What’s Small Is Big (Blog #736)

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Today’s thoughts–

1. On live videos

Last weekend, in order to celebrate two full years of daily blogging, I did a live video on Facebook in which I shared an essay I wrote a couple years ago called Letting Go of the Big House. I wrote it in order to help me process letting go of most of my material possessions. And whereas normally when I do a live video I share it in my blog the next day, this time I didn’t. For whatever reason, it didn’t seem like the time. So I’m sharing it now for anyone who’s interested and may have missed it. As my phone died while I was reading the last paragraph of the essay and I had to start over, it’s broken up into two videos. The first one is 19 minutes, and the second one is five. Also, for anyone interested in previous live videos and other “story time” essays, click here.

2. On emotions

Today I’ve been awash with emotions. In this moment I feel fine, but five minutes ago I was crying. This I’m sure is the direct result of my recently taking a good, hard look at the traumas in my life and the beliefs, emotions, thoughts, and behaviors of mine that have grown out of those traumas. I’ve poked the bear. And whereas my first reaction to feeling, say, sad, nervous, afraid, and alone is to reach for a pack of cigarettes or a piece of chocolate cake, I’ve been reminding myself today that this is WHY I’ve poked the bear–in order to actually feel the emotions that I’ve consistently shoved down for, oh, thirty fucking years. So this is good news. (Knock, knock.) They’re here. Granted, it’s not fun, sitting with the uncomfortable. But I know I’m strong enough to handle whatever shows up. There’s plenty of room here. I’m tired of running away from myself.

By the way–

Running away from yourself isn’t possible.

3. On pet peeves

Last night I went out for drinks and live music with my friends Justin, Ashley, and Joseph. It was lovely. That being said, when I paid my ticket with cash, the waitress did two things that absolutely piss me off every time they happen. I’ve probably mentioned them before. First, she asked, “Do you want your change?” Um, it’s MY CHANGE. If I want to leave a tip, I will, but don’t assume anything. Granted, I’ve never worked as a server, but I feel like a better way to handle situations like this would be to say, “I’ll be right back with your change.” Then if I don’t want it, I can say so. Sure, keep that six dollars on a thirteen-dollar tab. You’re worth it.

The second thing she did–and this is the one that always sends me into orbit–was to bring me incorrect change. That is, she owed me $6.38, and she brought back $6.00. Um, bitch, where’s my 38 cents?! Now, I know that for a lot of people this isn’t a big deal, since they’d leave it as a tip anyway. But there was a clear assumption on the waitress’s part that that money belonged to her or that, for some reason, I wouldn’t want it. Either way, she took the power of what should have been my choice (it was MY MONEY) away from me.

I can’t tell you the number of times this same situation has happened in the past. Always at restaurants. Seriously, what the hell? Could any other business get away with skimming off the top when giving customers their change, something that rightfully belongs to them? No. When I had my dance studio, I would have been run out of town if every time someone gave me a twenty-dollar bill for a ten-dollar dance class I gave them back a five. Because let’s not mince words–that’s stealing.

Anyway, I’ve historically handled this situation in a number of different ways. I’ve confronted waiters and waitresses directly, talked to their managers, and written letters to owners. Believe it or not, I’ve even let it go and said nothing. Last night I tried a new strategy–I left a note on my bill that simply explained what was true for me. “I didn’t leave a tip because you didn’t give me all of my change.” More and more, it’s important to me to be able to–in the moment–express my truth clearly and succinctly. Because I could have made excuses for her, but my truth was (and is) that I was pissed off. She’d crossed a line. And the only way for me to honor myself (that is, to not do any further harm to myself) was to say something.

4. On honoring yourself

Hang on. I’m not done with this topic. I know I’m on a soapbox, but I think it’s important. Recently I was reminded that The Divine (as in, life, God, or the universe, not Bette Midler) works in paradox. (Bette Midler works in sequins.) In other words, what’s small is big, and what seems insignificant is the most significant. This truth, applied to The Great Incorrect Change Incident of 2019, means that my pet peeve, whereas seemingly just a little irritation, like a chigger bite, is actually a big deal and–for me–holds the key to some type of healing or growth.

I’ll try to explain.

A few weeks ago I heard about something called fractal psychotherapy, an idea promoted by David Burns, one of the big names in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. I’ve only listened to one podcast about the theory, but as I understand it, it proposes that you can take one little seemingly small incident–an argument in a relationship, for example–and that small incident will be representative of all the problems in that relationship. Like how any piece of a hologram contains within it all the information for the entire hologram. I’ve said before that our emotions are here to help us, to communicate with us, to let us know when something is right or wrong. In last night’s situation, my emotions let me know that a boundary had been crossed. So fractal psychotherapy would say that although it’s “just a pet peeve of mine,” the issue of boundaries and speaking my truth is an-across-the-board thing for me. Again, you can’t run away from yourself.

You take yourself everywhere you go.

