On Being More Certain (Blog #700)

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After two days of feeling like crud, this morning I woke up–worse. However, when I got up and took my temperature–96.6, a degree lower than what’s normal for me–I convinced myself I didn’t have the flu. No fever. No aches and pains. Rather, I decided it was my old “friend” Mr. Sinus Infection. And whereas I wasn’t thrilled about his showing back up uninvited (who would be?), I figured I’ve dealt with his sorry ass before. Plus, almost anything is better than the flu.

Can I get an amen?

A year ago I had a sinus infection that lasted over three months. It was disgusting. Who knew one person could produce that much mucus? It was the biggest and most discouraging health thing I’d ever dealt with, and I tried everything under the sun to get it to go away–antibiotics, nasal irrigations, vitamins and supplements. Nothing touched it. But then I stumbled upon a website that said many chronic sinus infection sufferers had found relief by swabbing a particular probiotic (L. Sakei) in their nostrils (I’m not kidding), the idea being that L. Sakei eats, kills, or otherwise balances out the bad bacteria that’s up there running rampant and causing all the grief. Anyway, this theory made sense to me (and I was desperate), so I tried it. And get this shit. After three months of being sick day in and day out, I was better in forty-eight hours.

Just like that.

For the last year, I’ve used this strategy anytime I’ve felt something coming on. Unfortunately, sometimes it hasn’t worked. I’ll explain. L. Sakei is a bacteria or probiotic that’s not only difficult to come by, but also picky about where and how long it lives. That is, it’s only in one probiotic pill that I’m aware of, and then it’s mixed in with other little critters. There’s a company that sell the probiotic by itself (as a powder), but it’s thirty bucks for a little bag, and you have to keep it in the freezer. Otherwise, your best bet is kimchi. That’s right, kimchi, the Korean fermented cabbage stuff. That’s what initially did the trick for me. However, I had to try six or eight different brands before I found two that did the job, since L. Sakei doesn’t grow in every batch of kimchi, and when it does, it’s only between weeks two and ten after the date of production (which isn’t normally printed on the product). So it’s a crap shoot.

Because swabbing kimchi up your nose is 1) a crap shoot and 2) smells bad, for the last year I’ve kept the expensive probiotic powder on hand. My logic: I’ll gladly pay thirty bucks if it keeps me vertical and out of the doctor’s office. Anyway, for the last two days, ever since I started feeling like crap, I’ve been using it. However, I noticed this morning that my batch had expired over two months ago. As I understand it, the bacteria can only live so long after being exposed to oxygen. Anyway, since it takes a solid week to get the stuff through the mail, this afternoon I showered and dragged my ass to the Asian food mart in search of kimchi.

Y’all, and I realize this is a dumb American thing to say, but the Asian food mart is super weird. Never mind their food. I walked in today, and right there on the other side of the sliding glass doors–in front of God and everybody–was a row of pedicure chairs. Thankfully, no one was in them, but still–pedicure chairs in a grocery store, right next to the fifty pound bags of rice. Can you imagine getting your calluses scrubbed while the scent of raw fish drifted across your nostrils (presuming you didn’t have a sinus infection and could smell the raw fish)? Ick.

Months ago, the Asian food mart only had one brand of kimchi, but today they had two, so I stood there examining everything, praying about which I should get. “I like this one,” an Asian woman told me. Then she smiled. “You like Korean food?”

“Uh, I like this stuff,” I said, smiling in return.

Don’t tell her you put it up your nose, I thought.

“You been Korea?” she said.

“No, I haven’t,” I said. Then I added, “Only Thailand.”

She frowned and walked away.

Dumb American.

Back at the house, I swabbed the kimchi up my nose. For two hours I off-and-on smelled cabbage, red peppers, and shrimp. Gross. But I have felt better tonight. This evening–while sitting up!–I read a wonderfully delightful and magical book about creativity (The Spark: Igniting the Creative Fire that Lives within Us All by Cirque de Soleil). Then I went to the gym with my dad for some “light” knee rehab. That is, I didn’t work out as long or as hard as normal. Now it’s midnight, and I’m obviously blogging. And whereas I don’t feel fabulous, I do think I’m on the mend. Granted, I could wake up tomorrow worse than ever, but I’m hoping that won’t be the case. I’m hoping those little fermented cabbage critters will do their job!

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Tonight’s blog is number 700 (in a row). Damn; that’s a lot. I’ve been wanting to do another live video to share an essay I wrote that helped me process selling most of my worldly possessions and begin living as a minimalist, so maybe I can do that tomorrow or this weekend as a way of celebrating almost two full years of daily blogging. (Two years exactly will fall in one more month, on the last day of March).

