Outside Your Comfort Zone (Blog #800)

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A few weeks ago my friend Shelli asked me if I wanted to play a character in a western-themed murder mystery for a local fundraiser. And whereas I’ve been telling people that she roped me into doing it (get it, western, roped?), the fact is I simply agreed. Still, I hesitated at first because staying at home sounded better and dressing up and acting aren’t always within my comfort zone. But then I thought, Come on, Marcus, live a little, and said yes. As the grandma in the movie Arthur says, “What the hell? We live once.”

The murder mystery was tonight, and my friend Kim let me borrow some of her husband’s cowboy clothes for my costume–boots, jeans, and a fancy shirt with roses on it. She even loaned me a pair of genuine chaps. And yes, they were ass-less. (All chaps are, I think.) Literally topping things off with my own cowboy hat, I headed to the party, which was held at a fancy private residence and included dinner, drinks, and desserts.

And to think I considered staying at home on the couch.

The setup was that I was the bad guy, Wavy Will, the outlaw in the town of Gravestone. (The whole thing was a spoof on the movie Tombstone, in which “my” character was Curly Bill. Get it, Curly Bill, Wavy Will? ) They had wanted posters with my mug on them plastered all over the place. Wanted Alive–Wavy Will Bronchus–$1,000.

Now come on, I think I’m worth more than that.

As guests arrived at the affair (supposedly held in a saloon), the other characters and I interacted and dropped clues about our relationships. For example, Wylie Arp (Wyatt Earp) had just moved to Gravestone, and several of the other characters wanted him to run for sheriff so he could arrest me and my band of outlaws, The Ranchers (The Cowboys). After two rounds of interaction, I turned up dead. This was a surprise to me and everybody else, although the whole point was that SOMEBODY was going to die. From this point on, I had a halo on and could walk around and make (ghostly) faces but couldn’t talk.

Dead men tell no tales.

Here’s a picture from the end of the game when each character got their final say. The girl beside me was the only guest to figure out who shot me three times in the chest. It was Abby Oakley (Annie Oakley), pictured above and below in red, whom I’d insulted earlier in the evening. “You couldn’t hit the backside of a barn,” I yelled. “Girls can’t shoot guns.”

Obviously, I was wrong.

Y’all, I’m thrilled I agreed to do this thing. I had so much fun getting into character and playing and visiting with my friends. (I ended up knowing several cast members in addition to Shelli.) Some of them had done a murder mystery before and/or acted in the theater and were absolutely inspiring to watch and work with. Since leaving the party, I’ve been thinking about how I could improve my character if ever given the chance to do it again.

One of the things I thought about tonight was how it can often feel strange to “try on” a new personality trait–assertiveness, for example–but how it can actually be fun. This has been my experience since starting therapy. I used to think of myself as shy and timid–a people pleaser. But that was just a character I was playing, and I’ve since learned to play a different one, one I like better. Dustin Hoffman says that this is what acting is, tweaking your personality the way you tweak your wardrobe when you’re trying to pick something out to wear for dinner. You grab a shirt and think, No, that’s not right, so you grab another.

Likewise, you can do this with you personality in your day-to-day life. If you have a discussion with your boss or friend and it doesn’t go well, you can try again. You can adjust your tone, be more assertive, be more receiving, whatever it takes. You can keep trying until it feels right, until you think, Yeah, that’s it. That feels more honest. That feels more like me.

Tonight’s blog is number 800 (in a row). And whereas I wish I had something profound to say to commemorate this fact, I don’t. Instead, I’m ready to call it a night. Still, it occurs to me that most of us don’t know ourselves. We grow up thinking that we’re shy or timid or not one to speak up, talk about ourselves, or share personal details. I used to think these things. But from day one of the blog I’ve purposed to be honest, to not play a character but–as much as is possible–play myself. Tonight my friend Shelli said, “There were women at the party who thought you were so cute.” I said, “Do they have brothers?!” Oh my gosh, y’all, I never would have said this five years ago. I was too worried about what other people thought. But tonight it just came flying out–because I’m in the habit of being honest, of being myself. Lately I’ve been cursing more in dance lessons. I don’t apologize. This is who I am.

Sometimes I say four-letter words.

Everything worth having is outside your comfort zone.

My point in sharing these examples is not to say that being out or cursing when you feel like it are the measures of authenticity. They aren’t. If you’d told me five years ago I’d be doing these things, I would have told you to go play in traffic. In other words, the me of the past is absolutely shocked by the behavior of the me of the present (as are plenty of people who’ve known me for years, I’ve been told). My point is that you really don’t know what you’re capable of until you try. Part of you will always think you can’t be assertive or honest or strong or independent or even affectionate if you’ve never been these things because that’s all you’ve ever known. But if you try a different way and succeed, you prove to that part of yourself that you’re more than what you thought you were. Is this scary? Yes, as hell. But it’s worth it. This is what 800 days of being honest has taught me–that just as you can’t have new experiences and enjoy the world around you by staying home on your couch, you can’t discover your hidden strengths, talents, and abilities by staying within your comfort zone. Indeed, everything worth having is OUTSIDE your comfort zone.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Go easier on yourself.

