I’ll Take the Slow Grind (Blog #256)

Last night I listened to an interview with Bob Walter, the man who runs the Joseph Campbell Foundation. (You know I’m a big Joseph Campbell fan.) Well, apparently at one point Bob and Joe started a publishing company to get Joe’s message out, and Bob had to be a little pushy. “No one is interested in this stuff,” Joe said.

“You mean you get discouraged?” Bob said.

“Of course I get discouraged,” Joe said. “I’m human.”

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and the collection of stickers on her laptop continues to grow. Since I last saw her, she’s added a “no texting” sticker, as well as one of a skeleton sitting at a computer that says, “The Internet–Please enjoy everybody’s opinion.” Also, she had two new rings on her fingers, both of which were serious bling and could easily anchor a medium-sized boat in the middle of a hurricane. Naturally, I was jealous. To be clear, I’m not talking about diamonds–this was straight up costume jewelry. “Absolutely fabulous,” I said.

“You know, I’m trying some new things,” she said.

Most of our time today was spent talking about personal change, about how it’s not as easy as everyone, all the people who write books, make it out to be. This is one of my pet peeves lately, that self-help material, vitamin shops, and online yoga classes aren’t more up front about the fact that while helpful, they’re not a panacea. Rather–and I get that everyone’s trying to make a dollar–they make it sound like if you buy their product, you’ll be eternally happy, find the perfect sex-hungry partner, and have wrinkle-free skin. I can’t tell you how long I bought into this crap. I still struggle with it. Who doesn’t want a magic bullet?

“You’re not the only one who’s been given that impression,” my therapist said. “But transformation is real fucking hard. It’s the slow grind. There’s no other way.”

The–slow–grind. No kidding. That’s been my experience. I’ve spent more time in the self-help, psychology, philosophy, and spirituality aisles in the bookstore than anyone else I know–I have a rockstar therapist I’ve seen consistently for over three years–these are just facts. And if there’s something I could pass on from all my time and effort, it’d be this–a better life is completely possible, but it’s a long, tough ride to get there. (Saddle up, partner.) I realize this isn’t what people want to hear–I don’t want to hear it–but it’s the truth. “It just takes patience,” my therapist says. “And patience is a bitch.”

After therapy I had lunch with my friend Ray. I haven’t seen him in maybe a month, and it was truly a shot in the arm. We laughed, then laughed some more. For a while Ray and I talked about getting discouraged, the slow grind, and being patient as change occurs. Ray said he thought a big element of success was simply continuing to show up–to therapy, a support group, even a dance class. Again, I guess this is the idea that change and transformation come in little pieces. Rarely is something a “one and done.”

Being authentic isn’t for sissies.

I can’t tell you how much I hate this–little pieces, being patient, all of it. I wish transformation were easier, and, like Joe, I often get discouraged with this path. Being authentic isn’t for sissies. I get on the internet, read everybody’s opinion, and it’s easy to feel as if I’m doing something wrong. People comment online and send me private messages, tell me I’d be better off if I did something different with my hair, wore other clothes, didn’t cuss so much, or smiled more. I mention this because it’s something else most teachers don’t talk about. They tell you to be authentic–wear gaudy jewelry if you want to!–but they don’t tell you that the more true to yourself you are, the more pushback you get, often from people you care about.

I don’t mind saying this sucks.

I realize this take on the long, tough ride of transformation and the challenges of being authentic isn’t exactly encouraging. It wouldn’t sound great on an infomercial. But wait, there’s more–it gets worse before it gets better! But I wouldn’t be sharing these opinions if they weren’t my honest experience and if I didn’t absolutely believe that all the hard work and all the continuing to show up were worth it. Because I do. Sure, there are days when I get discouraged and feel like I’m going nowhere. I’m human too. But I’ll take my worst day now over my best day five years ago because now I’m being real. I’m closer to myself every day. And if the slow grind is what it takes to get me closer to myself, I’ll take the slow grind.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be more discriminating.

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All That Is Best and Broken (Blog #246)

After eight months of solid blogging, I haven’t quite figured out how to “blog early.” (Perhaps this is not a surprise.) This morning I woke up at 11:30 and completed all my other daily routines (morning pages, chi kung, half a pot of coffee), and Bonnie and I have been shopping in Fayetteville ever since. My energy level is slightly better than yesterday, but now it’s 7:45, we’re at a dance in Northwest Arkansas that hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already worn out. Since the dance lasts for a while and then there’s the drive home, I’m trying to blog now while my brain is somewhat–somewhat–functional. I just can’t stay up late again to blog, at least until I feel better. I just can’t.

Great, that’s 125 words.

Oh wow, there’s a live band tonight–the Prairie Grove Jazz Band–and they just started warming up. It sounds like a bunch of toddlers who found the pots and pans. (I’m sure it will be much better when they’re actually playing a song.) Anyway, I wonder if I’ll be able to concentrate, keep a coherent train of thought going in between all the noise and the dances. Oh well–hang on–this could be a bumpy ride. AND the band just started. Much better, but loud. (YOU’LL HAVE TO TAKE MY WORD FOR IT.)

Oh my god, I just danced and am dying. Where did all the air go? Talk amongst yourselves.

The shopping objective today was to replace holiday decorations that Bonnie recently lost in a house flood. Anyway, we went to several stores and ended up with dozens of oversized tree ornaments, a holiday kitchen towel, and a Santa Claus that looks like St. Francis of Assisi that we’re calling St. Nicolaus of Assisi. Oh–and how could I forget?–we found two little statues–an owl and a squirrel–in fancy circus clothes and top hats! Who thinks of this stuff! Anyway, Bonnie’s gonna stick those suckers next to a little artificial pine tree, and it’s going to be so adorable you won’t be able to stand yourself.

Woodland critters in top hats for Christmas!

