What We Don’t Know (Blog #567)

What a wonderful life.

Yesterday after I posted the blog, my small group went for a hike. This is something I don’t do nearly often enough, get out in nature. It was so gorgeous, so invigorating. Then we watched our guide feed the owls, the birds they’ve rescued and are nursing back to health. Oh my gosh, y’all, they feed them dead mice. (GAG!) I joked, “Do you buy the mice from Amazon?”

“From the pet store,” our guide said.

Hum. What can you say about watching an owl systematically tear apart and choke down a small rodent? It was fascinating. It was powerful. It was gross. It was bloody. It was both terrific and terrifying.

It was life.

After watching the owls eat, we explored the dam I mentioned yesterday that was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). That’s the back of it in today’s featured image. Here’s a picture from the top, looking over the other (front) side toward Bird Lake, which we kayaked yesterday morning.

For dinner last night we all met up in Cookeville and ate at a local pub–Father Tom’s. Since the inside of the restaurant was full, I ate outside on a heated patio with several other journalists. Y’all, it was the perfect thing, this delightfully laid-back evening filled with darling conversation and much-needed laughter. So perfect, in fact, I forgot to check my phone for messages or take any pictures.

This is how I know I was in the moment.

Yesterday after I posted the blog, I took a nap. Then last night I was in bed by 10:30 (and up this morning at 5:30), so I’ve been better rested today. Like, capable of coherent conversation before sunrise. Which is good–when you’re travel writing, at least with this group, there’s always something going on and something to talk about, so it’s a plus to be both vertical and alert.

Our first stop today was a local coffee roasting business–Broasters. The owner was just like everyone else I’ve met here–warm, open, kind, and enthusiastic. On top of that, his store’s drip coffee was SO GOOD. I’m really not a coffee snob, but after this morning, I think I could become one. I even got to try–for the first time–cascara tea, which is cherry-flavored drink made from the hull of the coffee bean. It was fabulous.

Better than any relationship I’ve ever been in.

See, Marcus, good things CAN happen before noon.

Since leaving the coffee shop, I’ve been on a wine tour with several other journalists. I think there are nine of us–journalists and staff together–doing this, while the rest of the group does outdoor stuff like I did yesterday. Anyway, currently it’s 1:00 in the afternoon, and we’ve already been to two local wineries and are now on our way to the third. (I’m blogging in the car; we’re about thirty minutes away from our destination.)

The first winery was DelMonaco. It was gorgeous, like something you’d see in a movie, and the owners welcomed us like family. The wife, who poured all our samples, used my name every time she spoke to me. This is no small thing, to look people in the eye and make them feel important.

And it doesn’t hurt to get them tipsy either.

Here’s a picture of several of our group in the DelMonaco elevator. (Elevators are great places for taking random pictures.)

The second winery on today’s vino tour was Cellar 53, another family-owned outfit. What a treat! These folks really went over the top. Not only did they provide more wines, but they also partnered with a local restaurant (Ebel’s Tavern) and provided lunch–oysters, scallops, steak, asparagus, broccoli, and cheesecake. Delicious!

Here’s a picture of the oysters, the FIRST oysters I’ve ever eaten. (These oysters were baked; there were also raw oysters, but I didn’t try those. One thing at a time!)

Here’s a picture of the cheesecake. And I know you wouldn’t guess by looking at my rock-hard body, but this was NOT the first cheesecake I’ve ever eaten.

Hard to believe, I know.

2:13 PM

We just left the third winery, where we were pressed for time because we apparently ran late at the last place. Anyway, this spot was Highland Manor Winery, Tennessee’s oldest winery.

“How old is old?” someone asked.

“38 years,” the owner said. “We started in 1980.”

So that felt good. (1980 is the year I started too.)

Anyway, check out Highland Manor’s cool basement.

4:53 PM

Well shit. I lost internet for a while, then got swept up in our last major stop for the day (besides dinner)–the Alvin C. York State Park. Wow. I got quite the education. Alvin C. York was a war hero from WWI. At first a conscientious objector, he was drafted into the war and ended up almost single-handedly capturing over a hundred Germans. Like, he was a big deal. Hollywood even made a movie about him (Sergeant York) that starred Gary Cooper. Anyway, we got to meet one of Sergeant York’s daughters and his great-granddaughter, as well as tour his home and property (which were given to the state after he and his wife died). Also, we got to tour the school that Sergeant York started when he returned from the war and that his great-granddaughter is now working to have renovated and turned into the Sergeant York Center for Peace and Valor.

Here’s a picture of a map of Germany that’s believed to have been used by York during the war.

The last thing we did before leaving the park was tour a replica of a WWI trench that was dug out and constructed in what used to be Sergeant York’s backyard. (Sergeant York would have lived in such a trench while fighting the war in Germany.) The tour was given by park employee Joseph Gamble, who wore the traditional “dough boy” uniform of WWI. (The term “dough boy” was also used to refer to soldiers in the Spanish-American war and most likely derives from the fact that the soldiers were often so covered in dust that they looked as if they had flour–or dough–all over them.) But seriously–can you imagine wearing that outfit every day and eating, sleeping, and living in what essentially amounts to a hole in the ground?

I certainly can’t.

5:18 PM

Now we’re almost to dinner, and my brain is more fried than a piece of chicken. Whenever we’re done eating, I want to go to bed–and not stay up to blog–so I’m trying to wrap this up. How do you summarize a beautiful day? I haven’t even mentioned my new friend Tom, a journalist from California with whom I’ve been speaking on and off the entire morning, afternoon, and evening. Tom’s an old war-horse, a veteran in the travel writing world, and hosts a podcast called Journeys of Discovery on NPR. He’s SO cool–curious, kind, interested, and interesting. Tom says that as journalists our strength is rooted in what we don’t know, not in what we do. I think this is important, to keep an open mind, to always be willing to learn, to not assume you have the entire damn world–including yourself and your neighbor–figured out.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

"

The Griswolds, Pirate Sam, and Devil Bullshit Ale (#566)

Holy crap. It’s 8:00 in the morning, and I’ve been awake since 5:30. How did I get myself into this?

I should back up.