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Like Door Knobs, We Exist (Blog #786)

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Currently I’m at my friends Todd and Bonnie’s house, where I’ve been all day, cleaning antique hardware. I started this project earlier this week, and whereas it’s not difficult work, it is tedious and time-consuming. First, if the hardware has paint on it, I let it soak in a crock pot. This makes the paint slide right off. Then I scrub, scrub, scrub the paint-free (usually) bronze metal with either Brasso, a mixture of baking soda and lemon juice, or both. At least that’s what I’ve been doing.

I’ll explain.

This afternoon after working for several hours I was ready to call it a day. But then I got obsessed with the fact that the pieces of hardware that had been through the crock-pot process had a distinct pink/copper tone to them and the other pieces didn’t. Rather, they looked like–um–brass. Well, I made the mistake of Googling why. As it turns out, brass is composed of copper and zinc, and heating it up (like in a crock pot) removes the zinc. This is why several pieces looked like copper–they were. Thankfully, this can be fixed. Soaking the copper-toned pieces in a solution of equal parts white vinegar and hydrogen peroxide removes the copper, and then–voila!–you’re back to brass (or steel if that’s what’s underneath).

Here’s a picture of The Solution. It starts off clear, then turns blue, then, sometimes, scummy.

After going to the store to get white vinegar and hydrogen peroxide, I went through the above process, and it worked like a charm. However, it also left my perviously shiny pieces of hardware smudged and dirty. Albeit dirty brass, not dirty copper. And whereas Brasso and baking soda and lemon juice didn’t do the trick, another internet remedy did–white vinegar, salt, and flour. Oh my gosh, y’all, that stuff is magic. It took almost all the dirt and grime off in an instant–no elbow grease required. I was so impressed that I not only used it to clean the used-to-look-like-copper pieces, but also touched up all the others.

Take a look. Notice the door knob in the bottom lefthand corner. That one was technically already clean (it was previously ALL dark), but not new-magic-potion clean like the others in the photo. What a difference!

Part of me feels like I wasted a lot of time earlier this week and this afternoon because I didn’t know about the copper-removing process or the magic brass-cleaning paste. But how can you know what you don’t know? Thankfully, I know now, and that means the rest of the hardware will get cleaned quicker and easier. As I watched The Solution and The Paste dissolve the copper and the dirt and grime before my very eyes, I thought, Better living through chemistry.

Work smarter, not harder.

The Gospel of Thomas says that Jesus said, “The man is like a wise fisherman who cast his net into the sea and drew it up from the sea full of small fish. Among them the wise fisherman found a fine large fish. He threw all the small fish back into the sea and chose the large fish without difficulty. Whoever has ears to hear, let him hear.” To me this parable means that when you find a better way, you forsake all your previous ways that either weren’t working as well or weren’t working at all. Like, why would I go back to baking soda and lemon juice when The Paste is clearly superior?

In terms of personal growth, I’ve discovered a lot of Big Fish along The Path. For example, setting boundaries, being authentic, and speaking my truth (which, incidentally, is different than speaking my opinion). These things have taken the place (not all the time, but most the time) of the small fish of which I used to be so acquainted–being enmeshed with others, being a people pleaser, and being sarcastic or passive aggressive (or simply silent). Not that these small-fish strategies didn’t work on some level, but I’ve simply found a better way to live in the world and interact with others. It’s called being honest, direct, and kind.

While working with these pieces of antique hardware, it’s occurred to me that I’m not trying to create something beautiful from scratch. Rather, by removing layer after layer of paint, zinc, copper, dirt, and grime, I’m simply revealing something beautiful. Something that was there all along but got covered up due to–I don’t know–neglect or just life. Life is hard on a door knob. This is a metaphor, of course, for the idea that all of us are radiant on the inside but that our radiance gets covered up due to–I don’t know–neglect or just life. Life is hard on a person. Thankfully, with a lot of work, a lot of trial and error, and a lot of grace, we can get to what’s underneath.

When Queer Eye for the Straight Guy originally came out (see what I did there?), Kyan Douglas said that men need to pluck their nose hairs. Then he motioned to his gloriously kempt face and said, “Do you think this just happens?” With respect to cleaning door knobs or uncovering one’s inner radiance, I’d ask the same question. Do you think this just happens? The obvious answer is no. Even in Jesus’s parable about the man who caught the big fish, the big fish didn’t jump into his boat on its own accord. No, the man had to go fishing. He had to cast his net. He had to pull it in. Then he had to have enough sense to keep the big fish and–perhaps just as important–throw the little fish back, an act analogous to pruning the vine or separating the tares from the wheat. When Aladdin entered the Cave of Wonders, the rules were that he could only touch The Lamp. He couldn’t touch any other jewel or coin.

