On Soulmates and Congruency (Blog #1029)

Today I went thrift shopping with a friend. Y’all, we hit–let’s see–ten stores (and two restaurants) in six hours, and I came home with one brooch, a belt buckle, a paperweight, four books, and five picture frames. Talk about popping some tags. (That’s a Macklemore song reference, Mom). I can’t tell you how delighted I am with my purchases. And all for the bargain price of $12.50. And whereas I don’t know WHAT I’m going to do with everything I brought home (the belt buckle, for instance) I’m convinced I’ll figure out something sooner or later. For example, I’ve been sitting on an angel frame for over a month now, just waiting for the right brooch to pair it with. Well, the brooch I bought today was “it.”

It’s like every frame has its soulmate (broochmate), and you just have to be patient enough for them to meet each other.

Along these lines, lately I’ve been thinking that although, yes, some things are just ugly, most decorative items simply need the right background or environment. The above brooch, for example, just wouldn’t stand out the same against a yellow background, or in a frame three times as big. To put it succinctly, in terms of the final product, relationship is everything. A word/idea I think about a lot is congruency. Applied to my currents arts and crafts obsession, congruency asks, “Are all the involved parts working together to form a cohesive and eye-pleasing result?” If they aren’t, if the frame, background, brooch aren’t “meant to be together,” I don’t force it.

Setting them aside, I say, “Sorry, you just aren’t soulmates.”

This being said, I’m convinced most of us have the wrong idea about soulmates. Recently my mom and I were watching a tv show on which a man told his girlfriend he thought they were soulmates. The girlfriend, however, said, “I love you, I want to get married to you and have your babies, but I just don’t think we’re soulmates. I think my very first boyfriend was my soulmate.”

“Ouch,” I told my mom. “That was the wrong thing to say.”

Tact aside, who knows if these two are cosmically entwined? Hell, if they’re dating seriously, they probably are. At least in some respect. (No one comes into your life by accident.) Does this mean they’ll have butterflies for each other the rest of their lives? Doubtful. But then again, I believe that they could end up hating each other and still be soulmates.

I’ll explain.

There’s an idea in self-help and spirituality that your soulmate isn’t the person who makes your heart pitter-pat the most but is rather the person who causes your soul to GROW the most. This means the person who crawls under your skin, the one who’s got your goat, and the one you have the hardest time forgiving could very well be your soulmate. Could very well be the soul to whom–on the other side of the veil–you’re most indebted. I think about this a lot, since the older I get the more people there are with whom I’ve experienced conflict. And yet with each person and each drama, I’ve been challenged to find my voice or mature in some other way. And whereas from the outside it may have looked like a splitting off (please don’t call me again, Nancy), from the inside there was actually a coming together. That is, anytime you listen to and follow your inner guidance, you become more congruent. First with yourself AND THEN with another.

Along these lines, this afternoon at one thrift store I walked up on my friend while they were talking to the owner. He’d just handed my friend a piece of jewelry, and my friend said, “Did you make this yourself?”

Pausing ever so slightly, he said, “I did. Back in the 70s.”

Immediately I thought, He’s lying. Later my friend told me the man had said the jewelry was real turquoise, even though it was clearly just “turquoise colored.” And whereas it’s nice to have this confirmation, my point is that my intuition was talking to me, so the congruent thing for me to do was to not trust him to be honest, to not engage with him. Later, in another store, my gut told me a store owner was full of shit, so I literally walked away while he was talking to me. Normally the people pleaser in me wouldn’t have allowed me to do this sort of thing, but I thought, We know what happens when we let people verbally vomit on us because we’ve done that a hundred times before. Let’s see what happens when we take care of ourselves.

Well, I’ll tell you what happened. I walked away and I felt great. Absolutely fabulous. Then I ate this burger and felt even better.

Byron Katie says that a no to you is a yes to me. That is, when you listen to and follow your inner guidance, the answer is always yes. Yes, this brooch and this frame do (or don’t) go together. Yes, I know you’re lying to me. Yes, I’m walking away now. My therapist says when we respond honestly and authentically to people, we not only give ourselves a gift, but also give them a gift. “Even if we’re telling them to take a hike?” I say. “Even if we’re telling them to take a hike,” she says. “Because so many of us are lied to constantly. So it’s good to hear the truth for once, even if the answer’s no. Plus, whenever you’re authentic with someone, you give them permission to be authentic too.” Today my friend said, “How did you walk away from that rambling salesman so easily?”

“I’m not quite sure,” I said. “I just did it.” Looking back, I realize that something in me said, “Move,” so I moved. For once, I listened to me. For once, I was congruent.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When the universe speaks—listen.

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On Stuff (Blog #1025)

Lately I’ve been thinking about stuff, partly because I’ve been buying, or at least acquiring, so much of it lately. Nothing major, mind you, just little things. Brooches, books, picture frames, magnets, t-shirts, shoes. And whereas I don’t have NEARLY the amount of stuff I owned before I had my estate sale, it’s still the most I’ve had in the last three years. Granted, I’m enjoying it. I’ve got everything organized and displayed like I want, and my room feels cozy. Comforting. At the same time, there are moments when everything I have feels like “too much,” too much to own, too much to take care of. Earlier today my friend Aaron gave me several of his old t-shirts, and I thought, Okay, fine, I’ll take five of them. But I’m going to give away at least two of mine.