Yesterday I arrived in Tennessee for a travel writing trip, and after lunch in Cookeville was deposited in Crossville at Cumberland Mountain State Park. Um–y’all–the cabin I’m staying in is straight out of the 1930s. Like, I bet it was been THE SHIT back in the day. (The Griswolds would have loved it.) As it is now–well–let’s just say it’s rustic. And big–it’s way big. I’ve got the whole place–cabin 24–all to myself. Which is a little lonely. But hey, I can run around naked.

Don’t worry, Mom, I shut the blinds.

This is one of those “bring your own” places. What I mean is that it has a coffee pot, but no coffee. (Bring your own.) Likewise, it has plates, dishes, and cooking equipment, but no food. (Bring your own.) This is fine, of course, but after I went to the bathroom yesterday and wanted to wash my hands, I realized there wasn’t any soap–or shampoo or conditioner. (UH–bring your own.) That being said, I DID find a small bottle of Palmolive, which worked for washing my hands, but I thought, I DON’T WANT TO SHOWER WITH THIS STUFF!

Call me stuck up, but we all have standards.

Thankfully, the group that’s organizing this trip picked up soap, shampoo, and conditioner for me and the rest of the journalists staying in the cabins. (We’re in Crossville; some other journalists are in hotels in Cookeville.) So all is well.

Cookeville, which is an hour away from Crossville, is where most of our activities are taking place this week. This means that for us cabin-dwellers, there’s a lot of driving (or rather, being driven) back and forth. This also means we have to be ready to hit the road at 6:00 most mornings, since breakfast starts at 7:00. And whereas I’m not in love with the early-bird thing, it’s going to work out. This morning when my alarm went off, I got dressed, shoved a chocolate-covered donut in my mouth, then simply poured myself into a minivan and let someone else (who got less sleep than I did) do the driving to breakfast. In other words, it may be a tired life, but it’s not a difficult one.

One of the positives to being in the car so much is that it gives me time to blog, so there’s always a silver lining. With such a packed schedule, I’m not sure I could make time for it otherwise without giving up valuable sleep hours.

Last night the Tennessee Tourism Department hosted a reception for us journalists. (I think there are 12 of us.) Y’all, they really went over the top–the reception was in a huge barn, and there were about a dozen local vendors to welcome us–a barbecue restaurant, a coffee shop, a distillery, a jewelry store, an outdoors store, a yoga retreat center–you name it. There was even a pirate–Pirate Sam–who works with a canoeing group on the Caney River. He’s their mascot. Talk about cool.

Here’s a picture of me and Pirate Sam discussing very serious pirate things. ARG. Buried treasure. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.

The craft beer people at the reception last night were with Calfkiller Brewing Company, and they told me they were recently voted the #3 worst-named beer brewing business in the US. (They’re actually named after a local river, not after animal-harming activities.) But I guess unique names is their thing. One of their beers is called Scorched Hooker, and another one, which I tried last night, is called Sergio’s Ol’ Evil Ass Devil Bullshit Ale. (Say that three times fast.) The company employees I spoke with said sometimes they just call it Sergio’s.

I wonder why.

Yesterday one of the other travel writers referred to Tennessee as The Swag State, meaning that the tourism department and businesses here are famous for giving away free shit to journalists. And boy was he right. Last night I walked away with half a dozen grab bags full of goodies (including the donut I ate this morning). When I got back to the cabin and sorted it all out, I found–among other things–hand sanitizer, a lint roller, coffee beans, a mug, a hand towel, three small travel bags, and several pieces of handmade jewelry.

And get this shit. Apparently Cookeville boasts a famous Crossfit athlete (Crossfit is, as one journalist said, “Where people workout and shit”), and he and his extremely-large-muscled friends were at last night’s event. Seriously, I’ve never seen so many bulges in all my life. Or felt so gaunt. One guy’s boobs were so big, I swear you could have balanced a dinner plate full of fried chicken on them. At least a saucer and a tea cup. (Imagine that–a tea cup on a d-cup.) When we first saw him, one of my friends said, “You know that t-shirt he’s wearing is a small.” No kidding! It was SO TIGHT. Anyway, the Crossfit swag bag included a postcard of the famous dude showing off his ripped abs and bare chest.

Oh-la-la.

[Note: I stopped blogging here for a while and picked it back up after lunch.]

This morning after an early breakfast at a coffee shop in Cookeville, another journalist and I, along with one of the trip organizers and a state park employee, went kayaking on Byrd Lake, which is part of the Cumberland Mountain State Park here in Crossville. And whereas I’d anticipated it being cold and miserable, it was truly delightful. Just the perfect, relaxing thing on a cool, sunny day.

Check this picture out. I love how the water reflects the trees and sky.

While kayaking, I learned that Cumberland Mountain State Park and Byrd Lake were built during the years following The Depression by the Civilian Conservation Corps, a government program created by Franklin D. Roosevelt as part of The New Deal in order to both provide for America’s single, unmarried men (and their immediate families) and conserve and expand the nation’s natural resources and parks. In fact, our last stop while kayaking was the local dam and bridge, which is the largest masonry project built by the CCC during its entire history.

After kayaking, we went to lunch. Now we’re on a break (back at my retro-fabulous cabin), which is good–I can finish this blog. Shortly, the same group that went kayaking and I will go for a hike, then tonight we’ll meet everyone else for dinner. So far, I’m having wonderful time. Everyone I’m meeting is super southern sweet, even those who aren’t from “around these parts.” In terms of food, I’m moderating more than I did the last time I went on a travel writing trip by drinking less beer, watching my portions, and not eating every damn dessert in sight. Plus, I’m doing the hiking thing. So that’s something–having caloric boundaries and exercising.

Woowho.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A break is no small thing to give yourself.

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Another Way to Hope (Blog #565)

This morning I went to bed at 1:00 and woke up 5:00 in order to fly out-of-town for a writing assignment. Thankfully I packed last night; I don’t function well at such an ungodly hour. Still, I managed to throw the rest of my things together, scarf down some leftover Mexican food that I mixed with two scrambled eggs for breakfast, and pour a cup of coffee down my throat before it was time to leave the house at 5:45.

My friend Bonnie volunteered–volunteered!–to drive me to the Fort Smith airport, which is further proof of her being a true friend. And whereas I got held up by TSA the last time I went through airport security because they wiped down every single one of my peanut bars in their relentless search for explosives residue, this morning I breezed through the entire screening process. Later I texted Bonnie, “No one wanted to touch my nuts today!”

