On Things I Claim to Believe (Blog #904)

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Yesterday I was supposed to be a dance gigolo, but the gig got cancelled. And whereas a part of me was like, Crap, there goes that money, most of me was like, Something else will come along. Because of this incident, I’ve thought a lot today about two things I claim to believe–1) the idea that things happen for a reason and 2) the idea of divine timing, that everything happens when it’s supposed to. Because both these ideas are easy to profess but harder to really animate when the rubber hits the road. Like, whenever I’m counting on a certain amount of income and a client says, “Let’s forget about it,” my faith in “God knows what he’s doing” starts to falter.

As if God’s primary concern were my bank account.

Another thing I claim to believe is that God works in mysterious ways. To me this means that–really–none of us know why anything happens or doesn’t happen. In terms of my plans changing last night, it could be that had I driven out of town, I would have hit a deer (or worse). Or I could have had such a miserable time that the money wouldn’t have been worth it. (As it was, I had a delightful evening.) Caroline Myss says that when you pray for things, you don’t get to tell God how to answer you. Well, I’ve asked for a body that feels as good as possible as well as for healthy relationships, and it’s possible my going out of town last night would have been out of alignment with those requests.

This must be a lesson the universe really wants me to get, since this afternoon I drove all the way to Fort Smith for an appointment only to find out that it too was cancelled. (The person whom I was meeting had sent me a message that they were sick, but I didn’t get it because my phone network was down.) Anyway, it was forty-five minutes of my day that felt completely wasted and unproductive. Again, part of me was like, This blows. But most of me was like, We are not going to complain. We’re alive and well and have been given an opportunity to relax–to NOT be productive. We are going to be grateful. And it was that simple. I wouldn’t let myself throw a fit.

My advice–don’t let yourself throw a fit.

Tonight I went to a swing dance at the studio where I tore my ACL this last December. This was my first time back since the accident. When I was getting ready I actually thought about wearing the same (slightly oversized) shoes I was wearing when the accident happened, like, I’ll show you, slippery floor, but decided against it. Instead, I wore shoes that hug my feet and have stickier bottoms. And guess what? I didn’t hurt myself.

Of course, I didn’t attempt to jump over anyone’s head either.

Y’all, dancing tonight was the best thing. I saw and danced with several people I know and, in the process, got in some serious cardio. By the time the night was over, I was sopping wet.

Here’s a video (taken by my friend Sydnie) of my friend Renee and me Lindy Hopping to Caro Emerald’s Completely.

 

Wow. So much has happened since the last time I was dancing on that floor. I remember the night of the accident. I couldn’t get out the front doors by myself. Someone had to support me. There are times when I get frustrated because my knee and I can’t do everything we used to, but–really–it’s a miracle that we’re dancing at all. Also, I keep calling it an accident, but another idea I claim to believe is that there are no accidents. In other words, at least in my best moments, I believe that my injuring my leg, on some level, needed (knee-dead) to happen. I can’t say why–that’s above my pay grade–but I do know the whole experience has given me more compassion, patience, and understanding for both myself and others, and that’s enough for me.

The way I see it, if you say you believe something, at some point you’ve got to start acting like it. “Acting like it,” indeed, is an accurate way of describing what you’ll be doing at first. That is, until you get the hang of it, you won’t feel patient or understanding when someone cancels on you, or when something terrible happens. My therapist says, “Fake it until you make it.” Now, I don’t know that any of us ever “make it.” I doubt it will ever become fun for life to throw you a curve ball. But I do think it gets easier to accept what is (gracefully) if you can slow down and remind yourself that even frustrating or “terrible” things can contribute to your growth.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is better when we're not in control. When we mentally leave room for anything to happen, anything can.

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We Can Be Intentional (Blog #903)

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Geez. It’s ten-thirty in the morning, and I’ve been wide awake for two hours. A self-avowed night owl, I’ve woken up at eight-thirty for the last four days, ever since I changed my diet and started intermittent fasting. Is this what skinny people do–wake up early? Metabolize?

I will not become a morning person, I will not become a morning person.

Last night my dad and I went to the gym after I finished blogging, about eleven-thirty. We started this routine last winter when I was doing rehab for my knee, but after six months of going every day or every other day, I rebelled. Fuck the gym, I thought. Of course, they kept charging me for my membership. Every month they take out eleven dollars. “It’s like giving your money away,” someone told me recently. Yes, it’s exactly like that. It is that. Anyway, although Dad’s kept up his routine, I just started back this week.

I can feel my six-pack already.

That’s a lie.

Normally I don’t write during the daytime, but today promises to be pretty long. In a while I’m going to lunch with a friend, then running an errand, then working out again, since unfortunately and apparently it’s not something you can do just once and see results. (Boo hiss). Then I’m cleaning up and going to a concert/dance. A client has hired me to be their partner/leader–oh hell, I’ll just say it–dance gigolo.

