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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No good story ever ends.

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Free (Blog #1086)

Ugh. I’ve spent all day reading, first a book about energy medicine (weird even for me), then a book about quantum physics and healing (fascinating), then a book I’m editing for a client (lacking commas, but that’s why I’m here). All the while our world has been going to hell in a hand basket. Because of COVID-19, many of us are on self- or government-imposed quarantine. This is confining and, therefore, scary (nobody likes to be pinned down; well, some people do, but I digress), but perhaps it’s for the best. A friend of mine in Alabama who has the virus has had a fever for ten days (and plenty of people are dying), so this virus clearly doesn’t fuck around. Drastic times call for drastic measures. Still, it often scares the shit out of me.

Which is a problem because I only have so much toilet paper.

Earlier today a friend of mine who’s both a mom and a therapist posted on Instagram about how to talk your kids about their feelings about, well, let’s face it, the end of the world as we know it. Her suggestion was to use notecards with blanks on them and have your kids fill in the blanks. For example, I FEEL (BLANK), ABOUT (BLANK), BECAUSE (BLANK) could be filled in as: I feel SCARED, about COVID-19, because I THINK I’M GOING TO GET IT. Of course, we as adults can do this too, especially since so many of us have trouble identifying and/or talking about our feelings. Personally, I feel ANXIOUS, about COVID-19, because I DON’T WANT ME OR ANYONE I CARE ABOUT TO SUFFER OR DIE. And because I’M LOSING MY FREEDOM (to go wherever I want when I want, to eat out, to make money like I have been).

Alas, many of our fears are coming true. Businesses are closing. Cities and states are on lockdown. Most people with the virus are getting better, but no small number are dying. As one of my friends just messaged me, it’s like we’re living in The Twilight Zone. And yet, at the same time that so many things are falling apart, people are rising to the occasion, offering online courses for entertainment, education, and morale-boosting for cheap or free. Companies aren’t charging for their services for the next month or the foreseeable future. Churches are offering to bring food to shut-ins. To borrow and bastardize a famous line, it’s the worst of times, it’s the best of times.

I realize “best” may be a stretch.

Pandemics happen.

One thing about this whole pandemic business that’s got me fuzzed up is the fact that it’s happening just as this blog is coming to an end. Not to make a worldwide crisis about me and my little writing project, but I only have eleven more posts left (including this one), and I’d personally like to be talking about other things. And going out to eat after my last post to celebrate three full years of daily writing and introspection. But as my dad said earlier, “Looks like you’ll be celebrating with your family.” (They’re real partiers. Thank God we have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.) Alas, this is the way of it. Shit happens. Pandemics happen. And as for the content on this blog, my goal from the beginning has been to sit down at the keyboard every day, meet myself, and share as honestly as possible about whatever happens to be on my heart and mind. Lately, it’s been the virus. And if it’s the virus for the next ten days, so be it. I’m not going to change my format now.

I’ve talked before about how healing is 1) a non-linear path and 2) messy, and so is a blog like this. What I mean is that although I’ve written every day, every damn day for a damn while now, there have been a lot of peaks and valleys, posts that I’ve considered glorious, posts I’ve considered not so glorious. As I begin to look back on the project as a whole, however, these labels mean less and less. That is, good days and bad days don’t really matter. What matters is this project as a whole and, more importantly, me as a whole, how I’ve grown as a result of sticking to this thing. What matters is the encouragement, support, and information others have taken away as a result of that sticking. The mystics would say it like this–what helps one, helps everyone.

This concept is difficult to understand from a human, mind-only perspective, but I think it’s something we all know intuitively in our hearts. Currently people are getting upset when their neighbors don’t quarantine because they know they’re not just exposing themselves. They’re exposing all of us. So we get that we’re connected. The good news being that we’re not just connected when someone acts foolishly, we’re also connected when someone acts wisely. Meaning that I truly believe that as you work to deal with your shit, heal your past, and connect with and act from your own good heart, somehow the entire world is changed for the better. Not to put any pressure on you (like, the entire world is affected by your actions), but just to remind you that you’re a powerful being. Call it The Butterfly Effect. Just remember that just as a virus can spread around the world, so can a good idea. So can love and healing.

Mother Teresa, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr. understood this. We think of them as extraordinary humans, but in fact they weren’t. Rather, they were simply souls living up to their full potential, souls acting out of the conviction in their hearts rather than out of fear. This is the benefit to going inside and knowing thyself, the benefit to becoming familiar with and expressing yourself, the benefit of The Path. For one thing, you know what’s in your heart. You learn what power it contains. For another, having met even the scariest parts of yourself and your life with compassion, you’ve learned that there isn’t anything to fear. Or at least that there isn’t anything you can’t face and handle. This is what true freedom is about, not whether or not you’re stuck at home under quarantine, but whether or not you’re free in your spirit. Wherever you are. Whatever your circumstances.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can hang on and put everything safely in its place, and then at some point, we’re forced to let go.

