A Compromise (Blog #447)

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It’s one-thirty in the morning, and I’d rather go to bed than write tonight’s blog. Therefore, in an effort to both be authentic and listen to my tired body, that’s what I’m going to do (go to bed). Still, since I’m in the habit of writing about my life (every day, every damn day) and drawing a musing or conclusion about it, the perfectionist in me won’t let me get away with simply stating, “I’m tired–good night–adieu, adieu, to you and you and you” without commentary. But again, I’m worn out and need to keep this brief, so I’ve come up with a compromise, which looks like this introductory paragraph, then the following short poem (by me).

Simplicity
Today was a lovely day,
And I don’t have much else to say.
(That’s okay.)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The clearer you see what's going on inside of you, the clearer you see what's going on outside of you. It's that simple.

"

Melting (Blog #446)

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Today I woke up with a headache but stayed in bed, stretched and breathed until it calmed down. Sometimes this works. After breakfast, I cleaned Tom Collins (my car), even washing his floor mats for the first time since I got him almost a year ago. (Our anniversary is coming up!) On the way home from the car wash, it ironically began to rain. The universe does this a lot. It’s like that kid at the beach who jumps in the middle of your sandcastle after you’ve spent hours working on it. Twisted sense of humor. A real turd.

When I got back from the car wash, I hung my mats up to dry in the garage and piddled around the house–folded clothes, meditated. For a while I read the book I mentioned recently about writing and drawing with your non-dominant hand. The idea is that doing so accesses a different part of your brain, the part where your inner child is located. (So THAT’S where it’s been hiding.) One of the exercises the book asked me to do today was to draw a common object, first with my dominant hand (right), then with my non-dominant one (left). Picking up my pen and looking at my coffee cup, I thought, This isn’t going to go well with EITHER hand.

Y’all, I don’t claim to be an artist. Well, I do claim to be an artist, but I don’t claim to be a draw-er (or a drawer). I actually won some art contests in elementary school, but I haven’t practiced since. All this to say that the picture I’m about to post isn’t stunning. Isn’t that funny, the way we apologize for things we don’t do well? People do that with dance. The say, “I have two left feet,” as if that’s a bad thing, as if they SHOULD know how to dance (or draw, or fix a car, or have sex) just because they’re alive. I’ve noticed children DON’T do this. They just do something–they’ll try anything–just because it’s fun. It doesn’t matter if they’re good at it or not.

I’ll say it again.

It doesn’t matter if you’re good at it or not.

When drawing the coffee cup with my right hand, it was about what I expected. Not award-worthy, but you can tell it’s a coffee cup. Honestly, I think it looks like something I’d draw (I normally doodle squares)–it’s neat and tidy–put-together, rigid, just-so. The left-handed drawing, however, is more free-form. Personally, I think it looks like it’s melting. When I was drawing it, my inner critic was giving me hell. “This is terrible,” it said. But then another voice spoke up, “Hey, watch it. I’m JUST learning. This is pretty fabulous considering I’m not even left-handed, thank you very much.”

When the drawing exercise ended, the next step was evaluating the illustrations. The book asked, “Which do you like better?” And whereas my inner critic was tougher on the left-handed one, I actually liked it better (and still do), since it’s whimsical, fun, and full of potential. Personally, I think it would look great at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. Plus, it’s kind of shaky, which is a better, more accurate depiction of my insides than the other cup is. The other cup is my outsides–neat and tidy. But nobody is neat and tidy all the time. I’m certainly not. That’s what I love about the left-handed cup–like me, it doesn’t quite have it together.

What’s more, it’s not trying to be something it isn’t.

This is a bunch of shit.

We take ourselves so seriously. We think our cars have to be spick and span, our shirts ironed, everything we put online total perfection. We want everyone to believe we have it together. But this is a bunch of shit. No one has it together all the time. Granted, maybe on one hand you do–but on the other hand–look at yourself. This, of course, is normal, the way life works. Things are always coming together, always falling apart. We wash cars, and then it rains. We build sandcastles, and if a child doesn’t destroy them, the tides do. This is a big deal to us, since we think life should be perfect, just-so forever. But life is more whimsical than that, more playful. Never rigid, it’s ever-changing, constantly melting from one thing into the next.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is.