All this to say–once you figure out what’s Most Important, you can’t let yourself be distracted by, weighed down, or otherwise concerned with piffle or That Which Doesn’t Matter. Recently someone I care a great deal for suggested I could smile more in my daily selfies. I am–they said–after all, beautiful, and some of my pictures don’t do me justice. At one time I would have taken this advice to heart, thinking, I’m doing something wrong. My face is disappointing someone. I should be doing better. I should be smiling more. But as I’ve said numerous times before, this blog and my life are not about outward appearances or presenting myself in a such a way as to make someone else happy or gain their love or approval (even for a moment). Granted, I used to worry about such small things, but have since thrown those fish back into the sea because I’ve found A Better Way. Indeed, once you clear away The Grime, you connect with a certain confidence that allows you not only to simply be who you are, but also to stop feeling like you have to prove yourself–to yourself, anyone else, or the world at large. Like door knobs, we exist. This is enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Everything is all right and okay.

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The Mystery Isn’t That Simple (Blog #580)

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Today I interviewed three different computer repair businesses in my quest to get my laptop repaired. (I spilled tea on the keyboard; electronics and liquids don’t go well together.) And whereas all the places quoted–uh–about the same price, only one had good customer service. The other two ranked low to medium at best. In one spot, I was treated like a “customer” at the DMV. Like, take a number, asshole. So I just walked out. Fuck this, I thought. I have other options.

You always have other options.

So now the plan is to visit the “winning” store in person tomorrow, as I only spoke with them on the phone today. I’ll let you know how it goes.

This afternoon, in between visits to computer repair stores, I saw my therapist, and we did a double session because she’d had a cancellation. Hum. What to say? After I told her a few stories, including the one about walking away from bad customer service, she said I’ve clearly been listening to my gut lately and to keep that up.

More on that in a minute.

Later we talked about self-talk, beliefs, and whether or not someone (specifically, me) feels worthy of having their dreams come true. And whereas we’ve had these conversations before and I feel like I’ve made a lot of progress in this area, today I started crying when she repeatedly looked me in the eyes and listed several good (and “worthy”) things about me. Yeah, why is that such a big deal, to have someone affirm you? I guess because I’m so used to thinking that success belongs to other people–but not me; that dreams come true for, I don’t know, the Kardashians–but not me; that everyone else is “good enough”–but I’m not.

My therapist called this “a flawed perspective,” and in my experience it’s not the easiest thing to get rid of, even when you really want to. Like, I’ve been reading self-help books and rocking this therapy thing for A WHILE NOW, and it’s not like I’m unaware of thoughts that race through my head. I say race because thoughts are lightning fast, especially little ones like, That won’t work, No one will like that, or, Nothing I do is every good enough. And I guess it’s easy to think that quick little thoughts don’t matter, but think them often enough, and thoughts like these can slowly choke a dream.

To death.

I normally don’t cry in therapy, so I’d like to be clear about why I think it’s notable. So often we “think” we’ve handled an issue. Like, Oh yeah, I’m fine with abundance. I believe in that shit. Well, you can blow a lot of smoke up someone else’s and even your own ass, but you CAN’T fool your body. On the contrary, your body always knows the truth. So when I find myself crying, that’s a good thing, since it means I’ve finally hit something with substance and not just an idea. It means, Sweetheart, it’s time to really take a look at this.

My therapist said she thinks I play small or fail to take steps toward some of my dreams because I’m afraid of rejection. (Uh, who isn’t?!) But after sharing a personal story that involved her being rejected multiple times and ended with her opening her private practice, she shared two pieces of advice.

One–Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy. In other words, with time and perspective, we are often grateful for things that didn’t work out.

Two–Because our greatest strengths lie on the other side of our greatest fears–and I quote–“Bring on the rejection, motherfuckers!”

I’m going to be processing all this, but in the meantime, I’d like to circle back to listening to your gut, which, as I’m fond of saying, sounds good if you say it fast. What I mean is that “going with your gut” is often lauded in today’s society, and yes, I think it’s something you should do. Like, I might have been taken advantage of–or just been frustrated– if I’d bowed to convenience and had stuck around in those computer shops today even though something felt off. And when my therapist asked if I wanted an extra hour and that felt “on,” that clearly worked out.

Woowho. Go gut.

But to be clear, I ran all over God’s green earth today trying to find a place my gut liked, and that was a pain in the ass. And because I stayed in therapy an extra hour, I ended up crying, and I’ve spent the rest of the day queasy because, What am I gonna do now? And because I’ve listened to my gut countless other times in the last four years, I can’t tell you the number of people I used to be friends with that I no longer talk to. Granted, I think I’ve saved everyone involved a lot of drama, but watching multiple friendships fall apart is a real bitch and–quite frankly–isolating.

In my experience, your gut doesn’t care if you run all over God’s green earth, doesn’t care if you cry, doesn’t care if you lose your friends, and doesn’t care if you’re lonely. It does, however, I believe, WANT you to be as healthy and as strong as possible, and–well–maybe that requires some challenges. (I’m sorry. There’s no maybe about it. It does require some challenges.) Also, I think it requires some tests, meaning you have to listen to your inner guidance in the little things if you expect to get guidance in the big things. Like, this week I’ve been working on organizing my photos, just because I feel like I’m supposed to. (I keep thinking about it; the idea won’t let me go.) Well, if I ignore that prompting and later wonder what I should do about a relationship or a job, why should my gut bother talking to me when I’ve plainly demonstrated that I’m not interested in what it has to say?

