On Tick Bites, Emotions, and Self-Acceptance (Blog #817)

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This morning my dad said he had an area on his back that had been “itching for weeks” but that he couldn’t see. You know that spot in between your shoulder blades. Well, sure enough, he had what I initially thought was a mole that was red and inflamed. Pissed off, really. Dad said, “I’ve been scratching it with the back scratcher.” Alas, this story doesn’t end here. As I took a closer look at Dad’s mole, I discovered it was a tick. An honest-to-god, bloodsucking dog tick. And, y’all it was still alive. I can’t tell you how grossed out I was. (I’ll spare you the picture I took.) I thought, These things wouldn’t happen if you had your own apartment, Marcus. Still, I rubbed the tick with an alcohol swab, and it backed out. Then I flushed it down the toilet.

Following The Great Back Tick Incident of 2019, I rushed around today from one thing to another. First I taught a dance lesson. Then I saw my therapist. Then I saw my physical therapist. Then I saw my massage therapist, then my chiropractor. I know, I know, all this help, and I STILL have problems. What can I say? It’s hard out here for a pimp. Anyway, finally, this evening, I attended my friend Marla’s short story writing class. And whereas I stayed up late last night and TRIED to write the middle of the story I started last week, I didn’t get very far, just a hundred words.

When I confessed my “sin” of not having written more this last week, Marla said, “That’s okay, you got a hundred words. A hundred words is something.” And whereas my inner perfectionist disagrees and thinks a hundred words isn’t “enough,” I know she’s right. A couple months ago I completed what was supposed to be a 1,000 piece puzzle only to find out that a single, solitary piece was missing. Talk about wanting to pull my hair out. Still, the point remains, every piece of a puzzle is important. Likewise, every word, sentence, and paragraph in a story is important. For one thing, you never know where something will lead, what something is connected to.

This is what I keep telling myself as I’m working on my short story, that it’s just as important to get all the pieces laid out on the table as it is to put them all together. Indeed, when writing, you’ve got to find out what you’re working with. This means sitting down consistently and shaking your conscious and subconscious minds out onto the page. THEN you can begin to arrange, THEN you can begin to make sense of things. Marla says writing is “so healing” because, in effect, you get to use your characters to work through all your issues. I agree. Even though I haven’t written a lot of fiction, this project has taught me that if you want good writing, you’ve got to let everything inside you bubble up.

Lately I’ve been having dreams in which either I or someone else has been 1) yelling or 2) behaving like a slut. Always in these dreams there’s another person, or me, doing just the opposite–speaking calmly or being a perfect gentleman. My therapist says the meaning of the dreams is obvious. Good Boy Marcus and Bad Boy Marcus are “trying to figure things out.” This is what you have to face whenever you write or otherwise decide to work on yourself–that, in the words of Uncle Walt (Whitman), you contain multitudes. For me this means that although I’m almost always a “real nice guy,” I have the potential to be (and sometimes am) a real prick. (“What’s wrong with being an asshole?” my therapist says.) Though I’m usually a finicky prude, I have the potential to be a real whore.

As one book I read about one’s shadow said, the back is as big as the front.

Honestly, I don’t like this setup. I’d much rather think of myself as all this and none of that. However, having spent years believing that parts of me were bad and needed to be ignored, silenced, flushed out, or otherwise done away with and having tried unsuccessfully to eradicate these parts of my personality, I’ve finally come around to a rather novel concept–total self-acceptance. This means all of the Marcuses are welcome here–Marcus the Nice Guy, Marcus the Asshole, Marcus the Prude, Marcus the Slut (as long as he’s not stupid). Now, does this mean that I’m going to go to any of these extremes? No. (Don’t worry, Mom.) But it does mean that every part of me is going to be heard before any final decision is made about pressing matters.