"

Content for Now (Blog #445)

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This morning I got up at 6:15 in order to go to Fayetteville and be tested for allergies. This was something both my primary care physician and immunologist suggested after all the blood work from my recent battery of tests came back as “pristine,” just as good as anyone else’s if not better (so there). I’ve been looking forward to being tested, thinking we’d finally have an answer to my lifelong sinus infection problems and recent skin irritations. But when I got up this morning I was nervous. I thought, What if I’m allergic to dogs, dust mites, grass, and everything else under the sun? Do I really want to KNOW that?

Thinking it was quite possible for me to “flare up” in response to being tested this morning, my friend Bonnie offered to take me. “If your body overreacts and you feel miserable,” she said, “you shouldn’t have to drive.” Wasn’t that kind of her? I’ve been dragging myself to doctor appointments for months now–alone–and that’s okay–but I can’t tell you what it meant to have someone simply offer to tag along, what’s more to actually go. At the butt crack of dawn.

Talk about a good friend. (I guess that’s what I’m doing.)

At the allergy clinic, I was taken excellent care of. They even weighed me in kilograms to protect my ego. (I’m under a hundred!) Now that’s service. But seriously, I was there for a solid two hours, and half of that was them taking a full medical history and me getting to ask questions. Then came the “fun” part, when the nurse scratched or pricked me sixty different times to test me for common allergens like dogs, cats, mold, ragweed, and every tree you can think of. For this I lay shirtless on my stomach as I gripped the table and–with each needle scratch–practiced enunciating my favorite curse words.

She-it!

Son of a bi-otch!

Y’all, these expletives were justified. It felt like the nurse was planting saplings between my shoulder blades with a rusted shovel. Granted, it didn’t hurt that bad at first, but it just went on and on–poke, poke, poke–like some sort of medieval torture device. What’s worse, I could have sworn the nurse was getting off on it, like one of those demented people on YouTube who enjoys popping zits, except this woman was popping perfectly good skin (mine). I can’t say how long this went on, but I was so grateful when it was over that I rededicated my life to the lord.

Of the sixty scratches, only fifty-eight contained actual potential allergens. The other two were controls, one being saline (which shows as non-reactive), the other being straight (as opposed to gay?) histamine (which shows as reactive). As I understand it, a person is “allergic” to any substance that hives up like the histamine control. The results take fifteen minutes to “come in,” during which time you’re not allowed to roll over or scratch. The nurse told me, “If you do, we’ll have to start over.”

So get this shit.

At the end of fifteen minutes, the nurse said I wasn’t allergic TO ANYTHING. That’s right, all that worrying, and nothing on my back hived up in response to our region’s most offensive allergens. See for yourself in the photo below. (The red dots are a normal reaction to having your skin scratched WITH A FREAKIN’ NEEDLE, and the one big bump in the lower right corner is the straight histamine.)

In response to why I sometimes sneeze or have watery eyes, the doctor and nurse explained that a person can be “intolerant” of things like animals or pollen but not truly be allergic to them. (Take an antihistamine, they said.) So that was the joke between Bonnie and me on the way home–that I’m INTOLERANT–I won’t put up with allergens, I simply won’t abide them. (UH-CHEW.) Honestly, I don’t know what to do with this information. Most of me is relieved. This is good news. Really good news. My immune system works. Better than I thought it did. (I was wrong, guys.) At the same time, SOMETHING has been negatively contributing to my health issues lately, and I still don’t know what that is. Alas, I leave this mystery for another day, content for now in the knowledge that something I thought was horribly broken (me)–isn’t.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We don’t get to boss life around.

"

Dance Camp Gratitude (Blog #444)

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Currently it’s ten at night, and I’m sitting with my friends Bonnie and Todd on their porch. Our friend Jessica is here, as are her children, Allison and Corban, and Corban’s girlfriend, Emilee. The seven of us have been together since two this afternoon for what we’ve been calling “dance camp,” a one-day swing dance intensive. (I was the teacher.) First we danced for a couple hours, then we ate ice cream, then we danced some more, then we ate dinner (KFC). Now we’re on the porch relaxing, digesting.

I can’t say what a lovely day this has been. I woke up worn out this morning–I guess I still am–but I’ve still had such a great time. I’m a teacher–I adore watching people learn–and everyone did a fabulous job this afternoon. We worked for over four hours, and it’s amazing to see how much someone can progress in a short amount of time. It absolutely made my heart soar.