Since The Great Letting Go a few years ago, one of my “rules” about owning something is that I must find it useful, that I actually wear my clothes, actually get joy out of my books and knickknacks. That’s one thing I can say about the stuff I’ve acquired lately. Although I often feel like I spend too much time on Facebook Marketplace (searching for and buying brooches), I do get a lot of pleasure out of the things I purchase. What’s more, having taken time to get everything in my room (where I am now) just so, I always feel at home here. I always feel at peace here.

My therapist says stuff is grounding, so maybe that’s why the sudden compulsion to acquire. That is, at the same time I had my estate sale, I intentionally pulled up my roots–closed my dance studio, moved homes (twice), started down a new career path. In retrospect, it was a lot at once, a bit dramatic. Still, owning fewer things made all the changes easier. Not just from a physical perspective, but from a mental and emotional one. All I had to do was look at my bookshelf (with fifty-four books, down from over three hundred) or my closet (with eight shirts, down from dozens), and it was clear–I was starting over. And whereas I’ll never be able to prove it, I believe that my downsizing set the stage for this blog and all my personal growth that’s come as a result of it.

What I mean is that if you can let go of a physical object, you can let go of a mental concept. A limiting belief about yourself, for example. A harmful thought about another. Byron Katie says you’re not attached to your things, you’re attached to your stories about your things, and this is what I mean. If you’re holding on to something physical, you’re holding on to something mental–a thought, a story. Whenever you say, “This has sentimental value” or “I can’t sell those old plastic curlers; they belonged to my dead aunt,” you’re saying you can’t let go of your narrative about them. Because the truth is you CAN let go of your stuff. You do it every day when you go to work. Leaving everything you own (except your current outfit) behind you, you prove to yourself that you don’t HAVE to own a thing in order to survive or be happy.

I mean, how do you know you’ll ever see all that stuff again? And yet you just walk out the door.

Getting back to the idea of stuff being grounding, I think it’s fascinating that at the same time I was letting go my stuff, I was letting go of how I saw myself and the world. Likewise, I find it fascinating that having grounded my concepts of self and the world (for the better), I’m now beginning to physically ground. That is, as my therapist says, stuff is heavy. It’s hard to move around. This is what you want your self-esteem, your kindness, and your compassion to be–solid, not easily pushed about. Even when I get excited about new stuff/cool stuff, this is what I remind myself, that stuff is just stuff and it will ALWAYS come and go. Nothing lasts forever, not even gold. But a soul that’s at home, at peace regardless of what it owns or doesn’t? Now that’s real gold. That’s something moth and rust can’t touch.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our struggles unearth our strengths.

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On Miracles (Blog #1016)

Okay. Where are we going tonight?

For the last 1,000+ days I’ve sat down to blog and had this question somewhere in my mind. Granted, there have been times that I’ve absolutely KNOWN–these are the things I want to say. But even then writing has been the adventure that creativity is, full of twists, turns, and oh-wow moments. Not one single time in the last three years have I not been surprised by what’s inevitably birthed here at this keyboard, be it a clever phrase, a happy joke, or a somber theme. Even when I’m totally blank and thinking, Well, that’s it, I’m all dried up, some idea comes along out of nowhere to save my ass. Even when I’m certain I’m creatively bankrupt, something good magically appears.

Overall, today has been fabulous. Almost everyone, or at least the news anchors, in our area have been concerned with the weather (there have been tornado warnings), but I’ve been concerned with brooches, working on framing a few recent acquisitions. And whereas I got one project done today, I’m still waiting on paint and glue to dry before I can finish two others. Ugh. Everything is always a process. Both in art and in life, it seems that nothing is ever “done.” The good news about this, I suppose, is that not being done leaves room for The Mystery. Until you’ve reached the last page in a book–the last word–the story’s not over.

This evening I had dinner with a friend I’ve known for–gosh–over fifteen years now, one of the first people I came out to. Anyway, they made spaghetti, and we did what we always do–laugh, share stories, console. Then while I was on my way home I thought about how so very often I’m worried about money but how time with an old, true friend is absolutely priceless. How even if I had all the money in the world it wouldn’t have made tonight any better.

Well, it might have paid for some chocolate cake.

But still, I was happy.

We had cookies.

When I got home I helped my dad put a homemade dog bed (fashioned from old bath mats and a comforter) in my parents’ room for our family dog, Ella. My parents have a waterbed, and there’s a crawl-through space, a hiding area underneath the headboard where I guess Ella likes to go to chill out, get away, and rest her paws. Anyway, I positioned her new bed inside the crawl space, and she went right to it. Later I checked and she was still there, totally relaxed, content. This is my point about being happy. We make it complicated, but–really–it takes so little. Currently I’m in a comfortable chair sipping hot tea and listening to the rainfall.

What more do you need?

Now, an hour ago, just before I sat down to blog, I checked my bank account because I need to pay bills tomorrow. And whereas I’m not destitute–y’all–it wasn’t pretty. Hell, it hasn’t been pretty in years, especially since I closed my dance studio and started chasing my dream of being a writer. (My therapist says, “You ARE a writer.” So I correct myself–chasing my dream of being a PAID writer.) Ugh. I have friends that make both positive and sarcastic comments about how NICE it must be to sleep in every day and spend my days reading, writing, and–now–framing brooches. And, y’all, it is. It is NICE. But trying something new and living a non-conventional life always comes at a cost. And whereas it’s not always a financial cost, it often is, at least for a while. I add “at least for a while” because that’s my hope, that–sooner or later–the lean times will fatten up.

