Willing (Blog #1070)

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This morning I worked backstage for the national tour of Trolls Live! This isn’t as sexy as it may sound. My first official duty when I got to work? Sweep and mop the stage. Which, by the way, was covered in glitter, which one of the characters (Guy Diamond) farts out his butt. (Sheesh. Fart glitter. Toddler humor.) Anyway, just as I was really getting into the mopping part, a screw came out of my mop handle, and the head fell off. (I hate it when my head falls off.) So I picked up the screw, threw it away, took the mop out to my car, and repaired everything with a spare bolt and nut I found in my toolbox.

Well.

By the time I got back to the stage to finish mopping, a curtain (the main) had been lowered onto the stage. No problem, I thought, I’ll just mop behind it. But first I decided to look in front of the curtain, which is where the mop broke, just incase there was another screw or piece that had fallen out. Someone could step on it, I thought. Alas, one of the crew was behind the curtain, and when they noticed that someone in front of the curtain (me) was ruffling it, they sort-of started freaking out and (albeit gently) reprimanding that person (me again). “Don’t touch the curtain,” they said. “The doors are open. People are coming in.”

Of course, they didn’t know WHY I was touching the curtain. How could they? They didn’t ask for an explanation, and, being on the other side of the curtain and not realizing until “too late” that they were even talking to me, I didn’t offer one. This is an example of the idea that we all live in different worlds. I was living in the “I need to move the curtain to keep someone from getting hurt” world, and they were living in the “that curtain’s delicate and expensive, and the show’s about to start” world. And whereas there was a time I would have thought that their world was right and my world was wrong or vice versa, more and more I don’t see anyone else’s world as better or worse, morally superior or inferior, than mine.

Just different.

This being said, a part of me was still upset by the interaction. My Inner People Pleaser has been “online” for so long that it’s never fun (like, how exciting!) for me to be corrected. Plus, apparently my personality has been intentionally designed to be largely independent and function via an inner mantra that sounds like, “Don’t tell me what to do.” I accept this about myself. Not just because it resonates as true for me, but also because I’m tired of trying to change it. Not that I can’t improve or that I’m always right, but I am who I am. Accordingly, who and what I am IS right–for me.

Getting back to accepting myself in the above situation, years ago I would have fretted for hours, if not days, about what happened, thinking both that I had done something wrong and that–oh no!–someone didn’t like me. After almost six years of therapy, almost three years of daily writing and introspection, and just over a month of EMDR treatments, I’m happy to report that I got over it pretty quickly. My point being that you don’t have to be a slave to your emotional reactions forever. Your inner demons can be tamed and quieted. This being said, I truly believe that our emotional reactions only downshift once they’ve been given permission to speak and once we hear them.

Once we hear ourselves.

In Trolls Live! it’s said that one of the characters won (I think) the fuzziest hair contest in 2016, 2017, and 2019. “What happened in 2018?” one of the other characters says. The answer?

“We don’t talk about 2018.”

Alas, this is how most of us handle the distressing emotions and situations in our lives. We shove them down. Ignore them. Bury them. Cover them up. We don’t talk about IT, whatever IT is. And whereas I understand and am completely and utterly familiar with these strategies, they simply haven’t worked as a permanent and healing solution for me. What has worked? Talking about, feeling, and accepting every scary and uncomfortable whatever. Listening to and learning from my body, feelings, and emotions, however unpleasant or gross that process may be. Looking at IT. Mr. Rogers encouraged, “Feelings are mentionable AND manageable.” When you’re stuck in embarrassment or shame (I did something wrong), it can feel like you’re going to fall apart, to implode. But I can absolutely promise you that regardless of what you’ve buried inside you, you’ve been given an inherent wisdom that knows how to handle its resurrection and transformation.

Several minutes after the “you’re on the wrong side of the curtain” incident, I got excited about the fact that I was having a very ancient emotional reaction. Why? Because it let me know there was a part of me that needed to be heard, that I imagine has been wanting to express itself for quite a long time. That’s been wanting to take the stage and be my teacher. Along these lines, ore and more I’m grateful when someone pushes my buttons. Because they show me where my buttons are located. They show me the parts of myself I’ve been ignoring. (Thankfully, after all this time and trial-and-error–I now know what to do with this invaluable information.) Likewise, I’m even beginning to find gratitude for the pains in my body. Because they too are crying out for attention. And they make me curious. Like, Sweetheart, what’s going on here? What story do you have to tell me? What have I not been willing to hear until now?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of.

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On Creation (Blog #1069)

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This morning I woke up at 4:30 to work backstage for the national tour of Trolls Live! in Fort Smith. Until 7:45 this evening. And whereas it was fun and absolutely magical, Daddy is worn the eff out. Seriously, I’ve said many times before that I’m not cut out for manual labor, and even the personality test I took recently agreed. You’re not meant for nine to five work, it said. So it’s good that tomorrow is the last day working the production. That’s the deal. Today they set up and did one show, then tomorrow they’ll do two shows, pack up, and hit the road.