Today I walked out of a computer repair business, twice, just because something inside me said, Leave. And I don’t know why–your gut never answers this question–maybe it’s because my answer about that relationship or job is IN ANOTHER STORE. Regardless, what I do know is that some of the biggest shit storms I’ve been through in my life have been because I ignored a still small voice inside me (a simple “I wouldn’t do that if I were you” is often all your gut will give you), so I don’t need to know why.

But–obviously–because I said so, that’s why. It is MY gut, after all. I just don’t–hum–have to understand my own reasons.

This is the weirdest thing about the universe, ourselves, and healing. For one thing, nothing is a straight line; you can’t say what causes what…or why. For example, if I hadn’t spilled my tea on my laptop and gotten up early to go to the shop this morning, I wouldn’t have had time for the double session in which I had an emotional breakthrough. Does one thing explain the other? Not necessarily–The Mystery isn’t that simple–but I think it’s all connected.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s never too late to be your own friend.

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Love, Marcus (Blog #504)

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For lunch yesterday, I paid with cash, and my change was SUPPOSED TO BE $21.06. However, the waitress only brought back $21.00. No six cents. This is a HUGE pet peeve of mine, but still, I let it go. Or rather, I didn’t say anything at the restaurant then stewed about it for thirty minutes after. (Those pennies belong to me, damn it.) Anyway, last night I watched a movie with a friend of mine and picked up pizza on the way to his house. Well, get this shit. The pizza was $18.64, and I gave the girl $19.00. So I watched her go to the cash register, and the computer screen attached to it–in big, bold letters ANYONE could have read from the other side of a football field–said, “Change due: $0.36.” But the girl just shut the drawer and turned around, as if she were done. Seeing me still standing at the counter, she raised her eyebrows.

“May I have my change?” I said.

“Oh,” she said, and turned back to the cash register.

What the hell, people?!

The movie I watched last night was called Love, Simon and is the story of a high school senior (Simon) who is in the process of 1) coming to terms with his (homo)sexuality and 2) coming out. I honestly didn’t have high expectations. Maybe it’s because I’m thirty-seven, single AF (as fuck, Mom), and took forever to really come out, but I simply wasn’t jazzed about the idea of watching a tween with flawless skin discover his true self AND fall in love in the space of a calendar year. (Well that’s just great–FOR YOU!) That being said, I was pleasantly surprised. Not only was the movie adorable, it was also (mostly) “real” or true-to-life.

I laughed. I cried. It was better than Cats.

Toward the end of the movie, after Simon comes out to his family, he has a conversation with his mom and asks her if she knew. “I knew you had a secret,” she says. “You used to be so free–but these last few years I could almost hear you holding your breath.”

Wow. I know what that feels like, to not be able to fully relax, to always wonder what other people–your friends, your family–will think of you, to constantly feel as if you have to hide. (They don’t call it being in the closet for nothing.) With my journey, I first came out to my dad, then some friends, then my sister. Everyone said, “We know. It’s about time. Pass the ketchup.” It just wasn’t a big deal to them. But it was a big deal to me. It’s always a big deal to exhale, to realize that the world isn’t as scary as you made it out to be, to know that you are loved and accepted for who you are.

Personally, I think we’re all in the process of coming out and learning to exhale. Not necessarily with regard to sexuality, but with regard to something. Because we all have secrets, parts of ourselves and our lives that we’re ashamed of, things we’re deathly afraid to share with others. After all, what WILL people think? Plus, it’s difficult to live life without apology, to be willing to stand out in whatever way. In the movie, there’s a character who’s not only out, but also obvious, so he’s an easy target for high school bullies. To his credit, he always has a comeback, a witty retort. But surely it would take a lot of energy to live like that, always on the defense.

In my experience, my strength comes and goes. Plenty of days I feel like putting in my earrings, doing whatever the fuck I want to do with my hair, and strutting around in the shortest shorts I own. Yes, I’m gay. And this is how I dance, and this is how much I weigh, and this is how I live my life. And if you don’t like it, you can go get high. But plenty of days I feel like blending in and not being noticed. (Sometimes I feel like making a fuss about six cents; sometimes I don’t.) I just finished reading a book about the moon, and apparently the moon and I have this in common. Some days we shine brightly, some days we disappear completely. The book’s author, Carolyn McVickar Edwards, says it like this–“I bless my capacity to hold both the light and the dark.”

So.

In all things.

I’m trying to not hold my breath so much.

To breathe in AND out.

Just as the moon waxes AND wanes.

This is the change I’m really wanting.

To hold on to the light, then let go of it.

To gracefully move from one phase to the next.

To relax.

To move freely through the heavens.

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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Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (Blog #463)

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The best parts of today–

1. There is time and space for everything

Last night I went to bed at 10:30. I woke up in the middle of the night for a couple hours, but slept until noon today. My body is so exhausted. Maybe it’s my sinuses. Maybe I’m sick. I don’t know, but I’m glad that my life is such now that I can sleep, can rest.

