True (Blog #1091)

Leave a comment

Today has been go, go, go. This morning, from a very safe distance, I saw my therapist. Then this afternoon I went for a walk while listening to an interview with Chris Voss, the former lead hostage negotiator for the FBI. About negotiating. Then when I got home I put on some sunscreen and–for the first time this year–mowed my parents’ lawn. And whereas the lawn currently looks great, my face and shoulders do not. Apparently I was a little late on that sunscreen. The sun during my walk did me in. Y’all, I am SO red. So uncomfortable. I want to jump out of my skin. But only from the neck up.

So that’s something.

This evening I listened to another interview (about the opportunities for growth we all have thanks to COVID-19), and now here I am. It’s eleven at night, and–simply put–I’m ready for a break. First, from the day, which has been full of both physical and mental work. (Learning is a brain strain.) Secondly, from this pandemic situation. Seriously, it’s taking its toll on everyone. Sure, we’re at home, but we’re stressed out, tired, worried, fearful. So many generous people are offering online classes for free to keep us entertained and better us, but I for one can’t keep up with all of them. Hell, I couldn’t keep up with all the information in my life before. Who cares if I have a little more time on my hands now? There are only so many hours in the day. And now that spring is here, unless my parents’ grass gets the coronavirus, more and more of my time is about to be spent knocking weeds over.

All this to say that not everything stops during a quarantine. You still have to take care of your lawn (although some people clearly don’t), and you still have to take care of yourself (although some people clearly don’t). Perhaps more than ever, this is THE time to take care of yourself, to really make sure you have the internal foundation required to weather a storm. Because, Buddy, it’s pouring. And whereas you can’t stop the rain, you can do everything in your power to keep it from drenching you. Alas, all too often we stand in the middle of a storm, being soaked through and through, and tell ourselves and our friends, “I’m fine. Really I am. Nothing to see here.”

This morning Facebook reminded me of two quotes I posted on this day several years ago. The first quote, by Cooper Edens said, “If your friends don’t recognize you, throw away your disguises.” Along the same lines, the second quote, by Paul Laurence Dunbar, said (in part), “We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes. This debt we pay to human guile, With torn and bleeding hearts we smile.” With torn and bleeding hearts we smile. How true, how true. Later in the poem Dunbar says, “Let them [the world] only see us, while we wear the mask.”

Standing in the middle of a storm, we say, “I’m fine. Really I am. Nothing to see here.”

Yesterday was my six-year therapy anniversary, my shrink-iversary. So today my therapist and I discussed how  much I’ve grown, how different and better my life is now than it was six years ago. And how different it might have been. “I think you’d still own the dance studio,” she said, “and be surrounded by unhealthy relationships.” Amen. “But I want you to know that for as much as you’ve changed, the person you are today is the person who walked into my office six years ago. I mean, deep down, he was in there. You haven’t become someone new. You’ve simply peeled away the layers that were covering up who you really are.”

In other words, I’ve taken off my mask.

This getting-real process, of course, is a process, and it’s not like I think I’m done, or as authentic as I ever will be. I’ve just made some important strides. And whereas I could talk every day for three years about the specifics of The Path (and have), I believe it starts with getting honest. It starts with admitting to yourself that you’re standing in the middle of a storm getting absolutely drenched and, in fact, you are not fine. Really you’re not. Granted, there’s not an answer in this admission, but there is a relief that comes in letting go of your old story. In letting down your mask, if even for a moment.

This is a scary thing to do, I grant. When you’ve spent decades with walls up, the thought of bringing them down is terrifying. In the interview I listened to today Chris Voss said that when he’s in negotiations with someone and they have their walls up, he says, “Sounds like you don’t trust me yet.” Later he explained, “State the obvious. Tell the truth. It has a profound effect on people.” Amen. Start where you are. I’m scared, I’m nervous, I don’t know what to do. I’m soaked. Whatever.

The truth will set you free.

The last thing my therapist and I discussed today was something I wrote about here several days ago, that part of me is scared to stop this blog next week because it’s been such a good thing for me, because it’s been a healing place for me to meet myself in any given storm. “It’s given me myself back,” I told her, “and I don’t want to lose that.” But she said, “You can’t lose that. It’s inside of you.” Indeed, what I’ve gained from this practice of daily introspection hasn’t come from without, it’s come from within. And I’m convinced it’s been there my entire life, just waiting for me to find it, to find me. What’s more, I’m convinced this is the case for all of us, that there’s a part of us, behind the mask, that is, in a word–

true.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

The truth doesn’t suck.