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Worth It (Blog #1000!)

Phew. Here we are. Blog #1000. We made it. I made it. Two years, eight months, and twenty-six days ago I began this journey honestly not knowing what I was doing or where I was going. And whereas I’m not sure I know now (does anyone ever know what they’re doing or where they’re going?), I’m nonetheless here with–as of yesterday–892,141 words more than I started with. Granted, not every word or every post has been brilliant. How could it be? And yet all together these words and posts have provided a container, a structure in which something brilliant has happened.

To be clear, I’m not referring to this body of work, this blog, as brilliant. Granted, I’m proud of it, but more and more I don’t have to label it. Recently I’ve watched a couple documentaries about The Sphinx, and one scholar dates it as old as 36,000 years. My point being that over the centuries countless numbers of people have looked upon this sculpture and issued their opinions about it. It’s magnificent, it’s glorious, it’s weird, it’s crap. Whatever. I’m sure those who built it had their thoughts about it too. It’s not good enough; we should probably redo that nose. Meanwhile, the creation itself has existed as it is, quietly knowing that our opinions are powerless to change art. Art, however, is more than capable of changing us if we let it.

This is the brilliant thing I’m referring to, the fact that somewhere in the midst of all these words and posts a glorious, necessary, and humbling transformation has taken place–mine. Now, I know this is a bold claim–look at me, I’m different!–but I’m just stating facts (and I’m not ASKING anyone to look). Even if I were, I could write until I’m blue in the face and not be able to PROVE to another soul that my soul is any different today than it was 1,000 days ago. But it is. Specifically, it has more of a voice in my decisions, my moods, and my relationships. Because I’m more in touch with it. THAT’S what this vessel has provided–a place for me to meet myself. Time and time again it’s given me a space–a virtual therapy office if you will–for me to be my own listening ear, my own compassionate shoulder to cry on, my own caring counselor.

For those of you who have in any way watched, supported, or shared this space and this journey of mine, I am deeply grateful. Truly the path to one’s self is often and by definition a lonely path, and yet–paradoxically–we never walk it completely alone. More and more I’m convinced: both here and “elsewhere,” we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses.

Witnesses who happily cheer us on.

Transformation requires more than a charge card.

Perhaps one of the reasons the path to one’s self (the journey of personal growth, the way of spirituality, the royal road) is lonely is because so much of it is internal (where you are, where God is, and where other people aren’t) and not external (where the world is, where people are, and where stuff is). If it were external, it’d be easy to prove to other people how you’ve changed or transformed. This is how most of the world operates. We get a new car, house, or haircut and think that changes US. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Despite what the advertisers and marketers want us to think, it’s not that easy. Transformation requires more than a charge card. At best our outward changes affect others’ PERCEPTION of us, and–as you know, dear reader–the perception of others is a fickle mistress. One day someone approves of us and what we do, wear, and say, and the next day they don’t.

Where’d their approval go? we think.

Well, in the words of the warden in the movie The Shawshank Redemption, it “up and vanished like a fart in the wind.”

Tonight I concluded Christmas at a dear friend’s house, where we ate dinner, toasted each other, and exchanged gifts and stories. Y’all, more and more I believe that a good story is one of the greatest gifts you can give someone, especially if it makes them laugh, comforts their heart, or challenges them to think in a new way. Well, my friend gave me such a gift tonight. They said they once hosted a large fundraiser, and the band for the event showed up–what’s the phrase?–high as a damn kite. And whereas most the musicians managed fine, the bass player either accidentally or on-purpose kept playing DIFFERENT songs than the rest of the band.

“I think he just didn’t give a shit,” my friend said.

Thankfully, the man (the genius) running the sound board turned off the bass player’s microphone, and no one in the audience ever knew the guy was completely stewed. My friend only knew because the sound technician put a pair of earphones on their head and said, “Hey, get this shit.”

Y’all, this is what this journey I’ve been discussing is about–turning DOWN the external voices in your life and turning UP the internal ones. In the last 1,000 days I’ve referred to these voices as your soul, your spirit, your highest self, your intuition, your guidance, your inner wisdom, your angels, God, the universe, the gods, and–I could go on. And whereas I don’t see all these terms as exactly the same, my point is–I just don’t think we’re alone here. Recently I had a friend comment, “I don’t believe in gods.” Fine. It has never been nor will it ever be my intention on this blog to change anyone else’s opinion about anything, least of all the higher mechanics of the cosmos. Changing someone else is NEVER the point of this work. Again and again and all day long until the cows come home, the point is changing oneself.

Transforming oneself.

