The Stuff Movies Are Made of (Blog #1076)

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Currently it’s 9:30 in the morning. I know. It’s early. I just did this (blogged) less than twelve hours ago. But I have a full day today. In a few hours, I’m going to see my myofascial release wizard. Then I’m going to see my therapist. Then I’m going to see a show and have dinner with a friend. (Going, going, going.) At some point, I need to take a shower. Yeah, that’d be nice. Not necessary, mind you, but nice. Anyway, so I’m blogging now. Part of me has nothing to say. Part of me has everything to say.

This is the way of it.

With the end of the blog, or at least the end of my blogging daily, quickly approaching (three weeks from today I’ll wake up relieved, terrified, and grateful, and it’ll all be over), lately I’ve been (even more) introspective. Although many days I’ve wanted to throw my laptop into the fires of Mordor, this entire project has been such a good thing for me that I often wonder what I’ll do without out. My Inner Perfectionist wants it to be Right, completed by The Last Day. Since this entire project has, at its core, really been a means for me to come, meet, understand, accept, like, and love myself, this means that my Inner Perfectionist wants me to be Right, completed by The Last Day. He wants me to be whole, healed, happy, and healthy (in every way), um, three weeks from now, and to have said everything I have to say about it.

This, of course, is a ludicrous notion.

That guy.

Twenty minutes ago I walked into our “plants and puzzles” room to take today’s selfie and noticed and reflected upon a puzzle I started, I don’t know, a few months ago, a Van Gogh, something I only work on every so often, when the mood strikes. Anyway, I realized that I was getting close to done. Only a handful of rows on the bottom need to be filled in. One or two more concentrated “putting together” sessions, and that’ll be it for that puzzle. It’ll be back in the box or up on the wall, and on to the next mystery. So are the days of our lives. We finish puzzles and projects, books and blogs, but we ourselves are never finished. Until the day we die, we’re a work in progress. On the one hand, there’s nothing to say about it. We are what we are in this moment. On the other hand, there’s everything to say about it. We contain multitudes.

Something I’ve long believed and have experienced lately through EMDR and myofascial release is that our bodies forget nothing. “You may have repressed [ignored] or suppressed [relegated to your unconscious] part of your life, but your body has remembered it all,” my EMDR therapist says. More and more I’m struck by the wonder of this and have started thinking of the individual events and interactions in our lives, especially our dramas and traumas, like play-at-home movies that can’t be fast-forwarded or ejected until they’e completely played out. Meaning that when we repress or suppress a reaction or emotion, we’re not hitting the stop button (there is no stop button). At best, we’re hitting the pause button.

For me, therapy, this blog, EMDR, myofascial release, and a number of other therapies have allowed many of the old movies of my life to finally play out. And be over. This often has involved a cathartic release of emotions (anger, sadness, frustration, disgust, joy), emotions that got (literally) frozen in my cell tissue God knows when. (My body knows when.) Along these lines, myofascial release sometimes refers to this letting go process as “thawing,” especially when the body shakes or tremors.

I used to read about all this stuff, the way our bodies store our emotions and memories in our fascia, and think it sounded real good. Like, isn’t that nice? Alas, having experienced it, I don’t mind saying it’s real gross. Helpful, healing, but gross. All this to say that I wish it weren’t true. Not for me, and not for you. And yet it seems to be the way of it for all of us, the way we were designed to be and function but weren’t told about when we were younger by our families, teachers, preachers, and doctors. (My Inner Conspiracy Theorist added that last part.) Chances are, they didn’t know either.

Yesterday I blogged about how miraculous our bodies are and how more and more I’m learning to trust mine. Caroline Myss says that she doesn’t see so many pounds of flesh when she sees someone’s body. Rather, she sees “an energy system,” a system of power. And whereas as a former medical intuitive Caroline can sense and “just know” where someone is sick or losing power in their body (and why), I can’t. I am, however, really starting to get the concept that, consciously or unconsciously, how each of us organizes our energy system/body in a particular fashion. We put this event on pause. We play that event over and over and over again. We never finish that puzzle. Even though we could.

More and more this is my advice to myself and anyone else: hit the play button on your past and let it finally be over. Unfreeze your body and your life. Finish as many of your puzzles as possible. The inside kind, not the outside kind. Not by running away from yourself, but my running toward yourself. Really, that’s what this blog has given, and what it will continue to give me even after I write The Last Word, a connection to myself and my inner wisdom. It’s given me a knowing that I’ve come equipped with everything I need for this journey. That I don’t have to look out there to find it; it’s all in here. I realize this sounds too good to be true, the stuff movies are made of. And yet it is true, the way of it. You are a wonder.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing is set in stone here.

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On Changing Toothpastes (Blog #936)

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Earlier this year I got patch tested by my dermatologist and found out my skin is sensitive to, among other things, peppermint and cinnamon. Well, I freaked out. I changed soaps, shampoos, conditioners. I even threw out my mint-flavored dental floss and toothpaste. That was the toughie. Do y’all know how hard it is to find dental care products that don’t contain mint? Granted, mint and peppermint are not the same thing, but again, I was freaking out, going overboard like I’m wont to do. (No, not you, Marcus.) Plus, the dermatologist gave me an app (an application, not an appetizer) that said flavoring in general was a no-no.

