier, that people like me have shared their experiences of what works and what doesn’t. Plus, I’m getting to see what a wonder the body is. For years I took antibiotics for sinus infections, and–at best–I’d see improvement in two days. One if I took steroids also. But last night I felt a dramatic shift in only five hours.

Color me amazed!

Of course, I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. But–

No one ever knows what’s going to happen tomorrow.

Today I heard Steve Martin quote Herbert Ross as saying, “Anger has a thousand faces.” For context, Martin was talking about acting, about how some actors–unfortunately–do what’s called “indicating,” which would be, say, smiling like a damn fool to let the audience know your character is happy or shouting (OR TYPING IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS) to let them know you’re angry. But obviously, these aren’t the only faces these emotions have. We’ve all seen talented actors, or even friends and family, be terse, frustrated, sarcastic, quiet, or overly nice, and thought, Oh shit, they’re about to blow their top. In Martin’s words, “Emotions come out so convoluted.”

I’ve been chewing on this statement all day. Emotions come out so convoluted. First, is that true or what? Second, I think it’s funny that we can quickly and accurately pick up on the subtle emotions of actors and other people, but that we’re often oblivious to what’s going on within ourselves. For example, for years I told myself that I wasn’t bothered by other people’s poor or rude behavior and that I didn’t mind bending over backwards to help people who were (from my current viewpoint) obviously taking advantage of me. But since starting therapy five years ago, I’ve gotten very clear about the fact that, indeed, I was bothered. More specifically, and quite rightly, I was angry–PISSED OFF!–about a number of relationships and situations in my life.

“Better to be pissed off than pissed on,” my dad always says.

When you stand in your truth, you’re often standing alone.

Thankfully, I’ve made a lot of headway in recognizing and doing something about my emotions. Because that’s the deal, that’s why we cover them up–once you recognize them, you’ve got to do something about them. And that means setting boundaries, and THAT means changing relationships. And that’s not always fun. Which is why, I think, we shove down and shut off our emotions. Because we don’t really want to feel and respond to them. We don’t want to deal with the fall out. The fall out of standing in your truth. Because when you stand in your truth, you’re often standing alone. And nobody wants to be alone. So we put up with more crap than we have to.

I’ve said before that one of the “benefits” to being sick with sinus infections is that it’s given me an opportunity to feel frustrated and vulnerable. And not that I think I get sinus infections strictly because I’ve shoved those feelings down for twenty years, but I think that plays a part. I think sinus infections could be “a face” of my emotions. But lately I’ve been working on welcoming all my emotions, on really feeling them so they don’t have to come out all convoluted. Sinus infections aside, I don’t like my anger coming out as passive aggressiveness or upset stomachs. At least primarily. I’d rather have it come out as an honest conversation. I have a problem. This isn’t working for me anymore. Fuck off, Alice.

Your emotions are your truth.

Recently someone offered me a job opportunity–for experience, not money. And whereas part of me knew I didn’t want to do it (because I’m worth what I charge), another part of me felt beholden to the person who was offering. But after discussing the situation with my therapist, it became clear that my first loyalty is always to my inner self, not someone else’s outer self. This has been one of the biggest benefits of going to therapy–it’s helped me get clear about what I want and don’t want. It’s put me back in touch with my truth. Not that I didn’t have my truth before, I just wasn’t in touch with it. You CAN’T be in touch with your truth when you’re not in touch with your emotions; your emotions ARE your truth.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Why should anyone be embarrassed about the truth?"

Despite the Plague (Blog #722)

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Last night, before my dad and I went to the gym, I wrote about how my friend Marla said I was “very loyal” to this blog and how the worst thing a person could do would be tie me up in a room and keep me from posting for a day. I said, “NOOOOOO.” Then, for the first time since starting this blog almost two years ago, I forgot to hit “publish.” Ironic, I know. This morning Marla wrote and said, “I can’t find yesterday’s blog. Did someone kidnap you?” Thankfully, I told her, no. And I did write. I just spaced out and forgot to share it.

But I did share it this morning, and here it is.

For the last three weeks, I’ve had an off-and-on sinus infection. A couple days ago, I felt like a million bucks and was sure I had it beat. But then this morning I woke up full-blown sick with all the mucus. (And I didn’t even eat dairy yesterday.) Despite all my tricks and potions, I’ve continued to feel sick all day–tired, gross, disgusting. Additionally, my head hurts. It’s like the skin around my skull has shrunk, is shrinking. I’m doing my best not to whine here. These are just the facts.

Excuse me while I hack up a lung.

Despite The Plague, it’s been a pleasant day. Like, no one has died (that I know of). Actually, this morning my mom got some good news about her heart. A recent echocardiogram showed a potential problem, but today she found out it was “moderate” and not “severe.” As I understand it, this means medication and not surgery. So that’s good. Then this afternoon I did some writing research, which was fun, and my family and I went out to Western Sizzlin’ (giddy up), which was tasty. Then I took a nap and watched several episodes of Soap, an old sitcom I’ve been into lately that starred Katherine Helmond and Billy Crystal. Crystal’s role, Jodie Dallas, was television’s first openly gay character. Anyway, I laughed out loud tonight when one of the characters, Burt, a real ham, stuck his hand directly in a chocolate cake because he thought there might be a bomb in it. Perhaps you would have had to have been there. But my point is–you can be sick without being miserable.

Not that this is an easy thing to do. All day, when I haven’t been distracted, I’ve been worried that this sinus infection will never go away. That all the things I’ve been doing have just pissed it off and that it will never get better. Today my aunt said, “Have you tried a neti pot?” Oh my god, have I tried a neti pot! A thousand times I’ve tried a neti pot. This is the deal when I’m sick. It feels like I’ve TRIED EVERYTHING and that NOTHING WORKS. Of course, I know this isn’t true. After all, this is a big world with lots of solutions, and I’ve stumbled across some wonders before. So we’ll see what happens. My current plan is to give myself the weekend to be sick and gross. If I don’t improve, I can come up with a plan next week. I’m telling myself–

You don’t have to mount a defense this very instant.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Freedom lies on the other side of everything you're afraid of.

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