On Emotions and Pain (Blog #751)

Leave a comment

Currently I’m out-of-town, sitting outside at a restaurant, waiting for a dance to start at 7:30. It’s 6:00 now. I plan on driving home after the dance, and because that will be late, I’m blogging now, before the sun has gone down. I’d like to start doing this more often, blogging when I’m coherent and not exhausted and, therefore, irritable, upset, and distracted. We’ll see how it goes. I have a lot of practice blogging during the wee morning hours, and there’s certainly something to be said for writing a blog about your emotions when you’re, well, emotional.

I’ve been emotional all day. One minute I’ve been sad. Lonely. The next I’ve been laughing out loud, totally content to have the day to myself. Recently I adopted the motto “all parts are welcome,” so I guess I can’t complain when different parts (or thoughts or emotions) show up. That is, far be it from me to host a party and not attend to my guests. Not that it’s fun or comfortable to feel upset or grief, but these are the ingredients of our lives, and–in my experience–if you dampen one emotion, you dampen them all. Want to feel less joy? Shove down your sadness. It’s that simple.

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

I spent this afternoon looking at books. I didn’t buy any (believe it or not), but I went to three stores. Before that I had brunch (pancakes and eggs) and read a book. Well, half of one–Explain Pain by David S. Butler and G. Lorimer Moseley. Honestly, it’s one of the most fascinating things I’ve read lately and explains a complex topic–pain–simply. I’m not to the “what to do about it” part yet, but the book proposes that whereas, yes, sometimes pain is due to nerve damage, structural or joint problems, or damaged tissue, this is just as often (if not more so) not the case. That is, there are plenty of instances in which there’s structural deterioration or injured tissue without pain. For example, when I tore my ACL, I didn’t feel a thing. Granted, I had some adrenaline flowing, but my knee didn’t hurt even after my adrenaline calmed down. Even though I’d severed an entire ligament.

The book says we don’t have pain centers or, um, pain buttons in our bodies. Also, just because you cut your finger, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll experience pain. Indeed, once my neighbor threw a hammer over our fence, and despite the fact that it hit my head, I didn’t start crying until I saw blood several seconds later. According to the book, this is because the meaning we ascribe things has a huge influence over what our bodies feel. Just as importantly, the meaning our brains ascribe things is what ultimately determines whether or not we feel pain. This is because–apparently–our bodies send signals to the brain when “something” is wrong. A cut finger, for example. Then the brain interprets that information and decides how to respond. To be clear, it has a lot of choices. It could cause you run away; it could cause you to cry. But if the brain thinks that the most appropriate choice is for you to feel pain, then that’s what you’ll feel.

In other words, to quote the book–no brain, no pain.

The book says that the basic rule of pain is that if your brain perceives a threat–if it thinks that you’re in danger, Will Robinson–you’ll feel pain. Said another way, if you feel pain, it’s because your brain thinks you’re in danger. This goes against a lot of historic wisdom, of course, but it makes sense to me. Again, because of what I experienced with my knee. Also because of people who experience pain or sensations in limbs they’ve had cut off or were never born with. Clearly in those situations the brain (and spinal cord and nervous system) are involved in the creation of physical sensation and/or pain.

I can’t wait to learn more.

This might be a stretch, but I think this “pain being related to feeling threatened” thing could be applied to our emotions. For example, this morning while getting ready at my hotel, I was dialoguing with myself about why I’ve historically felt the need to bend over backwards for certain people in my life even when my efforts were clearly fruitless. Suddenly I had a vision of an applicable memory from my childhood, and a voice in my head said, “Because if we don’t, they won’t love us.” Then I started crying. More and more, the release of tears is my signal that I’ve hit on something deep-down true. For example, when I read that pain is often felt because we feel threatened or “not safe,” I also cried.

Ugh. So much of my life I’ve felt “not safe.” Not that I feel ever-moment terrified, but I can never quite relax. It’s like my muscles are always tight, more tense than they need to be, ready to fight or flee. I can only breathe so deep. Granted, this has gotten a lot better. It IS GETTING a lot better. More and more, there’s a lot of relief in understanding that even when it’s emotional or in pain, my body is trying to help, trying to send me a message. Sweetheart, something is wrong. We need you to take another look at this. Something isn’t working for us. So if for no other reason than the fact that my strategies thus far haven’t been working for me either, I’m now making all the more gentle effort to turn my ear inward and simply listen, to finally hear and connect with my inner wisdom.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is.

"

On Making a Living (Blog #750)

Leave a comment

Currently it’s two in the morning, and I’m out-of-town, at a hotel. I’m exhausted. I drove ten hours today, total, in order to attend a funeral. For a friend’s father-in-law. It was good, but I’m tired. And stuffed. After I checked into my hotel, I walked to a local diner and ate chicken and waffles. And two beers. Oh my gosh, it was so much food. (But that didn’t stop me from eating it.) The waiter said, “I’m not sure what part of the chicken that is.” I said, “I think it’s the whole chicken.” Seriously, my insulin is working overtime.