Fortunately, the app helped me find products that work for my skin. My hairdresser and I aren’t thrilled with my new free-and-clear shampoo (it doesn’t bubble), but my skin’s not breaking out anymore, so there’s that. Anyway, my point is I thought I had all this figured out. But today when I got my teeth cleaned, I found out otherwise.

I’ll explain.

After spending an hour brushing, scrubbing, and scraping my teeth, my hygienist asked if I was still using an electric toothbrush. “Yes,” I said. “Well,” she said, “you may want to start brushing with baking soda and peroxide occasionally because we need something that’s more abrasive. Whatever you’ve been using isn’t tackling your stains.” That’s when I told her I’d been using some hippy-dippy shit for several months because of my skin sensitivities. “I’m fine with hippy-dippy shit if it’s getting the job done,” she said, “but your stuff isn’t cutting the mustard.”

“Well, I want the mustard cut,” I said.

The good news is that my hygienist was able to get rid of all the gunk and discoloration my hippy-dippy toothpaste had let build up since the last time I saw her. Now the plan is for me to use sensitive toothpaste in the mornings for my sensitive gums (I know, I’m SO sensitive) and baking soda and peroxide toothpaste at night for any coffee or tea stains on my teeth. And whereas neither product is approved by my dermatologist’s app or my inner perfectionist/rule follower, it’s simply going to have to be okay. My parents paid a lot of money for these teeth, and I refuse to let them yellow. Considering I used regular toothpaste for decades and and never had a rash develop inside my mouth, I should be fine.

Fingers crossed.

Getting back to things that don’t cut the mustard, it occurs to me that there are times in our lives when our ideals simply don’t work. For example, I love the thought of using hippy-dippy, all-natural toothpaste. Like, Look, Ma, I’m organic. But alas, all-natural isn’t always the ticket. So I’m left with what works, even if it doesn’t live up to my fantasy about how life should be (mint-free!). Along these lines, I can’t tell you the number of times since starting therapy that I’ve had to admit to myself that something I wanted to work wasn’t working–a crush, a relationship, a job. Recently I turned down some odd job work because my previous experience with the client had been–quite frankly–miserable. They didn’t pay enough, they complained too much. So I respectfully said, “No thank you, I’m done. This isn’t cutting the mustard for me.”

Lately I’ve written a lot about changing patterns, and whereas it’s more involved than this, changing patterns is basically like changing toothpastes. You stop doing the thing that doesn’t work and start doing the thing that does. This is whether you like it or not. For example, early on my therapist suggested I stop chasing boys. And whereas I agree with her that chasing boys is a bad idea, there’s part of me (my unrequited lover pattern) that gets a thrill from pursuing, from wanting what I can’t have. But ultimately wanting what you can’t have is a form of self-punishment. So unless you want to torture yourself forever, you have to get honest. This toothpaste is hurting my teeth; this relationship is hurting my heart. From there, you have to be willing to change. You have to be willing to move on.

For me, one of the benefits of regularly going to therapy is that it helps me see clearly what is and isn’t working in my life. I’m being literal about this. Because I’m anal retentive, I keep a list of things I want to discuss with my therapist. If I’m crushing on a boy, he goes on the list. If I call him and he doesn’t call me back, he goes on the list again. This is how I know when something or someone isn’t cutting the mustard–they keep showing up on the list. Granted, sometimes the problem isn’t the situation or the person–it’s how I’m handling it. At the end of the day, I’m responsible. But at the very least the list lets me know when something or someone is NOT well with my soul.

After all this time in therapy, this is what I absolutely know to be true–your soul knows when something is off. Unfortunately, most of us aren’t taught to listen to our own inner wisdom. Not to mention the fact that we often don’t even WANT to hear ourselves (because it means change). But if you are interested in listening to your soul and don’t know where to start, simply pay attention to what comes out of your mouth. What do you talk to your friends about? What do you complain about? What, or whom, do yo worry about at night? If you keep a journal, read it. What situations or people keep showing up? This isn’t a coincidence. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to do something about it. Maybe it’s time to change toothpastes.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing was made to last forever.

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On Motivation and Unconditional Acceptance (Blog #913)

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Yesterday I stayed up late doing odd jobs around the house, in part because the mood hit me, in part because I didn’t want to do them today. You know, things like laundry, stuff to get ready for the upcoming week. My thought was, If I get this shit done now, I can have the day off tomorrow. Anyway, it worked. Today I rested. I chilled the eff out. This morning I slept in, read a book, then made breakfast (at noon). Then Mom and I did something we almost never do independently or together–we went to the movie theater. Y’all, we watched Downtown Abbey. It was glorious.

Stop your life this instant and go see it.

