Into and Out of the Woods (Blog #106)

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Some days it’s hard to stay awake no matter how much coffee I pour down my throat. Lately it seems like I’ve been getting close to half a pot a day, which may explain why even at four in the morning my mind is racing and I’m currently thinking about how much fun I could have with a hula hoop or a pogo stick, both of which I suppose are rather Freudian objects. But then again, what isn’t?

Today I finally finished the book about fairy tales I’ve been reading, and while discussing the prince’s slipping the glass shoe on Cinderella’s foot, the author pointed out that it was an act of commitment, like slipping a ring on your lover’s finger. Sounds sweet, right? But then he said that rings represent the vagina and fingers represent the penis, so the giving and exchanging of rings is clearly symbolic of sex (among other things).

I mean, I’ve been to a lot of weddings, but I’ve yet to hear a pastor share THAT tidbit of information.

Anyway, I’m short on sleep today because I got up early to go to massage therapy, chiropractic therapy, and physical therapy–all for the second time this week. Considering I also went to regular (mental health) therapy this week, I’ve had about all the therapy I can stand. (Change is exhausting.) That being said, my inner teacher’s pet felt like it got several gold stars in the last several days because my therapist told me that I was out of the woods, meaning that after over three years of therapy, I’ve tackled all the big shit. (Yippee!) She said (oh by the way) I’ve actually been out of the woods for a while now, that if that weren’t the case, it would mean one of us wasn’t doing their job. So that felt good, and then today the new massage person I saw told me my fascia was “very responsive.” (Why thank you, I thought no one would notice.)

But seriously. More gold stars!

If it sounds like my head is getting bigger than normal, don’t worry. The physical therapist, who’d told me earlier this week that I was going to “be cleared” today, told me that I needed to come back at least two more times and that we needed to “try something new.” (Fine. Just don’t take my gold stars away.) Here’s a picture of what we’ve been trying, a moist heating pad and an electronic stimulation machine that feels so good I have to remind myself not to moan out loud. I was told I could ring the bell if I needed anything, but also told, “It doesn’t work for room service.”

Shit.

When I walked out of physical therapy, I noticed a “no smoking” sign posted close to the front door. I suppose this is normal enough for a health facility, but DIRECTLY UNDER the sign was a butt can overflowing with cigarettes.

In addition to being ironic, there are so many things wrong with this picture that I just can’t even. (So I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions.) But since I’ve lately found myself in the business of making a therapy lesson out of damn near everything, I will say that the butt can by the “no smoking sign” is obviously enabling. (And that’s not a good thing.) Additionally, I think having a “no smoking” sign directly next to a butt can is a lot like having a boundary without any direct and immediate consequences, which–if you didn’t realize–is no boundary at all.

When my therapist and I first started working on boundaries, I said that I didn’t like it when people picked lint–or whatever–off my shirt because the act often assumes a level of intimacy that I’m not usually comfortable with. (Certain people, like my family and close friends, can get away with this behavior. However, straight women who are in love with me–can not.) Anyway, once after I’d identified this boundary with my therapist, a straight woman who once confessed her love for me leaned over and removed something from my shirt. “Please don’t do that,” I said. “I’d prefer you just tell me that I have chip crumbs on my nipples. And if you absolutely must remove them yourself–please don’t use you mouth.”

Okay, that’s not exactly the way it transpired, but I did ask her not to invade my personal space without permission. Well, it happened a couple more times, and one day I actually grabbed her wrist before her hand could get to the piece of shirt fuzz that was stuck in my five o’clock shadow. “I asked you not to do that,” I said. You should have seen the look on her face–totally worth the entire awkward moment and my feeling like a bit of a jerk. But here’s the best part–she never did it again. Instead she’d say, “You have something on your shirt,” and then passive aggressively add, “I know you don’t like it when I touch you.”

Damn right I don’t.

Boundaries are about starting small, enjoying initial successes, and practicing.

