In Solitude (Blog #767)

Earlier today I read that the spiritual life is, necessarily, a lonely one. For one thing, if you’re truly walking YOUR path, no one else is on it. Not that it doesn’t cross now and then with the paths of others, or even converge with theirs for a while, but the point remains. PERSONAL growth is not a GROUP endeavor. For another thing, when you explore your interior and choose daily (or at least weekly) to sit in and work through your thoughts and emotions, obviously nobody can crawl inside you and help you out with that. (If they could, that’d be weird.) Not that a good friend or therapist can’t witness parts of your journey, but they certainly can’t do The Hard Work for you. At the end of the day, you’re left with yourself–alone and sometimes lonely.

This is not the worst thing in the world, although there are days when it feels like it. Often, like today, I wish I had a partner or someone who could help pay the bills or shore me up whenever I feel emotionally spent. But even if I had such a person, they still couldn’t “work out my salvation” for me. I keep saying this, but this is only a job I can do for myself, only a job you can do for yourself. This (I think) is implied in Jesus’s admonition to “enter in by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and many are those who enter in by it.” That is, entering in by the narrow gate isn’t something you do with others, although following the crowd is always easier. No, it’s something you do in solitude.

Today itself was lovely. The particular details don’t matter to this conversation, but I exercised, saw some friends, and saw some family. And whereas one of my friends said, “What’s new in your life?” I didn’t have much of an answer. “Uh, my knee rehab is coming along,” I said. Because it’s awkward when someone asks you in casual conversation how you are to dive deep and say that what’s new in your life is your interior, the way you relate to yourself, the divine, and others. You can’t pull out your phone and show someone a picture of your emotional guts the way you would if you’d been to Disneyland. (If you could, that’d be weird.) Plus, inner transformation isn’t something most people talk or get excited about. And yet, you know, dear reader, that personal insights and points of growth are exciting–at least for the person who experiences them.

I know they’re exciting for me, and I’d like to talk about them more.

Maybe this sounds like an odd thing to say, considering I basically spill my insides all over the internet (or at least this website) every day, every damn day. But the truth is there are a lot of things I DON’T talk about here, either because they’re too personal or it wouldn’t be appropriate to do so. Plus, there’s an idea in spiritual circles regarding silence. Indeed, many spiritual initiates take a vow of silence. Like, keep your mouth shut, junior. I don’t know fully why. Because most people aren’t interested. Because when you talk about the deepest parts of yourself the way you gossip about celebrities, it cheapens that which is truly beyond value. Because The Path is profoundly personal and isn’t meant to be advertised–it’s meant to be walked.

It’s meant to be walked alone.

So now we’re back to loneliness.

Three of the four gospels say that Simon of Cyrene carried Jesus’s cross for him. Only John says Jesus carried it himself. And whereas I’m not here to debate the apparent contradiction in the gospels or even the veracity of the story itself, I personally think John got it right. Because when Jesus was in the garden praying, he was alone. Even his closest disciples couldn’t hang with him–they fell asleep. Because he faced the devil in the desert alone. Because he walked on water alone. Why wouldn’t he carry his cross alone? That cross had his name on it. It was HIS cross to carry. Think of the thing in your life that was absolute hell to go through but that absolutely changed the direction of your life (for better or for worse). Could anyone else have even tried to carry that cross for you? (No.) This, I believe, is one of the symbolic meanings of the cross. Our burdens (our challenges), if we are willing to bear them, to surrender ourselves to them and even crucify ourselves upon them, can ultimately transform us.

Only you are with you your entire life. You might as well get to know yourself.

I realize all of may not be encouraging. Sign up for The Hard Work–it’s tough, excruciating even, often lonely, and you won’t really have anyone to talk to about it. Still, it’s as honest as I know how to be. And despite the fact that I’m highlighting an inevitable challenge of personal growth–loneliness and solitude–I highly recommend The Path. Because ultimately you’re alone anyway. That is, only you are with you your entire life. Only you can think your thoughts and feel your emotions. Maybe you can try to share them with others (like I am now), but they are yours first and foremost, and sharing them doesn’t change the fact that it’s your job (or mine) to deal with them. Nobody else could even if they wanted to. (They don’t, by the way, they’ve got their own to deal with.) Yes, you might as well get to know yourself–difficult feelings and all–because, at the end of the of the day, you’re it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"When you’re authentic, your authenticity is enough. You don’t need to compare."

On a Super Great Day (Blog #766)

Today has been super great. Super great, I say. This afternoon I had a dance lesson with the couple I worked with yesterday. Things are coming together. Slowly, but they’re coming together. What more can you ask for? Today my client (the guy) said, “If I’m going to put my money into this, I’m going to take it seriously. That means I’m going to practice, and I’m going to come back for more lessons.” Oh my god, talk about a dream client. I said, “I wish all my students had this attitude.” Unfortunately, so many people just dabble.