After the movie Mom and I picked up Dad and went to my aunts’ house for a late lunch–spaghetti. And whereas spaghetti isn’t on my current meal plan, I made an exception. As I’ve said, I refuse to be an all-or-nothing perfectionist about this. In fact, just to show my inner perfectionist who’s boss, I ate a piece of bread. With five different cheeses on it. (Take that, mister). I did not, however, eat two pieces of bread, nor did I eat the chocolate pie that looked oh-so delicious. After lunch I started reading a book my therapist recommended–Will the Real Me Please Stand Up?–and it said that changing your habits is less a matter of willpower and more a matter of motivation. That is, if you’re really motivated to do something (like fit into your pants), you’ll have the willpower to do it (to say no to chocolate pie).

And what if I’m simply not that motivated, Marcus?

You’ll buy bigger pants.

This evening I’ve continued to rest. By this I mean I’ve continued to read the book I just mentioned. And whereas I’m not completely done, I almost am. Mostly it’s about how to communicate authentically and openly in relationships, how to share your actual self instead of just the mask you wear. One of my takeaways is the idea that there are three things we can do when we talk to another person–ventilate (emotionally vomit on them), manipulate (consciously or unconsciously try to maneuver them to suit our needs), or communicate. (Guess which one is best.) According to the book, communication doesn’t blame, it explains. This was my experience. This is how I feel.

In terms of communication, the book says a lot about listening, how good listening does NOT involve interrupting or giving advice. I know, this sucks. It’s fun to give advice. But apparently good listening isn’t that complicated–you simply pay the eff attention (instead of checking your phone), nod your head, say uh-huh. You validate. Instead of what most of us do, which is 1) dismiss (oh, that’s not a problem!), 2) fix (here’s what you should do), or 3) upstage (if you think that’s bad, listen to what happened TO ME!).

If there’s any magic at all to therapy, any reason I’ve spent thousands of dollars over the last five-and-a-half years, this is it. My therapist listens to me. More than anyone else in my life, hands down, she doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t dismiss anything I say or want to talk about, doesn’t try to fix things or offer advice (unless I ask), and doesn’t upstage. Now, granted, she gets paid for this good behavior, and the advice she has given and the perspectives she has offered have been invaluable. But the most healing thing she’s given me is her unconditional acceptance. Because of this, never once have I felt unheard or unimportant. Never once have I felt brushed off. Consequently, I walk through life differently than I did before. I stand taller.

All because of one person.

Personally, I’m challenged by both my therapist and the book I’m reading to be a better listener. To put my phone away. To not offer advice when it’s not asked for. I mean, do any of us like unsolicited advice? I know I don’t. But doesn’t every one of us want, even need, to be heard and accepted simply for who we are, warts and all ? I know I do.

So what do we do?

We start first. We give someone else what we’d like them to give to us–unconditional acceptance. We say, “Thank you for sharing your experiences and feelings with me. I hear you, I understand, and I still like you. Don’t worry. You have don’t have to change a thing.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just because your face is nice to look at doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart that’s capable of being broken. These things happen to humans, and there isn’t a one of us who isn’t human.

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The Good Enough Club (Blog #910)

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It’s 9:15 in the evening, and I don’t know what to talk about. Hum. This morning my dad and I got up early and drove to Oklahoma to pick up his sister (my aunt), who’s been visiting her son and grandchildren. I did all the driving because my dad’s recently had his driving privileges revoked by my mother. He’s having a pacemaker put in next week and has been told, “You could pass out at any minute.” Well, he’s stubborn. On our way to Oklahoma today he kept saying, “Would you like me to drive? What about now? I could drive us home. Is now okay?”

“No,” I said. “No, no, and no.”

I get it. It’s always frustrating to accept your limitations. Last year I had knee surgery to repair my ACL (which I tore when I jumped over someone’s head–well, it wasn’t the jumping part that hurt me, it was the landing), and even now there are things I can’t do. But seriously, when you’re used to going wherever the hell you want whenever the hell you want to, it sucks to be tied down (unless you’re into that sort of thing). It blows to be dependent on someone else, even if that person is glad to help you. All I can say is that it gets better. And even if it doesn’t (let’s face it, sometimes things don’t), your attitude can change.

Caroline Myss tells the story of a wheelchair-bound woman named Ruth, who when she was younger and fully mobile had an out-of-body experience and was shown by her guides (angels) that she would eventually become physically disabled. Obviously, this vision came true. But what struck Caroline wasn’t the angel experience but the fact that Ruth had the best attitude about her handicap. Ruth said something like, “Before this happened I was absolutely crippled by fear, and now the fear is gone. As far as I’m concerned, I’m free.” This is the power of the human spirit. Those things that challenge us, that we think are robbing us of something, can actually give us something far greater in return.

Ask yourself: Would I rather be free on the outside, or free on the inside?

For the last almost two months I’ve been painting the inside of a friend’s rent house. Room by room I’ve slowly made progress. Well, today I finished the kitchen, the last room in the main section of the house. (There’s also a garage area that we’re still deciding what to do with.) This is a weird feeling, working so long at something and then–in an afternoon–being done. It’s how I felt at the end of my leg rehab. Well, I made it. Sure, there’s always more I COULD do, both at the house and with my knee. Your inner perfectionist can always find more to do. But for a while I’ve really been buying into this idea of The Good Enough Club.