Tonight’s blog is number 750 (in a row), and next to the chicken and waffles, there’s only one thing I want to talk about. I’ll explain. At the funeral, a few friends asked me what I was up to these days. “Writing,” I said. One friend asked–out of curiosity–if that could be a full-time gig. “For some people it can be,” I answered. “And I hope that’s the case for me. Regardless, I’m willing to give it a shot and see what happens.”

Later I was introduced to a stranger, a man in a nice suit. After he shook my hand and got my name, his first question was, “What do YOU do?” And whereas I realize this is a common question, it set me on edge, since it felt like it was said not out of curiosity, but as a way to size me up. Well, wait. I trust my gut. It WAS said as a way to size me up. Anyway, I didn’t even mention writing because I didn’t think he could handle it. “I’m a dance teacher,” I said.

“You can make a living at that?” he said.

Feeling threatened, I stiffened my bottom lip, lowered my voice, and slowly said, “You sure can–believe it or not.” Then I just sat there. Later one of my friends said I handled it graciously, but I wish I’d said, “I JUST SAID I did it for a living, asshole, and I’m CLEARLY sitting here–still living.”

Of course, the guy was asking if I made any money, if I could pay my bills. I grant that we’re all curious about these sorts of things. I also grant I’m hypersensitive to the topic because I haven’t been working or getting paid as much as I used to, when I owned the dance studio. But this evening while eating my chicken and waffles, I pulled out the program from today’s funeral and thought about how simple it was–the name of the deceased, when they were born, when they died, where they were buried, who sang and played the music today, and Psalm 23. A man lived over sixty years on the earth, and that was it. Anyway, I thought about what emphasis that one guy put on “making a living” and then thought about how I’d feel if that phrase were etched on my tombstone.

Marcus Coker–He made a living.

Again, I know we all have to put bread on the table, but the older I get, the more important it is for me to make a life rather than a living. Said another way, since I’m already alive (we all are) and an expression of life itself, my goal–more and more–is to fully express my soul, spirit, or life. Whatever you want to call it. I told one of my friends today that there’s part of me that KNOWS I’m meant to be writing. I’m not saying I’m meant to make a million dollars writing, but I know that if I get to the end of my life and haven’t pursued this to the best of my ability, I’ll feel regret. I can’t say that about dance. I love it, but I don’t think it’s “why I’m here.” At the same time, it does bring me joy, just like writing does. And this is becoming my gold standard–to only do things I love. Not that I’ll never do something just for money, but I won’t get stuck there again. I won’t sell out again. Being poor sucks, but not being true to yourself sucks worse.

Making a living. What a ridiculous concept. I am living. You are living. We’re all living. The question is, “Are we living joyfully? That is, are we doing what brings us joy? (Are we living out of our hearts?) Or are you just paying our bills?”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

On Rising Again (Blog #749)

Leave a comment

Last night I dreamed that I was at a funeral, sopping wet. I’d just gone for a dip in a lake. Anyway, the funeral was upstairs, and every now and then I’d go downstairs, to a concrete, bunker-like basement where my therapist was. My intent was to change there. Since my therapist had marked one room as just hers (it had her name on it), I used the other rooms. Once while I was in the basement, I did some writing. Another time I recharged my laptop. Then I yelled at my therapist’s secretary, who was offended that I didn’t want to sleep with her.

Come on, lady, I’m gay.

This afternoon I went to the library to sync my laptop files with my online files. I can do this at home with my hotspot, but it eats up my phone data and takes forever. But since the internet at the library is super fast, I can get it done there in a jiffy. Which I did. This satisfied my inner perfectionist, who likes all my files arranged just so, safe and secure.

Later, at home, I combed through some of the digital (mostly non-fiction) books I have on my laptop and got overwhelmed because there are so many I haven’t read. It felt like I needed to read them all, like, yesterday. Finally I thought, Fuck reading, closed my laptop, and went to the gym. There I processed my need to be constantly reading and learning and was able to find compassion for that part of me that thinks it isn’t enough, doesn’t know enough. (I also did a funny-looking exercise for my neck that involved holding an inflated ball against the wall with my head. See above photo.) Then I talked to the part of me that always pushing me to learn–my inner student–and asked it to back off. “I love learning,” I said, “but you’ve become a slave driver. Give us a break, will ya?” It said it would.

We’ll see what happens.

My “not enough” part said sometimes it’d rather put together a puzzle than read a book, so when I got home from the gym, that’s what I did. Well, after dinner. But here’s a picture of my puzzle progress. Personally, I think it’s coming along nicely.

Now it’s after midnight, and I’m doing laundry. I need to keep this short because I didn’t get much sleep last night–I was up until six in the morning (because of the full moon?)–and I’m tired. Plus, I have to get up early tomorrow. Yuck. I’m not looking forward to it. Oh well, Jesus had to get up early on Easter weekend, so if it was good enough for him, it might as well be good enough for me. At the very least, I probably shouldn’t bitch about it, especially considering the fact that tomorrow I’ll be rising out of a waterbed and not a grave.

But I digress.