After my lesson, I came back to where I’m house sitting, changed clothes, then went to the gym. The good news is that I can definitely see improvement in the strength of my knee. The bad news is that I apparently re-irritated my ankle last night while going up and down my friend’s stairs a hundred times. So I didn’t do any jumping today. I told myself, “Don’t push, Marcus. Let your body heal. They’ll be plenty of time for jumping later.”

I left the gym early to help my aunt–her freezer in her garage apparently quick working, and everything in it had gone bad. Y’all, her entire garage smelled awful. Worse than my arm pits. But we got everything thrown away and cleaned up, so that’s good.

This evening my friends Justin and Ashley came to where I’m house sitting, and we spent several hours on my friend’s porch, chatting, enjoying the weather, listening to music. My friend has a sound system with speakers outside, so I just hit play on the CD changer before Justin and Ashley came over. And whereas I didn’t know what to expect, I’ve ended up enjoying over five hours of surprise music–Eric Clapton, Pink Floyd, John Mayer, you name it. Now it’s midnight, and Justin and Ashley have left, but I’m still outside, sitting on the porch swing, grooving, hoping the night will never end.

A few hours ago, after a couple of beers, I got hungry, so I put a pizza in the oven. (Justin and Ashley had already eaten.) And whereas I’m not normally fabulous at cooking, this project turned out well. (I didn’t put the round piece of cardboard in the oven like I did last time. You live, you learn.) But when it came time to take the pizza out and start eating it, I couldn’t find a pizza cutter. So I tried to slice the damn thing with a knife. Have you ever tried to do this? Talk about bullshit. It doesn’t work. You might as well try to push a wet noodle. Maybe it was because I was half-drunk, but I just couldn’t figure it out. Finally I got frustrated and ended up using my hands and tearing the pizza in half. Then I folded that in half and ate it like a sandwich. (It was delicious.) I felt like a Neanderthal.

Justin said I was being resourceful.

He should go into politics. He always knows how to spin something.

There are a few things I do every day, er, almost every day–blog, read, meditate (or otherwise concentrate on relaxing/healing). With the exception of writing now, I haven’t done any of this today. Part of me is thinking that I need to, as if the world is going to stop spinning if I don’t read ten pages in my latest self-help book and answer four questions at the end of the chapter. Clearly that’s not true. The world is not going to stop spinning, least of all because of something I do or don’t do. So, believe it or not, I’m giving myself permission to finish this blog and call it a day without completing all of my routines. Rather, I plan to stay here on this porch and listen to the crickets, the Bel Airs, and the occasional train that passes nearby. I’m going to finish my beer. Then I’m going to crawl in bed, pass out, and (hopefully) wake up ready for the week ahead.

Draw your own profound conclusions.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's enough to sit in, and sometimes drag ass through, the mystery.

"

Step, Together, Step, Together (Blog #765)

It’s midnight, and Daddy is worn out. For four-and-a-half hours this evening I worked at a friend’s house moving boxes of all shapes and sizes from one room to another–because the first room is about to be painted. And whereas moving boxes wasn’t terribly awful, it was challenging because the first room was upstairs and the second room was downstairs–and my friend doesn’t have an elevator. This means me and my bum knee had to work, work, work. Not so much going upstairs–that part I’m getting pretty good at. But going downstairs I still have to walk like a flower girl in a wedding ceremony–step, together, step, together.

This. Takes. Forever.

I kept telling myself this taking-forever was good, that it was causing me to slow down and not rush, rush, rush. And yet the part of me that REALLY wanted to be done (just because it likes being done) kept pushing. And sure, we got it done. That room is empty, ready to be painted. But my hips and shoulders (a yoga friend of mine used to call them “ships and holders”) are anything but thrilled. That is, they hurt.

But don’t worry about me. I’m drinking a beer.

This afternoon I had a dance lesson with a couple who’s getting married. They’re working on a routine for their wedding, and like my box-moving project tonight was, it’s slow going. (And God have we got a long way to go.) Now, granted, today was only their second lesson. If you saw what they knew before they started (uh, nothing) and saw what they know now, it would be clear–they’re headed in the right direction. Will they get “there”? I don’t know. I’ve had plenty of couples drop out over the years. But this couple seems determined, and when someone is determined, watch out.

When someone is determined AND practices, well, watch out even more.

Lately I’ve been reading a book called Trauma and the Unbound Body by Judith Blackstone. I’ve mentioned some of Blackstone’s theories before, like the idea that our bodies will often constrict (or tense up) in response to trauma or stress. Last night I read that when we feel tension in our bodies, it can feel like it’s been done to us, but that ultimately we’re the ones that have done it to ourselves. When I first read this statement, I bristled because I’m tight all over, and who wants to take responsibility for that? But the idea is that our bodies tense up in order to protect us from a perceived threat. They’re trying to help. And here’s the good news–if WE initiated the tension in our bodies, we can initiate the release of tension in our bodies.