And then fried chicken for dinner!

Tomorrow morning I’m getting up early to be tested for allergies. Because they prick you with dozens of potential allergens, I’m prepared for my back to look like a war zone. The point is, since I’m already worn out and getting up at the butt crack of dawn, I’m trying to keep this short. Easy enough. Other than dancing with my darling friends (and eating all the calories), not much has happened today. Well, wait, my recent bad mood has improved. Disappeared just like it showed up–out of nowhere. I’m guessing this is because I got out of the house (got out of my head) , socialized, moved, danced. Four over six hours I’ve been surrounded by smiling, happy people, and maybe their joy has rubbed off. Or would it be rubbed on? Regardless, I’m reminded that life isn’t always a bitch. On occasion it can be kind and generous, full of delights.

For this I am grateful.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s enough just to be here.

"

Star and Self-Gazing (Blog #443)

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Feelings, who needs ’em? Ugh. I’ve spent the day feeling. Feeling tired, sad, guilty, angry, intrigued, amused, hopeful. Not necessarily in that order. Ick. Feelings here, feelings there, feelings, feelings, everywhere. Who came up with this emotional highway? I’ve been all over the road today.

Pick a lane, Marcus, pick a lane.

Mostly all I did today was read. First I read fifty pages in a beginner’s book to astronomy, something I picked up recently because I’d actually like to understand the universe I live in. Seriously, I’ve spent my entire life not knowing my Arcturus from a hole in the ground, and I intend to do something about it. Today I learned that you can use The Big Dipper (year round) and Orion (in the winter) to find almost every major constellation and/or star in the sky (if you’re in the northern hemisphere). Also, I learned that Pollux, one of the two bright stars in the constellation Gemini, means “much wine.” (The other one, Castor, means “he who excels” or “beaver.”) Suffice it to say, Pollux is now my favorite star in the sky.

Even though it’s technically below the horizon as we speak.

In addition to starting the astronomy book, I also read an entire fiction novel, a story about a family suicide. So there I went feeling again–sad for the characters, mad that the author didn’t use quotation marks, even though a lot of people were–get this–quoted. Apparently this is a thing now, to just run everything together. Like, Marcus says, I think this is a bad idea. What is the world coming to? Call me an old fart, but I’m just not on board.

This afternoon during reading breaks I took the dog back I’ve been sitting the last seven nights (KoKo). Part of me was ready to take her back. I like to sleep in, and although she never barked, I could hear her moving around in the mornings. But then another part of me really wanted her to stay. She’d nuzzle up to me and give me the biggest hugs. She wouldn’t stop. I’d have to say, “Please, KoKo, this is getting awkward.” Still, I don’t remember the last time someone hugged me like that.

Yeah, I miss her.

Ugh. Feelings again.

This evening after more reading, I went for a run, which turned into more of a walk. Maybe it helped work some things out. It’s hard to tell. I took a nap this afternoon, but currently I’m so tired I don’t know what I’m feeling. Periodically throughout the day I’ve noticed my tight muscles because life, my allergies because I’m off antihistamines for the weekend, a requirement for the allergist I’m seeing Monday. I tend to ignore these things, little aches and annoyances. I’m good at soldiering through. But today I’ve caught myself taking a deep breath now and then, trying to take in and contain, rather than push away, whatever is going on inside me.

To be clear, I don’t think feelings can be contained, at least at will. I have this tight muscle in my abdomen. I’m always thinking that if I could let go emotionally, it would let go physically. (It’s a theory.) So I stretch and I breathe deep, and I feel all my feelings for an afternoon, but it’s still there, hanging out until it’s ready to leave. That’s what I mean by contain, letting something hang out. I look at everything going on in my life–all the circumstances, challenges, feelings–and wonder, Am I large enough to hold all of this, to be patient, to not rush events and emotions out my proverbial door?

At home after my walk, I plopped down in our driveway with my astronomy book and a star-gazing app on my phone. For thirty minutes I stared up at the sky and was generally pissed off at the streetlights that made it difficult to see anything. Still, slowly I found my way around the heavens. There was The Big Dipper, Polaris (The North Star) and the Little Dipper, The Northern Cross. I even found “my” Arcturus! The book said it can take a year to get really comfortable with what’s going on in the heavens, so I’m telling myself to be patient, not just with my learning about the sky, but also with my learning about myself. For surely I too am a universe–vast–with plenty of mysteries and more than enough space to contain them, to contain all that can happen and be felt in a day, in a lifetime.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Why should anyone be embarrassed about the truth?"

