This Is Where the Roots Grow (Blog #730!)

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It’s ten-thirty in the morning, and I’ve been awake and functional for an entire hour. Last night I dreamed that I’d stolen two piano keyboards from a warehouse and stashed them in the back of my car. Then I got stopped by the police, and an old lady kept trying to take my picture. The flash on the camera made my eyes squint. I was worried about being seen with the stolen goods, which had just been found by the cops. They’d opened my back door. The old lady was a distraction. Then I was walking back to the warehouse with the keyboards’ rightful owners, who were intent on proving the keyboards matched their other equipment and, therefore, belonged to them. I remember thinking, I hope I don’t get discovered. And yet I didn’t run away; I continued to walk.

Wow. Today’s blog is #730, which means that as soon as I hit “publish,” I will have completed two full years of daily blogging (365 x 2=730). I can’t tell you what this accomplishment means to me. As I type these words, I have tears in my eyes. Overwhelmed with pride, joy, and even grief, I’m at a loss for how to fully express what I’m feeling. I did it.

Recently I heard Dustin Hoffman say that actors should always be working. Not that they should always be in front of a camera or in a play or movie, but that they should always be working on their craft. “Read a famous play, watch a classic movie,” he said. (I’m paraphrasing.) “Pay attention. Go to the mall and observe people. Find out about the world around you.” I can’t tell you how much I adore this advice. When I started this blog two years ago, I was giving myself a lot of shit for living with my parents and not having a “real” job. Many times I’ve said that I haven’t been working. But the truth is that I have been working. I haven’t always been getting paid for my work, but for the last 730 days I’ve put my butt in a chair and worked on my craft. For thousands of hours. And when I haven’t been at the keyboard, I’ve been reading–learning about writing, psychology, and more. Plus, I’ve been paying attention to other people, my relationships, and how life works. For a writer, this is invaluable.

A tree’s roots are under the ground.

I’m not saying this to brag. Look! I’ve been using my brain! Rather, I’m saying this as an honest acknowledgment. From blog #1 I’ve said I needed to soften up on myself. That is, I’ve spent the majority of my thirty-eight years on this earth beating myself up and thinking that not only am I not good enough, but also that I don’t know enough, don’t work enough. But I’m tired of this way of thinking. For one thing, it doesn’t feel good. For another, it’s not true. I work my ass off. Just because you can’t always see it–in the form of a paycheck or completed novel, for example–doesn’t mean it’s not there. A tree’s roots are under the ground.

The last time I talked to my therapist about my thought that my life isn’t happening fast enough, she encouraged me to trust the universe’s timing. “I used to think that I needed a better job or more money,” she said, “but looking back I can see that I wouldn’t have been ready for those things at the time. So you have to ask yourself, ‘Am I really ready for something else, or am I still being prepared for it?'” Ugh. Preparation. That’s what I think this period in my life is. Growing roots. Hoffman says one of his favorite experiences in the world of entertainment involved–early on–directing a play in Fargo, North Dakota. Though it wasn’t anything big by the world’s standards, it turned out to be invaluable for what would come later. Again, the work that was important was the work that nobody saw.

Since today is the last blog of Year Two of Me and My Therapist, it feels like both this post and the day itself should be big, something grand. And whereas I imagine parts of it will be, the truth is that this post and the rest of the day will have their hits and misses. Words and moments that I think are fabulous, others will rush right over. Things I’d cut out in a heartbeat–what, this old thing?–others will cling to. After all, we each have our own set of glasses through which we see the world. Even if you wanted to, you can’t exchange your pair for another’s. I do think, however, that you can change your own pair of glasses, that you can begin to see the world, and even yourself, differently. Not in a flash, but over time. Unfortunately, that’s the only reliable way I’ve found to competently do anything–learn to dance, learn to write, or change you perceptions (which really means changing yourself). It’s simply a law of nature–strong roots don’t grow overnight.

Another thing Hoffman said is that even with all his talent, experience, and success, part of him always feels like an imposter. That he spent so many years being rejected, being interrupted mid-audition and told, “Thank you, next!” that he’s sure every film will be his last. Like, They finally figured it out–I’m a fraud. That’s what I think my dream was about last night, my feeling like other people are talented but that I’m not, that somehow I’ve stolen something that rightfully belongs to somebody else. The good news, I think, is that this perception is changing, indicated in the dream by the old woman (my old ideas) taking my picture (the way I see things). Plus, despite my fear in the dream–I hope I don’t get discovered–I continued to walk. In waking life, I continue to write because I DO want to be discovered. I imagine every artist does. But more than wanting or needing outside recognition, I know I must first have my own recognition. Regardless of what anyone else says or thinks, I have to believe in myself and what I’m doing here.