Several schools of thought, including Blackstone’s, call this release “unwinding.”

Just last night I got to the exercise in Blackstone’s book about unwinding. All the previous exercises have been, for lack of a better way to describe them, about entering a meditative state. Better said, they’ve been about fully entering your own body and centering yourself, the thought being that before you go about releasing tension in your body, tension that’s probably tied to a lot of emotion (because traumatic events are emotional), you need to be steady and you need to be able to “hold space” for whatever comes up.

All this being said, last night I worked with the exercise to release tension, and it actually worked. Like, not all at once or everywhere at once, but a little bit here, a little bit there, in pieces. The book said it would be like this, slow. Mostly I concentrated on my neck and right shoulder, which has been giving me fits for months now. And whereas I didn’t have a huge emotional response, I did have a lot of memories come up from when I was a child–falling off a four-wheeler, getting hit by a baseball in my face, even being spanked. These instances when I would have obviously braced myself gave me a lot of compassion for WHY my body might still carry tension in it.

I can really identify with the idea of bracing. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even tonight while I was moving boxes and noticing my hips and shoulders were starting to tighten, my natural tendency was to push through. To toughen up. To grit and get the job done. But I’m not a machine, and I can’t continue to treat my body like one. Indeed, since I’ve gotten home this evening, I’ve gone back to the exercise I learned last night (which includes intently focusing on your pain or tension), and it’s clear to me that my body is very much alive and full of wisdom (because it response to both stress and the invitation to relax).

When learning something new like this, I always want immediate results. But healing, usually, takes times. Tonight I thought, If my body relaxes just three percent, that’s three percent! So, like my dance students, it’s just a matter of being determined and practicing. Sticking with something that works for you. Going as slow as you need to. Step, together, step together. Trusting that one step at at time is enough to get you to where you want to be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

"

On Motivation, Belief, and Self-Empowerment (Blog #764)

It’s eleven at night, and I’m house sitting. This, often, literally amounts to sitting (or lying down) in a house and getting paid for it. This afternoon I rushed out the door to meet my dad and aunt at the gym and forgot my key. Well, I had my KEYS, but not THE KEY to the house where I’m staying. So I locked myself out. I hate when I do this. (I do this a lot.) Thankfully, I’d left a window open, so when I got back later, I just crawled through it. I say just, but I had to climb up on a chair, crawl halfway through the window, balance myself on my stomach like a see-saw, teeter myself down into the bathtub on the other side of the window, support myself with my arms, then finally bring my legs in for a B+ (somewhat wet) landing.

Seriously, I felt like I belonged in Cirque de Soleil.

Once I had a middle-aged student tell me they tried to keep themselves in shape in order to have more options. That is, if they got the chance to go roller skating, hiking, or dancing, they wanted to be able to say yes. They didn’t want to HAVE to say no because their body couldn’t perform because they hadn’t cared for it. This story has stuck with me, and I feel the same way. I want to be able to dance, run, um, crawl through windows well into my senior years. I want to be able to travel, hike, play with my nephews. Sure, I know shit happens beyond our control. Recently I busted my knee up (sort of my own fault, but I wasn’t PLANNING ON busting it up) and had to have surgery. But on a daily basis I have a choice about how I re-hab the damn thing, whether I stick with my program or not.

Some people say I’m motivated in terms of my leg. Recently I shared with someone how writing every day has truly transformed my life, and they said, “I wish I could find that motivation.” UHH–I don’t know what to tell you. Personally, I don’t think of myself as all-the-time motivated because I think motivation is fleeting. You get excited about something–feeling better, starting a project–and there’s this window. You think, Okay, I’m going to start. Or not. But after that, either way, the window closes, meaning, the excitement fades. After over two years of blogging or four months of rehab do I consider myself motivated? Not really. More than anything, I’m committed–because I know this stuff works. Said another way, I’ve gone from being motivated to believing.

That’s the ticket–belief. Motivations make you TRY. Beliefs make you CONTINUE TO ACT.

That’s nice to hear–that I believe in what I’m doing. (Sometimes I don’t know things until I write them down.) But I guess I do. At some point over the past few months I’ve begun believing that as I continue to do my leg rehab I’ll get back to doing the things I love–running, jumping, dancing. At some point over the last two years, I’ve begun believing in this process of sitting down daily (uh, nightly) to meet myself and figure things out, to heal. This is to say that I’ve come to believe in myself, that I know no matter what life throws at me, I can handle it, that even if no one else can, I can be there for me. This, I think, is called self-empowerment and is perhaps the closest thing you can get to solid ground in an unpredictable universe like the one we live in, where shit happens, where you can lock yourself out of a house or bust your knee up just as easily.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Sickness and health come and go, just like everything else. It's just the way life is."

