On Change and the Secret to Happiness (Blog #892)

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Today I made myself rest. First, I slept in. Then I finished reading a book. Then I did something I almost never do unless I’m sick–I binge watched a television series (The Deuce, season two). Then I took a nap. And whereas I’ve felt groggy ever since, I know it helped. I’ve been pushing my body hard lately, working both inside and outside (in the hot sun), and no one can go forever. I can’t go forever.

This evening I visited with a friend then went solo to IHOP to eat dinner and work on another creative project. Years ago I used to go to IHOP all the time–with friends, by myself. Well, get this shit. There’s a waitress I got to know, and she still works there. Tonight she remembered what I always order. She even remembered how I like my meat and eggs cooked (medium and over medium) and which pancakes are my favorite (Harvest Grain and Nut). Talk about wow. You think people don’t notice you, that you’re not important. But they do. You are.

Tonight while chatting with my friend I referenced a moment of frustration I had with someone in their seventies and said, “They’re not changing.”

My friend said, “I’m in my sixties and I’m not changing.”

So I want to talk about change.

Yesterday I had lunch with my friends Kara and Amber, and both of them are into the enneagram, a method of personalty assessment (like Myers-Briggs). According to Kara, I’m a 4 (The Individualist or The Romantic) with a 3 wing (The Aristocrat). From what I’ve since read online, all of this sounds pretty accurate. One website listed nine jobs that are common for 4s with a 3 wing, and I’ve either had or aspire to have six of them. And whereas I don’t intend to go into all the details about my specific personality type, I will say this. 4s apparently feel fundamentally misunderstood. “That’s right,” I told Kara, “I often think that other people just don’t get me.” But I’m working on this. Because for someone else to understand that you don’t feel understood is clearly to have been gotten.

My talking about personality types is, believe it or not, related to change. What I mean is that we often think our personalities are set in stone. Like, I’m a 4 with a 3 wing, and I’m gonna stay a 4 with a 3 wing. Well, this may or may not be so. I know that when I first did Myers-Briggs when I was sixteen, I was an ENTJ, and now I’m an ENFJ. Given some more time, I wouldn’t be surprised if I switched from an E (extrovert) to an I (introvert) because more and more I get a charge from being alone. In terms of the Myers-Briggs questionnaire, I’m already on the fence.

Richard C. Schwartz, who created Internal Family Systems, says personality tests simply show us how our various “parts” have organized. For example, if you think of yourself as shy, it may not be that YOU are shy, but simply that a PART of you is, a part of you that’s running the show. What I like about this approach is that it leaves room for change. It leaves room for your shy part to become more outgoing and assertive, or for another part to take charge. It means you’re not stuck in stone.

Conversely, when I said the person I knew wasn’t changing, I meant they WERE stuck in stone. And whereas this could be a compliment if a person were gregarious and kind, it wasn’t, since this person was rude, bossy, and controlling. Years ago I would have put up with it. In this instance, I pushed back. I said, “Listen, I know what I’m doing.” Referencing a mutual friend of ours, this person said, “I can’t figure out why they think you’re so nice.”

I said, “I used to be a lot nicer.”

For me, being less “nice” than I used to be is huge progress. I realize on the surface this may sound off, but as my therapist says, nice is a strategy. Nice is something you are to secretaries when you want to see their boss. It’s something you are to hair dressers when you want them to do a good job. It’s something you are to strangers and even friends when you want them to like you.

Nice is what I used to be. Now I’m more concerned with being authentic and kind. Because what I’ve learned is that you can be kind–and honest. You can be kind–and assertive.

After years of studying personality types, I continue to be fascinated by them. I probably always will be. At the same time, I’d like to suggest a couple things. First, just because you have a certain trait doesn’t mean it’s something that will never change. Indeed, if you think of yourself as fundamentally fearful, nervous, shy, grumpy, or awkward, know that these traits are perfect fodder for transformation. I’m not saying you’ll go from being an Emily Dickinson recluse to an Oprah Winfrey socialite, but I am saying you really don’t know what’s inside you wanting to emerge until you dig in and do The Hard Work.