Joseph Campbell said, “All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells, are within you.” To me this means exactly that–that the forces we read about aren’t outside but inside us, that if you can’t read about Sisyphus eternally rolling a giant rock up a mountain or Jesus hanging on the cross and put YOURSELF there and thus relate the story to YOUR life, you’ve missed the point. (Every story is about you. What is in all is in one. What is in one is in all.) People externalize their gods, their beliefs. They say, “Jesus loves the little children. God hates fags.” No, they don’t. YOU do. How do I know? You’re the one who said it; you’re the one who did it. This is what personal responsibility and accountability are all about–realizing that you no longer get to blame someone else (God, your neighbor, or a book) for YOUR actions.

This sucks, I know.

There’s an idea in The Bible about not building your house upon the sandy land but rather building your house upon the rock, where, as a children’s song says, “the storms may come and go, but the peace of God you will know.” And whereas I do NOT intend this as preaching or evangelizing, I DO intend it as SYMBOLIZING.

I’ll explain.

Recently I’ve been obsessed with a song by Maren Morris called “The Bones.” It’s my flavor of the week. In essence the song is about a couple’s relationship, the idea being that when two people have a home with a solid foundation they can weather any storm. Getting back to the idea of symbolizing or being able to relate any story, mythology, or wisdom to one’s self, my thought has been that if I–if YOU–have a solid internal foundation, we can confidently navigate the trials and tribulations of life. This is the path I keep talking about, the path therapy and this blog have been such a huge part of for me, the building of an unshakable inner base. Y’all, I wish I could tell you that the right therapist, doctor, doctrine, or god can and will protect you from life’s hurts and heartaches, but alas, this is simply not the case. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is selling you snake oil. What is true, however, is that if you’ve done the inner work and have your priorities straight, you can best any challenge. Granted, life may bring you to your knees (it will), but as Morris says, “the house don’t fall when the bones are good.”

If the last thousand days have taught me anything, it’s that any time you spend building a solid foundation or working on your interior structure is time well spent. Every minute and every hour, as uncomfortable as it may be, is gold. (Did I forget to mention that being born again is unpleasant? Well, it is. Ask any screaming baby.) Likewise, any time you spend searching for, sharing, or living the truth will set you free. Not just sort of, but really. Granted, the truth may turn your world upside down (it will). Things may get worse before they get better (they will). But if a house doesn’t already POSSESS a solid foundation or structure, isn’t it best to tear it down and start from scratch in order to have something stable, something that will last? Don’t you want something real? I’ve spent almost six years in therapy, nearly three years blogging every day, and countless hours self-improving, and I’m telling you–it’s exhausting. But I’m talking about you here. Aren’t you worth all the effort?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one dances completely alone.

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On Internal Versus External Validation (Blog #996)

Last night my throat started tickling, and today I woke up sick. Sinus troubles strike again. Talk about a bummer. I’ve felt like half a bag (but not a full bag) of ass all day. This being said, it’s still been a fun a productive Winter Solstice (the darkest day of the year). This morning I drove my aunt to Oklahoma so she could spend the holidays with her son and grandchildren. Then when I got home, despite my intention to blog and “get it over with” and in an effort to listen to my body, I took a nap. Then I went out to eat with my friends Aaron and Kate and Justin and Ashley (our waiter joined us for the above photo) to celebrate my upcoming 1,000th blog post in a row, which–God willing and the creek don’t rise–will happen on Christmas day.

And no, I didn’t plan that on March 31, 2017, when I made my first post. I’m good at math but not THAT good.

Once I read that any meditation you do consistently for 1,000 days will positively affect your subtle body, your subtle body consisting of your chakras. And whereas I don’t know if this is true (and if it is true it’d be difficult to prove because the changes would be subtle), I do know that almost 1,000 days of blogging has transformed me for the better. This is something I could go on and on about (and have), but suffice it to say that not only has my writing improved (which was the original goal), but so has my relationship with myself (and therefore with others).

Along these lines, one thing my therapist and I have discussed is seeking internal validation versus external validation. With internal validation, you say, “Even if nobody else gets it or cares, I know who I am.” You say, “I’m a damn fine dance teacher and an excellent writer. I’m hot. I’m good in the sack.” Or whatever. You say, “I like myself–warts and all.” Conversely, with external validation, you look to others and their responses to tell you who you are. Depending on whether they praise you, criticize you, laugh at your jokes, or laugh at you, your ego either soars or flops. A look from a total stranger makes you or breaks you. You want everyone else’s approval, and you’ll do anything to get it.

Everyone else’s puppet, one day you’re up, the next day you’re down.

This is one of the biggest positive changes I’ve experienced since starting therapy and this blog–the shift from external validation (from being a people pleaser) to internal validation (to being a me pleaser). Not that it’s all about me, me, me (although, granted, I do have a blog with me in the title), but it is about listening to my internal guidance and the voice of my soul over the opinions of others. This includes the opinions of my family, my friends, my acquaintances, total strangers, pretty boys, and–yes–even my therapist. Of course, I try to listen to what others have to say. Hell, I pay my therapist for her opinions. But ultimately I’m the one who decides what’s best for me because this is my life and I’m the one responsible for it.