I told Bonnie that the best thing about today has been that not only have I gotten out of the house, but I’ve also gotten out of my head. I mean, if it hasn’t been obvious, I’ve spent a lot of time lately worrying about the state of my physical body. Why am I so tired? Am I ever going to feel well again? Maybe I should go ahead and pick out my headstone. This sort of thinking, of course, is exhausting (not to mention dramatic). Still, it’s hard to avoid when I have almost every minute of every day to myself with little else to do or think about. So whereas I think I need to take it easy, I’m reminding myself that I need to get out and be around other people–other people who will let me whine for about five minutes then shut me up with a margarita.

For lunch Bonnie shut me up with a margarita. Y’all, both of us have been on really healthy diets lately, Bonnie for nine weeks, me for four. But today we broke all the rules and had Mexican food. Wow, it was like reuniting with an old friend. I seriously felt like I owed the cheese an apology. I’m sorry I haven’t called lately–I’ve been cheating on you with spinach–I won’t let it happen again. Everything was so delicious; I probably gained five pounds from the chips alone. Of course, it feels like all my hard work just went straight down the drain, just like the flour tortillas went straight to my hips, but I realize that one meal is only one meal. Even even if it weren’t–it was totally worth it.

When we sat down at the restaurant, Bonnie surprised me with a birthday present. Granted, my birthday was over two months ago, but Bonnie made my present by hand, so it took her some time. Y’all, Bonnie knitted me some multi-colored wool socks–just in time for winter! I realize this is totally an old person thing to do, getting excited about socks. But these are homemade socks, and since my feet are always cold this time of year, warm socks really are the perfect thing. Plus, Bonnie designed the socks with a path down each side, sort of like a road, but it’s intentionally crooked and bumpy because Bonnie said that’s how life is.

Having lived for twenty-seven years now, I’d have to agree.

The card Bonnie gave me tonight had a quote by Oscar Wilde on it that said, “Be yourself–everyone else is taken.” Bonnie didn’t know it, but that quote is also used in the musical Kinky Boots–one of my favorites. So again, it was the perfect thing. Anyway, the quote makes me think about the importance of authenticity. I know we all wear masks and play different roles. Some of this, of course, is necessary in a polite society. You can’t tell everyone everything. But having spent plenty of time over the years trying to be someone I wasn’t (for example–straight, interested, or completely fine with bad behavior), I realize now I was mostly trying to be someone who didn’t even exist. Newsflash–there is no straight Marcus. There is no Marcus who’s okay when he’s cheated on. There is, however, a gay Marcus who sometimes falls apart and sometimes gets mad as hell.

Circuitous routes are where the healing happens.

Naturally, the road to authenticity is a crooked, bumpy path, just like recovering from an illness is a crooked, bumpy path. Being yourself, taking care of yourself, takes work. As my therapist says, it’s exhausting to always be the person setting boundaries and speaking your truth. So sometimes you wander as you figure things out. I think that’s okay. Nobody shows up to this life with a map in their hand, and even if we had one, I’m not sure we’d want to travel in a straight line. No, circuitous routes are better and more interesting. Circuitous routes are where the healing happens, since they let you double back and pick up the pieces of yourself you dropped along the way. This is what authenticity looks like, I think, the willingness to gather together all that is best and broken inside you and share it with someone else without apology, to face the world and say, “This is my winding road–this is MY winding road–and this is who I am.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

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On Walden Pond (in My Parents’ Spare Bedroom) (Blog #228)

Believe it or not, I’ve been awake since 9:30 this morning. Is this what normal people do? Now it’s 1:20, also in the morning, and I’ve had so much coffee that my legs are periodically going into twitching fits. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I were having a religious experience, a la big tent revival. I really think I’ve been overdoing it on the caffeine lately, but considering it’s been two weeks since I’ve had a piece of bread and even longer since I’ve heard from Zac Efron, a cup of joe is about the only fun left in my life. Still, I should probably drink some water, maybe say a prayer to help get me off the ceiling and balance things out. But so long as I’m all jittery, I plan to use the extra energy to get me through tonight’s blog.

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and during a discussion about personality traits that I might have but not be aware of, my therapist mentioned Johari’s window. Johari’s window is “a therapy thing” that says each of us is divided into four basic sections, which are: 1) the parts we know that others know too, called the arena, 2) the parts we know that others don’t, called the facade, 3) the parts others know that we don’t, called the blind spot, and 4) the parts nobody knows, called the unknown. As I understand it, the arena is where we’re authentic, the facade is where we’re “fake as hell,” and the blind spot and the unknown are where we don’t know our own shit from Shinola. And whereas I guess we all hang out in each quadrant from time to time, I’m assuming the goal is to know and be open about as much as yourself as possible and, therefore, spend most your time in the arena.

After therapy I spent the day at the library. Y’all, I honestly think the library is a sacred space for me. While I was there today, I started and finished a book about forgiveness, but I kept getting up every so often just to roam the aisles and be near the other books. I even explored the children’s section, where I ended up reading two books on the floor with my legs criss-cross, applesauce. Just before I left, I checked out two adult books, so now my pile of “books I’m currently reading” makes me look like a post-graduate student.

One of the books I checked out was called Expect Great Things. Having such clear instructions, I deliberately got my hopes up. Well, the book is about Henry David Thoreau, I’m already fifty pages in, and I honestly think it would have been better to call it Expect Mediocre Things. I mean, it’s well done and I’m enjoying it–don’t get me wrong–I just think the author could have set the bar lower and left more room for being pleasantly surprised. But I guess a book with “mediocre” in the title wouldn’t have exactly flown off the shelf and into my hands.

