Handle Yourself with Care (Blog #557)

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Last night I went to bed late, so I slept in this morning as much as possible. Still, I’ve felt “off” the entire day–groggy, nervous. For the last ten days I’ve been busy from sunup to sundown, but today there’s been squat to do. Consequently, I spent the entire afternoon inventing to-do list items like making my bed, washing my car, and doing my laundry. I just haven’t been able to sit still. But perhaps all my activity has been good, as it’s allowed me to reorient to normal life after spending nearly a hundred hours in the magical land of Oz.

Sorry, Mom and Dad, but our living room isn’t nearly as fun as Munchkin Land. Especially since your dog shit on the carpet this afternoon while you were gone.

It’s weird how you can get used to a new routine so quickly. For nine days I woke up at 7:30 in the morning so that I could be at work by 9:00. (Me–an early riser!) But after the show Saturday night, I went to bed at 2:00 AM and forgot to set an alarm for our tenth and final day, Sunday. And yet just like that, my body woke me up at 8:00–technically thirty minutes “late,” but still early enough for me to shake a leg and get to work on time. I don’t know–I’ve spent a lot of years not trusting my body, thinking that every ache and pain or lingering illness is a betrayal. But if my body can wake me up to go to work, it’s obviously smart and probably capable of MUCH more than I give it credit for.

I’m trying to believe in my body more. I’m trying to believe in myself more.

Just before tech week started, I was doing my level best to be in bed by midnight or one, limit the amount of caffeine I drank, and exercise. My internal mantra–which I borrowed from fitness guru Susan Powter–was “Eat, breathe, and move.” And whereas I ate healthily during those ten days in Oz, I didn’t bother with the caffeine restriction or even try to exercise (except for all that running around I did backstage). Anyway, I’m planning to ease myself back onto the “better-choices wagon this week, to re-implement those little changes consistently. Historically I’ve given myself a lot of crap for not being “perfect,” but this is life, and life happens. My therapist says, “Don’t say you ONLY dieted for three days. Say you dieted FOR THREE DAYS. That’s huge–some people never make an effort!”

I’m trying to be gentle with myself this time, to not be such a hard-ass perfectionist. I’m trying to handle myself with care.

This evening my friend Emily, who plays The Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz, invited me to join her and a few other cast members for dinner. Oh my gosh, y’all, what a perfect way to end my journey down the yellow brick road. For a couple hours, the five of us laughed, shared stories, and celebrated the birthday of the actor who plays Uncle Henry and the Gatekeeper of The Emerald City–Michael Weaver. Thank y’all!

Not it’s ten o’clock. Like yesterday, I’m awash with emotion, feeling everything from sadness to gratitude. Mostly, I’m tired. It’s especially difficult to know where to put everything when you’re tired. With any luck I’ll be curled up in bed soon with a book in my hands. Oh, Reading, how I have missed thee! Yes, this is what I need–to settle in and settle down, to read a few chapters, and finally to drift off to The Land of Nod, where anything is possible and everything works itself out one way or another.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

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.

"

The Last Day (Blog #556)

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It’s day ten working for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and it’s also the last day. This morning at nine, four dozen workers descended on the Alma Performing Arts Center and–in just under five hours–took down all the lights, backdrops, and prop boxes we put up ten days ago. We filled up four semi trailer trucks worth of Oz, and then they drove off. So now it’s over. And whereas my physical body is glad for the break–it was a long ten days–my heart is sad. This last week and a half was–well–quite magical. There were so many wonderful moments, so many wonderful people that I may never see again. And yet I’m grateful to have had these moments, to have met these people.

What I’m feeling is often called PMS–Post Musical Syndrome–that sad feeling you get when a show is over. You spend all this time together–you’re like a little family–and then it’s just–done. Everyone goes their separate ways. The stage is suddenly empty. It’s disorienting. You think, What will happen next? But perhaps the last day is also the best day, since all the hard work is over, there’s that feeling of satisfaction, and you realize, I got to be part of something beautiful. And maybe you appreciate something more when it’s over, since it helps you remember how quickly time passes, how precious each moment, each person, and each connection truly is.

I spent this evening with two of my dearest friends–Justin and Ashley–whom I used to live with. For me, it was the perfect way to celebrate this past week, a way to come back home, the way Dorothy did after visiting her magical land. This is important, I think–to visit magical lands and meet new people, but to also come back home to yourself and those who know you and love you unconditionally.