Finally Listening (Blog #442)

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Well, shit. It’s one in the afternoon–just after breakfast!–and I’m already writing. (I’m so excited, my nipples are hard.) The sun is shining full-on, but I’m not. Shining, that is. Rather, I’m sitting here in the slime left over from last night’s bad mood. You know how you get pissed off at the world and think, Maybe this foul spirit will be gone tomorrow. But then you wake up the next day, and that ugly mood monster is right there beside making himself at home in your bed, practically doing a reach-around. (That’s a sex joke, Mom.) At first you think, Get your grubby hands off me, Mr. Bad Attitude!, but then you think, Well, it HAS been a while.

So the bad mood stays.

As I’ve worked through my morning routine, I’ve been on the emotional fence. Part of me is tempted to overanalyze every single fucking thing that happened yesterday under the guise of “What went wrong, and how can I fix it?” And maybe it would start out that way–objective, constructive–but before long I’d just be beating up on myself and the world. I guess I already am. My god, your waistline is getting bigger, Marcus, and why is the stupid sun so frickin’ hot? Earlier I took some clothes out of the dryer, and the door squeaked every time I went in for a pair of boxer briefs or socks. You know how those things keep wanting to close. (They’re like furniture stores.) Well, it was seriously wearing on my nerves. I swear, who invented that sound–eeek–eeek–EEEEEEEEEEKK? Probably the same jerk who invented mosquitoes. Those little assholes are like my emotions this summer–all over me.

But really, Lord, why?

Anyway, the other part of me is ready to be done with all this irritation, and that part of me has been TRYING to ignore the other part of me, the pissed off part. I’ve been thinking, Yesterday’s over. Que sera, sera. It’s sunny out. I like the sun. I’m going to a show tonight. With a friend. Life doesn’t suck. (Completely.) This strategy hasn’t really been working (crap), nor has the pot of coffee I’ve been pouring down my throat (I’m trying everything). So I’m left with this wisdom–Sometimes a bad mood shows up, and there’s nothing you can do about it. And if an uninvited emotion shoves its hand down your pants–well–you might as well enjoy it. At least someone is playing with you.

God, I need to get laid. (And when I do, Lord–really–I’ll take back what I said about you and the mosquitoes.)

I guess there is part of me that enjoys a bad mood. It’s kind of fun to get all riled up, make a big damn deal about mosquitoes, a squeaky dryer, or an expanding waistline. In one sense, getting angry makes me feel alive, reminds me that I’m capable of responding to my environment, that I’m a part of things. For so many years I’ve sat quietly, idly by, watching life happen, being “okay” with whatever occurs. More times than I can count I’ve said, “It’s fine, it’s just fine,” even though it wasn’t.

Even though my emotions were telling me it wasn’t.

Since my trip to Nashville over Memorial Day, I’ve been reading a book called The True Secret to Writing by Natalie Goldberg, who also wrote Writing Down the Bones. Natalie’s distilled-down wisdom on writing is “Shut up and write.” As I understand it, this means that our minds can come up with a million excuses to not write, but so what? Writers write. We tell ourselves we’re all dried up, that we have nothing to say, that the laundry needs folding. This morning I thought all these things. Part of me knew that if I’d just sit down I could figure my interior out on paper, but I kept trying to do it in my head, a method that almost never works. In my head, I chase my emotions around in circles. On paper, I’m still chasing my emotions, but it’s easier to catch them. It’s like they want to be caught here. They leave me clues as to what’s going on inside me–in writing!

Your emotions are tired of being ignored.

Earlier when dealing with the dryer door, I finally propped it open so it wouldn’t swing back and forth and annoy the shit out of me. (My next step is to grease the hinges.) I see this as one small thing I can do to not make my emotional day WORSE, even if it doesn’t completely make it better. But I’m coming to believe what I wrote above, that even if we can’t “enjoy” a bad mood (and I’m not suggesting you take it out on others–that would be sick), we can learn from it. Because I do think our emotions–all of them–matter. Like little children, they have a voice and want to be heard. They get tired of being shoved down and swept under the rug. Wouldn’t you? So of course they’re willing to show up uninvited, shove their hands down your pants, and–um–jerk you around. They’re tired of being ignored. This is why I’m reminding myself that being on the fence is an okay place to be. There I can see all parts of myself. There I can interact with all of my emotions, ask them, “Baby, what do you have to teach me? I’m finally listening.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one comes into this life knowing how to dance, always moving with grace."