Life is good despite its difficulties.

I wish I had something more profound to say to wrap up tonight’s post. Thinking back to that sinus infection that lasted forever (at least it felt like forever), I’m reminded that relief comes. After days, weeks, or even years of a storm beating at or even tearing apart your door, eventually even the strongest winds must stop blowing. When I went through a breakup and started therapy five years ago, I was miserable. Fucking miserable. People said, “It gets better. You’ll feel differently one day.” I wanted to punch them in the face. Granted, it was true. That storm passed. Also, I’m better for having come through it, better for having come through all my storms. They’ve made me stronger and more hopeful–no–more certain that life is good despite its difficulties, kind despite its challenges.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. A dove appears--the storm is over.

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A Bump in the Road (Blog #699)

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Yesterday I felt crummy and went to bed with a splitting headache. Thankfully, it went away. Not thankfully, I woke up sick today. I guess it’s been coming on for a few days now–sinus junk, lethargy. I always assume it’s a sinus infection, although it’s been over a year since I’ve had a full-blown one. This morning I thought, What if it’s the dreaded f word? What if it’s the flu? When I told my mom that, she said, “Bite your tongue.” But seriously, the flu is awful. I had it twice last year, and part of me thinks it started like this, with me getting a little hot at night. That being said, I don’t currently have a fever, nor am I aching, so we’ll see. That’s all we can do.

I’ve spent most of the day in bed, either resting or reading. That’s one “nice” thing about being sick–you give yourself permission to do all the things that would be nice to do otherwise–read a book, watch a movie, stop bathing. Although I’m going to have to drag myself to the tub at some point. Or at least change shirts. This one, which I’ve had on for four days, is starting to stink. (But think how easy laundry will be this weekend.) But back to bathing. If I can find the energy, it would be good to shave. I can–I can find the energy.

I hate it when personal grooming requires a pep talk.

Another “nice” thing about being sick is that it’s forcing me to slow down. My shoulder’s been bothering me for weeks now, and I think I’ve been aggravating it at the gym. But I didn’t go to the gym today. Instead, I rested. The most work my shoulder did today was lifting my mug of hot green tea to my mouth and setting it back down twenty or thirty times (grrr). And, despite the fact that I overall feel like poop, my shoulder does feel better. Likewise, the psoriasis that’s been plaguing my right elbow for months has all but disappeared. Weird how one part of your body can be falling apart at the same time another part is coming together.

This afternoon while putting on a pair of shorts I noticed that my left leg, the one I had knee surgery on, is significantly smaller than my right. I’ve been told this is normal, that it takes a full year to get your size back. Initially, I was bothered about my skinny-looking leg. However, as I’ve thought about it today, I’ve realized it’s just part of the process, that it’s probably a good thing, since the fact that I’m noticing a difference means the swelling has gone down. Plus, the damn thing works. I can walk now. Yes, I’ve come a long way in two months. Granted, I have a long way to go in the next ten, but that doesn’t negate my progress.

Progress, that’s another thing I’ve been thinking about today. I’ve spent the last two months not drinking and the last month eating like a health nut in order to help my body heal. I take vitamins daily and am consistently scouring the internet and books in search of information about how to clear up my skin and sinuses. So getting sick, especially since I was sick so much last year, feels like a big punch in my vegetable-digesting gut. Like, what’s the use? However, I haven’t completely slid down that slippery slope today. Rather, I’ve been reminding myself that there’s a lot going around right now, and I’m not Superman. Everyone gets sick. As Byron Katie says, “It’s my turn.”

And if it is the flu, I’m almost guaranteed to lose a few pounds.

The book I finished today was Drop Dead Healthy by AJ Jacobs and is one of the most informative and hilarious things I’ve read in years. It chronicles the two-year journey of Jacobs, who attempts to be the healthiest man in the world. The consummate professional and journalist, Jacobs quotes countless doctors and scientists, as well as his aunt, an organic-eating, microwave-hating germaphobe. And whereas Jacobs pokes fun at her, he does say she went eight years without getting sick. Alas, toward the end of Jacobs’ journey, his aunt contracts cancer and dies, which Jacobs admits is ironic, since she was hypervigilant about her health. The point being that you can do everything “right” and still get sick. Everyone dies. Not that you shouldn’t make an effort to be well, but everyone dies.