In terms of last night’s dream, I think it’s a reminder about balance. I’ll explain. Personally, I associate funerals–at least historically–as a place where I can emote. That is, for the longest time they were one of the few places I could cry. (Now I can cry anywhere.) So I think they represent that part of my life where I’m now paying the back taxes my therapist says I owe with respect to grieving. And all the better that I was sopping wet in the dream, since water represents the unconscious. Like, things are coming up.

As for the fact that I was going down to the bunker-like basement to write and recharge, I think this represents my need to rest (and that this is a safe and secure time in my life for me to do so). A part of me would love to emote all at once and get it over with–just like part of me would like to be reading or learning all the damn time–but another part knows I need to slow down and re-juice my batteries. Balance. And whereas I haven’t quite figured out the door my therapist marked as hers, I’m guessing it has something to do with healthy boundaries. Or perhaps that there’s a part of my subconscious (my basement) that I’m not yet ready to go into and “change.”

Patience, my dear.

Lastly, there was the secretary who wanted to sleep with me. The one I yelled at. This probably just represents real life. Not that my therapist’s secretary wants to sleep with me (besides, it wasn’t my therapist’s real secretary in the dream), but over the years there have been A NUMBER of ladies who’ve wanted more from me than I could give them. Because I’m gay. Like, not just a little bit, but a lot. Like, it’s never changing. Even though one of my former students told me (and my boyfriend at the time) that she though it was a phase. Ugh. Maybe if I’d yelled at her, I wouldn’t be yelling at figments of my imagination now in my sleep.

That’s what I know now that I didn’t know then. That student’s behavior was inappropriate. This afternoon I listened to a talk about micro-aggressions, which are “little things” that people do to cut you down. This can be anything–passive aggressive comments, looking at you judgmentally, dismissing your opinion, interrupting you, or entering your personal space without permission. Anyway, the idea is that normally micro-aggressions are unconscious, both to the aggressor and the aggressee. That’s why the aggressee only thinks about it later. Wait a damn minute, that was rude, that hurt. So, as always, life is about learning as we go. It’s about thinking, Yes, I’m coming along nicely. Emoting a little, resting a little. Getting it wrong one day, then trying over the next. Not being enough or having a voice for years, then gradually finding your Self. Rising–again and again and again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Things that shine do better when they're scattered about."

If You Want to Shut Up Your Inner Child, Give It a Donut (Blog #748)

Leave a comment

What to say, what to say? Some days, believe it or not, I feel like being quiet. Not that I don’t almost always have an internal dialogue going on, which is basically what this is, but I don’t always feel like sharing it. That’s one thing I’ve become distinctly aware of since starting this blog. In the beginning, it was easy to imagine that it was just me here, working out my thoughts on digital paper. But after two years of this project, I can’t fool myself like that anymore. People read this. I don’t always know who or how many, but people read it.

My writing friend and teacher Anita says you can’t write with your mom or dad looking over your shoulder. That is, you can’t worry about what someone else is going to think of what you say. For me that means that if I want to say fuck, I say fuck. Not that I NEVER censor myself in terms of what’s appropriate to talk about here (I do), but if I decide to talk about a subject, I try to do so as authentically as possible (in my authentic, fuck-saying voice) and let the chips fall where they may. And whereas I have received some pushback a few times over the last two years for things like my filthy mouth and what I choose to wear on a daily basis, it’s really been very little.

In discussing this online criticism with my therapist, we’ve decided it’s largely just part of the territory. Years after uploading hundreds of educational dance videos to YouTube, I continue to get both praise and flack. One day a stranger says, “This is exactly what I was looking for,” and the next someone says, “Use a damn microphone!” So it’s just part of it–if you’re visible in any way, you’re going to be criticized. That being said, you’ll also be complimented. In my experience, at some point, it all sort of neutralizes. Not that you become unaffected by what other people say, but that it doesn’t matter so much. Because, hopefully, you’re not doing whatever you’re doing for someone else’s response anyway.

You’re doing it for yourself.

This afternoon I read more about Internal Family Systems, a psychological/healing approach by Richard C. Schwartz. The basic idea is that we all have “parts” of ourselves that behave in different ways, often in opposition to each other, and that rather than ignoring or trying to change a part of ourselves (the slob, for example), we should get to know it. That if we do, it will transform from a perceived enemy to a friend, or, in the language of archetypes, that it will move from the shadow to the light.

Today I read that our parts can basically be divided into three groups–exiles, managers, and firefighters. Exiles are those parts of ourselves that we’ve banished because we find them shameful, embarrassing, weak, or vulnerable. Think of your inner child. At their core, our exiles are our most open, sensitive, creative, and intimacy-seeking parts, but we’re often afraid to listen to them or display them to the world because we’re afraid of being hurt (again).

Managers and firefighters are the parts of ourselves that exist to protect our exiles, although they go about it in different ways. Recently I spoke of building walls around your heart, and this is apparently what managers do. That is, they keep others at a distance to keep from being hurt (again). At the same time, managers are essentially people pleasers. They are the parts of ourselves that seek approval from others, put others first, and beat ourselves up in order to avoid loss from the outside. That is, your managers are those voices in your head that tell you you’re fat and lazy–not because they hate you, but because they’re afraid that if you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be loved.