Typical.

From Fort Smith I flew to Dallas, then to Nashville. And other than feeling like I was being herded on and off the plane, everything went fine. Well, wait–my luggage did get wet while it sat on the tarmac in the rain. But just my underwear got soaked, and they’ll dry out. Plus, as we’ve already established, nobody sees those anyway.

While flying, I finished reading the book by Richard Moss I mentioned yesterday about dreams, coincidences, and imagination. And call it a coincidence, but just as I was reading about coincidences, I saw a friend of mine from college at the Fort Smith airport. Then on my first flight I ended up in a window seat on aisle 9, which is cool because 9 is my favorite number. Then the man beside me asked me if I wanted to move to his wife’s aisle seat (also on aisle 9) so they could sit together, which I gladly did because I HATE window seats. (The wife said, “He didn’t ask ME if I wanted to sit by him.”) Lastly, on my second flight, I got another aisle seat, and this time there was an empty seat next to me. AH–room to breathe.

Thanks, universe!

Currently I’m in a mini-van with two other journalists and one of this trip’s organizers. We’re headed to Cookeville, TN, then–I think–Cumberland Mountain State Park, which is in Crossville. (We’re back and forth between these two places for a few days.) Honestly, that’s about all I know. At some point we’ll eat dinner, then it’s up early tomorrow for a full day of activities. I believe mine are outdoors. It’s cold here. Crap. I hate the cold (and window seats).

It’ll be fine, Marcus.

As my friend Marla says, “No whining on the yacht.”

In other words, “Shut your pie-hole, Coker, your life is pretty fabulous.”

In the book I read today in the section on imagination, the author says that imagination is a VITAL component in making your dreams come true. (The other vital component is hard work.) Personally, I don’t have a problem imagining all sorts of wonderful things, like a different career, a healthier body, or an age-appropriate partner who knows the difference between “your” and “you’re.” However, I often get hung up BELIEVING that these things can become a reality. And that’s scary–to have a dream you’re not fully confident in.

The book asks, “How many people do you know who are in need of a dream?” Wow–what a great question. I guess we all know people who are stuck–who can’t imagine either themselves or their lives improving. Seen from this perspective, I realize now how important it is to be able to both dream AND believe in your dream. Because you’re gonna believe in something; it’s just a matter of whether what you believe will happen is positive or negative. And surely we could all use a positive dream to cling onto. For me, being able to imagine a better life and hold onto that imagination is simply another way to hope, to have faith that your cold days will turn into warm days, that life can move you from the window to the aisle seat.*

[*If you have a different seat preference, change this metaphor accordingly.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We may never be done, but that doesn't mean we'll never be complete. And surely we are complete right here, right now, and surely there is space enough for the full moon, for you and for me, and all our possibilities.

"

What Dreams May Come (Blog #564)

Currently it’s 10:30 in the evening, and I have to be up at 5:00 in the morning in order to go out-of-town for a writing gig. I just ate dinner and am “almost” done packing. I hate packing thick, winter clothes, trying to cram everything into my little carry-on. But I also hate freezing my ass off, so I’m trying to take everything I own. My friend Marla suggested dressing tomorrow in layers, walking into the airport looking like the Michelin Man.

Sounds like a plan to me.

This morning I was up early to meet some handymen who are working on the home of my friends who recently moved. Well, they were working–they finished everything today. Anyway, while they worked I tackled a couple projects I’ve been putting off forever. First, I finished adding all my favorite “Quotes from CoCo” to the blog. When I started this task last week, I was over a year’s worth of quotes behind. Now it’s done. Phew–what a load off. Second, I color-coded the over 250 digital post-it notes I have on my phone. Now everything is categorized (Dance, Writing, Medical, To-Do) and easy to find. Lastly, I combined my digital dream journals. Previously, they were all spread out–in my phone notes, in my laptop notes, in Microsoft Word. But now they’re in one place, organized by date.

Eeek. I just love having my ducks in a row.

Recently I’ve been reading a book called The Three “Only” Things: Tapping the Power of Dreams, Coincidence, and Imagination by Robert Moss. The premise of the book is that we often say, “It’s ONLY a dream,” “It’s ONLY a coincidence,” or “It’s ONLY my imagination,” but these three things are actually powerful sources for our personal and collective knowledge and growth. So far, I’ve ONLY read the dream section, which explains that dreams can help us solve our problems, improve our relationships, heal our bodies, and feed our creativity, and this was part of my motivation for getting all my dream logs into one spot. This way, I can easily search for common themes and symbols.

The author of the book says that dreams about shoes are often insightful because shoes have soles–or souls. Thus images of shoes can communicate where part of our spirit may be lost or where our inner being wants to go (or travel). Fascinated by this concept, I searched my dream journal for shoe dreams, and here’s what I found.

In 2014 (before I started therapy), I dreamed that I had a pair of purple shoes on but put on another, more “masculine” pair over them. (Purple is the flagship color of homosexuals, Mom.) Later that year (after I started therapy), I dreamed that I was lining my shoes up on a fire-place. (Perhaps I was “warming up” to the idea of being more myself.) In another dream that year, I had my shoes in bag. (Again, getting ready to put them on.) In 2015, I dreamed that I was in a church I used to attend with friends I rarely see anymore and was wearing shoes that were too small for me. Then I dreamed that I got new shoes for Christmas. (In this dream, someone had been murdered, indicating that a no-longer-useful part of me had died.) In 2016, I dreamed that I was taking off my shoes to put on thicker socks. (I haven’t figured out my socks dreams yet, but my guess is they have to do with being comfortable in my shoes/soul/body.) Finally, in 2017 (after starting the blog), I dreamed I was putting on my socks, my shoes, and a dress shirt.

Since I took a long break from dream journaling, these are the only dreams I have recorded about shoes. However, to me they show a clear progression. At first I hid my true self, then I started thinking about being me, then I discarded the ideas and parts of myself that no longer “fit,” then I made some more adjustments, and finally I fully presented myself.

