Where Your Treasure Lies (Blog #782)

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For the last two hours I’ve been procrastinating writing today’s blog. I’ve been busy, of course, doing the dishes, letting the dog in and out (make up your mind, honey!), cleaning up my hard drive (it’s too full for me to install an update), surfing Amazon for books (like I need another one). Sometimes I get so overwhelmed with this one simple task–sit down and write. Not because it’s THAT difficult to sit down and write, but because, honestly, I’ve built up a lot of mental aversion to sitting down and writing every day, every damn day. Like, it’s exhausting, and I’m kind of over it.

As I’ve said before, this is my choice. Nobody is holding a gun to my head and making me write this blog. Also, I don’t intend to quit, at least for a while. I’m committed to this process. (Before it’s over I may be committed to an institution.) All that being said, this blog is about my being honest, and I think it’s important to–occasionally–authentically acknowledge how much this project wears me out. I mean, it gives a lot, but it takes a lot. In this sense, I suppose it balances itself out.

This morning I saw my therapist, and we talked about what you and I are talking about now–procrastination, this project, and balance. In terms of procrastination (which my therapist insists “smart people” do), I said that I have several other projects I’d like to tackle, maybe before but at the very least when this one is over. “But,” I said, “it’s like I have this familial issue with essential tremors, and there’s a book about different ways to treat it that’s been on my reading list for over a year. The truth is I don’t want to read it because, what if it doesn’t do any good? As long as I DON’T read it, I can at least tell myself things could get better, and it’s the same with my other projects. As long as I HAVEN’T started them, I can tell myself that’s why I’m not currently succeeding.”

“So it’s fear,” my therapist said.

“UH, YEAH IT’S FEAR,” I said.

My therapist said that, really, we’re just as afraid of succeeding as we are failing. “Stepping into your power is terrifying,” she said. I agree. Just the thought of living a bigger, better life is enough to make me go running for the hills. Because it’s The Unknown, The Unfamiliar, THE UNCOMFORTABLE. I mean, let’s get real, I’ve already experienced the bottom of the barrel. For me, this is The Known, The Familiar, The Comfortable. I’ve already experienced being embarrassed by my station in life. Ugh. My therapist says embarrassment is one of the most difficult emotions to sit with. “But if you can do it,” she said, “you’ll eventually experience confidence–because life balances itself out.”

Recently I mentioned the principle of polarity, the idea that for every hot there’s also a cold. For every up, a down. This is what my therapist was referring to when she juxtaposed embarrassment with confidence. In other words, they are two ends of the same stick. As I understand it, this means that both emotions reside within each of us as potential lived realities, so even if you’ve been hanging out on the embarrassment side of the emotional see-saw, it’s possible to scoot your way over to the confidence side. It’s possible to pick up the other end of the stick.

The same stick you’re already holding, by the way.

Taking a thought or an emotion that’s a source of pain and turning it into a source of strength is what an alchemist would call mental transmutation or turning lead into gold. Joseph Campbell said it this way–“Where you stumble, there lies your treasure. The very cave you are afraid to enter turns out to be the source of what you are looking for. The damned thing in the cave, that was so dreaded, has become the center.” To me this means that ultimately those thoughts, emotions, and situations in my life that have been so difficult for me to experience, truly, have the most to offer me. They’re like–I don’t know–blessings in disguise.

No. That’s not right. Blessings are gifts that come to us uninvited, and I’m talking about something different. Turning lead into gold requires work, The Hard Work. There’s a concept in mythology that if you slay a dragon, you receive its power. If we look at dragons as our shadows, or those parts of ourselves we haven’t fully integrated and transformed (for example, fear or embarrassment), another way to say this would be that if we can tame our dragons, they will work FOR us and not AGAINST us. Imagine how your world would change if the emotional power that used to weigh you down were now lifting you up.

Imagine that.

But back to The Hard Work. Taming dragons isn’t easy. (If it were easy, everyone would do it.) Not because the work itself is that difficult, but because it’s painful (which makes it difficult). It’s painful to experience fear, and it’s painful to experience the death of your illusions. Said another way, it’s painful to experience the death of your identity. What I mean is that I’m embarrassed, I’m weak, and I’m afraid are all ways of labeling ourselves. And whereas they’re not the sexiest of labels, they’re still labels we hold on to. If you don’t believe me, the next time one of your friends says they’re fat or ugly, TRY to disagree with them. They won’t believe you. If they believed you, really, they’d have to change. This would mean going from The Known to The Unknown, scooting from the “I’m ugly” side of the see-saw to the “I’m beautiful” side. Yes, it’s not just that we fear to enter our caves, it’s that we also fear to walk out of them transformed–beautiful, confident, and radiant.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Storms don’t define us, they refine us.

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On Likes and Dislikes (Blog #781)

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It’s five-thirty in the afternoon/evening, and–believe it or not–I’m blogging. Usually I don’t even start until ten or twelve at night. And whereas I enjoy the quiet of late-night writing, it’s difficult trying to rub two thoughts together when I’m tired. I often have to force myself to stay awake and pound this out, the whole time wishing I were already done, wishing I were reading a book, watching a movie, or–here’s a novel idea–sleeping. Anyway, this is me trying something different.

