The Stiller You Are (Blog #965)

A few quick things before my dad and I go to the gym and hopefully work off some of the tater-tot casserole we just ate. And yes, tater-tot casserole is a thing. Get thee behind me Satan.

I mean, get thee inside me.

1. On slowing down

Today I lay in bed reading a book I started–I don’t know–in May. I’ve had my nose poked in numerous other books lately (thank God I have a lot of bookmarks), but saw this book last night and got re-interested. Anyway, my original plan was to go to the library this afternoon, but after I started reading this book I decided to stay home. I thought, You don’t always have to be running around. So back to my bed, back to my book I went. What’s the lesson, kids?

Everything else can wait.

2. On silence

Yesterday while I was at the library watching videos, there was a moment when one video ended before the next one started and there was complete silence. Y’all, I nearly flipped out. It was–what’s the word?–unsettling. I guess in today’s world there’s always SOMETHING going on. In my world, there’s always something going IN–tater tots in my mouth, noise in my ears, knowledge in my head. Today I read so much–a hundred and fifty pages of small print–that my eyes started hurting. Y’all, I FINISHED my book, but I kept thinking I needed to read more, to finish ANOTHER BOOk. Now I’m sitting near my window and can hear the rain falling. THIS is what I need, this fundamental reconnection with the basic stillness of life.

3. On knowing thyself

Ever since I started therapy I’ve kept a list of things to talk to my therapist about. And whereas in the beginning I would jot down the list on a piece of paper (or a paint stick that my therapist and I started calling The Paint Stick of Truth) and later throw it away, for the last couple years I’ve kept the list on my computer. (Please don’t hack me; you might see your name.) And whereas I’ve been seeing my therapist for almost six years, we never run out of things to talk about. The list continues to grow.

Often during the last ten minutes of my therapy session I will begin to freak out, like, But there’s stuff on the list we haven’t talked about. This is, of course, the same anxiety I experience when I read only one book a day or look at my bank account–the anxiety of THERE’S NOT ENOUGH (time, information, money). But the truth is–there is. The truth is I’m constantly overwhelmed with time and attention from my therapist, just as I am overwhelmed with information. I’ve probably learned more this year than some of my ancestors learned in a decade. And whereas I’m not to the point I’m willing to say that I’ve been overwhelmed with money, I am willing to say that I’ve seen A LOT of it come and come. So maybe I am overwhelmed with money.

But I’m also overwhelmed with Amazon.

Getting back to my therapy list, I realized today that because I often prioritize my list, it’s become a perfect way for me to know not only WHAT mentally and emotionally drains me, but also HOW MUCH it drains me. Once my therapist said, “If someone or somethings is showing up on your list over and over again, that’s a good sign there’s something wrong.” Her solution? Boundaries, of course. My point being that even if you don’t see a therapist and make a list, it’s important to know what’s under your skin and who’s got your goat. You could even ask your friends, “Is there something I bitch about all the time? What do you think I can’t let go of?” And then stop bitching about it, let go of it. I realize it’s not “that easy,” of course, but I’m saying–start dealing with it. Not just for your benefit, but also for everyone else’s.

The stiller you are, the stiller we are.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s okay to ask for help.

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Slow Your Ass Down (Blog #911)

Twice last night I dreamed that I took a break from work and drove to In and Out Burgers for something to eat. Both times, they weren’t open. The second time, they’d locked up just minutes before I got there. The waiter, a real pimply faced kid with stringy blonde hair, didn’t seem to care that I was starving. “You’ll have to go somewhere else,” he said. “We’re closed.”

This morning I mowed a lawn then came home to eat. Thanks to intermittent fasting, this has been my routine for the last twelve days–wake up, do something for a couple hours, then–after noon–eat. I get this window every day, eight hours, to eat whatever I want within reason, and then the window closes. Currently it’s four-fifteen in the afternoon, which means the window is open. I just ate two handfuls of nuts and an apple, which means I’m still hungry. I’ve been hungry for twelve days straight. I mean, it’s not awful, I just don’t have that I’m-oh-so-satisfied-because-I-just-ate-French-Toast feeling.

But my pants fit, so there’s that.

This afternoon when I got home from mowing I noticed a plate of desserts on our kitchen counter. Our neighbor, who’s a witch with an oven, had just brought them over. “You should try this bundt cake with butterscotch rum icing,” my dad said. “Go ahead. Just dip your finger in it.”

“No,” I said. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

This makes two days in a row that I’ve turned down a dessert that was sitting right in front of my face, just begging to be eaten. What is happening to me? After breakfast I thought, I wonder if I have the willpower (dedication, motivation) to keep this up for an entire year, until I’m 40. Just how bad do I want a rockin’ bod (instead of a rockin’ dad-bod)? What I finally determined was that I had the willpower to stick with things today and that I can worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Will there be exceptions made along this journey? Absolutely. I’m positively determined to not be a perfectionist about this physical transformation. Give me a special occasion, and I’ll tear up a chocolate cake. But I simply can’t believe that a weekday qualifies as a special occasion and expect to reach my goals. It’s why I haven’t made even one exception to writing this blog every day. I know myself too well. If I take a break for a  day, it’ll turn into a week.

Know thyself.

Getting back to the dream I had last night, it obviously had something to do with my diet. Any time I’ve quit cigarettes I dream about smoking, and any time I go on a diet I dream about cheeseburgers and cookies. It’s like my subconscious is saying, “Hey! Where’d all the good stuff go?” This being said, I really think the dream was driving home the idea that I can’t nourish or sustain myself with any sort of “fast food,” anything in-and-out. This applies to food, friendships, ideologies, philosophies, and work. No, it simply takes time to cultivate anything worthwhile, either inside yourself or outside yourself. It takes desire, will, intent, focus, dedication, dedication, and patience.

I know I said dedication twice. It’s really important.

God’s not a fast-mover.

In terms of patience, I think this idea often gets represented in my dreams as waiters in restaurants. That is, wait-ers, people who wait. I hate that this quality is so needed for everything worthwhile–skills we learn and develop, relationships we cultivate, diets we go on. I hate it, hate it, hate it as much as you do. And yet it’s simply the way of things. God’s not a fast-mover. It takes an entire year (by definition) for the earth to travel around the sun. It takes about ninety days for the seasons to change. But you think you can change faster? Bitch, please. Slow your ass down. Take a deep breath. Do The Hard Work. Wait. The universe isn’t in a hurry.

You don’t have to be either.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We all need to feel alive.

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