Your Best Is Good Enough (Blog #852)

This afternoon I saw my chiropractor, the one who works with the mental/emotional/energetic causes of physical problems. This continues to be a trip. Today was my third appointment, and the man’s gotten more done with me than a handful of other chiropractors have in six times the visits. For the longest time I’ve been constantly aware of tension in my neck. And whereas it’s still there, now there are days I don’t even think about it. This is progress. This is good progress. That being said, the guy’s methods are weird.

I say weird but I only mean they’re weird compared to most medical people’s methods. I’ve spent a lot of time in the alternative healing community, and I’ve seen some really strange shit. Compared to that stuff, my chiropractor’s methods are really quite benign. Today he used muscle testing to get at the underlying emotions behind my long-time struggle with sinus infections. The positive word that came up (the emotion I feel before a sinus infection) was RELIABLE. The negative emotion (during and after a sinus infection) was INADEQUATE. Phew. There’s a can of worms. The last two years, which have been full of medical tests (that have basically said I’m healthy as a horse), have been filled with my trying to decide whether or not me and my body are reliable or inadequate.

The jury’s still out.

In truth, inadequacy is a pervasive emotion for me. Recently I blogged about my feeling like not enough, and I suppose this is the same thing. There’s a scene in Mr. Holland’s Opus when a former student of Mr. Holland’s, now a grownup, is shutting down Mr. Holland’s music program due to budget cuts. He says, “We’re doing the best we can, Mr. Holland,” and Mr. Holland yells, “Your best is not good enough!” Both of these characters are firmly entrenched in my psyche, the part of me that says, “Dammit, I’m doing everything I know to do,” and the part that is always demanding more. You know, The Perfectionist. The Hard Ass.

The one who’s real fun at parties.

This afternoon I read Transforming Fate into Destiny: A New Dialogue with Your Soul by Robert Ohotto. It’s glorious. Read it and give it to all your friends for Christmas. But really. In a New Age/Self-Help culture that claims you can manifest or have whatever you want, this book is a breath of fresh air. Robert explains that, yes, we can create magnificent things in our lives. Each of us is more powerful than we give ourselves credit for. However, each of us also came into this life understanding that there would be certain limitations (or boundaries, I love a good boundary), so we have to work within those fated guidelines.

For example, no matter what I put on my vision board, I’m never going to be the first female President of the United States. (Crap.) Because I’m a man. Likewise, I’ll never be straight (sorry, ladies), be six-foot-two (dang), look or sing like Zac Efron (dang again), or have different parents. Because my sexuality, height, looks, and parents have already been decided. And so have yours.

So get over it.

Now, what I do with what’s already been decided, that’s a different story. As I understand it, if I do nothing but sit on the couch every day and eat bonbons, that’s my choice. However, in choosing to not be an active, conscious participant in my life, not only will I not mature, but I’ll also feel as if my life is out of my control. Jung said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will run you life and you will call it fate.” Robert says, “If you don’t access direction from within, your life will be directed from without.” (Oh snap.) However, if I choose or anyone chooses to do The Hard Work and grow the eff up, well, now we’re cooking with gas. My therapist says her job is to support me in reaching my highest potential, and your highest potential is another way of talking about your destiny. What’s actually possible for YOU? Not that guy over there, but you. What, exactly, is inside you that’s eager, waiting, and willing to be born?

This, of course, is the million dollar question, and only the gods and your soul have the answer.

Also–fair warning–because all things worth having require sacrifice (of your time, talents, and ego), should you choose to pursue your highest potential, some days are really gonna suck.

I still recommend it.

Getting back to my chiropractor’s weird ways, I repeat, they’re only weird because they’re not conventional. It’s becoming more in vogue to discuss the mind-body-soul connection, but in my experience, it’s mostly lip service. I mean, when I get a headache, give me a Tylenol. And yet I know there’s more to it. This is what I’ve run into hundreds of times along The Path. This is what you’ll run into when reaching for your highest potential or working to transform your fate into destiny. You’ll know there’s more inside you that’s wanting to come out. But because your path is different from everyone else’s, it will feel weird, you’ll question it, and you’ll feel inadequate.

Keep going. You are not alone. Your best is good enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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None of us is ever really lost. At least we're never really alone. For always there is someone to help point your ship in the right direction, someone who sees you when you can't see yourself.

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On Looking for Silver Linings (Blog #640)

It’s day four after knee surgery, and–believe it or not–I’m walking. Well, sort of. Sometimes it looks like walking, sometimes it looks like lurching. Still, for the most part, I’m not using a walker or crutches. The doctor said I could get around without them after I could do twenty to thirty straight-leg lifts without assistance. And whereas he said most people could do that seven days after surgery, I’ve been doing that since yesterday (day three). So basically I’m a rock star.

No autographs, please.

I’m making jokes, but personally, I’m not celebrating my slightly ahead-of-schedule recovery because this isn’t fun and this isn’t pretty. Seriously, walking to the refrigerator shouldn’t require every ounce of willpower a person has and three Hail Marys. I don’t know. It’s the weirdest thing–sometimes I feel really solid, and other times I feel like I’m putting my weight down on a piece of boiled spaghetti. (Whoa!) Then there’s the pain. The vast majority of the time, it’s not that bad. But if I’ve been in bed or had my leg propped up on the couch for a while and then stand up, well, that makes me want to cuss. And usually I do.

But then I give it a minute, and the pain goes away.