The problem with this, dear reader, is that I normally write about things that have happened during the day, and writing earlier means there’s less material to work with. An hour ago when I decided I was going to sit down and write (I procrastinated on Facebook until now), I thought, And just what do you think you’re going to talk about, Mister? You haven’t done anything today. But that thought wasn’t true. (A lot of thoughts aren’t.) This morning I shaved! This afternoon my friend Todd and I had lunch then went to a flooring store to pick out vinyl and carpet for a remodeling project of his. When all that was over, I put another coat of stain on the board I mentioned yesterday that I’ll be using for a project in my parents’ bathroom. Then I put my hair in a ponytail.

See. I’ve done a lot.

Hold your applause.

At the flooring store this afternoon, the options were overwhelming. My inner picky perfectionist kept thinking, It’s gotta be just the right thing. Thankfully, Todd was more laid-back, like, Yeah, that’ll work. And that’ll work too. Or that. For him, it was the easiest thing. And whereas I think there’s value in being picky at times, I also think there’s value in being laid back.

I’ll explain.

When I went to look for wood stain for the project in my parents’s bathroom, I was immediately drawn to a certain sample, a dark oak. Well–wouldn’t you know it– it was the one stain they were out of. Frantic, I dug through dozens of cans, and it was nowhere to be found. I actually thought about going to another store to see if they had it in stock. But then–finally–I went with my second choice–espresso. I thought, It’s close enough. No one else will ever know the difference–or care. Just like that, I went on with my life.

My grandpa used to say, “That’s good enough for the girls I go with.” And whereas I’d personally have to modify that statement (because I go with boys), I think it contains a lot of wisdom. For a while I studied a form of meditation that recommended–when you’re not meditating–training your five senses. An example of training your tastebuds would be eating broccoli instead of chocolate cake. The idea behind this suggestion is that our senses are connected to our mind, which often thinks and acts like a wild animal. It says, “Give me sugar, give me wild women (or men), give me–more!” But by training this wild animal–No, we’re going to do what’s good for us–we bring it under our control.

This same form of meditation, or at least the guy who wrote about it, called this working with one’s likes and dislikes. Again, the idea is that most of us are picky–we want our food a certain texture, our coffee a certain flavor (god knows!), our wood stain a certain color, and on and on and on. This is fine, I suppose, but what happens when we don’t get our way, when whatever we want is on back order? At least for me, I often pitch an internal fit. BUT I WANT IT! But does it really matter if I don’t eat one piece of chocolate cake, or have whip cream on my two-percent soy milk caramel latte with an extra shot of espresso, or go with a wood stain that’s one shade darker?

No. No it doesn’t.

The world keeps spinning.

If you haven’t noticed, I post a selfie almost every day. And whereas this may seem like an exercise in vanity, it’s not. I’m as tired of looking at me as anyone else is. Not because I don’t like my face, but because I only have so many poses and feel like I’m lacking in variety. All this being said, posting a daily selfie has been an extremely helpful practice in terms of my personal growth–because of what I’ve been saying about working with your likes and dislikes. What I mean is that I don’t LIKE every picture of myself that I post. In fact, there have been PLENTY of pictures I’ve DISLIKED. Because I was too fat, or had a double chin, or my hair was a mess. You name it. However, by forcing myself to “post it anyway, damn it” for over two years now, that picky, self-critical voice in my head has seriously calmed down. As a result, even when I’m not posting pictures, I have more self-acceptance.

Maybe the selfie thing, or the wood stain thing, or the not eating chocolate cake thing doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it is. Because here’s the deal. We all know how the mind can get carried away with what it wants. But by starting with something small, you can train your mind to not get carried away. Then when it comes to something big–let’s say you don’t get the job (or boyfriend) you wanted–you can tell your mind, We’re not going to throw a temper tantrum about something that doesn’t matter, and it won’t. If mind-training sounds difficult, it is. But consider that we’re all training our minds constantly. It’s just a matter of whether we’re teaching ourselves to be rigid in our thinking (everything has to be a certain way) or flexible (yeah, that’ll work). Rigid means we’re harder to please. Flexible means we’re easier to please and, therefore, happier.

TEN SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING YOUR MIND
1. Skip the dessert.
2. Go for a walk instead of watching television.
3. Turn your phone off.
4. Leave your dirty clothes on the floor (if you’re a neat freak).
5. Pick your dirty clothes up off the floor (if you’re a slob).
6. The next time you go out to eat with a friend, tell the server, “I’ll have what they’re having.”
7. Watch a television program or movie you’re not interested in (and find a way to be interested in it).
8. Listen to someone and don’t interrupt them.
9. Post a photo of yourself you don’t like (and watch the world keep spinning).
10. Think of something you want to do, or buy, or say, then tell yourself, “No.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life proceeds at its own pace.

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Here on Planet Earth (Blog #780)

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This afternoon I lay in the sun while listening to an audio program about one’s Inner Critic. Thirty minutes on each side won’t hurt, I thought. Now I look like a lobster. Heat is radiating from my skin. What did I think would happen? Whatever. Inevitably I burn once every spring/summer, so I might as well get it over with. I’ve got my aloe vera handy. Even though it’s never–not once–kept me from peeling. (And neither have essential oils!) Oh well. Like it’s the worst thing in the world to shed your skin.

I’m speaking literally and metaphorically.