It’s all very glamorous, I know.

Anyway, since the event is out of town, it promises to be a late night. And since my body won’t let me sleep in anymore, if i write when I get home, I’ll be a zombie tomorrow. And that won’t do. That simply won’t do.

One thing I’ve noticed about intermittent fasting is that it’s allowed me to slow down. Normally, no matter what time I wake up, my day starts as soon as my feet hit the floor. I go to the bathroom, turn on the stove, crack open three eggs to scramble for breakfast. It’s a whole routine. After eating, I brush my teeth and am out the door–to work, whatever. But now that I’m waking up earlier and not eating breakfast, I have time–to think about the day ahead, to pray, to prepare, to be intentional. Intentional. That’s something I “intend” to be with this diet. Sunday night I made a list of things I wanted to do this week–eat according to plan, dance, work out three times, go for at least one walk, bleach my teeth. I plan to make (reasonable) lists like this every Sunday night for the next year so I can both evaluate my progress and continue to see results. It’s not difficult, but it does require slowing down.

Good health doesn’t just happen.

Especially in the world of dollar menus.

Crap. Now I’m thinking about double cheeseburgers.

Whenever I’m gone from the gym for a while, I feel guilty. Because I haven’t been loyal. Because I haven’t been a good gym student. Because I’ve gained ten pounds. I imagine when I walk through the door for the first time in a while that the staff will passive aggressively say, “Where have you been–Porky?” Of course, this never happens. When Dad and I returned to the gym this week, the said, “Hey guys!” and that was it. This is what I’ve been thinking about this morning, that the gym welcomes you back with open arms. It’s simply this space to work out in, and all you have to do is show up (and pay). Whenever you’re ready. Likewise, there are few things in life that push us along, that demand that we get out of bed, go to work, and fill every minute of every day with–stress. I mean, maybe you have a demanding spouse or kid, but for the most part, you’re the one who pushes you. (The truth–even if you have someone demanding in your life, you’re the one who pushes you.) I’m the one who pushes me.

The good news is that at any point, we can slow down. At any point, we can be intentional.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Any mundane thing–an elevator ride!–can be turned into something joyous.

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On Sacrifice and Suffering (Blog #902)

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Mythology. There’s an idea in mythology that in order for something new to be born, something old must die. This is illustrated in the phoenix having to die before it could rise from the ashes, Jesus having to die before he could rise from the grave, and some poor pig having to die before you could eat breakfast. Simply put, death is required for life. (It’s gross, I know.) This is why so many biblical tales feature sacrifices.

Sacrifice. That’s what I’ve been thinking about today, the fact that the giving up of one thing is required for the receiving of another. Not that I’m suggesting you go out and purchase an altar. This is all symbolic, of course. For example, this week I started a rather strict diet that includes intermittent fasting, not eating for sixteen hours out of the day. This, indeed, is a sacrifice. I’m giving up sweets, breakfast, and midnight snacks. Honestly, it feels like a death, a violent one. There’s weeping of gnashing of teeth. But I want the new life that’s on the other side of this–feeling better, fitting into my pants again–so I’m willing to pay the price.

Everything comes with a price. In the television show Once Upon a Time, Rumpelstiltskin often said, “Magic comes with a price.” And whereas most people think of magic as all smoke and mirrors, something for television, I actually believe in it. Not like magic as in Harry Potter–Leviosa!–but magic as in–what else do you call the fact that there are stars in the sky or the fact that you were born here or the fact that certain people (or opportunities) show up in your life at exactly the right time? Do these things “just happen”? Sometimes, yes. There’s some amount of grace we all experience simply because we’re alive. But certain magic requires action on your part. Joesph Campbell said, “Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.” In other words, you have to do something–follow your bliss, and it’s harder than it sounds–if you want the magic doors to open. You have to sacrifice. You have to pay the price.

The price. This evening I watched the final episode in Caroline Myss’s Sacred Power. I can’t recommend this series enough. Granted, Caroline doesn’t pull any punches. It’s not always fun stuff to listen to. But it’s needed. Tonight’s episode presented the idea that the consequence of living a congruent life (in which your head–what you think–and your heart–what you feel–are aligned) is that your life is going to change. Caroline says, “[Congruence] changes your life because it changes the speed at which you understand things.” And whereas this sounds great if you say it fast, it’s not–because it means you have to grow up and do something about whatever it is you understand. (This takes balls.) For example, I once dated someone and knew–deep down–on our first date that we weren’t right for each other. But we dated for three years because I didn’t trust my gut, because–and here’s the kicker–I didn’t trust myself. Were there good times? Absolutely. But the price I paid for thinking one thing and feeling another (for my head and my heart being disconnected) was that when the relationship ended, I was shattered.