Honestly, I don’t know that much about Thoreau, so I’m excited to read the rest of the book. I do know that he went to the woods because he wanted to live deliberately and that he said, “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer,” and these facts alone make him a hero in my world. I used to have this fantasy that one day I’d do something like going to the woods–pack it all up, live in a log cabin, and spend all day reading. You know, keep away the neighbors by never bathing. Okay, maybe not that last part, but I have always loved the idea of being in nature and getting to know myself, looking through as many of my window panes as possible. But that’s not gonna happen, I’d think. Who has time to read all day?

Maybe you see where this is going.

Sometime between checking out the book on Thoreau and writing tonight’s blog, I realized that in a lot of respects, I’m currently doing what Thoreau was doing. Granted, the spare bedroom at my parents’ house isn’t exactly Walden Pond, but it is the place where I’m learning to live deliberately. Put another way, it’s where I’m learning to live in the arena of authenticity, to be myself. And I guess sometimes I give myself such a hard time about not doing what everyone else is doing the way everyone else is doing it that I forget they hear their drummers and I hear mine. Like, Wait a damn minute–I’m not supposed to do things like other people–because I’m not other people–I’m me.

When we expect great things, we see great things.

As I’ve said before, I worry a lot about what’s going to come next and about earning a living, but my therapist says that when you follow your bliss, it always pays off. Not that I don’t believe her, but I’m curious to see how it worked out for Thoreau, if he had anything to say about the matter. But considering I’m already happier than I ever have been and am currently getting to spend my days as I want to, in sacred spaces with piles of books to read beside me, my sense is that things have already been paying off and I simply haven’t been acknowledging it. Maybe we all do this–wake up every day, go through our routines, and expect the mediocre. We say, Oh, that’s just my life, and we end up taking our Walden Ponds for granted. But I’m reminded tonight that when we expect great things, we see great things–great things that are right here, right now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We don’t get to boss life around.

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Going Against the Grain (Blog #225)

Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, which is apparently the left one. For whatever reason, my body has hurt in a number of places, and I simply haven’t felt well. This means normal, simple things, like making breakfast and deciding whether to wear a black or grey v-neck shirt have been a challenge. You know how it is when your body is off–nothing tastes good, none of your clothes fit right, and combing your hair is so difficult it feels like it should be an olympic sport. Well, that’s how today was for me, and I don’t mind saying my attitude has sucked too. I seriously considered canceling all my plans and going back to bed until the first day of spring. But now it’s four in the morning, which means I decided to not only keep my plans, but also make more of them.

As my dad would say, I’m a glutton for punishment.

Other than my sour mood, the day itself has been delightful. (Too bad I couldn’t have enjoyed it more.) Mom had chemotherapy today, and I met her, my dad, and my two aunts for barbecue afterwards. Of course, eating out like this can be a challenge when you’re on a diet, but–whatever–I did my best, ordering a brisket sandwich with no bread (BORING!) and a sweet potato. The lady taking my order said, “So let me get this straight–you just want a plain sweet potato–no butter or sugar or butter or nothin’?”

“That’s correct,” I said.

Then my dad (ever the comedian) added, “He’s always been like this.”

So that felt supportive.

It’s hard enough to hang out with a bunch of Southern Baptists when you’re in the closet…

It’s funny how a little thing like eating differently than everyone else at the table can make you feel isolated. I remember when I stopped eating pork in high school, and all of a sudden I was that guy who wouldn’t eat pepperoni pizza. I have this distinct memory of being at a holiday party in Mississippi where I only knew a couple people. Everyone was chowing down and having a good time, but when I surveyed the food, everything was either sausage, ham, or bacon. I swear, it was like all five piggies had gone to market (and never returned home). Anyway, it’s hard enough to hang out with a bunch of Southern Baptists when you’re in the closet, but it’s even harder when they all think you’re a Jew.

In terms of how people have responded to my dietary prohibitions over the years, I seriously can’t tell you how much shit I’ve gotten, mostly from people who claim to be my friends. Not to be graphic, but I’ve received more ribbing, teasing, and harassment for things I won’t put in my mouth than for the things I will. Just eat it. It won’t hurt you. Oh, Marcus is weird–he doesn’t eat that. First it was pork, then dairy, breads, sugar, and alcohol whenever I’ve been on a diet. I honestly don’t know why people give a shit, but having watched others exercise self-restraint and walk away from a chocolate cake (a chocolate cake!) at the same time I went back for seconds, I assume it has something to do with personal guilt. But the point I’m making is that you never realize how communal and bond-forming food can be until you stop eating like the masses. Even sitting at a table with your own family and not eating bread with everyone can make you feel like the odd man out.

One of the things that sucks about having a bad mood is that you take it everywhere you go. Tonight I went to see some friends in a local production of Footloose, and every time someone asked me what I’ve been doing lately, I said, “Not much, just reading and writing,” as if I were apologizing and my life were something to be ashamed about. Maybe that’s how it feels because it doesn’t currently have a paycheck attached to it. But come on, Marcus. You’re writing a thousand words a day at four in the frickin’ morning. Not much, my ass! One friend, a full-time artist, said, “I’m jealous,” which did remind me that my position is enviable to certain people, and I’m planning on enjoying that reminder once I get to feeling better. For now it feels–eh.

After the musical I met my friend Bonnie for Latin dancing, which again, is something I’m planning to enjoy retroactively. Oh yeah, those people really were nice–those dances really were fun. Now all I can think about is how it felt like everyone else knew each other and I only knew Bonnie. Maybe if everyone there had a blog, I’d find out differently. Someone looking at me might have thought I didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe we all put on a good front.

Bonnie and I left before the dance ended to get something to eat at Village Inn. Thankfully, Bonnie’s also on a diet, different than mine, but similar enough so that it made saying no to pancakes and pie much easier. Nope, you heard correct! No one at this table wants anything tasty OR fun. Referencing all the tacos, beer, and doughnuts we inhaled on road trips this last summer, Bonnie said, “Who are we, and what has happened to us?”

I’m still wondering.