Likewise, I’m the one responsible for my happiness. Others are welcome to disagree with my viewpoints and philosophies, tell me I’m a rotten dancer or human being, and tell me to fuck off, Jack. And sure, I might be upset by these things. But give me some time–enough time to write a blog post–and I’ll be fine. Because nobody–but nobody–gets to tell ME how to feel about ME.

Nobody–but nobody–gets to tell YOU how to feel about YOU.

One both subtle and not-so-subtle change that’s occurred over the last 996 days is that more and more external EVENTS aren’t able to tell me how I feel about myself either. What I mean is that I used to feel a lot of pride and self-worth if I looked good, felt good, and had money. On the flip side, I’d feel a lot of shame and embarrassment if I looked not-so-good, felt like a bag of ass, and didn’t have money. When I was sick I’d feel less than, inferior to healthy people, to doctors. When I couldn’t pay for things, to people who could. And not that I don’t have these thoughts anymore, but having made a consistent effort to connect with my own good heart on a regular basis, I now have these thoughts in their proper perspective.

You know how you can hold your hands close to a lightbulb and create a large shadow on the wall? And you know how you can move your hands away from the lightbulb and the shadow will get smaller? This is what I mean by proper perspective. It’s not that the opinions of others, your own health and wellbeing, and your finances don’t make a difference. They do. No one is immune to criticism, it sucks, sucks, sucks to be sick, and groceries don’t buy themselves. Our challenges create shadows on the wall.

How big, however, is up to us.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

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On Bitching and Mitching (Blog #919)

This entire week I’ve been fighting a sinus infection. And whereas things could be worse, I’ve been losing. Last night I went to bed hacking and coughing, and this morning I woke up hacking and coughing. Thankfully, things calmed down once my feet hit the floor and I became vertical. I guess the junk started draining. Draining, that’s what physical activity has been for me this week. Not impossible, but tiring. This morning I helped a friend load a bunch of trash (old furniture and such) onto a trailer to take to the dump. By the time we were finished, I was out of breath.

And starving. Let’s not forget starving, since three weeks ago I stopped eating before noon.

Does anyone feel sorry for me yet? If so, that’s honestly not my intent. I wish I could talk about something besides this plague–the black lung. (You could, Marcus.) I wish I could show up here and write about ten ways I have it all figured out and why I’m happy and healthy (and horny) all day every day. (You could, Marcus.) Well, yes, I could do that. But that wouldn’t be honest. I don’t feel great inside and out every day. For as hard as I work to be inside-and-out healthy, I still have plenty of things than can instantaneously bring me to my knees or, quite frankly, knock me on my ass.

I said a few days go that being sick carries less of a charge for me than it used to. What I meant is that for the longest time my sinus infections left me feeling hopeless. No matter how many doctors I saw and how many traditional treatments and home remedies I tried, the infections simply wouldn’t go away for very long. Then last year I discovered a probiotic (L. sakei) that turned out to be an absolute lifesaver. I had a sinus infection that lasted over three months, and once I got my hands on a product (kimchi) that contained the bacteria (and swabbed the inside of my nostrils with it), the infection went away in two days. “The universe knew you needed a break,” my therapist said.

“Twenty years,” I said, “is that how long it takes for the universe to figure these things out?”

Both when I had my sinus surgery two and a half years ago and when I learned about L. sakei a year and a half ago, I hoped that that would be it. Like, no more sinus infections ever. Alas, this has not been the case. Clearly, I still get them. And blog about them. That being said, they don’t last as long as they used to. They’re not as severe. And whereas I sometimes have to futz around with half a dozen products to find one with the correct, living bacteria, for me it’s still better (and cheaper) than going the traditional route of expensive doctor visits, antibiotics, and steroids.

But back to feeling hopeless. Admittedly, there have been times this week that I’ve been uber frustrated. Like, This bullshit again? But one of the benefits of so much therapy and honestly blogging about both my challenges and triumphs is that I’ve learned how to talk to myself. What I mean is that I’ve learned through daily practice how to not let myself get swept down the rabbit hole of worry and fear. Since I started this blog and especially since I went through about a year of being off-and-on sick, I’ve had a number of people refer to my writing as “bitching.” That’s fine. My point here isn’t to always be upbeat. My point is to be honest, and sometimes I’m honestly in a bitchy mood, especially when my body feels like a warm pile of shit.