Other than the sunburn, today has been fabulous, easy-going. I read, I stretched. I drank enough coffee to wake up Rip Van Winkle. I’ve been telling my parents for weeks that I’d install grip-bars in their bathroom, and I cut and stained a 2×4 so that after it dries I can attach one of the bars to it. This evening my dad and I went to the gym, then we mixed concrete and set a post in their backyard that we’ll use to brace their fence with once the concrete hardens. I’ve made both these projects out to be “huge things” in my mind, but they’re really not. Granted, it takes time because there are steps involved. (Things have to dry!) But the steps themselves aren’t difficult or complicated.

At the gym, I did knee rehab. During one exercise that involved my TRYING to lower myself down using only my left knee (the one I had surgery on), my leg shook so much that my entire body vibrated. And whereas I wondered if anyone else noticed, I didn’t care. This is where my body is at, and this is what it’s going to take for it to get better. There are steps involved. A process to follow.

A process that involves shaking, apparently.

More and more, I’m grateful for The Process. I know I’ve talked about it a lot over the last two years, this idea that real progress is made slowly, that this requires a wheelbarrow full of patience, and that this sucks. (It does.) But it’s really been on my mind today, I guess because lately I’ve been experiencing The Results. For example, even though my left leg still won’t fully support me while going down stairs, it’s noticeably stronger than it was a month ago. I can use it to run, to jump. Consequently, I feel freer. I’ve been stretching and doing some relaxation/meditation techniques and have been having fewer headaches. There’s still a lot of tension in my neck, it just doesn’t escalate to DEFCON One as often as it used to. Even better, I haven’t had a full-blown, I-don’t-know-what-I’m-going-to-do sinus infection in over a year.

Just as I’ve been experiencing more freedom in my physical body, I’ve also been experiencing more freedom in my mental/emotional one. I don’t have a specific example, I’ve just noticed that I’m happier, less irritable, less nervous, and less stressed. My bad moods pass quicker than they used to. My Inner Critic isn’t AS LOUD.

I have this teeny, tiny thing with wanting everything to be perfect, so I’d like to be clear–things aren’t perfect. Ugh. Perhaps they never will be (at least by my standards). Still, I’ve spent a lot of time on this blog being frustrated with things in my mental, emotional, and physical life that weren’t working and a lot of time searching for hope that these things would improve. And I just think it would be shitty if I never stopped and recognized that–phew–things have gotten better. So this is me saying, by grace and The Hard work, The Process is paying off.

This is me saying thank you.

Recently I heard Caroline Myss say that healing isn’t personal, that–chances are–even if you’re a miserable human being, the cut on your finger or whatever is wrong with your body is going to improve because, simply put, our bodies are programed to get better. The sun shines on the just and the unjust. This concept–healing isn’t personal–has been on my mind lately because I used to believe that everyone else could heal (or succeed or be at peace) but that I couldn’t. That I was somehow the exception to the rule. But having seen some fabulous results lately, I’m now telling myself that good things are just as likely to happen to me as they are to anyone else. Not because I’ve “earned” them (that would be personal), but because good things happen here on planet earth.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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You Never Know (Blog #779)

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Phew. Today has been go-go-go. This morning I woke up at 8:15(!) to teach a dance lesson at nine. I’m not complaining–it’s nice to be employed–but this means I didn’t get a lot of sleep. Again, this is okay. If someone wants to pay me to to teach the mambo at five in the morning, I’m gonna prop my eyelids open, brush my teeth (because I’m courteous), and get my hips a-movin’.

Thankfully, people don’t normally schedule dance lessons at nine in the morning. But today’s couple, when they originally scheduled, needed to be somewhere. Then, yesterday, when they tried to push it until later in the day, I’m the one who said I’d like to do it sooner rather than later. (Me!) Because I had a family reunion to get to.

The family reunion was for my mom’s side of the family, the side that we haven’t been historically close to. Granted, I know a few cousins (once removed) and second cousins. But, y’all, today I met dozens of relatives–third cousins, fourth cousins–people of all ages. It was the weirdest thing, this whole senior citizen center full of family I’ve never met. It was like, I don’t know, going to Walmart, except knowing you’re related to everyone in the dairy section. I kept thinking I’d probably crossed paths with some of them before but hadn’t realized it. I mean, what’s a relative look like? I still can’t get over the idea that next week I could easily be at the taco truck ordering a chicken burrito and a distant relative could be standing in line behind me without my having any idea.

When the reunion ended, I met my friend Megan to say goodbye. She’s been visiting this week from Israel, and she’s flying back home tomorrow. Who knows when I’ll see her again? I’d say it will be a while, but then again, two weeks ago I wouldn’t have said I’d see her this week. Her whole trip was planned last minute–so she could see her nephew’s graduation. Anyway, this is the cool thing about life–you never know–when you’ll see your friends again, or even whom you’re related to. So hope and be kind. That guy at the taco truck could be married to your third cousin!

This evening I had dinner with a few friends. We ate at a local sushi restaurant that sat us in the back corner of a small room. My friend Aaron joked that we were in sushi prison. Oh well, the food tasted the same. However, just as we were getting ready to pay and leave, the power went out. Like, completely. All of a sudden we were in the dark. Thankfully, no one panicked, and the lights came back on in short order.