While we were not eating pancakes and pie, a couple sat down in a booth across the room. At least I assume they were a couple. Either way, the guy had a coat on, and on the back in big, orange letters it said, “LEAVE ME ALONE.” Naturally, all I could think about was going over to talk to him, asking him twenty questions. Bonnie suggested poking him with one finger. We seriously considered these options for at least five minutes, but ultimately respected the man’s wishes. Still, I can’t stop thinking about his jacket, since I guess we all feel that way at times. Like, Jack–Get back. More often than not, I think this is a defense mechanism, since it’s natural to want to be included, whether we’re on a dance floor or at a dining room table.

Honestly, it’s not difficult to eat chicken and vegetables every day. It’s mundane, but it’s not difficult. But it is difficult to feel alone and keep doing what you think is right, to willingly be different from the group, even if it’s just for a meal or two. And sure, it’s worse when your body feels bad. Still, even though it’s not easy, I think this is what growing up and authenticity require–the ability to go against the grain (the metaphorical grain, not just the bread kind), to make your own decisions regardless of what others do or say. But even when you’re feeling alone, I believe there will still be friends beside you, probably more than you realize. At the very least, you won’t be pretending to be someone you’re not in order to make somebody else happy, which means you’ll have yourself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes we move with grace and sometimes we move with struggle. But at some point, standing still is no longer good enough.

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Ready to Rumble (Blog #223)

It’s 2:26 in the morning, and I’d rather be reading, which is what I’ve been doing all day. My friend Elisabeth recently told me I “had to read” Rising Strong by Brene Brown, and since Elisabeth was the one who told me about The Artist’s Way, the creativity workbook I wouldn’t shut up about for twelve weeks earlier this year, I bumped Brene’s book to the top of my reading list. Plus, it didn’t hurt that Elisabeth apologized for being bossy (without prompting) when she told me what to do. Anyway, I started Rising Strong today, and I’m currently about two-thirds of the way through it, which I guess means that I’m “reading strong.”

See what I did there?

If you’re familiar with Brene’s work, you know that she talks a lot about shame, vulnerability, authenticity, and boundaries. Well, in this book, she emphasizes the importance of being able to sit with and dig into your uncomfortable feelings and difficult circumstances, which (apparently), does not look like eating chocolate cake and watching pornography until you feel better or things improve. Rather, it involves something she calls “the rumble,” which she compares to the middle of a story or the second act in a three-act play. It’s the point at which the hero has already identified a problem but has yet to identify a solution, the period of time when things get worse before they get better, the dark before the dawn. In other words, the rumble is when the shit hits the fan. The rumble, of course, sucks. In order to avoid it, we’ll shut down, shut off, go out, light up, and overeat. But as I understand it, the rumble is absolutely necessary if a person wants to rise strong.

Think about it this way–you can’t get back up if you don’t get knocked down first.

Personally, I hate this. Having been emotionally knocked down on more than one occasion, I can say that a person’s “time on the ground” can last a while. When I started therapy three and a half years ago, I was in a terrible (horrible, no good, very bad) relationship and wouldn’t have known a boundary if it’d slapped me in the face. I hadn’t heard of the rumble back then, but I honestly thought I’d be back on my feet after six to eight therapy sessions.

Uh, try a hundred, Marcus.

Don’t bother–go bowling instead.

Actually, my therapist says that I’ve been “out of the woods” for a while now. Most of the major issues have been dealt with, or as she says, “done and dusted.” But for anyone really considering living an authentic lifestyle consisting of vulnerability, honesty, boundaries, and healthy relationships, I’d say, “Don’t bother–go bowling instead.” (Just kidding.) What I mean by this is that those things look really good on paper, but I’d be lying if I told you they were easy. (If it were easy, everyone would do it.) Rather, they’re a lot of hard work, work that takes time, makes you bleed, and turns your world upside down.

In my experience, it’s not just that rumbles–especially big rumbles like the one I went through–are difficult because you feel lonely, sad, or confused. They’re difficult because if you truly hang out with those emotions, you realize they’ve been around for a while and show up in a lot of different situations. Then what are you gonna do? When I broke up with my ex, I got that I didn’t have good boundaries with him, but what I didn’t get was that I didn’t have good boundaries with most people. What’s more, I didn’t get why, that the issue of boundaries ultimately had to do with my sense of self-worth, and that self-worth is a big truck to turn around.

Of course, when your self-esteem and self-confidence change, your entire world changes too. Think about it–it has to. If you let one person walk on you, you let all people walk on you. Likewise, if you decide you’re worth more in one relationship, you automatically have to be worth more in all relationships. This is the big truck I’m talking about. In my case, three and a half years after starting therapy, there’s not a relationship in my life that hasn’t been affected, changed, or even “deleted” as a result of my increase in self-worth and, therefore, desire for healthy boundaries. Ultimately, this is why I think we’re afraid of listening to our emotions–not just because they’re uncomfortable–but also because they have the power to uproot everything familiar in our lives when genuinely responded to.

Does anyone want an Oreo yet?

If you’re not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied.

I realize this may not sound like an encouragement, and I’m not saying that every difficult emotion or circumstance calls for completely remodeling your interior and exterior worlds. Sometimes all you need to do is change the curtains. (Of course, even this is a big deal–trust a gay man.) But either way, I do believe that if you’re not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied, and your emotions will continually let you know there’s a problem. And that’s the encouraging part. Being in the rumble may suck, but it’s more than worth it because that’s the place where you discover who you actually are. I can’t stand being alone–I’m terrified I’m not good enough–I deserve better than this. Whatever. After all the weeping and gnashing of teeth, there you are on the ground–naked, not faking it for once, finally real, and ready to stand up again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The truth doesn’t suck.