All this being said, in addition to writing every one of my blogs, I’ve also read every one of my blogs at least three times, and although I could be wrong in my assessment, I think I make it a pretty distinct point here to 1) be real, 2) search for hope, and 3) find something good in even my worst days. The way I see it, saying, “This sucks, feel sorry for me,” that’s bitching. But saying, “This sucks, let’s hang in there and use this as a way to grow and become a better person,” that’s what I call mitching. That stands for mature bitching.

I just made that up.

My therapist says she’s a huge fan of bitching. “I love whining, whinging, and grousing,” she says. Not just because that’s the profession she’s in, but because it’s fun to vent, to feel sorry for ourselves. Can it wear your friends the fuck out? You’re damn right it can, which is why I suggest doing most of your emotional vomiting to someone who’s getting paid to listen to you. I also suggest that in addition to bitching you do some mitching. That is, start with the honest, ugly truth. Let your inner child throw a fit. This sucks. I hate it. Life’s not fair. I don’t know what to do. Then let your inner adult have the floor; talk yourself into a better place. All is not lost. There’s always help available. Things can change. I can change.

This is what I mean when I say I’ve learned how to talk to myself. For 919 days in a row (including today), I’ve sat down and been brutally honest about what I’m thinking and feeling. At the same time, I’ve been brutally honest about how I’d LIKE to think and feel (in a word, better). After over two years of doing this, it’s not that my bad days and challenges have disappeared. Certainly not. But what has happened is that now I don’t despair so quickly, if at all. When I do, I can get myself from a bad mood to a good mood in fairly short order.

If you want your life to change, you have to change your life.

This afternoon a probiotic I ordered earlier this week to help my sinuses arrived. And whereas I’ve only used it once, I think (I hope, I pray) it’s helping. I’ll know more tomorrow, but I’m not hacking and coughing as much as I was last night at this time. I have more energy. My point is that if you want anything in your life to improve–including your physical, mental, and emotional health–you’re gonna have to work at it again and again and again. Will you need hope and grace along the way? You bet your bottom dollar you will. None of us make it alone. At the same time, no one does our work for us. If you want your life to change, you have to change your life. This takes focused will and intent, determination and discipline, practice and patience.

It sucks, I know, but I promise you’ll like the results.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is better when we're not in control. When we mentally leave room for anything to happen, anything can.

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I’d Rather Feel Good (Blog #771)

The internet (my hot spot) is slow. It just took me thirty minutes to get online, download tonight’s photos, log in to the blog, and get started. And whereas I’ve been tempted to get “oh hell no” frustrated–I’m tired and ready to go to bed–I’ve been forcing myself to remain calm (everybody remain calm). Wayne Dyer used to say, “I want to feel good.” (He doesn’t say that now because he’s dead.) But that’s been my reminder tonight–that I’d rather be patient and feel good than get all worked up and feel bad. Because, let’s face it, getting worked up is a choice. It’s not something you HAVE to do. If it IS something you HAVE to do (if your circumstances dictate your mood), then I’m just going to suggest you’re not as free as you might like to think you are. Likewise, if getting worked up ISN’T something you HAVE to do, then why would you do it?

Hum. Today, like yesterday, was fabulous. This afternoon I went to the gym with my dad and aunt and spent the rest of the day with my nose in a book. Well, until this evening, when I went to my friend Kim’s for dinner. Her family was there, and they grilled out. We had shish-kabobs. Talk about delicious. Then we just sat around and visited. Nothing too deep, nothing life-changing, but delightful. This is something I need more of–good conversation and laughter. At one point Kim mentioned a self-help something for me to to check out, and I said, “I’m up in that stuff CONSTANTLY–don’t make me!” Of course, the truth is I LOVE that stuff. Can’t get enough of it. But I also need a break now and then from all the navel gazing.

Seriously, I’ve got a crick in my neck.

Speaking of navel gazing, this afternoon I got (in the mail) a printed copy of Year Two of Me and My Therapist (this blog). I ordered it online a couple weeks ago from a company in California, and it finally arrived–spiral bound and everything. Oh my gosh, y’all, I felt (and feel) like a proud parent. 600 (300 double sided) pages of my writing, my life. Flipping through it, it doesn’t seem possible. But as I’ve said a hundred times before, anything is possible if you just keep showing up.

I’ve said my goal for this blog is at least a thousand days in a row, and recently I realized that, in light of this, each individual blog equals 10 percent of 10 percent of 10 percent of the whole. That is, 0.1 percent. That’s what tonight’s blog contributes to the grand scheme. And whereas part of me thinks, Geez, that’s nothing, another part of me knows that’s everything. Ten days of 0.1 percent, and that’s 1 whole percent. Ten sets of ten days (100 days), and that’s 10 percent. I won’t keep doing the math (which I’m not entirely sure I have right anyway), but you get the point. Little things add up.