Leaving the restaurant, we all went to Target. Aaron and his wife, Kate, have a four-year-old son, and I guess they’d bargained with (bribed) him earlier in the day–if he’d wear a bowtie to a wedding, he could have a Target toy. And whereas he had a fabulous time, the lights were off there too. Well, sort of. See, there was a teensy-tiny tornado that apparently passed through Fort while I was at the reunion today (in a different city), and a lot of people and places ended up without power. Consequently, a number of businesses closed. But not Target–they had backup power. This amounted to–I don’t know–one in every forty florescent bulbs working. Kate kept calling it “Dark Target.”

Now I’m back to the place where I’m house sitting. It’s almost midnight, and I’m really fighting to stay awake. On the way here I noticed that several areas of town are still unlit. No overhead power lights, no traffic lights. Just Dark. And whereas this was a bit unsettling at first, I was reminded that this is what happens on planet earth. It gets dark at night. And just because we’ve found ways to brighten our homes and streets around the clock, that doesn’t mean the world itself doesn’t get dark the way it’s supposed to. That’s the thing with darkness. I’m speaking literally and metaphorically. It’s natural. It doesn’t have to be scary or unsettling. Having fallen in love with staying up late (when I’m not exhausted) to work or look at the stars, I now find the dark quite comforting. It’s quiet, peaceful. I can hear myself think. I can create. In my imagination, anything can happen.

You never know.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.

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On Being in Control (Blog #778)

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It’s five in the evening. Just a bit ago I taught a dance lesson to a couple who are preparing for their wedding. Now I’m reclining outside where I’m house sitting, soaking up the sun. The dog I’m taking care of, who really is adorable, is across the yard, chewing on a giant stick. Just before I came outside, she was barking, barking, barking to come inside and–after I let her in–barking, barking, barking to go outside. Two nights ago my friend Megan couldn’t decide what she wanted to eat at Subway.

Decisions are hard.

Today’s dance lesson was number four for the couple, and we talked about and worked on transitions. Their basic moves are coming along fine–it’s usually not a big deal for couples to learn the basics–but their transitions need work. When going from one move to another, they slow down. They get off beat. (I know, I said get off.) I’m the same way when I learn something new–awkward. If my left leg is used to going forward, but now I need it to go back, that requires effort. Until it doesn’t, of course. That’s the point–at some point, your transitions become quick and seamless. You think, Step back, and your body simply does it without lallygagging or putting up a fuss.

My friend Shauna says that the difference between a professional dance and an amateur dancer is that the professional dancer is able to control all parts of their body simultaneously. Conversely, an amateur dancer can only command so much of their physical body at once. For example, the guy I worked with today could take a step back on his own, but when he danced with his fiance AND tried to take a step back AND send his arms slightly forward at the same time, his step back became exaggerated. As a result, his butt shot back, his head dipped forward, and his posture went from being upright (and correct) to slouched (and weird). I wouldn’t expect it to be any different. Beginners can usually only control one thing at a time.

If that much.

Earlier today I read an affirmation/meditation by Stephan Hoeller that I can’t get off my mind. It said, “If it is the will of my Father to strike down everything I have built in my life, may He do so and do it swiftly. I shall be free of attachment to anything or anyone.” Wow. Talk about a tall order. I shall be free of attachment to anything or anyone. I can’t even begin to list the things and people I’m attached to, the circumstances I THINK or BELIEVE should turn out a certain way. I want THIS to happen. I want THAT to happen. This is normal, I imagine, but the problem with attachments is that they’re directly tied to our experience of peace. For instance, earlier when the dog was barking, barking, barking, I ever-so-briefly got irritated. Make up your mind, honey! Not because the dog was doing anything other than being a dog, but because I was ATTACHED to a certain thought–The dog shouldn’t be barking–that was in direct opposition to reality.

This is an extremely small example–I could go on about being attached to people, relationships, or physical objects–but the point remains. Whenever I want one thing to happen and something else does, I sacrifice my inner peace. If just for a moment when the dog was going nuts, I was thrown off My Center. I went nuts. (The joke in my family is that “it’s a short trip.”) Byron Katie says if the dog’s barking and I think it shouldn’t, “I’m insane.” Not permanently, but in that moment. Why is it insane to think the dog shouldn’t bark? Because IT IS barking. And dogs bark. Just like cats meow (and throw up on your floor), the wind blows (and tornadoes tear your house apart), and bodies get sick (and die). This is reality. These things happen on planet earth.

As I understand it, just like you can practice dancing to the point that you can control all parts of your body at once, you can also work with your mind in such a way to control it too. That is, we think that thoughts are these things that just pop into our heads and we can’t do anything about them. And whereas that’s somewhat true, it’s also true that simply because a thought pops into your head–The dog shouldn’t be barking–that doesn’t mean you have to get carried away by it. This is one of the ideas behind meditation, that you can train your mind to focus on whatever you want it to and that–after enough practice–it will without lallygagging or putting up a fuss. Then if an old resentment comes knocking at your door you can say, “Sorry, not today,” and your mind will think about–I don’t know–chocolate cake. Something that makes you happy. Something that doesn’t steal your peace.