More and more, I do.

You can weather any storm.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The years teach much that the days never know.” Amen. In two years of daily writing, I’ve learned that something magical happens between the words, between the lines, between each time I hit “publish.” This is the part that no one sees. This is where the roots grows. Try as I might, I’ll never be able to describe this experience to anyone else who hasn’t lived it for themselves, how a practice like this can transform you. But when you’ve changed, you know it. Personally, I know what it feels like to be grounded, to grow steady in yourself. I know what it feels like to know–deep down–that you can weather any storm. There’s this inner confidence. You think, I am not a fraud. Strong roots produce strong trees.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love stands at the front door and says, “You don’t have to change a thing about yourself to come inside.”

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You Know, a Guy Could Take This (Blog #505)

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Twenty days ago, while I was in San Francisco for a dance event, I received a ticket (from a meter maid!) for parking on a steep hill and NOT turning my wheels toward the curb. Talk about a serious drag. I didn’t know a person was supposed to do this. Anyway, when I talked to a friend of mine who’s a policeman in San Francisco, they said, “Might I suggest a good old-fashioned protest?” Well, sure enough, there’s a website listed on the back of a ticket, in case someone wants to put up a fuss. So, in light of the fact that the ticket is sixty-nine frickin’ dollars, that’s exactly what I did this morning.

I resisted.

Unfortunately, I was limited to 1,000 characters, so I couldn’t be as “flowery” as I wanted to be with my words. Still, here’s what I said:

Hello. My name is Marcus Coker, and I recently visited SF for the first time (in order to attend a swing dance event). The event housed me with a local, on 14th Avenue. Of course, parking was a challenge, but I “finally” found a spot after 45 minutes of circling the neighborhood. You can imagine my relief. There was a sign about not parking on certain street-cleaning days, but otherwise–I thought–I was good. (Phew.) Alas, when I went to check on my vehicle the next day (a friend who is a policeman said vehicle break-ins were common in SF), I’d received a $69 dollar ticket for “parking on grades,” a term that I had to Google and means I didn’t turn my wheels toward the curb. Ugh. This really put a damper on my weekend, especially since I had no idea about your city’s policy. After all, it wasn’t posted, and, being from the flatlands of the south, I never park on hills. As I immediately corrected the problem, I ask that you forgive this incident. Please have mercy. Regards, Marcus

Then, when the website asked if I had any supporting documents, I uploaded this PDF: SF_ParkingProtest

So we’ll see what happens. At the very least, I figure I’ve bought myself some more time. This morning when I saw the ticket in my to-do pile, I freaked out. First, either the protest or the payment is due tomorrow, and that triggered my “not enough time” response. Second, the fact that this is an “authority issue,” made my butt pucker. But then I thought, You can do this, Marcus, and sat down and got to work. In no time, I was simply doing my thing–writing. Plus, I was trying to have a good time. So much of my past has been filled with my being nervous, afraid, and terrified about things that really amount to nothing. A parking ticket. A meter maid. But–regardless of how it turns out–this protest was actually fun for me.

So that’s something.

Yesterday I attended a memorial service for my friend and local artist Ralph Irwin. I wrote about Ralph in detail here (in my most highly read article), so I won’t go into great detail about him here. However, I was reminded yesterday what a profound impact one person can have on another. Honestly, although I worked two doors down from him when I had my dance studio, I didn’t spend that much time with Ralph. We only had a handful of heart-to-hearts. That being said, they were enough. Ralph left his mark on me.

One of the things that was mentioned at the memorial service was that Ralph would often take some odd, discarded object, hold it up to the light, squint, and say, “You know, a guy could take this and–.” Then Ralph would proceed into a barrage of wild ideas and creative possibilities. This was my experience with him. Once he told me, “Some people might look at a rusty old door and think of it as trash. But an artist would look at it and see possibility, something you could paint or hang on a wall or use for something else entirely.”

Possibility. If nothing else, Ralph taught me that there’s an infinite number of ways to see the world. What’s more, there’s an infinite number of ways to make your world more beautiful. But it all starts with how you see things. Do you look at the objects and people in your life–do you look at yourself–as trash? Or do you see something beautiful there? Personally, I think Ralph saw people the way he saw objects–full of potential. At least that’s how I think he saw me. I’m not sure he ever said it directly, but he took time to help me flesh out ideas and show me new ways of looking at things. He encouraged me (and I know he did this for countless others).

Of course, it’s no small thing to be encouraged.