As we’re not known for our SHORT conversations, Justin and I stayed up until two-thirty. Now it’s three-thirty, and I’m at finally home and looking forward to going to bed. But obviously there’s this blog. Hum. How to keep it short?

In the Northern Hemisphere, there are two highly recognizable constellations–Ursa Major, which contains the Big Dipper, and Orion (the Hunter). And whereas the Big Dipper is visible year-round, Orion is only visible for about five months in the fall and winter. Well, two nights ago, Friday, while driving home at two-thirty in the morning, I saw Orion for the first time since I got interested in astronomy this last spring. Wow. There he was on the eastern horizon–unmistakable–big as day–well, big as night.

Gorgeous.

Opposite Orion, on the western horizon, was my dear Pegasus, the constellation that used to be on the eastern horizon at two-thirty in the morning a few months ago. Ugh, this is the way the universe works. For a while a star –a constellation–is rising, and then it’s overhead, and then it sets, gone for a season or perhaps forever. Likewise, we meet people, we dance together, and we say goodbye. Who’s to say if we will meet again? My therapist says that life is long–you never know who or what will cycle back around. Personally, I think it’s important to remember that for every setting star, there’s another on the horizon. In other words, life’s stage is never truly empty–there’s always something or someone to love or be grateful for. And–well–even if something were to happen and I NEVER saw Orion or my newfound friends again, I’ll ALWAYS remember that one night and that one time when we were together for one brief but beautiful magical moment.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Not knowing what's going to happen next is part of the adventure."

Follow Your Own Star (Blog #555)

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Currently it’s 2:45 in the afternoon, and my friend Bonnie and I just back from Tacos for Life, Fort Smith’s latest chain restaurant, because–tacos. Now we’re back at her house, and I’m blogging. It’s day nine working for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and we don’t start work today until 4:30, which means I have about an hour to knock this out. Tonight’s big show for the public will start at 8:00, and I don’t know how late we’ll work afterwards tearing things down. Tomorrow is “load out,” when we’ll pack everything back in the semi trailer trucks, then the cast and crew will take off down the yellow brick road for another city and another group of local workers.

A few thoughts from this week that have yet to make it onto the page–

1. Follow your own star

This last Wednesday we didn’t have to go into work until one in the afternoon, so I scheduled two hours of dance lessons with a new client–a man and his daughter who were preparing for her wedding. Anyway, that morning I picked out a blue t-shirt, and my first thought was, My pink star earrings would look fabulous with this outfit. But then I thought, Those earrings are SUPER gay, Marcus, and you don’t even know these people. So instead I put in my tiny dinosaur earrings, since they’re much more “subtle.” But then five minutes later I thought, Fuck this. I like the other earrings better. So I wore them.

And the dance lesson went fine.

Later that day I was backstage watching the show, leaning against Dorothy’s house. There were two people sitting next to me, a local couple who I’d seen several times but hadn’t met yet. Then out of nowhere the girl said, “I LOVE your earrings,” and the three of us ended up having the best conversation–about earrings, stage work, where we shop for clothes, and what the hell we’re doing with our lives. Now three people know each other who didn’t know each other before, and–from my perspective–that wouldn’t have happened had it not been for my pink star earrings. So don’t discount your inclinations; be true to yourself even in the little things. God works in mysterious ways.

2. Talk to strangers, even the drunk ones

Last night I went out with my friend Kim to hear her husband play at a local restaurant, and a lady (a drunk lady) pulled Kim out of her seat and started dancing with her. Later the woman came over, and Kim told her that I’m a dance instructor, and she said, “You used to teach at Mercy.” Y’all, statements like this are always a shock to my system, since I hold the inner thought that I’m invisible or that people don’t notice or pay attention to me in the same way that I would notice or pay attention to them. (You’re wrong, Marcus. You’re wrong.)

So get this shit.

When I closed the studio a couple years ago, it was partially due to the fact that I felt like I had a gift to offer my community, but that it was a gift my community wasn’t interested in. (My books and records, especially those last few years, seemed to reflect this notion.) Well, last night just before she left, this woman looked me straight in the eye, smiled, and said, “THANK YOU for all you’ve done for our community.” Both then and now, this compliment brings tears to my eyes, as SO MANY people have thanked me over the years, but I can’t think that anyone has ever phrased their gratitude the way this woman did. “Thank you for all you’ve done for our community.” How important it is to feel both valued and vital by others.

