On Slowing Down, Changing Worlds, and Seasons (Blog #1092)

In an interview I listened to yesterday, former head hostage negotiator for the FBI Chris Voss said, “You have to go slow to go fast.” Meaning that in high-stakes or even low-stakes negotiations it pays to pump the brakes, really listen to the other party (rather than simply trying to cram your viewpoint down their throat), and communicate clearly. In dancing we say it like this: take time to do the prep, the setup. Don’t get ahead of the beat. Once I told a couple who was working on a routine for their wedding, “You’re already going too fast now, and I can promise you that you’ll go even faster on your wedding day (because of adrenaline) if you’re not careful.” Well, I was at the wedding, and sure enough they were at least eight eight-counts (sixty-four beats) ahead of the music.

Which means they finished before the song did.

Ugh. Pumping the brakes is such a challenging thing. We live in a fast-food society, and we want what we want when we want it (now). The internet and Amazon Prime haven’t helped things, since they’ve made both information and everything under the sun almost immediately available. Consequently, our natural tendency toward impatience has been encouraged. Perhaps this in one of the silver linings to our current situation with respect to COVID-19. We’re being forced to stay in, slow down (even the internet is dragging because so many people are on it), and wait. For a solution. For our jobs. For toilet paper.

As I’ve thought about the phrase “go slow to go fast” today, I’ve related it to this blog and my personal journey, one of my consistent themes being “slow down, be patient.” Not that I’ve WANTED to slow down, but it’s simply been the only way. To learn all the things I have in therapy, to learn all the things I have through this blog. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The years teach much the days never know.” Amen. This is the way of it. You can’t hurry love, you can’t rush the seasons, and you can’t speed up your own personal transformation. Not that you don’t have any say in how long it will take, since God knows you could drag your feet about it or refuse to do your part, but even when you’re doing everything you know to do, metamorphosis is not going to happen overnight.

Alas, slowing down seems to be the best way to “get there.” This is a message of myofascial release too. It’s not push hard and fast, it’s push gently (sink) and slow. It’s wait for at least five minutes. I know, I know. Who has five minutes? But the good news is that if you do go easy and you do wait, restrictions that have been rock hard for years can melt like butter. This is the “go fast” part. Meaning the best way to get quick, lasting results is to slow the hell down.

It’s counterintuitive, I know. But look at nature. The way a tree grows. The way a baby grows. Life doesn’t get in a hurry. And yet we do. Despite the fact that we ARE life. Three years ago I started this writing project wanting to get somewhere. Recognized or whatever. And boy was I in a mental hurry. But having spent every day since slowly but surely putting down hundreds of thousands of words, thoughts, and ideas and having been changed by the process for the better, I’m convinced “steady as she goes” is the only way. What’s more, now that I’m quickly approaching the end, there’s part of me that wishes I hadn’t been in such a rush in the beginning. That I’d savored The Changing more.

Tonight I started working my way through a free online class about storytelling presented by Khan Academy and the creative team at Pixar. It’s magical. Anyway, one thing the Pixar people talk about is the difference between a character’s wants and needs, two things that are often (and probably should be) at odds with each other. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy WANTS to get back home to Kansas. But what Dorothy NEEDS is to get in touch with her brains, heart, and courage. In other words, Dorothy doesn’t need to get back home to Kansas, she NEEDS to get back home to herself.

And who doesn’t really?

Thinking about the wants and needs in my life, I know that a few years ago I WANTED to move to Texas and start my career as a writer. Alas, the gods had other plans, since what I NEEDED was to first unlock the talents, sensitivities, and powers inside of me that back then lay dormant. In terms of storytelling, what I’ve undergone the last several years would be called “a character arc,” meaning that THROUGH CONFLICT and by OVERCOMING OBSTACLES, I’ve transformed into a better version of myself. Unfortunately, both in storytelling and in life, it appears conflict and obstacles are NECESSARY COMPONENTS for getting us not where we WANT to be, but where we NEED to be.

This sucks, I know.

Naturally, we WANT this transformation to happen quickly. More often than not, we NEED it to happen slowly. (Why, Marcus?) Because every time you change something about yourself (a thought, a belief, a boundary, a perception), you quite literally change the world you’re living in. Not that you leave earth and end up on a different planet, but in effect you do. Because every time you change you end up playing by a different set rules, and that means your interactions, strategies, and results change. So you might as well be living on Mars. Or in Oz. All this to say that world-changing is jarring, so you need time to adjust and get the lay of the land. Okay, I’m single now. All right, I’m not putting up with that crap anymore. Shit, I’m quarantined.

