We All Need Soothing (Blog #967)

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Well crap. All day I’ve been worn the eff out. The last few days I’ve slept more than a bear in hibernation, but I just can’t seem to get my rear in gear. Plus, my hips have been hurting. The weather must be changing. Oh no. Is THIS what it’s like to get older? If so, you can have it. Of course, it beats the alternative (dying). Still, I wonder if it wouldn’t help if I were a SMIDGE less cognizant of my body. That is, as a dancer I’m pretty tuned into every square inch of my physical self, and–I don’t know–maybe I wouldn’t make such a big deal about things getting slightly out of whack if I were one of those less self-aware people who, as my dad says, can’t find their ass with both hands. But just imagine how inconvenient that would be.

Especially when going to the bathroom.

But I digress.

I spent this afternoon doing laundry, first my clothes, then my sheets. That’s right, smart alecks, I’ve now washed my sheets twice this quarter. (Miracles never cease.) Anyway, while the washer and dryer were doing their thing, I started reading a book about the importance of the vagus nerve, the longest nerve (that’s actually two nerves) in your body and the one that’s the most responsible for regulating not only your sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems, but also your heart, liver, and lungs. In other words, it’s important. And whereas I haven’t gotten to the part in the book about how to consciously activate your vagus nerve (and thus calm down your body and stimulate healing), I’ve heard before that humming or singing, as well as gentle rocking, help switch your vagus nerve from the “let’s freak out” to the “everything’s gonna be just fine” position. This makes sense to me. Think about how babies respond to humming, singing, and gentle rocking. Well, you and I are no different.

We all need soothing.

This evening I helped a friend update their website. Okay, fine, we technically started over, since their site hasn’t been updated in eight years. And whereas starting over obviously required more work, we had the best time. At least I did. I spent most of my college years engrossed in photography, layout, and design and have spent most of my years since engrossed in writing and communication, so this really was the perfect thing for my friend to ask me to do. I dove right in. That being said, since each website hosting platform is different, much of tonight was a learning curve–how to change font sizes and what not. But hey, I like learning and my friend bought dinner, so Hakuna Matata!

My friend and I worked on their site for–I don’t know–four hours, then I worked on it a few more when I got home. I guess I got hyper-focused on figuring out how to add pictures and link to their social media accounts and couldn’t let it go. (I’m no Elsa.) While I was with my friend I kept futzing around with text alignment–to the left, to the center, to the right. My friend said, “This is why you DON’T want someone who’s OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE designing your website.” I said, “This is why you DO want someone who’s obsessive compulsive designing your site.” Along these lines, my therapist says there are times when my perfectionism serves me. Because it allows me to attend to ALL THE DETAILS when redecorating a room or redesigning a website or whatever. I just need to be able to turn my perfectionism off so I don’t use it against myself. (Like, my nipples aren’t perfect, and all that.)

JUST ENJOY YOUR NIPPLES, MARCUS.

Now, the fact that I stayed up until two tonight working on my friend’s site when 1) I was already tired and 2) there’s not a deadline–I guess–means I haven’t quite figured out how to turn my perfectionism off. At the same time, it may just mean that I got excited about something, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We creatives (that is, all of us) need to get enthused about new projects now and then. My friend and I tonight were brainstorming ideas and ended up laughing, laughing, laughing. This is huge. Not just having fun, but also bringing LIFE to yourself, to others, and to your work.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your emotions are tired of being ignored.

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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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And God knows you don't make everyone else happy. But this is no reason to quit or be discouraged, since doing what you love and feel called to do is never--never--about gaining acceptance from others.

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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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Sometimes the best you can do is metaphorically sit you ego down, look it square in the eye, and say, “Would you shut the fuck up already?”

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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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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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On Updating Your Software (Blog #876)

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Phew. It’s been a day. This afternoon I ran some errands, fixed a friend’s dishwasher, downloaded some material for an online course I’m taking, and wrote a blog for someone else (for money!). Then this evening I had dinner with my parents and later installed a chandelier for a friend. This last task took forever. Installing chandeliers almost always does. No two jobs are ever the same. Honestly, I think tonight’s job would have gone easier if I knew in the beginning what I knew in the end–that the wire needed to be so long, the chain needed to be so long, and so on. But these are things I could only find out by experimenting. That’s the deal. My inner slave driver gives me shit for not knowing things there’s no way I could know.

Stop that, inner slave driver.

Now it’s two in the morning, and I’m trying to give myself a break by blogging short. I have to be up in several hours to help my dad kick off his birthday (happy birthday, Dad) by going to the donut shop (his favorite place and one I don’t hate). So I’ll get right to the point.