Congruence. Now, after years of therapy and a lot of practice, I trust myself more. This year I’ve gone on dates and known in my gut–this guy’s an alcoholic, this guy’s on drugs. I’ve met people and known immediately–they have terrible boundaries. And not that in every case I’ve walked away, but sometimes I have. At the very least, I’ve proceeded with my eyes wide open. Now, I’ll never be able to prove that I’ve saved myself a lot of heartache, drama, and suffering, but I’m convinced I have. This too is a form of sacrifice–giving up one’s emotional pain for, in some cases, a night at home alone.

Suffering. Unfortunately, sacrifice is often associated with suffering. The story of Christ on the cross probably has something to do with this. That being said, there’s a story in The Acts of John that Christ danced on his way to the cross. This means he willingly gave up (sacrificed) his life for the resurrection and all that came with it. He said, “Not my will, but yours.” This is how I think sacrifice is best approached. Open your arms. Let it go, Nancy. Does it suck to give up chocolate cake for breakfast, a date with a hot guy, or time with someone fun? Sure. But it sucks worse to damage your body, date a train wreck, and be friends with someone who isn’t really your friend at all. Said another say, you either pay now, or you pay even more later.

I suggest paying now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things become ripe when they’re ready.

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Things Can Turn on a Dime (Blog #901)

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Okay. I’ve been on a diet for twenty-four hours and my thighs still rub together when I walk. What the actual hell? If only deciding to take care of yourself produced immediate results. Alas, this is not the instant gratification station. This is the work hard, be consistent, make good choices station. This is the chocolate cake makes your ass bigger not smaller channel. This is planet earth.

I know. I hate it too.

I’m grousing, but the changes I’ve made in the last twenty-four hours truly haven’t sucked. Last night before blogging I went to the grocery store for snacks, fruits, vegetables, and protein, then went to the gym with my dad after. “Are we going to do this every night?” he said.

“What about every other night?” I replied.

Every other night seems like a reasonable goal, one I could achieve instead of overachieve. What’s the saying? Set yourself up for success.

Today I’ve eaten three reasonable meals–no bread, no refined sugar, no alcohol. After each meal I felt full but not stuffed. What’s this feeling of non-expansion? I thought. In terms of exercise, this morning I mowed a lawn. Tonight I went for a twenty-minute walk. And whereas I used to think a walk didn’t count unless it was at least an hour and uphill all the way, tonight I thought, Twenty minutes is twenty minutes. I mean, I broke a sweat.

What’s nice about all the changes I’m making this week–and I admit they’re a bit “all at once”–is that none of them are new. Like, I’ve eaten mostly paleo before, I’ve been a gym rat before, and I’ve gone on walks before. This means that with little resistance I can slip into these routines like an old shoe. The part of my mind that loves carbs kicks up a bit of a fuss, of course, but most of me is like, Oh yeah, we know how to do this.

All this being said, the one thing I’m doing that I haven’t done before is intermittent fasting, which basically amounts to not eating between 8 PM and noon the next day. Eat however many meals you want (within reason) between noon and eight, but then zip your lips for sixteen hours. The idea (behind any type of fast) is that it not only gives your body a break (because digestion takes a lot of work), but it also allows your body to burn fat for fuel instead of all that pizza and ice cream you’ve been chunking down your throat. (Or is that just me?) Anyway, a friend of mine has been raving about it–they’ve lost fifteen pounds in the last six to eight weeks–so I figured, What the hell? I’ll give it a shot.

Now, I realize I’ve only been at this one day, but so far I like it. Sure, last night was rough. Two hours after having a smoothie at 7:30, I was starving. I went to bed hungry. Boo-hoo. But I told myself, If I’m starving in the morning, I’ll eat. Surely a little fast is better than no fast at all. But get this shit. When I woke up at nine this morning, I was fine. Not really hungry at all. So I skipped breakfast and went to work. Well, I had a cup of hot tea (non-caloric beverages are allowed.) Y’all, I mowed and weedeated in the hot sun for two hours and was fine. What’s more, I actually had an excess of energy (an excess of fat, boo-hoo). Now, was I READY to eat when the clock struck twelve? You bet your sweet bippy. But in my head I’d made it out to be this awful thing–I can’t eat for 16 hours, somebody get me a cross to hang on!–and yet it wasn’t awful at all. It simply wasn’t.