Steadier and More Solid (Blog #441)

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It’s one in the morning, and I’m tired and irritable. If it weren’t for this blog, I’d be in bed right now. Well, I am in bed right now, but I could be asleep. I can’t quite make sense of what I’m feeling (fuck feelings) but I know I’m over this day, ready to pass out. That being said, here I am. I just turned on the instrumental music I normally listen to while blogging, and it’s already starting to calm me down. There’s something about it. No matter what kind of day I’ve had, it’s this steady thing, something solid I can come back to.

Before I sat down to write, I thought I was only irritated about the play I saw this evening. In short, it went on for two and a half hours, and I never could figure out what it was about or how it connected to my (or the average person’s) life. Somewhat confused and frustrated, I got upset when the play was over and the author started talking about how the play was written and why certain things were done the way they were. Much like the play itself, they went on and on, even citing historical court cases. Y’all, I’m not TRYING to be a bitch, since I have mad props for anyone who is disciplined enough to write a play. But both during the play and while the author was talking, I kept thinking, WHY do I care?

Squirming in my seating hoping the whole thing would be over soon, I finally decided to leave. I thought, Why am I making myself miserable? I have two legs that work. So up I stood and went on my merry way. I never would have done this before all my years in therapy, been “rude” or “impolite” in the name of taking care of myself. I can’t tell you how satisfying it felt. It was liking leaving a bad relationship. I thought, Why didn’t I do this sooner? This is often my internal reaction to speaking up or doing what feels right to me, to being authentic.

Why didn’t I do this sooner?

Looking back over the last few days, I see now that there have been several things that have been bothering me–stressful conversations, inappropriate comments I let slide, financial concerns. Recently I turned someone down for a date, and it’s always this back-and-forth in my head. What do I say, what do I not say? When am I “nice,” when am I blunt? Did I make the right decision? My point is that it’s never just one thing. Sure, I was upset about the play tonight, but it probably became a bigger deal than it actually was because I’ve been letting a lot of little things build up lately. If I’d gone for a run last night to blow off steam or simply left this evening at intermission, we might not even be talking about it now.

I guess it’s normal to have things that get under your skin, tick you off. Disney calls them combustion points–things like having to wait in line, standing in the hot sun. Their marketing material says this is simply part of being human. One experience gives you a high, the next gives you a low. The key, they say, is to not let a combustion point (something irritating) become an explosion point. In other words, do something to cool yourself off. At Disney this might look like getting a Fast Pass in order to skip waiting in a long line. For me, more and more, it looks like not biting my tongue as often, not staying where I don’t want to stay as long, even getting some additional rest.

We all have a part of us that doesn’t waiver.

Earlier I said the music I listen to while blogging is steady, something solid I can come back to. But as I consider it now, the music is just a tool that helps me come back to something even steadier and more solid–me. I’m not saying I’m one-hundred percent steady and solid–far from it–but I’m convinced part of me is. I really believe we all have that part of us, a still small voice that doesn’t waiver, a voice that’s authentic, a voice that lets us know what’s best for us now, a voice that tells us when to walk in, when to walk out.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Pressure, it seems, is necessary to positive internal change. After all, lumps of coal don't shine on their own.

"

It Is Possible (Blog #440)

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Almost every day I blog in order to solve a problem–talk myself down from a ledge, work through my emotions, give myself hope. It’s just the habit I’ve fallen into here, trying to figure things out, trying to figure me out. Not every day is like this, of course. Some days, like today, are “good” from dawn to dusk. I don’t know why days like this exist. Maybe because some days are shit from sunup to sundown. (Can I get an Amen?) Regardless, I’m grateful for days like today, days that “work.”

This morning I woke up earlier than intended. (I hate that.) This probably happened because I’m pet-sitting a dog this week, and the dog’s in my room. And whereas she’s SUPER quiet (she never barks–I don’t think she knows how–maybe the cat got her tongue–haha), I can still hear her moving around, breathing. Anyway, I gave up trying to go back to sleep and started the day early. I had breakfast, read a book, made a phone call. I didn’t rush like normal. I read once that was a big part of having peace of mind–slowing down, taking your time. It said, “You should wake up early.”