Second, The Hard Work can happen at any age. My therapist says that unfortunately many people are just “children growing older.” This is what I mean about being set in stone, being either willfully ignorant of your immaturities or not caring enough to do something about them. The good news is my therapist also says she sees people in their sixties, seventies, and even older changing all the time. They get hooked up with a good therapist or simply decide they’ve had enough suffering. After decades of witnessing life and its atrocities, of being disconnected from their authentic, kind selves, they finally figure out the secret to happiness–Life’s not changing, so I have to be the one to do that.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We always have more support than we realize.

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On Original Goodness (Blog #770)

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If I could live today over and over again, I would. This morning I slept in, ate a lovely breakfast (well, three eggs and canned fruit but the coffee was fabulous, well, Folgers), then read a book on my laptop for two hours. (I love reading.) Then I ran an errand and went to the library to sync my online files (the library has fast internet). Then I went to the gym and ran on the treadmill and did my knee exercises. I can definitely see improvement with my knee. It’s getting stronger, less shaky. Then I ate a burrito (well, two), and went to Porch Pickin’.

My friend Kim invited me to Porch Pickin’. She and her neighbors (and some of their friends) have been doing it for years. Every so often they get together–on a porch–and play music. Or just watch. That’s what I did (well, and drank beer). I hung out, listened, and chatted with Kim and her brother, who’s visiting from out-of-town. Granted, it was a LITTLE chilly. Fifty-five degrees. But I had layers.

This was the perfect thing, just the right amount of socialization. I think of myself as an extrovert, but, really, I hug the extrovert/introvert line. I certainly need my alone time. Time to be quiet. Time to reflect. Time for solitude. This blog helps with that. I put in my headphones, pipe in instrumental music, and drown out the rest of the world. More and more, I think it’s necessary for my sanity. It’s simply one of the best ways I have to work things out. To get what’s inside out, or at least sorted through. Obviously, this benefits me. But I think it also benefits those I come in contact with, since it means that I enter into each interaction with less baggage than I would otherwise.

So this is the formula–less baggage for you=less baggage for the world.

When I got home from Porch Pickin’, I ate dinner and caught up with Mom and Dad. Then Dad and I took out the trash, which, again, is something I’m recommend everyone do. Not just your physical trash, but also your mental trash. Your emotional trash. Last night Mom said she imagines most people, when it comes to their personalities, think, This is just who I am. Pick an adjective–nervous, irritable, fussy, nosey, high-strung, stressed-out, angry, frantic, worried, frenetic, mind won’t stop racing. But the truth is that your personality is just something you’ve created “along the way.” It’s like a mask you wear. It’s not who you really are, just like the three layers of clothes I had on tonight aren’t who I really am.

Richard C. Schwartz, the founder of Internal Family Systems, says that underneath our various personality constructs, we all share inherent qualities–curiosity, calmness, confidence, compassion, clarity, courage, creativity, and connectedness. If you’re current mood reflects these eight “c’s,” congratulations. This is who you are. If it doesn’t, welcome to the club. Meaning, there’s still work to do.

What I like about Schwartz’s theory or way of explaining things is that it assumes that these qualities come “built-in.” That is, rather than siding with the Original Sin theory (which says you were born bad, bad, bad to the bone), his theory sides with what some traditions call Original Goodness or Original Blessing. Meaning that a spark of divinity already lives in you. You don’t have to put it there. However, if it gets covered up along the way (by anger, for example, that you might use to keep people at a distance because you’re afraid of being hurt by them), you might need to do some work (The Hard Work) to uncover it.

I think of the things I’ve struggled with most of my life–being afraid, feeling nervous or less-than–and how for years I’ve simply thought, This is as good as it’s going to get. But I really don’t believe that anymore. Because as I’ve continued to work on myself and take my trash out, things have gotten better, on the inside. Now I feel more centered, at peace, at home. Stated simply, this state of being manifests itself as my being more kind toward myself and others. And, along the lines of Original Goodness, it’s not like someone has had to put “more kindness” into me, but rather that “more kindness” has been uncovered. You know how you get out of the shower and look at yourself in a foggy mirror. Everything is distorted. But then you wipe away the junk, and it’s like, Okay, there I am.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is progressing as it should.

