How You Get to Be King (Blog #856)

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Last night I went to see a local production of Beauty and the Beast, the musical. It was glorious. And whereas I could go on about how talented the cast was (they were) and how fabulous the costumes were (they were too), I’d like to get right to what’s on my mind–the symbology behind the story. That is, there’s a reason certain stories (fairy tales and myths) endure for centuries. Not only do they address universal truths (don’t judge a book by its cover, beauty is only skin deep), they also speak to our psyches and souls. Indeed, psychology literally means “study of the soul.”

Psychiatry means “healing of the soul.”

There’s an idea I’ve mentioned before that you can tell a lot about a person (or yourself) based on their three favorite movies. This theory applies to one’s favorite fairy tale(s) also. I’ve found this to be true. When I look at my top two fairy tales (Robin Hood and The Sword and the Stone), they both have themes that I strongly identify with. That is, to borrow a phrase from J.R.R. Tolkien, the return of the king. But I digress for now. In terms of Beauty and the Beast, I see the the theme as embracing one’s shadow.

I’ll explain.

Joseph Campbell said, “All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells, are within you.” To me this means that every character in a fairy tale or myth can be interpreted as part of you the individual. I thought about this while watching the musical last night. In other words, there’s a part of me that’s an innocent bookworm (Belle), a part of me that’s hideous and angry (the beast), a part of me that’s brash and arrogant (Gaston), a part of me that’s naive and stupid (LaFou). Le Fou, incidentally, is french for The Fool. Anyway, if you’re only watching such stories to be entertained, you’re missing out. But if you can connect with at least a handful of characters, well, now we’re talking. Because, ultimately, you’re connecting with and learning about–yourself.

As Uncle Walt (Whitman) would have said, you contain multitudes.

Getting back to embracing your own shadow, Belle is initially repulsed by the beast. He is, after all, quite the proverbial jerk. This is how our shadow often seems–unapproachable, hot, seething. After all, our shadow represents all the icky, gross parts of ourselves that we’ve been ignoring for most of our lives–our anger, our rage, our lust, our sexuality, our neediness, even our tender inner child (the one we tell, Grow up, real men and big girls don’t cry). And yet when we can embrace our shadow (in the musical Beauty and the beast dance together), we receive the power our shadow contains. In Beauty and the Beast this is depicted as the beast being transformed into a prince. That which we thought was our enemy (that which we banished within ourselves) turns out to be our savior.

This afternoon my aunt and I went to see the movie The Lion King, the new remake of the classic Disney cartoon. Again, the theme of the shadow appears. Simba is told by his father, Mufasa, to not go into the shadowlands, where death and the hyenas rule. But of course he does. Every hero must eventually. Alas, he’s still a young cub and can’t fight his own battles, so all he can do is run from his demons (the hyenas) and let his father save him. Later, after his father dies (spoiler alert!), upon the urging of his evil uncle Scar (who wants to replace Mufasa as king rather than letting Simba take his place as ruler), Simba runs away.

Here’s where things get interesting. At this point in his journey, Simba meets Pumbaa and Timon, a warthog and meercat, respectively. They take him in as a friend, and under the spell of Hakuna Matata (no worries), Simba does his best to not think about his former life and responsibilities. In so doing, he almost forgets who he is (a lion, a king). Hell, he even goes on a vegetarian diet. There’s a lot to “chew” on here. Where in your life do you run away from yourself, your true potential–because you’re afraid, because you want to be like your friends, because you’d rather not grow up (a la Peter Pan)?

Eventually Simba leaves his carefree life and goes back home. This is another story about the return of the king, about self-empowerment, self-possession, and self-rulership. Still, before Simba can “assume the throne,” he MUST face his shadow. This is depicted in his battle against the hyenas and his uncle Scar. Now, in this story our hero doesn’t embrace his shadow so much as subdue it (the hyenas and Scar are either killed or driven out), but the point remains the same. You don’t get to be king–of the forest or of your life–by running AWAY from that which terrifies you. Rather, you get to be king (or queen) by facing, perhaps embracing, that which terrifies you, by confronting or coming to terms with that which controls you. You get to be king by remembering who you are. You get to be king–by growing up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.