More Open (Blog #763)

Today has been a dream. I’m house sitting, and at sixty-thirty this morning, I woke up to let my friend’s dog out. The great part? I went back to sleep. Then I woke back up at ten and lay in bed until eleven. This is my life. From there I made a delightful breakfast (chicken and scrambled eggs, avocado, fruit, and coffee), and spent a couple hours reading. Then my friend had groceries delivered (delivered!) for me. Talk about a sweet gig. Sometimes life doesn’t suck. Then I went to town (who says that anymore?) to run errands and ended up having a leisurely lunch/early dinner at a Thai restaurant where I did some more reading.

Have I mentioned I love reading?

This evening I’ve been back at my friend’s house, and now the animals and I are just chilling. The dog is under the coffee table. The cat is between my feet here on the recliner. Earlier, for the first time in a couple weeks, I went back and re-read several of my old blogs. My goal is to get through all of them, and I’m up to #101 as of tonight. #93 was the day I was in a car accident. Gosh, that was a bad day. Now, having come through the entire ordeal, I wish I could go back and tell myself, “It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to work out just fine. Not like you think it will, but just fine.” Obviously, I can’t do that. But I can tell myself these things now.

It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to work out just fine. Not like you think it will, but just fine.

Earlier I said that today has been a dream. What I mean is that I haven’t felt rushed, nothing has gone “wrong,” and everything has gone “right.” What’s more, I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve done. More and more, I think this is the way it should be. Er, the way it can be.

A while back I read a book by Les Fehmi called The Open-Focus Brain. I know I say this a lot, but it’s honestly one of the most profound/helpful things I’ve ever read. In short, Fehmi says that the amount of stress and anxiety we feel is directly related to the way that we pay attention. Most of us, he says, focus narrowly–we focus on one thing (our phones, our books, our conversations) to the exclusion of everything else. Our society actually teaches us to do this (Look at me when I’m talking to you! PAY ATTENTION!), but narrowly focusing actually puts us in fight-or-flight mode, and that causes all sorts of problems.

The good news is that we have the ability to focus openly. For example, although I’m currently aware of what I’m thinking and typing, I’m also aware of the ceiling fan spinning above me, the clack of the keyboard, the sound of Stevie Nicks singing, the air conditioner humming, the feel of the cat’s body pressed against my leg, the SPACE between my fingers, and the SPACE in which ALL OF THIS is taking place. Focusing like this apparently shifts one’s system out of fight-or-flight and into “relax” mode. All I can say is that it works. Whenever I focus openly, I feel better. More dreamy. My body breathes a sigh of relief. Sometimes (but not every time), it even lets go of pain.

Fehmi says when it comes to pain, most of us want to ignore it, push it away. But he says pain will often dissolve on its own when we put all our attention on it, fully feel it, and then INCLUDE it in our overall (open-focus) experience. (He has guided meditations to help with this process.) This makes sense to me, that we can hold SPACE for anything that arises in our lives–pain, uncomfortable emotions, difficult thoughts–because we are large enough to do so. Indeed, we’re so much larger than we realize.

And no, I’m not talking about your butt.

A couple times I’ve mentioned today being a dream. Well, get this shit. Last night I had a dream about going to my high school reunion, arguing with my gym teacher, and refusing to pay a total stranger for a necklace he made me (that I didn’t ask him to make in the first place). Anyway, recently I heard that you can dialogue with any character or inanimate object in your dreams, so I tried it. That is, I just imagined what my gym teacher, the total stranger, and even the necklace would say to me if they had the chance. The cool part? They actually said stuff. For example, a piece of gym equipment I “interviewed” said it represented my hips and that it (they) were here to support me.

Isn’t that nice of them?

Maybe this sounds like craziness. You might be thinking, “Marcus, you’re just making that stuff up.” Well, yeah. Am I not qualified to do this? After all, I was the one who made the dream up to begin with. Why can’t I go back “in” and make up more? Regardless, what’s neat is that just like the different “parts” of myself I’ve talked about before (my inner child, my perfectionist, etc.), each “part” in the dream had a specific voice and viewpoint. Furthermore, even the parts that seemed angry at first (like my gym teacher) were ultimately trying to help me, to get my attention in some way.

You’re more of an athlete than you give yourself credit for.