Often I’m baffled by my nightly dreams. Many mornings I wake up and think, What the hell did I eat last night? But by looking at my dreams OVER TIME, I see clearly that some part of me is speaking a definite, intelligible language, and it’s simply up to me to learn it. For example, I have A LOT of dreams about cameras and taking pictures. And even though I’ve never quite been able to figure them out, I keep having them, so it’s obvious it’s a symbol my unconscious likes to use. Well, last night I had ANOTHER dream about taking pictures and actually figured the camera thing out (I think). Cameras for me are about memories and PERSPECTIVE. (COINCIDENTALLY, perspective is one of the categories I used MOST on this blog.) When I use a camera, I decide what to zoom in or focus on and what to crop out. The takeaway then is that I have this same power with my memories and experiences. Like, Am I going to make a big damn deal out of this or focus on something more positive?

Now the dryer is buzzing, and I still need to take a shower and get to bed. Honestly I can’t wait–not just for my trip tomorrow–but also for what dreams may come tonight.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"I believe we're all courageous, and I believe that no one is alone."

This Thing Called Life (Blog #563)

Ten years ago my friends Gregg and Rita helped start The Oklahoma Swing Syndicate, a group that hosts a weekly swing dance in Tulsa, and yesterday was the organization’s anniversary celebration. Ten years–that’s over 500 community dances. Anyway, Gregg and Rita have always supported my dance endeavors, so last night I drove to Tulsa to surprise them. Y’all–talk about a good time. Not only did I get to see Gregg and Rita, but I also got to see a number of dance friends I haven’t seen in years. Plus, I got to see my 96-year-old friend Marina, who absolutely makes my heart melt both on and off the dance floor.

The dance itself lasted until after midnight, and since I’m house sitting for friends this weekend, I drove back to Fort Smith between one and three in the morning. And whereas the entire affair went well, I was exhausted both physically and emotionally by the time I got back. This morning I slept in, which helped, but today has nonetheless continued to be–well–a bitch. This last week presented a number of internal challenges–some of which I wrote about and some of which I didn’t–and I guess they all caught up with me. To put it simply, I’ve been in a foul mood–worried, nervous, tired.

For most of the afternoon, I tried all the tricks I know. I stuck my nose in a book. I tried being grateful. I went for a run. I ate a piece of cake. And whereas it all helped, it didn’t push me over the ledge into The Land of Contentment.

Sometimes you just don’t feel well.

Last October I was in Carbondale, Colorado, for a spiritual retreat of sorts. Exactly one year ago tonight I started feeling poorly. I didn’t write about it that night, but I did write about it the next morning when I woke up with what would turn out to be the beginning of a several-month-long sinus infection. For over a hundred days, I felt like shit. There were good days here and there, of course, but it was honestly the most challenging and emotionally taxing health situation I’ve encountered in all my 38 years. Even after I finally got my sinus issues under control, I got slammed with the flu twice in the span of six weeks (I think). It was one damned thing after another.

During this time, I was fortunate enough to get a new primary care physician, who–over the course of many months–put me through a series of tests, some of which were run by other doctors. And whereas it’s been a bitch of a year, things are MOSTLY figured out. My sinuses are still a little snotty, but I haven’t had a sinus infection in over six months. (I haven’t been able to say this in over twenty years.) Thanks to upping my Vitamin D and B12 and getting more consistent rest, my energy levels are better. Not “perfect,” but better. Recently I worked for ten days straight backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and I never once worried whether or not my body would be able to “make it.” In other words, we’re learning to trust each other.

This is no small thing.

Whenever I blog and am particularly “impressed” with something that makes its way onto the page, I copy that sentence or paragraph and put it in a separate digital notepad with the intent to add it to the “Quotes from CoCo” box you see at the bottom of each post. However, I haven’t added any new quotes to the website in essentially a year. That is, until a few days ago, when I determined to get “caught up.” And whereas it will probably take a week or two to do this, I have started the process. At first, the thought of this task was daunting, but it’s turning out to be a fun, encouraging thing, going back and re-reading the highlights and self-issued hope from this last year. Today I was reminded that “No one is immune from life’s challenges,” “You’re exactly where you need to be,” and “A storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it.”

Our struggles unearth our strengths.

I say all this because it’s easy for me to forget how far I’ve come. I have one bad afternoon, and it feels as if I’ve gotten nowhere. But we’ll ALWAYS have bad days and we’ll ALWAYS have challenges–because this is how we grow. If I were designing a universe, I’d come up with a different method for personal improvement, but this is the way it works in this universe. Our struggles unearth our strengths. (I should add that to the quote box.) Also, I think they help us connect with others. All day I tried to get myself out of my own head. I kept telling the universe, “I want to feel better.” Then tonight my friend Marla called out of the blue to discuss a writing matter. And simply because Marla’s Marla–not because she knew I felt bad and needed cheering up–she made me laugh, laugh, laugh.

And just like that, a cloud was lifted.

It seems that this is how the universe works. It answers our prayers and cries for help, but rarely does so in the manner in which we think it should. Usually, there are other people involved. Not that your own intelligence and good graces can’t carry you so far, but when you solve all your own problems, not only do you set yourself up for pride, but you also isolate yourself. My friend Kim says, “We’re made for community,” and this is a lesson I’m learning. This last year has been an amazing journey; I’m the first to admit how much I’ve grown and how much I’ve worked my ass off to do so. But it wouldn’t have been possible without the help and support of my family, friends, my therapist and my doctors, and everyone else with whom I have the privilege of dancing through this thing called life.

For all of you, I’m extremely grateful.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Damn if good news doesn't travel the slowest.

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On Practicing Gratitude (Blog #562)

It’s eleven-fifteen in the morning, and I woke up with a crick in my neck. Consequently, I’m getting a slow start to what promises to be a long day. Every so often I’m stopping whatever I’m doing to stretch, trying to work out the kinks. I’m house sitting for some friends, and when I first got up, I stood in their hallway, reached my arms out wide on an angle, and rolled my neck around. As my arms fell to my sides, one of my friends’ dogs came over and pressed her wet nose against my fingers–as if to say, “I see you have a free hand there.” It was the sweetest thing, this moment of–connection.