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Your Best Is Good Enough (Blog #852)

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This afternoon I saw my chiropractor, the one who works with the mental/emotional/energetic causes of physical problems. This continues to be a trip. Today was my third appointment, and the man’s gotten more done with me than a handful of other chiropractors have in six times the visits. For the longest time I’ve been constantly aware of tension in my neck. And whereas it’s still there, now there are days I don’t even think about it. This is progress. This is good progress. That being said, the guy’s methods are weird.

I say weird but I only mean they’re weird compared to most medical people’s methods. I’ve spent a lot of time in the alternative healing community, and I’ve seen some really strange shit. Compared to that stuff, my chiropractor’s methods are really quite benign. Today he used muscle testing to get at the underlying emotions behind my long-time struggle with sinus infections. The positive word that came up (the emotion I feel before a sinus infection) was RELIABLE. The negative emotion (during and after a sinus infection) was INADEQUATE. Phew. There’s a can of worms. The last two years, which have been full of medical tests (that have basically said I’m healthy as a horse), have been filled with my trying to decide whether or not me and my body are reliable or inadequate.

The jury’s still out.

In truth, inadequacy is a pervasive emotion for me. Recently I blogged about my feeling like not enough, and I suppose this is the same thing. There’s a scene in Mr. Holland’s Opus when a former student of Mr. Holland’s, now a grownup, is shutting down Mr. Holland’s music program due to budget cuts. He says, “We’re doing the best we can, Mr. Holland,” and Mr. Holland yells, “Your best is not good enough!” Both of these characters are firmly entrenched in my psyche, the part of me that says, “Dammit, I’m doing everything I know to do,” and the part that is always demanding more. You know, The Perfectionist. The Hard Ass.

The one who’s real fun at parties.

This afternoon I read Transforming Fate into Destiny: A New Dialogue with Your Soul by Robert Ohotto. It’s glorious. Read it and give it to all your friends for Christmas. But really. In a New Age/Self-Help culture that claims you can manifest or have whatever you want, this book is a breath of fresh air. Robert explains that, yes, we can create magnificent things in our lives. Each of us is more powerful than we give ourselves credit for. However, each of us also came into this life understanding that there would be certain limitations (or boundaries, I love a good boundary), so we have to work within those fated guidelines.

For example, no matter what I put on my vision board, I’m never going to be the first female President of the United States. (Crap.) Because I’m a man. Likewise, I’ll never be straight (sorry, ladies), be six-foot-two (dang), look or sing like Zac Efron (dang again), or have different parents. Because my sexuality, height, looks, and parents have already been decided. And so have yours.

So get over it.

Now, what I do with what’s already been decided, that’s a different story. As I understand it, if I do nothing but sit on the couch every day and eat bonbons, that’s my choice. However, in choosing to not be an active, conscious participant in my life, not only will I not mature, but I’ll also feel as if my life is out of my control. Jung said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will run you life and you will call it fate.” Robert says, “If you don’t access direction from within, your life will be directed from without.” (Oh snap.) However, if I choose or anyone chooses to do The Hard Work and grow the eff up, well, now we’re cooking with gas. My therapist says her job is to support me in reaching my highest potential, and your highest potential is another way of talking about your destiny. What’s actually possible for YOU? Not that guy over there, but you. What, exactly, is inside you that’s eager, waiting, and willing to be born?

This, of course, is the million dollar question, and only the gods and your soul have the answer.

Also–fair warning–because all things worth having require sacrifice (of your time, talents, and ego), should you choose to pursue your highest potential, some days are really gonna suck.

I still recommend it.

Getting back to my chiropractor’s weird ways, I repeat, they’re only weird because they’re not conventional. It’s becoming more in vogue to discuss the mind-body-soul connection, but in my experience, it’s mostly lip service. I mean, when I get a headache, give me a Tylenol. And yet I know there’s more to it. This is what I’ve run into hundreds of times along The Path. This is what you’ll run into when reaching for your highest potential or working to transform your fate into destiny. You’ll know there’s more inside you that’s wanting to come out. But because your path is different from everyone else’s, it will feel weird, you’ll question it, and you’ll feel inadequate.