Dear God, please make it sooner.

Earlier tonight my mom sent me a glorious and emotional video and testimonial by Steve Harvey. Essentially, years ago Harvey was on his last leg, down to his final $35, when he was offered a stand-up gig in New York. Phew, you might think, but Harvey didn’t live in New York and–newsflash–plane tickets cost more than $35. But then–just like that–two other stand-up gigs came through and Harvey was able to make the New York gig. From there, his career took off. Later Mom and I were talking about it, and she reiterated Harvey’s advice–never give up. Because you’re CERTAIN to not succeed if you quit. But if you keep going, well, anything could happen. God could step in.

“That’s one thing about God,” I told Mom. “He always waits until the last damn minute. He’s so dramatic.”

“He certainly can be,” Mom said.

That’s Mom, ever the diplomat.

Getting back to creativity and writing and the idea that you never know what’s going to appear, I suppose this idea applies to our lives too. That is, just when we least expect it, something good comes along. My therapist says she’s noticed this happens a lot for me. Whenever I’m down and thinking, I am SO SCREWED, the universe saves my ass. Out of nowhere, a check shows up. An idea comes along. Even it’s not a windfall (so far it’s never been a windfall), it’s enough to get me through. Regardless, I’m always left dumbfounded, amazed. Just like I am when I consider any good fortune, including any good friend who comes into my life. I think, I never could have planned this. I’m always so surprised. That’s the thing. You never see miracles coming.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

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you never see miracles coming

The Seeds from Which Your Strength Tree Grows (Blog #1013)

It’s 1:50 in the morning, and I can’t stop coughing. Today I told a friend I’d been struggling with sinus stuff, and they said, “You and everyone one else.” So that’s nice to know. I’m part of a group. Gosh, it feels good to be included. But seriously, I’ve had so many upper respiratory problems over the years, it’s easy to forget that I’m not the only one, that other people catch things too. That things go around here on planet earth. But remembering that we’re all in this sickness thing together–I guess–makes it more bearable. What’s the saying? Misery loves company.

Excuse me while I hack up a lung.

The good news is that I typically don’t cough much during the day, just at night while I’m trying to blog or sleep. But take this afternoon, for example. I was able to work on framing my vintage brooches for several hours nonstop. And whereas when I first started this project things went pretty quickly because I was permanently fastening (glueing) the brooches to the backboards (old book covers), things are taking longer now because I’m non-permanently attaching (hanging) the brooches on the backboards so that, in addition to being able to display them on a wall, I can also display them on my body.

Yowza, yowza.

Here’s one I finished today.

The most difficult part about this entire process is hanging the brooch where I think it’s most aesthetically pleasing. In this particular case, the middle. And since THAT involves drilling holes in the backboard, well, I’ve really only got one shot to get it right. Now, I’ve found ways to allow myself a little wiggle room, but it’s only a little. So this is where my Inner Perfectionist comes in handy, since he helps me get the details right. And when things aren’t EXACTLY perfect? Well, then, I have to tell him to shut up. Because projects like these are meant to be fun, not self-tortuous.

One of the things I like about framing vintage jewelry using old book covers is that it’s a way to not only be creative but also breath new life into forgotten objects. I love digging through a pile of used books and, upon seeing one with a lovely cover, thinking, You! How has no one noticed you before? I’ve got just the right frame and just the right piece of jewelry to put you with, and then–I promise–you’re going to shine. That’s the deal with creativity. You have to be able to look at something someone else would throw away and see gold.

My therapist has a saying–potential, not pathology. This phrase was recently brought up in the context or our going forward. That is, rather than focusing on what’s wrong, we’re going to be focusing on what’s right. Not that there’s anything wrong with focusing on what’s wrong. Sometimes you have to know what’s broken before you can fix it. But once you’ve focused on what’s wrong (I’ve been in therapy for almost six frickin’ years now), well then, it’s time to take your broken and scattered pieces and put them back together into something new, beautiful, and useful. It’s time to breathe new life into YOURSELF. It’s time to make YOURSELF shine.

This evening while I was working, my parents were watching The Batchelor, which means I was watching The Batchelor. Anyway, after one of the girls talked about her difficult childhood (I missed all the details, but someone important died), my dad the cynic said, “WHERE do they find all these people with their sob stories?!”

“It can’t be THAT hard,” I said. “Everybody’s got one.”

But seriously, don’t we? Lately I’ve been talking about how our challenges aren’t personal, and this is what I mean. When everyone you know or are related to has had someone die of cancer, or been in a terrible car accident, or been divorced, beaten up, cheat upon, or neglected, how can you claim that your problems are unique? Now, I’m not minimizing them. They are unique to you. And important for your journey. At the same time, I AM trying to take the sting out of them. I’m trying to get you out of victim mode (pathology) and into your power (potential) by helping you see that these things–these very shitty things–simply happen on planet earth. To everyone. Because this is the shit happens to you, and you, and you planet.

Why we signed up to come here, I’ll never know. I’m convinced, as a friend of mine says, we must have missed something in the fine print.

At one point while I was working today, my dad said, “You know, you mother and I don’t always get to see you actually doing the things you like doing [like dancing, writing]. But I’ve been watching you paint and drill and glue and and everything else this afternoon, and you look absolutely content.”