When I got home from mowing today I took my shoes off and banged them together to shake off the grass and dirt. As I did, I noticed a small rock–a large pebble–dislodged itself from the grooves in one of my shoes and landed in my parents’ flowerbed. And maybe this is weird, but I thought about that rock as if it were a teeny-tiny person. Like, it’d probably been hanging out in Fort Smith in my client’s driveway for years, and then all of a sudden got swooped up and transported to Van Buren. Just like that.

Along the same lines, get this. This evening I taught a dance lesson to a couple about to be married. The guy was born in another country, came to the United States, bounced around a bit, and finally met his fiancee up north. Then he got a job down here, and kind of like my shoe picked up that rock and brought it across the Arkansas River, he picked up his fiancee and brought her here too. Through a strange series of events, they ended up on my dance floor. After all these years, we finally met.

I really am astounded by this. How a rock or a person can hang out in one mental, emotional, or physical place and then–bam, like that–be transported to another. Is there work involved? Of course. There’s always work involved. In terms of bodily transformations, you gotta do shit. God’s not gonna strike you skinny. (Although, I guess, you could get one of those awful stomach viruses). In terms of personal growth, you gotta do shit. (My suggestion: see a therapist.) But my point is that at some point there’s a tipping point. (That’s a lot of points, I know.) This is why people say things can turn on a dime. Sooner or later, your hard work, your patience, pays off. Sooner or later, you see results.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Beating yourself up is a far cry from self-respect."

Sign Me Up for the Advanced Course (Blog #900)

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After a birthday weekend (and adulthood) full of food indulgences, today I started a diet. Er, lifestyle change. Whatever. Anytime you cut out chocolate cake for breakfast and eating peanut butter out of the jar for dinner, it’s a diet.

Fight me.

No, seriously, fight me. Whenever I cut out carbs, all I want to do is slap people. Of course, I don’t. After a few days of–let’s face it–starving, my body adjusts and I calm down. But until then, look out.

I’m hungry right now.

Earlier my mom asked me what diet I’m following, and I said, “I don’t know. Mostly paleo.” Really, I’m just trying to cut down/cut out bread, alcohol, and refined sugars. Surely this will help my pants fit. This is my major motivation in doing this whole thing. Getting into my own pants–since I apparently can’t get into anyone else’s. (That’s a sex joke, Mom.) But seriously, I’m turning forty in a year (woowho), and I don’t plan on celebrating by going up a pant size. This morning I stepped on my parents’ digital scale and saw a number I’ve never seen before. Y’all, I nearly passed out.

Thankfully, when I tried again (and again), the number was lower, something I have seen before.

“That’s the number I’ll take,” I said.

Whenever I do something like this (a diet), my tendency is to be drastic, to go balls-to-the-wall and CHANGE EVERYTHING overnight. I understand this isn’t a sensible approach, but it’s my approach nonetheless. So far I already have plans to adjust my eating, up my water intake, get back to the gym, and “heal everything.” I tell myself, You’re being ridiculous, Marcus, but that doesn’t seem to stop me.

Since starting this blog I’ve hopped on the paleo bandwagon more than once, at times strictly for health, at times strictly for vanity. Ugh, even when it’s a short-term “cleanse,” it usually comes down to vanity. And whereas part of me is like, You know you’re going to peter out after six weeks, another part is like, We can do this. We can set and obtain reasonable goals. For example, losing ten pounds is a reasonable goal.

This means I want to lose fifteen. In a month.

As one of my friends says, “Sign me up for the advanced course.”

This is the story of me life. Let’s overachieve–well–everything. Let’s be the best dieter there ever was, the best comeback kid the gym ever saw. Please, somebody stop me from overachieving. It’s exhausting. Tonight’s blog is number 900 in a row, and I know as well as you do that in 900 blogs there have been some great posts and some not-so-great posts. What makes 900 posts a big deal is–largely–consistency. Showing up every day and doing one thing every day–writing. Before I had my estate sale, I downsized my possessions by throwing (or giving away) one thing every day–a pair of socks, a paperclip, a knickknack.

The point–little things add up.

This idea of doing one thing every day, I’m convinced, could be applied to one’s health, my health, as well. That is, I could make this process much simpler. Like, I could cut out bread–for breakfast. Instead of going for a beer, I could go for a walk. If I kept this up every day (or even most days) for a year, I’d see results. I wouldn’t have to change everything at once. My perfectionist doesn’t like this, but it’s true.

The intermediate course will do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever.

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A Little Song, a Little Dance, a Little Seltzer Down Your Pants (Blog #899)

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This afternoon I went shopping with a friend. The whole point of our getting out was for them to find a jacket. Alas, they couldn’t find one. So they bought a shirt, and I bought three. And a pair of pants. Gosh, living was a lot cheaper when I was in mourning, when I wore the same black shirt every day. (Johnny Cash really knew what he was doing.) That being said, I have no regrets. What’s the saying? Variety is the spice of life.