Again, firefighters also protect your exiles. But whereas managers are proactively trying to protect them, firefighters are reactively trying to protect them. That is, if and when you do start feeling shame, embarrassment, weakness, or vulnerability (or anything else that sucks), the firefighters are your parts that say, “Mayday, mayday! Eat chocolate cake. Smoke a cigarette. Binge watch The Office. Do anything but FEEL BAD.” Firefighters are apparently people dis-pleasers. They’re the parts of ourselves that make us fat (if you want to shut up your inner child, give it a donut), tell others to FUCK OFF, NANCY, and do other socially unacceptable things.

I really do like this way of looking at one’s personality, the idea that we all have parts. To me, it makes as much sense as anything else I’ve ever read (and I’ve read a lot). Basically because it’s true in my experience. Not that I’m Sybil, but I have dozens of voices in my head, and many of them sound different. Also, despite years of trying to ignore or change certain voices in my head (the critic, for example), it’s never worked. So I’m really coming around to this idea of getting curious and finding out WHY my different parts are the way the are.

Earlier this evening I dialogued with one of my managers, my inner critic, and he said he was so frickin’ hard on my appearance because he didn’t want people to laugh at us. In other words, he didn’t want my inner child to be rejected. Also, he said it was tiring and he really didn’t like criticizing me any more than I liked being criticized. But that he thought it was necessary. I said, Sweetheart, it doesn’t matter what other people say or do, as long as we don’t reject ourselves. So we’re working on another way.

I’m not sure how I’m going to tie the first half of tonight’s blog together with the second half. Likewise, I’m not absolutely sure that all my different parts can be tied together and convinced to work on the same team (eat chocolate cake, don’t eat chocolate cake), but I’m beginning to think it’s possible. That is, I’m learning that each part of me not only has a reason for the way that it’s thinking and behaving, but that it’s ultimately trying to help. And if it’s trying to help, there’s already a lot of peace in that, in the idea that I don’t have to fight and war with myself anymore. Rather, I can work to understand and have compassion for myself. This, I think, is the tie-in to the first part of the blog about criticism and blame. If you can make peace with the different viewpoints inside yourself, you can certainly make peace with the different viewpoints outside yourself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

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

"

Hopscotch (Blog #747)

Leave a comment

Today’s things–

1. I hopped

This morning I got up early to go to physical therapy. Normally I go in the afternoon, but today I had conflicts. (Don’t we all?) When I saw my knee surgeon last week, he said I could start jumping, so today my therapist said, “Let’s get to it.” Oh my gosh, y’all, talk about scary. The task was to jump over a little line of tape on the floor–forward, back, forward, back–but the thought of doing so was terrifying. I simply wasn’t sure my body could do it. But then, just like that, it did. I did. After I did it several more times, my physical therapist gave me a thumbs up. A thumbs up! Maybe in another week or two, I can win a hopscotch contest.

You know, against an eight-year-old.

2. I cried

Later this morning I saw my therapist, and when I told her I’d recently cried while going through some exercises in a self-help book (and cried some more while telling her about me crying), she told me to keep that shit up. “I remember when you never cried,” she said “and since there were plenty of times in your life when you should have, you owe back taxes.” Emotional back taxes. Ugh. This is a thing. Deal with your emotions now, or deal with them later. Not that this is easy to do, to feel your feelings. It’s not. I hate it. I’d much rather eat chocolate and usually do. Still, the benefit I feel every time I have an emotional release far outweighs the fuss I put up about not wanting to have one. So I try to stay open to my emotions. I say “try to stay open” because although I’m great at shoving down my emotions, I’ve never been able to purposefully make them come up. They either do or they don’t.

3. I got irritated

This afternoon I saw someone new at my chiropractor’s office who gave me some exercises to help my right shoulder, which has been bothering me. And whereas the person was helpful and kind, I found myself being annoyed by them. Maybe this is because they felt like chatting (“Where do you go to church? Do you have kids?”), and I didn’t (I’d just left therapy and had been crying). Plus, we’d just met. Some boundaries please.

4. I got un-irritated

Later I had a dental appointment (today I had a lot of appointments), and as much as I was irritated with the person at my chiropractor’s office, I was delighted with my dental hygienist. Granted, she’s cleaned my teeth before and we have a rapport, but she was the perfect mix of professional and friendly. Plus she was funny. Funny always helps. My therapist says humor really can be the most healing thing. She must be right–I left the dentist’s office with not only no cavities, but also with a better mood.

5. I helped pick out colors

This evening I helped my friend Bonnie pick out possible colors to paint her house, which is currently being remodeled in order to sell. It took forever, but we finally came up with several options that would compliment not only each other, but also what’s already there. Several times I thought, We’re getting nowhere, but then it happened. “What about THAT ONE?” one of us said, and we were off to the races.

Healing, I’m finding, is like this. You spend a lot of time thinking that none of your efforts are working. Your emotions are all over the place, like hopscotch. You can’t see how everything, how you, fit together. And yet it does. You do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Aren’t you perfect just the way you are?