3. Clean up your perceptions

When I closed the studio, I wanted to “get out of this town” as quickly as possible. My attitude was “fuck this place.” That being said, let me be clear–I’m GLAD that I’ve been here these last two years. Hell, I’m glad I’ve been here for my entire life. Not that I think I’ll stick around forever, but my time here, especially these last two years, has allowed me to do a lot of healing and has taught me how to “get right” with my environment–how to see it, accept it, and embrace it for all its strengths and weaknesses. What if I’d left sooner? For one thing, I never would have encountered the drunk woman who told me that my community noticed and appreciated me. I would have been just ever so bitter. So it’s better this way–for me to stay, clean up my perceptions–to be grateful for my community in return.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

"

A Horse of a Different Color (Blog #554)

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It’s day eight working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and after a full week of tech work, we had our first official performance this morning–for the local middle school. Y’all, teenagers get up early; the show was at nine-frickin’ o’clock. This means I had to wake up at six-frickin’-thirty in order to be at the Alma Performing Arts Center an hour early, at eight-frickin’ o’clock. Ugh. I had to double up on my morning coffee. I guess everyone’s tired. It’s been a long week. But all the the long days have been worth it–the show went fabulously both onstage and backstage. You should have heard the kids laughing, clapping, and awe-ing.

Talk about a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Here’s a picture of me and Kirk Lawrence-Howard, who plays Professor Marvel and The Wizard of Oz. He’s fabulous. (The big wiener is one of the props Professor Marvel uses, and–understandably–the cast and crew make a lot of jokes about it.)

Here’s a picture of me and Emily Perzan, The Wicked Witch of the West. She’s also fabulous. I’d give my left nut if I could cackle half as well as she can.

At lunch, all the locals were let go for the day. However, since I was organizing the prop gondolas (the big, black boxes full of show shit) for my supervisor, I got to stay. Y’all, I absolutely adored this assignment. First, I LOVE organizing and got to COLOR-CODE the different sections of the gondolas and LABEL everything inside. (I’m over the moon for a good label.) Second, I got to be creative in HOW I labeled things. Like, whenever a prop isn’t used for the rest of the show, it’s referred to as “dead.” So for the Stage Right prop gondola, I created a section for dead props and labeled it “Where props go to die.” (Stage Left is the left side of the stage or room if you’re onstage facing the audience, Mom.)

For the Stage Right prop gondola, I created a section for dead props and did this–

Here’s a picture of the entire Stage Right prop gondola (just before I added the dead-prop labels). The mess of straw on the right side of the second shelf from the top is the Scarecrow’s legs and arm that get “torn off” by the flying monkeys.

Now it’s seven-frickin’-thirty in the evening, and I’ve been home for a couple hours. I don’t have to be back at the theater until tomorrow afternoon. (Woowho.) I just finished reading an article in this month’s GQ (Gentlemen’s Quarterly) about mental health. Like me, they recommend seeing a therapist. However, at one point while talking about overcoming anxiety, the author of the article says, “It doesn’t take a lot. We’re not talking about therapy for a year.” And whereas I appreciate the idea that a little can go a long way, I’d like to add that a lot can go a much longer way.

I’ll explain.

Typically when people call me to inquire about dance lessons, they ask, “How many lessons will this take?” Well, there’s not a very good answer to that question. At least not a definite one. Simply put, if you take one dance lesson, you’ll know more than you did before, but you’ll also LOOK LIKE you took ONE dance lesson. Conversely, if you take fifty-two dance lessons (one a week for an entire a year), you’ll not only know infinitely more than you did before, but you’ll also look INFINITELY better. In other words, you get out of something what YOU put into it. This is WHY the national tour of The Wizard of Oz is the phenomenal show that it is–the cast and crew are not only fundamentally talented, but they’ve also put in hundreds and even thousands of hours perfecting their respective skills.

It’s with this logic in mind that I ask, “Would a year in therapy be THE WORST thing in the world if it helped you significantly lower your level of anxiety and lay your longstanding traumas to rest?” Personally, I’ve been going to therapy for four-and-a-half years (every other week for three years, and once a week since then). And it’s not that I’m so totally fucked up that I require a hundred plus hours of one-on-one professional attention. But just like I enjoy dancing and want to keep growing as a dancer, I also enjoy therapy (and when I don’t enjoy the process, I enjoy the results) and want to keep growing as a person.