Keep going. You are not alone. Your best is good enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Confidence takes what you have and amplifies it. Confidence makes anyone sexy.

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On Breaking Through (Blog #831)

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Today has worn me out. This morning I woke up with (more) sinus junk. Then, after getting a good report from my knee surgeon (keep doing what I’m doing, things will continue to heal), I found out my insurance didn’t cover one of my physical therapy appointments (it’s a long story), so–no big deal–I owe about three hundred dollars. Ugh. I hate unexpected expenses, especially on a week like this one when I’m having my car’s brake pads replaced and windshield repaired.

When it rains, it pours.

This money thing really has distressed me today. This evening my aunt told me that she recently had to have both her freezers and her air conditioner repaired (and none of it was cheap), so I get that shit happens to all of us. I get that the thing with my insurance wasn’t personal and–quite frankly–probably wouldn’t have happened if I’d been more on top of things in terms of understanding the limitations of my policy. That being said, it did happen, and I refuse to beat myself up about not knowing because this is the first time in my life that I’ve HAD insurance and am still learning the ropes. Still, the last few years have been rough physically and financially, so anytime there’s an unanticipated blow in terms of illness or money, it just feels like getting knocked down all over again.

Like, maybe I should just stay down here.

I don’t mean to sound all woe-is-me. Rather, I intend to sound honest. This afternoon and evening I read a book, mowed my parents’ lawn, and went to the library. Today hasn’t been all bad. But I’ve nonetheless felt discouraged. I wish this were different. I wish I could chalk today’s financial setback–any financial setback–up to “shit happens” and “don’t worry–there’s more where that came from.” And yet I haven’t been able to do this. Granted, I’ve felt more at peace about the matter this evening. Tonight I went for a walk, and my ankles got absolutely eaten up by mosquitoes. For thirty solid minutes they itched, itched, itched, but now I can barely feel any irritation. Maybe our fears and emotions are like this. They just need time to calm down.

My therapist says to be patient with myself, that I was “poisoned” with the idea of scarcity and that it will take time to get it out of my system. Deep-seeded beliefs don’t change overnight. The book I read this afternoon, The Laws of Manifestation by David Spangler, says it’s not embarrassing to have a need (a bill to pay or illness to heal, for example) and that, in fact, our needs exist because something within us wants come out. That is, some people believe that manifestation is about getting more stuff, more money, that it’s about ATTRACTING something external TO you. But the book says true manifestation is about evoking something FROM you and that, in order to do this, you yourself (as your consciousness) must BECOME that which you believe is missing from your life–vibrant health, abundance, whatever.

Said succinctly, if you want something to change in your external world, the best way to go about it to change you internal one.

This includes changing your beliefs.

To me this means that I could win the lottery tomorrow but unless I change who I am and what I believe, I’m still going to feel there’s not enough. (What, ONLY thirty million?) Again, the book says needs arise because something within wants to come out–because something inside us wants us TO CHANGE. According to this theory, this means that the reason I’m currently experiencing scarcity is because abundance exists within me as a potential and wants to emerge. Think of the seed of a tree that wants so badly to grow that it’s willing to bust through concrete. This is how our subconscious works–it’s willing to destroy everything you’ve ever worked for–take every dollar you have–if everything you’ve ever worked for is no longer serving you. It’s willing to–again and again–bring up every fear you have so that you can finally face them, finally face yourself. So that you can break through that which has held you back, and grow.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Aren’t you perfect just the way you are?

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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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Allowing someone else to put you down or discourage your dreams is, quite frankly, anything but self-care.

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Taller (Blog #761)

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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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We always have more support than we realize.

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

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

Words matter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Words matter.

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

A more mature place.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's the holes or the spaces in our lives that give us room to breathe and room to rest in, room to contain both good and bad days, and--when the time is right--room for something else to come along.