The Good Enough Club: Where Things Are Okay As They Are and Perfectionists Aren’t Allowed.

This being said, I’m glad my perfectionist was around for this painting job. He made sure certain spots got three coats of paint instead of two. He made sure I didn’t do a half-assed job. Still, is everything absolutely perfect? Of course not. First of all, it’s an old house. Second of all, there’s no such thing.

As I see it, it’s fine to be a perfectionist about certain things. It’s fine to have high standards. But you’ve got to be able to turn that shit off. Because if left unchecked your perfectionist will push you past the limits of reason. It will demand more of you than you can give. It will always find something wrong. This job isn’t good enough. This body isn’t good enough. The fact that I can’t (drive, walk, dance) isn’t good enough. I need things to be a certain way or I can’t be happy.

None of this, of course, is actually true. You can be happy from where you are.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Allowing someone else to put you down or discourage your dreams is, quite frankly, anything but self-care.

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On One Way to Skin a Cat (Blog #878)

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Last night my parents and I ate at Denny’s for my dad’s birthday because they give you a free meal–a Grand Slam–if it’s your birthday. When we got home it was after midnight, and I was pretty beat. So I read a chapter in a book about Internal Family Systems and went to bed. This morning I slept as late as possible, ate breakfast, then decided that despite it being Sunday, I needed to paint at my friend’s house that I’ve been working on this month. “What is WRONG with you?” my dad said. Now THERE’S a loaded question.

I have an entire blog about the answer.

So far, I’ve completely painted four rooms at this house, and today I started the fifth. I don’t know, I think it’s a living room, but there’s a closet area (that leads to a porch), so maybe it’s a bedroom. Either way, it’s been entirely brown, ugly brown, from the bottom of the baseboards to the top of the ceiling, and my job is to paint it white, pure-as-the-driven-snow white. Anyway, this afternoon and evening I moved the furniture out of the room, prepped the room, and rolled on one coat of paint. Also, I ended up scraping part of the ceiling in the closet area because it was flaking off when I rolled it. Talk about a damn mess. Alas, it’s all part of it. With four rooms down, I’ve convinced myself nothing is going to get in my way. Come hell or high water, this room will get done too–one roller swipe, one brushstroke at a time.

While painting I listened to YouTube lectures about a variety of topics–the gut-brain connection, myofascial release, synchronicity. And whereas I learned a lot, a voice in my head that often shows up whenever I’m learning something new said, “You’ll never be as smart as those people.” Or rather, “You’ll never be enough.”

IFS compares the voices in our heads to a family of different personalities. That is, I have an inner critic who was active today, but I also have an inner loving parent, a voice that says, “Sweetheart, you were born enough and will die enough. Nothing you do or don’t do can ever change that.” One thing I like about the book I’m reading about IFS is an analogy it uses–the idea that our minds are like living rooms in which our internal family members come and go. Think of it like this–maybe your perfectionist shows up and hangs out on your living room sofa when you’re at work or with your parents but retreats into another room and takes a nap when you’re–I don’t know–playing canasta or eating Mexican food.

Like, how often do you think, I’ve got to eat these chips PERFECTLY?

Somewhere I heard the question, “Do you believe every thought you think?” For most of us, sadly, the answer is yes. Why? Because WE thought it. Alas, we have tens of thousands of thoughts a day, and most of them aren’t even true, especially when we’re thinking about US. (Which, really, when are we not?) Personally, I think there’s a lot of freedom in the idea that just because you think a thought doesn’t mean it’s true or accurate. (The Work of Byron Katie is based almost exclusively on this premise.) And I really like the idea that a thought can simply be the opinion of a part of you, not of the whole, that if you’re beating yourself up it may just be because your inner asshole is camped out on your living room couch and has taken over the remote control.

For me, there’s been a lot of relief in not taking my thoughts so seriously. Are there self-critical thoughts I wish I could never have again? Sure. But we living in a you’re-not-enough society, and certain messages are pretty embedded in all of us. However, just because we may never be completely rid of self-criticism doesn’t mean we can’t make major strides toward self-acceptance. This evening my friend asked me if I wanted to paint with a sprayer instead of a roller and brush. And whereas I said no thank you, it’s good to have the option. My point is that both in painting and in personal growth, healing, and transformation, there are many tools available. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t play small forever.

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On Cleaning Things Up (Blog #872)

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Today I finished painting the bathroom I started on last week. When I first began, the walls were weak green, the ceiling brown. Now everything–the walls, the ceiling, the trim (the toilet, that bath tub, the sink)–is white. Simply white. Room by room, the entire house is becoming white. Simply white. And whereas I’m personally not a huge fan of wall-to-wall white rooms, in this case I like it. For one thing, the rooms were pretty dirty/dingy before, so the white really cleans things up. For another, since the rooms are rather small, the white opens them up, reflects more light.

Ta-da!