Personally, I’m becoming clearer and clearer about what my issues are. I think life is constantly trying to alert us to them. Not to rub our faces in them–like, look, you can’t speak up for yourself, you wuss–but so we can empower ourselves and stop having those issues. That’s what I think it all boils down to–self-empowerment. I said earlier that the waitress took my power of choice away from me, and I imagine we’ve all had this happen to us in small or large ways throughout our lives. I’m talking about being a victim. But to be clear, I’m not talking about staying a victim. I’m talking about, even if it starts with confronting a waitress, listening to your emotions, finding and using your voice, and taking your power back.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Love  is all around us.

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Resolute (Blog #313)

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Somewhere between a year and a year-and-a-half ago, I was getting ready to close my dance studio and move out of The Big House, the place I called home for over two years. (We called it The Big House because it was a big house. Some things aren’t complicated.) Between the closing of the studio and the time I moved out of my home, there was a three-week period, during which time I worked frantically to finish unfinished remodeling projects around the house. The last project I finished was the upstairs bathroom, the room with the clawfoot tub I used to love to soak in. It really was a last-minute deal–I was still putting paint on the walls my last week there. Still, I went ahead and decorated the entire bathroom–hung up pictures, put a rug on the floor, the whole bit. I figured as long as I lived there, I was gonna live there.

Next to the clawfoot tub was a gas space heater, something that came in rather handy during the winter months. On top of the heater I put a lamp, and next to the lamp, a wooden tray. I think the tray was designed as a kitchen item, but I used it to hold a bar of soap, as well as a candle I’d picked out especially for the bathroom, even though I’m not a candle person. But that final week, I fell in love with THAT candle. Every night I’d crawl into the clawfoot tub after lighting the candle, and while I listened to Fleetwood Mac, the light from the candle would dance with the shadows on the walls.

It’s another story, but The Big House had come to me when my life was a mess. I’d just started therapy and had gotten out of a terrible (no good, very bad) relationship in which there was a lot of yelling. In that relationship, I felt like a ship being tossed about by a storm that wouldn’t relent. Then for the first time in over six months, the storm subsided–everything got still. I found myself in this big house, and it was quiet. Three thousand square feet where I could hear myself think. A place of peace where I could lay my head at night and figure myself out. Looking back, I can see that at the same time I was remodeling the house, I was remodeling myself. Granted, now I look the same on the outside, maybe a few more wrinkles, but I’m different where it counts. My standards are higher, I won’t let myself be walked on, I speak up for myself. In short, I love myself more. So for the place that held me safe while all these renovations went on, I’m eternally grateful.

Getting ready to move out that final week, I went through every single thing I owned. One item at a time, I decided what to keep, what to sell, and what to give away. By the time it was all over, I went from all my possessions being able to fit into The Big House to being able to fit into my Honda Civic, Polly. I sold most the things in the upstairs bathroom, or gave them away, but I decided to take the wooden soap tray and the candle. Ever since then, I’ve used the tray to hold objects that I consider sacred–a small vial of holy water, a beautiful spiritual necklace I never wear on the outside of my shirt, a paperweight that belonged to my uncle when he was alive. I call it my traveling altar. At some point I started putting my jewelry on the altar. It began with a small ring I got at Disney World when I was seven that says, “Marcus,” my logic being that surely I’m a sacred object too.

I’ve always kept the candle in the middle of the tray. In addition to being a stereotypical spiritual thing to have around, the candle inspires me because of the message printed on the outside of it. It says, simply, “Resolute.” For over a year now, every time I see the candle, I think the same thing I thought when I bought it–I don’t know what lies ahead, but I’m determined to see myself through it. My therapist and I discussed this recently. We were talking about strengths that are born out of hardships, and I said that I’m resolute and determined because things were so shitty for so long. Now I don’t give up. I absolutely know this ship can weather any storm. My therapist said that the best people she knows–the ones who are the kindest and the strongest–are the ones who have lived through hell and have found a way to not be bitter about it. “It’s what happens when you refuse to be a victim,” she said.

Lately I’ve been burning the Resolute candle every day while I meditate and do chi kung. It’s become this ritual. I turn off all the other lights in the room, usually put on some sort of instrumental music, and always light the candle. (Growing up, I never imagined I would be someone who does this sort of thing.) Anyway, I guess there’s something powerful about rituals. Sometimes all I have to do is light the candle and take a few steps toward the center of the room, and I being to cry. It’s like seeing that flame is all my body needs to let go. Joseph Campbell says your sacred space is where you can find yourself over and over again, and I guess that’s what my traveling altar has become–a place where I can heal.

Yesterday I lit my Resolute candle for the last time. It burned out, ran out of wax before my meditation was even over. When I threw it away earlier this evening, I felt like I did when I walked out of The Big House for the last time. A little lost. Tonight I replaced my Resolute candle with the only other candle I could find around the house–a pale green one labeled “Mint Chocolate Chip.” Honestly, burning it tonight during meditation wasn’t the same. I kept thinking it smelled like–well–fat. Like, I probably gained two pounds just by taking the lid off. Still, its flame burned just as bright. Also, having lived through hell, I know my being Resolute has nothing to do with a physical candle that used to sit on my traveling altar. Rather, that flame burns deep within me, and the real altar is my body, my heart, my soul. As it turns out, I am the sacred space which I take everywhere I go, the sacred space where I can find myself over and over again, the sacred space where I can heal.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is like the internet at my parents’ house—it takes time.

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