Since I’m not done with the painting job I’ve been working on lately, I could have painted today. But I needed a rest. My body’s been hurting, and my sinuses have been irritated from all the fumes. Plus, I needed time to run around, to do other jobs. This afternoon I actually thought I’d blog early so I could rest more tonight. But then I installed a software update for my laptop, and the entire process took thirty minutes, which didn’t leave me enough time to write. So here I am now. Anyway, it occurred to me during my laptop’s software update that we all need a software update now and then. That is, most of us are running mental and emotional programs we picked up as children. Tonight the friend I hung the chandelier for said he was so insistent on everything being just so (you should see the two of us together) because his parents used to vacuum themselves out of their house so there wouldn’t be any footprints in the carpet.

Think about that!

My point is that here my friend is, decades later, running his life on an old program. This isn’t a judgment; it’s an observation. Plus, I’m the same way. I really gave myself a tough time for not having things all figured out with the chandelier from step one, and this is typical for me–to insist on perfection. This is an impossible standard, of course, and the fact is I could just as easily be patting myself on the back for trying and learning new things. Because no one ever taught me how to hang a chandelier. I just got curious about it one day, and if it were anyone else doing that, I’d think it was pretty cool.

Way to go, me.

Back to the software analogy, I do think that since starting therapy I’ve been updating my mental and emotional patterns. I’m not nearly as tough on myself (or others) as I used to be, and when I am I let things go more quickly. When I mess up, when I’m not perfect, I don’t imagine that the consequences will be the-sky-is-falling awful. As I recently heard–shit happens, and I’m still enough. This is the biggest software update I think we all need, a shift to the idea that no matter what happens–no matter what–we’re enough, we’re enough, we’re enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If life can create a problem, it can also provide an answer.

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On Perfectionism (Blog #869)

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This afternoon I started painting a bathroom at a friend’s house. And whereas I didn’t get one complete coat done, I did come close. Plus, I’m learning to accept less than perfect as okay. Often when I’m editing a piece of writing or choreographing a dance routine, I can tweak forever. Eventually, my eyes cross. I don’t know what’s good and what’s bad. This is, of course, because what’s good, great, or perfect in one person’s eyes is blah or whatever in another’s. Tonight I watched a video on YouTube with two million views. Eight thousand people gave it a thumbs up. Two thousand people gave it a thumbs down.

Who’s right?

Recently I saw someone on a online forum ask, “What’s the difference between a perfectionist and a person who just appreciates excellence?” Well, first off, only a perfectionist would ask this question, a perfectionist who wants to believe they’re not a perfectionist. Who me? Never. I just have high standards. This thinking is insidious. I should know. I’m a perfectionist from way back. That being said, things are getting better. Over the last several years I’ve come to accept, if not embrace, many things in my inner and outer worlds that I previously would have turned my nose up at. Do I still appreciate excellence? You bet your sweet bippy. I can absolutely marvel at a flawless body, a well-decorated room, or prize-worthy writing. But do I NEED everything in my life to conform to my extremely high standards in order to have inner peace?

No.

I didn’t participate in the online conversation I just mentioned, but for me the big difference between a perfectionist and someone who appreciates excellence is the perfectionist will act compulsively and the person who appreciates excellence won’t. That is, a perfectionist MUST have things just so in order to move on or sleep well at night. Earlier I was editing a piece of music, and my perfectionist got hung up because the cut ended on count 7 instead of 8, the end of the measure. Well, I almost threw the whole project out. This is crap, I thought. No one will like it. Because of one beat! When most people don’t even count beats of music–OR CARE. Thankfully, I just got over it. Seven is the number of perfection, I told myself. And it was that simple. I just needed to tell myself a different story. Now I have a piece of edited music I didn’t have before.

At the very least, it’s good enough.

Several years ago I painted and redecorated nearly the entire interior of a friend’s house. Weeks after everything was done, I realized I’d used latex paint on their trim instead of oil-based. Now, this is a common thing to do, but it’s not technically “the best” thing to do because latex doesn’t stick to oil-based paint all that well. It comes off it’s bumped into a lot. Anyway, I called my friend in a panic. “I fucked up,” I said. But my friend wasn’t upset. I guess because THEY aren’t a perfectionist, at least when it comes to their house. “Is everything better than it was when you started?” they said. “Yeah, it is,” I said. “Then I’m happy,” they said.