There’s an idea in the world of healing that your body only creates pain or discomfort when it believes there is something wrong. For example, my dad’s back itched because his skin had a tick attached to it. So the itching was actually a good thing. It was a signal that something needed attention. This is what I’m truly coming to believe about our emotions–that every single one of them is there to help us. They show up to say, Houston, we have a problem. Or, if it’s anger that shows up, Houston, we have a fucking problem! Of course, at times our emotions can be explosive. In my experience this happens when I shove them down. Oh no, I’m not angry. Alas, ignored emotions, like ignored ticks, only grow bigger. So the sooner you listen to (every part of) yourself, the better.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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On Listening (I said, ON LISTENING!) (Blog #810)

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This morning I got up early to take my dad to the donut shop for his belated Father’s Day present–because he said he wanted a donut as his present instead of a burger or steak dinner. Talk about fun. Talk about a sugar rush. Talk about a cheap date. Every son should be so lucky. For under twenty bucks, I made my dad’s day. Seriously, the man loves donuts. Of course, I certainly wouldn’t turn my nose up at one.

Or two, filled with chocolate, for that matter.

This afternoon I taught a dance lesson to a couple who’s getting married soon. While discussing the need for a solid dance frame, I had the follower connect with me in closed (standard ballroom) position, her left arm on top of my right, her right hand in my left. At first, her arms were loose, “spaghetti arms.” But then she matched the tone in my arms (steady, like a wire hanger), and it felt like things “clicked.” “THERE!” I said. “That’s how you tell your partner–I’m listening.” At this point her fiancee, who works as a therapist, said, “Ahhhhhhhh.”

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately–the importance of listening. It’s something my therapist is awesome at, not only listening to, but remembering what I say. For example, despite the fact that I’ve seen her for five years, she’s never taken a single note–and yet she never seems lost. I’ll mention a name of a friend or an ex, and she’s right there. “Oh yes,” she’ll say, and then she’ll mention something she remembers about that person. When we’ve talked about her excellent memory, she’s said, “I exercise the shit out of it,” meaning that it’s something she consciously works to improve, not just with me, but with all her clients.

So often in conversation I’m thinking about what I’m going to say next. But recently I’ve been trying to listen more, to keep my damn mouth shut and pay attention the way my therapist does. This morning at the donut shop the lady behind the counter said she hears ALL KINDS of stories. Well, for a writer stories are gold, but you can only HEAR them if you’re NOT TALKING. Recently I started to say something at the same time one of my friends did, so I used a phrase I’ve been trying to use more often–“You go ahead.” My dad says that if he doesn’t say something right away then he’ll forget it. My take on this is that waiting to talk is an excellent way to IMPROVE your memory. My therapist says that if you forget something you were about to say, it wasn’t that important in the first place.

Listening, however, isn’t just important in your external world. It’s also important in your internal one. What I mean is that so often we listen to what others have to say about our lives and how we should be, and we even talk, talk, talk about our problems to anyone who will let us. But how often do we really get quiet and listen to our own hearts and minds? How often do we check in with not what we think we should think and feel, but with what we actually think and feel? In my experience, not often enough. Since starting therapy and this blog I’ve had countless experiences in which I had to finally recognize–I’m pissed, I’m hurting, I’m overwhelmed, I’m traumatized. These experiences are why I sometimes refer to myself as sweetheart–Sweetheart, I’m here for you–because I’ve ignored so many parts of myself for so long and am now trying my damndest to listen to them. To shut up and hear myself for once.

This evening I attended my friend Marla’s writing class and shared the beginning–because I only have the beginning–of a short story I wrote last night. When I started writing it I only had a sentence, one single sentence that’s been in my brain and in my phone for probably two years because, Maybe that could turn into a story one day. Despite the fact that I THOUGHT about that sentence all day yesterday, I couldn’t add anything to it. But then last night I closed my eyes and got quiet. I thought, Who is saying this one sentence, and what do they want to say next? I’m listening. And just like that, the voice of my main character started talking. Within an hour, I had three paragraphs of their story.

Tonight after I read my first three paragraphs in class, Marla and I were chatting and I realized something about my story that I hadn’t planned or done on purpose–that my main character had something important happen when they were four and that four was the age I was when our house burned down. And whereas I’ve always thought the fire was a source of trauma for me (and still think that), in my character’s story I referred to their important event as a gift. My point is that our subconscious and even our conscious minds and bodies are always trying to heal us, always trying to get us to move forward. Look at all the good that came from that horrible situation. Sure, we can fight this growth process, but one way or another, our issues are going to creep up and asked to be healed–in our dreams, our relationships, our art. So all the better if we can be conscious, if we can work with our issues intentionally, if we can say, Sweetheart, how can I help you move on? I’m listening.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want.