This is one of my big revelations lately, that everything inside me is on my side, that even uncomfortable thoughts and emotions and, yes, physical pain can be my teacher if I let them. I’m not saying this is fun, to go around experiencing everything I’d normally be afraid of, but it’s more fun than pushing all these things away, than pushing myself away, which is what I did for so long. (Incidentally, pushing yourself away isn’t possible.) Plus, I see results. Since doing The Hard Work, I’m more comfortable in my own skin in whatever situation or environment I find myself in. I’m less nervous, less stressed, less anxious. Not that I don’t have freak-out moments, but they dissolve faster than they used to. Stated in positive terms, I’m more at ease, more calm, and more confident. I’m more–what’s the word?–open to both myself and others.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just because your face is nice to look at doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart that’s capable of being broken. These things happen to humans, and there isn’t a one of us who isn’t human.

"

Unfolding (Blog #762)

It’s ten-thirty at night, and I’m house sitting for a friend, a different one than I house sat for last weekend. I spent the day at home–Mom and Dad’s–and have been here (where I’m house sitting) for several hours now. It’s the cutest place, this old house with low ceilings and kitchen sinks. Earlier I stood up out of the recliner in the living room and almost hit my head on the ceiling fan. I thought, Holy crap, I’ve grown! All that stretching must be paying off. But then I remembered it was just a matter of “everything’s relative.”

The little-ness of the house really makes it feel cozy, comfortable, and safe, like a cocoon. My therapist and I talked recently about how my room at my parents’ was basically the same thing, a protected place for me to grow, to transform. That’s how this house feels, like a little getaway right in the middle of town, a place where I can hang out with my friends’ animals, sit on their porch and sip coffee, and read.

Reading. That’s what I’ve been doing all day, all damn day. This afternoon I finished a book I started last night about the world between 1650 and 1720, when pirates, or buccaneers, sailed the seas, and how a large number of pirates were homosexuals, either because they were born that way or because there aren’t a lot of other options when you’re stuck on a ship for years at a time. This is something I never learned from Disney’s The Pirates of the Caribbean, the fact that they didn’t call it the Jolly Roger for nothing.

After finishing that book, I started another one this evening–about alchemy and how it relates to personal/spiritual transformation. This is an off-and-on fascination for me, the idea that we can change the lead in our lives into gold. I just like the metaphor. It resonates with me. Anyway, I read tonight until I got to the point in the book that included visualization/meditation exercises that are meant to be built upon–like you do one one day, then another the next. And whereas I’m excited to learn and try new things (and it never hurts to slow down, close your eyes, and breathe), I wish I could just read the damn book and be done with it.

Technically, I could. I realize that not every suggested exercise in a book is a “required” exercise. But I do like trying them. I mean, there’s a part of me that, believe it or not, would be content to just read, read, read all the time and learn, learn, learn. But learning isn’t just head-stuff. At some point, if it’s gonna make a difference, it’s gotta be embodied. Take dance for example, it isn’t just something you talk about, although you can. It’s something you DO. In my experience, it’s the same with personal growth. You have to live it. Hell, if all it took to be mentally and emotionally healthy was to post a meme about it, the world would already be a better place.

Unfortunately, growth takes more than just talking about it. As my therapist recently said, “It takes more than buying a Brene Brown book.” Personally, despite the fact that I love to read about personal growth, the only reason it’s more than a concept for me is because I’ve matched my reading with actions. Over the years this has looked like anything from a number of different meditation practices to having tough conversations, setting boundaries, and even ending relationships. And crying. I’ve cried a lot. Tonight it looked like a visualization exercise, an exercise I’m probably going to have to try a few times before I decide whether or not it’s doing any “good.”

This is my main gripe with books or teachers that give you exercises to do–if you do all of them every day, it eats up a lot of damn time. For example, for three months after knee surgery I not only did my rehab exercises every day, but also a form of meditation and writing for this blog. But recently I dropped the form of meditation in favor of other things (including going to bed) because it was just too much. That’s the pressure I’d like to take off, the idea that you have to do everything you start for the rest of your life. My inner student gets so excited about learning and thinks it has to do things “perfectly.” But that’s ridiculous–there’s no such thing as perfection. Plus, learning it should be fun, not burdensome.

I repeat–learning should be fun, not burdensome.

And another thing–I’ve already read more and learned more than some people ever have or will (a gay pirate, for example). So again, “everything’s relative.”

Earlier I took a break from reading to eat dinner and starts tonight’s blog. While I was in the kitchen, I let my friend’s cat in from outside, and he’s* been basically glued to me every since. I swear, he lay on the kitchen table eyeing me eat like he’d never seen a taquito before. As I’ve been writing, he’s been in and out of my lap. Y’all, it is so hard to type with a feline sprawled across you. That being said, his purring and stillness remind me to slow down, to not rush, to let all things, including myself, unfold in their own time.

[*I honestly have no idea whether my friend’s cat is a boy or a girl. It’s so hard to tell these days.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's enough to sit in, and sometimes drag ass through, the mystery.