For the last few days, I’ve survived on only Tylenol. Sometimes Ibuprofen. Granted, I’m glad to have the prescription heavy hitters if I need them, but they sort of made me loopy, and I’ve heard they can make you constipated. (Like I’m not already full of shit.) But really, I don’t need anything else to go wrong.

God, I need something to go right.

It’s simply one of those days. Fuck, it’s one of those years. Hard, difficult, and kick-you-in-your-gut challenging. And I’m tired of it. I’ve said this before, but I cry uncle. Go pick on someone else, universe. Earlier I saw one of those stupid, feel-good memes with a picture of a daisy that said, “When everything seems dark, maybe you haven’t been buried; maybe you’ve been PLANTED. Bloom!” I seriously wanted to barf. If you ever come to me when you’re in the midst of The Dark Night of the Soul, and I look at you and not only compare you to a flower but also suggest that you immediately spring forth and open up your petals for me (and no, that’s not a sexual reference), you have my permission to punch me in the ass.

It’s not that I don’t see all the silver linings in this situation. I’m making progress every day. I’m supported by a lot of people. I have good friends. And despite the fact that this last year has been filled with health challenges, I’ve made headway on a number of fronts. But here’s the deal. I’m TIRED of looking for silver linings. I’m tired of waking up every day (almost every day) and staring at clouds. I need a sunny day. I need a string of sunny days.

Uncle.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing is set in stone here.

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Wait a Damn Minute (Blog #210)

Twelve days into the crud, I’m convinced I’m never going to feel like a human again. I’m exaggerating, but every time I cough, I assume, This is it–I’m going to die. Oh well, it’s been a good run. It’s times like these that I particularly hate Facebook, the place where every boy has a six-pack, every girl has a boy who has a six-pack, and everyone’s at an outdoor concert doing jumping jacks and drinking a pumpkin-spice something-or-other. I know this isn’t reality, but whenever you’re sick, it feels as if everyone else’s life is better than yours. I always hate feeling this way because it reminds me just how little control I have over my circumstances. A few bacteria invite themselves over to my sinuses for a party, bring along some of their friends, and I’m toast.

I keep assuming that at some point my immune system will recognize there’s a problem and do something about it. A little over seven years ago, I had a stomach virus of Biblical proportions. Everything that went in went out, and I spent a solid ten days either in bed or in the bathroom. I was convinced I was dying, but then one day things settled down. It wasn’t a miracle–in fact, it took months before I felt like myself again–but there was definitely a shift. I still remember the pair of pants I wore the first time I was able to leave the house–it was that big of a deal. Anyway, I don’t know why it took so long for my body to say, “Wait a damn minute” and mobilize my white blood cells, but it did.

Whenever I’m sick like this, I feel totally vulnerable. By that, I mean I feel like a sucker, like any cape-wearing charlatan with a bottle of snake oil could roll into town and take all my savings. Tonight I’ve looked at websites for probiotics, prebiotics, liquid collagen, and yoga. The assumption, of course, is that any or all of these things would make me healthier, but the truth is I’d probably be disappointed, since I’ve tried most of them before. I remind myself of this, then my mind says, But you haven’t tried THAT product, THAT yoga class.

Quick, someone give me two Tylenol and tell me to go to bed before I end up broke.

The upside to feeling like the junk on the bottom of my shoes is that I don’t have much of an appetite and have apparently lost five pounds. And not that I want this crap to hang on for another twelve days, but if it does, I should reach my ideal weight. As the guru I met recently said, “For every downside, there’s an upside.” So the silver lining is this incident has given me a renewed interest in taking better care of myself. You know–less whiskey, more Wheaties.

This evening I went to improv class, and one of the girls called me “basic” when my ideas apparently weren’t meeting her superior standards. (Basic means lame, boring, and not cool, Mom.) I laughed about the comment at the time, but later thought, Bitch, you don’t know me. I’m doing the best I can over here. Seriously, I wish I could tell you that I was so spiritually evolved that an incident (or even possible misunderstanding) like this didn’t hit a nerve, but I can’t. Granted, on the scale of things that are going to eff me up for the rest of my life, this one comment from a teenager ranks pretty low, but we’re obviously still talking about it. Mostly I’d just like to say I now have two thousand AND ONE reasons to be glad I’m no longer in high school.

One of the games we played tonight involved two characters who could only say two lines each and one character who could say anything. In one sketch I was an employee at a Halloween costume store, and I could only say, “I quit,” or, “Just kidding.” I didn’t pick these lines out myself, but they’re a pretty good representation of how I feel about life on days like today. I quit, I quit, I quit.

Just kidding.

Everything you’re going through is normal.

I guess we all have days when life (or death) feels like it’s going to get the better of us. We compare ourselves to others, even to how we used to feel, and we think we need to be different than we are in this moment. In an effort to transform immediately, we’ll try anything, buy anything. Just a few moments ago I stopped writing to do another sinus irrigation, this time with Betadine, since I hadn’t tried THAT yet. (If you’re wondering, it felt better than hydrogen peroxide, baby shampoo, and honey.) Sometimes I give myself a hard time for using home remedies like these. I feel gullible when they don’t work, and I start beating myself up for being sick in the first place, for not having all the answers, for being “basic.” But the truth is everything I’m going through is normal–that’s what basic really means, and what’s wrong with that? After all–health and feelings that come and go–this is what life looks like–wanting to quit, but then saying, “Wait a damn minute,” and finding a reason to hope again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We don’t get to boss life around.

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