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This Sucks, I know (Blog #727)

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

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

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

This sucks, I know.

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

This sucks, I know.

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

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

Pronouns are so confusing these days.

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

This sucks, I know.

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

This sucks, I know.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Damn if good news doesn't travel the slowest.

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How to Be Okay with Fewer Pockets (Blog #708)

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When I was twenty-five, I went to New York City for the first time. To go on a date, if you must know. Because I didn’t have a carry-on bag, I borrowed a messenger bag, a man bag, a murse (that’s man purse, Mom), from my friend Justin. They were all the rage back then, and Justin, ever-trendy, had half a dozen to choose from. The one I picked out was navy blue with an orange accent stripe. This was perfect because I’d just opened my dance studio and the bag matched my logo and business card colors.

During my time in New York City, I fell in love in more than one way–with my date, with the city itself, and with Justin’s man bag, as silly as that sounds. But seriously, it was fabulous. Not only was it my favorite colors, but it had pockets for everything–business cards, four pens or pencils, you name it. Ugh, I’m a sucker for a good pocket. So when I got back to Arkansas I told Justin I was keeping the bag. Like the good friend that he is, Justin didn’t put up a fuss.

For the better part of a decade, my man bag and I were inseparable, outlasting that three-year relationship that began in New York City or any other I’ve ever had. My bag and I saw the world, went on dozens of trips together–to Denver, Baltimore, Toronto, Mexico, Abu Dhabi, and Thailand.

With time, my man bag began to show signs of wear. (Don’t we all?) But get this shit. Several years ago some of my friends and students, Joe and Loretta, gave me a new one–here comes the weird part–that looked EXACTLY like my old one. No kidding, I guess they found it stashed in a closet somewhere, but it was identical to mine and had never been used. The tags were still on it. I can’t tell you how over the moon I was. Later that night I switched everything from one bag to the other. Y’all, it was so easy; the pockets were all the same, and I already knew where everything went.

That’s one of the things I love about my man bag–I know where everything goes. Sometimes after a difficult day when nothing else in the world makes sense, I can organize my bag, and it’s like maybe I can’t control anything that matters in my life, but I can control this. I can control where I put my business cards and pens. I wonder how many times I’ve done this, pulled items out or shoved items into my bag–Tylenol, lip balm, audio cables for dance gigs. I’m sure it’s in the thousands. It’s weird. I’ve never thought of myself as being attached to that bag, since technically it’s been attached to me. But since it’s literally been a container for my life–it’s held my money, my lunches, and almost every book I’ve read in the last decade–I guess we’ve been attached to each other. I’ve carried it, and it’s carried my stuff. My friend Bonnie recently said it smells like me.

Also, I’m not sure that was a compliment.

Earlier this week Bonnie gave me a new man bag. Not because my old one smelled like me, but because she’d gotten me one for my birthday last September but the box had gotten lost in the shuffle of their packing. (She and her husband are getting ready to move.) Oh my gosh, y’all, the new man bag is so sexy. There’s leather and everything; my old one was just nylon and rubber. I really was/really am excited to have it. Still, when I switched all my stuff from one bag to the other yesterday, I didn’t know where everything went. The new bag, although technically larger than the old one, I think, doesn’t have nearly as many pockets. I thought, Where are my business cards and pens going to go? And what about my audio cables?

When that relationship that started in New York City fell apart, it was Memorial Day weekend, and I was in Tulsa with Justin. A friend called to tell me they’d heard my boyfriend had cheated. For hours I couldn’t reach him. During that time, Justin drove me home. Finally, I got my boyfriend on the phone. For two hours I paced the neighborhood, and we hashed it out. The entire time, Justin walked nearby, never saying a word. When the conversation was over, I was single again. I remember feeling like someone had punched me in the gut. I collapsed. Not knowing what else to do, I took a shower. Then I gathered everything my ex had ever given me, put it in a box, and shoved it in a drawer. It took years, but I eventually threw it all away.