I don’t know–we like our stories, our entertainment, short and simple. Dorothy encounters a tornado, is swept off to Oz, get a fabulous pair of shoes, meets her three best friends, kills two witches, and manages to get herself back to Kansas in the span of two-and-a-half hours. But real progress, real personal and spiritual growth, doesn’t happen in a matter of hours. It’s a little bit here and a little bit there–consistently–over time. Over a lot of time. Now–if you only have one hour to take a dance lesson or go to therapy? Go–do it for an hour. You’ll still get something out of it. But if you decide to really dig deep and truly commit to the process–well–as the guard to the gate of The Emerald City says–“That’s a horse of a different color.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

No Tornado, No Adventure (#553)

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It’s day seven working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and all the long days are starting to catch up to me. Physically, I’m trucking right along. Emotionally, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I’m due for a good night’s rest, which, according to the science I’ve read, truly does reset your feelings to baseline. Alas, that’s not going to happen tonight, as we’ll be running the show until late this evening and have to be back early tomorrow for our first performance (for the local high school). But I think–I think–we get tomorrow night off, as well as the next morning. So maybe I can sleep in.

And since I know I’m not the only one who’s worn down and stressed out, maybe we can all sleep in.

I spent this morning painting and sprucing up more sets. However, one of them, The Oz Chamber, got called onto stage in the middle of my paint job, so it’s still not done. And whereas The Completionist in me can’t stand it, this is life–I don’t know when or even if the project will get done. Anyway, when The Oz Chamber got called in, I moved on to other matters. Specifically, I added more details to the flower pots I worked on yesterday and decorated a backup wand for Glinda (The Witch of the North), which is pictured above.

Here are yesterday’s pots.

Here are the same pots today.

Last night I dreamed I was driving home on the interstate and a fast-moving tornado was coming in my direction. I wonder if I’ll be okay, I thought, and then woke up. Of course, I assume the tornado image came from The Wizard of Oz, but I think it’s interesting symbolically, since tornadoes represent chaos and destruction. In Dorothy’s story, the tornado is this big, scary thing that rips her away from her family and the only world she’s every known. It’s terrifying.

I think of the worst things that have happened to me, and without exception they’ve all felt like tornadoes, these huge, strong, uncontrollable forces that have come into my life and ripped me away from whatever I held dear at the time. God, I felt so helpless when our house burned down, so powerless when my dad went to prison, so heartbroken when that relationship ended. But that’s what it’s like when a tornado comes into your life. One minute your feet are on solid ground, and the next minute you’re up in the atmosphere, floundering. And who knows where you’ll land–or if you’ll even land at all?

All you can do is surrender.

Personally, I think tornadoes get a bad rap. After all, had Dorothy not been picked up by her tornado, she never would have landed in Oz or faced her fears and overcome them. Clearly, she wasn’t doing that on her own, so she needed a nudge (a shove) in the right direction, and the tornado was obviously the only thing strong and powerful enough to separate her from her old way of thinking and being. Say what you will about the tornado, but it ultimately got Dorothy over the rainbow (to her true self). Personally, I wouldn’t trade any of my tornadoes, any of the terrible things that have happened in my life. Not a single one. Because they gave me my chops. They made me who I am. And I like who I am.

No tornado, no adventure.

I’m not saying you should write a thank-you note to the tornadoes in your life (because sometimes tornadoes are people–you know it and I know it). But I am saying that a story without a tornado (a little drama to shake things up) is no story at all. That is–no tornado, no adventure. And not that you should go inviting storms into your life (don’t worry–they’ll invite themselves), but consider that a storm may be the only force capable of prompting you to dig deep and unlock the power, beauty, and magic that you’ve been hiding within yourself–let’s face it–for way too long. This is, after all, how nature works. Only under pressure does a piece of coal turn into a diamond.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not true.

"

On One’s Inner World (Blog #552)

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It’s day six working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and last night we stopped rehearsal abruptly when the fog machines set off the fire alarm. And whereas the actors were released early (the stage was FULL of fog), the crew stayed to work on sets and props. My job was to “spruce up” the flower pots used in Oz, one of which is broken in half and turned into a crown for The Lion when he sings If I Were the King of the Forest. This involved hot-glueing some foam around the edges, painting the foam gold, painting the rest green, then re-arranging the flowers and greenery.

Here’s a look at the finished products.

Since “the locals” didn’t have to report until one this afternoon, this morning I got to sleep in–at least a little–until eight-thirty. And weird–just like yesterday, I woke up in THE BEST mood. However, unlike yesterday, my joy has NOT dissipated. Currently it’s six in the evening, and I’m still all grins and giggles.

