On Something Good (Blog #753)

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Wow. I’ve spent the last eight hours–except for a few bathroom breaks–on the futon in my family’s spare room, either working on a puzzle, reading, or–now–blogging. I’d intended to only work on the puzzle for an hour, but ended up working on it for–I don’t know–four. You know, I got focused. I kept thinking, One more piece.

While working on the puzzle, I listened to a couple podcasts/interviews about trauma and/or healing. One was with David Bullard and discussed something called “blink-flash” meditation, which involves 1) thinking of a mild to moderate stressful event (anything that makes you cringe to focus on), then 2) thinking of something pleasant (like a walk in the woods or your favorite song) while 3) crossing your arms and alternately tapping your shoulders and blinking your eyes (three blinks per set for several sets).

Sounds crazy, but I tried it, and the anxiety I felt around my original event lessened. (You’re supposed to rate the event on a scale of one to ten before and after the thinking/tapping/blinking part.)

Another podcast/interview I listened to was with Richard C. Schwartz, the founder of Internal Family Systems, a psychological/healing/spiritual approach I’ve been absolutely fascinated by lately. Here’s a link to the interview if you’re interested. IFS proposes that we all have different “parts” of ourselves that are longing to be listened to and understood and that when we do listen to and understand them, they essentially transform from an enemy to a friend. For example, someone’s angry part may just be trying to protect them from getting hurt again. Schwartz says that the ego that many psychological and spiritual disciplines refer to is essentially our parts, specifically our “protective” parts, and that rather than trying to rid ourselves of it, we should find out what it has to say. I’m paraphrasing, but he says, “Jesus welcomed the outcasts in the outer world. I’m asking you to welcome the outcasts in your inner world.”

Earlier this evening I finished reading Explain Pain, a book about how–in the majority of cases–pain is created in our brains (and not just our bodies) as a way to protect us. One of my takeaways from the book is that if you have a particular pain (in your neck, let’s say), it can be useful to notice when it does and doesn’t hurt. For example, if it hurts to turn you head, you might notice that it only hurts to turn your head when you’re sitting up, but not when you’re lying down. Along this line, the book suggests trying to find ways to reach the same position (head turned) without experiencing the associated pain. Like, you could sit in a swivel chair and turn your lower body while holding your head still. Or move your eyes first, then let your head follow (instead of moving them both at once). Or hold your mouth open while you turn your head.

As I understand it, the idea behind these suggestions is that our brains often associate certain movements with certain (painful) outcomes. Maybe you were in a car accident, so it thinks, “It’s not safe to turn my head.” So it creates pain as a protective mechanism. But if you “slip in the back door” and create the same outcome by getting there in a different way, your brain will get the message that “this (end result/position/movement) doesn’t have to hurt.”

Currently it’s 9:20, and I’m overwhelmed by all I’m learning. My brain is mush, like a nice bowl of grits. One the one hand, all this information is exciting. On the other, I’m worried that I “won’t get it” and that “it’ll work for everyone else, but not for me.” Of course, these thoughts are welcome. Also, I’m telling myself something I saw on Facebook recently–I haven’t come this far to only come this far. In other words, everything I’m learning is just another piece of the puzzle, and it’s all adding up to something. What that is, I don’t know exactly. But more and more, I think it’s something good.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Disoriented (Blog #599)

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Last month I blogged about going to court with a friend of mine in the same city where my dad was incarcerated when I was a teenager and about how the experience–um–brought up a lot of stuff for me. Well, that day my friend simply entered a plea–not guilty–with respect to a minor traffic violation, but today was their actual hearing. So this morning my friend and I hopped in their car and headed back toward Forrest City, Arkansas. And whereas my friend was prepared to offer a well-thought-out and reasoned defense, their charges were dropped when the officer who issued their ticket didn’t show up. It was that simple.

We were in and out of the courtroom in less than an hour.

Now I’m back home from the whole affair and ready to go to bed. It’s been a long day. Weird how riding in a car can take it out of you. Still, it’s been a good day. My friend and I had wonderful conversation there and back. I honestly don’t remember the last time I laughed so much. God, that felt good. Plus, we had a delightful lunch–burgers and fries. Yum. The perfect treat to celebrate my friend’s “victory by default,” as they called it.

In addition to road trips being tiring, here’s something else that’s weird–emotions. On our last trip, I was all nervous and jittery. Despite the fact that the situation had nothing to do with me (not my circus, not my monkeys), I was all worked up about the place, the circumstances, and the conflict. I know it’s a result of things that happened in my childhood, but I just don’t do well with authority figures, courtrooms, or the sound of banging gavels. But here’s the weird part–none of that was a problem today. Like, at all. Both on the way down there and while in the courtroom, I kept thinking that I “should be” all a-twitter. Because I always am in these situations. But I wasn’t.

This is something I’ve noticed a few times lately, that things that used to bother me bother me less now or not at all. For example, recently someone I liked blew me off (and not in the good way). And sure it hurt, but it really wasn’t a big deal, not like it usually is. Shortly after that, I got into a conversation about money, a subject that normally makes my butthole pucker, but this time it didn’t; it was just like talking about the weather. Then after that I ran into someone who typically makes my blood boil, but this time my temperature stayed the same. Then there was the thing today–no big reaction.