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Taking My Mind Back (Blog #221)

Today I’ve been all over the emotional map–North, South, East, and West–in anything but a straight line. I saw my therapist this afternoon, and that’s almost always a shot in the arm. I mean, she’s hilarious and insightful. As per usual, we tackled “the list” of all the thoughts, problems, and curiosities I couldn’t stop thinking about this last week. Probably half our time was spent on dreams I’ve had lately, which included a hot sex dream and a dream about Hillary Clinton. (To be absolutely perfectly clear, those were two distinct, separate dreams.) I’ll spare you the lengthy analysis, but when it was over, my therapist said, “You really have the best dreams.” Well, not once in my life have I ever thought my subconscious would get such a glowing review, but now that it has, I sort of want to put it on my resume. Marcus Coker–can get shit done even in his sleep.

Feel free to roll your eyes.

In case it needs to be restated–my therapist detests social media. If you’ve looked at what people are posting lately, I’m sure you can figure out way. Anyway, today she had a whole slew of new anti-social-media stickers on her laptop, the biggest of which said, “Social Media Personality Disorder.” I said, “Oh, like, I’m neurotic because someone didn’t like my post or said something negative?”

She said, “Exactly.”

Beneath that sticker was one that said, “Take your mind back.” Tying the two sentiments together, my therapist said, “Don’t hand your mind over to other people. You know who you are.” To me this means that I can’t let a news feed filled with cats and political arguments tell me how to feel every day. What’s more, if I spend the day scrolling, comparing myself to others and looking for outside validation, I’m only going to end up feeling worse about myself. So ultimately, unless I want to be neurotic, I have to be responsible for my thoughts and feelings. This, of course, is the very essence of authenticity.

A couple months ago I started a small remodel project–replacing a door threshold–for my friend Ray. Well, it’s dragged on and on because the threshold had to be special ordered, and I guess the shipping department kept sending the product to a different store location. Not knowing this, the store I was working with kept ordering new ones–a total of three of them, in fact. Anyway, shit happens. I finally picked up the threshold today, was immediately deflated because I realized I didn’t have the proper tools to remove the excess length, then got excited when I went to Ray’s because I discovered it was exactly the right size.

Sometimes life throws you a bone.

I guess technically–in this case–I threw myself a bone, since I’m the one who would have specified the length of the threshold when I ordered it. That being said, I’m willing to share the credit with life. Very magnanimous of me, I know.

The project itself went really well, albeit slower than I desired. Since some of the wood in the door frame was rotten, I needed to replace it, and this meant using a saw. Well, the only saw blade I had was dull, and for a while I dicked around hoping I could make it work. Dull blades are useless, of course, so then I tried chiseling the wood and even sanding it in order to make it the right size. This felt like trying to teach a cat how to bark. Well, I finally gave up, gave in, made the long haul back to the hardware store, and bought new blades. Y’all, things went MUCH faster after that. Who’d have thought? Now–after all this time–the project is finished.

Phew.

Feeling rather accomplished, I celebrated by playing with Ray’s new kitten, Leo. I’m really not a cat person, but I love black cats, and Leo was SO CUTE. Not only did he let me hold him in my arms like a baby, he also wore a black-and-white bow tie for the occasion. Talk about a class act. But seriously–a kitten in a bow tie! Could anything be more adorable?

The low point for the evening was checking the mail when I got home. Remember when I went to the emergency room a few weeks ago for a skin infection? Well, I got the bill today, and apparently my insurance didn’t pay for anything–not a cent was spent. Talk about a huge bummer, letdown, and disappointment. I tried to stop myself, but I immediately commenced freaking out. I can’t afford this. I should’ve gone to a regular doctor. Shit–I want chocolate chip cookies–This is a terrible day to be on a diet. Y’all, if it’s not obvious, it’s really difficult for me to stay calm in these situations. I went through a similar ordeal after I had sinus surgery this year (which turned out fabulously, despite my worrying), and every time the feeling is the same–I just want the whole thing over with.

This is probably something I should bring up in therapy, the way I flip shit whenever I see a piece of paper that says, “Balance due.” It probably has something to do with the fact that I was handed the family checkbook–which didn’t have much money in it, by the way–at the age of fifteen when Dad went to prison. Now that I think about it, I’m sure it has everything to do with that.

Anyway, it took me a while to talk myself down off the ledge. For a while I tried to ignore the issue by reading a book about writing I found at a used bookstore this afternoon. Then I decided I had to move, so I went for a run, even though it was drizzling and cold outside. Considering the fact that I’m just getting over three weeks of being sick, this may not have been the smartest move. Still, I had to do something to burn off my nervous energy, which I guess I had a lot of because I ended up running six miles. Along the way I remembered that 1) what’s done is done, 2) my life could be much, much, worse, and 3) it’s possible this could turn out better than I’m thinking it will. Around mile five, I actually laughed when I thought of one of my favorite comedy sketches.

Last month when I was in Colorado at a spiritual retreat, the teacher said, “Joy is not in the object.” This statement came out of the observation that most of us behave as if joy is in the object. Like, we want a new car, a new house, or a new boyfriend because we think having those things will make us happy. But if happiness resided in those particular things, they’d make everyone happy or they’d make us happy all of the time. Well, when I laughed while running tonight, I realized that just as joy is not in the object, neither is anxiety, nervousness, or stress. In other words, if a hospital bill were truly the source of my worry, I wouldn’t be able to laugh until it were taken care of. The fact that my mood can change, however, shows me that my reaction has very little to do with a sheet of paper and everything to do with me.

Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

Personally, I think this is really good news, since I have a better shot at controlling myself than I do controlling the outside world. But the point is that the outside world really can’t control your internal one unless you let it–nothing outside of you can tell you what to think or feel. Granted, part of me is still freaking out about the medical bill, but the adult that’s sitting in this chair knows that I’ll call the hospital tomorrow and start a conversation about what can be done. Like the threshold project, I’ll want everything to be wrapped up as soon as possible, but I’ll remind myself that some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store. In this way, I hope to take my mind back from all the many people, places, and things to which I’ve let it wander, gently coaxing it back home to rest where it belongs.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

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The Roles We Play (Blog #215)

Today is Halloween, the day children and adults alike dress up and pretend to be something they’re not. So when I woke up this morning still sick and feeling like crap, I decided I’d pretend to feel good. A healthy person–that’s what I’ll be today! Now I just have to put one foot in front of the other. I really do think my sinus infection is getting better–I have less “junk”–but lately my energy level has been shit. I’m hoping this is because my body is pooling its resources in an effort to heal, maybe make me rest so it can get busy performing a miracle. I like these ideas better than thinking my body is simply throwing in the towel, something I truthfully feel like doing. As the saying goes, I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.

With this in mind, I’m considering starting a restrictive diet tomorrow in order to give my body a reset. I messaged my friend April today, and she said sometimes she cleans up her sinuses by basically eating chicken, a few fruits, and certain cooked vegetables. She said it takes two weeks for your body to “start over” and four weeks to get the best results. Honestly, this sounds like hell–but I’ve done something similar before, so surely I can do it again. Plus, I really think my body could use some help–help that doesn’t look like chocolate cake and Taco Bell, as I’m pretty sure those aren’t immune system boosters.

This evening I drove to Fayetteville and had dinner with my friend CJ. She told me my hair looked good–different–gayer. Ten years ago a statement like this would have horrified me, like, My hair looks gay? What if someone thinks I am? But tonight I said, “That’s fantastic–I am gay. Better if my hair is too.”

For dinner I had a reuben sandwich on rye, french fries, and a pickle. None of that, of course, will be on the diet I’m starting tomorrow, so tonight I kept thinking, This is my last piece of bread, this is my last french fry, this is my last supper. Oh my god, y’all, I ate my last supper on Halloween–just like Jesus!

Oh wait. His last supper was on Easter–er–Passover. (Holidays are so confusing.)

When we finished eating, CJ and I attended The Rocky Horror Picture Show (my mom called it Rocky Mountain Horror) at Walton Arts Center. I saw a live stage performance of Rocky Horror recently, but tonight was the traditional deal–the movie playing on a big screen, people dressed up as the characters and using props, everyone calling Brad an asshole and Janet a slut. Granted, CJ and I didn’t dress up or use props, but we at least got out of our seats and danced the entire Time Warp, which the couple next to us did not.

Losers.

Here’s a picture of the costume contest that went on before the show. The couple that dressed as Eddie (the guy with the saxophone) and Columbia (the girl in gold sequins and a top hat) won the contest, but if anyone knows Rocky (the naked guy with all the muscles), I’d like to give him a consolation prize. God, Marcus, you don’t have to share every thought that pops into your brain. Your mother reads this, for crying out loud.

If you’re familiar with Rocky Horror, you know audience members throw a lot of shit–toilet paper when they say, “Dr. Scott,” toast when they say, “A toast!” Well, as all that toast was flying through the air tonight, I just assumed it was plain old bread. I didn’t figure people would go through the trouble of actually–well–toasting it. I mean, entire loaves were being thrown–that’s a lot of work. But when the lights came on, sure enough, every piece I saw was burned on both sides. Talk about dedication. Well, shit. Now all I can think about is eating toast. I guess I could get up and make some. I mean, the diet doesn’t technically start until tomorrow.

Far be it from me to overachieve.

This morning I read an article by Joseph Campbell about the history and meaning of Halloween. (It’s long, but you can find it here.) In it he says that Halloween represents dying and is the mythological opposite of May Day, which represents being born. He also says that costumes remind us of the everyday masks we wear. (Can you believe some people pretend to be straight when they’re actually gay?) It’s okay to have roles, of course–dance teacher, writer, whatever. But problems arise when we pretend to be something we’re not or–even worse–mistake the roles we play for our true selves, since ultimately our souls are beyond identification.

All things are part of life.

I’ve said it before, but I don’t like this time of year. It’s cold, everything is dead, and I spend the entire fall and winter shivering. I honestly can’t believe I’m about to start a diet and probably lose the only natural insulation I have. That being said, I’m reminded tonight that to everything there is a season. I have a preference for spring and summer, but the universe clearly doesn’t. Rather, all things–coldness and warmth, fall and spring, death and rebirth–are part of life. Likewise, getting sick and running low on energy are part of life, and just like any season, these things will change.

As for the roles we play, I’ve personally decided to keep pretending that I feel well. Since I pretended to be straight for so long, this should be a cinch. I don’t mean I’m going to ignore my body or not let it rest, but I am going to start asking myself, “What would a healthy person do–what would a healthy person eat?” and then do that. I usually get overwhelmed by dietary changes, so I figure this will be an easy way to simplify things, support my body, and start turning things around. I’ll let you know how it goes.

After toast tonight, of course.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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Courage and Those Who Hold Our Hands (Blog #205)

When I woke up this morning around nine I coughed up some bloody snot. It looked like what I felt like the time. Now it’s four in the afternoon, and things could be better, things could be worse. Statistically speaking, my brain is functioning about sixty percent–well, considering I can’t figure how to end this sentence, let’s say forty-five. Anyway, I figure it only goes downhill from here, so I’m blogging now. Plus, I’m planning to go out this evening to see An American in Paris, the musical, since that seems like a good gay way to wrap this trip up. Anyway, the show starts in less than four hours, and the clock’s ticking.

Last night I went dancing again with my friend Kaleb, this time at a country-western bar called The Dirty Bourbon. Is that a great name or what? Anyway, The Dirty Bourbon is primarily a straight bar, but I guess they’re accepting. Kaleb and I were the only guys I saw dancing together, but I did see some women dancing together, and–most importantly–nobody got their ass kicked. Actually, I saw several people smiling at us, one guy at the bar complimented our dancing, and a lady in the crowd videotaped us doing the rumba.