Healing from that breakup took years too. I saw my ex a number of times after that and remember wanting everything to go back to the way things were before. Since we’d dated long-distance, we’d spent thousands of hours on the phone, and his voice was so comforting. He was a fabulous listener. Part of me always knew we wouldn’t last, and yet he was like that messenger bag I’ve slung over my shoulder for thirteen years–familiar, something I wanted to hold on to. But, of course, we don’t get to hold on to anything here. At some point, everything changes and you have to let go. For years you keep your glasses in a certain pocket, and then overnight there’s not a pocket for your glasses anymore. You think, What’s going to hold my glasses? When you’re suddenly single, you think, Who’s going to hold me? In time, you figure it out, how to take your old life that used to fit into that space and make it fit into this space, how to be okay with fewer pockets, how to carry and hold yourself instead of asking a bag or a boy to do that for you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If life can create a problem, it can also provide an answer.

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A Thousand Wallet-Sized Photos (Blog #591)

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It’s two in the morning, and–I know I say this a lot, but–the day has gotten away from me. I slept in until one this afternoon, and even I thought, For crying out loud, Marcus Anderson Coker, wake up earlier. But for the last week I’ve been tired, tired, tired, like seriously dragging ass, and I haven’t been today. Rather, I woke up–how do I say this?–excited to be alive.

So maybe I just needed some serious Zs.

After an obviously late breakfast, I spent this afternoon digging through my old yearbooks–pre-kindergarten through college–because while going through old photos lately I’ve come across handfuls of unlabeled “wallets” and wanted to figure out what picture was taken when. This project took nearly three hours but definitely helped me organize both my photos and my brain. Oh yes–I had braces from sixth grade to eight grade, then I frosted my hair in high school, then I dyed it red in college, AND THEN I dyed it blue (also in college). The other thing this project did was remind me, sort of all at once, how frickin’ awkward it is to grow up or to generally be alive. I mean, the braces, the haircuts, the zits. Ugh. my senior portraits were airbrushed to hell. Not to mention the fashion.

Personally, I did the baggy shirt thing for WAY too long.

I guess about junior high, maybe a little sooner, is when the awkward thing really started for me. I found one photo taken between sixth and seventh grades from a back-to-school pool party in which I was the only guy wearing a t-shirt in the swimming pool because I didn’t like what puberty did to my nipples. I realize this level of criticism is normal. You hit puberty, and EVERYTHING changes–some things for the better, some things for the worse. At some point, you end up despising your own body. (If this wasn’t your experience with puberty, just wait until your metabolism slows down or your breasts start to sag.) But I never remember thinking ANYTHING was wrong before puberty. NOTHING was too big, too small, too anything. It just was. Now I think most things are–too something, that is. Like, I don’t care for my posture, and when I look back at my junior high photos I think, That’s when I started slouching. So not do I pick on the current me, I also pick on the former me.

And he’s not even here to defend himself.

Not that I want to go back to the age I was in elementary school when everything was all “ain’t life great,” but I would like to go back to that level of self-acceptance and self-kindness.

This evening after dinner I went to Fort Smith to help my aunt with her internet and do a couple odd jobs. Then I went to a friend’s house to help them with a phone/computer thing, and since phone/computer things always take MUCH longer than expected, ended up eating dinner again. “Have you eaten,” my friend said. “Well, yes,” I said, “but I’m ALWAYS hungry.” Anyway, this is where the bulk of my evening was spent, at my friend’s house, working and catching up. We laughed, laughed, laughed. This is so important, I think, since it’s really easy to stay at home, dig through your memories, get stuck in your head, and take both yourself and your life way too seriously.

So that’s my two cents for tonight–if you know someone who makes you laugh, ask them if you can come over. (Tell ’em you’ll fix their phone or computer.)

When I got home from my friend’s, it was nearly midnight, and I’d intended to start blogging right away. But then I decided to crop all the “photos of yearbook photos” I took while going through my annuals this afternoon, AND THEN I thought, Wouldn’t it be nice to have them all lined up neat and orderly, like in a collage? AND THAT turned into a nearly two-hour long project that involved not only learning how to use a new phone app, but also doing my damndest to not demand perfection of myself.