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On Something Good (Blog #753)

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Wow. I’ve spent the last eight hours–except for a few bathroom breaks–on the futon in my family’s spare room, either working on a puzzle, reading, or–now–blogging. I’d intended to only work on the puzzle for an hour, but ended up working on it for–I don’t know–four. You know, I got focused. I kept thinking, One more piece.

While working on the puzzle, I listened to a couple podcasts/interviews about trauma and/or healing. One was with David Bullard and discussed something called “blink-flash” meditation, which involves 1) thinking of a mild to moderate stressful event (anything that makes you cringe to focus on), then 2) thinking of something pleasant (like a walk in the woods or your favorite song) while 3) crossing your arms and alternately tapping your shoulders and blinking your eyes (three blinks per set for several sets).

Sounds crazy, but I tried it, and the anxiety I felt around my original event lessened. (You’re supposed to rate the event on a scale of one to ten before and after the thinking/tapping/blinking part.)

Another podcast/interview I listened to was with Richard C. Schwartz, the founder of Internal Family Systems, a psychological/healing/spiritual approach I’ve been absolutely fascinated by lately. Here’s a link to the interview if you’re interested. IFS proposes that we all have different “parts” of ourselves that are longing to be listened to and understood and that when we do listen to and understand them, they essentially transform from an enemy to a friend. For example, someone’s angry part may just be trying to protect them from getting hurt again. Schwartz says that the ego that many psychological and spiritual disciplines refer to is essentially our parts, specifically our “protective” parts, and that rather than trying to rid ourselves of it, we should find out what it has to say. I’m paraphrasing, but he says, “Jesus welcomed the outcasts in the outer world. I’m asking you to welcome the outcasts in your inner world.”

Earlier this evening I finished reading Explain Pain, a book about how–in the majority of cases–pain is created in our brains (and not just our bodies) as a way to protect us. One of my takeaways from the book is that if you have a particular pain (in your neck, let’s say), it can be useful to notice when it does and doesn’t hurt. For example, if it hurts to turn you head, you might notice that it only hurts to turn your head when you’re sitting up, but not when you’re lying down. Along this line, the book suggests trying to find ways to reach the same position (head turned) without experiencing the associated pain. Like, you could sit in a swivel chair and turn your lower body while holding your head still. Or move your eyes first, then let your head follow (instead of moving them both at once). Or hold your mouth open while you turn your head.

As I understand it, the idea behind these suggestions is that our brains often associate certain movements with certain (painful) outcomes. Maybe you were in a car accident, so it thinks, “It’s not safe to turn my head.” So it creates pain as a protective mechanism. But if you “slip in the back door” and create the same outcome by getting there in a different way, your brain will get the message that “this (end result/position/movement) doesn’t have to hurt.”

Currently it’s 9:20, and I’m overwhelmed by all I’m learning. My brain is mush, like a nice bowl of grits. One the one hand, all this information is exciting. On the other, I’m worried that I “won’t get it” and that “it’ll work for everyone else, but not for me.” Of course, these thoughts are welcome. Also, I’m telling myself something I saw on Facebook recently–I haven’t come this far to only come this far. In other words, everything I’m learning is just another piece of the puzzle, and it’s all adding up to something. What that is, I don’t know exactly. But more and more, I think it’s something good.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Transformation doesn’t have a drive thru window. It takes time to be born again.

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On Constriction and My Inner Critic (Blog #746)

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Today there wasn’t a damn thing I had to do. Not an errand to run, not an appointment to keep. Tomorrow, on the other hand, is chock-full of to-do items. But not today. Nope, I slept in then did whatever the hell I wanted, whenever I wanted to do it. I don’t say this to brag–look at me, I don’t have a schedule–but rather in appreciation. Often I bemoan the lack of structure in my life–no regular job, no regular paycheck, woe is me. But today, as much as ever, I realized that I’m grateful for this period of my life. As I’ve said before (and talk about every day, every damn day), I’m learning a lot, growing a lot, healing a lot. This is both important and huge and wouldn’t be possible–I don’t imagine–if I were involved in the fast-paced rat race.

It seems learning, growing, and healing all require slowing down.

This afternoon I worked more on a puzzle I recently picked back up. I’d started it with my sister back in December. I can’t tell you how much fun I’m having, seeing the whole thing come together. Not that I’m anywhere near the end, but I can see progress. It too is slow-going, literally one piece at a time.