Whatever this is, I do plan on making an effort. In the event it’s an sinus infection, I’m doing all my sinus infection things. If it’s something worse (despite the weight loss possibility, I really hope it’s not), I’m drinking lots of fluids and getting plenty of rest. I’m taking oregano! Having come through hell with my body last year, it’s tempting to think, AGAIN?! But as much as is possible I’m trying to accept this for what it is–nothing personal, something that happens to everyone, just a bump in the road. Certainly it’s something I can handle. I’ve been down bumpy roads before.

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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99.85 Percent and the Pause (Blog #698)

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This morning I woke up feeling crummy. Sinus junk. Shoulder pain. Consequently, I’ve spent the day trying to take care of myself. Eating right, beefing up on vitamins, using muscle rub creams. Currently I’m sipping bone broth and have a heating pad around my neck. It’s super sexy. Thankfully, things aren’t AWFUL (except in my mind), and I’m hoping I can head whatever this is off at the pass. I went to the gym to rehab my knee this afternoon instead of tonight, which is when I normally would have gone. Now I’m blogging earlier than normal so that I can go back to bed, get some rest.

When I went to the gym earlier, my dad and my aunt went with me. Dad’s been my gym buddy for a while now, and my aunt signed up while I was out-of-town this last weekend. We’re taking over. Afterwards we went to McDonald’s (don’t judge us just yet) for (wait for it) salads. When we walked in, a teenage boy held the door for us, and my dad told him what he tells every stranger (that’s a man) who holds the door for him–“You, sir, are a scholar and a gentleman. (Pause.) And there aren’t many of us left.” Ba-dum. I’ve heard this more times than I can count. It’s classic Dad. Right up there with what he says every time someone says something about a hormone. “Do you know how to make a hormone? (Pause.) Don’t pay her.”

Groan.

This evening while watching The Voice with my parents, I finished my first official knitting project–a pot holder that says HI. (It might as well say THIS HOMOSEXUAL IS SINGLE AND LIVES WITH HIS PARENTS.) When I sat down to complete the project, I only had six rows to go–six rows of thirty-six stitches each. There are a fifty-nine rows altogether. (Technically, there are sixty. The last row requires “binding off,” which I haven’t learned yet.) Anyway, whenever I finish a row, I count the stitches to make sure I didn’t screw up, and tonight after my first row (row fifty-four), I realized I did. There were thirty-five stitches instead of thirty-six. Crap, I thought, I don’t know how to fix this. But then I decided to carefully “undo” my last row and fix the “dropped” stitch, which I did.

Well, sort of.

For over an hour, I did my best to work in reverse. When it was all said and done–yippee–I ended up with the correct thirty-six stitches. However, there was still “a mistake.” This, I’m sure, was because I didn’t fix the dropped stitch correctly. Oh well, better luck next time. I added up the total number of stitches in the project, and it was 2,124. Of those, I think I screwed up three. That means, if I were getting a grade, it would be 99.85 percent. And whereas I hate that I actually took time to mentally give myself a grade, that’s a pretty damn good one.

I really am trying to get away from this, mentally giving myself a grade in every area of my life. Granted, I don’t normally give myself a percentage, but I do tend to feel like I “haven’t passed” whenever something goes wrong. For example, when I wake up not feeling well, I tend to feel responsible and self-flagellate. I think, I shouldn’t have had pancakes on Saturday. Never mind the fact that I’ve been eating like a health nut for the last month and it was only one exception.

One delicious exception.

Well, two, since I had pizza for lunch that same day.

Two delicious exceptions.

Really, I’m a better knitter now. Thanks to my mistake(s), I learned something about the way my project is put together that I didn’t know before. Likewise, I’m learning things about my body because it’s presenting me with certain challenges. Granted, I hate those challenges because they hurt, but I’m grateful for the lessons they bring with them. But back to my dad and his corny jokes. The secret to telling a good joke is largely in the delivery, the timing, THE PAUSE. That’s what I’m reminding myself, that it’s important to slow down in life, whether that’s to evaluate something that didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to, to rest and let your body heal, or to give yourself a damn break for not getting a perfect grade.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Both sunshine and rain are required for growth.

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On Feeling Safe (Blog #697)

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When I was born, we lived on Seventh Street. Since we didn’t live there too long, I don’t have a lot of memories from there, but I do remember our dog, Bootsy, having puppies in our backyard and my learning to ride a bike in our driveway. I remember trick-or-treating on Seventh Street; our neighbor had the best popcorn balls. On a less exciting note, I remember burning my hand on the muffler of another neighbor’s go-cart. (That’s what you get for trying to help push.) I remember cutting the inside of my leg open on our metal slide. A screw was sticking out. I could still find the scar until sometime in my thirties.