Maybe it was right. (Maybe.)

This afternoon I saw my therapist and had a great session. A friend recently told me that “great” is an overused word like “nice,” that I could try saying “fabulous” or “wicked hot,” but a “wicked hot therapy session,” to me, sounds rather salacious, something that might involve a whip, which isn’t my idea of a mentally healthy good time. But I digress. Today my therapist and I discussed, among other things, a dream in which I yelled at someone. “FUCK YOU!” I said and then woke up. We decided the person I told off in my dream represented 1) barking up the wrong tree and 2) suppressing anger, so the fact that I was telling them to screw off was a good thing and meant I’m done with those behaviors in myself and others. “I’d love to have a dream in which I told someone to fuck off,” my therapist said. “I hope I have one.”

You belong exactly where you are.

After therapy I window-shopped at a vintage store then ate sushi and read a book. Then this evening the improv group I’m in performed at a private party as part of a local business’s team-building activities. Talk about fun–I’m always amazed when I see people put themselves out there and try new things for the first time. (Sort of like how I got up early this morning.) Finally, when the show was over, I had drinks with a friend from our group. Now, obviously, I’m blogging. So that’s it, just a lovely day. Not once did I feel rushed, panicked, or frightened. Well, I did get just a wee bit nervous before the show but took that as excitement. I told myself, This will be fun. (And it was.) So it is possible to move effortlessly from one thing to the next, to not get hung up, to act like you belong exactly where you are.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Authenticity is worth all the hard work. Being real is its own reward."

On Being a Nervous “Wreck” (Blog #439)

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It’s five-thirty in the evening, and I’ve hijacked the porch of my friends Bonnie and Todd. We have a dance lesson in an hour, so I showed up early to chill out. (I don’t know where they are, but they said to make myself welcome.) I’ve spent the day being a grown up (boo hiss), scheduling an appointment with an allergist next week, making copies of my blood work for the doctor, paying bills (ick), and writing a blog post for a client. For most of the day, I’ve been nervous, which happens a lot when I have things “to do.” This is a real irony in my life. I don’t function well without a to-do list yet get anxious when I have one.

This is me AFTER four years of therapy.

I don’t remember feeling this way when I was younger. As a teenager I got up early every day during the summer to work as a camp counselor. I interacted with people–with children. In college I worked in a law office–answered the phone, made copies, handled finances. Maybe I was repressed, but I really don’t recall being so on-edge about everyday activities. Of course, I did nearly shit my pants when the attorney I worked for asked me to drive his standard pickup truck across town. Because back then I didn’t know how to drive a standard.

And I agreed to do it anyway.

Nothing to worry about.

Talk about being a people pleaser. There I was, maybe nineteen, willing to risk my life and the life of everyone on Rogers Avenue in Fort Smith because I was too afraid to admit I didn’t know something. What the hell, Younger Marcus? Thankfully, at some point, after stalling out several times in the middle of traffic, I did speak up. “Um, sir, I honestly don’t feel comfortable with a stick shift.” And it was that easy. “That’s okay,” he said, “nothing to worry about. You can take the other car next time.”

Looking back, I really have had some great employers and mentors. Lately I get all twitterpated around matters of business and adult responsibilities, but I’ve truly been encouraged my entire life. Like, I’ve never had a boss yell at me or bitch. I’ve had jobs that didn’t work out, but I’ve never been fired, never been told, “You let me down.” Well, there was that one time in high school when a friend of mine and I got carried away during a roast. Turns out you can’t insinuate that someone at a Christian school is gay or sleeping around. (People cry.) That was one of the worst nights of my life. I felt bad about it for a decade or more. (Guilt should have an expiration date.) Several teachers pulled us aside and said, “We’re so disappointed in you.”

Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of, disappointing someone. Granted, I’m not technically under anyone’s authority at this point in my life, but it’s hard to grow up in the Christian faith and not feel like SOMEONE’S looking over your shoulder at all times. I realize I’m about to touch on a sensitive subject, but there’s a lot of fear in faith, at least the faith I grew up in. There were all these rules to follow, literally hell to pay if you didn’t get it right the first time. (By first time, I mean this lifetime).