Contrast this to how uptight Barbra Streisand got when she remodeled her house. (You can read about it in her book she wrote about design.) She absolutely insisted everything be just so. Like, do it over. Is her house beautiful? You bet your sweet bippy. But is she any happier living there than my friend is in their home? I doubt it. Because a perfectionist is never truly satisfied. There’s always SOMETHING to improve. Talk about tiring. So for all recovering perfectionists, I suggest looking at something that would normally drive you crazy–a crooked picture, an unfinished project, a less-than-perfect selfie–and leaving it alone. Go ahead, try it. Find a way to move on with your life. The world won’t fall apart.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sure, we forget it plenty of times, but on the inside we’re all shining. This is what gives me hope, knowing that we are all radiant.

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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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We all need to feel alive.

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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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If another's perspective, another's story about you is kinder than the one you're telling yourself, surely that's a story worth listening to.

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The Perfect Front (#472)

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When I lived in The Big House for a few years, I had a lot of chandeliers, only one of which sold during my estate sale, what I call The Great Letting Go. Since I moved in with my parents last year, all my leftover lamps and lights have been in the garage collecting dust, getting periodically kicked or moved around. A few times I’ve tried to sell them on Facebook or Craigslist, but to no avail. Finally, a couple weeks ago I decided to dust them off and bring them in. Now two of the lights are hanging in my room (I wrote about one of them here), and three are hanging in a spare closet.

All safe and sound.

This afternoon I determined to bring in the final chandelier, my favorite one, actually. I’ve been putting it off because it’s loaded with crystals, and I’ve assumed some of them were broken or damaged during the move or while in storage. Plus, there’s not really a “great” place to hang it here at Mom and Dad’s. Our ceilings are low, and this thing is somewhat substantial and dramatic. It needs a big space. But I thought, Hanging it is better than not hanging it. At least then I’ll get to look at it.

Well–immediately after taking down the old light fixture, I realized I’d have to go to Lowe’s for a few supplies. I’ll spare you all the details, but I needed some hooks to secure the chandelier to the fixture box (in the ceiling), as well as a medallion. (The “hood” of the chandelier, the part that goes flush to the ceiling, is three inches in diameter, but the ceiling hole is four. I figured a medallion with a three-inch hole would solve this problem.) Of course, all of Lowe’s medallions have the standard four-inch opening, still too big for my chandelier’s particular hood to cover up. Shit, I’ll have to improvise, I thought.

For over an hour, I strolled around Lowe’s and then Walmart, looking for something–anything–I could turn into a suitable ceiling medallion. FINALLY I stumbled across a set of small, circular sunburst mirrors and thought, Eureka–I can take out one of the mirrors and fasten the frame to the ceiling!

If none of this makes sense, stick with me. I promise I won’t go all Bob Vila on your ass and tell you everything that happened next, step by step. Suffice it to say, in home decoration and repair, everything is a process. But here’s the most important thing–when I got home from Walmart, I took out the actual mirror part of the mirror I liked the best, then drilled several one-inch holes into its plastic backing. Here’s what it looked like when I was done.

At this point, I was ready to hang the chandelier. So that’s what I did. And whereas I was all worried about the crystals being broken or damaged, not a single one was. In fact, only three of them had slipped off. (So I slipped them right back on.) Here’s what it looks like now that I’m completely finished. (Ta-da!)

This afternoon my inner perfectionist was all a-twitter about the chandelier. Even after my taking out all the extra chain links, it really does hang a bit low for our ceilings. Also, since the mirror wasn’t made to be a medallion, it’s not “exactly” flush to the ceiling. And–I think–it’s a little small for the size of the chandelier itself. But I’ve been reminding myself–1) The chandelier is gorgeous, better than what was there before, 2) No one besides me will notice or care, and 3) A small medallion, in this case, is better than no medallion at all.

Now I’m absolutely thrilled that the light is inside. I really do adore it. While dusting it this afternoon, I noticed that–honestly–there’s nothing perfect about it. (And that’s okay.) Each crystal is hung by a bent piece of wire, and every single piece is different. (I assume they were made by hand.) Also, the carousels that hold the hooks (and therefore the crystals) are all bent. Maybe they were made that way or have just warped slightly over the years. I mean, it is an antique. But really, what a ridiculous idea–perfection. As if there is such a thing.

Whom are you really kidding?

Earlier when I started to take tonight’s selfie, I decided to turn around. There’s a saying in psychology–the back is as big as the front–and since my front gets plenty of attention on this blog (God knows), I figured my back should get some too. I’m being cheeky here (and in the photo), but there really is something to this idea. We all have this face we show to the world–the one that smiles, the one that’s “nice,” the one that lives in the house where everything is “just so.” The Perfect Front. But that’s all it is–a front. I mean, whom are you really kidding? You want your chandeliers and pictures to hang perfectly straight? Good fucking luck. Life is messy and emotional. In fact, it’s damn ugly at times. That’s what The Imperfect Back is–all the things we don’t want to look at, all the parts of ourselves and the world we think are bad or wrong or embarrassing. But these parts deserve our attention too and (like my chandelier) are worthy of being seen. Plus, we forget that it’s not ultimately about The Perfect Front OR The Imperfect Back. It’s never about what’s outside, what’s physical. It’s about what’s inside, the light.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.