“Hum,” I said, “I am content. I really enjoy this.” That’s another thing about this planet. Despite the fact that some terrible things can and do happen (and that they can and do happen to you), it’s still possible to be content, to be happy. Even while you’re coughing up a lung, it’s still possible to find peace of mind. This is one of the gifts of doing The Hard Work, of looking at the most challenging and shitty events of your life and shifting your perspective about them in such a way that they become your greatest assets, the seeds from which your Strength Tree grows. Because that’s the deal, it’s not what happens to you, but what grows out of it. It’s how YOU grow out of it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've really got to believe in yourself and what you're doing. Again, it comes down to integrity and making something solid of yourself, something that's so well-built on the inside that it can handle any storm.

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Let’s Start Over (Blog #1010)

Okay. It’s 3:40 in the afternoon, and I’m blogging now because I’m going to a party tonight with my friends Aaron and Kate. Additionally, I’ve had a sinus infection for the last week and don’t imagine that staying up late to write (again) will help it go away. Currently I’m wishing it WOULD go away, and it occurs to me that I’ve spent a good deal of my life wishing things were different than they are–an illness, a feeling, a relationship, my bank account. So now I’m trying to let life exist, to actually relax into instead of push against THIS moment. This exhausted, snot-filled, weak, achy moment. Which feels like an eternity to me (WHEN will it end?!) but is simply another moment to eternity.

A necessary moment, I trust, in the grand scheme of things.

Earlier today I got a message from Kate about the party tonight. “Be at our house at 5:30 because we’re going to dinner first.” Then she added a laughing emoji and said, “I made your evening plans for you.” And whereas I’m usually a control freak about being told what to do, in this case–for a lot of reasons–I didn’t care. Indeed, I was delighted. “It’s okay,” I replied, “I’m looking forward to getting out of the house.” Anyway, this whole exchange has got me thinking about control, the way we sometimes pitch a shit-fit when someone tells us what to do and sometimes we don’t.

And we’re nowhere near logical about it.

A while back I had an experience in which I wanted someone’s approval and didn’t get it–and that bothered me. Alas, had it been any other person or even a different day of the week, I probably wouldn’t have cared. After some time had passed, I didn’t care with this person. This is what I mean about control, how we have to have things a certain way–our way–in order to be happy or satisfied. I MUST have their approval, and so on. If it’s someone else’s idea or opinion that happens to disagree with yours? Well, then it must be wrong. THEY must be wrong. Because God forbid someone other than you–someone other than me–should be right.

Along these lines, Byron Kate says that if you want to give someone a gift, let them be right. “People LOVE to be right,” she says. So like, let them have the last word. This, of course, is both a difficult and miserable thing to do. But more and more I’m seeing the wisdom in not putting up a fuss about insignificant things (in forgiving), in letting people be who they are (whether they approve of me or not), and in not trying to change someone else’s world (the world where, according to them, I very well may be wrong). Recently I watched two people arguing online about a dance matter. Now, they were using well-constructed sentences and gentlemanly language, but–let’s be clear–they were attacking each other. At the very least, they were picking a fight. (Incidentally, the dance didn’t care.) Have I done this sort of thing before? Sure. But the older I get, the more I hope I do less of it.

Why, Marcus?

Because it’s not my job to control how anyone else dances, behaves, or thinks. This includes friends, family, lovers, and perfect strangers. Granted, I could try to change someone else (and believe me I’ve tried), but talk about exhausting. So more and more I’m learning to let others think and do as they will. My therapist would say, “Like you, THEY’RE AUTONOMOUS.” Likewise, I’m learning to let God, to let life, do as it wills. This means doing my best to heal and succeed, whatever that means, but letting go of the results. It means relaxing into THIS moment whatever it looks like. It means, no matter what’s happened the day before, saying, “Okay, sweetheart, here we are–right here, right now. Let’s start over.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We're allowed to relabel and remake ourselves.

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See Above for Results (Blog #1007)

Yesterday I communicated online with a seller from Facebook Marketplace who’d listed a couple items I was interested in. “I’d like to look at them before deciding to buy them,” I said. “Where and when would be good to meet?”

“I’ll be in Fort Smith tomorrow around 3:00,” they said.

Maybe they’ll tell me where later, I thought.

This afternoon they said, “Looks like it’s going to be about 4:30.” And whereas I was beginning to doubt 1) whether I really wanted the items and 2) if this person would actually show up, about 4:20 I went ahead and got ready to go. Climbing into the car, I messaged the seller. “Where should we meet?” I said. Alas, twenty-five minutes later I was in Fort Smith with no answer. Perhaps it’s just as well, I thought. I really don’t need to spend the money. Plus, the whole situation just felt “off.”

Recently I had a meeting scheduled with someone and the day of woke up three hours early thinking, I should cancel. However, not wanting to be a douchebag, I didn’t. For this, I paid the price. I spent the whole day with an upset stomach. Every hour I was running to the bathroom. (If this is too graphic, I apologize.) Thankfully, by the time the meeting started I calmed down. But never completely. Again, the whole thing just felt “off.” Now, nothing BAD happened, but a few days later the person with whom I met ended up being rude in a text message. Later when I discussed the matter with my therapist she said, “That’s a big deal when your body wakes you up tell you something. My guess is that queasy feeling you had is your body’s particular TELL for ‘this is going to be a waste of our time.’ Next time, cancel.”