While working on the puzzle, I listened to a podcast/talk about trauma and healing by Judith Blackstone. It was just a teaser of her work and I’d like to check out more, but it was fascinating. According to her, one of the ways in which our bodies respond to trauma is by constricting. Constriction, she says, is often the only method through which we are able to either control a situation (or ourselves) or create a defense to a threat. For example, if you were told as a child to shut up, your body might constrict or tighten up somewhere around your throat. Or if you were spanked or abused, your body might constrict around your hips.

This last weekend I started reading a book about Internal Family Systems (IFS). I mentioned IFS two days ago, but the idea is that all of us have a sundry of “parts” that make up our thoughts and emotions. The example I used before was that I have parts that are critical. I also have parts that feel ashamed, vulnerable, and less than, and parts that feel proud, confident, and angry. The book I’m reading, by Richard C. Schwartz, points out that our parts are often in opposition to each other, that one part may not like another. This explains why one minute you can think it’s a good idea to eat chocolate cake, and the next minute you’re beating yourself up for actually eating it. Like, maybe your inner child said to eat it, then your parent (or inner critic) punished you for doing so.

Can’t we all just get along?

My therapist and I have discussed this idea in different terms. She says our mind is like a banquet with many guests. And whereas all guests are welcome, not every guest should get to sit at the table. Something I’ve said before is that my inner critic is welcome in the room, but he doesn’t get to run the show. Marcus at the Head of the Table gets to run the show. However, as I’ve been reviewing this way of looking at things the last few days, I’ve realized that although I’ve said (and thought) that all guests are welcome, I really don’t act like it. Rather, I ignore a lot of my “guests” and do my best to banish them against the wall or out of the room altogether. Like, shut up, you’re not important. But the book I’m reading says every part is important. And whereas they don’t have to run the show, they do want and need to be heard.

An exercise the book suggested was to pick a part, any part, and dialogue with it. Like, Hey, what’s your deal, inner critic? Why are you so critical? I’d really like to know. So that’s what I did this afternoon. I talked to my inner critic. I’ll spare you the details (they’re personal), but basically my inner critic said it felt like it HAD to be critical because my inner child was too trusting and had been hurt or taken advantage of in the past. And whereas this might sound like a bunch of bullshit, I ended up crying when my inner critic said, “It hurts to be this uptight all the time.” So I don’t think it’s bullshit. Plus, for the rest of the day I’ve felt better–less constricted–like, um, part of me loosened up.

Personally, I wish that all my parts would loosen up or let go all at once. BAM, we’re healed. Of course, this wouldn’t be healthy. Nobody (no body) constricts overnight, and nobody (no body) un-constricts overnight. Healing is a circuitous journey. It’s one piece at a time. And whereas I used to think I’d never heal, more and more I believe that I will. Not that “healed” is a destination you can arrive at. We’re always healing something. But I do think longstanding problems can be resolved or at least vastly improved. In my experience, this starts with accepting yourself. That is, it starts with accepting all parts of yourself, especially the parts you may find embarrassing or wrong. It starts with getting quiet and saying, Sweetheart, I’m here for you. Talk to me. I’m finally listening.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your story isn’t about your physical challenges.

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All Parts Are Welcome (Blog #744)

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This evening I worked for an hour. An entire hour. (I do work sometimes.) I taught dance at a wedding, as part of the reception. The bride and groom wanted their guests to have something to do while they were having their pictures taken and the main room was being “flipped” from a sanctuary to a dining hall/dance party central. I thought this was thoughtful. For those who didn’t take the dance lesson, there was corn hole.

It’s always good to have options.

Since the wedding and reception was out-of-town, I spent all day getting ready for the affair. Funny how you can take hours preparing for a one-hour deal. Still, a boy’s gotta shower, and this boy also needed to borrow a portable speaker for playing music. You’d think I’d have one as a dance instructor, but I don’t. Thank God for friends.

The event tonight was held at a historic site that was originally one of the first colleges in Arkansas. You should have seen it. You could see it if I had taken pictures, but I didn’t. Well, I did take one, of the dessert table. They offered a selection of pies. A selection of alcohol would have been better, but you take what you can get. A calorie is a calorie. I went with the caramel apple pie, which almost made up for the fact that I got absolutely windblown and soaked walking into the building when I first got there. I hate the rain, especially when it’s cold, especially when I have to walk through it and–thanks to my bum knee–my max speed is two miles per hour.