After shopping, my friend and I went out to dinner, a late birthday celebration. (My birthday was two days ago.) And whereas I won’t go into everything we discussed while shopping and eating (because it doesn’t matter and, more importantly, I don’t remember), I will say we laughed a lot. That’s one of the things I adore about me and this particular friend–we’re always cracking up.

Caroline Myss says, “Think about whether you truly have a sense of humor. [My thought–if you have to think about it, you don’t.] Healing is enhanced with humor, and laughter can lighten almost anything–certainly most day-to-day irritations. Your goal: to bring humor to everything that causes you stress, as this is one of the most empowered responses you can have.”

How does this work? Well, if you don’t have a sense of humor, I’m not sure. But if you do, it’s simply a matter of perspective, how you choose to see something. In terms of “day-to-day irritations,” for example, this morning I was trying to pick up a few items to put in the recycle bin–with one hand. Well, I dropped them everywhere. And whereas my first response was, Fuck!, my second response was laughter. It’s like I could see it happening to someone else in a movie, and all of a sudden it was funny. This morning, because our dog made a mess last night, I used a green rag to clean a section of the carpet of the room I’m currently in and ended up turning the carpet light green. I told Mom about it tonight, and she said, “Don’t worry, that carpet’s shit anyway.”

Perspective.

In terms of major drama/trauma, my therapist says, “Tragedy plus time equals comedy.” This, I think, is why minorities (Jews, African Americans, women, gays) often make the best stand-up comedians. They’ve been through hell. What’s left if you go through hell and manage to survive in one piece? A joke. Not that you should laugh about your personal tragedies every minute of every day, but you should at least be able to laugh about them sometimes, with certain people. I can’t tell you the number of times my therapist and I have joked about what most people would consider pretty serious stuff. If someone were listening to us, they might think, Talk about dark humor. But my therapist says some things are just “too much” to deal with head-on all the time.

There’s an episode of The Mary Tyler Moore Show about the death of Chuckles the Clown. The guys in the newsroom think the whole situation is hilarious. At the funeral one of them says, “We’ll know who the rest of the clowns are when they all jump out of a little hearse.” But Mary doesn’t see the humor. “A man has died,” she says. Finally, in the middle of the memorial, Mary starts giggling. When the priest quotes Chukles’s motto–a little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants–Mary bursts out laughing. The guys are confused, but the priest encourages her to laugh. “Chuckles would have wanted you to,” he says. At which point Mary starts sobbing.

To me this scene illustrates the fact that sadness and happiness, tragedy and comedy, are closely related–and there needs to a balance. That is, if there’s something in your life you’ve only ever been sad about, maybe it’s time to find the humor in it. Even if it’s just the humor of saying, “This is my frickin’ life.” Conversely, if there’s something you’ve only ever joked about, maybe it’s time to cry about it. Maybe you’re using your humor not as a way to heal, but as a way to avoid healing, a way to avoid really dealing with something, a way to avoid dealing with yourself.

How do you know the difference?

Personally, I think, What am I running away from? If I’m making jokes in order to not express anger, draw boundaries, or have an uncomfortable conversation, it’s not really helping me heal. If I’m making light of the heavy situations in my life in order to keep from falling apart, and falling apart is really what I need to do, it’s not helping me heal. But if I’m doing The Hard Work and am willing to sit with any and every emotion that comes up, then I’m practicing acceptance. That’s what you want to get to, and humor is one way to do it. After you’ve cried and raged, humor can open a door and let acceptance in. Laughter can help you really let go of the past and embrace your life not only for what it’s been, but also for what it is. “A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants” can–finally–transport you back to right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've really got to believe in yourself and what you're doing. Again, it comes down to integrity and making something solid of yourself, something that's so well-built on the inside that it can handle any storm.

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Use the Difficulty (Blog #898)

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Last night, for my thirty-ninth birthday, I went out to eat with several of my dear friends. It was the perfect thing–good people, good food, good god I’m getting older. But seriously, it was a fabulous night. Yesterday I joked that thankfully no one had sung to me or put a sombrero on my head. And whereas last night no one put a sombrero on my head, the wait staff did sing to me. Which I was fine with, since they also brought me a chocolate dessert (!) with four candles on it. I guess one candle for every 9.75 years I’ve been alive. When they finished singing, one of the waiters smiled and said, “Congratulations.”

I was like, “For making it this long?”

After dinner my friends and I went downtown for live music, a band none of us had ever heard before. My friend Justin described it as a mix of blues, rock, and folk. You know, good-ole-boy stuff. For me, it was just the right thing. Not over-the-top amazing, but solid nonetheless. Enjoyable. One of the last songs they played before we left was a swing tune, so Justin and I danced east coast swing together. It was awesome. Except that my hips hurt today. Maybe this is part of getting older. (Congratulations.)