That particular incident may seem like a silly thing to brag about, but it was actually a gold star moment for me. I mean, my therapist has always made a big damn deal about boundaries, and even though I was resistant to them at first, I finally came around. As my therapist says, “Boundaries make people feel safe.” I’ve been thinking lately just how long it can take to really get good at anything–dancing, writing, “therapy shit.” I know that so many times I look up to great dancers and writers and think they “just happened.” But as my friend Barbie says, “The man at the top of the mountain didn’t just fall there.” With anything you’re working on, especially something like boundaries, it’s about starting small, enjoying initial successes, and practicing until you get your relationships like you want them.

Still in shock about the wedding ring / vagina thing, I will say that the fairy tale book didn’t say EVERYTHING was about sex. Not EVERYTHING is Freudian in that sense. For example, in fairy tales going “into the woods,” like Hansel and Gretel or Little Red Riding Hood, represents the need to find one’s personal power and inner strength. Of course, it ain’t easy. After all, the woods is where all the scary stuff happens because the woods is where the wolves and dragons live, not to mention the witches who want to bake you into their gingerbread cookies.

So if you want to survive the woods, that means even you nice little boys and girls have to stand up for yourselves, face your dragons, and maybe even sit a witch down for a heart-to-heart and say, “For crying out loud, I don’t like you like that! Get your hands off my effing shirt.” Then that witch will–finally–get out of your way. (If she doesn’t, shove her ass in the closest oven you can find.) I promise, not only will you feel like you’ve just been given a gold star, but you’ll also be more empowered, one step closer to being out of the woods.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

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Why I’m Like a Fairy Tale Princess (Blog #102)

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In any swing dancing aerial, there’s something called a prep. It usually has a particular timing, but basically amounts to jumping–something that sounds simple enough, but you’d be surprised how often people fuck it up. The reason for this–and I’m just as guilty as the next person–is that it’s easy to get so focused on the main event–the backflip, the jump over someone’s head–that you don’t take time to properly prep or prepare.

This theory works with even a simple jump, one you might try in your living room. If you stand with your legs straight and only focus on the jump itself, you won’t go far. But if you bend your knees AND THEN jump, you’ll go higher. The key is the prep–you have to go down before you can go up. (I’ve been thinking about this idea for several hours now and just realized how filthy it sounds.)

As I’ve continued to read The Uses of Enchantment by Bruno Bettleheim, I’ve concluded that most fairy tales are either about puberty, sex, or wanting at least one of your parents to die. Start reading them to your kids today! This afternoon I learned that Sleeping Beauty is largely about menstruation, referred to as “a curse” in the beginning of the story and represented by the letting of blood when the main character “pricks” her finger on a spinning wheel. (The story also refers to sex in general, which can initially involve bleeding and–obviously–pricks.) The lesson is that often there is a period (no pun intended) of rest or waiting before the curse is lifted, before a girl becomes a woman and is ready for sex, marriage, or children and all their benefits.

Isn’t that fascinating? This is the stuff Disney doesn’t tell you.

When I read that interpretation today, I could really identify with Sleeping Beauty and had a big AHA moment. Not that I’m a young girl who’s just gotten her period, but I do think I’m going through a phase in my life that involves rest (usually until three in the afternoon). What I mean by that is that on the surface (and in my bank account), there’s not a lot going on. Some weeks I don’t technically “work” at all. Rather, I spend most my time reading, writing, and hanging out with friends. Recently my friend Marla told me she thought I was in school–learning about writing, practicing every day, getting ready for whatever’s next–which I think is just another way of expressing the same idea about resting. It may not look like there’s a lot going on, but there actually is.

I also learned today that Cinderella is mostly about sibling rivalry. (No big shock there.) But–don’t worry–like a good number of fairy tales, it’s also about Oedipal complexes, the desire to do away with one parent in order to gain the love and affection of the other. In one version of the tale, Cinderella actually chops off the head of her first step-mother (with the lid of a trunk!), who’s then replaced by a second.