This is something I keep reminding myself. I’ve got in my head to read several books in the near future, and also start some other writing projects. Both tasks intimidate me. Not because I haven’t tackled such things before, but I still worry about getting everything done and done well. So I have to keep telling myself that those projects are really no different than this project. They’re just a matter of showing up and working consistently. A hour here, an hour there. Every day, every damn day, if I feel like being a hard ass about it.

I probably shouldn’t be a hard ass about it.

Because, you know, balance.

Balance is becoming more and more important to me. Not just in terms of my work/social life, but in terms of my mental/emotional life. For example, earlier I was talking about being tempted to get worked up about my slow internet. Before this happened, I was rocking along just fine. I was even-keeled. Had I chosen to get frustrated, it would have thrown off the balance I already had going, and then I would have had to find it again. So rather than go down that road, I just stayed on the one I was already on. The more peaceful road. The everything-is-fine road. The I’d-rather-feel-good road.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one's story should end on the ground."

On Original Goodness (Blog #770)

If I could live today over and over again, I would. This morning I slept in, ate a lovely breakfast (well, three eggs and canned fruit but the coffee was fabulous, well, Folgers), then read a book on my laptop for two hours. (I love reading.) Then I ran an errand and went to the library to sync my online files (the library has fast internet). Then I went to the gym and ran on the treadmill and did my knee exercises. I can definitely see improvement with my knee. It’s getting stronger, less shaky. Then I ate a burrito (well, two), and went to Porch Pickin’.

My friend Kim invited me to Porch Pickin’. She and her neighbors (and some of their friends) have been doing it for years. Every so often they get together–on a porch–and play music. Or just watch. That’s what I did (well, and drank beer). I hung out, listened, and chatted with Kim and her brother, who’s visiting from out-of-town. Granted, it was a LITTLE chilly. Fifty-five degrees. But I had layers.

This was the perfect thing, just the right amount of socialization. I think of myself as an extrovert, but, really, I hug the extrovert/introvert line. I certainly need my alone time. Time to be quiet. Time to reflect. Time for solitude. This blog helps with that. I put in my headphones, pipe in instrumental music, and drown out the rest of the world. More and more, I think it’s necessary for my sanity. It’s simply one of the best ways I have to work things out. To get what’s inside out, or at least sorted through. Obviously, this benefits me. But I think it also benefits those I come in contact with, since it means that I enter into each interaction with less baggage than I would otherwise.

So this is the formula–less baggage for you=less baggage for the world.

When I got home from Porch Pickin’, I ate dinner and caught up with Mom and Dad. Then Dad and I took out the trash, which, again, is something I’m recommend everyone do. Not just your physical trash, but also your mental trash. Your emotional trash. Last night Mom said she imagines most people, when it comes to their personalities, think, This is just who I am. Pick an adjective–nervous, irritable, fussy, nosey, high-strung, stressed-out, angry, frantic, worried, frenetic, mind won’t stop racing. But the truth is that your personality is just something you’ve created “along the way.” It’s like a mask you wear. It’s not who you really are, just like the three layers of clothes I had on tonight aren’t who I really am.

Richard C. Schwartz, the founder of Internal Family Systems, says that underneath our various personality constructs, we all share inherent qualities–curiosity, calmness, confidence, compassion, clarity, courage, creativity, and connectedness. If you’re current mood reflects these eight “c’s,” congratulations. This is who you are. If it doesn’t, welcome to the club. Meaning, there’s still work to do.

What I like about Schwartz’s theory or way of explaining things is that it assumes that these qualities come “built-in.” That is, rather than siding with the Original Sin theory (which says you were born bad, bad, bad to the bone), his theory sides with what some traditions call Original Goodness or Original Blessing. Meaning that a spark of divinity already lives in you. You don’t have to put it there. However, if it gets covered up along the way (by anger, for example, that you might use to keep people at a distance because you’re afraid of being hurt by them), you might need to do some work (The Hard Work) to uncover it.

I think of the things I’ve struggled with most of my life–being afraid, feeling nervous or less-than–and how for years I’ve simply thought, This is as good as it’s going to get. But I really don’t believe that anymore. Because as I’ve continued to work on myself and take my trash out, things have gotten better, on the inside. Now I feel more centered, at peace, at home. Stated simply, this state of being manifests itself as my being more kind toward myself and others. And, along the lines of Original Goodness, it’s not like someone has had to put “more kindness” into me, but rather that “more kindness” has been uncovered. You know how you get out of the shower and look at yourself in a foggy mirror. Everything is distorted. But then you wipe away the junk, and it’s like, Okay, there I am.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Transformation doesn’t have a drive thru window. It takes time to be born again.