Currently I’m listening to an album by Carter Sampson, a local red-dirt/folk artist from Fayetteville. I met Carter when I interviewed her for a magazine many, many years ago. She’s fabulous, and for whatever reason, her music is the perfect thing on this slow-start, crick-in-my-neck, overcast Saturday morning. It’s funny how the right lyrics show up at the right time. Last night I cried like a child while writing yesterday’s post. Today I feel lighter. I have the biggest smile on my face. As Carter says, “I washed myself in the water, and now I’m finally free.”

Yesterday while my friend was in traffic court and I was stuck in their car because their alarm system kept going off every time I took their key out of the ignition, I read another chapter in The Tools by Phil Stutz and Barry Michaels, a self-help book I mentioned a couple days ago. The chapter dealt with gratitude, which the authors present as the go-to tool or solution for what they call “the cloud,” that dark thing that surrounds you every time you begin to worry, obsess, or stress about whatever.

You know–THE CLOUD–There’s not enough money, nobody likes me, and I probably have cancer.

It’s enough just to be here.

Of course, gratitude is not a novel concept, but I love the way Stutz and Michaels present it–as that which CUTS THROUGH the cloud and reconnects you to something bigger than yourself. I like this idea–that being grateful isn’t just a “good-feeling” thing to do, but is also something powerful that quickly bypasses the dark cloud of worry. Because God knows WORRYING and OBSESSING about my problems has NEVER made my day any brighter. But even in this moment if I simply think about my nephews, I’m overcome with warmth and the feeling that life is all right. Because of them, it’s enough just to be here–overcast day, crick in my neck, and all. I’m reminded that I’m part of life, that life is good, and that life mysteriously works out.

The authors of The Tools say that gratitude is something you have to practice in order for it to have a powerful, lasting effect. In my experience, this is how worry works too. In other words, it’s a habit. And whereas being grateful does require diligence, it doesn’t have to be complicated. Just start with five things, five simple things that open your heart (even a little). For me–today–I’m grateful for a place to sleep at night, my friends’ dog and her wet nose, Carter Sampson and her music, my nephews, and my body, which not only lets me experience all the things I love, but also allows me to stretch, to cry, to smile.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If anything is ever going to change for the better, the truth has to come first.

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69 Months and Oh-So-Many Miles (Blog #561)

Currently it’s seven in the evening. I’m been up and functioning since three-thirty this morning. I’m not kidding. Consequently, I don’t feel like writing. I’d rather be drinking a Budweiser and eating a bag full of chocolate-covered donut holes. Or sleeping. Sleeping would be nice. But instead I’m writing.

There’s not a donut hole in sight.

I should back up.

Last night I went to bed at eleven-thirty and got up four hours later in order to go with a friend to court–on the other side of the state–for a minor traffic violation. Well, for the accusation of a minor traffic violation, since America and innocent-until-proven-guilty and everything. Anyway, that’s their story.

This is mine.

After getting up, getting dressed, and scarfing down two scrambled eggs, I walked outside at four this morning to look for my friend. And whereas I didn’t see them, I did see the constellation Orion. And not that I’d wish anyone out of bed that early, but you should have been there. Around one in the morning Orion’s just on the horizon, but at four–wow!–he’s directly overhead. And whereas I’m dreading the impending winter, I’m looking forward to seeing this unmistakable figure–The Hunter–make his march across the heavens.

Oddly enough, my friend’s court appearance was in Forrest City, the same city in which my dad spent several years in federal prison. (He was a pharmacist. He gave some drugs away without prescriptions. That’s not allowed.) Anyway, he was originally sent to El Paso, so our visits were few and far between. But when he got transferred to Forrest City, that was only four-and-a-half hours away (228 miles in one direction, exit to exit), so our visits increased. I can’t tell you the number of times as a teenager that I got up by myself or with my sister at three-thirty, got dressed, scarfed down two scrambled eggs, and pointed my Honda Civic down Interstate-40 East toward Forrest City–

To go through a metal detector and see my dad in a visitation room.

I think the last time I actually stopped in Forrest City was that day in April 2001 when Dad was released and my mom, my sister, and I drove to pick him up. It’d been 69 months since he walked out our front door for El Paso. 69 months since he’d started teaching me to drive and someone else had to finish the job. 69 months and oh-so-many miles. How do you even describe such a day, a day you thought would never come? I can’t. All I knew and felt was that my dad was coming home.

Somehow–finally–Forrest City was in my rearview mirror.

Seventeen years. That’s how long it’s been since I last drove to Forrest City, much less at four in the morning, much less for anything related to breaking the law. (Um–for an accusation of breaking the law.) Anyway, this morning brought up a lot of memories, a lot of–um–uncomfortable feelings. On the one hand, I was quite aware–I’m thirty-eight now. There’s nothing intimidating or embarrassing about walking into a courthouse or going through a metal detector. But on the other hand, I felt like that teenager, the one who was in that courthouse the day 12 jurors all said, “Guilty,” the one who used to get up at four in the morning to walk through a metal detector and see his father sitting in a visitation room dressed in all forest green.

It’s funny how time can collapse so quickly. One minute you’re an adult standing next to Orion. You feel–free. The next minute you’re a teenager standing next to a guard with a gun on his belt. “Who are you here to see?” he says. You drop your head and say his name. You feel–intimidated.

This morning I was fully prepared to walk through a metal detector and sit in a courtroom with my friend, but something–heaven?–intervened. “The courtroom is full,” the disgruntled courthouse employee said. So I waited in the car and read a book. Part of me–honestly–was relieved. I hate courts, hate confrontation, and I knew my friend would be contesting their ticket. But then after I saw several people leaving, I thought, There’s more room now. Go inside, Marcus. This isn’t your fight anyway. But again, something intervened. The car alarm went off. Every time I tried to remove the key from the ignition–HONK, HONK, HONK.

So I stayed in the car.

Things worked out for my friend. Today was only an arraignment. Anyway, when my friend got back to the car, they fixed the alarm, but we discovered the battery had died. So we asked a couple for a jump, and they gladly said yes. The man helped my friend with the cables, and the lady sat in their car and pumped the gas. Personally, I did nothing–just stood outside the car, scrolled on my phone, and tried to look as if the whole affair weren’t my fault. Then just as the couple started to drive off, the lady smiled at me. Like, I don’t know, life was all right. I hope I never forget it–

That smile in Forrest City.