2. I have a brain that works

This afternoon I started reading a book I’ve toted around for a while now–The Mysteries of Sex by CJS Thompson. It’s a collection of true stories about women who have impersonated or lived as men or vice versa. I think it will be fascinating, but in the introduction (written in 1974) while talking about the fact that we all contain both masculine and feminine qualities, the author says, “The homosexual not only accentuates any feminine qualities he may already possess, such as a high-pitched voice, but also attempts to imitate women in speech, walk, and mannerisms, and from early childhood is usually characterized by an inversion of interests, attitudes, an activities.”

Based on my personal experience as a homosexual, this statement is utter bullshit. (Insert dramatic hand wave here.) But seriously, this has not been true for me. I don’t try to accentuate my feminine qualities (I don’t have a high-pitched voice), nor do I attempt to imitate women. Actually, I don’t try to imitate anyone. I am myself, period. But my point is this–conventional wisdom changes–dramatically–the more information we have. So the next time someone tells you something “because an old book says,” feel free to say, “Wait a damn minute. This is the 21st century, and we know a lot more now.”

3. I can take things in pieces

Earlier I went to the library to work on a travel-writing story, one I started yesterday. I’m still not done with it, but I’m closer. My all-or-nothing brain wants to knock it out in one fell swoop, but my tired body isn’t having it. So I’m working a little at a time. Likewise, for the last few weeks, I’ve been going back and changing all the blog titles one-by-one so that they include an individual blog number (#153, #154, etc.). I originally did this just for milestone blogs (every fifty or so), but as blog “memories” pop up, the title alone doesn’t tell me where a particular blog fell in the grand scheme of things. Anyway, it’s a slow process–I currently have 135 more blogs to go before the project is “complete”–but what’s my hurry?

There’s not one.

4. Old friends are the best

Maybe fifteen years ago I picked up a jacket in a second-hand store–an old workman’s jacket with the name Robert sewn over the left breast pocket. I used to wear him all the time. I say “him” because he (the jacket) sort of developed his own personality the longer I had him. He became my alter ego–a little more sarcastic, a little more outgoing–and was even considered a member of our family. One year he signed my (our) sister’s birthday card. I used to see a chiropractor who would send appointment reminders addressed to “Marcus Robert.”

He was that big of a deal.

Anyway, Robert’s been in the closet for a while now. (Haven’t we all?) But before leaving for the library today, I slipped him on. “Oh, Robert!” Dad said. “I haven’t seen Robert in a long time.”

5. I like you just the way you are

After working at the library, I went with my friend Bonnie to see the new movie/documentary about Mr. Rogers–Won’t You Be My Neighbor? Y’all, this is a beautiful story about a beautiful soul, someone who spent his life believing that every person has inherent value and is worthy of love, someone who taught children that their feelings are valid. I remember watching Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood growing up, but I don’t think I really “got it” until today. What a gorgeous thing this man was about–the idea that love–or the lack thereof–is at the root of every relationship, every problem and solution. Who doesn’t need to be looked squarely in the eyes and told, “I like you just the way you are”?

Bonnie and I did a lot of crying.

6. Won’t you be my neighbor?

Now it’s 8:30 in the evening, and the rest of the day remains. When this is finished, I’m meeting my friend Kim, who–for months now–has consistently invited me to hear her husband play live music at a local restaurant. To me this persistence sounds like, “Won’t you be my neighbor?” Isn’t it great when someone doesn’t give up on you? What’s better, isn’t it great when you don’t give up on yourself (no matter what anyone else or an old book says, no matter how long part of you has been in the closet), when you realize there’s plenty of time to work everything out, to grow and to find yourself, to love?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s not where you are, it’s whom you are there with.

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A Compromise (Blog #447)

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When the universe speaks—listen.

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Steadier and More Solid (Blog #441)

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

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

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

Why didn’t I do this sooner?

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

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s okay to ask for help.

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The Most Natural Thing in the World (Blog #382)

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Currently it’s 2:45 in the afternoon, and I’m in my room at The Waters Hotel in beautiful Hot Springs, Arkansas. I woke up at ten this morning–before noon!–and I’m proud to say I did so without the use of an alarm. After spending about an hour getting ready (eating a piece of fruit, drinking two cups of coffee, meditating, and putting on some clothes), I hit the streets of Hot Springs, where I walked for the last several hours. It’s a glorious day–the sun is shining, the air is cool, and spring has definitely sprung.

Strolling along Central Avenue, the main street here in Hot Springs, I stopped in a number of local shops. Y’all, this city–this world–has so much to take in, food and candy of every sort, multi-colored rocks and geodes, antique books and chandeliers. Why, there’s a museum here FULL of Star Wars and superhero memorabilia, all part of one man’s private collection. And talk about generous people. I found out that three of the four gifts that were left in my room yesterday were provided by a single family that owns several businesses here–evilO Olive Oils & Vinegars, Bathhouse Soapery and Caldarium, and Pour Some Sugar on Me Sweet Shoppe.