There was something said yesterday about how Ralph felt like he didn’t get enough done. The man was teeming with creative ideas and projects, and although many of them were completed during his seventy-six years on earth, many of them were not. I get this–I love completion. But as an artist and creative, I think this is a good “problem” to have–to wake up every day with a million ideas, to see possibility everywhere you look, to not get locked into one way of seeing a situation. This is where I see progress in my own life. Five years ago I would have gotten a traffic ticket, and it would have been “awful” from start to finish. But whereas facts are facts–I got a parking ticket–I can choose how I look at the facts. I can paint them up and put a frame around them that I like and that’s fun for me. I can choose how I respond.

I can hold my problems up to The Light.

I can squint my eyes.

I can see the world differently.

Yes–

It’s more beautiful now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is never a straight line.

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We All Have Elephants (Blog #361)

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This morning I woke up in Tulsa, Oklahoma, at my aunt’s house. In no real hurry to get back to Arkansas, I spent a couple hours reading a book I bought this last Saturday, which, by the way, was the four-year anniversary of the first day I saw my therapist. Talk about a wild ride.

The book I read, The Magician’s Elephant by Kate DiCamillo, is about an orphan boy who is searching for his long-lost sister, whom a fortune teller predicts he will find by following an elephant. Said elephant literally magically appears in the boy’s town when a stage magician tries to produce a bouquet of flowers and produces the elephant instead. (Everyone, including the magician, was amazed–except for the lady whom the elephant landed one when he apparated. To put it mildly, she had a very bad day.) I believe the book was intended for children or young adults, but I personally found it delightful.

Toward the end of the story (spoiler alert), there is talk about making the elephant disappear, sending it back to wherever it came from (probably Albuquerque), which the magician says he cannot do. However, the narrator of the story says, “If the world held magic powerful enough to make the elephant appear, then there must exist, too, magic in equal measure, magic powerful enough to undo what had been done. There must be magic that could send the elephant home.”

This is something I’ve been chewing on today, something that speaks to my soul. So many things in my life historically and recently have felt like these giant, unsolvable problems, like elephants that show up in my living room and refuse to leave. (Hey, get your dirty feet off my coffee table!) As an example, four years ago I couldn’t see my way out of a bad (really bad) relationship. God, things were such a mess, I didn’t even realize what a mess they were. It was like I was drowning and didn’t know it. But stumbling across my kick-ass therapist, I lucked out. The universe threw me a lifeline.

Also, I don’t mind saying, it’s been a long journey to shore.

Sometimes when I tell people I’ve been in therapy for four years, I imagine them thinking, You must be really fucked up. Maybe they aren’t actually thinking that, but if they are, I honestly don’t believe I deal with issues that are all that different from anyone else’s. We all have relationship problems, family problems, work problems. We all have elephants. In my case, I know that a big reason I had relationship problems is BECAUSE I had other (childhood) issues that hadn’t been properly addressed. (For one, I’d never learned about boundaries and wouldn’t have known a boundary if it’d hit me in the face.) My point is–it’s taken some time, but my therapist and I have dealt with every all of my “elephants in the room.” With hard work, courage, and what my therapist calls “sitting in truth,” we’ve effectively made all my elephants disappear. At the very least, we’ve shrunk them down to a manageable size.

The universe is full of big answers.

As I look back at the last year and this blog, it’s been a lot of ups and downs. Based on how I’m feeling this very moment (worn out and tired), it’s been A LOT of downs. Feeling well or normal has been a struggle, believing that I’ll be back on my feet physically and financially has been a struggle. But surely these are just elephants too, and surely all is never lost. For me, it’s important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad your circumstances, they can and will turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe is full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

[Thanks again to my friend Frank for the High School Musical calendar. I hung it on my wall as soon as I got home today! Talk about daily inspiration.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Answers come built-in. There are no "just problems."

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Finding True North (Blog #55)

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This evening I went for a walk and ran into my friend Ralph. Ralph’s a local artist, and his work is all over Fort Smith. If you live here, you’ve probably seen it. The huge mural at the entrance of Mercy Hospital–that’s Ralph’s work. The signs for St. Luke’s Lutheran Church and Hannah Oil and Gas–those are Ralph’s work. The sundial on the campus of the University of Arkansas Fort Smith–again–Ralph’s work, as are the marble floor depicting the inner workings of a motor in the Baldor Building and the glass sculptures that hang from the ceiling in the Health Sciences Building. The list goes on.