"

Taller (Blog #761)

Recently I’ve been listening to an audio series by Robert Augustus Masters called Knowing Your Shadow, about how to reconnect and integrate all the parts of yourself that you’ve basically told to go sit in the corner–your anger, your shame, your humiliation. (Pick an emotion, any emotion.) One clue that your shadow is running the show (at least in the moment)? You find yourself reactive. That is, you’re re-acting, acting out again, or responding to a present situation as if it were a past one. For example, recently I made a big deal about losing a puzzle piece. Not because losing a puzzle piece warrants freaking out, but because I’d borrowed the puzzle from a friend and part of me was afraid of making them mad or “getting in trouble.” This, I’m sure, was a part of me that still feels like a child, a part of me that hasn’t grown up yet.

A part of my shadow.

As far as I can tell, our shadows get a bad rap. We think they’re these evil monsters that are going to suddenly take over or cause us to do something we’ll regret later. But that’s not the case. Rather, our shadows are simply the parts of ourselves we’ve dissociated from in some way, most likely because at one time in our lives (our childhoods) we thought we’d be better served without them. For example, if you grew up in a home where anger was either not displayed or conversely displayed without restraint, chances are you’ve put at least part of your anger (which all of us experience) “over there.” The problem with this strategy is that if we leave parts of ourselves in the dark, we end up growing up without their help and assistance–because every part is valuable and has something to offer us. As adults we end up playing without a full deck (and then wonder why we can never seem to win).

Consequently, we end up less whole, not fully ourselves.

One of the exercises in the audio program suggested “reentering” a dream in which you felt fearful or were being chased. I tried this and reentered (imagined) a dream in which I was trying to run away or hide from a man with a gun. (For reference, I associate guns with strength or power.) But this time instead of running, I turned to face him. Then, like the Adam Lambert song, I said, “WHAT do you want from me?” And he said, “STOP RUNNING AWAY FROM ME.” Then he morphed from this shapeless figure into Superman.

The point of this exercise, the takeaway for me, is that one of the parts of myself I’ve banished to shadow-land is my power, my strength. That is, there are a lot of areas of my life where I play small or at the very least feel weak and ineffectual. But as I’ve meditated on this the last two days, I know that’s not who I am at my core–weak. As I told my therapist today (and started crying when I said it), “The truth is that I am totally strong.” Not that I can leap tall buildings in a single bound, but I know that–fundamentally–I’m a force to be reckoned with–stable, solid, and fierce.

Last night I started reading a book by Judith Blackstone about, among other things, our fundamental qualities, the contention being that we all have innate, this-is-the-way-it-is-whether-you-like-it-or-not characteristics. For example, according to the book, we’re all intelligent and we’re all loving. This doesn’t mean your next door neighbor, the guy who drinks thirty beers every Friday night and wakes up on his lawn every Saturday morning half-naked is going to win the Nobel Peace Prize or suddenly turn into Mother Teresa. Simply because you HAVE a quality doesn’t mean you’re in touch with it. But it does mean you can GET in touch with it. That is, nobody has to PUT intelligence in your brain or love in your heart. They’re already there. If you don’t believe me, simply close your eyes and try tuning into your head (for intelligence) or your chest cavity (for love) and see what you find there.

Blackstone says you can likewise tune into your solar plexus to discover your power, another one of your fundamental qualities. She says that when you do, you won’t find this aggressive, ugly thing (a man with a gun), but rather something strong (Superman), like a waterfall.

This morning I saw my therapist, and we discussed all this. Well, except the waterfall part, since I just read that part of the book this afternoon. But we did talk about my shadow and the fact that not only have I disconnected from my sense of power, but that I’ve also, largely, disconnected from my anger. I imagine a lot of people do this. Anger isn’t a socially acceptable emotion, unless, of course, you’re yelling at your nine-year-old soccer player’s referee. (It’s gotta come out somewhere.) Plus, it’s scary. When you really FEEL an emotion like anger, it’s easy to think, I don’t know if I can control this. But my therapist said that as you get more comfortable with your anger, you get more comfortable with your power. Said another way, when you really own all parts of yourself, you can both feel and express strong emotion without flying off the handle. You can stay in control.

One of the scariest things about doing The Hard Work, being in therapy, and trying to welcome all parts of myself has been and is learning that I’m not who I thought I was. What I mean is that most of us grow up telling ourselves these stories. We say, “Oh, I’m shy” or “I never get mad.” We say, “I’ve always been that way.” We say, “That’s just me,” nervous, embarrassed, ashamed, whatever. But when you dig deep, you find out all of those things are just a construct, a facade you created in order to survive and get along in your particular circumstances. When you bring your parts out of the shadows, you find out–What a damn minute, I’m strong and confident. This is who I am. I can speak up. I can stand my ground. And this is good and this is a relief, to find out that you’re anything but weak. But this is also challenging–because now you have to say goodbye to your old self, and now you have to stop apologizing for taking up space in the world, and now you have to stand on your own two feet, taller than were before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.