But the thing I found most interesting about Cinderella is that originally her name wasn’t associated with cinders but with ashes, which more easily calls to mind images of the phoenix, the legendary bird who periodically dies by fire only to be reborn out of the heap. (Jesus, of course, pulled a similar trick when he descended into hell for three days before ascending into heaven.) And whereas Cinderella finally ended up with that fine specimen of a prince, she first had to be down in the ashes, wearing filthy rags that would make any gay man want to run to her side and say, “Oh honey, this will never do.”

Notice, of course, that it was a fairy who eventually came to her rescue.

Before today, I never thought that Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, and Jesus had much in common. But in every story, there’s a time of rest before they rise. To the casual observer, others are being exalted–succeeding–while the hero sleeps, cleans the fireplace in an ugly dress, or even dies. But after a time of inactivity, there’s always a happily ever after. Of course, that’s the part I want in my own life, and sometimes it’s easy to get so focused on the main event that I forget how important it is to prepare for it first. I have to remind myself that–just like any good fairy tale princess or swing dancing aerial–you have to go down before you can go up.

Once again, that sounded much dirtier than I intended. However, I’m okay with that.

[Thanks to Walt Warner for the first photo and someone I don’t remember for the second.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s no such thing as a small action. There’s no such thing as small progress.

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Embracing My Animal Nature (Blog #85)

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Here’s a picture from when I was in Austin that I’m affectionately calling “Dasher and Dancer.” Get it? (I’m a dancer.) The photo was taken at a vintage furniture store, and I was a little sad that Dasher had a broken antler, so I gave him a hug. (Notice he didn’t return the favor. Of course, he doesn’t have arms.) Anyway, I’m back in Arkansas now, but I’m still sharing this picture because I always start each post with a picture and Bonnie sent me this one this morning.

This afternoon I spent well over an hour in the backyard, reading. Half-naked. In the hot sun. I’ve been doing this for the last couple of weeks, hoping to ease myself into an even tan, erase some of the lines I’ve acquired from hanging my arm out my car window and walking around Austin in a tank top. Well, I didn’t think I was outside too long, but maybe I was. Maybe the sun was especially pissed off today, like it had a fight with the moon last night and decided to take it out on me. Either way, I roasted like a marshmallow. My skin keeps getting pinker and pinker.

Here’s a picture I took a couple of hours ago. Something must be up with my camera or the lightbulbs in the bathroom because it doesn’t look like I’m sunburned at all. But everything that looks tanned in the picture (my stomach) is actually medium rare in real life.

First, while I’m partially nude, I’d like to say this. I don’t look nearly as bad as I think I do. I mean, I just spent three days in Austin eating tacos, fried chicken, and donuts the size of flying saucers, so I haven’t exactly felt svelte. But I stood on a scale today, and I actually lost weight while I was in Texas. Go figure. Metabolism, like Rob Lowe’s skin regimen, is a mystery. But back to the sunburn. I just took another picture, in a different room, and here’s what my skin really looks like.

Obviously, good lighting makes all the difference. Also–OUCH.

As the day has gone on, like my skin, I’ve progressively gotten more and more irritated. This evening I saw a lovely play in Fayetteville, but I kept remembering that I was alone, which almost never bothers me but did tonight. Then I went to Walmart, checked out, and got back to my car and realized I’d forgotten something, so I had to go back in, which made me want to spit in someone’s face. I’m guessing my bad attitude has to do mostly with coming down off the high of a wonderful trip to Austin, not getting enough sleep last night, cutting back on sugar today (where’d all the donuts go?), and burning the shit out of my stomach in the name of vanity.

But that’s just a guess.

This afternoon while I was frying my skin like a slab of bacon, I was reading a book about psychology and fairy tales. The book said that animals in fairy tales almost always represent our instinctual, animal nature (the id), and that the goal of becoming an adult is not to rid yourself of your animal nature, but rather to tame it or integrate it into your whole personality. For example, frogs (as in “The Frog Prince”) often represent one’s growing sexuality, the changing from a pre-pubescent child to an adult. In that particular example, rather than banishing the frog, the princess ends up kissing it, symbolically welcoming the change she is going through.

