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Day 5 - Processing Culture and Community

1/31/2020

Don’t rock the boat.
Don’t pay attention to that.
Don’t stick out.
Don’t cross the tracks.
Don’t point out the obvious.
Don’t say that out loud.
Don’t embarrass me.
Don’t talk about sex, drugs or rock and roll in polite company.
It’s ok to have an opinion - but keep it to yourself.
It’s ok to have interracial friends, but don’t be seen out with just one or people will think you’re on a date.
It’s ok to be smart, but don’t be different.

In my family, in my little hometown, these were the things that were said and unsaid over and over to children in the 60s and 70s. These were the “Don’ts” that shaped me.

In our little suburban cookie cutter houses, with our moms in identical aprons holding their own cookie cutters, cookie children were stamped out in the same mold. Don’t be different.

On the other hand, people in my town talked freely about their prejudices. Ethnic slurs and jokes were a dime a dozen. These were the days of Archie Bunker, and if you’ve watched All in the Family re-runs lately you may wonder as I did how this ever, ever got on television. A slap on the back, a hearty laugh between friends, and the Wop and the Jew went off feeling pretty good about their identity and their place in the societal hierarchy. Maybe. At least those of us with white privilege thought so in the 70s.

No one talked about how that felt. Heaven forbid anyone should talk about their feelings. Don't say that out loud.

I couldn’t wait to get out of there, and neither could most of my friends. Those who could ran away to college and never went back. We live all over the US now.

It’s taken years of processing my upbringing to let go of the things that didn’t serve me, didn’t help me, didn’t make me a better person, didn’t allow me to be in my own integrity with the world. I worked very, very hard not to bring this set of insidious “Don’ts” and prejudiced "Dos" into my own parenting. I’m sure I brought others. “Dos” and “Don’ts” are how we create a culture and a community. In the not-so United States, we really, really like the neat box of Us versus Them.

It seems to me that this a dialogue Americans badly need to have. Do we accept the beliefs, prejudices and assumptions about Others that are handed to us at birth? Do we question them instead? What would happen if we did? What if we all just paused and sat with these things out in the light for a little while?

Do you recognize the “Don’ts” that shaped you?

"Rock the Boat" by the Hues Corporation - the message was even over the airwaves.

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Day 4 - A Tribute to My Friend, Zot

1/30/2020

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Once upon a time, I had a beautiful friend named Zot.

Zot and I met in college, when Zot’s pronoun was still “he.” Zot was different from anyone I had ever experienced – a deep thinker, an explorer of religions and spiritual traditions, yet a reader of Ayn Rand. Zot was also highly creative, an artist in both pictures and words. Possessed with an incredibly quick mind and a wicked sense of humor, Zot delighted in surprising people. There would be an unexpected knock on my door and off we would go for hours-long discussions about anything and everything. I loved these times, this quicksilver mind travel, and I cherished our friendship.

Within a short time I learned that Zot was struggling with gender identity. The word Transgender hadn’t yet come into common use, and it was an entirely new, somewhat-unclear concept for me. I hated watching Zot suffer from bullying in the dorm because it was obvious that Zot was not “like the other guys.” This was conservative Indianapolis in a time when many of my gay friends were daring to put a toe outside the closet, with mixed results. The AIDS epidemic was beginning. It was a challenging time and place to be anything other than cisgender and heterosexual. Eventually Zot transferred to a larger school but continued to experience depression, sometimes suicidal. I worried but had no ways to help other than to be encouraging through the mail.

Oh, the letters. We wrote and wrote. Poetry, prose, utter nonsense, Buddhism, book suggestions, questions about love and life – this kept up for years. Zot would occasionally appear on my doorstep as I moved about the country, unannounced but always welcomed. Zot came to my first wedding in a suit and danced at the reception in a dress, thereby blowing my extended family’s minds back in 1984.

Throughout her life, Zot was highly invested in Social Justice. Zot walked the walk while I only talked the talk. In the 70s, she didn’t pay the phone tax because it funded the defense department. In the 80s, she traveled with migrant workers and dumpster dove for food to bring light to their plight. In the 90s Zot completed her transition and got a degree in electrical engineering, working in the solar energy field to bring clean electric to poverty-stricken communities. Recently Zot was a local leader of the Occupy Movement in Gainesville, FL, and a role model for young people in the Trans community.

In the fall of 2016 Zot was working in South Georgia on a new solar field. We made plans to get together in Atlanta. It would be our first visit in about 20 years and we were both looking forward to it. Zot was driving home from work and was fatally T-boned by a tractor trailer that ran a stop sign. While it happened, I was flying to NY to visit my daughter. Out the window of the airplane, there was a curious round rainbow, just behind the wing. It was there for most of my flight – so unusual that I took photos of it. I now believe that was Zot, saying goodbye.