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The Sky Is Not Falling (Blog #760)

What a delightful day. This morning I woke up. And whereas that in and of itself would be enough (my dad says any day above ground is a good day), things just got better from there. First, I had a nice, quiet breakfast. Then I mowed the lawn. And not that mowing the lawn is “fun,” but it sort of was. I mean, I had my earplugs in and was grooving, and the sun was shining. I love me some Vitamin D. The only downer is that all the walking/mower pushing aggravated my left ankle, which I apparently pissed off yesterday while running on the treadmill (for an hour). But oh my gosh, you should see the yard. Even Dad says it looks great, and he’s not the easiest man to please.

Is anyone’s father?

After mowing the lawn and getting all nasty, I took a shower. Then Dad came home from running errands and wanted to go to the gym. So I was like–what the hell why not?–and went with him and got gross again. Now I’m even grosser because this evening I went on a short hike with friends and covered myself in bug spray before taking off. Which means I’ll probably take ANOTHER shower before I go to bed tonight. Ugh. A two-shower day. I hate that. There are entire WEEKS I don’t take two showers.

Maybe this is why I’m single.

Last night I made a big production out of the fact that I finished a 1000-piece puzzle and came up short one piece. What I didn’t say was that the puzzle belongs to a friend of mine, so part of my freak-out was not wanting them to be upset that I’d somehow lost a piece. I really got stressed out about it. I thought, What am I going to do? I LOST A PUZZLE PIECE! Granted, most of my brain was all chill, like, This is a cool person, Marcus. They like you. They’re not going to fly off the handle about a little piece of cardboard. But that wasn’t the part of my brain in control. THAT part of my brain scoured the internet last night for all sorts of fix-it options. THAT part of my brain even tried to buy a replacement puzzle from a shady company in China and ended up getting credit card scammed. (Don’t worry, Mom, it’s under control now.)

Geez. That part of my brain is such a sucker.

The one good thing that came out of my searching the web last night is that I ended up contacting and hearing from the manufacturer of the puzzle. (Apparently losing puzzle pieces is a thing, and a lot of companies offer replacement pieces.) Unfortunately, this company no longer makes the puzzle in question (of course they don’t), but they DID offer to send me another one of their 1,000-piece puzzles–get this shit–for free. “Just pick one out, and we’ll be happy to ship it to you,” they said. So I told my friend (the puzzle owner) all this today, and she didn’t fly off the handle at all, didn’t bust my balls in the slightest. “Thank you for going to all the trouble,” she said, and that was that.

Another crisis averted.

This afternoon I got an email from a credit card company. “Your Starbucks SPECIAL OFFER is about to expire,” it said. “Act now so you don’t miss out!” Geez, everything is an emergency. A crisis. Well, in this case, a false crisis. That’s what I was thinking later, that advertisers often approach us as consumers like, The sky is falling, the sky is falling. But–guess what?–it’s not. My point is that I often scare myself shitless doing the same thing, creating a false crisis. My friend is going to be upset. A piece of cardboard is MISSING. The sky is falling. But for crying out loud–settle down, Chicken Little (Marcus Little)–it’s not.

I repeat. The sky is not falling.

More and more, I’m learning that it’s okay to freak out. I mean, it’s going to happen. Even this morning as I was mowing the lawn, my mind would start to get twisted about SOMETHING. (Pick a topic, any topic.) But rather than try to push, push, push my worry or anxiety out of my mind, I tried to include it. This is a technique I’ve learned lately, to expand my awareness. So I’d think about my stress, but then I’d also smell the grass, feel the sun on my skin, and listen to the sound of the mower at the same time. Consequently, it put my problem in perspective. More specifically, it brought it both out of the past and out of the future (which is where all your fantasies live) and into the present moment, where not only is the sky not falling, but all things are–what’s the word?–okay.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Getting comfortable in your own skin takes time.

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The Missing Piece (Blog #759)

Well crap. Earlier tonight I finished the puzzle I’ve been working on, the puzzle I technically started several months ago. And whereas I’m done, IT’S MISSING A PIECE. That’s frickin’ right–there are SUPPOSED to be 1,000 pieces, but there are only 999. What the hell? If you look at the picture above (the image is of a famous painting–The Birth of Venus by Botticelli), there’s a big gaping hole (the size of a puzzle piece) in the lady on the right’s abdomen.

I can’t tell you how much this upsets me. (But don’t worry, I’ll try to.)

Chances are, I lost the final piece. Or maybe someone else did. Since I’ve had the puzzle out, it has been moved around a few times, and someone (including me) could have bumped it and knocked the piece to the floor. From there, as my dad pointed out, our dog could have eaten it. Who knows what happened? But I’ve combed the floors and looked everywhere including the vacuum cleaner bag and can’t find it. I keep hoping it will just materialize. So far, it hasn’t. This is driving my inner perfectionist bonkers.