Whenever I dance with another guy in public, especially in Fort Smith, Arkansas, I’m self-conscious. I think, I wonder if people are watching. I wonder if I’m going to get beat up. Personally, I don’t think anyone should have to fret about their safety if they’re simply doing something (or someone) they love, but this is the world we live in. I didn’t make the rules. Plus, I’m starting to think people as a whole are more accepting, or at least less aggressive, than I thought they were. Last night while Justin and I were dancing a big “dude” came out of the bathroom and looked at us. Then he just kept walking. Like, no big deal. Now, I don’t know what he was thinking–it could have been, Disgusting, or I wish I could do that (or him). Either way, it turns out there was enough room in the bar, in the world for all of us.

This afternoon I spent some time reading Terry Gross’s All I Did Was Ask, a compilation of interviews Terry’s conducted on National Public Radio’s Fresh Air. One of the last interviews I read was with Michael Caine, the actor. In it he shares one of the best pieces of advice he ever received. The deal was that once he was supposed to walk into a room, through a doorway, but there was a chair on the other side that was in his way. His director said, “Use the difficulty.” Caine said, “What do you mean?” So the director explained, “If it’s a drama, pick up the chair and smash it. If it’s a comedy, trip over the chair and fall on the floor.”

Use the difficulty. I can’t tell you how much I love this. Five-and-a-half years ago I was absolutely heartbroken and depressed. Looking back, I guess I could have, would have gotten over it eventually. Instead, I was more proactive and started therapy. Hands down, it’s the best decision I’ve ever made. Likewise, I’ve had a number of other challenging relationships over the years. Instead of seeing them as “a bunch of bullshit,” I’ve seen them as opportunities for growth–chances for me to speak up, set boundaries, or change unproductive patterns. Think of a difficult person or situation in your life–maybe a health problem. What if instead of complaining you thought, This is a chance for me to dig deep, to really change, a chance for me to get my act together? What if instead of pushing your challenges away you thought, This situation belongs to me. It has my name written all over it?

More and more, this is the way I’m coming to see my life. I can look at every challenging thing in my past and see how it’s been a chance for me to mature. I could whine and bitch that the world isn’t the same for guys who dance together, but the truth is that’s just the difficulty I’ve been given, and it’s my choice whether or not to use it. Aren’t you given similar choices on a daily basis–the chance to be patient, the chance to be forgiving? Regardless of what’s challenging for you, ask yourself, Will I use my difficulty, or will my difficulty use me? In terms of me and whether or not I dance in public, I know that if I let my fears control me, I could very well end up sitting down for the rest of my life. Or I could stand up, dance, and let the chips fall where they may. I could get ever more so comfortable in my own skin and see that–most of the time–people respond positively to that. And if they don’t? That’s their difficulty, their chance to grow.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t change what happened, but you can change the story you tell yourself about it.

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On Growing Up (Blog #897)

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Well, hello. Today is my birthday. Thirty-nine years ago I came charging into this world. And whereas I’ve slowed down–a little–I’m still going. (Look out, future, here I come, at my own pace.) All day my dad’s been telling total strangers it’s my birthday. Thankfully, none of them have sung to me or put a sombrero on my head. But this afternoon a waitress did say, “Thirty-nine! Time flies! Where does it go?”

“Behind you,” I said.

Byron Katie says, “Do you know what I love about the past? It’s over.”

Amen. Thirty-nine years. Over.

To celebrate my big day, this morning my dad and I got up early–at six-thirty–and went to Irish Maid Donuts. This is something we normally only do on Father’s Day and his birthday, but I guess it’s becoming our thing. You won’t hear any complaints from me. From my insulin, maybe.

Diet starts next week.

When dad and I got home from the donut shop, I went back to bed for a few hours. When I got up, my mom, my dad, two of my aunts, and I went to The Egg and I for more celebrating, more eating. This is what my entire weekend promises to be filled with–food. And whereas my stomach is already starting to put up a fuss, I plan to hang in there.

Diet starts next week.

So far today over a hundred friends and family members have messaged, texted, posted, or called to wish me happy birthday. This happens every year, but it continues to take my breath away. It’s so easy to think that people don’t care or remember you, but they do. What’s more, if only for a moment, they’re willing to take time out of their day to wish you well. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. No one owes me anything. Not my friends, not my family, not my lovers (well, ex-lovers; I’m currently taking applications). Caroline Myss says that if someone loves you, it’s not because they HAVE to, it’s because they WANT to. When you really get this, it’s a game-changer. When I really get this, it even shifts my perspective about people I don’t want to see again. Not that it makes me want to see them, but it does make me grateful for any love that’s been exchanged between us. Because again–anything I’ve received from another has been a gift, not a payment of a debt owed.