Y’all, I get it. Cancelling would have made sense. And it’s not that I didn’t think of it. It just seemed like, well, not a very NICE thing to do. (What does your therapist always say, Marcus? Nice is a strategy–to get people to like you, to get moved up to the front of the line, to get someone in bed.) That’s what I kept thinking today on my way to meet the seller in Fort Smith, that I wanted to cancel but that it was TOO LATE, that it wouldn’t be VERY NICE. So honestly I was relieved when they didn’t respond. Because it gave me an out.

Sort of.

I’ll explain.

When I got to Fort Smith and hadn’t heard anything, I stopped by AutoZone to have my car, Tom Collins, checked. His check engine light’s been on lately. And whereas I assumed it had something to do with the fuel gauge (which lately has said I’m full one minute and empty the next), I wanted to be sure. The good news? I was right. The bad news?

“You’ll probably have to replace the entire fuel pump,” the guy said, “and that’ll run you $390.”

Plus tax, of course.

Okay, I thought, I definitely don’t need to buy anything today. So, still not having heard anything from the seller and twenty minutes after we were supposed to meet, I wrote them, “I came to town to meet you but ended up having car trouble along the way. Unfortunately, I’ll be spending my money on auto repairs. I apologize for any inconvenience.”

At which point they replied, “Wow I drove fifteen minutes.”

No “I’m sorry about your car” or anything.

Which just goes to show you that we all make everything about us.

This isn’t the way things went down in reality.

Now, do I blame this person for being upset? No. Over the years I’ve had plenty of people flake out on dance lessons at the last minute or not show up at all, and it’s frustrating. Especially if you’re counting on the money. Do I wish that they’d been more gracious about it (I mean, I drove fifteen minutes too, and my car’s broken), or that we’d both communicated more clearly in the first place? Of course. And if IFS and BUTS were candy and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas. In other words, this isn’t the way things went down in reality.

Y’all, I could go on and on about what I think both me and this other person did right and wrong in this situation. If this were a gameshow and you could all vote–I’m sure–some of you would say I’m the shithead here, and others would say the seller is. Some of you would think BOTH of us are. I think that’s the camp I’m in. Meaning that some circumstances in life aren’t cut and dried. Instead, they’re simply less than ideal. Gross.

Like, aren’t we glad that’s over?

Having had the evening to over-process this mess, I have a few takeaways. First, more and more I’m learning to trust my intuition. That is, I’m glad I cancelled, since, based on the person’s response, I don’t think I would have enjoyed or felt good about the interaction had it gone through. Granted, I didn’t follow my intuition as soon as I could have (and thus the mess), but I did follow it faster than I would have even a year ago, and that’s progress. Which brings me to my second point–authenticity and the self-esteem necessary to pursue it are things that require PRACTICE, and this practice, rather than occurring on a grand scale (like in a court room), more often occurs in the nitty gritty of everyday life. With our friends. With our family. With total strangers we meet on Facebook.

This is the shit my therapist and I talk about, the day-to-day dramas. Sure, we discuss THE BIG STUFF, but usually the little stuff leads us to the big stuff, since the little stuff tends to touch a wound. I’m not good enough. I did something wrong. Why doesn’t everyone like me?

Of course, not everyone is supposed to like you. (Why not, Marcus?) Because you need PRACTICE liking yourself no matter what.

Seen from this perspective, I COULD be thankful for the seller’s response today. (“The response THEY CHOSE,” my therapist would say.)

Are you thankful, Marcus?

I’m working on it before your very eyes.

Over a year ago I wrote about a statue of mine I call ANY DANCING JESUS that images Christ with his arms raised overhead as if here were just beginning the chorus of “YMCA.” Anyway, this evening while futzing with a picture frame and the cover an old book, I placed the statue inside the frame. (See above for results.) In the process I remembered that, despite the fact that Jesus was the original DFF (damn fine fella), not everyone liked him either. (So what makes you think they’ll like you?) I also remembered that part of his message was to “rise above,” or see things from a higher perspective. (See above for results.) Like, for all I know, I did the seller a favor by getting them out of their house where they otherwise would have been robbed or mugged. Lastly, I remembered that by his example Christ taught us to set it free, bitch. (I added the bitch part.) That is, he taught us to forgive, forgive, forgive (ourselves and others), to let go (of our mistakes and the mistakes of others), and to not judge (anyone including ourselves).

Of course, these amount to the same thing.

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.

"

On Creating Time (Blog #1002)

Today I’ve been thinking about how we create time. (I’ll explain.) Caroline Myss says that the divine works in present time, in vertical time, where thought moves into form like a lightening flash. God says, “Let there be light,” and there is. Like, instantly, not in the amount of time it takes to earn a college degree or pass a bill through Congress. Conversely, most of us earthlings work in non-present or past and future time, in horizontal time. We say, “Let there be a pot roast,” and–well–we’re looking at waiting the better part of an afternoon, anywhere from four to eight hours for a seven pound hunk of meat using a crock pot.

How do you cook a pot roast faster, Marcus?

You turn up the heat, of course. You switch your dial from low to high.