And I’ll hit the hay.

Today they asked that we not take or post any pictures from backstage (that’s called a boundary), but, y’all, the sets, props, and costumes were stunning. Giant flowers, fluffy grass, velvet curtains, feather boas galore. And everything in every color. No kidding, it was like a box of crayons exploded. And whereas I spent most the day with my mouth open feeling like I was in the middle a cartoon (hello, childhood memories!), for many of the the cast and crew (who have been on the road with this show since October), it seemed to be just another day at work. Ho-hum. This reminded me that we can be surrounded by beauty and mystery and totally lose touch with it. We can look at a sunrise or a loved one and think, Oh, yeah, that old thing. I guess it’s all right.

I don’t recommend this.

Joseph Campbell says you can draw a circle around anything and say, “What is it?” The idea being that everything–without exception–is a mystery. Sometime try this with your hand. Just hold it out and stare at it, without thinking, It’s a hand or It’s an old, wrinkly hand. Just stare at it and see if you’re not struck with wonder. That it’s alive and that it can move. That it exists.

That you exist.

From what I understand, we lose the wonder of things when we label them. Either as objects or adjectives. That is, as soon as you say, “It’s a hand” or “He’s a jerk,” you move away from The Mystery. Of course, we’re all doing this all the time. We make a million assumptions each and every day about what things are. And yet the truth is–and I know this is mind twister–you only think it’s a hand because someone told you it was. (And what if they were wrong?) You only think he’s a jerk because you told he was. (And what if you were wrong?)

Byron Katie says, “Who created the world? You did.” Now, does this mean the person you see in the mirror every day waved a magic wand and made something appear out of nothing? No. At the same time, yes. What I mean is that when you open your eyes every day, the world is there. The Mystery is there. The one in the mirror doesn’t create that. But the one in the mirror does create your experience of the world. By naming it, by labeling it, whatever you want–good or bad, too hot or too cold, terrifying or peaceful, ho-hum or magical.

I suggest magical.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Since one life touches another, we can never really say how far our influence goes. Truly, our story goes on and on in both directions. Truly, we are infinite.

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Beautiful (Blog #930)

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5:30 AM

I wake up, even though my alarm isn’t set to go off until 6:45.

6:45 AM

After lying awake for over an hour, I finally roll out of bed, ready to face the day. Having been sick with a sinus infection for over two weeks, I do a quick assessment of things once I’m vertical. I decide I’m still sick, but things could be a lot worse (a lot worse), especially considering I have to work all day. Last night I prayed for a miracle. Maybe I got a small one. As if there is such a thing.

7:45 AM

I arrive at the Alma Performing Arts Center, ready to be a backstage bitch (local help) for the national tour of Beautiful: The Carole King Musical. Before getting out of the car I have a pep talk with myself. Be ready for anything, Marcus. Try to be helpful. Try to be kind. Above all, be yourself.

12:30 PM

For the last few hours me and dozens of other people have been unloading the semi-trailers, rolling carts and containers every which way through the theater. Some people are assigned to electrical, some to sound. I’m on props, which as far as I can tell is a catch-all group. We lay the Marley on the floor, unpack a grand piano. At 12:30 on the dot we break for lunch (it’s a union thing). I eat a pita bread sandwich, some gluten-free chips, and a date. This is the first date I’ve had in months (ha).

1:25 PM

I have a coughing fit.

1:30 PM

We go back to work.

4:15 PM

Most everyone, including me, is cut for the afternoon. Some of us have to return at 6:15 to work the show. The rest, including me, don’t HAVE to be back until after the show, about 9:30. And whereas I was initially disappointed about not working the full day (because it means less money and less experience), I’m delighted about it now. For one thing, I get to watch the show for free. (Have I mentioned I love a good musical?) For another, not working gives me an opportunity to blog and to rest. And since I have been asking Jesus for over a week now to help me physically get through today, well, far be it from me to NOT see this as an answer to prayer.

Thanks, J.

5:00 PM

I eat supper (my second meal of the day) at home and continue blogging (I started earlier on lunch break). Currently it’s 5:28, and I’m in bed horizontal. I’d really like to get a nap in, since most likely we’ll be packing up the trucks until two in the morning (phew). I keep thinking about how amazing this process is. Four semi-trailers full of costumes, wigs, props, lights, curtains–everything you need for a full-fledged Broadway musical–get unloaded, unpacked, and set up. Then there’s the show. Then everything is torn down, packed back up, and reloaded. All in the same day! As someone who doesn’t typically play well with others (I like to be in charge), it amazes me what a group of dedicated, talented people can accomplish working together.

Talk about beautiful.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t change what happened, but you can change the story you tell yourself about it.

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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 rise above. You can walk on water.

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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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Our world is magical, a mysterious place where everything somehow works together, where nothing and no one is without influence, where all things great and small make a difference.

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