When I was four, we moved to what we called the drugstore house. My dad was a pharmacist, and his store was on Main Street in downtown Van Buren, the same place my dance studio would be twenty years later. The store itself was on the second story of a three-story building, and my parents had converted the rest of the space into our new home. As I recall, it was fabulous. My sister and I had rooms in the back on the second floor and a playroom on the third. We had laundry shoots that went down to the laundry room on the first, where the kitchen was. That’s where we used to finger paint.

I have a few other memories of the drugstore house, but shortly after we moved there, it burned down, the result of a bad accident involving a semi-trailer truck and a station wagon. Thankfully, we were all gone that night, but everyone in the vehicles died. Nine people altogether. I remember standing in the front lawn of my grandparents’ house blocks away and seeing the smoke, and that’s it; nothing else comes to mind. It was three months before my fifth birthday. We’d lived there six weeks.

Last night I read a blog article by Seth Oberst, a physical therapist in Atlanta who specializes in the mind-body connection and how trauma affects the body. The article’s worth your time. In short, it tells the story of one of Seth’s female patients who suffered from a number of problems–upset stomach, multiple sclerosis, back pain. In the course of her therapy, Seth asked, “When was the last time you felt fully relaxed?” Her answer? Almost forty years ago, when she was small child, playing with her stuffed animals.

As I understand it, when a person has experienced trauma, their body can get stuck in “there’s a threat” mode or “something bad is going to happen” mode. This means their muscles are often tight, ready for action, and their nervous systems are on red alert. Of course, this can cause a lot of problems when there isn’t actually a threat. Again as I understand it, the idea behind a lot of body-based therapies (yoga, somatic experiencing, even massage) is that they retrain the brain to recognize that the threat is over. The ideal outcome? The body relaxes and is better able to heal itself.

Getting back to the article, Seth says that part of his client’s therapy was for them to find positions in which she felt safe, like when she had pressure on the tops of her feet or shoulders. Eventually she learned to move without tensing her pelvis. Then get this shit–her back pain went away.

In reading Seth’s story, I confused the part when he asked his client when she last felt fully relaxed with the part when he helped her to feel safe. That is, the question I asked myself when I went to bed last night was, “When was the last time I felt safe?”

Hum, I thought. That’s a good question. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt safe. I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t afraid of something, worried about something on some level. Seriously, I racked my brain and couldn’t come up with a single example of feeling at peace here, definitely not in the last twenty-five years. But then I thought of my life before the fire. During that six weeks at the drugstore house, I had this white tent, one of those plastic poles, snap together deals. I think it was dome-shaped, and I kept it in our playroom, although I remember it also being downstairs. Regardless, I remember feeling safe there. And yet, something changed that night in my grandparents’ front yard, that night my white tent and almost everything else I owned went up in smoke. It was like I gasped and forgot to start breathing again.

Today I’ve been asking myself, Do I feel safe? Do I feel fully relaxed? Personally, I think they’re the same thing. And whereas my answer’s been, No, I haven’t felt safe and fully relaxed in thirty-four years, I’m working on getting back there. It’s tough when you’ve lost so much at an early age. There’s all this proof that the world is a terrible place. Still, I’m working on letting go of unnecessary tension. Tonight the sky was clear for the first time in weeks, so I spent fifteen minutes stargazing and spotting new-to-me constellations. And whereas it didn’t last forever, there were moments when the sky itself arched over me like that dome-shaped, white tent, moments when the brisk night air wrapped itself around me like a cocoon and I exhaled.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Take your challenges and turn them into the source of your strengths.

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Anything but a Setback (Blog #696)

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This evening I drove home from Springfield, where I spent the weekend. Coming back I tried to take my time. I’m trying to be more mindful and not be in such a hurry all the damn time. This is a challenge for me; I’m always on the go-go. Anyway, when I stopped for dinner, I sipped my tea, read a book. When I got home, I methodically unpacked. This part was easy enough because I’m anal. Everything ALWAYS has its place. Now it’s ten-thirty, and I’m lying horizontal in bed because last night took it out of me. I’m hoping I can get this over with, do some leg exercises, and get straight to bed.

Crap, I’m in a hurry again.

Last night I attended a sock hop at my friends Anne and Andy’s dance studio. They host a sock hop every year, and last night was my third one to attend. Anyway, even though I knew I couldn’t do a lot of dancing, I figured it would be the perfect thing to get out-of-town, see friends, and move, even a little. As it turns out, I was right (this is often the case, ha). Everything about the sock hop was a blast–the music, the costumes, the people. Plus, my friend Matt, who used to live in Springfield but recently moved away, showed up to visit. Talk about a treat. Not only did we have good conversation, but we also laughed, laughed, laughed.