Yesterday I touched on the idea that we can decide how quickly we want to get over something–anything from a minor irritation to a gigantic heartache–by (in part) refusing to give it our attention and thus keeping it alive. For example, this afternoon while driving I momentarily crossed into the other (wrong) lane in an effort to get into the turning lane. Well, there was a car coming down the other lane (toward me), but they were far enough away (I thought) as to not be dangerous. Alas, the lady driving the oncoming car apparently disagreed, since she laid on her horn like it was going out of style.

“Did you see her flip you the bird?” my dad said.

“No,” I said, “I try not to look at people when I KNOW they’re angry with me.”

Now, could I have handled this better? Probably. But you know how we all make in-the-moment decisions that aren’t always the best in hindsight. I figure this is part of driving. People pull out in front of me all the time, and usually (but not always) I just think they’re in a hurry or that God wants me to learn patience. Hell, maybe they’re doing me a favor, slowing me down and allowing me to miss some horrific accident down the road. You never know. God works in mysterious ways. Anyway, this afternoon when the lady flipped me off, instead of taking it personally like I have in the past, I kept hearing my therapist say, “People choose their reactions.” Like, the bird lady could have CHOSEN to be gracious.

The lesson being that people’s responses have almost everything to do with them and almost nothing to do with you. Not that I’m recommending TRYING to piss people off, but let’s face it, that lady would have flipped ANYONE off who got in her way. So it really didn’t have anything to do with me.

In other words–and here’s a phrase that’s full of grace should you choose to use it for yourself–it wasn’t personal.

Getting back to the idea of creating time, had I CHOSEN to obsess about what a rotten driver I am or what a turd bucket that lady was, I could have dragged this three-second incident out for hours, days, or weeks. Instead, it was over IN MY MIND in three minutes because I convinced myself it wasn’t worth my mental and emotional resources to keep it alive. Now, I know this example may seem silly, but let’s drive things home (in the correct lane, of course). Recently I heard a story about a woman who, upon FIRST MEETING SOMEONE told them she’d divorced her cheating husband and was absolutely in shambles because he’d fallen in love with her best friend. And whereas my therapist would say this woman had bad boundaries (because you don’t talk about your personal shit to total strangers), here’s the kicker–

all of this happened nineteen years ago.

Consequently, this woman’s body was right here, right now, but her spirit was stuck in the Clinton Administration.

This is what I mean by dragging things out and creating time. When I was with my ex there was a night I got a call from a friend who told me my ex was cheating. Deep down I knew it was true. Had I been willing to move as fast as my intuition (which, incidentally works in present time), to “change as fast as God,” it could have been over that night. I could have moved out the next day. Instead, because I didn’t want to face the truth (as is always the case when we create time), I was with him another five months. Now, I know it could have been worse–some people stay in bad situations for years, decades–but it was a miserable five months.

My aunt’s visiting from out of town this weekend, and earlier today we ended up talking about paper and clutter because we each tend to let things pile up before going through them. Anyway, she said, “I’ve read that the goal with paper is to handle it just once.” Like, you put it in its proper pile and move on with your life. Instead, most of us shuffle this here, shove that there. We say, “I’ll deal with it later.” Consequently, we drag things out and slow things down. We create time. What could be done in five seconds goes on five weeks, five years. And whereas it may not be a big deal to not deal with your TJ MAXX receipts, it is a big deal to not deal with your dramas, traumas, and relationships.

I once knew a grown woman who was absolutely petrified of dogs–any breed, any size. She could see one on a leash blocks away and start running like Florence Griffith Joyner. She never said what the deal was, so I can only assume something terrible happened when she was younger. Anyway, intuitive Robert Ohotto calls this sort of reaction “a time warp.” In other words, in present time there wasn’t a problem. Here’s a lady, there’s a dog a mile away. But in her past-oriented mind, it was a big damn deal. She would tremble. She would cry. This is why the master Jesus taught letting the dead bury the dead and giving no thought for tomorrow. Not because he was insensitive, but because there’s such a heavy price to pay for not being right here, right now.

This is why he taught forgiveness. Not because it’s a holy thing to do, but because it’s a powerful thing to do. Because it keeps you from being stuck in the past.

In the Clinton Administration.

According to Myss, the more we’re stuck or anchored in the past, the slower our life moves. “The more psychic WEIGHT you have,” she says, “the more you have to WAIT for anything [getting a new job, finding a lover, or healing] to happen.” In other words, the faster YOU change, the faster your LIFE will change. This sounds great, of course, but most of us prefer cooking our pot roasts at a slower, lower heat as opposed to a faster, hotter heat because–quite frankly–we can’t stand the heat. For one thing, most of society moves at–at best–a medium, lukewarm speed, and it’s never fun to outrun your friends and family. It’s lonely at the top and whatever. For another, most of us LIKE holding on to the past. We enjoy not forgiving.

Because we get to be right. We get to make other people feel guilty.

We get to flip total strangers the bird.

[FYI, the above pictures are of me and my friends Kate and Aaron and their son, the main connection to tonight’s blog being that they were taken tonight (when we all went out for Tacos). Although we didn’t plan it, we all wore denim jackets. This is one tie-in to creating time I considered writing about but didn’t because I want to go bed. That is, our wearing the same jackets is an example of a synchronicity, and, according to Myss, the more you live your life in present time, the more synchronicities will occur for you.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a lot of magic around you.

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Worth It (Blog #1000!)

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

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

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

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

Witnesses who happily cheer us on.

Transformation requires more than a charge card.