But I digress.

The lesson itself went great. Fabulous, really. As good as any I’ve ever taught at a wedding or similar function. Normally you have to beg and plead people to participate, but most these folks jumped right in. Plus, there was a door to shut out those who didn’t jump in, and that way they weren’t a distraction. What struck me the most was that everyone seemed so friendly. Even the guys, who are normally stand-offish when it comes to dancing, were laughing and carrying on. Sober! As for me, I was a bit cranky. I’ve been a bit cranky lately. (Did I mention I hate the rain?) And whereas I used to hide it, lately I’ve been rolling with it. I’m still fun and charming (I think), just more–um–sarcastic/cynical/droll. In terms of tonight’s lesson, this means I didn’t put on a face. If someone was screwing up or interrupting, rather than stew about it, I addressed it.

“I need you to do this next part with your mouths closed.”

My therapist says that when you’re not trying to impress anyone–when you’re simply showing up as yourself in the moment–that’s called self-possession. And not that I have this down pat, but I’ve found myself in several situations lately where I haven’t felt the need to put on an act. Tonight, for example, part of me felt tired, another part felt sad, another part felt frustrated (sarcastic, cynical), and another part felt playful and curious (droll). And rather than try to suppress one part or play up another, I simply let them all come to the party and continued to do my job. Now, whether this “worked” for anyone else or not, I don’t know. It’s not about them. But I do know that I had more honest-to-god and heart-to-heart conversations with total strangers tonight than I have in a long time.

First, there were several guys and girls in the class with whom I had a lot of light-hearted banter. One guy accidentally learned the girl’s part, and I said, “Dude, this is your once chance to lead in your marriage, and you’re screwing it up.” Later he said, “You found me out! I’m feminine!” Another guy, who apparently knew the first one, also learned the wrong part. When I told him why things weren’t working, he said, “I was watching my friend!” I said, “Of all the people in the room you could have copied–.”

After the lesson, while I was sitting alone and waiting for dinner to be served, one of the groom’s relatives struck up a conversation with me. Just started talking about his travel habits and business out of the clear blue sky. Weird because his business had to do with writing and psychology. And no, I hadn’t said a word about my personal interests or this blog, nor did I. Rather, I just figured it was one of those odd universe things. Then later a bridesmaid–again, out of nowhere–told me about a family tragedy and how writing helped her heal. Now seriously, of all the random people at that wedding who could have talked to me.

More and more, I think less and less is random.

For the reception, the couple had a swing band. Y’all, I would have killed to have been out there dancing. However, thanks to my knee, I wasn’t. (Although I did dance with the bride.) Instead, I ate my apple pie and judged people. Ugh. My inner critic always has so much to say. And whereas I’d normally be thinking that I should shut him up, tonight I wasn’t. I plan to say more about it later, but this afternoon I heard a podcast with psychologist Richard C. Schwartz, who pioneered a type of therapy called Internal Family Systems (IFS). As I understand it, IFS proposes that we all have “parts” of ourselves that have unique voices and interact much like the members of a family. I think it’s another way of talking about archetypes. I have my inner critic. But the idea is that each part has A REASON for what it thinks and how it behaves, and that reason probably has something to do with keeping you safe. For example, my people pleaser most likely developed because at some point my survival depended on keeping other people (like my parents or teachers) happy.

One of Schwartz’s catchphrases is “all parts are welcome.” That is, so often we try to banish parts of ourselves. We think, “I’m a real shit-head for doing that thing I told myself I wouldn’t do again” and that we’re bad for having done it or thought it in the first place. But perhaps at one time that thought or thing was useful, even necessary. So Schwartz says a good approach is to get curious, to listen to what that part has to say rather than tell it to shut the hell up. Because maybe it’s scared, and maybe you need to cry. This was my approach both is my class and at the reception tonight, to simply listen to myself. Even the cranky parts, even the critical parts. And not that I had any major breakthroughs, but at least I wasn’t putting any pressure on myself to be anything that I wasn’t (or am not). Which is, of course, a breakthrough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

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