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On One’s Shadow and Being Whole Again (Blog #802)

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This afternoon I started reading a book by psychologist Sheldon Kopp called Mirror, Mask, and Shadow: The Risks and Rewards of Self-Acceptance. The idea behind it is one I’ve been attracted to for a while now–that certain parts of ourselves get asked to sit in the corner or are disowned altogether early in our lives and do us more harm than good when we continue to ignore them. These are the parts of ourselves we’re ashamed of, embarrassed by, or–worse–refuse to acknowledge whatsoever. Examples include suppressed rage, anger, assertiveness, and sexual fantasies (like, homosexual desires, kinky stuff, or anything society would disapprove of like–um–thinking about, talking about, or having sex). These are parts of ourselves that–when repressed–cause us to think or act “out of character,” that can really twist our positive self-image if we happen to have one.

What I mean by twisting our positive self-image is that many of us like to think of ourselves as good people. Christians, even. We like to think we’re kind, loving, and patient. But then someone cuts us off in traffic or otherwise pushes our buttons, and the worst comes flying out. As one internet meme says, “If you think hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, you’ve obviously never seen a gay man slightly inconvenienced.” In other words, there are times when we can all really cut someone else off at the knees. Personally, I know that my inner critic has really been barking lately. This evening I went to a bookstore, and it was hurling silent insults at not only the employees but also at the authors of most the books I picked up. What do they think they know?! it said.

My point in sharing this personal example is that if I were married to the idea of being a “good” person (which I’m not, although perhaps I’m engaged to it) and were also married to the idea of being as honest with myself as possible (which I am), I’d have a problem, since, at least internally, I can be a real asshole. On a daily if not weekly basis part of me gets frustrated or irate with almost everything and everyone–my life situation, my parents, my dance students, my friends. Sometimes the pot boils over. For the most part, I’m okay with this. Not that I want that upset part of me to take over–I don’t–but I wouldn’t be doing myself any favors by trying to shove it down, ignore what it has to say, or calling it (or myself) “bad” for existing.

This is my therapist’s approach when it comes to any and every thought in my head. Over the last five years, I’ve dumped everything on her, everything I’ve ever been hesitant to admit–sometimes I want to rip people’s heads off, sometimes I want to fuck people’s heads off. Of course, in therapy, I get specific about my fantasies. And whereas I don’t intend to do that here (you’re welcome), I’m touching on the subject to say that my therapist has never, not once, batted an eye. In fact, she’s encouraged even what I’ve considered to be my grossest, most perverted imaginations–not for me to ACT on them, mind you, but to think about them. As I understand it, this approach allows one’s shadow to be acknowledged and integrated rather than suppressed. Suppression, apparently, is the problem. That’s what causes you to suddenly blow your top or–God forbid–hurt yourself or someone else. That’s what causes you to do something you later regret and think, I have no idea where THAT came from.

Well, it came from your shadow. From the parts of yourself you’ve kept in the dark all these years. From the parts you’ve shoved down.

Kopp says our shadow parts are primitive and awkward, but not wholly bad. “You have learned to consider them evil, or at least sinister,” he says. “They are, instead, merely the rest of you. Together, you and your shadow make a complete self. Though your shadow may contain some destructive potential, it also embodies lost vitality, highly personal creative possibilities, and everything you always wanted to know about yourself but were afraid to ask.”

Later he says that if we don’t consciously own our shadow, we’ll inevitably project it. “You may unconsciously select other people to act out aspects of your own hidden self, or even encourage others to behave in ways that serve you as an alter ego. If it meets the other person’s needs, he or she may at the same time be using you as a reciprocal shadow. How many couples live Laurel and Hardy lives, each a caricature of the other’s disowned self?” This idea fascinates me. I’m aware of relationships–couples, friends–in which one person is WAY outspoken and other other WAY shy. Or one person is totally stoic and the other totally emotional. It’s like both people know on some level that a balance is needed, and so, unable to find that balance within themselves, they find it without.