This morning my dad and I had a conversation about liars. We both know a few. I once dated one. Dad said, “Do you think they ever think about the damage they cause?” I said, “I think everyone has a soul and a conscience, so sure, but I also think it takes a big person to just come right out and say, ‘I know I hurt you and I’m sorry.'” Think about it. How often do YOU think you’ve done something wrong? Isn’t it always someone else’s fault? I know that’s how I usually feel, so I can only assume it would be the same for someone else, even someone who lies, cheats, steals, or kills. We all justify our behavior.

I’m talking about this now because as I get older, I think about these things more. How do my words and actions affect others? I know that I’ve broken more than one heart not because I was straight-up lying or cheating but because I was lying to myself (and them) about how compatible we were. That’s what I realized with my ex. I observed their bad behavior but lied to myself (and them) about it not mattering. When it fact it mattered a lot. We think of lies as these big, huge things, but they’re not. They’re subtle things. Little stories we tell ourselves. For example, how many times have you said, “Diet starts next week,” when you know damn good and well it’ll most likely never start at all? This is why the truth is scary. This is why it’s painful. It shows you who you really are. The one who isn’t disciplined. The one who’s too afraid to leave. The one who’s scared to be alone. It cuts you like a knife.

What’s outside you is inside you.

Earlier today a friend posted something like, if you could go back and give your younger self advice in two words, what would you say? People said things like, be strong, be kind, keep going. I thought, get laid, but my answer was, speak up! This has been both one of the best and most difficult things I’ve learned to do since starting therapy–learning to speak my truth. Because looking back, I’ve always known what it was. I knew my ex was a liar, and I knew other exes were cheaters. But again, by not saying something or leaving sooner, I was lying to myself, cheating myself out of something better. This is what “the world is your mirror” means. It means what’s outside you is inside you. It means we all play a part in things. It means no one is to blame.

I hate this as much as you do.

But it’s part of growing up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your life is a mystery. But you can relax. It’s not your job to solve it.

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On Phones and Boundaries (Blog #896)

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Two days ago I spilled hot tea on my phone, so I shut it off, took the battery out, and put it in rice to dry out. This morning I put everything back together, and–thankfully–it’s worked fabulously ever since. That being said, I have to say it was really nice going without my phone all day yesterday. It was nice waking up this morning and not immediately being bombarded by text messages, missed calls, and whatever the hell Facebook had to say. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed just waking up slowly, then (later) eating breakfast quietly–without having to think about anyone else’s good news or bad news. I’d like to make this a habit–not looking at my phone until I’m ready to face whatever it has to say.

You know, like when I’m awake.

This afternoon I started painting the dining room at the house I’ve been working on for several weeks now. While painting I thought about how I could reasonably unplug a bit more. For the longest time I’ve done my best to unsubscribe from newsletters that don’t truly interest me. I keep my phone on silent. Still, I check it constantly, if only to see what time it is or play a certain song. But you know how it goes. You get sucked in. So today I thought, I could uninstall Facebook. Just check it on my laptop. Then I thought, Eeek. I don’t know if I’m that strong. It does come in really handy for sending messages. So I took a baby step instead. I turned off push notifications, those annoying pop up messages that tell you every time someone mentions you, comments on a post you’re following, or goes to the bathroom.

In terms of areas in which I’ve grown the most since starting therapy, believe it or not, my phone tops the list. What I mean is that I used to think every time someone called or texted me, I OWED them an immediate reply. Now–in most cases–I think, I don’t owe them anything. I’ll reply when I’m ready, if at all. If I want to. Anyway, if you’re wanting to have better boundaries, either with someone specific or the world in general, your phone is a great place to start. If you’re used to replying immediately, wait. An hour, until dinner’s over, until tomorrow. Seriously, give it a shot. The world won’t fall apart.

In my experience with not replying so quickly, I’ve found that some of my friends have handled it well and others haven’t. Sometimes I get huffy reminder texts filled with question marks. “Helllooooo?????” And whereas I get it–I live in the same fast food/immediate gratification world that you do–chill out.

Personally, I like it when people freak out over silence, since it lets me know what kind of person I’m dealing with. Have I been that person who’s freaked out before? You’re damn right I have. But I’d rather someone take their time and come back with something honest and heartfelt than off the cuff. Caroline Myss tells a story about a nun whose bishop was pressing her to reply to an email he sent, but the nun said, “Hey, buddy, you had weeks to send my your email, and I’m taking the same amount of time to reply. My answer will affect a lot of people for years to come, and I need this time to reflect on my response.”