This is the hardest thing you’ll ever learn to do. I certainly don’t have it down. At the same time, I’m working on it. More and more, I think, What’s my peace worth? Am I really willing to let–you name it–a barking dog, a boy, a disappointment, a sinus infection, or my financial status move me off My Center? This, of course, means working on controlling my mind and not letting it be swept away by every damn thing. It means commanding my spirit, saying, “Hey, come back here.” This is The Hard Work. It’s what Jesus was so good at. The guards came to take him away, and Peter got “taken away” by his anger. He cut off a dude’s ear! But not Jesus. He wouldn’t let himself “be moved.” His peace was more important to him than that. Even when they hung him on a cross, he refused to let the outer world change his inner one. This is why he said, “Father, forgive them.” Not to convince God, but to convince himself, to convince his spirit to stay Centered rather than think thoughts like, I shouldn’t be hanging on a cross, or hate others, or chase resentments. Sorry, not today. Talk about a man free of attachment to anything or anyone, even his own life. (Talk about a man free.) Talk about being in control.

They didn’t call him Master for nothing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Go easier on yourself.

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Ora et Labora (Blog #777)

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Currently it’s 8:30, and I’m excited about the idea of getting the blog done earlier than normal and having the rest of the evening to myself. Of course, writing this blog is a very “myself” activity. It’s like a letter written by me to me (that anyone else with an internet connection can read). But it’s also a job. Granted, a job I don’t get paid for in dollars, but a job nonetheless. On some level, it’s a job I “have” to do. Because I’ve chosen to and am committed to sticking to that decision. All this equals the fact that there’s a certain amount of build-up or pressure every day (every damn day) to get this thing done, as well as a certain amount of relief every day (every damn day) when it’s over.

Until the next day, of course.

In the beginning of this project, I worried about what I would say. I’d agonize over it throughout the day and fret about it when sitting down to the keyboard. Some days (or nights, rather), I’d mentally scratch my head for hours before typing the first word. Then I’d erase it, thinking it wasn’t the right one. And whereas when I sat down tonight I felt a tinge of “I don’t have anything to say,” I’ve come to trust The Process. I know if I start with the basic facts–the truth–the rest will follow. This is why so many nights I begin with what time it is. Sure, it gives you, the reader, a context. This is where we are. But it’s not like it’s that interesting. No. It’s simply a primer, a warm up, a way for me to get started. There are nights I go back and delete my entire first paragraph. Because once I get to the end, I realize the warm-up isn’t important. Just as often, I leave it in.

It does, after all, contribute to my total word count.

I’ve said before that when I sit down to write, I rarely know at the onset if the day’s (or night’s) particular blog is going to be “good.” I mean, I think they’re all good but I certainly think some are better than others. Even when I think a blog is blah, there’s always SOMETHING I like it about–a certain phrase, a joke. So even though the reward of the “best” blogs are enough to keep me coming back every day (every damn day), the reward of these little nuggets (as one friend recently called them) motivates me even more. They’re like pulling a rabbit out of a hat or materializing a coin out of thin air. That is, I often sit down with no idea of what to say, and an idea simply appears.

Voila!

In her famous Ted Talk about creativity, writer Elizabeth Gilbert says that as creatives we can’t MAKE something wonderful or magical appear. That, she says, is basically up to the gods, up to wherever ideas come from. Our job, she continues, is simply to show up. To put our butts in chairs and tell the universe, I’m listening. Talk to me.

You know, if you want to.

Earlier today I read about the Latin phrase ora et labora, which means “pray and work.” The text I was reading said that some schools of religion credit salvation to “all grace.” Others credit salvation to “all work.” Rather than putting things completely on God’s back or completely on your own, the concept of ora et labora distributes the weight. “Pray” is asking God to do his part. “Work” is doing yours. As James says, “Faith without works is dead,” and (by implication), “Works without faith is dead.”

Ora et labora is a religious or spiritual concept, but I think it easily applies to creativity or any serious endeavor one chooses to tackle. It’s the idea, I think, Elizabeth Gilbert was driving at but said in a different way. That is, in any project one undertakes in their personal, creative, or spiritual life, there are certain things they can’t control, certain things that are left up to The Unknown. This is God’s Part. If you focused solely on this side of the equation, it’s possible you’d simply “pray” and never take any action whatsoever. Before my dad started going to the gym, he used to say, “Why bother? I’m still going to die.” The other side of the equation, of course, is that certain things ARE in your control. These are The Known things like going to the gym to take care of your body or putting your butt in a chair to write or create something. This is Your Part. This is “work,” and they don’t call it work for nothing.

Every day (every damn day).

This is where grace meets effort.

I’m not saying you (or even I) have to putt your butt in a chair seven days a week in order for inspiration to occur. Inspiration, that’s what the book I read this afternoon called the marriage of God’s Part and Your Part, the marriage of ora et labora. I really like this idea (and it’s been my experience), that I’m not working alone here, that it’s not completely up to ME to make inspiration happen. Sure, I’ve got a job to do and I’m gonna SHOW UP (my butt is currently in a chair) and do it. But I can’t FORCE a good idea to magically appear anymore than I can force the sun to rise. It either will or it won’t. Still, speaking from experience, if you sleep in, you can’t SEE the sun rise. Likewise, I don’t think you can see a good idea if you’re not in the habit of putting your butt in a chair and sorting through a million bad ones. It takes a habit, a discipline, to know when the gods are talking to you. This is where prayer meets work–where grace meets effort–where you don’t get all of the credit, but you do get some of it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's really good news to find out that the world isn't as scary as you thought it was."