When I left the hotel this morning, my intention was to not eat until dinner this evening. I thought, I need to stick with snacks until tonight’s big meal. I need to walk and burn some calories. And whereas the walking felt great and definitely burned some calories, it also made me extremely hungry, so I ended up going into Colonial Pancake and Waffle House and carb-loading on some buttermilk biscuits. I say “carb-loading” as if I’ll be participating in a marathon later today, but I won’t be participating in a marathon later today–unless, of course, that marathon is on Netflix.

I’m writing now, earlier in the day, because our travel-writers group will be meeting in two short hours for a welcome reception followed by dinner. And since tomorrow’s activities start at 6:30 in the morning (I’m not kidding), I need to make a concerted effort to get some sleep tonight.

That effort, I’m assuming, will require anti-histamines.

For the last few days, I’ve been meditating to a song called “Don’t Let Me Down” by Joy Williams. The song starts off by saying, Crashing, hit a wall, right now I need a miracle. Hurry up now, I need a miracle. This lyric brings tears to my eyes, as it often feels as if I’m crying out to God or the universe, asking for help in my current situation, for direction in my life and healing in my body. The singer’s voice might as well be mine–I need ya, I need ya, I need you right now. Yeah, I need you right now. So don’t let me, don’t let me, don’t let me down. I think I’m losing my mind now.

Life is what it is, a symphony of major and minor chords.

Each time I hear these words, I imagine it differently. Two weeks ago when I first heard the song, I pictured myself as I just described, crying out to a deity bigger than myself. There’s a line that says, I really thought you were on my side. Growing up in church, I’ve often felt this way, disappointed by the heavens, thinking that life owed me easier, less challenging, or simply better experiences–experiences less sorrowful. And yet my life has been what it’s been because life is what it is–a symphony of both major and oh-so-many minor chords. I guess in preparation for those minor moments, those storms that inevitably enter every life, I’ve built up defenses in order to protect myself from (and therefore, separate myself from) life itself.

Of course, this can’t be done. For how can a person be separated from life itself?

Two days ago while listening to “Don’t Let Me Down,” I lost all my defenses because, in a moment of grace, I imagined that God, the universe, or life, were singing the song to me. Stranded, reaching out, I call your name but you’re not around. I say your name but you’re not around. I hope this makes sense. Picturing an invisible “something bigger than me,” I thought, What if IT needs ME to be its arms and legs, to be a kinder, more compassionate, less defensive human being in order to make the world a more beautiful place? What if that’s part of the reason I’m here? What if life were saying to me, Don’t let down, don’t let me down?

I’m coming to believe that all of us are this important, this critical to what’s going on down here.

You don’t need walls in your life.

This morning while listening to “Don’t Let Me Down,” I got a picture of a small child lost in a forrest, crying out for help. Then came the image of a strong adult, rescuing the child, protecting the child. I see this as my inner adult coming to the rescue of my inner child. So many times over the years I’ve built up defenses in an effort to protect myself. And yet now I see clearly that defenses don’t just wall you off from the world–they wall you off from yourself, leaving you feeling alone and frightened, terrified of experiencing the ever-changing music that is life itself. But now I know that whatever comes my way, I don’t need walls in my life so much as I need my authentic self–my strong, able-to-rise-to-any-occasion, authentic self. Darling, I hope that you’ll be here when I need you the most. To me, this coming back to my authentic self feels like sipping a warm cup of coffee, a cool breeze blowing on my skin, or the sun shining on my face. This returning home feels like the arrival of spring, the most natural thing in the world.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For me, it's important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad they are, your circumstances can turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

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This Is Where I Came From (Blog #381)

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Currently I’m in Hot Springs, Arkansas, back in my home state after almost a full week in Tennessee. Y’all, I’m sorry, but sometimes I give my home state a lot of shit. Maybe not out loud, but I think, Life could be better somewhere else. But coming across the state line today along with two other writers and a member of the public relations group that brought us all together as travel writers, I felt a sense of pride. I thought, This is my home. I’m not saying I’m going to live here forever, but I am saying I realized that I know and love this place. This is where I came from. This is the land of my family. It’s beautiful.

Backing up, I slept in this morning, which was nice, and the four of us left Jackson, Tennessee, around noon-thirty. Basically we spent the day traveling. We hit some traffic, stopped in Little Rock for Gus’s Fried Chicken, and rolled into Hot Springs around six. They have us split up, but I’m staying at a new hotel on Central Avenue (the main drag in Hot Springs) called The Waters. I believe it used to be a hotel in the 1940s and reopened about 14 months ago. Y’all, it’s gorgeous, the perfect blend of old meets new. I walked in the room and thought, This is frickin’ fantastic. What a good life.

I seriously was like a little kid–checking out all the drawers, the sliding barn door to the bathroom, the view of Central Avenue. And then–and then–I saw a gift basket. I’m sure now that it was left by the local travel bureau or tourism department specifically for me (and the other writers in their respective rooms), but at first I thought it was full of hotel items for sale. Am I supposed to open this? I thought. (I finally decided I was supposed to open it.) Y’all, there was all kinds of swag–candy, chocolate, bath salts, skin conditioner, soap, and even handcrafted olive oil. Talk about being spoiled. Later I told my dad about all the free gifts and wonderful food this week, and he said, “Don’t expect that kind of treatment when you come home.”