More and more my message to myself and others is, Sweetheart, be patient. Yes, there are mysteries inside you that desperately want to come out. But mysteries are never called out in a flash or forced out through screaming. (Hurry up and heal!) Rather, mysteries are coaxed out by being snuggled up to, by being deeply heard. Sweetheart, what do you have to reveal to me? I’m listening. And do please take your time. This is why we have time. Not so that we can get an answer to our problems lickety split, but so that we can be grown by both our trials and our triumphs, the way a tree is grown by life’s ever-changing seasons.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As taught in the story of the phoenix, a new life doesn't come without the old one first being burned away.

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True (Blog #1091)

Today has been go, go, go. This morning, from a very safe distance, I saw my therapist. Then this afternoon I went for a walk while listening to an interview with Chris Voss, the former lead hostage negotiator for the FBI. About negotiating. Then when I got home I put on some sunscreen and–for the first time this year–mowed my parents’ lawn. And whereas the lawn currently looks great, my face and shoulders do not. Apparently I was a little late on that sunscreen. The sun during my walk did me in. Y’all, I am SO red. So uncomfortable. I want to jump out of my skin. But only from the neck up.

So that’s something.

This evening I listened to another interview (about the opportunities for growth we all have thanks to COVID-19), and now here I am. It’s eleven at night, and–simply put–I’m ready for a break. First, from the day, which has been full of both physical and mental work. (Learning is a brain strain.) Secondly, from this pandemic situation. Seriously, it’s taking its toll on everyone. Sure, we’re at home, but we’re stressed out, tired, worried, fearful. So many generous people are offering online classes for free to keep us entertained and better us, but I for one can’t keep up with all of them. Hell, I couldn’t keep up with all the information in my life before. Who cares if I have a little more time on my hands now? There are only so many hours in the day. And now that spring is here, unless my parents’ grass gets the coronavirus, more and more of my time is about to be spent knocking weeds over.

All this to say that not everything stops during a quarantine. You still have to take care of your lawn (although some people clearly don’t), and you still have to take care of yourself (although some people clearly don’t). Perhaps more than ever, this is THE time to take care of yourself, to really make sure you have the internal foundation required to weather a storm. Because, Buddy, it’s pouring. And whereas you can’t stop the rain, you can do everything in your power to keep it from drenching you. Alas, all too often we stand in the middle of a storm, being soaked through and through, and tell ourselves and our friends, “I’m fine. Really I am. Nothing to see here.”

This morning Facebook reminded me of two quotes I posted on this day several years ago. The first quote, by Cooper Edens said, “If your friends don’t recognize you, throw away your disguises.” Along the same lines, the second quote, by Paul Laurence Dunbar, said (in part), “We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes. This debt we pay to human guile, With torn and bleeding hearts we smile.” With torn and bleeding hearts we smile. How true, how true. Later in the poem Dunbar says, “Let them [the world] only see us, while we wear the mask.”

Standing in the middle of a storm, we say, “I’m fine. Really I am. Nothing to see here.”

Yesterday was my six-year therapy anniversary, my shrink-iversary. So today my therapist and I discussed how  much I’ve grown, how different and better my life is now than it was six years ago. And how different it might have been. “I think you’d still own the dance studio,” she said, “and be surrounded by unhealthy relationships.” Amen. “But I want you to know that for as much as you’ve changed, the person you are today is the person who walked into my office six years ago. I mean, deep down, he was in there. You haven’t become someone new. You’ve simply peeled away the layers that were covering up who you really are.”

In other words, I’ve taken off my mask.

This getting-real process, of course, is a process, and it’s not like I think I’m done, or as authentic as I ever will be. I’ve just made some important strides. And whereas I could talk every day for three years about the specifics of The Path (and have), I believe it starts with getting honest. It starts with admitting to yourself that you’re standing in the middle of a storm getting absolutely drenched and, in fact, you are not fine. Really you’re not. Granted, there’s not an answer in this admission, but there is a relief that comes in letting go of your old story. In letting down your mask, if even for a moment.

This is a scary thing to do, I grant. When you’ve spent decades with walls up, the thought of bringing them down is terrifying. In the interview I listened to today Chris Voss said that when he’s in negotiations with someone and they have their walls up, he says, “Sounds like you don’t trust me yet.” Later he explained, “State the obvious. Tell the truth. It has a profound effect on people.” Amen. Start where you are. I’m scared, I’m nervous, I don’t know what to do. I’m soaked. Whatever.

The truth will set you free.

The last thing my therapist and I discussed today was something I wrote about here several days ago, that part of me is scared to stop this blog next week because it’s been such a good thing for me, because it’s been a healing place for me to meet myself in any given storm. “It’s given me myself back,” I told her, “and I don’t want to lose that.” But she said, “You can’t lose that. It’s inside of you.” Indeed, what I’ve gained from this practice of daily introspection hasn’t come from without, it’s come from within. And I’m convinced it’s been there my entire life, just waiting for me to find it, to find me. What’s more, I’m convinced this is the case for all of us, that there’s a part of us, behind the mask, that is, in a word–

true.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things become ripe when they’re ready.

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