A Fabulous Day (Blog #776)

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What. A. Fabulous. Day. This morning I had coffee with my friend Mary Ann. I used to teach dance at her cotillion. Oh my gosh, I forgot how much she makes me laugh. For nearly two hours we caught up and cut up. At one point, Mary Ann told me her eyebrows sometimes shoot up when she’s reading my blog. (“I guess everyone says the f-word now,” she said.) Other times, her eyebrows scrunch together. “My eyebrows get quite the aerobic workout,” she said.

I mean, I’m all for a good workout.

This afternoon I lay in the hammock in the shade where I’m house sitting in Fort Smith and read in a couple different books. Then, for a while, I lay out in the sun and read. I know, skin cancer, but it felt amazing. I love the sun. (I hate winter.) Plus, Vitamin D.

I thought about reading all day, but I recently told my Dad I’d mow their lawn (it’s been time for a while now), so I figured today was as good as any. So that’s what I did–drove my little butt over to Van Buren and push-mowed their front and back yards. And whereas it wasn’t awful, it was definitely an effort. Still, the yard looks super-duper. Plus, I probably lost fifteen pounds. Yeah, right. If only it were that easy.

After mowing the lawn, I came back to Fort smith and ate dinner from a taco truck. Then I took a shower and met my friend Megan, who’s visiting from Israel, to hang out. Megan and I met, gosh, almost twenty years ago through swing dancing. She was one of my first partners. Anyway, since we go way back, even though we haven’t seen each other in a while, we just jumped right in.

More catching up. More cutting up.

At one point tonight Megan and I left her house to grab food for her and more food for me, and I insisted on going downtown to see a new mural that was just painted. Check out the picture below. (Please excuse the rude people who parked in front of the mural.) I think it’s super cool. Not just this mural, but all the murals Fort Smith has added over the last few years. That being said, they had to paint over one of the oldest murals in order to put up this new one. Why, I don’t know. Personally, I wish we could have BOTH, but 1) nobody asked me and 2) this isn’t the way life works. All good things must come to an end. The end of one thing is the beginning of another.

The circle of life.

Now it’s 1:13 in the morning, and my heart is full but my body is tired. I got a lot of sun today. That lawn mowing wore me out. My head hurts. My friend’s dog is already asleep beside my feet on the ottoman. Momentarily–not soon enough–I’ll drag myself to the bedroom, and she’ll follow and proceed to hog the lower half of the bed. Hopefully I’ll be too passed out to care. I know I’ll sleep well. I repeat. It’s been a fabulous day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one's story should end on the ground."

On Being In Process (Blog #775)

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This morning I went to therapy. When talking about something in her personal life she’s working on, my therapist said, “I can see it’s going to be a process. I’m just so impatient.” So this is a universal experience, wanting things to happen faster than they do. At least me and my therapist feel this way. Still, I’m learning to trust life’s pace. Recently I’ve been learning things about thoughts, emotions, and the physical body and have thought, It sure would have been nice to have known this twenty years ago! But would it have? I can’t say with any assurance that I would have even been ready for the knowledge (or experience) then.

Lately I’ve written a lot about Internal Family Systems, a psychological/spiritual perspective that proposes that our minds aren’t unified, but rather “multiple.” The idea is that we have many sub-personalities instead of one big one. This explains why one “part” of you, say, wants to eat cake and another “part” of you wants to go to the gym. Anyway, I’ve been all about this theory and listened to an audio program about it today. But apparently–I’d forgotten–I first read about Internal Family Systems several years ago in a book about trauma (which is excellent) called The Body Keeps the Score. Then I just skimmed over it, yet now I’m blabbing about it on the internet. All I can say is that I must not have been ready then. Now I am.

In other words, it wasn’t time.

I don’t know why things happen when they do. I mean, that’s a big question people have been asking for centuries, and I don’t intend to solve it tonight. That being said, earlier this evening I taught a dance lesson to a couple who’s about to be married (to each other), and I know that as a teacher I go in a particular order for a particular reason. There’s a saying that when the student is ready, the teacher appears, and it’s basically the same in dance. When the student is ready, the step will be taught. Anyway, I can only assume that God, life, or the universe educates all of us in the same manner. That is, when it’s time, it’s time.

Why? Because it’s time.

This afternoon I met with my physical therapist and was given a number of new exercises to rehab my left knee, which I had surgery on over four months ago. One of the exercises was jumping on one leg (the one I had surgery on). Y’all, this was anything but pretty. You think you know how to hop. Like, in your mind it goes well. But in your physical body, not so much. My therapist said, “Right now you can barely jump over a sheet of paper.” But then he added, “Don’t worry. It will get better.” Later when I was trying to balance on one leg (the one I had surgery on) and bend over at the same time, it was the same deal. I was shaky, unstable. My foot cramped. Still, my therapist seemed unconcerned. “Don’t worry. It will get better.”

My surgeon has said that it will take a full year to get my strength back. Until then, maybe even after, it’s just going to be a challenge–to stand one one leg, to hop, to go down stairs. Once again, we’re back to things being a process. We’re back to being patient. One (dance) step at a time. This afternoon I had a few spare hours, and The Learner in me really wanted to read. But the rest of me was physically exhausted, so I took a nap. You do what you have to do. They’ll be time for learning later. Or I guess you could say that I did learn something–how to rest and better take care of myself.

Besides, you can’t do everything in one day.