"

On Constriction and My Inner Critic (Blog #746)

Leave a comment

Today there wasn’t a damn thing I had to do. Not an errand to run, not an appointment to keep. Tomorrow, on the other hand, is chock-full of to-do items. But not today. Nope, I slept in then did whatever the hell I wanted, whenever I wanted to do it. I don’t say this to brag–look at me, I don’t have a schedule–but rather in appreciation. Often I bemoan the lack of structure in my life–no regular job, no regular paycheck, woe is me. But today, as much as ever, I realized that I’m grateful for this period of my life. As I’ve said before (and talk about every day, every damn day), I’m learning a lot, growing a lot, healing a lot. This is both important and huge and wouldn’t be possible–I don’t imagine–if I were involved in the fast-paced rat race.

It seems learning, growing, and healing all require slowing down.

This afternoon I worked more on a puzzle I recently picked back up. I’d started it with my sister back in December. I can’t tell you how much fun I’m having, seeing the whole thing come together. Not that I’m anywhere near the end, but I can see progress. It too is slow-going, literally one piece at a time.

While working on the puzzle, I listened to a podcast/talk about trauma and healing by Judith Blackstone. It was just a teaser of her work and I’d like to check out more, but it was fascinating. According to her, one of the ways in which our bodies respond to trauma is by constricting. Constriction, she says, is often the only method through which we are able to either control a situation (or ourselves) or create a defense to a threat. For example, if you were told as a child to shut up, your body might constrict or tighten up somewhere around your throat. Or if you were spanked or abused, your body might constrict around your hips.

This last weekend I started reading a book about Internal Family Systems (IFS). I mentioned IFS two days ago, but the idea is that all of us have a sundry of “parts” that make up our thoughts and emotions. The example I used before was that I have parts that are critical. I also have parts that feel ashamed, vulnerable, and less than, and parts that feel proud, confident, and angry. The book I’m reading, by Richard C. Schwartz, points out that our parts are often in opposition to each other, that one part may not like another. This explains why one minute you can think it’s a good idea to eat chocolate cake, and the next minute you’re beating yourself up for actually eating it. Like, maybe your inner child said to eat it, then your parent (or inner critic) punished you for doing so.

Can’t we all just get along?

My therapist and I have discussed this idea in different terms. She says our mind is like a banquet with many guests. And whereas all guests are welcome, not every guest should get to sit at the table. Something I’ve said before is that my inner critic is welcome in the room, but he doesn’t get to run the show. Marcus at the Head of the Table gets to run the show. However, as I’ve been reviewing this way of looking at things the last few days, I’ve realized that although I’ve said (and thought) that all guests are welcome, I really don’t act like it. Rather, I ignore a lot of my “guests” and do my best to banish them against the wall or out of the room altogether. Like, shut up, you’re not important. But the book I’m reading says every part is important. And whereas they don’t have to run the show, they do want and need to be heard.

An exercise the book suggested was to pick a part, any part, and dialogue with it. Like, Hey, what’s your deal, inner critic? Why are you so critical? I’d really like to know. So that’s what I did this afternoon. I talked to my inner critic. I’ll spare you the details (they’re personal), but basically my inner critic said it felt like it HAD to be critical because my inner child was too trusting and had been hurt or taken advantage of in the past. And whereas this might sound like a bunch of bullshit, I ended up crying when my inner critic said, “It hurts to be this uptight all the time.” So I don’t think it’s bullshit. Plus, for the rest of the day I’ve felt better–less constricted–like, um, part of me loosened up.

Personally, I wish that all my parts would loosen up or let go all at once. BAM, we’re healed. Of course, this wouldn’t be healthy. Nobody (no body) constricts overnight, and nobody (no body) un-constricts overnight. Healing is a circuitous journey. It’s one piece at a time. And whereas I used to think I’d never heal, more and more I believe that I will. Not that “healed” is a destination you can arrive at. We’re always healing something. But I do think longstanding problems can be resolved or at least vastly improved. In my experience, this starts with accepting yourself. That is, it starts with accepting all parts of yourself, especially the parts you may find embarrassing or wrong. It starts with getting quiet and saying, Sweetheart, I’m here for you. Talk to me. I’m finally listening.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Both sunshine and rain are required for growth.

"

On Boundaries, Bridges, and Walls (Blog #745)

Leave a comment

Yesterday I house sat for a friend of mine who has four dogs. You should have seen me trying to dry them off when they came in out of the rain last night. You should have also seen me stumble out of bed this morning at six-thirty to let them outside. No, I take that back. You shouldn’t have. It wasn’t pretty. I wasn’t pretty. This boy needs his beauty rest. Which I got eventually. After letting the dogs outside, I went back to sleep.

When I woke back up at eleven-thirty, I was refreshed. What a lovely day, I thought. Then I realized I’d forgotten to put a tracker on the youngest dog’s collar. Well shit, I thought as I leaped out of bed. What if she’s run off? (My friend lives in the country.) Thankfully, she hadn’t. However, despite my best efforts, she wouldn’t come back to the house or even let me near her to put the tracker on. For over three hours I periodically went outside and tried to approach the dog. Every time she ran off. Even treats didn’t do the trick. Nothing worked. My friend sent me a text and said to scoop her some canned dog food into a bowl, but even that failed. Granted, it attracted the three other dogs and even a cat, but not the dog I needed it to. Seriously, I might as well have been trying to catch a bunny rabbit with a butterfly net.