I’m quite sure I’ve done this. For example, for the longest time, and even now (obviously), I talk a lot about my therapist. My therapist says this, my therapist says that. Often when I share stories about her, it’s about some wildly assertive thing she’s said. Told someone to fuck off or go to hell or whatever. Well, my talking about her isn’t about my idolizing her or being enmeshed with her, but rather about that assertive part of me that I long ago pushed down wanting to come back up. That is, just as we project the worst parts of ourselves onto our villains, we project the very best parts of ourselves onto our heroes. The important thing, of course, is to recognize that we’re projecting–the evil or the good that we see “out there” isn’t really out there at all. It’s in here.

In other words, the thing you hate or love in another isn’t about them–it’s about you.

I’m not saying that if you spot something base and immoral–or even sublime–in the world that it exists in you in equal proportion. But I am saying that the very worst and the very best exist in you as possibilities or potentials. As others have pointed out, each of us could be a Hitler. Each of us could be a Mother Teresa. For me, growth has come through acknowledging the opposite potentials within me. For years, decades, I tried to banish parts of myself or simply deny them. Oh no, I’m not angry. I’m not horny as hell. Now I’m more interested in the truth. What do I think and feel, regardless of what someone or some book says I should? Give me the truth. Give me every part of myself. Make me whole again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Growth and getting far in life have nothing to do with where you’re physically standing.

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On Likes and Dislikes (Blog #781)

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

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

See. I’ve done a lot.

Hold your applause.

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

I’ll explain.

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

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

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

No. No it doesn’t.

The world keeps spinning.

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Each season has something to offer.

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On Something Good (Blog #753)

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Wow. I’ve spent the last eight hours–except for a few bathroom breaks–on the futon in my family’s spare room, either working on a puzzle, reading, or–now–blogging. I’d intended to only work on the puzzle for an hour, but ended up working on it for–I don’t know–four. You know, I got focused. I kept thinking, One more piece.

While working on the puzzle, I listened to a couple podcasts/interviews about trauma and/or healing. One was with David Bullard and discussed something called “blink-flash” meditation, which involves 1) thinking of a mild to moderate stressful event (anything that makes you cringe to focus on), then 2) thinking of something pleasant (like a walk in the woods or your favorite song) while 3) crossing your arms and alternately tapping your shoulders and blinking your eyes (three blinks per set for several sets).

Sounds crazy, but I tried it, and the anxiety I felt around my original event lessened. (You’re supposed to rate the event on a scale of one to ten before and after the thinking/tapping/blinking part.)

Another podcast/interview I listened to was with Richard C. Schwartz, the founder of Internal Family Systems, a psychological/healing/spiritual approach I’ve been absolutely fascinated by lately. Here’s a link to the interview if you’re interested. IFS proposes that we all have different “parts” of ourselves that are longing to be listened to and understood and that when we do listen to and understand them, they essentially transform from an enemy to a friend. For example, someone’s angry part may just be trying to protect them from getting hurt again. Schwartz says that the ego that many psychological and spiritual disciplines refer to is essentially our parts, specifically our “protective” parts, and that rather than trying to rid ourselves of it, we should find out what it has to say. I’m paraphrasing, but he says, “Jesus welcomed the outcasts in the outer world. I’m asking you to welcome the outcasts in your inner world.”

Earlier this evening I finished reading Explain Pain, a book about how–in the majority of cases–pain is created in our brains (and not just our bodies) as a way to protect us. One of my takeaways from the book is that if you have a particular pain (in your neck, let’s say), it can be useful to notice when it does and doesn’t hurt. For example, if it hurts to turn you head, you might notice that it only hurts to turn your head when you’re sitting up, but not when you’re lying down. Along this line, the book suggests trying to find ways to reach the same position (head turned) without experiencing the associated pain. Like, you could sit in a swivel chair and turn your lower body while holding your head still. Or move your eyes first, then let your head follow (instead of moving them both at once). Or hold your mouth open while you turn your head.