Six years ago, when I first started working for Do South Magazine in Fort Smith and was published for the very first time, my first article was about Ralph. He’s one of those people who never fails to inspire. He’s worked in the creative arts for so long, he’s become this fountain of knowledge and ideas that never seems to stop flowing. Plus, he has a terrific sense of humor and looks like Santa Claus. What’s not to love? Lucky for me, he lives right around the corner from my parents.

As Ralph and I were catching up tonight, I told him that I was in a transitional period in my life. He said that sometimes you have to “get off the merry-go-round,” step back, and take another look at things. I told him I thought that was the perfect phrase, get off the merry-go-round. Ralph said, “Yeah, I mean, we’re all on one.” (Right?) He said that as an artist, it’s easy to get stuck, so you have to seek out new perspectives, maybe take the painting (or life) you’re working on and turn it upside down.

I told Ralph that I recently made a special trip to the university campus to look at the sundial he made. Sundials, and the fact that most of them have a saying related to time on them, are talked about in the S-Town Podcast, so I wanted to check one out. Ralph said that although several things on the campus faced magnetic north, the sundial was the only thing that faced true north. (I’m not ashamed to say that I just had to Google the difference. And if you don’t know either, true north refers to the imaginary line that stretches into the sky and represents the earth’s axis, that center the earth revolves around. Magnetic north is the thing your compass points to.) Ralph said that in order for sundials to work, they have to face true north, not magnetic north. He also said that the sundial at the university weighs six thousand pounds and has a time capsule inside of it.

How cool is that?

I know that things haven’t always been easy for Ralph. Making a living as an artist in Fort Smith, Arkansas, is, I’m sure, challenging at times. But somehow Ralph has managed to do something he loves and make it work, and the community is better and more beautiful because of it. Ralph said that sometimes you wonder if people notice, but they do. And even when they don’t, I think, the true artist continues.

Ralph said that when the day’s over, you want to be able to say to yourself, “Today was a good day. I did something that brought me joy.” So it’s worth it, he said, to find your true north.

As Ralph and I said goodbye and I went back to my walk, I started thinking about how cool it was to run into him, about the fact that it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to the bathroom one more time before I left the house. And it’s not like I was having a terrible day and Ralph turned it around, but sometimes my therapist says that the universe sends us signals, little incidents that let us know we’re on the right path. Personally, I know that lately it’s felt like I’m walking around blindfolded, so it helps me to think of happy accidents like running into Ralph as God’s way of saying, “You’re getting warmer. Keep doing what you love.”

We all have inner wisdom. We all have our true north.

There’s a principle in talk therapy that a therapist’s job isn’t necessarily to dole out advice. Rather, they provide a quiet and safe place for the client to talk and, maybe for the first time, actually hear themselves. I guess the idea is that we all have inner wisdom. We all know what’s best for us. We all have our true north. But oftentimes our lives are so hectic, so chaotic, and so loud, that we can’t hear ourselves, and it’s easy to step off the path. But therapy can be a way to return, a step in the right direction. Likewise, so can meditation or art, anything that invites getting still, stepping back, and seeing things in a new way.

Personally, I think my therapist has been like a sundial for me. When things have been really hard, when I’ve called her on the phone crying, she’s said, “I’m your rock.” And it’s not that she’s perfect. She’d be the first to say she’s not. But, like a sundial, she’s lined up and she’s solid. She’s not going anywhere. And whereas she’s not going to get caught up in my drama, she is going to show compassion, and she is going to reflect the truth back to me.

Most of this evening, I’ve been thinking that my talk with Ralph was mostly about creativity, about how I recently got off the merry-go-round that’s been my life for over ten years and now I’m taking a new look at things. But as I think about it in this moment, I think I started getting off the merry-go-round a few years ago when I started therapy. Since then, there’s been consistently less drama in my life, and my perspective has changed dramatically. Truly, like one of Ralph’s paintings, my life has been turned upside down in the best way. Everything looks different than it did before.

Of course, my therapist gets a ton of the credit, but I think my progress has been largely the result of becoming more authentic. When you’re trying to be authentic, the path you’re on is the right one because being authentic is the path. Being authentic is true north. Line yourself up with that. And sure, there will be times when the sun shines brightly upon your face, and others when the seasons will change and you’ll be left in the shadows. But guaranteed, you’ll be facing the right direction, and that’s what matters. And there you will stand off the merry-go-round–like a sundial that is steady and strong–giving no more thought to a sun’s setting than to its rising. After all, that is the way of all time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whereas I've always pictured patience as a sweet, smiling, long-haired lady in a white dress, I'm coming to see her as a frumpy, worn-out old broad with three chins. You know--sturdy--someone who's been through the ringer and lived to tell about it.

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