I know people like this, who run away when you try to connect with them. My therapist says the technical term is “avoidant attachment,” meaning they avoid making (even healthy) attachments. She says if you want to drive yourself crazy, try caring about someone like this. (It’s hell.) But back to the dog. Finally, I tried a different approach. Slowly, I walked down the long driveway, ignoring her. (She followed.) Then I sat down in a chair, still ignoring her. The next thing I knew, she was right beside me, panting. Then she just sat there as I petted her and attached the tracker. What the hell? For three hours she runs away from me, then the second I stop giving a shit, she’s practically up in my lap.

As my therapist says, indifference is the great stimulus to wanting.

Think about that.

After this encounter, I put the above-mentioned bowl of dog food on the porch. And just like that, the dog that had given me so much trouble and avoided all my begging, pleading, and bribing, was on the porch licking the bowl clean. I swear. Some creatures have to have EVERYTHING on THEIR terms.

Clearly, I’m not the dog whisperer. And whereas trying to get my friend’s dog to come near me was frustrating, I realized it wasn’t personal. For her, it was probably a game. Or perhaps she doesn’t like her tracker and remembered the last time (a couple weeks ago) I put in on her. This morning I listened to a podcast about trauma, and one of the speakers said that we (as humans) often avoid others because some part of us is afraid. Some part of us thinks, I’ve trusted people before and got seriously hurt. I’m not going to let that happen again! So we avoid attachments. In order to protect ourselves, we build walls.

Personally, I used to get a lot of shit for my walls. My friends were always nice about it, but they’d joke that I’d only let them so close, that I kept them at a distance. I’m sure I still do this at times. Old habits die hard. Plus, I have this thing for boundaries. But my therapist says boundaries aren’t walls, they’re bridges. (Isn’t that cute?) That is, walls simply keep people out; boundaries inform others how they can get close to us. They’re like the rules of board game. They say, “This is how we can play together.”

Personally, I think boundaries should be taught in school or Sunday school or wherever teaching is offered. For me, they’ve been much more useful than Algebra ever has been. (Sorry, math teachers.) But seriously, boundaries get talked about a lot as a concept, but they’re rarely practiced or properly modeled. My therapist says they scare people. Maybe because people hear “boundaries” and think walls. But the two are vastly different. Plus, think about this–walls work both ways. That is, sure, they keep others from getting in (phew, you can’t get hurt), but that also means you can’t get out. You’ve got all this love and compassion inside you (don’t tell me you don’t), and there’s nowhere for it to go. Because it’s trapped. Because you’ve built this great barrier. Because, you know, you’re an island.

That’s what I used to think. I am a rock, I am an island. Like the Simon and Garfunkel song. This thinking, of course, was utter bullshit. We’re meant for connection. My friend’s dog showed me that today. She wanted that dog food just as badly as I wanted her to have it (I was tired of holding it). But she needed to feel safe first. She needed me sitting down first. That was her boundary. That was her bridge. I think we’re all looking for this–a bridge, a way to connect–with nearly everyone. I’m not saying this is easy. It’s tough to invite people in, even on your terms. It’s tough to trust people. Because people can hurt you. But people can also heal you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

For me, it's important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad they are, your circumstances can turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

"

All Parts Are Welcome (Blog #744)

Leave a comment

This evening I worked for an hour. An entire hour. (I do work sometimes.) I taught dance at a wedding, as part of the reception. The bride and groom wanted their guests to have something to do while they were having their pictures taken and the main room was being “flipped” from a sanctuary to a dining hall/dance party central. I thought this was thoughtful. For those who didn’t take the dance lesson, there was corn hole.

It’s always good to have options.

Since the wedding and reception was out-of-town, I spent all day getting ready for the affair. Funny how you can take hours preparing for a one-hour deal. Still, a boy’s gotta shower, and this boy also needed to borrow a portable speaker for playing music. You’d think I’d have one as a dance instructor, but I don’t. Thank God for friends.

The event tonight was held at a historic site that was originally one of the first colleges in Arkansas. You should have seen it. You could see it if I had taken pictures, but I didn’t. Well, I did take one, of the dessert table. They offered a selection of pies. A selection of alcohol would have been better, but you take what you can get. A calorie is a calorie. I went with the caramel apple pie, which almost made up for the fact that I got absolutely windblown and soaked walking into the building when I first got there. I hate the rain, especially when it’s cold, especially when I have to walk through it and–thanks to my bum knee–my max speed is two miles per hour.

But I digress.