Recently I read that everything in the universe is moving. Even solid objects, though they appear stable, are made up of vibrating atoms. Even if this weren’t the case with, say, your coffee table, it’s still hurtling through space at a (literally) astronomical speed. The point is that nothing in life stands still. Everything has been, is, and forever will be “in process.” Sure, one day I’ll be able to say that I can hop on one leg, but then there will be some other goal to focus on, some other thing I’d like to do with my new, fan-dangled knee. One day I’ll be able to say I’m “done” with the book I’m currently reading, but then there will be another book and another. And even with books I’ve “finished,” the ideas in them will still be with me, most likely growing and changing into other ideas. One thing leads to the next. Nothing is ever truly done.

Patience, it seems, is accepting this fact, accepting life as it is right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.

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The Uncomfortable Position (Blog #774)

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It’s ten at night, and I’m house sitting. My friend’s dog, who’s been “asking” to go in and out all day (make a decision!) is curled up by my legs on the ottoman. Last night she slept in the exact same spot except we were in bed–a twin bed. This means that I had to morph myself into the shape of a question mark to make room for both of us. This afternoon my friend sent me a text about their dog that said, “Did she sleep under the covers?” I said, “I am NOT the kind of boy who lets someone under the covers on our first night together!”

Unless your name is Zac Efron, of course.

Other than letting my friend’s dog in and out, the day has been uneventful. I’ve read in a couple books, listened to a program about shadow work. It’s all personal growth/psychology stuff. I’ve been in a phase lately–grow, grow, grow. This is my general tendency, of course, but I also know it’s a season. At some point I’ll get distracted by Netflix or get into some television show and stop being so serious. As one thing I read today said, “The bow cannot always be drawn” or it would warp the bow and take away its tension, or that which gives it power.

Tension. There’s something we can talk about. I have a friend who’s a personal trainer, and she says when you do crunches, you want to get your body in “the uncomfortable position.” You know, the one that burns. The point being that the uncomfortable position is where you’re going to do the most good. Maybe it won’t feel good at the time, but you’ll like how your stomach looks in the mirror later. This is what I mean by tension, allowing pain to transform you. So many times over the last five years in therapy I’ve sat with emotional tension to the point I thought I was going to explode. Recently I had a heart-to-heart with someone I care about, and leading up to it was hell because I knew we needed to talk but was worried it wouldn’t go well. (It did.) And whereas I HATE that feeling of tension, that uncomfortable position, I’ve always enjoyed where it’s propelled me to.

What I mean is that on the other side of every difficult conversation, my relationships have improved. Even when the relationships themselves have been dissolved or put on hiatus, that’s still been an improvement from my perspective. Because, for example, there’s less drama, less fighting in my life. More than anything, the biggest improvement has always been my being able to speak my truth, whatever that is. (Examples–I’m hurting. I’m sorry. I don’t understand what happened. I love you, but this isn’t working for me.) This is the greatest benefit that I’ve had from the tension in my life. It’s forced me to speak up and grow up. If I hadn’t been so frickin’ miserable in my last long-term relationship, I never would have sought help in therapy or started this blog.

I can’t tell you how much I hate this, that we often (as in, all the time) have to experience tension in order to experience a release. I hate that “the uncomfortable position” is the one where growth happens. But of course it is. Because when we grow, by definition, we’re going somewhere or doing something we haven’t done before. We’re entering into the land of the unfamiliar, and the unfamiliar is always uncomfortable because we’re not used to it. But the good news is that the first time you speak up (or whatever) is the hardest, and then it gets easier from there. With all things, practice is key. Personally, I’m learning to lean into that which is uncomfortable or painful. Not because I’m kinky like that, but because I’m finally realizing that if I’m uncomfortable, if my bow is stretched, that means there’s a lot of potential power there if I use it right.

Recently I was reading that life operates according to the principle of polarity. That is, for every up there’s a down. For every period of activity, there’s a period of inactivity. For every bit of tension, a release. According to this viewpoint, the greater the down, the greater the up. Because life balances itself. This is what I mean by there’s a lot of potential power that comes from being in an uncomfortable position. Once when I was agonizing over a difficult situation, my therapist said, “I know it’s tempting to binge watch Netflix and eat chocolate cake, but you need to have a conversation. You need to speak up. I’ve been where you are, and if you really wanna be free, I’m giving you the playbook.” This is what I mean by if you use your difficult circumstances right. Anyone can run away from tension or just let it dissipate on its own. But USING that tension to propel yourself, to change yourself, that’s another matter. That’s how growth happens.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whatever needs to happen, happens.

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On Mother’s Day and Feeling Scared (Blog #773)

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Today, for Mother’s Day, my mom and I continued our tradition that we’ve had for the last several years. We went to see a play, then to dinner. This year the play was The Legend of Georgia McBride, a fun, lively, and hilarious (but also touching) show about drag queens. Well, about an Elvis impersonator/bartender who gets roped into being a drag queen (and ends up liking it) when one of the drag queens at the bar where he works doesn’t show up. Anyway, it was fabulous. There were sequins, wigs, and even a Judy Garland impersonation. My mom said, “I learned so much!” Personally, I just think it’s great that she’d attend such a show. A lot of parents (a lot of people) wouldn’t do that.