Wow. Talk about responsible.

This evening I had dinner with a dear friend of mine, and we both purposed to put our phones away while we were eating. We each made a couple exceptions, but it made the biggest difference. For over two hours we chatted and caught up with each other. We didn’t interrupt. Instead, we listened. We laughed. My point is that–and I speak from personal experience–it’s difficult to truly be present with another person (or even yourself) when you’re constantly on your phone, thinking about what’s going on out there instead of what’s going on right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You really do belong here.

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On Being Less Attached (Blog #895)

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Last night I spilled hot tea on my phone and two of the buttons stopped working. So after I blogged, I shut my phone down, removed the battery, and sealed my phone in a Ziploc bag full of rice. According to the internet and some (but not all) of my smart friends, the rice is supposed to suck the moisture out of the phone and–voila!–return it to normal working condition. (I’ve had moderate success with this method before. It’s worked for my phone but not for my laptop. And yes, I spill hot tea on my electronics a lot. Always after I’ve stopped carrying insurance on them, I should add.) Anyway, being without my phone has been a bit like being without my penis, I’m sad to say. That is, we’re pretty attached.

When I was in my early twenties and all my friends had cell phones, I refused to get one. “I don’t need one,” I said. Instead, I used my parents’ landline. I memorized everyone’s numbers. (Remember when that was a thing?) But when I turned twenty-five, I caved and got a flip phone. And me and my phone have been married ever since. Like almost everyone else in America, I’m rarely without my device. Not that I’m proud of this, but facts are facts.

Since I usually use my phone for my alarm clock, last night I used an honest-to-god alarm clock instead. Consequently, I didn’t sleep well. I wasn’t sure it would go off. I set it for eight this morning and–on my own–woke up at six-forty-five. Well, I never went back to sleep. But here’s the great part. Instead of picking up my phone and mindlessly scrolling through Facebook and Instagram, I meditated and contemplated. Not like I closed my eyes and chanted, but last night I talked about my phone’s “death” as an opportunity for me to unplug and even get my nose out of other people’s business, so for over an hour this morning I considered these things. What’s really important to me? I thought.

When I finally rolled out of bed, I pulled my phone out of the rice, put the battery back in, and–with hope–pushed the power button. Thankfully, it worked. Everything operated as if nothing had happened. Except that I’d “lost” my contacts because I’d purposefully disconnected my accounts so they wouldn’t be exposed in the event I had to take my phone to a repair shop. But anyway, back to the good news. No serious problems. Still, I decided to turn my phone off and put it back in rice just to be on the safe side. Would it be the worst thing in the world to disconnect for a day? I thought.

No, no it wouldn’t, I thought back.

After eating breakfast and showering, I went to therapy, and my therapist told me I had really big balls (“elephantiasis” was her word) when I told her about my confronting someone recently. “I don’t know how you’re sitting there with your legs crossed,” she said. “Your nuts seriously must be cantaloupe-sized.”

“It’s just because I’ve been hanging out with you for five years,” I said.

Recently I’ve talked a lot about changing patterns and behaviors, and I use this story as an illustration of the idea that when you’re wanting to change or transform, it’s important to have a role model. This is why people in Alcoholics Anonymous have sponsors. You need someone who acts as an example of what you want to be. For me that example has mostly been my therapist. However, I also often think about Doc Holiday as portrayed by Val Kilmer in the movie Tombstone. The guy’s an absolute badass. He says what he wants and doesn’t take shit from anyone. Granted, he’s the sharpest shooter in the wild west and can back up his words with a his bullets, but still, the point remains. In order to reach our potential, we need mentors, people who say (by either their words or actions), “This is possible. Look what you can become.” Indeed, I don’t think it’s an accident that Tombstone has been one of my top-five favorite movies since it came out. It’s like a part of me knew–There’s something here to aspire to.

Now it’s nine at night, and my phone is still shut off. I’m thinking I’ll let it continue to dry out until tomorrow afternoon. And whereas I’ve had a couple twitchy, compulsive moments (like reaching for my phone after therapy or whenever I’ve put my car in park), it really has been the best thing. For one thing, I’ve been more intentional. Instead of letting someone else decide what I should think about, I decided what I should think about it. This morning I read the preface for a book after breakfast. This afternoon I paid bills. Tonight I had dinner with some dear friends and was absolutely present (when I wasn’t staring at the hot waiter). I can’t imagine I missed out on anything on social media. Also, I never once felt bad because some friend or stranger was bitching or talking about politics. Or because I was comparing my life to someone else’s. Rather, I was simply living–less attached.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Just because your face is nice to look at doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart that’s capable of being broken. These things happen to humans, and there isn’t a one of us who isn’t human.

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