I’m assuming the fact that my emotions have “down-shifted” is the result of my working through their underlying causes, digging through my childhood and acknowledging feelings I’ve been ignoring for decades. Holy shit, that was overwhelming. That was absolutely terrifying. (My emotions in response: “Thank you for finally admitting it! We’ll be quiet now.”) Plus, there’s a natural confidence that comes when you work to establish good boundaries, speak your truth, own your own shit, and accept all parts of yourself. In my experience, you walk taller. Even when things are at their worst, you think, I can handle this.

Consequently, life gets easier.

All of this is good, of course, not being as afraid and whatever. That being said, it’s also disorienting, and I’d like to be clear that it’s REALLY TEMPTING for me to slip back into familiar emotional habits and patterns. Because it would be much more comfortable, at least much more familiar, for me to worry about money, rant about whomever and whatever, or get nervous in a courtroom. After all, I have vast experience with these things and have come to identify myself with them.

Byron Katie says this is the hardest part about change–we have to give up our identities. It’s the death of the ego, she says, that part of us that constantly identifies, that part of us that thinks, I am the one who’s terrified, I am the one who’s afraid of finances, I am the one who’s nervous in courtrooms. But what if you’re none of those things? What if the real you is something different altogether? That’s the disorienting part about giving up beliefs and response patterns you’ve held for decades, thinking, Well shit, if I’m not the one who’s terrified, then who am I?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s hard to say where a kindness begins or ends.

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My Emotional Oil Can (#547)

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It’s six in the evening, and I’ve been working–like, honest to god working–since eight this morning. Y’all, this is manual labor–for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz–unloading boxes, painting sets, whatever they want (that’s what I do). I didn’t even know this was a thing, working backstage for a touring musical. But apparently this show hires three or four dozen locals wherever they go. I got involved because I have a friend who runs the performing arts center here in Alma, where the show will go on next weekend.

As I understand it, a show will often “load in” the day before or even the day of a performance and “load out” the day after. However, the crew and all their equipment came in a full week early in order to touch up sets and run rehearsals for anyone new on staff. So this is my full-time job for the next ten days, including today. Anywhere from 8 to 12 hours a day, with union-mandated breaks for lunch and dinner. I’m currently on my dinner break–in my car–blogging.

I’ve got an hour to finish writing. And eat something. I should probably eat something.

This morning I helped unload boxes full of god knows what from three semis. I guess the show has four semis, but one isn’t here yet. Then I stood around for a good while doing really not a damn thing. As someone who’s used to being productive every minute of every damn day, this was a challenge for me–to wait. I mean, I’m being paid and WANT to be useful, helpful. But I guess that’s part of the deal–you work when someone asks you to work–which someone did eventually ask me to do. “Can you pick up donuts for everyone?” my friend said.

“Gladly,” I said.

Y’all, I don’t know if this donut thing is going to happen every day, but I personally think god has a sick sense of humor–asking a man who’s trying to lose weight to be the donut runner. Can you believe that I picked up 120 donuts and a dozen bagels for everyone here and didn’t eat a single one of them? Instead, I ate a protein bar.

We’ll see how long my resolve lasts.

At lunch I ran home to grab a change of clothes, as I was assigned to the prop mistress, and she said we’d be painting sets. I think that’s the right term, prop mistress. Regardless, I’m this girl’s bitch, and I’ve even been given an official title–prop head. That means that the other three or four prop people will be my bitches–I think. (I’m trying to not let it go to my head.) Anyway, back to the painting. I thought I gave that up when I quit remodeling houses, but no. I’ve spent the entire afternoon working on Dorothy’s house (that goes through the tornado and lands on the Wicked Witch of the East), the scarecrow’s post/cornfield, and–I think–Aunt Em’s chicken coop.

This process, I hate to admit, has been more stressful than I anticipated. As one of the boards on Dorothy’s house was damaged, I had to start with a blank piece of plywood and mix layer of paint with layer of paint until it looked like old, rickety wood. What’s more, it had to match–or blend–with the rest of the house. Of course, I’ve had to do all this to someone else’s specifications, which has been a humbling lesson for me. I’m so used to being in charge, especially in charge of all my creative endeavors. But today I’ve been the student, “the help.” When critiqued, my ego has hated it. When praised, it’s soared.

Criticism and praise. Two sides of the same coin. Either way, same pay.

It’s fascinating being on this side of a musical, all the little details you’d never think of sitting in your seat watching the show, the lights and cords you never see–the hidden doors and hinges. It all matters. As I’ve agonized over every brush stroke, I’ve thought, The better this is, the more magic it creates for the audience. On the back of the Tin Man’s set, there’s a note that says, “Did you remember the oil can?” This clearly has to do with the show, but I started thinking about the Tin Man and how he represents a person’s heart, and how a person’s heart can freeze up or get rusty if they don’t take care of it with their emotional oil can. Personally, I keep thinking, Am I finding reasons to complain, or to be grateful? Am I taking things personally, or giving grace to others and myself? Am I freezing up, or keeping my heart open?