After the show, we went to Starbucks, which also part of our tradition. (The above picture was taken there.) This gave us time to chat about the show and catch up with each other. I don’t know, it’s weird when you live with a person (your parent). You’d think you’d talk to them all the time, but you don’t necessarily. And yet today Mom and I had such lovely conversation. This reminds me that it’s important to be purposeful with the people in your life. If you live with them, maybe get each other out of the house once in a while.

For dinner, we did the usual, Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. (By usual, I mean once a year on Mother’s Day.) Ugh, talk about good food. I had the ribeye, and Mom had the filet. And whereas we normally sit at a table, this year we sat in a booth–a high back. This made our two-hour dinner even better, since it afforded us just that much more comfort and privacy. And here’s the cool part. When I made the reservation online a couple weeks ago and they asked if I had any special requests, I just asked for it–a booth if you have it. And whereas I forgot about the request, they remembered. Today when they walked us to our table and took us to the booth section, I thought, HOW COOL!

Sometimes getting what you want is that simple. You just have to ask.

After dinner, I drove Mom home, and now I’m at a friend’s house, house sitting. Their dog is curled up next to me and was just making high-pitched noises in its sleep. I guess it’s having having a good (or bad) dream. Maybe chasing a rabbit. Anyway, I wish I were asleep too. Last night I went out to eat with a friend then to the symphony, and it feels like this weekend has been go, go, go. All the activity has been wonderful, of course, but I’m ready to slow down, ready to rest. I wish I could hit Publish.

But here’s something.

Today as Mom and I were leaving the show (so before Starbucks and Ruth’s Chris), Mom fell. She was stepping up on a sidewalk, and I guess her ankle rolled on the curb. I was right there, and it just happened so fast. The next thing I knew, she was lying face down on the concrete, her glasses, bent, lying on the ground beside her. Thankfully, she was okay. Well, she probably twisted or sprained her ankle, and she scrapped her hand and part of her face. I’m sure she’ll be bruised in a day or two. But she said she was more scared than anything else.

Ugh. Fear. I felt that too. It’s terrifying to watch someone you care about stumble and fall and not be able to do anything about it. As soon as it happened, I remember thinking, I don’t know what to do. I actually moved her purse from the street to the curb because it was SOMETHING I felt like I could do competently while Mom was re-orienting herself. Three people came over–a couple and an older woman. Y’all, they were so kind. Also, nobody knows what to say. I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you for checking on us.” It’s like all of us were kind of in shock, like, We can’t believe this thing happened. And we all wanted it to be okay. But it HAD happened, and although it was okay, it wasn’t.

As the evening went on, Mom’s ankle swelled more, and walking was harder for her. When I left her at home earlier, Dad had put an ice pack on her leg. So healing has started.

It’s weird the way your brain keeps playing pictures in your mind. What I mean is that although I know my mom is okay, that’s she going to be okay, and that she’s at home right now, I keep seeing her on that sidewalk. The whole thing reminded me of once when I was a teenager and Mom fell in our kitchen. I could be wrong about this, but I believe it had something to do with a medication she was on (or wasn’t on). All I remember is that one minute she was making Cream of Wheat, and the next minute she and the Cream of Wheat were on the floor. Just like that. (Gravity is fast.)

In that instance, Mom ended up spending a few days in the hospital. Honestly, I don’t remember how it transpired. Dad was in prison, so someone probably called a relative to help. Either before or after she got settled in, I probably cleaned up the Cream of Wheat, just like I moved the purse today. Because it was all I could do.

Fuck feelings.

What I mean is that feeling your feelings is difficult. Like today when Mom fell, I kept wanting her to be okay. Not just for her, but for me. Because it hurts to see my mom hurting, and it’s scary to think that things could have been worse or that this could happen again. You know, as long as gravity is a thing. And whereas Mom was OKAY, the fact is that she limped the rest of the day. The fact is the side of her temple was bleeding. There’s a scratch there now. Having watched Mom fall more than once, having seen her in the hospital, these things unsettle me. And it’s like, if she’s OKAY, I don’t have to feel scared.

But the truth is we all feel scared. Feeling scared is part of the human experience, and there’s nothing that can keep us from it. (Although whiskey and chocolate help.) Personally, I’m at a point in my journey where I’d rather acknowledge and feel my fear than ignore it or shove it down. Now, granted, I’ve been putting it off. Writing about it tonight, I saved it for the last thing. (This is called burying the lead.) Still, I’ve been saying that I’ve been trying to keep my heart open to WHATEVER arises, so I’m trying to keep my heart open to this. To feeling scared and being uncertain of what to do. Not because it’s fun but because I’ve shoved my feelings down enough to know that they don’t go anywhere–they just come up later.

So crap. Sooner or later, you have to meet yourself.

A lot of teachers say that when feeling your feelings, it’s important not to “run your story.” To me this means that when I’m scared I do my best to not tell myself, This is so awful. What if it happens again? Rather, I try to experience what being scared is like physically. My heart is beating. I can’t sit still. I have a lump in my throat. This is hard, hard, hard to do, but always brings me out of my fear-based fantasies and into the present moment. For example, after Mom fell today and she sat up on the sidewalk, I noticed that the fall was OVER and that there were kind, smiling people there to help us. This was my experience when I hurt my leg several months ago. Not that the situation was pleasant, but that it wasn’t as terrible as I’d made it out to be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be more discriminating.

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