As I understand it, the idea behind these suggestions is that our brains often associate certain movements with certain (painful) outcomes. Maybe you were in a car accident, so it thinks, “It’s not safe to turn my head.” So it creates pain as a protective mechanism. But if you “slip in the back door” and create the same outcome by getting there in a different way, your brain will get the message that “this (end result/position/movement) doesn’t have to hurt.”

Currently it’s 9:20, and I’m overwhelmed by all I’m learning. My brain is mush, like a nice bowl of grits. One the one hand, all this information is exciting. On the other, I’m worried that I “won’t get it” and that “it’ll work for everyone else, but not for me.” Of course, these thoughts are welcome. Also, I’m telling myself something I saw on Facebook recently–I haven’t come this far to only come this far. In other words, everything I’m learning is just another piece of the puzzle, and it’s all adding up to something. What that is, I don’t know exactly. But more and more, I think it’s something good.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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 Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

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The Correct Response Is Thank You (Blog #752)

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This afternoon I taught a dance lesson at my friend Bonnie’s, then Bonnie and I spent the rest of the day catching up. We covered all the things–thoughts, feelings, beliefs, relationships, movie quotes. And whereas I don’t intend to reproduce our entire conversation here, I would like to further process a few things we discussed that have been on my mind since.

And then I’d like to go to bed.

1. My routine

Since our conversation lasted until late in the evening, I told Bonnie I wished I’d already blogged. Along those lines, I said that although I’m really proud of my every day writing streak and never regret having written, there are plenty of days when it wears me the fuck out. Today, for example. Currently it’s one-thirty in the morning, and I’d much rather be passed out than trying to write a coherent sentence. Like, what a lovely day today would have been if I’d simply taught a dance lesson, visited with my friend, then gone to bed. Instead, I came home after midnight and went to work. Granted, this was and is my choice, I’m not complaining, but as I’ve said before, I could do some things to make this easier. Like blogging during the day when I’m fresh. Because I’ve been talking lately (for the last two years) about being more gentle with myself, and I actually think it’s quite abusive for me to push-push-push my body to work when it’s tired-tired-tired.

2. On compliments

Another thing Bonnie and I discussed were compliments, in part because I gave my dad a compliment this morning (that had been given to him by a friend of mine), and he made a self-deprecating joke in response. (My dad jokes a lot). Maybe we all do this at times, brush off the kind words of others, squirm when they say something nice. But I told my dad that it’s possible my friend really meant what they said. Despite my own insecurities about my age, looks, talents, and status in life, it’s possible (possible!) that people who say nice things about me (my body, skills, character, personality) are sharing what’s true for them rather than simply blowing smoke up my ass. After all, people are allowed to have opinions.

Once a friend told me that when someone praises you, you don’t have to dismiss it, nor do you have to take it as an opportunity to brag on yourself further. Like, “Oh yeah, not only am I a handsome devil, but I can also bake one hell of a strawberry shortcake.” Rather, they said, the correct response is “thank you.”

3. On my situation

Over the last two years, I’ve made a lot of jokes about my being single, basically unemployed, and living with my parents. At the same time, I recognize (and sometimes discuss with Bonnie) the fact that my current situation is largely by my choosing. That is, if I REALLY WANTED to be making more money or living somewhere else, I could find a way to make it happen. Instead, I’ve chosen to use this time to focus on other things–my personal growth and this writing project, for example–other things I’ve deemed more important. And not that I’ll never make a joke about my situation again, but I’m working on not being fundamentally ashamed of myself or where I am in my life. Because I’m actually really proud of who I am and what my priorities are. Given the chance to do it again, I wouldn’t change a thing. So I’d like to start owning that. To stop judging myself for something I’d willingly choose to do again. To stop saying, “This is my life” as an apology and start saying, “This is my life, thank you.”

I’m single–thank you.
I’m basically unemployed–thank you.
I’m living with my parents–thank you.

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 Rising Again (Blog #749)

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

Come on, lady, I’m gay.

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

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

We’ll see what happens.

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

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

But I digress.

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

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

Patience, my dear.

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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On Constriction and My Inner Critic (Blog #746)

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

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

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

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

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

Can’t we all just get along?

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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 hard to say where a kindness begins or ends.