"

don’t put a bird on it (blog #9)

1 Comment

I spent the day with two of my friends from high school, Kara and Amber. The three of us live in different cities, but we make a point to get together and catch up several times a year. (We all love a good plan.) Our conversations always last a long time, but today I’m pretty sure we broke our personal record–we talked for nine hours. We laughed, we cried, it was better than Cats.

We started our reunion this afternoon at a coffee shop, but five hours later went to a restaurant called Mockingbird Kitchen. Appropriately, there were birds on everything, which immediately made me think of PUT A BIRD ON IT. If you don’t know, PUT A BIRD ON IT is a phrase made popular by the television show Portlandia. It has to do with the idea that you can take something unspectacular (like a simple tote bag) and dress it up and make it prettier than it actually is if you–well–PUT A BIRD ON IT.

I mean, just imagine how boring this coffee cup would be WITHOUT a bird on it:

For whatever reason, PUT A BIRD ON IT always makes me laugh. I like the way it rolls off my tongue. Plus, I have a dear friend who LOVES birds–like absolutely can not get enough of birds–and he’s always rearranging his decorations and knick knacks, so I love visiting his house and going on a bird hunt, seeing if I can spot a bird on a spring throw pillow, or maybe find a new statue of a fat bird he’s put on the back of his toilet. (Since this is my idea of fun, I should probably consider getting out more.)

Anyway, Kara and Amber and I spent a lot of time today talking about authenticity, this goal we all share to be open and honest and real and vulnerable, not only with each other, but also with the world. This goal, of course, is not an easy one. At least for me, I know that it comes in fits and starts. I’ve spent so much time feeling like I wasn’t complete, that a lot of my energy has gone into things like people pleasing and putting forth an acceptable social image, rather than simply being myself.

Whenever my therapist talks about Facebook, she always uses the word “presentation.” Like, it’s so easy to look at pictures of someone online and think that their life is perfect and that they have it all figured out. But the truth is, you’re only seeing what they want you to see, and as Paul Laurence Dunbar says, “We wear the mask that grins and lies.” That may sound a bit harsh, but I think it’s fair to say that few of us present a complete picture of ourselves to those around us, especially on social media. I know I don’t, at least until this blog started.

It’s not that I consider putting your best foot forward to be a bad thing. Most the time, I think what’s actually happening is that we take something we consider unspectacular and PUT A BIRD ON IT. We dress things up and make them look prettier than they actually are. But the problem is that we end up smiling when we’re actually falling apart. We say things like, “I’m fine,” when the truth sounds more like, “I’m fucking pissed.”

Close to ten years ago, I got obsessed with handwriting analysis, and I bought a lot of books on the subject. The theory is you can tell a lot about a person’s personality by studying their handwriting–how it slants, how big or small it is, how large the margins are. Well, one easy thing that anyone can do is look at a person’s signature and compare it to the rest of their writing. Ideally, they should look the same, but often they don’t. The explanation is that a person’s handwriting shows their true personality, but the signature shows the image they present to the world. The signature shows the mask they wear. The signature shows whether or not they’ve put a bird–on themselves.

When I first started therapy, I talked about how great it was. I mean, my therapist is hilarious, and we laughed a lot, and I saw immediate improvement in my life. “Everyone should go to therapy,” I said. Even now, I’m constantly saying, “My therapist says this,” or “My therapist says that.” Hell, I even have a blog about my therapist. But somewhere along the way, I started telling people, “I’m just kidding. Don’t go to therapy. It sucks.” What I mean by that is that productive therapy is difficult. It’s not easy to live an authentic life, to do things like be vulnerable, honor your emotions, set boundaries, and initiate confrontations. It’s much easier to PUT A BIRD ON IT.

All that being said, I think authenticity is worth all the hard work and being real is its own reward. There’s something beautiful, after all, about a simple tote bag that requires nothing but itself in order to be complete.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

So perhaps perfection has little to do with that which changes and everything to do with that which doesn't. For surely there is a still, small something inside each of us that never changes, something that is timeless and untouchable, something inherently valuable and lovable--something perfect.

"