Every time someone asked me if I wanted to dance last night I said, “Yes, but I recently had knee surgery and need to stick to the basics,” which I did. When the dance first started, before I hit the floor, a couple friends asked if it was killing me to watch everyone else dance. Really, it wasn’t. I’ve watched people dance before. Plus, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to watch people with two functioning knees walk, run, and dance over the last three months, and I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m not currently there. That being said, it was frustrating for me to actually dance. For one thing, so many of my movements felt awkward and jerky. For another, there was so much that my body wanted to do (jump, spin, turn) that it couldn’t. That’s what sucked–to feel broken, to not be able to really cut loose and dance up a storm.

So many times over the years I’ve attended dances and wanted to look and dance like someone else. God, you can really get carried away comparing yourself to others. But last night I really just wanted to dance like me, to be able to do what I used to be able to. And I know–I’ll get back there. Baby steps. But until that happens, I’m going to try to be content with where I am and what I have. Ugh. This is the toughest thing, to accept life as it is, to not always be wanting something you ain’t got–to look like someone else, to dance like your former self. Some people say that’s the secret to happiness, to want what you have.

Lately my shoulder’s been hurting. For the most part it’s not dramatic, but it’s something I’m aware of almost constantly. On the way home today I listened to a podcast that said injuries and pain aren’t setbacks, they’re signals. That is, it’s easy when you’re hurting (or not dancing up to par with your former self) to think that you’ve somehow moved backwards in the grand scheme of things. As if life were a board game and, thanks to the roll of the dice, you’ve been asked to go back three squares and not collect two hundred dollars. But the podcast suggested that our problems are simply information, that pain is often the body’s way of saying, “Something’s up here. This could use a little attention.”

In terms of my knee, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this, I’m glad I injured it like I did. Not that this has been a pleasant experience, but it has taught me how to be patient, how to accept help from others, how to better care for myself, and how to slow the fuck down. And that’s huge, learning all that stuff. Anything but a setback. But more on learning to slow down. I think that’s a message my body’s been trying to convey for a while now–slow down, chill out, relax. And whereas I hate it when my knee says it can’t spin or my shoulder says it doesn’t want to, I don’t know, lift weights at the gym, I’m learning to trust and listen to my body. Fine, you don’t feel like doing that, we won’t do that. Period. End of story.

Fine, you’re ready to bed. We’ll go to bed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.

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I Have No Objection to the Twist (Blog #695)

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Things I’ve learned since we last spoke–

1. On caffeine

Yesterday after blogging I got caught up in an episode of Bull. My friends Anne and Andy were watching it. Then, about two in the morning, I went to bed and read a book. When I turned the light off about three, I couldn’t fall asleep. I finally realized it was because I’d been drinking green tea all night. This used to happen when I drank coffee, which I’m currently on hiatus from. (The break is sort of wonderful, sort of wretched.) Anyway, I forgot caffeine isn’t just in coffee and sodas; it’s in tea too.

Lesson learned.

2. On worrying about one’s health

Last night I read in Drop Dead Healthy by AJ Jacobs that it’s better to worry about your health (a little) than not worry about it at all. “Overoptimism is probably harmful,” he says. ” You have to be neurotic and realistic enough to go for regular checkups and take your meds.” For support he cites a ninety-year longevity study that found “a low but persistent level of worry” correlates to living longer. This is great news for a hypochondriac like me. Sure, I personally experience a high but persistent level of worry when it comes to my health, but hey–I’ve got the persistent part down!

3. On simple pleasures

This afternoon I strolled up and down Commercial Street here in Springfield. Talk about a darling place–there’s a wonderful used book store and even a steampunk shop where you can buy a leather corset if you’re into that sort of thing. Anyway, I was “oot and aboot” (that’s how Canadians say “out and about,” Mom) for two hours, and–believe it or not–didn’t buy a thing. And yet I still had a fabulous time–walking around (knees are great), seeing the sights, discovering.

4. On the Twist

Currently it’s five in the evening, and tonight’s sock hop starts in two hours. I’m blogging earlier than normal so I can enjoy the dance, visit with friends, and stay up late without worrying about writing. (Let’s hear it for advanced planning.) Anyway, last night Anne and Andy asked me to judge tonight’s Twist contest, so earlier I watched a bunch of videos on YouTube to see how people “Twisted” when the song/dance first came out. Talk about fun. I can’t wait to get my knees and hips moving like that again.