Go figure.

From ten to noon, I taught a dance lesson at my friend Bonnie’s house for a man and his daughter, who’s getting married this weekend. I imagine this has a lot to do with my good mood. First, dance is such a delightful thing, and it’s wonderful work, helping a dad dance with his daughter. Second, I’m in my element when I’m teaching dance. You know, it’s my thing. It makes me happy.

And it’s ALWAYS GOOD to get paid for doing something you love.

This afternoon at the Alma Performing Arts Center, we ran the show–from start to finish–without stopping. And whereas some of the cast has been practicing in partial costumes, today was the first time everyone was in full costume with full makeup. Oh my gosh, y’all–it was absolute magic. There’s so much talent here, and it’s such a glorious story. Whenever I don’t have sets or props to move, I hide behind one of the curtains and just watch.

Somewhere, over the rainbow, there’s a land that I dreamed of once in a lullaby, where troubles melt like lemon drops…

That rainbow song gets me almost every time. Who hasn’t dreamed of a better place, a better life? I know I have. I do–all the time. The lovely thing is that I’m beginning to think it’s actually possible, that you can have what you dream of, that your entire world can turn on a dime for the better. And yet, I know that I’m already in a better place than I used to be, even though I physically haven’t gotten out of the county I grew up in. Likewise, I have a better life than I used to, even though you wouldn’t guess it if you were to look at the clothes I wear or add up the amount of money I bring home. But on the inside–where it counts–EVERYTHING looks better than it did before.

Joseph Campbell says all the myths and fairy tales are about changes in consciousness. As I’ve said before, this is evidenced in Dorothy’s story–who at first is unable to save her everything, her Toto, from Miss Gulch but later is able to find it within herself to “melt her fears” by dissolving The Wicked Witch of the West. Campbell says, “The hero’s journey always begins with the call. One way or another, a guide must come to say, ‘Look, you’re in Sleepy Land. Wake. Come on a trip. There is a whole aspect of your consciousness, your being, that’s not been touched. So you’re at home here? Well, there’s not enough of you there.’ And so it starts.”

Since I re-read this quote recently, I’ve been fixated on the part that says, “So you’re at home here? Well, there’s not enough of you there.” To me this means that OF COURSE it’s COMFORTABLE to think the same thoughts you’ve always thought and do the same things you’ve always done; OF COURSE it’s UNCOMFORTABLE to change. In my experience, like Dorothy’s, it takes every ounce of your brains, your courage, and your heart to overcome your fears, change your habits and behavior, and transform you inner world. But when you do The Hard Work, what used to be black-and-white transforms to color. It’s that dramatic. And it’s not that the outer world has changed; it’s that YOU have.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

If you’re making yourself up to get someone else’s approval–stop it–because you can’t manipulate anyone into loving you. People either embrace you for who and what you are–or they don’t.

"

On Soaring and Sinking (Blog #551)

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It’s day five working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and I woke up this morning in THE BEST MOOD. I really don’t know what came over me, but I started dancing as soon as I got out of bed, then grooved and shimmied all the way into the kitchen. I even plugged my earphones into my phone and turned up Christopher Cross. It’s all right, I think we’re gonna make it. But then in an effort to spin while moving from the refrigerator to the counter behind me, I dropped an egg on our open dishwasher, and it splattered all over the clean dishes. WHOOPS!

Arriving at the Alma Performing Arts Center, I was THAT GUY–the one who’s smiling and bouncing up and down with joy for no apparent reason. I don’t know–maybe having a routine and working a job that I enjoy is doing me good. Who knows? This was at nine o’clock, and I normally don’t even crack a smile until after noon. But this really has been a wonderful week. I’ve even been looking forward to driving home late at night and seeing my parents. They’ve been feeding me dinner and helping me make sure my paint clothes are clean, ready to go for the next day. As I eat, we talk about our day and catch up on each other’s respective soap operas. I often make self-deprecating remarks about living with my parents, but I think that needs to stop, since I wouldn’t have these positive memories otherwise.

Currently I’m on lunch break, which is only thirty more minutes. (Since I have other business to attend to at dinner, I’m blogging now.) Hum. I might have to finish writing late tonight. We’ll see. Anyway, somewhere during the last four hours, my good mood from this morning seriously dissipated. In its place has come a lot of internal chatter, mumbo-jumbo, and bullshit, which I think has mostly to do with my feeling like a stranger here. To be clear–everyone I’ve encountered–the cast, crew, and volunteers–are kind, considerate, and professional. Still, I don’t really KNOW anyone. At lunch and dinner when everyone else goes off in pairs or groups, I eat alone–just me, an apple and some peanut butter, and my computer.