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Taller (Blog #761)

Recently I’ve been listening to an audio series by Robert Augustus Masters called Knowing Your Shadow, about how to reconnect and integrate all the parts of yourself that you’ve basically told to go sit in the corner–your anger, your shame, your humiliation. (Pick an emotion, any emotion.) One clue that your shadow is running the show (at least in the moment)? You find yourself reactive. That is, you’re re-acting, acting out again, or responding to a present situation as if it were a past one. For example, recently I made a big deal about losing a puzzle piece. Not because losing a puzzle piece warrants freaking out, but because I’d borrowed the puzzle from a friend and part of me was afraid of making them mad or “getting in trouble.” This, I’m sure, was a part of me that still feels like a child, a part of me that hasn’t grown up yet.

A part of my shadow.

As far as I can tell, our shadows get a bad rap. We think they’re these evil monsters that are going to suddenly take over or cause us to do something we’ll regret later. But that’s not the case. Rather, our shadows are simply the parts of ourselves we’ve dissociated from in some way, most likely because at one time in our lives (our childhoods) we thought we’d be better served without them. For example, if you grew up in a home where anger was either not displayed or conversely displayed without restraint, chances are you’ve put at least part of your anger (which all of us experience) “over there.” The problem with this strategy is that if we leave parts of ourselves in the dark, we end up growing up without their help and assistance–because every part is valuable and has something to offer us. As adults we end up playing without a full deck (and then wonder why we can never seem to win).

Consequently, we end up less whole, not fully ourselves.

One of the exercises in the audio program suggested “reentering” a dream in which you felt fearful or were being chased. I tried this and reentered (imagined) a dream in which I was trying to run away or hide from a man with a gun. (For reference, I associate guns with strength or power.) But this time instead of running, I turned to face him. Then, like the Adam Lambert song, I said, “WHAT do you want from me?” And he said, “STOP RUNNING AWAY FROM ME.” Then he morphed from this shapeless figure into Superman.

The point of this exercise, the takeaway for me, is that one of the parts of myself I’ve banished to shadow-land is my power, my strength. That is, there are a lot of areas of my life where I play small or at the very least feel weak and ineffectual. But as I’ve meditated on this the last two days, I know that’s not who I am at my core–weak. As I told my therapist today (and started crying when I said it), “The truth is that I am totally strong.” Not that I can leap tall buildings in a single bound, but I know that–fundamentally–I’m a force to be reckoned with–stable, solid, and fierce.

Last night I started reading a book by Judith Blackstone about, among other things, our fundamental qualities, the contention being that we all have innate, this-is-the-way-it-is-whether-you-like-it-or-not characteristics. For example, according to the book, we’re all intelligent and we’re all loving. This doesn’t mean your next door neighbor, the guy who drinks thirty beers every Friday night and wakes up on his lawn every Saturday morning half-naked is going to win the Nobel Peace Prize or suddenly turn into Mother Teresa. Simply because you HAVE a quality doesn’t mean you’re in touch with it. But it does mean you can GET in touch with it. That is, nobody has to PUT intelligence in your brain or love in your heart. They’re already there. If you don’t believe me, simply close your eyes and try tuning into your head (for intelligence) or your chest cavity (for love) and see what you find there.

Blackstone says you can likewise tune into your solar plexus to discover your power, another one of your fundamental qualities. She says that when you do, you won’t find this aggressive, ugly thing (a man with a gun), but rather something strong (Superman), like a waterfall.

This morning I saw my therapist, and we discussed all this. Well, except the waterfall part, since I just read that part of the book this afternoon. But we did talk about my shadow and the fact that not only have I disconnected from my sense of power, but that I’ve also, largely, disconnected from my anger. I imagine a lot of people do this. Anger isn’t a socially acceptable emotion, unless, of course, you’re yelling at your nine-year-old soccer player’s referee. (It’s gotta come out somewhere.) Plus, it’s scary. When you really FEEL an emotion like anger, it’s easy to think, I don’t know if I can control this. But my therapist said that as you get more comfortable with your anger, you get more comfortable with your power. Said another way, when you really own all parts of yourself, you can both feel and express strong emotion without flying off the handle. You can stay in control.

One of the scariest things about doing The Hard Work, being in therapy, and trying to welcome all parts of myself has been and is learning that I’m not who I thought I was. What I mean is that most of us grow up telling ourselves these stories. We say, “Oh, I’m shy” or “I never get mad.” We say, “I’ve always been that way.” We say, “That’s just me,” nervous, embarrassed, ashamed, whatever. But when you dig deep, you find out all of those things are just a construct, a facade you created in order to survive and get along in your particular circumstances. When you bring your parts out of the shadows, you find out–What a damn minute, I’m strong and confident. This is who I am. I can speak up. I can stand my ground. And this is good and this is a relief, to find out that you’re anything but weak. But this is also challenging–because now you have to say goodbye to your old self, and now you have to stop apologizing for taking up space in the world, and now you have to stand on your own two feet, taller than were before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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On Dog Crap and Conflama (Blog #756)

It’s ten in the evening, and I’m house sitting for a friend. Periodically their sweet dog comes into the room where I’m glued to my laptop (reading, browsing, downloading, liking), climbs onto the couch with me, and licks my fingers. I mean, she really gives them a good cleaning, gets under my fingernails and everything. How thoughtful. It’s gross and kind of tickles, but I enjoy it. Probably the most affection I’ve had since I don’t know when, and who couldn’t use a little affection in their life?