I need to talk about something else.

This afternoon I finished house sitting, but before I did, I took my friend’s dog for walk. Y’all, for the last four days I’ve been following that little pup around and picking up its poop with little plastic baggies–because that’s what I was asked to do, because it’s courteous to pick up your dog’s poop when it shits in your neighbor’s yard. But get this (shit). While walking today I noticed NOT EVERYONE DOES THIS. That is, twice (twice!) I spotted dog poop in other people’s front yards, which means SOME PEOPLE are obviously out walking their dogs and not cleaning up after them. In my opinion, this is the dog-walking equivalent of guys who dart out of public restrooms without washing their hands. (This unfortunately happens a lot, ladies.) Oh well, we all make choices. What’s right and decent and sanitary for one person isn’t for the next. (For evidence of this, just look around.)

When I got home from house sitting, my dad and I went to the gym and I ran on the treadmill. Y’all, I hit a personal milestone, at least since having knee surgery four months ago–I ran for a solid hour! Not crazy fast, mind you–I totaled 4.5 miles–but I broke a serious sweat. But again, I ran for a solid hour!

Go legs.

Recently my chiropractor referred to me (my body) as a wreck. This was said in good humor, since have a lot of (physical) issues–my hips, my shoulder, my neck. At the same time, I’ve been thinking the last few days that I don’t like the idea of thinking of myself as a wreck or broken. Never mind the fact that someone else said it. I’ve said it a lot. I’ve thought, I’ve got these pains, and they’ll never go away. I’m a mess. But I don’t want to think that anymore. I don’t want to believe that anymore. Because, deep down, I believe my body is smart, I believe there are answers available, and I believe healing is possible. Plus, it feels better to refer to my body in my self-talk as wise rather than ignorant or stupid. I imagine my body would like that too.

I mean, how would you feel if someone talked to you like that day-in and day-out?

Okay, back to the puzzle. It’s still driving my inner perfectionist crazy, but I’ve calmed down a little. After I realized I was missing a piece, I started thinking about how much I’ve been looking forward to that final moment of completion. Like, Awe, I did it–a thousand pieces. And yet that moment never came. So then I had to remind myself that despite the fact that I never got THAT feeling of satisfaction, it’s not like I haven’t had hundreds of other moments of satisfaction along the way. That is, I’ve had fun putting the other 999 pieces together. Ugh, so often I focus on the what’s wrong–a little pile of dog shit, a pain in my hip, the guy who didn’t wash his hands!–rather than what’s right. So often I focus on the missing piece instead of the whole puzzle.

I blame my inner perfectionist for this and am working on it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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On Vegging (Blog #758)

It’s ten-thirty at night, and I’ve been awake since six-thirty this morning. No shit. I got up to walk my friend’s dog (I’m house sitting) and never went back to bed. Rather, I had the most productive morning–made breakfast, stretched, read a book (Cat on a Hot Tin Roof). Then I picked my dad up, and we went to the gym to work out. Boy, did that feel good. Then Dad and I picked up my aunt, and we went to a taco truck for lunch. I went to the same truck last night for dinner. They have burritos as big as your face for six dollars. Six dollars! You can’t beat that. Anyway, it’s a good thing I worked out today because this afternoon I ate my entire burrito and half of my aunt’s.

This is why I’m not losing weight.

This evening I took the dog for a walk and haven’t done a productive thing since. Well, wait, I did take a shower. That was a good thing. Other than that, I’ve wasted the night way surfing the internet. You know how one ignorant thing leads to another. And whereas part of my brain keeps thinking, Do something PRODUCTIVE, Marcus. Do something on your TO DO LIST, most of me is content to just–what’s the word?–veg. Hell, if it weren’t for this blog I’d be vegging right now, or passed out. And not that I MIND turning on my brain to blog, I just don’t have much to say.

My therapist talks a lot about back taxes. Specifically, she often says that I owe back taxes when it comes to feeling my emotions and crying. Anyway, this is my one profound idea today, that I have a lot of catching up to do when it comes to wasting time and doing nothing. That is, when I was a teenager I was forced to grow up pretty quick. And not that I never vegged on a Saturday night and watched ten episodes of Get Smart, but, looking back, I could have done a lot more of that. So the way I see it, tonight was sort of about catching up, or at least about honoring (that’s another word my therapist uses) my inner child/teenager/time waster. (Uh, if I’m having fun and relaxing, is it really wasting time? And who gets to decide these things anyway?) Not that I need an explanation or an excuse to sit on my butt and surf the web. I’m an adult and can do what I want.

And so can you.

We’re all adults here.

We can veg if we want to.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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