While researching, I came across a quote by President Dwight D. Eisenhower on the Twist. Get this shit, y’all. He said, “I have no objection to the Twist as such. But it does represent some kind of change in our standards. What has happened to our concepts of beauty and decency and morality?”

Wow. If he thought the Twist was indecent, imagine what he would have thought about leather corsets. Personally, I think it’s fabulous, that dances and all manner of things come along to challenge our ideas about what’s acceptable and decent in the world. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately–what are those things we choose to be offended about? I say choose because I don’t think anything in life is inherently offensive. Granted, there are some pretty grotesque things that happen on this planet, but nothing comes stamped with a label that says, “Be disgusted when you look at me.” Even if something did, or even if everyone in the world said, “Yep, that is awful,” we as individual thinkers would still have the power to decide our personal attitude about that so-called awful thing. This is good news, that only we can decide whether or not we get our knickers in–well–a twist about something.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No good story ever ends.

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On Seeing More Light (Blog #694)

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Today has been delightful. That’s two delightful days this week. Actually, come to think of it, I’m enjoying life more lately. For one thing, my leg’s been improving. I still have a lot of progress to make, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel now. I can see more light, period, now. Spring is in four weeks, and before that, daylight savings. Plus, I feel better. After surgery I was definitely depressed, and I feel lighter now, more like myself. I have more energy. Plus, whether it’s my new diet (which my friend Bonnie recently referred to as Lazy Paleo because I make plenty of exceptions), some new supplements I started, or the fact that I’m exercising frequently, I have less gunk in my system. Normally I wake up with a snotty nose (just call me Marcus Mucus), but the last two days my sinuses have been clean as a whistle.

I’m glad we can talk about this.

This afternoon I had a lovely physical therapy appointment. It was lovely for two reasons. First, my therapist added new exercises, some balance things that really challenged me and caused me to break out in a sweat. This actually felt good, since I’ve been largely immobile for almost three months. Second, my therapist was kind and encouraging. “Good form. You’re really doing well, “he said. “Feel free to call me if you have any questions.” Ugh, it really does make the biggest difference when someone’s–I don’t know–friendly.

At therapy while my leg was being iced, I started a book Bonnie gave me called Drop Dead Healthy by AJ Jacobs, a nonfiction story about the author’s quest to be perfectly healthy in every way. Oh my gosh, y’all, I’m only a few chapters in (I kept reading after therapy when I went to lunch), but it’s hilarious. Not only is the author an entertaining writer, but I can see much of myself in his behaviors. As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac, I’ve tried so many diets, relaxation techniques, and exercises programs it’s not even funny. (Well, it’s a little bit funny.) And whereas I often approach lifestyle changes with an all-or-nothing attitude, I’m learning that moderation still provides results. For example, I’ve been doing Lazy Paleo for almost a month now and can already tell a difference. Not that I’ve lost a ton of weight (a few pounds on a good day), but my body feels better, more vibrant.

This is no small thing.

This evening I drove to Springfield, Missouri, where I am now. I came up for a dance tomorrow and am staying with my friends Anne and Andy. On the way here I listened to a podcast that talked about the benefits of cold exposure–keeping your thermostat set on 62 in the winter, going outside with fewer layers on, taking a cold shower (even for a few moments). This idea is that our bodies need to be challenged, and one way we can work out our cardiovascular systems is by exposing them to a wider range of temperatures. This actually makes sense to me, that we can exercise our blood vessels and capillaries like muscles. So although I still hate winter (I hate winter), I’m now considering hating it less, since the cold apparently has its benefits.

There I said it.

I’ve talked a lot recently about my skin allergies, about how I’ve had to buy special soaps and shampoos because my skin reacts to several common household ingredients. This all started when I had a huge flare-up last year when my parents changed their laundry soap. Anyway, when I got to Anne and Andy’s, Anne said, “I’m sorry, but we didn’t wash the sheets on your bed in cage-free, free-range detergent.” Oh my gosh, is that great or what? I couldn’t stop laughing, both at Anne’s cleverness and the fact that I’m now officially one of those people.

Also, I should say–thankfully–my skin’s not THAT picky.

Now it’s after midnight. Earlier Anne and Andy and I went out to eat, and I’ve been blogging and sipping hot tea since we got back. Well, cold tea because I apparently don’t sip fast enough. Anyway, I’m looking forward to this weekend. I won’t be able to dance much tomorrow night, but I’m excited about seeing my friends, hearing some good music, and simply being on a dance floor. My physical therapist said I’ll be cleared to do some light jogging at my next appointment (in two weeks), so the milestones (running, jumping, dancing) are in sight. Yes, I can see more light now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In other words, there's always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it's also technically impossible.