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

Where’d their approval go? we think.

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

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

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

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

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

Transforming oneself.

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

This sucks, I know.

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

I’ll explain.

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When you hide your hurt, you can’t help but pass it on. It ends up seeping, sometimes exploding out.

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Written in the Stars (Blog #999)

Today’s blog is #999 in a row, and I can’t tell you how excited I am about it. For one thing, I’m one post away from 1,000. (Two including this one.) For another, it’s Christmas Eve. For another, my favorite number is 9, so this blog seems–I don’t know–sacred or something. Maybe I should call it The Holy Trinity of Nines. Regardless, although it’s just one in the grand scheme of things, it feels special.

Okay, hang on, I know what it is.

999 days ago I started this project, and at some point decided I wanted to write for at least a thousand consecutive days. (Later I upped the goal to every day for three years, which is an additional three months, but I’m considering anything after tomorrow “a bonus post.”) Anyway, for 999 days in a row I’ve written. Even when I’ve been dog tired, sick with a sinus infection, miserable with a headache, or burning up with the flu. Even on the day I was in a car accident. Even after I tore my ACL. My point being that–to be clear–there have been hundreds of days I didn’t WANT to blog or spill my guts on the internet. Hundreds of days I didn’t know if I had it in me. Because God knows I’ve set goals before and didn’t stick with them. Yes, I know what I’m feeling.

I’m feeling like–WOW–I’m going to make it.

Earlier today I heard Caroline Myss say that if you want to heal or improve your life in some way, JUST DO SOMETHING CONSISTENTLY. It doesn’t have to be complicated, she said. Stop wearing your least favorite color–forever. Go for a fifteen minute walk–every day. Her point being that any action consistently taken (read: any discipline) will force you to confront not only your saboteur, but also every other part of you that doesn’t want to heal, grow up, and change. Like your inner child (who will throw tantrums), your perfectionist (who will insist whatever you’re doing isn’t good enough), and your control freak (who will want to manage how others perceive you and your project), to name a few.

Notice that addictions, which are also consistent actions and address our inner need for congruency, likewise address these points. However, they do so unconsciously, not consciously.

In my experience with this blog, this wisdom about consistency is spot on. Indeed, many of the categories or themes that have developed here, I believe, are ones that any person undertaking a regular discipline will encounter. Things like balance, boundaries, patience, self-acceptance, and transformation. Take balance and boundaries, for example. Earlier tonight some friends had me over for dinner and invited me to stay late to watch a movie while they stuffed stockings for their kiddos. And whereas I would have loved to have lingered and continued to stuff my face with Fritos and cheese dip, I knew I had this blog to tend to.

So I said, “Thank you, but I can’t.”

This is what I’d recommend to anyone working on a goal–make no exceptions. Now, I’m not talking about your typical goals. I want to lose fifteen pounds or whatever. Especially if all you want to do is stop eating cheesecake. In that case, have a cheat day. But if the real point of your goal is deal with your crap, get in touch with your soul and spirit, and find out what you’re really made of, THEN I suggest making no exceptions. Then I suggest being an absolute hard ass with yourself.

If you do decide to be a hard ass with yourself–about anything–my guess is you’ll uncover a part of yourself you didn’t know was there before. Personally, blogging every day, every damn day has taught me that not only am I stronger and braver than I realized, but I’m also more honest and open-hearted than I realized. Since I started this project, a number of people have said, “I could never be that honest, especially on the internet.” Even my therapist has said, “You’ve clearly got really big balls.” And whereas I don’t know about all that, I do know that if I can be strong and brave and honest and open-hearted, anyone can. Because it’s not THAT hard. Yes, it’s hard. It’s scary and terrifying and exhausting and hard.

But it’s not THAT hard.

What I mean is that it’s not impossible. Whatever it is you’re scared of–and anything you’re scared of counts, even if other people don’t think it’s a big deal–humans have been facing their fears and slaying their dragons for centuries. My point being that you’re not alone. Knowing this–that it’s POSSIBLE to transform yourself for the better through the practice of a consistent discipline–the question becomes, why wouldn’t you? A thousand days ago I would have pulled out my favorite excuses. I can’t. I’m not good enough. I’ll fail. I’ll embarrass myself. Someone else is already doing it better. But having come this far, I now know these are just lies, stories. So if the answer to “Why won’t you do something to improve your life?” is that you simply like the stories you tell yourself about who you are and what you’re not capable of, fine. That in itself is some level of honesty. But don’t expect me to believe your excuses just because you do.

Because I know from experience–all of us are capable of WAY MORE than we think we are.

This is one of the greatest gifts my therapist has given me–she’s staunchly refused to believe my excuses. No matter how many times I’ve campaigned for them, she’s never voted for my limitations. Now, she’s honest. “You’re almost forty,” she says. “I don’t think you should be an Olympic gymnast.” Still, within reason, she’s never stopped rooting for me. With respect to my talents, career, and relationships, she’s always been in my corner. The result being that–between her and this discipline–I’ve gotten back something I didn’t know I’d lost–myself.

Also, I’ve learned how to hope again.

Last year for the Winter Solstice I blogged about how, from the Summer Solstice until the Winter Solstice, the sun rises and sets more and more toward the south in the northern hemisphere. (This is the cause of our progressively shorter days from late June to late December). However, for three days, from December 22 (the typical date of the Winter Solstice) until December 25, the sun appears to stop moving toward the south OR the north. To the ancients, this was terrifying because they thought the sun had died.