Situations like the one last night are always affirming for me in the best way. Typically, if a guy holds my hand–let alone dances with me–in public, I usually feel like jumping out of my skin and running away because I’m afraid of what everyone else will think, say, or do. I know straight people have their problems–everyone has their problems–but I imagine this isn’t one of them, being afraid to publicly show affection for or connection with another person. A while back a guy held my hand on Garrison Avenue in downtown Fort Smith, my hometown. As we got close to our car, a couple dudes were standing outside a rather seedy bar, and I thought, Thank God I know a good plastic surgeon because this is not going to end well. Everything in me wanted to drop my date’s hand, but I didn’t. Then as we passed the dudes, one of them said, “Hey, fellas.”

And that was it.

Granted, I know bullshit happens to gay (and straight) people all the time. Strangers are total assholes, say mean things, commit acts of violence. Sometimes parents even cut ties with their own children when they come out of the closet. That being said, thankfully, my experience has been quite the opposite. Despite the fact that I’ve spent much of my life afraid of rejection and confrontation based on my sexuality, so far the only person to make a big deal about it has been me. Part of me still worries, of course. Last night at the country bar I was very aware that Kaleb and I were the only gay guys dancing together. But why should fear stop you from doing something you not only want to do but also have a right to do? Obviously, it shouldn’t.

This morning my sister and I took Christopher to an acting class. Y’all, it was absolutely adorable. The teachers were animated, patient, and amazing. There were maybe fifteen or twenty kids, and the teachers taught them about stage directions, getting into character, and memorization. Some of the kids were shy and timid. Others like my nephew had no problem projecting or asking questions (that didn’t actually have to do with acting).

For one of the exercises, the kids had to memorize a line from the movie What’s Up, Doc? The line was, “What do you think I am, a piece of ripe fruit that you can squeeze the juice out of and cast aside like an old shoe?” Best quote ever, right? Hell, I should probably use it on a few people, maybe add it to my Tindr profile. (I don’t have a Tindr profile. My therapist said the guys on there have a quality rating of “zero point fucking shit.”) But I digress. In addition to memorizing the line, the kids had to come up with a character, stand on stage, and perform the line as that character. (One girl was a cat.) Anyway, here’s Christopher performing as a robot. My sister and I were super nervous for him, but I don’t think he was nervous at all–and he nailed it.

This afternoon my sister and I took both the boys to a costume-themed birthday party at a local park. Ander dressed as “Captain Hook,” but he really just looked like a pirate. My sister’s husband said, “Don’t say anything.” Isn’t he adorable? (Christopher dressed as Peter Pan and was adorable too, but I forgot to take pictures of him. Since I took so many this morning, I hope he doesn’t end up in therapy due to this one oversight.)

At the party there was a piñata, and if you’ve never seen a bunch of blindfolded toddlers swing a stick at a moving paper-mache cat head, you’ve still got a lot of life to live. It was really more cute than I could handle for one day. Well, even before all the kids got a chance at swinging the stick, the piñata burst open, and every single one of those children went from zero to sixty in 1.2 seconds. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. They were on that candy like white on rice. My head’s still spinning thinking about it.

As I’m sure you know, sugar is the great motivator, so the kids were quickly all over the playground equipment. For a while I looked after Ander, and he kept wanting to go down this one little slide over and over (and over) again. I kept asking if he wanted to try a different one, a longer, taller one, but he kept saying, “No, it’s scary,” so we kept returning to the familiar. Even at that slide, every time he said, “Stand at the end to catch me–closer–no, closer.”

I suppose we are all timid like this now and then. After all, life can be a big, scary place. Of course, there are days we wake up feeling as if we can conquer the world, and these are the days we stand proudly and confidently on the stage of life. Other days–maybe most days–we feel as if we’re swinging a stick blindfolded, just hoping to connect with what we want. These are the days when our brains function below one hundred percent, when we are shy and unsure of our right to be here, to taste and enjoy all the goodness life has to offer. But I’m starting to believe that courage always looks like trying something even when you think you’re not ready, even when you’re afraid. Thankfully, we often have others who are willing to take us by the hand and courageously walk, dance, or slide into the unfamiliar with us. This reminds us, of course, that no one is alone. Also–more often than not–things turn out just fine and the world ends up being a safer place to live than we realized.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

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That Which Rises (Blog #194)

Well shit. Currently it’s one-thirty in the morning, and I just got back from the emergency room. When I woke up this morning, my right nipple was hurting. Honestly, I just thought it was a pimple, since sometimes that happens. But then this afternoon my other nipple (the left one) started hurting too, so I was like, That’s odd, I feel like I’m going through puberty again, I wonder if I’ll start lactating. Anyway, around midnight I took my shirt off to examine things, and the red bumps had spread to my armpits, so I thought, Houston, we have a problem. Fortunately, I didn’t freak out too much, since something similar happened about six months ago. But since I’m going out-of-town tomorrow, I did want to get it checked out, so thus the emergency room.

Anticipating a long wait, I took my laptop to the hospital and just figured I would blog while waiting. Well, sometimes life throws you a bone, and no one else was there. I mean, the staff was there, but no one was in the waiting room. Y’all, they had me back in a room in under a minute and were taking my vitals before they even asked me my name. They were awesome. The doctor was back in no time, and I quickly got a diagnosis–folliculitis, which is inflammation of the hair follicles, usually due to infection. So he gave me a pill for the night, slapped me on the ass, and sent me back home with prescriptions to fill tomorrow.

He didn’t really slap me on my ass. (That only happens in porn.)