I’ve said before that I wouldn’t trade any of my challenging experiences. I mean that. Even the ones that were agonizing, embarrassing, or intimidating–I wouldn’t trade them even if I could. Because this is my story. This is my march across the heavens. (Hum.) Sometimes people tell me that I have a lot of courage–my therapist says I have big balls–to put my insides on the internet, or to dare to live life on my own terms. And whereas I’m not saying my current life is easy–fuck–it’s a chocolate-covered donut hole compared to those 69 months and oh-so-many miles, those 69 months and oh-so-many miles that still manage to suck me in after 17 years sometimes, but for which I am also mysteriously and profoundly grateful. Because of them, today I am strong beyond measure. My head is lifted. I can see the stars. People smile at me, and I smile back at them.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Authenticity is worth all the hard work. Being real is its own reward."

On The Tools (Blog #560)

Yesterday I started reading The Tools: Transform Your Problems into Courage, Confidence, and Creativity by Phil Stutz and Barry Michaels, a self-help book (surprise) that’s turning out to be one of the most delightful reads I’ve picked up in quite a while. Currently I’m about half-way through. And whereas a lot of self-help books suggest that the answer to your fears, anxiety, and low self-esteem is understanding where they came from (duh–it’s your parents’ fault), the authors of The Tools say that such information by itself doesn’t provide dramatic change. Rather, in order to get the results we all want, we need a set of actions or behaviors to which we can turn whenever stress rears its ugly head.

In other words, we don’t just need to THINK something, we also need to DO something.

We’ve all had the experience of having a bad day, ruminating on negative thoughts, or being overwhelmed by emotions and not knowing how to turn things around. Stutz and Michaels call this state of being “the maze” (because it’s easy to get stuck there), and what I like about their book is that it offers definite ways to get out of it. The caveat, of course, is that you have to practice the suggested methods. You can’t just try them once or twice and expect your life to immediately turn around (bright eyes).

“Turn around, Bright Eyes” is a song lyric, Mom.

That being said, I’ve been toying around with one of their suggestions–the reversal of desire–today and have already noticed a difference. As I understand it, the reversal of desire essentially has to do with fear. That is, we all have certain things we would like to happen in our lives, but often don’t take action to make those things happen because doing so is uncomfortable–or outside our Comfort Zone. The authors put it more bluntly–between everything you have and everything you want is a certain amount of PAIN, and that’s what you’re afraid of experiencing (like, the pain of being rejected). But pain, they say, is the doorway to your desires, so rather than working so hard to avoid it, we could just as easily say, “BRING IT ON.”

I know this sounds twisted, but stick with me.

This afternoon I knew I “needed” to pay bills, an activity that typically induces a certain amount of anxiety for me. But rather than doing something else and AVOIDING the activity (and thus producing an immediate sense of relief), I told myself, I’m not afraid of a little anxiety–bring it on. Well–there must be something about WELCOMING YOUR FEELINGS–because I actually experienced significantly less anxiety while paying my bills today than I normally do.

On a roll, I applied this same strategy to some other paperwork I’ve been putting off–something I’ve known would take me a long time to complete. For over a year I’ve been thinking, It’s more than I can handle. But today I told myself, I’m not afraid of a little panic–bring it on. And whereas I still felt overwhelmed as I began this project, I nonetheless started it and got about ten percent done, which is ten percent more than I’ve had done for the last twelve months.

Another exercise Stutz and Michaels offer is to imagine your shadow. (Picture a situation in which you feel totally insecure and visualize all your feelings as having a physical body and face.) When I did this exercise, I immediately saw myself as an awkward prepubescent wearing elastic-band shorts with all my ribs showing and my butt being as big as a bowling ball. (It’s still as big as a bowling ball, but the rest of me has grown into it.) Then I saw myself in a number of “dorky” family photos that–until today–I would have done ANYTHING to have destroyed forever. These embarrassing self-images apparently came up because one way of describing your shadow is that it’s all the parts of yourself that you’re ashamed of.

But–

The good news is that–according to the book–your shadow is also fearless, and you can therefore visualize it standing beside you whenever you’re scared shitless. For me, this makes sense. I think about that awkward kid, and whereas even now I’m embarrassed of some of the things he did, said, and wore, HE didn’t give a single fuck. He had all the courage and bravery in the world. (It would take all the courage and bravery in the world to wear THOSE shorts.) But seriously–he simply wanted to express himself–and he did.

We all want to express ourselves.

I tried this visualization earlier when I went for a run, and it was really beautiful. I thought about that brave kid running with me–in THAT outfit–and felt freer and more energetic than I have in a long time. And get this shit. I smiled at strangers–people I’d normally be afraid of. Someone waved in my direction, and even though I thought they were probably waving at someone behind me, I waved back. It felt good to be friendly. When I noticed my socks didn’t match, I started to worry. What will people think? But then I thought about that kid again and remembered that both of us are MUCH MORE than our outfits.

Besides, ANYONE can wear socks that match.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whatever needs to happen, happens.

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On Which Glasses You Choose to Wear (Blog #559)

In my parents’ living room is a large leather recliner. It’s gorgeous, comfortable. One could really get lost in it. That being said, I’ve only once spent any significant amount of time in this recliner–when I was recovering from my sinus surgery–because my mom LIVES in this recliner. Simply put, it’s hers, and my dad and I make a lot of jokes about the fact that we rarely get to use it. Anyway, this morning while I was eating breakfast, Mom said that she’s been getting cold recently and explained, “When you sit in the recliner, it’s right under the air vent.”

So I said, “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

And then my mom, who reads my blog every day, used my own material against me. She said, “Is that what you call being passive aggressive?”

I was stunned.

“Yes,” I said. Then I added–“It’s an option.”

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and we mostly processed my time working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. It was a good experience, of course, but it was also A LOT of information (my therapist called it a “data dump”), considering the fact that I was new to much of what was going on and also new to working with so many people and having “a boss.” Not completely new, of course, but it’s been a while since I’ve worked with a such large group or for someone else–like twenty years.

As I’ve discussed here before, I told my therapist that in new situations I often think of myself as invisible or “not worthy of being noticed,” and it’s therefore shocking when people DO notice me (which they did this last week). She said this belief was “just irritating” and needed to go.