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A Still, Small Something (Blog #358)

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Today I’ve felt great, almost normal, whatever that is. My skin rash barely itched at all this afternoon and evening, and the redness continues to fade. My parents are convinced it was all just a reaction to our changed laundry detergent, an argument my dermatologist didn’t buy when I saw him two days ago. Because of this difference of opinion, a chunk of my skin is now missing, on its way to Texas to be (as far as I’m concerned) unnecessarily examined under a microscope. Whatever the results, I suppose the scar on my skin will long serve to remind me that I once had a very miserable two weeks full of itching and burning (where no one wants to itch and burn). What’s more, I’m reminded that just as a problem or illness can show up without warning, it can just as quickly turn around or disappear.

Presto change-o.

In other news, my energy level has been pretty solid and consistent today. I have a lingering cough from the last time I had the flu, but it’s really nothing serious. Granted, I could find more things “wrong” if I wanted to, but–all in all– I feel basically human and can’t tell you how exciting that is. Seriously, y’all, I spent the day doing nothing special–I wrote a blog post for a friend/client, ate with my parents, read a book, taught a dance lesson, and washed Tom Collins (my car) in preparation for going out-of-town tomorrow. No big deal, right? But having spent these lasts several months up and down with my health, I feel like I just climbed Mt. Everest–super proud! I’m actually tickled shitless to just go to work and do everyday things. And whereas I used to take these “average” activities for granted, now I’m grateful for them.

Like, thank you, Lord Jesus, that I was able to tie my shoes today.

The book I read this afternoon, written by The Disney Institute, is called Be Our Guest and specifically deals with the Disney business model and the company’s superior customer service practices. Y’all, it’s fascinating. Walt Disney (the man) apparently used to be concerned with “infinite details.” To this end, doors in Disney hotels have two peepholes–one at an adult’s level, one at a child’s. Additionally, the texture of the streets change from one area of the park to another. Likewise, even the trash cans (which are spaced 27 steps apart because Walt noticed that was how far people would walk before throwing their trash on the ground) are designed to match their surroundings.

All evening I’ve been thinking about this phrase, infinite details. Tonight I taught a dance lesson to a new student. This was only their third lesson, but they’ve already picked up on the fact that I, too, am concerned with infinite details. (The term most my students use is “picky.”) But with this student, my pickiness doesn’t seem to be a problem, since at some point during tonight’s lesson they said, “I’m a bit of a perfectionist too.”

Perfection is technically impossible.

I bring these two things up–being concerned with infinite details and being a perfectionist–because I’m beginning to think there’s a significant difference. In my experience, being a perfectionist is hell. I can’t speak for anyone else, but when I’m in perfectionist mood, I’m not happy unless everything is “just so.” And whenever I demand “perfection” from either myself or another, I never end up satisfied because “perfection” doesn’t exist in the way most of us think about it. In other words, there’s always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it’s also technically impossible.

As I see it, the idea of perfection inevitably is linked to inherent value. In other words, we perfectionists believe that if we get all our ducks in a row we’re somehow worth more as a person or somehow more lovable. But having spent the last year basically living everything I previously considered “un-perfect” in life–not having a job, being constantly sick, and, uh, living with my parents–I now believe that my inherent value (or anyone else’s) has absolutely nothing to do with station, situation, or specific skill sets. More and more, I accept and love myself “as is.” So one day I’m sick as a dog and don’t “produce” a thing. The next I’m fit as a fiddle and busy from dawn til dusk. How is one version of me any more perfect than the other?

Perfection has little to do with that which changes.

This is an idea I’d like to hold on to going forward. I’d like to drop the idea of perfection, or at least the idea that it’s something that I don’t already have and need to strive for. Sure, I imagine I’ll always be concerned with infinite details, little ways I can improve my dancing, my writing, and even my health. But if all the details don’t come together, if I don’t get everything “right,” I no longer want to believe that that makes me “wrong.” After all, don’t details come and go? One minute you get a dance move, and the next you don’t. One day you’re sick, and the next you’re not. Suddenly you have a scar on your skin. Is there anything in our lives that can’t turn on a dime, presto change-o? Of course not. 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.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We always have more support than we realize.

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