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On Being Done (Blog #693)

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This morning when I rolled out of bed, I noticed that one of my sheets was torn. Right there in the middle of my mattress, there was a hole you could have thrown a basketball through. If I didn’t know better, I would have guessed SOMEONE had a really good time last night. Alas, this was not the case. Rather, apparently my sheet had worn thin and couldn’t hold itself together any longer. It’s okay, I thought, I’ve been there plenty of times myself. Anyway, despite the fact that I had other plans for my afternoon, I ended up washing sheets (I have sensitive skin that requires everything I come in contact with be cleaned in “free and clear” detergent) then re-making my bed. Ugh. Sometimes our choices are made for us.

Since I was already doing laundry, I decided to DO LAUNDRY this afternoon. I’m going out-of-town tomorrow, so it worked out. Now I’ll have underwear options for the weekend. (That’s always nice.) While the laundry was going on, I knitted, something I haven’t done in weeks. Just another session or two, and I’ll be done with my very first project–a pot holder! I can’t tell you how good this felt, being productive. I really got on a roll–checked the fluids in my car, home-made my own windshield washer fluid (thanks for the recipe, Mom), even cleaned my white sneakers. My therapist says it takes “a real hooker” to pull off white sneakers!

Insert look of confidence here.

This evening I went to Starbucks to use their internet to order more sensitive-skin items online–six bars of soap, some shaving cream. Ugh. You don’t think about all the things you rub on your body until you have to restock almost all of them. Hopefully this will do it for a while. After finishing my online shopping, I worked on someone else’s blog. (Sometimes I get paid to write.) Now it’s after ten, and I’m working on mine, rushing through it because Dad and I need to go to the gym soon.

Something about being productive. There’s an idea in mysticism and ancient wisdom that we don’t “do” things. Rather, we are “being done.” I wish I were. (That’s a sex joke, Mom.) But seriously, take breathing, for instance. Is it something you decide to do, or does it just happen? And if it just happens, then couldn’t the argument be made that everything just happens? More and more, I think so.

Byron Katie says, “Decisions make themselves.” To me this means that you can fret and worry and plan and put off, but at some point you simply find yourself doing the laundry, sitting down to write, or going to the gym (or not). The ego likes to take credit for everything, of course, so we tell ourselves, Look at what I did or didn’t do today. I’m so great. I’m a real piece of crap. I’m not saying we’re not responsible for our actions, just that all the mental chatter around our actions is unnecessary. For example, I often worry that my irritated skin should be healing or that I should be working on a novel, but I could just as easily worry that I’m not at this very moment taking a breath. Either way, without my planning it, at some point I do–take a breath, feel better, sit down to write (or not). But is it because I worried first? No, I don’t think so. Sometimes our choices are made for us. Better said, sometimes it’s simply time to do whatever it is you’re doing right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Storms don’t define us, they refine us.

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One Page at a Time (Blog #692)

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Today was delightful, just delightful. This morning I had a lovely breakfast. Then this afternoon I ran an errand to the vitamin store (because I can’t stay away from the vitamin store), then went to a coffee shop (a different one than the one I went to yesterday because I gotta keep it fresh) to finish reading Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Oh my gosh, y’all, it was fabulous. Drop everything you’re doing and go read it for yourselves. (Finish this first.) The book tells the true story of a murder that took place in Savannah, Georgia. Four days ago when I started the book, I thought, Three hundred and eighty-six pages is going to take me forever to read. But the story was so delicious, I plowed right through it.

As they say, it was a real page-turner.

While I was at the coffee shop, my friend Bonnie stopped by to visit. That’s always good, seeing a friendly face, catching up, being reminded that someone’s in your corner. After she left, I continued to read. However, the room I was in was reserved for a church group, so I had to move seats. And get this shit. Yesterday, at the other coffee shop, there was a kid who was witnessing to one of his friends. I mentioned him in last night’s blog because he was being loud and I couldn’t concentrate on my book. I was like, Come on, be like God–speak in a still, small voice. Anyway, after I moved seats tonight and just before I finished my book, I noticed the same kid was sitting quietly alone, reading, not five feet away from me. The same kid!

What the hell? The universe can randomly connect me with a total stranger two days in a row, in two different locations, but it can’t introduce me to my husband?

This evening I had a tasty dinner–two burger patties with guacamole and a sweet potato–along with a juice I made that included pineapple, cucumber, celery, and ginger. Juices are something I’ve been trying to add to my diet, just for the extra nutrients. Last night I logged into my gym account and figured out I’ve been 28 times since joining in mid-January. Anyway, it just seems like a waste to spend all this time rehabbing my knee and working out my upper body and not support my health by eating well. Plus, I’m always chasing that beach body, and they say abs are made in the kitchen.