Or a good hand washing?

I’ve read a number of times that having a dog is good for your health because they introduce new bacteria into your household. That is, they go outside, dig in the dirt, then come back in and spread around all the little critters they’ve picked up. They lick your fingers. My parents’ dog licks my dad’s nose. And whereas it’s like, ick, this is apparently a good thing. From what I understand, bacteria in and on our bodies are responsible for a whole host of beneficial activities, so it’s good to be exposed to a variety of them. Despite most people’s paranoia about “germs.”

So bring on the licking.

Apparently my friend’s dog is too good to pee in her own front yard. Talk about uppity. So the routine is that we go for a walk twice a day, and she pees in OTHER PEOPLE’S front yards. This seems passive aggressive to me, but I’m not getting paid to judge the dog, just to walk the dog. Anyway, despite my bum knee (which really is so much better), I took “the long route” today in order to let my friend’s dog explore a wooded area. This sounds sweet of me, but it wasn’t. I had an ulterior motive. I thought, If the dog craps in the woods, I won’t have to pick it up with a plastic bag. (The crap, not the dog.) So into the woods we went, and I swear to high heaven, that dog spent fifteen minutes eating grass, chasing rabbits, and tinkling on every shrub and patch of mud she could find.

But did she crap? No, no she did not.

I can’t believe I’m talking about this. But seriously, it’s stressful when you take care of other people’s animals. You think, What if something bad happens on my watch? WHAT IF THIS DOG IS CONSTIPATED?! (What then?) So it’s this big relief, um, anytime there’s a big relief. You think, Phew. My work is done here.

Frustrated with the dog’s inability to poop on my command, I led her out of the woods. Two minutes later she stopped on a neighbor’s freshly manicured lawn and did her business. Twice. And whereas I was relieved that she was relieved, I also had to pick it up. (The crap, not the dog.) Fortunately, I’d brought plastic bags (pooper-scoopers) just for this occasion. Good lord. What has the world come to? Human beings are the pinnacle of creation/evolution–we’ve put a man on the moon–and yet we’ve nothing better to do but follow around our little canine friends just waiting for them to take a dump so we can pick it up with these thin little crap sacks? Talk about the royal treatment (for them, not for us). And our four-legged friends aren’t even appreciative. Oh no. They poop in one yard and pee in another, never grateful or even mindful that we’re behind them cleaning up their messes.

Granted, they do lick our fingers.

Lest it sound like I’m bitching (and what would be so wrong with that?), I’d like to be clear–this is part of my current job. Plus, it could be worse–my friend could have a pet horse. Can you imagine taking Mr. Ed for a walk? Hell, I’d need a Glad Bag to clean up the mess.

Now my friend’s dog is asleep, and I’ve been told she’s going to wake me up at six-thirty in the morning to go for another walk. I am not looking forward to this, but again, it’s part of the gig that I’ve agreed to. Plus, I can always take a nap later. I really have no idea what tonight’s blog is “about.” I sort of went on a tangent. That being said, there is this. My friend says they’re a bad dog parent. I guess because their pup still chews on shoes and–I don’t know–won’t crap in their own front yard. Whatever, dogs are dogs. But it does make me think that as humans (the pinnacle of creation/evolution), we often end up leaving messes in other people’s yards, metaphorically speaking, because we haven’t learned to pick up after ourselves.

My therapist says she when she was deep into her own therapeutic work, she didn’t have many friends. (This may still be the case.) But she said that was (and is) okay because she doesn’t have a lot of conflama either. (Conflama is conflict-and-drama, Mom.) In other words, she’s cleaned up her messes (she’s clear that she’s never been a perfect person), and also set boundaries with others (like one of the neighbors today who put a sign in their yard–please keep your dogs off my grass). This has been my experience too. The more I do The Hard Work, the less conflama I have in my life. Looking back, I see that so much of my suffering (anxiety, stress, nervousness, tension, strife) was, well, optional. Now when I see friends and family putting up with people who take advantage of them I think, You know you don’t have to do that. But no one could have convinced me of this truth before I was ready to live it, so I try to keep my mouth shut, pick up my own crap, and not worry about anyone else’s.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Confidence takes what you have and amplifies it. Confidence makes anyone sexy.

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On Rising Again (Blog #749)

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

Come on, lady, I’m gay.

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

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

We’ll see what happens.

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

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

But I digress.

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

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

Patience, my dear.

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.

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