Thanks, Dad.

After checking into the hotel, I met the rest of the crew for dinner, which–I don’t mind saying–was delicious. It was as good as any meal I’ve had all week, even though it wasn’t on our official schedule (which doesn’t start until tomorrow evening when all the other travel writers arrive.) That being said, I had a little issue at dinner, a small, um, encounter. (I still can’t decide whether or not I handled it well.) Here’s what happened–I ordered a beer (on draft), and the waitress brought me a different kind without saying anything. When I noticed the switch, a conversation ensued, and she said that they were out of what I ordered, but that was she brought me was similar. This was said without apology or further explanation. Admittedly, I got passive aggressive and sarcastic. I said, “Thanks for asking me.”

Snarky, I know.

A person’s internal experience is valid.

In response, the waitress said that she could comp the beer or get me something else. I said, “Let me have a moment to try it and process things, then I’ll decide.” Well, when she walked away, I said, “That was awkward.” And I know it was. Even now, I think about the way my colleagues responded, and it was slightly stressful. But it did get better. First, I actually liked the beer. (Drink half of any beer on an empty stomach, and you’ll probably like it too.) Second, the waitress came back and apologized. By that point, I was clear about how to handle it. Calmly I said, “I wish you would have asked me before making any substitutions. That should have been my choice, not yours.” And whereas it was still awkward, at least I spoke my truth. This is the “big win” for me–a year or two ago I would have “been nice,” worried about people pleasing more than expressing my dissatisfaction, said everything was “just fine.” But after all these years of therapy, I believe a person’s internal experience is valid. Not that you have to flip over tables and refuse to pay for services rendered when things don’t go your way, but as a customer and as a human being, it’s okay to say, “This bothers me.”

Even if it’s awkward for someone else.

After dinner, it was back to everything being wonderful. My friends dropped me off at the hotel, and I went next door to The Ohio Club, the oldest (longest running) bar in the state or Arkansas, apparently. (It’s named the Ohio Club because Northerners–carpet baggers–came to the south after the Civil War and named businesses after their home state.) Y’all, it had a stunning backbar (2,000 pounds), live blues music, and–most importantly–a great waitress, Tina. I sat for a couple hours, drank more beer, had some fried mushrooms. (No self-control.) While this went on, Tina told me about the bar (there are bullet holes in the original tin ceiling, and the roulette table on the wall was found in a hidden passage from prohibition days), as well Hot Springs (the city was home to the gangster that The Great Gatsby was based on, a guy named Owney Madden, who had a long affair with Mae West, who used to work in The Ohio Club).

Crazy, right?

Now it’s twelve-thirty in the morning, and I’m back in my gorgeous room, within reaching distance of the gift-bag chocolate. It’s already halfway gone. Since we don’t have plans until tomorrow evening, I don’t have to set an alarm for the morning. I can’t tell you how much this excites me. Also, it excites me to see my progress. At one point I would have been nervous on a trip like this, unsure of how to handle myself, thinking I needed to act a certain way in order to fit in or make someone else happy. And whereas I plan to continue to be professional and do my job, now I’m clear–I’m going to be me, I’m going to live and speak my truth, as much as I’m able. This is what coming home really is for me, being comfortable in my skin wherever I am, whatever the situation. Again, I’m coming to love this place, this beautiful self, this land that has been patiently waiting for me to come back to it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes life can really kick you in the balls and make you drop to your knees.

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The Thing I Was Forgetting (Blog #365!)

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Since moving in with my parents over a year ago, I’ve developed this nasty habit–I can’t walk out the door to go somewhere without walking back in. Like, I get to my car and realize I’ve forgotten something–my car keys, my laptop or phone, my coffee mug. It drives me crazy. My dad says I’d forget my head if it weren’t screwed on. (Everyone’s a comedian.) This is my dad’s way. He’s taken to making jokes, at least laughing, every time I say goodbye and fifteen seconds later say hello again. “I forgot something,” I always say. “Who does THAT surprise!” he responds.

Y’all, I guess this really has become a thing, since I even did it in one of my dreams last night. I was leaving some sort of convention, already on the outside of the building, and remembered I’d forgotten something. (I don’t know what it was.) Sometimes in dreams I’m trying-trying-trying to run, but I can’t. Instead I move in slow motion. (My therapist says this is about my feeling that my life isn’t moving fast enough.) Well, in last night’s dream, I RAN back inside the building, looking for whatever it was I forgot. The building was huge with lots of levels and stairs, and I ran down every one. On the way back up and out, however, I crawled.

A weird thing happened this morning while I was getting ready to make breakfast. My mom started radiation this week, so she and my dad were gone and I had the house to myself. I know, I thought, I’ll put on some music–I’ll listen to a CD. Well, our stereo system is older than Moses, and I guess it has a short in it, and I couldn’t get the CD option to work. So I started futzing with the wires, and a song crackled through the speakers. I only caught a few words, but they sounded familiar. Moving me down the highway. Figuring I’d briefly tuned into the radio somehow, I switched the function button on the stereo from “CD” to “Radio,” but a different song was playing. Go figure, I thought. Still, all during breakfast, that lyric kept running through my head. Moving me down the highway.