Am I remembering my emotional oil can?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The truth doesn’t suck.

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there’s plenty of room here (blog #22)

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At this moment, it’s a quarter ’til midnight, and I’m in Wichita, Kansas, which the locals say is “Wichitawesome.” (Isn’t that adorable? I think it’s a lot better than the one my friend Craig came up with for Fort Smith, which is “Fort Smith—It’s okay.”) I drove up earlier today for a Lindy Hop weekend called Sunflower Swing, and it’s going on now. The ballroom has started to thin a bit, but it’s still full, and the sounds of jazz skip across the floor, as do the dancers.

My typical experience watching Lindy Hop dancers is twofold. On one hand, I’m completely inspired by the talent, creativity, and—at the very least—enthusiasm. But if you haven’t met me, I tend to be pretty judgmental, which means I either end up feeling better than every one else, or feeling like everyone else is better than I am. Facebook reminded me today of a quote, I think by Eckhart Tolle, that goes something like, “When you feel better than or less than someone else, that’s your ego.” So my ego is definitely here tonight. I mean, I don’t remember inviting him, but I guess it’s good to know he hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s nothing if not loyal.

On the way here, I stopped in Tulsa to see my friends Gregg and Rita. They’re probably the Lindy Hop friends I’ve known the longest, and two of the coolest. And although they are lovely dancers, that’s not why I love them. Rather, I love them because they love the dance and love other people. Plus, they’re just amazing. Rita used to dance for Disney, and Gregg used to ice skate and teach blind people how to snow ski. And I guess when I dance with them, my ego gets quiet because the joy I feel dancing with my friends is louder than my ego could ever be. Today we even danced in Panera Bread.

It’s like I always have this moment that I’m having right now at dance weekends. I’m having fun, and then my ego pops up out of nowhere, like, HEEEEEEY, I’m over here! And then he starts telling me how great I am (which feels pretty good), and then he sucker punches me and tells me I’m not as perfect as someone else seems to be. (Rude, I know. Total party crasher. Bad form.) And it usually just takes a few hours for me to convince him once again that we’re just fine, it’s only a dance, and he’s welcome to go sit against the wall with the other nerds.

My therapist says I have an abundance issue and that I’m pretty focused on scarcity. (I’m working on it.) Usually this is in the context of money, but she says that if you’re into scarcity, it’s across the board. Like, sometimes I think, Where’s all the sex? (See, scarcity. But really, where is it?) So for the last thirty minutes, I’ve been thinking about this whole ego, comparison, who’s-the-better-dancer bullshit in terms of abundance and scarcity. I’m thinking that I’m approaching the matter as if there’s not enough talent to go around, that if someone else is succeeding or doing well, that somehow diminishes me and my success. (This dance floor’s not big enough for the both of us!)

When I look at it on paper, it sounds kind of ridiculous. (Silly ego.) Still, it’s how I feel–sometimes. My therapist says that when you feel like there’s not enough of something to go around, that’s the time to open up. That’s the time to give–give thanks, give money, give your talents. So during this period of my life when it feels like I don’t have a lot of stuff (did I mention that I sold it all?), or a job, or a plan, or a six-pack, I’ve been trying–trying–to open up to the idea that there is abundance here somewhere. (Hello! Where are you hiding, abundance?)

Well, so far what I’ve come up with is that I have an abundance of time. I don’t have a deadline to move out of my parents’ house. I get to sleep in every day. I get to do whatever the hell I want, whenever I want. And a lot of people aren’t in that situation. So I can give my time to my friends, and I can listen. I also have an abundance of talent. (I used to think this was bragging, but my therapist says it’s just a fact.) As Craig says, I “suffer from doing a number of things well.” So that means that I can give my writing to this blog and to anyone who reads it. I can give my dance knowledge to my students, or kids like the ones at last week’s dance who wanted to learn more. I can help my parents out with odd jobs around the house, like fixing the garage door, since they are unable to do it for themselves.

But back to the dance tonight, which is now over. (My friend Megan, whom I’m staying with, and I left the first venue when it closed, went back to her house, grabbed some food–food always helps–then went to the second venue. And now we’re back at her house where I can use the internet, which means I don’t have to upload this entire blog from my phone. More abundance. There’s internet IN THE AIR.) As I think about it now, there was an abundance of talent tonight, more than enough to go around. And there was an abundance of room, not just room to move around in, but room for every single person, including me, to grow and learn in. And there was room for my ego to show up, and room for us to sort things out. There was room for my mood to improve, dip back down for a while, then pop back up again.

I guess no one comes into this life knowing how to dance, always moving with grace. No, at best we stumble along, often forgetting there’s room for that too.

[Special thanks to my friend Megan for hosting me, taking the two photos of me dancing at the top of this blog, and for the great dances and conversation tonight. Your abundant generosity sent my ego running.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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