I lost someone I loved deeply that day, but the lessons Zot taught me about integrity, social justice, and love that transcends time and space live on. Zot taught me to look beyond what is, to think deeply, to consider alternatives. To sit with that which is uncomfortable and not judge. Sometimes, when I think of something truly absurd, I can still hear her laugh. She’s laughing right now – can you hear her?

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Day 3 - The Process of Surrendering Control

1/29/2020

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I love the challenge of seeing something old and run-down become something new again. In my adult life, I have renovated 4 homes. My ex-husband was a contractor and together we renovated two of the worst looking houses in the nicest neighborhoods. He taught me many skills, and I did the lighter renovations under his supervision – drywall patching, painting, wallpaper, refinishing cabinets and furniture, installing new lights, etc. He relied on me for any interior design decisions. I found it very creative work that I really enjoyed.

When I got divorced, I bought another smaller home for my daughter and myself. This house had been rented for thirty years, and nothing was updated. It had window air conditioning, an ancient heating system, no lights in the bedroom ceilings and a wall oven original to the 1943 house. It was basically a complete gut job. I found a lovely contractor who was happy to let me do as much of the work as I wanted to do, and he did all the big stuff – tearing out old tile and gutting the kitchen, installing central air and a new heating system, etc. I designed the kitchen layout and picked out all the cabinets and appliances. My daughter and I made hand painted tiles for the backsplash. My dad came for a visit and the two of us blew insulation into the attic on a cold day. That was fun. I had 30 cubic yards of dirt dumped and I solo regraded the side of the house. I was proud of my skills, and I knew how to use them.

When I married Dave, I moved into an incredible home – the most beautiful log home I had ever seen. Never content with a house as it is, I started renovating as soon as I could… quietly. I painted and redecorated the guest room while Dave was out of town. A friend with mad tile skills came to visit and we put tile around the fireplace. I added a mantle. The same friend helped us cut through the solid log wall to put in a new sliding glass door to add light in the bedroom. It didn’t take long before Dave got the bug as well, and over the next few years we renovated the entire house.

I loved our contractors, but these guys were different. They didn’t want my help – not at all. This was hard. When they would promise things to be done at a particular date, things I could have helped with, and that date came and went with the job unfinished, I got very frustrated. I know about contractor “deadlines.” Believe me. But I found myself holding them to an exacting standard that they could not meet.

Dave helped me process my anger. The experience was that they were late. I perceived this as not keeping their word, but the actual situation was that stuff happens in home renovation beyond anyone’s control. When I sat down and thought about why I was reacting so strongly, I realized it all had to do with lack of control. In my other renovations, ultimately, I was in charge. Here, I was sharing that creative control with a highly invested spouse (he built this house) and I had to sit on my hands and not contribute physically to the work. It was making me crazy. I finally realized I had to just surrender to the process. What will be, will be. Moreover, I had to trust these guys to do an amazing job. And they did. So amazing, that our house was submitted by the firm for a design award and ended up as a finalist.

Sometimes, processing ends up in surrender instead of action.

This is one view of the renovation - to see the complete before and after, click the link to the design award submission above.

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Day 2 - Processing Anger in a Primary Relationship

1/28/2020

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I knew in my heart, I didn't want to be like my grandmother. But I didn't know what else to do.

Growing up, I never saw my parents have an argument. In fact, I was pretty convinced they didn’t argue. Occasionally my father might say something my mother didn’t agree with. She’d purse her lips, toss her head a certain way, give him a meaningful look (you didn’t want to get one of those looks, believe me…) grunt something like “huh” and, that would be it. I was pretty convinced that if you gave your significant other enough of a look, they’d know you were upset and they’d stop. Period. It certainly worked for them, and in their parenting, it certainly worked on me.

In the year or so before he died, I finally asked my Dad “Did you and Mom ever have an argument?” “Oh, yes,” he sighed ruefully. “But your mother had a rule that we were never to have one in front of you.” Looking back, I’m sure my mother thought she was protecting me. I think she had no idea how much it affected my ability to be in a relationship.

My mother’s parent’s fights were the stuff of legend. Truly epic. I witnessed a few of them, particularly as a young adult when they cared less about whether I was there. My grandmother would needle my grandfather with harsh words until he finally exploded. He was a very patient man – it took a lot of saying horrible things for that to happen. When he did explode, you could hear him on the other side of the house. My grandmother would hurl a final insult and walk out of the room in a huff. And that was basically it. I never saw what, if anything, passed for a make-up discussion. They just seemed to move on as if it hadn’t happened.

My grandmother, my mother, and me at my grandparents 50th anniversary party.