This evening I taught a dance lesson, went to the library to take an online class, then helped a friend who’s in the process of painting a room at his work. Thankfully, I didn’t have to paint, just hang a few pictures. However, I also helped try to remove paint from a piece of plexiglass they were using to keep the backs of chairs from damaging one of the walls they were painting. The old paint stuck to the plexiglass when they took the plexiglass off the wall. Anyway, I say “try to remove paint” because, y’all, getting paint off plexiglass is tough. We tried paint thinner, ammonia, Pine-Sol, and even whitening toothpaste (which actually worked the best). Alas, we were only partly successful. At least half the paint hung on for dear life. Finally, we gave up for tonight.

More chemicals will be tried tomorrow.

Today I started reading a new book about Internal Family Systems (IFS), a school of psychology that views one’s individual mental and emotional patterns as separate “parts.” For example, most of us have an inner child, an inner perfectionist, an inner grouch. And whereas a lot of self-help and spiritual approaches would say you should banish or be rid of certain thoughts, emotions, or parts, IFS suggests not only welcoming all pieces of yourself, but also integrating them. I’ve noticed this general idea in several other approaches as well, like anything that promotes getting to know your shadow, or even Byron Katie’s The Work, which suggests questioning (dialoguing with) your stressful thoughts.

More and more, these approaches make the most sense to me because they promote true self-acceptance and unconditional love. That is, most of us think we will love ourselves when we look, think, or feel a certain way because we think we’re not good enough or worthy enough as we are. We imagine a body that weighs less or a mind that’s more “pure” is “better” than the one we have now, so we set goals to change ourselves. However, as Pema Chodron points out, when we do this we create a “subtle aggression” toward ourselves. Of course, it is possible to go about changing ourselves because we love ourselves, because we want to take the best care of ourselves possible, rather than thinking we need to change because we’re fundamentally wrong or unworthy. This shift in motivation, of course, makes all the difference.

Both while I was painting over the weak green in the bathroom this afternoon and while I was doing my best to scrub paint off the plexiglass this evening, I thought about how challenging change can be. Our old ways of thinking and our old patterns of behaving die hard. Lately I’ve been working on not being such a perfectionist, but twice after finishing the bathroom I put my paintbrush away then got it back out because I saw spots that needed touching up. Now, I’m okay with this because I like to do a good job when I work and I didn’t get neurotic about it. This is how I know my perfectionist pattern is–um–losing its charge. I didn’t obsess for the rest of the day. I didn’t tear down all the wallpaper.

I’ll explain.

A friend of mine says that a well-balanced person will see a corner of wallpaper that’s peeling off and, like, grab the superglue. A perfectionist, however, will tear down all the wallpaper and remodel the entire room. This second option, obviously, is nuts, and yet many of us spend our entire lives overreacting, thinking everything has to be just so. We pace the floor or give ourselves panic attacks when everything isn’t. We forget to breathe.

Getting back to the idea that old patterns die hard, I’ve found a major step in changing not-so-productive patterns to more productive ones is first recognizing how the old patterns have been helpful. Tonight I made a list of several old patterns that I think have been trying to “gear down” for a few years now (things like perfectionism, self-criticism, and people pleasing), and for each one listed HOW that patterns came to my aid when I was a child. For example, a perfect, people-pleasing child is less likely to be spanked or yelled at, is more likely to be fed and taken care of. When dialoguing with your different parts, IFS suggest asking them, “How old do you think I am?” Most likely they’ll come back with a number in the single digits. The point: your parts or patterns don’t always know that you’ve grown up, that their “help” isn’t as needed now as it was at one time.

When I think about the all-white rooms that I’ve been painting, they remind me of a blank page, full of possibility. Now, are they truly a blank page? No. There are imperfections. There are flecks, even broad strokes of the paint that used to be there before. Underneath the sink or whatever. This has been and continues to be my experience with change and transformation. It’s not that you start completely over. Rather, you update yourself. You start bringing in new patterns, running new software. You clean things up. You reflect more light.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Give yourself a break.

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Right Brain, Take the Wheel (Blog #871)

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It’s late Sunday afternoon, and after having spent the last five days painting, last night I decided I needed a break. So this morning I slept in then took my time making and eating breakfast. Then I read a book–No Self, No Problem: How Neuropsychology Is Catching Up to Buddhism by Chris Niebauer, Ph.D. The book officially comes out in a few weeks, but I received an advanced copy in exchange for writing an online review. And whereas I haven’t written the review yet, I really liked it. The author does a fabulous job explaining the two halves of our brains and how the left half–because its job is to recognize patterns and categorize things (as good or bad, right or wrong)–is responsible for most of our suffering. Additionally, its responsible for not only the judgments you have about yourself (I’m fat, I’m handsome, I’m oh-so desperately lonely), but also the idea that YOU, as in I or ME, exist as a separate entity in the first place.

I know, I know, we all thing we exist. I’m Marcus Coker. I like cheddar cheese and need a new pair of pants (because I like cheddar cheese).