I think I’ve come a long way in this regard. I’m not afraid of God or the universe as I see them. I don’t think I’m going to burn for all eternity because I kiss boys or eat a piece of catfish. I just don’t. And yet I still have this leftover fear or anxiety about life in general. It’s that other shoe dropping thing, like something bad is going to happen. Like I’m going to be handed the keys to a car I’m not ready to drive. I’m so afraid of stalling out on life’s highway. So many days it feels like I already have stalled out. Me stuck on the side of the road, the rest of life whizzing by me. Whoosh!

I’m a nervous “wreck.”

Things are just fine.

In my calmer moments, I realize things are just fine. Having been pulled over on the side of the road for the last year or so, it’s natural for me to feel nervous about getting back on the road. I think that’s part of what’s happening lately. Life is starting to pick up. Opportunities are coming my way, and part of me isn’t sure I can handle them. So I have to take a deep breath, remind myself that I’ve always risen to the occasion before. Twenty years later, I can drive a stick shift. I’m careful about what I say about others AND I know when people are overreacting. (Some of those jokes would have KILLED with a different audience.) More than anything else, I know that I can’t beat myself up for things I don’t know or am still learning. I have to give myself some grace. In terms of my life right now, I’m in uncharted territory. It’s okay to feel nervous, to have butterflies as I figure things out.

And I will figure things out. I will get back on the road. I’m sure of it. Just as I’m sure there’s no god or universe judging me for where I am or how fast I’m getting “there.” For surely there is no “there” to get to. Either we’re loved and accepted as we are right here, right now (nervous, broken down on the side of the road, whatever), or we’re not loved and accepted at all. Isn’t that what unconditional love is–love without conditions? Personally, I believe this is how life loves us, so I’m working on loving myself this way, loving others this way, embracing all that is, as it is.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s hard to say where a kindness begins or ends.

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My Inner Drive (Blog #438)

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This afternoon I trudged my way through a novel I wasn’t in love with but wanted to finish just to say I did. (I finished reading a book today. There–that was satisfying.) My main beef with the book was that every chapter was told from the perspective of a different character. (I hate that.) It felt schizophrenic, akin to eight of your family members trying to tell the same story at the dinner table. I kept thinking, Who’s talking NOW? I really thought about putting the book away, pretending I’d never picked it up, but it had a really cool (like really cool) cover, so I thought, There’s gotta be something good in here SOMEWHERE. And there was something good–it was the story of a kid who lives with his gay father and his partner, and there were a few really beautiful moments. So it’s not like it was a total waste of time.

This evening I ate dinner with some friends and dance students before we had a lesson. Y’all, we honest-to-god sat around a dining room table. Like Donna Reed or Father Knows Best. It was adorable. We talked to each other. No one reached for their phone. We used spoons. It was so–so–sophisticated. Then after we danced, I visited my friends that I house sat for last week. They just got a new sound system, and for a while we simply sat and listened to blues music, shot the shit. I can’t tell you how nice both these experiences were–dinner with friends, bonding. I’m often so focused on being productive, thinking, What do I have to do next?, that I don’t slow down to soak life in or let it relax me in the process.

Something about relaxing. I’m not sure I know how to do that. Let’s just say I don’t, since everything is nearly always a to-do list item. (That’s fun for some people, right?) Like right now I’m sitting in a chair, pretty comfortable, but I’m not RELAXED. Rather, I’m thinking about how I “need” to get this blog done so I can let the dog out then fall down in bed. So many days it feels like that, that my body has “had it,” and yet I force it to go-go-go a little or a lot more.

No wonder it won’t relax.

Reading what I just wrote, I’m going to try to do something about it. Blog earlier, blog shorter. Take a nap. Not push myself so fucking much. I’m really not sure when that started, my inner DRIVE. My therapist says that I have everything I need to be successful, that those things won’t go away just because I don’t push every day. She says I could take a year off–hell, five–and everything I need will still be there, that I could gear down and still get where I’m going. And yet it FEELS like I have to arrive and arrive now. I really would like to take my therapist’s message to heart, to stop acting like every item on my mental calendar is an emergency. WE HAVE TO READ A BOOK THEN MAKE A BANK DEPOSIT! So this is something I’m working on, slowing down from the inside out, learning how and when to stop-stop-stop.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.

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