The lesson itself went great. Fabulous, really. As good as any I’ve ever taught at a wedding or similar function. Normally you have to beg and plead people to participate, but most these folks jumped right in. Plus, there was a door to shut out those who didn’t jump in, and that way they weren’t a distraction. What struck me the most was that everyone seemed so friendly. Even the guys, who are normally stand-offish when it comes to dancing, were laughing and carrying on. Sober! As for me, I was a bit cranky. I’ve been a bit cranky lately. (Did I mention I hate the rain?) And whereas I used to hide it, lately I’ve been rolling with it. I’m still fun and charming (I think), just more–um–sarcastic/cynical/droll. In terms of tonight’s lesson, this means I didn’t put on a face. If someone was screwing up or interrupting, rather than stew about it, I addressed it.

“I need you to do this next part with your mouths closed.”

My therapist says that when you’re not trying to impress anyone–when you’re simply showing up as yourself in the moment–that’s called self-possession. And not that I have this down pat, but I’ve found myself in several situations lately where I haven’t felt the need to put on an act. Tonight, for example, part of me felt tired, another part felt sad, another part felt frustrated (sarcastic, cynical), and another part felt playful and curious (droll). And rather than try to suppress one part or play up another, I simply let them all come to the party and continued to do my job. Now, whether this “worked” for anyone else or not, I don’t know. It’s not about them. But I do know that I had more honest-to-god and heart-to-heart conversations with total strangers tonight than I have in a long time.

First, there were several guys and girls in the class with whom I had a lot of light-hearted banter. One guy accidentally learned the girl’s part, and I said, “Dude, this is your once chance to lead in your marriage, and you’re screwing it up.” Later he said, “You found me out! I’m feminine!” Another guy, who apparently knew the first one, also learned the wrong part. When I told him why things weren’t working, he said, “I was watching my friend!” I said, “Of all the people in the room you could have copied–.”

After the lesson, while I was sitting alone and waiting for dinner to be served, one of the groom’s relatives struck up a conversation with me. Just started talking about his travel habits and business out of the clear blue sky. Weird because his business had to do with writing and psychology. And no, I hadn’t said a word about my personal interests or this blog, nor did I. Rather, I just figured it was one of those odd universe things. Then later a bridesmaid–again, out of nowhere–told me about a family tragedy and how writing helped her heal. Now seriously, of all the random people at that wedding who could have talked to me.

More and more, I think less and less is random.

For the reception, the couple had a swing band. Y’all, I would have killed to have been out there dancing. However, thanks to my knee, I wasn’t. (Although I did dance with the bride.) Instead, I ate my apple pie and judged people. Ugh. My inner critic always has so much to say. And whereas I’d normally be thinking that I should shut him up, tonight I wasn’t. I plan to say more about it later, but this afternoon I heard a podcast with psychologist Richard C. Schwartz, who pioneered a type of therapy called Internal Family Systems (IFS). As I understand it, IFS proposes that we all have “parts” of ourselves that have unique voices and interact much like the members of a family. I think it’s another way of talking about archetypes. I have my inner critic. But the idea is that each part has A REASON for what it thinks and how it behaves, and that reason probably has something to do with keeping you safe. For example, my people pleaser most likely developed because at some point my survival depended on keeping other people (like my parents or teachers) happy.

One of Schwartz’s catchphrases is “all parts are welcome.” That is, so often we try to banish parts of ourselves. We think, “I’m a real shit-head for doing that thing I told myself I wouldn’t do again” and that we’re bad for having done it or thought it in the first place. But perhaps at one time that thought or thing was useful, even necessary. So Schwartz says a good approach is to get curious, to listen to what that part has to say rather than tell it to shut the hell up. Because maybe it’s scared, and maybe you need to cry. This was my approach both is my class and at the reception tonight, to simply listen to myself. Even the cranky parts, even the critical parts. And not that I had any major breakthroughs, but at least I wasn’t putting any pressure on myself to be anything that I wasn’t (or am not). Which is, of course, a breakthrough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

"

One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus (Blog #743)

Leave a comment

This afternoon I worked on a puzzle that my sister and I started back in December. Alas, we didn’t get very far. We basically finished the border, the easy part. For months the puzzle has sat on our spare coffee table (that’s right, we have two coffee tables, suckahs!), and for months I’ve felt guilty about it. Another unfinished project. I guess it wasn’t time. But then today while I was listening to a podcast, it was. For over an hour I combed through hundreds of pieces and actually made some progress. Slowly but surely, a shape emerged.

Recently I heard a comedian–I can’t remember who–make fun of puzzles. He basically said, “They’re not that hard. They’re not even surprising. You’ve got a lid that SHOWS YOU how it’s supposed to turn out.” I thought about this today as I worked on my above-mentioned puzzle and periodically checked the lid to see where a piece went. No surprises here.

Earlier today I re-read more old blogs. Whenever I do this, I read ten at a time. I’m up to number 90 now. Part of me feels as if this project (both the blogging itself and the re-reading) is taking FOR-EV-ER, but obviously a lot can get done one day at a time, one (or ten) blogs at a time. This evening I went to the gym and spent thirty minutes on the elliptical, a machine I tolerate. And whereas it wasn’t “fun,” I made the time pass more quickly by thinking Just one more minute thirty times. My point–it helps to break things up into smaller pieces. You can seriously overwhelm yourself if you look at the big picture.