Don’t worry. The good news is coming.

On December 24 at midnight (ish)–and you can check this for yourself–you can follow the three stars in Orion’s Belt (sometimes referred to as The Three Kings) to Sirius (the brightest star in the sky), and they’ll point the way the eastern horizon. There you’ll find Virgo, The Virgin. (See above.) Overhead you’ll find The Beehive Cluster (not labeled), sometimes referred to as The Manger. Next to it, Cancer, whose two brightest stars are often called The Two Asses. Six hours later, The Manger and The Two Asses will be on the western horizon, The Virgin will be straight overhead, and the sun will be rising not just on the eastern horizon, but also toward the north. (See below.)

Hooray! The sun didn’t die.

For as long as we can remember, men and women have feared. We’ve watched our days get shorter and shorter and felt our nights get colder and colder. We’ve thought, We can’t do this. We’re not going to make it. Our hope is gone. And yet we’ve consistently persisted. We’ve kept at it, hung on. And time and time again, right out of our darkest night, the light has reappeared. The light reappears. From Christmas until the Summer Solstice, our days get longer and longer, brighter and brighter. This is a universal law. It’s written in the stars. Just when we least expect it, things start to turn around. Life comes flooding back. Letting out a sigh, we think, I’m going make it.

Just like that, our hope is reborn.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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One thing finishes, another starts. Things happen when they happen.

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Swing Sets Still to Play On (Blog #997)

This afternoon I met some friends at a Christmas drop-in party and–quite frankly–stuffed my face with Fritos and ranch dip. My rationalization being 1) I only had a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast and 2) it’s the holidays. What, like I’m going let the birth of our Lord and Savior come and go without celebrating with guacamole? (I would never.) Plus, I didn’t know at the time that my friends were going to invite me out for pizza immediately after I finished my second helping of cheddar cheese cubes.

And that I would accept and eat four pieces of pizza.

While we were out to eat, my friend Aaron, who’s a graphic designer, drew a logo of sorts (pictured up top) for Me and My Therapist (the blog, not the people). I can’t tell you how excited I was. Granted, it may have been the coffee I was drinking, but still. “It’s my first fan art!” I said. Then I added, “That only took 997 days.”

When we left the restaurant, Aaron, his wife Kate, their son, and I went to a local park to look at lights and ride the train. (The park has a kid-sized choo-choo, but adults can ride too, provided they’re okay with having their knees tucked into their chins.) Unfortunately, the train wasn’t running tonight. And whereas his son didn’t seem to care (he’s four), Aaron said, “I’m disappointed. These are horrible holiday hours!”

Regrouping, we looked at lights and played on the swing set. Y’all, you should have seen their son. He was RIDICULOUSLY happy. I kept thinking, We make it so complicated, but joy really is a simple thing. A natural thing. Granted, two minutes earlier the kid was screaming bloody murder over not wanting to wear his toboggan, but maybe there’s a lesson there too. Something bothering you? Pitch a fit. Get it over with. Then move on with your life. Never speak of it again. Instead, find something to be happy about.

A swing set, maybe.

When we left the park, the four of us went back to Aaron and Kate’s house for “hot chocky,” also known as hot chocolate. This is one thing I love about having friends with a four year old. Everything’s a game. The world is new and exciting. “I’m going to take a bath!” my little friend said. “Then I’m going to put on my pajamas!” This is what I’m talking about. Making the ordinary extraordinary.

When we were at the park Aaron stepped in dog crap, and–because Aaron and Kate said their house was a no dookie zone–their son made up a song about it–“No Dookie House.” Well, the next thing I knew, Aaron, his son, and I were doing a Facebook Live video in which we all sang the song. (If you’d like to sing along, the words are “no dookie house, no dookie house, no dookie house.”) Talk about turning lemons into lemonade.

This is the power of perspective.

Kate said my blog tonight should be titled NO DOOKIE HOUSE or DON’T BE A SALTY BITCH, which is what the side of her son’s hot chocolate mug said tonight. The joke being the mug had a picture of the Morton Salt Girl on it along with that saying. (Don’t worry, Focus on the Family, the kid can’t read yet.) And whereas I haven’t decided WHAT I’m going to call the blog tonight (that’s one of the last things I do), I think either would be appropriate. Like, for NO DOOKIE HOUSE, don’t bring crap that belongs outside your home inside. I’m speaking of both your physical home and your emotional home (your heart). Have some boundaries. Give yourself the luxury of a drama-free zone.

For DON’T BE A SALTY BITCH, I’d say, “Don’t be a salty bitch–all the time.” Because, let’s face it, a little saltiness, a little flavor, never hurt anyone. This being said, we all know people who abuse the privilege, people who bitch and moan and gripe and complain and simply refuse to be satisfied no matter what. To say the least, this is unfortunate. Yes, life is hard. Sometimes we step in shit and then step in shit again. I’m not suggesting you be happy about your challenges. But I am suggesting that whatever is under your skin does’t have to stay there until you die. No matter what’s happened to you, you don’t have to go through life bitter and angry and jealous. You’re allowed to let go, to move on, to forgive. Not for anyone else, but for you. I highly suggest you do this–whatever it takes. Because you only have one life, and there are swing sets still to play on.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Storms don’t define us, they refine us.

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