Toward the end of our session, we talked about money. This is a topic my therapist appears to be quite comfortable with, and one I’m trying to get comfortable with. My therapist says the more we talk about money, the more my brain will begin to think, This shit’s all right. Today she said I should pick an amount of money I’d like to make a day that’s not “outrageous” but the thought of which is “just enough to make you nervous.” So I did. Now my job is to simply “will it into existence.” And whereas I understand that this sounds like a bunch of new-age bullshit, my therapist says that if I pair my current work ethic with positive self-talk, the universe will respond favorably.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

I told my therapist that one of the over-arching beliefs I’ve held for–well–decades is that “maybe it’ll work for everyone else, but it won’t work for me.” Super optimistic, I know. Anyway, I’ve applied this thinking to my relationships, my health, and my finances. This is the way beliefs work–they don’t just affect one area of your life; they affect everything. Much like tinted spectacles, beliefs are the filter through which we see the world. Like, if you don’t believe in abundance, you’ll never see it. Even if you have a hundred dollars–or even a million dollars–in your pocket, you’ll think, It’s not enough.

Currently I’m sitting in a library surrounded by THOUSANDS of books and ENDLESS potential knowledge. Now, I could focus on the fact that I don’t have enough time to read all these books or the fact that there are a lot of other books I’m interested in that aren’t in this library. (Talk about lack!) Or I could focus on the fact that I have access to ALL THIS INFORMATION–basically–for free. (Talk about abundance!) The way I see it, just like being direct and being passive aggressive are OPTIONS in conversation, seeing lack and seeing abundance are OPTIONS in perspective. Yes, an objective reality exists–there are a certain number of books here. But a subjective reality also exists, and that reality depends solely on your thoughts and your beliefs, on which glasses you–and only you–choose to wear.

Wayne Dyer used to say, “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” This is what I’m trying to do–gradually adjust my thinking and beliefs when it comes to my relationships, my health, and my finances. Personally, I’m tired of believing, It’s not enough. For me, it’s lazy–that is, habitual–thinking. Today I told my therapist, “I’m done believing that things work for other people and not me. (As my favorite coffee cup says–Fuck This Shit.) My new thought is–If it can work for someone else, it can work for me.

“THANK YOU!” she said.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your life is a mystery. But you can relax. It’s not your job to solve it.

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A Synopsis of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (Blog #558)

Recently I spent ten days working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. This afternoon, as an act of mourning, celebration, and education, I read the book on which the musical and movie were based–The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum–for the first time. And whereas the musical and movie contain much of the original story, they leave many notable details out.

Prepare yourself for a rather long (but entertaining) book report.

According to the Baum, Aunt Em never smiles, and she, Uncle Henry, and Dorothy (and Toto) are the only characters who live in Kansas. (Later we find out that the wizard is from Omaha, Nebraska.) There’s no mention of the three farmhands–Hunk, Hickory, and Zeke–nor is there any mention of Miss Gulch, and Dorothy never runs away or encounters Professor Marvel.

When Dorothy is swept up by the tornado and lands in Munchkin Land, she finds out that the land of Oz is divided into four sections–the east, where she’s landed, where the Munchkins live, and that used to be ruled by The Wicked Witch of the East; the west, ruled by The Wicked Witch of the West; the north, ruled by The (nameless) Witch of the North; and the south, whose details we find out later. The City of Emeralds (or The Emerald City) is in the center of all four lands. The Yellow Brick Road goes from the east to The Emerald City, and there’s NO ROAD that goes to the west.

At this point in the story, The Wicked Witch of the West does NOT appear in Munchkin Land, but Dorothy does receive a pair of magical shoes from The Witch of the North, the shoes that used to belong to The Wicked Witch of the East. However, these shoes are silver, NOT ruby, and it’s only at a later point–when Dorothy changes from a red dress into her famous blue and white gingham dress–that she puts the shoes ON. The dress, which she’s brought (in her house) from Kansas is significant because all the Munchkins wear blue and believe that anyone who wears white is a sorceress. So (like Jesus), they see Dorothy as both one of them (or human) and divine.

As we all are.

As Dorothy sets off to see the Wizard–who’s referred to as The Great and Terrible, NOT The Great and Powerful–she quickly encounters The Scarecrow, The Tin Woodman, and The Cowardly Lion, much like she does in the musical and movie. Baum describes The Scarecrow–who’s supposed to have no brain–as saying things “thoughtfully” or “after some serious thought.” At first I judged these descriptions as either poor writing or pure irony, but one could argue that they are neither, as all the main characters clearly possessed that which they were seeking the whole time but simply didn’t realize it yet.

As we all do.

Another interesting point the book makes is that just as The Scarecrow didn’t have a brain (or a heart), The Tin Woodman didn’t have a heart (or a brain). But, for different reasons, one values the head above the heart, and the other values the heart above the brain, so each seeks what is important to him even though both things are “missing.” Personally, I think one should have, value, and use both their brain AND their heart.

In the scene in which Dorothy, The Scarecrow, and The Tin Woodman encounter The Cowardly Lion, the lion asks if Toto is made of straw or tin. Neither, Dorothy says, he’s “a meat dog.”

Before reaching The Emerald City, Dorothy and her friends encounter a number of trials, none of which have anything to do with The Wicked Witch of the West. Like in the musical and movie, one of these trials is the poisonous poppy field, where they initially have to leave the lion–who falls asleep–but later come back to save him. (They haul him out on a cart made by The Tin Woodman and are assisted in pulling it by hundreds of field mice.) When they do reach The Emerald City, they are required to wear green spectacles, which they are told is to protect their eyes from all the shiny objects and is something everyone has to do. Later, when it’s found out that the wizard is a fraud (“a humbug”), they’re told the spectacles are used to fool both the citizens and visitors into believing that everything is green even though in reality it’s not.

The book says that Dorothy and her friends get to see the wizard, but they have to do it separately. The wizard appears in a different form to each one, but asks them all to do the same thing–kill The Wicked Witch of the West. (Because he’s not really a wizard, he’s a afraid of her.) In the musical and movie, he asks that they bring him her broomstick, but the broomstick isn’t mentioned in the book at all–because, like Mary Poppins, the witch carries AN UMBRELLA!