Each person is important.

Y’all, thank God for the internet (and peanut butter). That lyric–Moving me down the highway–is from a song called “I Got a Name” by Jim Croce. It’s beautiful. As soon as I looked it up and played the full version, I started crying. I’ve had it on repeat for the last two hours. The first verse of the song starts off like this–Like the pine trees lining the winding road, I got a name, I got a name. Like the singing bird and the croaking toad, I got a name, I got a name. To me this means that I am equal to, just as important as, any other one of God’s creations. To me this means that each person, including me, is important.

Talk about a hand-delivered message from the universe.

Today’s blog is number 365 (in a row). Tomorrow (March 31) is technically my “blog birthday” or “blogiversary,” but as soon as I hit “publish” today, I’ve officially crossed the digital finish line and completed one full year of daily writing. Holy crap, y’all, I did it. It took a ton of time, a lot of tears, and not a little frustration, but I did it. (Way to go, me.) Honestly, I don’t know what to say. Earlier today my dad said, “It’s got to feel good.” And he’s right, it does. I feel happy, proud, nostalgic, hopeful, and even sad. It’s everything.

Big dreams take commitment.

As I’ve said before, when I started this project a year ago, it was mostly to establish a daily writing practice. I truly believe that writing is part of the reason I’ve been put on this planet, and I’m not ashamed to say that I have a lot of big dreams around the topic I’d like to see come true. Therefore, my logic when I started this blog was the same as it is now–if you want to see your dreams come true, you’ve got to be willing to consistently do your part. Several times over the last year, my friends and family have referred to me as “disciplined.” Personally, I think that word makes it sound like I’m punishing myself over here, that every day I sit down and grit my way through a thousand-word blog. Not that every blog is easy, but overall gritting my way through is not my experience. So a better word for me is “determined” or “focused.” The way I see it, I’ve got a big dream over here, and big dreams take commitment. It’s that simple.

If I’ve learned anything over the last year, it’s that big dreams (and life in general) may “happen,” but they don’t happen the way you think they’re going to. (What would be the fun in that?) Another thing I’ve learned is that as long as you’re working on your dream or–better said–doing the thing you believe you’re called to do, it matters less and less whether or not your dream actually comes true. In “I Got a Name,” Jim Croce says it like this–Like the north wind whistlin’ down the sky, I’ve got a song, I’ve got a song. Like the whippoorwill and the baby’s cry, I’ve got a song, I’ve got a song. And I carry it with me and I sing it loud. If it gets me nowhere, I go there proud. In other words, at some point it becomes enough to try. So long as you’re following YOUR path, it doesn’t matter where it leads you.

But back to my forgetting things. Just like in last night’s dream, when I started the blog a year ago, I thought I was ready to go “outside,” to step out into the world and make a way for myself. But true to life, I forgot something. I forgot to go “inside” first. In the dream I RAN inside and down (into my unconscious), which I think represents my last four years in therapy and all the work I’ve done on this blog. In the beginning, I was “gung-ho.” But as anyone who has walked this path knows, going inside takes a lot of hard work. Just like daily writing, it takes determination, focus, and commitment. Also, most the time you feel like you’re going nowhere, which is what it felt like in my dream as I was crawling. (Encouraging, I know.) But the point, I think, is that I was moving. Moving me down the highway, slowly working my way up and out.

In the dream, I never found whatever it was I was looking for. Perhaps this means that whatever it was wasn’t important, but I think it means that as I pursue my real-life dreams, the point is not to find something or get something. Rather, the point is to go inside before you go outside. This has been my experience in my first year with this blog. A year ago I thought I was looking for something external, but what I found was something better, something internal. 365 days ago, I thought I was sitting down to write about me, but now I know I was actually sitting down to MEET me, to get to know my authentic self and remember to take him along no matter where I go. As it turns out, what I was looking for was myself. All this time, the thing I was forgetting–was me.

Freedom is everyone’s birthright.

In “I Got a Name,” Jim Croce never says where the highway he’s moving down leads. But he does say this–I’m gonna go there free. More than any other goal I have or dream I’d like to see come true, this is my determination–freedom. And after a full year of going “in and down,” here’s what I know–if you’re stuck in a bad relationship, if you’re constantly worried, if you can’t let go, or if you don’t fully love and accept yourself–you’re not as free as you could be. But more and more I believe we live in a universe where freedom is not only possible, but also inevitable. Indeed, no matter how deep your wounds or how profound your pain, I believe freedom is everyone’s birthright, that even if you have to crawl, you will somehow find your way out of the darkness and into the bright light of day.

[To any and everyone who has spent any amount of your time on this blog these last 365 days, to anyone who has offered a kind word or thought in my direction, to anyone who has given me their support and encouragement–I am profoundly grateful. May all good things be yours, and wherever life takes you, may you go there free.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perfection is ever-elusive.

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