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On Nothing Happening Today (Blog #717)

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This evening my dad and I went to the gym then stopped to pick up supper–sub sandwiches. When we got home, I asked my mom, “What did we miss?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Nothing?” I replied. “NOTHING happened while we were gone?”

This is a game we play sometimes, me and my family. Obviously, SOMETHING happened. Something came on the television, the dog barked, the toilet flushed. Maybe nothing remarkable happened, but something happened. I’m sure of it. Something, after all, is always happening. Still, when I sat down to blog I thought, I don’t know what to say. NOTHING happened today.

This afternoon my dad, in his own words, got “a burr up his butt” and did some yard work. That is, he saw our neighbor trimming their bushes and thought he should too. So he trimmed our crepe myrtle, which needed it; it was beginning to look like something out of The Addams Family, overgrown and full of horror. Then Dad said, “Maybe in the next day or two we can bundle up the branches and haul them off.”

“Let’s just do it right now,” I said. (I don’t know what came over me.)

So that’s what we did. Well, you know how one thing leads to another. The next thing I knew we were on the side of the house (the crepe myrtle is in the front) pulling up privet and dead hydrangea bushes, which I thought looked like Medusa’s head. Then our other neighbor, who works for the city, came over and said if we’d pile everything up by the side of the road, he’d haul it off.

“You won’t pick it up right here?” Dad said.

Y’all, we filled three fifty-five gallon trash bags full of yard debris. Plus, there were the crepe myrtle remains, which I’d tied together with rope. No kidding, I did so much manual labor, I actually broke a sweat. (I’m sure Dad did too.) And whereas that may sound like a complaint, it’s not. For one thing, because of my knee injury, I haven’t been able to break a sweat in months. But today I did! (I’m not saying I smelled great.) For another, the sun was hot enough FOR me to break a sweat. Spring is literally days away. Praise Peter, Paul, and Mary.

Bye, winter! Don’t let the equinox hit cha where the good lord split cha.

Two weeks from yesterday will mark two full years of daily blogging. That will be 730 posts (tonight’s is #717). Recently I’ve been going back and re-reading all my entries. I’m currently at #38. And whereas I’m often critical of my work, I haven’t been. Sure, there are things I’d do differently now, but I’ve actually been enjoying what I created–the funny moments, the tender moments, the honest moments. Indeed, I thought one of my least favorite posts was #19, but when I re-read it, I found plenty to enjoy and be proud of. Was it my best work? No, but what I did in our front yard today wasn’t my best work either, but it was still worthwhile, still an improvement over doing NOTHING.

This is something I’ve learned over the last two years. Often I’ll think, I have NOTHING to say, but if I take time to sit down and write, SOMETHING good will happen, SOMETHING good will come out, even if it’s one simple phrase, one clever joke. Plus, there’s the discipline itself, the act of practicing. And even if you’re not in love with your work, you never know what will speak to someone else. Hell, Emily Dickinson wanted her work destroyed. I can only assume she thought it wasn’t anything remarkable. But look at what the world got. Geez. Artists are such self-critical hard-asses.

Lately I’ve been reading about attention and the idea that we often hyper-focus on whatever we’re doing–raking leaves out of a flower garden, let’s say–but that we have the ability to tune into everything that’s going on around us. For example, this afternoon while working in the yard, I not only noticed what I was doing, but also noticed the sound of cars driving by, the feel of sweat on my skin, the sensation of my feet on the ground, and the smell of the moist dirt. My point, again, is that SOMETHING is always happening. And not that you have to recount every damn detail of your life whenever someone asks you what you did yesterday, but I think it’s important to remember–

So much is constantly happening that it would be impossible to recount.

My therapist says the important work we do is the work that nobody notices. For example, I’ve spent a lot of time these last five years working on my interior, cleaning up the past, connecting with my heart, and creating healthy boundaries. And whereas none of this has paid my bills or kept me warm at night, it has made me a better human. However, because I’m so focused on being productive–teaching dance, cleaning the yard, working out–that on days when I don’t do those things and instead stay home and watch Netflix, I too often say, “Nothing happened; I didn’t DO anything today.” But what about the fact that I was more patient with myself on Monday, more patient with a stranger on Tuesday?

Isn’t that something? Isn’t that remarkable?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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 Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

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