If a feeling is present, it’s probably there for a reason.

I’m not exactly sure what animal(s) would represent my irritation best, but probably a mosquito or a flock of shitting pigeons. Either way, I really like this idea of integration. I used to think that getting irritated, frustrated, or angry was bad and “not spiritual,” so I worked to avoid feeling those emotions as much as possible. (Television, whiskey, and nicotine often helped.) In fairy tale terms, I thought of those emotions as inhabitants of my kingdom that needed to be banished forever. But now I’m coming around to the idea that all the ups and downs in my mood are part of me. No one feeling should get to run the show, but everyone has a right to live here. Plus, if a feeling is present, it’s probably there for a reason.

When I think about my irritability that way, I realize that I’ve been “dashing” about a lot lately–making a whirlwind trip to Austin, sacrificing sleep in order to write, burning the candle at both ends the way I burned my skin today. And I guess my animal nature, which I’m now picturing as a white reindeer with one broken antler (because life’s a bitch sometimes), is simply telling me to gently apply some aloe vera, slow my roll, and go to bed.

Whatever you say, Dasher. (Also, Dancer loves you.)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes we move with grace and sometimes we move with struggle. But at some point, standing still is no longer good enough.

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Something Shifted (Blog #81)

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Today my friend Bonnie and I drove to Austin, Texas, to visit her daughter Annie. Well, okay, Bonnie drove while I slept and drooled on a pink pillow strapped around my neck. (I only woke up every couple of hours to eat lunch, use the bathroom, or freak out in big-city traffic.) I really think sleeping on road trips is the best thing ever. It’s like time traveling, or at least teleporting. Close your eyes in one city–open them in another.

Beam me up, Bonnie.

Somewhere–I couldn’t tell you–we stopped for a bathroom and coffee break at a Buc-ee’s, which is basically a warehouse-sized gas station/grocery store/Hobby Lobby with a beaver for a mascot. I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous and mesmerizing in all my life. I’m pretty sure I could have gotten an oil change and a pedicure if I’d wanted to. The place was so big (everything’s bigger in Texas), I think I met my cardio requirements for the day just walking to the bathroom, which had 34 freaking urinals. (I don’t think anyone minded me tapping him on his shoulder as I counted.) I mean, there were so many toilets, I could only assume they hosted competitions.

Just look at the mouth on that beaver. (I guess the positive side to only having two teeth is that flossing would be super easy. Then again, you wouldn’t make much money off the Tooth Fairy, so there’s that.)

Here’s a picture of what our car ride looked like after I woke up and took the neck pillow off. I’m reading a book called The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning of Importance of Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettleheim. It was written by a child psychologist and is a pretty fascinating read about the positive things fairy tales do for both children and adults. Anyway, I think Bonnie was listening to Tracy Chapman about this time, but it might have been STYX or Cat Stevens.

When we got to Austin, Bonnie and I stopped by Annie’s work, a chiropractor’s office where she teaches pilates. After a short reunion and a discussion about whether the bathroom door was green or blue (we still don’t know), Bonnie and I got a key to Annie’s apartment and left to unload our things while Annie finished working.

Like any good nosy houseguest, one of the first things I did when we got to Annie’s apartment was look through her books. One of them had to do with astrology, and although I don’t make a big fuss about horoscopes, I am interested in the zodiac from a personality perspective. Since I’m a Virgo, that was the section I flipped to. The information was mostly familiar, but it said one thing I hadn’t heard before, that Virgos are focused on functionality. Basically, they cut through the crap and get down to what’s useful. Whereas a sign like Gemini seeks out all information (knowledge for the sake of knowledge), a Virgo seeks out only useful information (knowledge for the sake of transformation).

This evening the three of us walked to a local restaurant and sat on the patio for dinner. (That’s us at the top of the blog.) We spent most of our time talking about decorating ideas, since Annie’s about to move her pilates business to a space of her own (!). I’m sure we’ll dance and do other things this week, but Annie’s new space is really the reason for the trip. (Get excited. Tomorrow we look at flooring and paint samples.)