For over twenty years my dad and I have had this running joke about the song One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus (that’s all I’m asking from you). It started when Dad was in prison. I guess he and his friends used to sing it on Sundays. You can see how a tune like that could resonate with inmates–or anyone going through a tough time. Like, I’m not asking you to help me get through this entire damn year, Lord, just today.

Of course, if you get through today every day for a year, you’ve gotten through a year. (God, Marcus, you really are profound sometimes.) But seriously, we complicate things. Once, when I asked my friend Chelsea how to dance fast Lindy Hop, she said, “Dance Lindy Hop faster.” No shit–I paid for that advice. Later, I realized how correct it was. If you have solid technique, you can dance at any speed. If you don’t have solid technique, you’ll notice problems at high speeds, but the truth is you’re doing something wrong at slower speeds too. Bad technique is bad technique. Anyway, my point is that the answers we’re looking for are simple. Maybe not easy, but simple. How do you blog every day for a year? You blog every day for a year. How do you put together a thousand-piece puzzle?

One piece at a time.

One difference between a puzzle and a creative project, however, is the lid. That is, with any creative project–writing or dancing, for example–you often don’t know where you’re going or have a picture of the end product. When I started dancing twenty years ago, no one showed me a video of what I’d personally look like if I put in 10,000 hours. Likewise, when I started this blog two years ago, I may have had the goal to write every day, but I didn’t know what the actual results would be or how it would change me. I didn’t have a lid. I still don’t. And yet, slowly but surely, a shape has emerged.

I think it’s safe to say that nobody knows where they are going (except to bed, maybe). Nobody has the lid for their life. This means anything can happen. Surprise! When I started therapy, I had no idea of how I’d change. I simply felt compelled to explore the path. Five years later, here I am, still exploring, still surprised by the results. Joseph Campbell said, “Not all who hesitate are lost. The psyche had many secrets in reserve. And these are not disclosed unless required.” I love this quote. To me it means that when you’re working on a creative project or even yourself, you really have no idea what’s possible. We tell ourselves, I can’t do that or That could never happen, but the truth is that we don’t know until we try, until we keep showing up one day at a time, Sweet Jesus.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

"

I Know Who I Am (Blog #742)

Leave a comment

Today’s happenings–

1. I ran

This afternoon I went to the gym with my dad and aunt and ran for 45 minutes straight on the treadmill. This amounted to 3.3 miles and was the longest in both time and distance I’ve gone since my knee injury and subsequent surgery this last December. Let’s hear it for progress. Let’s also hear it for breathing hard, grunting in front of strangers, wearing a sweat-soaked, sopping wet t-shirt (I could have won a contest), and being absolutely sore and worn out later in the day.

2. I got a compliment

This evening I went to see a play at the Fort Smith Little Theater–The Graduate. And whereas the play was delightful, what I’d really like to talk about is my arm pits. I should back up. A couple years ago after going through several rounds of antibiotics, I developed a body odor problem. At least I thought it was a problem. I tend to obsess about little things. Anyway, it’s been an off-and-on thing ever since. One minute I think I have it under control, then the next minute I smell like onions. And whereas I’m always trying different things to help, I’ve recently thought, Screw this. I smell how I smell. I accept myself for who I am.

So get this shit.

Tonight a random stranger, who was sitting next to me during the first half of the show but moved one row down to be by her friend at intermission, told me I smelled good. Like, she went on and on about it to her friend, to the point that I was fanning myself so her friend could get a whiff. There they were, asking if I wore cologne, and I said, “No, but I did take a shower today.” The friend said, “Do you use a shower gel–ANYTHING?” So I said, “Well, I just got a new bar of soap (I didn’t tell them it was because I’m allergic to regular soap)–made out of goat’s milk.”

“Oh yes,” the friend said, like AHA, that’s the ticket. “GOAT’S MILK.”

Y’all, I can’t tell you how good this made me feel.

Daddy’s still got it.

3. I got another compliment

After the show I went backstage to see some friends, and another total stranger told me she liked my aesthetic. I was wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops. Oh, and Robert, my brown workman’s jacket. Anyway, I started to brush it off, like, Yeah, some aesthetic. My entire outfit cost twenty-five dollars. But then I thought, She’s entitled to her opinion. So I thanked her and introduced myself instead.

Daddy’s still got it.

4. I got frustrated, then thoughtful

Well crap. Maybe Daddy’s still got it (and to be clear, I impressed a couple ladies tonight, but they are not my target audience), but his website doesn’t. Just as I was saving this post, an issue came up where I couldn’t access certain pages, at least from my current browser. Anyway, I’m chatting with tech support now, so I should go. I’d hate to be rude. But how to end this?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much outward appearances and things to change (whether or not your knees work, body odor, your clothes) don’t matter. My friend Justin told me recently that he never thinks of me as having changed. Not that I haven’t, but when you care about someone, it’s more about their insides than their outsides. And that’s what I’ve noticed these last two years since starting the blog and focusing more on my insides. Not that I don’t think about my outsides–it’s nice to get a compliment–but they’re simply not as important as they used to be. I know who I am.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

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

"