Until my fourth decade on this planet, I didn’t have the tools to process anger, or understand what made a discussion escalate into an argument. Even more so, I didn’t really understand how to resolve an argument and move on. Fights in my early relationships and at the beginning of my first marriage resembled my grandparents, because that was the only model I had when the significant-look-thing broke down. I knew I didn’t want to be like my grandmother. In our early thirties, my ex-husband and I began years of therapy. Gradually, our therapists taught us how to have an argument and still be in a relationship, despite the fact that we ultimately decided that primary relationship would no longer be with one another. My second marriage, much happier, has given me ample opportunity to practice my skills. Unavoidably, we argue, but we seldom escalate to a fight.

Having an experience of anger, allowing myself the time and space to pause, to question “Is this really about ___? If not, then what?” to see the varied choices of my response, and then to act according to my heart is not something that came easily to me. In addition to the therapy, I credit my years of Alexander Technique lessons (which taught me to be aware, to pause, and then to make a choice in something other than a habitual direction) for teaching me to argue well and safely. For me, processing anger through the lens of Alexander Technique changed everything.

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Day 1 - Journaling - a primary tool

1/27/2020

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“I hate this class. CORE is a ridiculous idea,” I fumed to myself. I was 12 years old, and in a forced educational experience of combining History, English and Social Studies into one large, open concept classroom. Between 30 and 40 students, two teachers, in a huge space with no walls, expected to do all our learning in constantly shifting groups. This may have been some educational consultant’s idea of a good time, but as an introvert this was my idea of Hell.

Until Middle School began, I’d understood the system of “school” completely. Do my assignments, turn them in, get an A, move on to the next one. Rinse, repeat. But this? What was this nonsense? Work with other people who didn’t care about doing well in school the way I did? Get my grades dragged down? Write in a journal about the experience and share that with the teacher? Are you crazy??? Well, I’d show those teachers.

I whipped out my journal and wrote furiously for the next 15 minutes, spewing all my anger and frustration onto the page. When I put my head up and my pen down, I noticed something odd. I felt so much better. Just taking the time to write down my experiences and reactions to them helped me think it through and find a new way to make that darned group succeed after all.

Journaling was perhaps my first conscious experience of processing, and it’s one I’ve relied on for the rest of my life to help me make sense of things. I certainly remember nothing about history, grammar (ha!) or literature from that CORE class. What I do remember as valuable were all the lessons about life skills – how to keep a journal, how to work in a group with others, how to relate to people from different life circumstances. For all of those, I am grateful.

As a creative, empathic introvert, I find that I’m easily affected by things going on around me in the world, and that general noise and hubbub (think TVs in every restaurant) affect my ability to be present in the world. CORE class may also have been my first experience with that level of noise and confusion, and I found it quite challenging. Some things have not changed. I am grateful for the tools I have found in Alexander Technique to help me stay grounded and present in any circumstance – these are my biggest coping skills and I use them daily.

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It's time to write again!

1/23/2020

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I am returning to work after what feels like a mini-sabbatical – I have been out of the office since December 20. This extended time off really helped me to process many of the things I’ve been exploring, re-charge myself to return to teaching private lessons and classes, and afforded me the opportunity to take a life-changing trip to India for much of the month of January. I am looking forward to getting back to all my students, and to finding out how my teaching will be renewed, fresher, and with perhaps a different perspective.

During my time off, I’ve been thinking a lot about the art of processing. How is it that we, as humans, go from an abstract experience into finding an application in our own lives? When we have experiences, why do some seem to be integrated seamlessly, while others take months to work through? How is it that I have recently completed a six-month deep dive into the Chakras, and yet still find myself wondering how this will affect my work?

The Jain Temple in Rajasthan. A long passage to a new understanding?

To help myself understand the journey from experience to thought to action, I’ll be undertaking another 21 day writing series, starting on Tuesday the 28th. If you’re interested in going on this journey with me please sign up for my blog series so that you get my everyday posts, which won’t be going out to my entire mailing list. This year’s writing may have something to do with Alexander Technique, because that is the filter through which I see the world, but will be less focused on the specifics of the Technique than last year’s series, and more about the spiral journey of processing that we all undertake throughout our lives.

If you were signed up for last year’s blog series, you’ll already be on the mailing list. Please feel free to opt out if you’re no longer interested – you won’t hurt my feelings. And if you didn’t opt in last year, I hope you will this time around.

Here’s to the journey!

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Robbin Marcus

An occasional post from me, about stuff that interests me.

2025 blog series:
Cleaning Out the Old

2024 blog selections: Resistance

2023 blog series:
Slow Forward

2020 blog series:
1) Processing - Experience, Thought, Action
2) Diving for Light - Shedding light on a dark time

Day 5 - Processing Culture and Community

Day 4 - A Tribute to My Friend, Zot

Day 3 - The Process of Surrendering Control

Day 2 - Processing Anger in a Primary Relationship

Day 1 - Journaling - a primary tool

It's time to write again!

Processing - Experience, Thought, Action

Robbin Marcus

2019 blog series: Exploring the Power of Habit

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2019 blog series:
Exploring the Power of Habit