This isn’t the easiest thing to do, observing–but not participating with–others who are having a good time. Not that people don’t talk to me or include me in things. I’ve certainly had plenty of those moments. But being the new guy isn’t the same as being the old friend or the established relationship. I don’t blame anyone for this situation. I am, after all, temporary help, and it takes time to form bonds. It was set up to be this way, and it’s ALWAYS awkward trying to figure out where you fit in.

Because I think we all–fundamentally–want to fit in.

You always have yourself to come back to.

Sitting down to write helps. I’m glad I’m doing this now instead of later. Because I’m reminded that no matter what kind of day I’m having–one that soars or one that sinks–I always have myself to come back to. As of yesterday, I’ve been doing this blogging thing for 550 days in a row(!), so I have plenty of documented evidence to remind me that people are people (doing the best they can), circumstances change, and emotions cycle through like the seasons. It’s all right, I think we’re gonna make it. Through everything, my job is to take care of me. And I can. I can be gentle and work with whatever arises, whatever shows up to be my teacher today, whatever shows up to bring me back to myself.

[Today’s top photo is from The Wicked Witch’s Chamber. I helped paint it (the bottom part). In this scene, Dorothy asks The Wicked Witch, “How did you get so mean?” The Wicked Witch replies, “Lots and lots of practice.” I imagine this answer also applies to how one becomes kind or gentle with oneself or others. Lots and lots of practice.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

The clearer you see what's going on inside of you, the clearer you see what's going on outside of you. It's that simple.

"

The View from Stage Left (Blog #550)

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Today is day four working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and it’s once again dinner time. This has been an interesting experiment, getting up early (at 7:45) and working all day. Last night we left at 11; I think I finally passed out about 1. Due to this schedule, dinner is really the only time I have to blog. That’s another interesting thing, forcing my brain to pump out a post in about an hour. (Dinner is an hour and a half, and it takes me about twenty to thirty minutes to edit after having written). Anyway, currently I’m sitting backstage, stage left, in the dark at a prop table. I’m surrounded by a butterfly net, a giant hourglass, and the bucket of water Dorothy uses to melt the old witch.

Which old witch? The wicked witch.

Stage Left is where I spent all of last night, this morning, and this afternoon. As of now, everyone here is “running the show,” going scene-by-scene and song-by-song working out lights, sound, choreography, and everything else. As I’m part of the prop team, my job has been to help move sets and props on and off at the appropriate times. I wish you could see what goes on back here. I wish you had the view from stage left. For all the magic that happens on stage, there are dozens of people making it happen backstage. It’s this magical machine that’s planned down to the smallest detail. (For example, pulley ropes, light cues, and pieces of tape that designate where the sets go–called spike marks–are all color-coded.)

My predominant thoughts today–

1. On synchonicity

The universe is real trip sometimes. In yesterday’s blog I casually mentioned feeling like Bob Ross, since I’ve been painting so much. Well, not an hour later, I struck up a conversation with one of the carpenters on the tour and noticed that he was wearing a Bob Ross lanyard! There was Bob’s face hanging around his neck, and the exact quote I’d used written along the lanyard itself. “We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents.”

Crazy.

2. On receiving

In the last few weeks, I’ve blogged twice about the rich symbolism contained within the story of The Wizard of Oz, once in my birthday blog, and most recently here. I won’t go over the whole thing again, but suffice it to say this is a story that clearly speaks to my consciousness, as it’s about finding your voice, facing your worst fears, and becoming self-empowered, and this is a journey I’ve been on (or at least am currently on, since I’m not sure one ever “gets there”). Anyway, I think it’s pretty fantastic that I should end up HERE backstage at THIS SHOW. What a gift to receive. I’m absolutely having the time of my life. Thinking about what all that had to happen to bring me and this show together–well, it nearly brings me to tears.

Here’s a stage view of the Tin Man’s House and the Forest Trees that I helped paint/touch up.

3. On what one witch says to another

There’s a line in the show that I’d forgotten about, but which stopped me in my tracks when I heard it today. Dorothy has just gotten to Oz, and The Wicked Witch of the West is threatening her. Remember–she’s not really upset that her sister is dead, but is QUITE pissed off that Dorothy has taken her sister’s shiny shoes. (It’s always about footwear.) Anyway, Dorothy is shaking in her boots–well, her ruby red slippers–but then Glinda the Good Witch (who represents Dorothy’s guiding consciousness) says, “Be gone! You have no power here.”