Crap, I said kitchen. Now I’m thinking about chocolate cake.

Our stories unfold one page at a time.

For whatever reason, after weeks of feeling discouraged, today I feel hopeful. Not that my body feels dramatically better than it did a month ago, but it does feel better, and I just have this sense that things will keep improving. Last year at this time I was in between rounds one and two of the flu (I think), and hell, I made it through that, so the body is capable of a lot. And whereas I want instant results in both my body and my life (I have dreams, ya know), it’s just not the way the world works. Things take time; things take patience. Our stories unfold one page at at a time. Thankfully, the next page doesn’t have to look like the last one. At any point, our lives can turn around.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Not knowing what's going to happen next is part of the adventure."

On Getting What’s Inside, Out (Blog #691)

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It’s 9:20 in the evening, and I suddenly find myself frustrated. I took the above picture about an hour ago and tried using a photo editing app to caption it, “This is watermelon juice, but I wish it were a Bloody Mary,” but I couldn’t get it to work. Damn technology. Damn watermelon juice that’s not a Bloody Mary.

This afternoon I saw my massage therapist, and she said something I frequently say–“I hate winter.” And whereas I tried to be positive by pointing out we only have four more weeks until the first day of spring, I really am over all this dark, cold, and wet business. (I could feel differently about winter once allergy season kicks in.) My massage therapist said it seems like everyone is irritable this time of year. No kidding. Later I went to a coffee shop to read a book by their fireplace, and I nearly threw my man bag across the room at a kid who was witnessing to another kid about Jesus. Not that I have anything against Jesus. It’s just he was talking about him so loudly, it was difficult for me to concentrate.

Like, Do you have to shout? Even the baristas in the back know you’re a sinner.

Maybe it is the winter that’s making me irritable. Maybe it’s my recent knee surgery. Regardless, I’ve been stir crazy lately, just wanting to move. And whereas I can walk and even ride a stationary bike, I still can’t get out and jog, still can’t dance, still can’t break a sweat. I guess that’s it–I can’t do everything I normally do to blow off steam and work out my emotions. Sure, I’ve got this blog. I can say I’M PISSED in all capital letters, but it’s not the same as pounding the pavement, not the same as physically expressing all the little frustrations and irritations that build up day after day after day.

Last night I listened to a podcast with Rob Bell and his guest Nate Staniforth. Nate’s a magician, and last year I blogged about his glorious memoir, Here Is Real Magic. Anyway, in the podcast Nate said it took him four years to write his memoir, and one of the positive things about the project is that it gave him another outlet. That is, previously he’d been funneling the majority of his creativity and emotions into magic, and that’s limiting, just having one thing. That’s my point–we all need multiple ways to express ourselves. Lately I’ve been using my car horn when someone ticks me off in traffic or cuts in front of me. I’m such a people pleaser, I never would have done this in the past. But after five years of therapy, I’ve finally learned to communicate. Hey, watch where you’re going, asshole! And as one of my horn-honking friends says, “And then it’s over. Then I don’t carry that frustration into any other part of my day.”

Emotions don’t die until they’re acknowledged.

During a conversation about stuffing down and bottling up, another friend of mine recently said, “What’s inside eventually comes out.” Talk about the truth. Since starting therapy, I’ve had so many thoughts and feelings come up and out that I’d thought were long buried. As it turns out, emotions don’t die until they’re acknowledged. Once when I was talking to my therapist about something I was mad about, she kept saying, “Say more, tell me more, keep going,” until I started crying. Wiping my eyes, I said, “Jesus, did they teach you that technique in therapy school?” She said, “No, I’m just that good,” which made me laugh. Then later she explained, “We just needed to pop that pimple, and we weren’t quiiiite there yet.”

My therapist says that you can express your emotions in multiple ways. For example, if you’re angry with someone, you can honk your horn, have a confrontation, tell them to fuck off, go to the gym, or–hell–write a blog about the jerk. Personally, I think it’s good to have a go-to strategy and several backup plans. I also think that when we find ourselves overly irritated with the world around us, it’s our body’s way of letting us know that something is off. Maybe there’s a deeper issue involved. Maybe it’s time to rest. Maybe it’s time to start a creative project. That’s what I’ve been thinking lately. How else can I be creative? How else can I get what’s inside, out?

Until I come up with an answer, don’t cut me off in traffic.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things become ripe when they’re ready.

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