Niebauer says the right side of your brain tells a different story. It’s the side that focuses on SPACE instead of OBJECTS, and also the side that feels connection to rather than separation from. Jill Bolte Taylor, a neurobiologist who had a stroke on the left side of her brain, says the same thing in her book My Stroke of Insight. When only her right brain was online, she felt “at one” with everything in her environment. She couldn’t tell where she ended and the floor started. Granted, she couldn’t make a phone call or immediately communicate her experience to anyone because the side where she had the stroke is responsible for language, but still, it was good trip. This state of bliss is what the Buddhists refer to as Nirvana or other traditions call Enlightenment. The goods news, Niebauer says, is you don’t have to have a stroke to experience the positive benefits of the right side of your brain. Whenever you’re so absorbed in what you’re doing (reading a book, creating an art project, making love) that you lose track of time, you’re in the right side of your brain.

Later, when you think, I really should have been working out at the gym, you’re in your left side.

Since I spend A LOT of time in the left side of my brain (hanging out with my inner perfectionist and inner completionist), my new motto is, “Right brain, take the wheel.”

The right side of your brian, apparently, is in the moment, which is where life encouraged me to be this afternoon. I’d planned to go to the library to do some things on their high-speed internet, but just as I was finishing Niebauer’s book it started raining cats and dogs, so I decided to stay home and work on a personal writing project I recently started instead. This was absolutely the best thing that could have happened. For two hours I got absorbed in my work, then I read it out loud to myself over and over again so I could check the pacing and iron out the kinks. And whereas writing can often feel like a have-to, this felt truly exciting.

I had so much fun, in fact, that I lost track of time (thanks, right brain!), which means that now my left-brain is pushing me to finish tonight’s blog in a hurry, before I meet a friend for dinner. (My left-brian’s a planner; yours is too.) One of Niebauer’s suggestions for getting into your right brain is to do something just because–not because it’s smart or healthy or wise, but just because you had the thought to do it. So in an effort to follow that advice, rather than trying to wrap this up neatly like I always do, I’m going to simply stop typing and get on with my life. Right brain, take the wheel.

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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The Great Lesbian Belt Mistake (Blog #855)

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Hum. Where are we going today?

Let’s find out.

This morning I woke up at 7:30(!), and before my feet even hit the floor, I was smiling. Crap, I thought, I hope I’m not becoming a morning person. Seriously, 7:30 is early for me, y’all, but I knew I had a lot going on today, which is why I decided last night to set my alarm for 8:00 this morning–and why, apparently, my body woke me up even earlier than that. Anyway, I got up, got dressed, made breakfast, and headed to work at my friend’s rent house. And whereas my goal was to finish yesterday’s painting project (the living room), after four hours I’d only ALMOST finished it. Alas, I was out of time and nearly out of paint. Of course, my inner perfectionist was disappointed, but the part of me that wanted to take a shower and get on with the day was quite pleased.

There’s no hurry, it said. We’ll finish it later!

And so we shall.

Currently it’s the afternoon, almost evening, and I’m blogging now because I’m going out with a friend later for dinner and a show. Just a bit ago I stopped at the dry cleaners to pick up some items I dropped off for alterations last week. Simple enough stuff, I thought–a pair of shorts that needed a button sewn back on (too much pizza, I guess), and a cloth belt that needed two new D-rings sewn in.

I’ll explain.

Since I had my estate sale almost three years ago, I haven’t owned a belt. And whereas I wish I’d kept one specific belt, somehow I’ve gotten along just fine without one. Anyway, a couple weeks ago I bought a pair of shorts, and they came with this cloth belt, one of those ones with two D-rings on one end. You know, the adjustable kind (for those of us who like pizza). The plain end goes around your waist, through both rings, then double backs through just one of them.

Well, I’ll be damned if one of those D-rings didn’t snap in half the first time I tried to take the belt off.

No kidding.

Not one to be easily defeated, rather than throw the belt away, I decided to have it repaired. Here’s how. First I went to a local thrift store and bought a cheap cloth belt with two (solid) D-rings for fifty cents. (Talk about a bargain.) Then I cut the new D-rings out and, along with the one D-ring belt, took them to the cleaners and explained–“Please take this old ring out of the belt, then sew both these other rings in.”

“Sounds simple,” the lady said.

Well, get this shit. As I just said, earlier I picked up my shorts and belt. And whereas the shorts were fine, the belt wasn’t. They sewed a D-ring into EACH END of the belt. Ugh. Instead of having a “male” end and a “female” end, I ended up with two female ends. THEY TURNED MY BELT INTO A LESBIAN!

I can’t tell you how unamused I was.

“Do you want us to fix it?” the girl said.

“Uh, yeah I do,” I said.

Y’all, I hate to admit that this little kerfuffle upset me more than I wish it had. Seriously, for a good forty-five minutes, I was like, What the hell? How could anyone imagine that this setup would work? (No offense, lesbians.) Maybe it’s because I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Or the fact that my body hurts. Or just that I don’t deal with stupid very well. (Not very well at all, I’m afraid to say.) Regardless, my inner perfectionist wasn’t having it. What a waste of time and money, he said.