Wow, what a powerful lesson. What a beautiful command to remember whenever our fears present themselves to us. “Be gone! You have no power here.”

4. On reaching the emerald city

After a full day of running the show, we’re just to the part where Dorothy and her friends reach The Emerald City. I’m still working the symbology of The Emerald City out, but I would compare it to my therapist’s office in my own tale. It’s where you go for hope. However, it’s also the place where you think someone else is going to solve your problems (like, Dorothy and her friends want The Great Oz to answer all their requests), but later find out that you have to do The Hard Work yourself; you still have to melt your witch (that is, face your shadow) and get yourself back home.

God, it’s such a long journey. So very fucking long and difficult. (I don’t recommend it; watch Netflix instead.) Anyway, when Dorothy and her friends first arrive, The Emerald City Gatekeeper says, “Have you come far?” Yes, of course, they have. We all have. So very fucking far. The Gatekeeper’s response?

“Believe me, every step is worth it.”

Honestly, this has been my experience. THE JOURNEY is tough stuff, but every difficult step is more than worth it. The results are so much better than anything Netflix has to offer. So run away, find your brain, your courage, and your own good heart, and kill your witches. Then get yourself back home, my dear. But know this–no one will believe the journey you’ve been on. (Dorthy’s family didn’t believe her.) No matter, since YOU will know–you’ve transformed. You’re different than you were before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Pressure, it seems, is necessary to positive internal change. After all, lumps of coal don't shine on their own.

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From Forty Feet Away (Blog #549)

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I’m currently backstage at the performing arts center in Alma working with the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. It’s dinnertime. After two full days of thinking, What the hell did I get myself into?, I’m beginning to find my stride. It’s work, of course–my body’s stiff in the all the wrong places–but today has actually been the most fun I’ve had so far. I guess this is because I’m gaining confidence in the tasks I’ve been asked to complete and also getting to know some of the people I’m working with. I keep telling myself, You can talk to strangers, Marcus. Strangers can talk to you.

Despite the fact that I thought I’d be working with props today (and therefore dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a colorful t-shirt), I’ve spent the entire day (the entire fucking day) painting. This is why you shouldn’t let people know you’re good at something–they’ll keep asking you to do it. (Thankfully, I brought paint clothes to change into.) Last night one of the girls and I worked on the trees for the Tin Man’s House, so my job today has been to finish the rest of that set–touch up the bushes in the back, spruce up the grass floor, and completely redo the base. This has been quite the challenge, matching all the colors, but I’m getting better and better at mixing paints together. I feel like Bob Ross.

“We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents.”

Here’s a picture of the base BEFORE I started this morning. Notice that it’s pretty banged up from being on the road.

The base–I’ve been told–is supposed to look like bamboo. (I didn’t get that either.) But apparently in Oz, bamboo is white and shadows are blue. Anyway, in order to make this particular base look like some of the others used in the show, I started with a solid coat of white, sponged on blue all the way around, added blue lines about half an inch or an inch apart (this took forever), sponged on more blue, and finally added some red/brown grass at the bottom. Take a took.

Here’s a picture of the “grass” before. Well, the right side is before. The left side has one coat of sponged-on new green.

Here’s the grass after. I used three–well, I think, five–different greens.

Despite the kinks in my shoulders this project has produced, I really am proud of it. I absolutely adore musical theater–it has such power to positively affect a person–and I love that I’ve gotten to participate from the other side, to play one small part.

When my supervisor saw the completed Tin Man’s House, she said, “Marcus, that–looks–gorgeous!” Someone else said, “That’s the best that thing will ever look.” Of course, I know where all my mistakes are, all the details that could have been “better,” whatever that means. But one of the the construction guys said, “You have to remember that people with cataracts are looking at these sets from forty feet away.” This is a good reminder. Personally, I think it applies not only to musical scenery but also to humans. We’re so tough on ourselves. We pick ourselves apart. We zoom in our bodies and imagine our “flaws” to be bigger than they really are, flaws another might not even see, acknowledge, or care about. From forty, or even four feet away, another might remark, “You–look–gorgeous!”