Also, in the book, the witch has ONE EYE instead of two.

So Dorothy and the gang take off a-witch-hunting, but by this point, the one-eyed witch has found out about them, so she sends 40 wolves to have their asses for dinner. (The Tin Woodman chops their heads off.) Then she sends 40 crows. (The Scarecrow breaks their necks.) Then she sends a swarm of bees. (They break their stingers on The Tin Woodman’s chest.) Then she sends 12 Winkies, which are yellow, by the way, the same way the Munchkins are “blue.” (The Lion scares The Winkies off.) Finally, the witch sends the winged monkeys, whom she controls by means of a golden cap. The caveat–whoever has the golden cap can only command the monkeys three times, and this is the witch’s final “wish.”

But the monkeys succeed. (In the musical, a creature called The Jitterbug causes the main characters to dance until they are exhausted, at which point the flying monkeys scoop them up. The Jitterbug scene was shot for the 1939 movie–during the peak of the Lindy Hop/swing dance/jitterbug era–but was ultimately edited out.)

In the book, it’s only Dorothy and the lion who are brought to the witch’s castle; the other two friends are left in the woods to be rescued later. And whereas the lion is kept outside to starve to death (Dorothy saves him by sneaking him food each day), Dorothy is kept in “the house” to do dishes, much like Cinderella was. Of course, what the witch really wants is Dorothy’s shoes, and when she finally manages to steal ONE of them but not the other, Dorothy gets pissed off and throws a bucket of water on her, and it’s then that the witch both melts and dies.

And Dorothy gets her other shoe back.

At this point, Dorothy and the lion rescue their two lost friends, and since Dorothy has taken the golden cap from the witch, the four of them (and Toto) are ultimately transported back to The Emerald City by the winged monkeys. (These guys are better than Uber.) From here, the storyline pretty much follows the musical and movie, except that when the wizard takes off in the hot air balloon, The Witch of the North DOES NOT show up to save the day. Rather, our heroes are forced to take off on more adventures, and this time they go in search of The Witch of the South–Glinda–who lives in a land where everything is RED and sits on a throne made of RUBIES.

MGM (who made the movie) obviously COMBINED The Witch of the North with The Witch of the South.

Nowhere in the book (that I remember) is the phrase “lions and tigers and bears–oh my!” used. However, while the four friends are going south in search of Glinda, the come upon a land where everyone and everything is made of china (The Dainty China Country), and each of the characters except the lion says, “Oh my!”

Once the four travelers reach Glinda, she indeed teaches Dorothy how to use her magical shoes in order to get back home. But first she uses the golden cap, which Dorothy gives her in exchange for her help, to call three times upon the winged monkeys ato The Scarecrow back to rule The Emerald City (as the wizard asked him to do when he left in the hot air balloon), The Tin Woodman back to rule The Winkies in the west, and The (no-longer) Cowardly Lion back to rule a particular forest.

So Dorothy clicks her heels together three times and is whisked (in three steps) across “the desert” and back home to Kansas. (The shoes fall off her feet along the way.) However, during this whole ordeal, she never says, “There’s no place like home.” She does that earlier, when she meets The Scarecrow, who says he doesn’t understand why Dorothy would want to go back to dull, drab Kansas instead of staying in colorful Oz. “This is because you have no brains,” she says. “There’s no place like home.”

In the musical and movie, it’s strongly indicated that Dorothy was stuck unconscious by the tornado and has simply dreamt her adventures. But in the book, Dorothy comes running up to the farm, and Aunt Em says, “Where in the world have you come from?” Dorothy replies, “From the Land of Oz. … I’m so glad to be at home again!” And that’s it–THE END. Nothing is said about the tornado or the fact that Dorothy used their house as an airplane to go on vacation but didn’t bother to bring it back.

So that’s CoCo’s Cliff Notes for The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. But before closing, since I’m so fascinated by the symbology of this story, here a few final things that stood out to me in the book that didn’t stand out to me in the musical or movie:

1. On going into the forest

Joseph Campbell says, “You enter the forest at the darkest point, where there is no path. Where there is a way or path, it is someone else’s path; you are not on your own path. If you follow someone else’s way, you are not going to realize your potential.” So I think it’s appropriate that there’s NO ROAD to The Wicked Witch of the West. Like Campbell says of all true heroes, Dorothy and her friends must blaze their own trail.

Symbolically speaking, the forest Dorothy and her friends enter en route to The Wicked Witch represents Dorothy’s unconscious, and The Wicked Witch represents her shadow. (It’s all the same.) The Guardian of the Gates of The Emerald City is the one who says there is NO ROAD to The Wicked Witch and explains WHY this is the case–because “no one ever wishes to go that way.” Exactly, no one WANTS to face their shadow. Why would they? It’s dark, dangerous, and scary as hell. But it is–ultimately–the way home. As the saying goes, “The only way out–is in.”

Along the same lines, Caroline Myss says, “Always go with the choice that scares you the most–because that’s the one that’s going to require the most from you.”

2. On recognizing your own power

When The Wicked Witch enslaves Dorothy, she KNOWS that Dorothy could use her silver slippers to escape if she only knew what to do with them. But she explains, “I can still make her my slave, for she does not know how to use her power.” I think this is a gorgeous lesson, the perfect reminder that we are all more capable than we recognize; it’s just a matter of learning how to rise above rather than be intimated by that which at first blush seems scary. Jesus obviously knew how to do this–he slept through a storm, walked on water, and danced on his way to the cross. The reason they called him Master? Because it’s not easy.

But it is possible.

3. On being wonderful

When Glinda is preparing to send The Scarecrow back to rule The Emerald City, she says it’s because “it would be a shame to deprive the people of so wonderful a ruler,” and The Scarecrow says, “Am I really wonderful?

Glinda’s reply?

“You are unusual.”

Oh the shade! (Shade is when you insult someone discreetly, Mom.)

But seriously. Perhaps these two things–being wonderful and being unusual–go hand in hand. I don’t know–we so often want to be like everyone else. But the truth is, we are ALL unusual. For all our similarities, there will never be another YOU or another ME–ever, ever, ever. So why not own and celebrate our differences? Don’t they make us wonderful?

Don’t they make us FULL of wonder?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Go easier on yourself.

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