Now. Yesterday I talked about trying to feel better, just a little better than you currently do. My therapist says, “I practice what I preach,” so I figured I should too. That is, I gave myself a moment to be pissed off, then I started thinking of my friend and the show I’ll be seeing later. That helped. Then I started this blog and was honest as I knew how to be. (I’ve heard the truth will set you free.) Well, in telling the story, I cracked a few jokes, and THAT helped (I think I’m pretty funny). Now none of this seems like a big deal. I’m like, So what? (Sew what?) I’ll have to go back to the cleaners next week. I could meet my future husband there. Or find twenty dollars on the ground. THEN how would I feel about The Great Lesbian Belt Mistake of 2019?

Um, grateful.

Somewhere I heard that until the age of four, children don’t differentiate smells as good or bad. This is why they can play with shit or vomit and not gag. They don’t find gross smells gross. They just find them “interesting.” I think there’s something to being able to be neutral like this. For example, instead of getting personally offended by the dry cleaners’ (stupid) mistake, I could have thought, Well, isn’t that fascinating? People do the darndest (stupidest) things. Currently I’m at a coffee shop, and a number of the decorations on the wall are crooked as a dog’s hind leg. The lamp shade across the room is tilted. My inner perfectionist is going nuts. However, a part of me remains neutral. My inner creative thinks, That tilted shade looks like a turned-up hat! This is what happens when you get neutral, when you want to feel good. Life becomes interesting.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perhaps this is what bravery really is--simply having run out of better options, being so totally frustrated by the outside world that all you can do is go within.

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On Likes and Dislikes (Blog #781)

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It’s five-thirty in the afternoon/evening, and–believe it or not–I’m blogging. Usually I don’t even start until ten or twelve at night. And whereas I enjoy the quiet of late-night writing, it’s difficult trying to rub two thoughts together when I’m tired. I often have to force myself to stay awake and pound this out, the whole time wishing I were already done, wishing I were reading a book, watching a movie, or–here’s a novel idea–sleeping. Anyway, this is me trying something different.

The problem with this, dear reader, is that I normally write about things that have happened during the day, and writing earlier means there’s less material to work with. An hour ago when I decided I was going to sit down and write (I procrastinated on Facebook until now), I thought, And just what do you think you’re going to talk about, Mister? You haven’t done anything today. But that thought wasn’t true. (A lot of thoughts aren’t.) This morning I shaved! This afternoon my friend Todd and I had lunch then went to a flooring store to pick out vinyl and carpet for a remodeling project of his. When all that was over, I put another coat of stain on the board I mentioned yesterday that I’ll be using for a project in my parents’ bathroom. Then I put my hair in a ponytail.

See. I’ve done a lot.

Hold your applause.

At the flooring store this afternoon, the options were overwhelming. My inner picky perfectionist kept thinking, It’s gotta be just the right thing. Thankfully, Todd was more laid-back, like, Yeah, that’ll work. And that’ll work too. Or that. For him, it was the easiest thing. And whereas I think there’s value in being picky at times, I also think there’s value in being laid back.

I’ll explain.

When I went to look for wood stain for the project in my parents’s bathroom, I was immediately drawn to a certain sample, a dark oak. Well–wouldn’t you know it– it was the one stain they were out of. Frantic, I dug through dozens of cans, and it was nowhere to be found. I actually thought about going to another store to see if they had it in stock. But then–finally–I went with my second choice–espresso. I thought, It’s close enough. No one else will ever know the difference–or care. Just like that, I went on with my life.

My grandpa used to say, “That’s good enough for the girls I go with.” And whereas I’d personally have to modify that statement (because I go with boys), I think it contains a lot of wisdom. For a while I studied a form of meditation that recommended–when you’re not meditating–training your five senses. An example of training your tastebuds would be eating broccoli instead of chocolate cake. The idea behind this suggestion is that our senses are connected to our mind, which often thinks and acts like a wild animal. It says, “Give me sugar, give me wild women (or men), give me–more!” But by training this wild animal–No, we’re going to do what’s good for us–we bring it under our control.

This same form of meditation, or at least the guy who wrote about it, called this working with one’s likes and dislikes. Again, the idea is that most of us are picky–we want our food a certain texture, our coffee a certain flavor (god knows!), our wood stain a certain color, and on and on and on. This is fine, I suppose, but what happens when we don’t get our way, when whatever we want is on back order? At least for me, I often pitch an internal fit. BUT I WANT IT! But does it really matter if I don’t eat one piece of chocolate cake, or have whip cream on my two-percent soy milk caramel latte with an extra shot of espresso, or go with a wood stain that’s one shade darker?

No. No it doesn’t.

The world keeps spinning.

If you haven’t noticed, I post a selfie almost every day. And whereas this may seem like an exercise in vanity, it’s not. I’m as tired of looking at me as anyone else is. Not because I don’t like my face, but because I only have so many poses and feel like I’m lacking in variety. All this being said, posting a daily selfie has been an extremely helpful practice in terms of my personal growth–because of what I’ve been saying about working with your likes and dislikes. What I mean is that I don’t LIKE every picture of myself that I post. In fact, there have been PLENTY of pictures I’ve DISLIKED. Because I was too fat, or had a double chin, or my hair was a mess. You name it. However, by forcing myself to “post it anyway, damn it” for over two years now, that picky, self-critical voice in my head has seriously calmed down. As a result, even when I’m not posting pictures, I have more self-acceptance.