Back at the apartment, as we were all talking about pilates and the new studio, I told Annie that I’ve been to a number of body workers over the years, but there were still things about my body that I wanted to change, like the fact that my right hip always feels like it’s in my rib cage, or the fact that my shoulders are rounded, or the fact that my head constantly turns to the left. Annie said she’d be glad to talk to me about it, and I said, “Like right now?”

“Yeah, like right now.”

So Annie had me kick my shoes off and stand in front of her mirror. Then she bent down and started measuring my body with her fingers. It felt like going to the seamstress. Well, within a few minutes, Annie had a plan, explaining that the muscles around my rib cage are tight on the right side (and weak on the left), so they pull my rib cage down into my right hip.

Of course, it’s never just one thing. I have other muscles (in my butt) that are stronger on one side than the other, and all of it contributes to my imbalances. But Annie said we’d start with stretching, so she had me lie on a foam roller for ten or fifteen minutes. At first I was like the Y in YMCA, but then my arms fell asleep, so I ended up like this.

After a few minutes, I could feel some of the muscles across my chest start to relax. Ever so slightly, something shifted. And then Annie gave me some exercises to work on, things to lengthen and strengthen my abdominal wall and help stabilize my hips. Usually my hips feel pretty tight, rigid, like a door that’s rusted shut. But as Annie walked me through the exercise, I actually felt them move–no, I felt them slide. And get this shit. When I got up, I was visibly better. Like a wilted flower that’s been watered, I stood taller, more level, less slumped.

I’m trying to be open to whatever life brings.

Since last year when I decided to close my dance studio, I’ve been telling myself and everyone else that I’m trying to be open to whatever life brings. Like, I think I want to move to Austin, but I’m open to other ideas, other possibilities. I mean, I’ve been at my parents’ for a few months, and although that wasn’t my original plan, I’ve tried to be open to the fact that good can and is coming from that situation (this blog, for example). So since earlier this week when Bonnie invited me to Austin for a few days, I’ve been trying to not make a big deal of it. I knew that I could get down here and absolutely love it, but I also knew that I could get down here and feel like it wasn’t the place for me.

But I’ll say this. Two hours outside of the city today, ever so slightly, something shifted. I can’t say more about it than that. My therapist says when she moved from her hometown, it felt like a lightening bolt up her spine. My experience today wasn’t that dramatic. But my body did feel different, and it felt–good. Now that I’m here in Austin, it just feels good. There are hot people–hot guys–jogging the streets. There was a lady in Annie’s office today–a lady with gray hair–who had a cut off t-shirt with a picture of an old dude on a bicycle that said, “Put the fun in between your legs.” Tonight our waitress (who grew up in Kenya) had a tattoo that said, “The journey is the destination.” She was just cool. Annie told us one day she was at a park and stumbled upon a naked yoga class for pregnant women. Imagine that!

Honestly, I love all of that. I can’t tell you how much I would love to call this place–or a place like it–my home.

One day–just like that–you find something that works.

And then there’s Annie and the little pilates miracle that happened tonight on her living room floor. Talk about finally finding some information that’s functional, information that’s transformational. One of my best friends is always saying, “It’ll change your life,” as in, “This cheesecake will change your life,” or “This hairspray will change your life.” But really, folks, if I could get my body more in balance, get this hip back to where it’s supposed to be, that really could change my life. It could make it better.

I realize there’s a lot of work left to do here. By that I mean, I’m probably a long way from standing taller, holding my shoulders back, sticking my chest out proud. I’m probably also a long way from realizing my dream of being a full-time writer and living in Austin, fun in between my legs, naked yoga in the park, whatever. But maybe not. I’m finding that you can spend years sorting through crap, all kinds of information and possibilities. And then one day–just like that–you find something that works, something that clicks, something that’s useful. Maybe you can’t put your finger on it, but you know for certain–something has shifted ever so slightly, and it feels–good.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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