[Incidentally, I realized on the way to work this morning that yesterday’s blog (#548) officially marked a solid year and a half of blogging. Woowho! And so this journey continues.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can't build a house, much less a life, from the outside-in. Rather, if you want something that's going to last, you have to start on the inside and work your way out, no matter how long it takes and how difficult it is.

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On My Defenses (Blog #548)

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Today is day two working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and it’s currently dinner time. Yesterday evening I worked along with my supervisor painting the wicked witch’s castle and was absolutely rung out when we called it a night at 10:30. I had paint everywhere. Still, the cool thing about working on these pieces is finding out how all the smoke and mirrors work. For instance, despite the fact that the bottom or inside of the witch’s castle is hollow, they make it looks like she melts into the floor. Absolute magic!

Take a look at the almost-finished product. There’s just a little touch up to do.

This morning we unloaded the final semi truck, then hung the backdrops up. This is apparently called a Drop Party. (Drop it like it’s hot.) Here’s something fun–this show uses 6 to 8 painted drop cloths, which I was told can easily cost $10,000 a piece. Think about that the next time you think ticket prices are high. Entertainment this good doesn’t come cheap! Anyway, all the painted cloths are missing a section in one of their bottom corners, a part that’s been deliberately cut out. This is called a Boston Square, since the city of Boston requires that a section of all drop cloths be cut out, sent in, and verified as flame retardant.

This afternoon I worked repairing and touching up two giant trees that are used in Oz. This has been my favorite project so far, as it’s been a lot like repairing and touching up walls–patch the holes, sand them down, cover up the scuff marks. But in this case, since both trees are completely blue, it was just a matter of mixing darks and lights and “swirling” them together with my hands. Y’all, it was like finger painting. So fun. So pretty. That being said, my fingers are a complete mess. I guess the sticky foam I used to patch the holes and the super glue I used to put some of the chipped-off pieces back on also STICK TO HUMAN FLESH. (Mine). So now I look like I murdered a Smurf with my bare hands.

Here’s a picture of me and the tree trunks. The tree tops are currently hidden behind one of the side curtains (which are called “legs”). But I swear–they look gorgeous.

After I finished with the trees, I worked a little more on the witch’s castle, then returned to Dorothy’s house, which was one of my projects yesterday. Y’all, this house is the bane of my existence. One of the boards needed to be replaced, so my job has been to make the new board look like the others. This is almost impossible, since each board is a mixture of–I don’t know–half a dozen paints. And despite the fact that my supervisor keeps calling me an artist, I’m much more comfortable smearing paints with my fingers than I am using a brush to try to make a new board look like an old board. Anyway, I nearly started crying, as my inner perfectionist was really giving me shit about the whole affair. “This isn’t good enough,” he kept saying.

But then, like an angel, my supervisor said, “That looks AWESOME, Marcus. Be done!”

Sometimes we are our own worst critic. And by “sometimes,” I mean, “all the time.”

This last year I’ve blogged several times with my problem/obsession with body odor. The issue started after I’d been on antibiotics, and I’ve tried everything under the sun to clear it up. Well, I really thought I had it tackled. I haven’t noticed it in a solid month. But every time I’ve raised my arms today, I’ve thought, Dear God, is that me?! I don’t know–maybe it’s just normal “man smell” and not what I dealt with before. It’s been such a struggle and point of neurosis for me, I really can’t be objective about it. But it’s still been stressing me out. It’s one thing to be offensive to myself, but I don’t want to be offensive to anyone else. And whereas during this ENTIRE ordeal, no one has avoided me or said anything about it (even my friends with whom I dance), I keep imagining myself as Pig Pen from Charlie Brown, walking around with a cloud of stench about me.

This is me AFTER four years of therapy.

Not last night but the night before, I dreamed that an acquaintance of mine, whom I would describe as a kind, gentle man, was wearing a concealed pistol on his right shoulder. When I woke up, I thought, This has to do with the fact that I’m so defensive, always on guard. Like, I know my inner perfectionist is SUCH A HARD ASS because deep down, I’m really afraid of not being good enough. Perhaps more than that, I’m afraid of making someone mad or angry, even though I can’t remember the last time someone “went off” on me. And I think it’s appropriate that the pistol was on this guy’s right shoulder, as my right shoulder is where I carry A LOT of tension and is the cause–I think–of the headaches I get at least two or three times a week. They’re miserable–exhausting. Being constantly on guard is miserable–exhausting. So I’ve been telling myself I’ve got to get this gun off my shoulder. I can’t keep being so hard on myself. I have to let my defenses down.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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