Maybe that photo should be a little bigger and slightly to the left.

This is apparently a lesson I’ve been trying to learn for a while, the not demanding perfection of myself thing. While looking through my college yearbooks (for three of four of which I was the editor), I noticed a “letter from the editor” in which I said, “You’ll find plenty of mistakes here. But like life, this is meant to be fun.”

This is meant to be fun, Marcus.

I don’t know, if I got to someone’s Instagram feed and find nothing but “perfect” photos, like every single frickin’ one is magazine-quality beautiful, I think, Bitch, please. Because that’s not real life; it’s not even close. Real life is awkward smiles, bad haircuts, and zits on your face. It’s crooked teeth, a stain on your (baggy) shirt, and posture that’s never quite “right.” It’s everything you could fit into a thousand wallet-sized photos. At the same time, it’s not that–because real life is REAL life. It’s something that’s lived, not something that’s captured with a camera. It’s whatever time you woke up today, whatever you did this afternoon, and the sound of two friends laughing. It’s whatever is happening right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The more honest you are about what's actually happening inside of you, the happier you are.

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Too Late, Too Tired (Blog #588)

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It’s just before midnight, and I’m at my friend Justin’s house. His wife Ashley (who is also my friend) has already retired, and I think Justin’s playing video games. I’ve spent the last five hours here at their kitchen table using their internet and changing every online and social media password I have. (Apparently I have a lot.) This is a project I started a couple weeks ago after a minor security breach on my laptop (I got a virus) but didn’t finish because I spilled hot tea on my keyboard (whoops). Anyway, I think I’m done now. Finally.

I just counted. 75 sites/passwords total. No wonder it took so long.

This afternoon I worked on my photo organizing project. Not organizing the photos–that’s already been done–but organizing my brain. I’m putting together a timeline of my life, like in a document. Super nerdy, I know, but last night I watched a 60 Minutes feature about rare people who remember every day–every second, really–of their lives. Like, what they had for breakfast on September 3, 1976, and what happened in the news that day. Anyway, there are like ten of these people in the world. Crazy. And I don’t need to reconstruct my ENTIRE life, but I would like to get some of the basics on paper. 1999: Graduated high school, worked at summer camp, started college, got first “real” job.

Today I concentrated on my first few summers at summer camp, 1997-1999, and took notes about things I remembered as I flipped through pictures. That was the summer I had one of the worst sinus infections ever. My temperature was 103 degrees, and the camp nurse wouldn’t let me see a doctor. (I was pissed off but didn’t know what to do or how to stand up for myself at the time.) This is the most fascinating thing about this project so far, that I recall so strongly my impressions of various co-workers and campers. In some instances, although it’s been twenty years, I still remember first and last names of people I barely knew. Just like that.

Weird how memory can be so randomly selective.

Here’s a picture from 1999, my first year as a counselor. (Before that I was an “assistant” counselor.) Boy I wish I had that fire now; my feet are freezing. They always freeze during the winter. Every year it’s five months of constant toe-frost.

So many memories come flooding back as simple information–that thing happened. But many others come back as information plus emotion. Like, I remember feeling pissed off, embarrassed, disgusted, turned off, turned on, whatever. I guess it strikes me now because at the time I wasn’t one to either trust my perceptions or acknowledge my emotions. And this is the fascinating thing for me, that although I wasn’t consciously processing what was going on back then, my body was still taking it all in, still storing the data in the background the way my computer saves my passwords.

I’m ready to call it a night. My feet are cold, and my brain’s all over the place. Just twenty-four hours ago, right before I went to bed, my dad knocked on my door to tell me that a dear family friend of ours had passed away unexpectedly. I think I cried myself to sleep. Today I’ve been in denial. I want to write about him because I think that would help, but I can’t tonight. It’s too late, I’m too tired, and I won’t do him justice. So maybe tomorrow when I can think straight and take my time. I don’t mean to be start a topic and not finish it. I’m simply–done–for now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For all of the things life takes away, it gives so much more in return. Whether we realize it or not, there’s always grace available.

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