Maybe the selfie thing, or the wood stain thing, or the not eating chocolate cake thing doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it is. Because here’s the deal. We all know how the mind can get carried away with what it wants. But by starting with something small, you can train your mind to not get carried away. Then when it comes to something big–let’s say you don’t get the job (or boyfriend) you wanted–you can tell your mind, We’re not going to throw a temper tantrum about something that doesn’t matter, and it won’t. If mind-training sounds difficult, it is. But consider that we’re all training our minds constantly. It’s just a matter of whether we’re teaching ourselves to be rigid in our thinking (everything has to be a certain way) or flexible (yeah, that’ll work). Rigid means we’re harder to please. Flexible means we’re easier to please and, therefore, happier.

TEN SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING YOUR MIND
1. Skip the dessert.
2. Go for a walk instead of watching television.
3. Turn your phone off.
4. Leave your dirty clothes on the floor (if you’re a neat freak).
5. Pick your dirty clothes up off the floor (if you’re a slob).
6. The next time you go out to eat with a friend, tell the server, “I’ll have what they’re having.”
7. Watch a television program or movie you’re not interested in (and find a way to be interested in it).
8. Listen to someone and don’t interrupt them.
9. Post a photo of yourself you don’t like (and watch the world keep spinning).
10. Think of something you want to do, or buy, or say, then tell yourself, “No.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We always have more support than we realize.

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The World Keeps Spinning (Blog #574)

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A couple days ago I started a new “fix-it” project for some friends of mine, repairing a piece of wood on the side of their house. At first I thought it would be as simple as nailing a board back in place, but I quickly realized the wood also needed to be “filled in” with wood putty and then painted. Plus, all of the surrounding wood needed to be re-caulked, then re-painted. Shit, I thought, this is turning into work. But what do you do? That day, I screwed the wood back in place and patched as much as I could.

Here’s a picture before the patching. Notice the gaping holes.

Here’s a picture of the mostly patched holes.

Today I finished patching the holes and applied an extremely thick layer of caulk above the wood. Well, two extremely thick layers of caulk. However, since the caulk takes a while to dry, I couldn’t paint it. I could, however, paint the wood, so I did. This was a big deal for me because although the paint technically matched, it didn’t actually match, since the old paint had faded with age and sun exposure. The big deal part is that The Old Marcus would have turned this into a major ordeal and ended up re-painting the entire side of the house, if not the entire house. But The New Marcus thought, Just re-paint the affected board and call it a day.

So I did. (Notice the trash can–that’s what I used for a ladder.)

Now it’s 9:30 at night, and I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to paint over the caulk, after it dries. I’m still at my friends’ house, as I’m meeting a Criagslist contact later tonight in order to sell him a piece of furniture my friends left behind when they moved. This has been another project, getting rid of what they left. But tonight’s piece of furniture is the final one. After weeks and weeks of listing stuff online, it’s all gone. Or, almost gone anyway. I never assume a Craigslist deal is finished until I have money in hand.

Earlier I took a break to get dinner and work on another a project at the library–organizing my digital photos. This is one of my goals for the fall and winter, to get both my physical and digital photos in order. Ugh, talk about an ordeal. The paint/caulk project is only taking up a few days, but I imagine the photo project will take weeks or longer. Tonight at the library I sorted through–I don’t know–a couple months worth of photos from 2014, the year I first began backing up my photos online. And whereas it’s going to be great (super, really) to have my photos organized (like, Family, Trips to Albuquerque, Medical Documents, Remodeling Projects, etc.), it’s slow-going and overwhelming.

But at least I’ve started. That’s huge. I’m telling myself, A little at a time, Marcus. A little at a time.

The other overwhelming thing about this project is that I’m not always sure “where” to put a photo. Or if every single photo (there are thousands) “deserves” to be put into a specific album. Like, what am I suppose to do with that photo I took of a piece of furniture in an antique store four years ago? But again, I’m trying to not get overwhelmed and demand “perfection” of myself. I’m telling myself, Anything is a giant improvement over the current situation, which is everything simply lumped together (by date order).

My tendency when I start these projects is to sit down for ten hours at a time and grit my way through it. It’s difficult for me to work for, say, an hour and walk away. But that’s what I did tonight at the library. Well, okay, I worked for an hour and a half and walked away. One because the library was about to close, two because I wanted to blog. Plus, the project’s waited this long (and no one’s complaining that it hasn’t been done), and it will be there whenever I want to pick it back up. This is a something I’m working on, that the world won’t fall apart if things aren’t just so, that it really doesn’t give a damn if this paint doesn’t match that paint or all my photos aren’t neatly organized.

Like, the world has its own problems to deal with.

Somehow, it keeps spinning.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can't build a house, much less a life, from the outside-in. Rather, if you want something that's going to last, you have to start on the inside and work your way out, no matter how long it takes and how difficult it is.

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