I asked the doctor if it was a hygiene problem, and he said, “You seem like a clean person. It’s probably just bad luck.” But Google said you can get folliculitis from using a hot tub, so that’s probably it. Suffice it to say, I should probably bathe after using hot tubs and stop thinking of the hot tub itself as a bath. Lesson learned.

This afternoon the chiropractor ran ultrasound therapy on the spot in my mid back that’s been giving me shit for a few months now, and I think it’s actually helping, so that feels like a small miracle. Then I had my oil changed, and the hot guy behind the cash register kept calling me sir, so that did not feel like a small miracle. Then I met with the three ladies I’ve been working with lately for their last dance lesson before their performance this weekend. Y’all, I’m so proud of them. Today they showed up for a full dress rehearsal and they looked killer, all decked out in fishnet hose, white tails, and top hats. They’ve come SO far from where we started a few months ago. As a teacher (and just a human), it’s really rewarding to see people work their butts off for something and have it come together.

After the dance lesson, Bonnie fed me and gave me beer. The whole family gathered in the living room for dinner and conversation, and I’m not exactly sure how to describe it. I guess most the time I always have this feeling that no matter what I’m doing, I should be doing something else. My mind is go, go, go nine times out of ten. But there’s something about Bonnie and Todd’s house, whether it’s their living room or front porch, something that says, Sit down, stay a while–you can relax and be yourself. After a while, we all settled into our devices, and I borrowed their high-speed internet to work on another writing project and go ahead and download the photos for tonight’s blog.

Tomorrow I leave for a weekend, spiritual retreat of sorts in Colorado. I’ll be breaking up the drive, and I’ll keep you posted as a I go along. Thursday’s blog may look like, Drove all day, tired, and that’s about it. We’ll see. Anyway, the retreat is basically about–I think–finding that place in yourself that’s always calm and centered. My therapist says I’m “going to get enlightened,” but I’m sure that’s not really something that happens over the course of three days and two nights. (I’m sure she doesn’t think that either.) Whatever happens, I’ll let you know how it goes, but now I’m all nervous and wondering how I’m going to get everything done before I leave and how I’ll have time to blog every day.

I’m taking the nerves as confirmation that I’m still in need of enlightenment, and therefore not wasting my time and money.

For the longest time I used to think that getting sick was some sort of personal failure. Maybe since I was a teenager, it’s always felt like if I ate better, exercised more, and didn’t “sin” so much (whatever that means), I’d be healthier. Consequently, going to the doctor was a problem because not only did I feel sick and vulnerable, I also felt–well–guilty. Thankfully, these thoughts and feelings have seriously subsided over the last few years. I mean, I certainly believe I have a huge role in the health of my body, but I also believe shit happens. Tonight at the emergency room, more than anything, I felt grateful–I walked right in, had wonderful care, and got answers. And people smiled at me.

This, of course, is not a little thing.

It seems to me that healing happens in little pieces. You spend most your life feeling afraid and even cynical, maybe for good reason. Life, after all, can be a real bitch sometimes. But then one day you wake up, and even if your nipples hurt, you still think the world is a good place to live. Or maybe you start at zero with a dance routine, and every time you move your body it feels like a question mark. Week after week you work, then finally things click, and you’re ready to light up the stage. So many times I think that life is some sort of dress rehearsal for something bigger, but the show is clearly right here, right now. (It’s not where we’re going, it’s how we get there.) On this stage you and I are not so different–we smile, we stumble, we get back up again. I’m starting to believe that deep down there’s a part of us that’s always calm and centered, confident in the knowledge that we can relax and be ourselves wherever we go. If we’re lucky, this part rises.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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I don't think anyone came to this planet in order to get it right the first time. What would be the point?

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Those Who Play Well with Otters (Blog #191)

Tonight I had dinner with my friends Amber and Kara. The three of us have known each other since high school, but we’ve really connected since graduation. We all live in different cities, but a few times a year we travel to see each other, eat something delicious, and catch up. We’re all talkers, all listeners, so we always warn our waiter or waitress–we’re going to be here a while. Honestly, it’s usually a tour of emotions–we laugh, we cry, we make each other think.

Tonight we talked about high school more than usual. Never afraid to dive right in, Kara asked if I went to school the day after my dad was arrested, or maybe she said after he went to prison. Either way, I said, “I can’t remember. I think it was on a weekend.” Anyway, the question made me realize that there are definitely gaps in my memory during that period of time. I was a teenager. Looking back, it seems crazy that I would simply continue going to school, studying for tests, and making good grades as if my world wasn’t falling apart, since it was. My therapist says it’s a wonder I didn’t become a juvenile delinquent. My guess is that all the emotions just got shut down, along with my sexuality. At the time, it was all too much–too much stress, too much grief, too much religion–to handle consciously. As I think about it now, there were simply too many broken pieces to even try to put them back in place.

As the conversation continued, Kara asked if any of our teachers directly addressed the issue of my father, if any of them “stepped in.” I said, “Well, Mr. Saulsbery did.” Mr. Saulsbery was our Bible teacher, and I remember he’d specifically ask about Dad, even joke with me about the situation. He had a great laugh, and there was something about it that always put me at ease and made the world seem like a lighter place. Only recently have I realized what a mentor he was, as that was a word I didn’t understand when I was younger. Even after we graduated, “Saulz” and I would get together for lunch, and he’s the one who introduced me to Toastmasters, which is a community practice group of sorts for public speakers. He didn’t specifically say it at the time, but I can see now that he was saying by his actions, “I believe in you.”

This, of course, is not a little thing.

The last time I remember spending much time with Saulz, we were in a life-coach training seminar taught by my former life coach, Barbie. We were supposed to write a positive statement about someone in the class, and Saulz handed me a slip of paper that said, “Plays well with others,” except I thought it said, “Plays well with OTTERS,” so we laughed about that too.

A few months ago, Saulz passed away. I was going to his funeral when I had the car accident that totaled my Honda Civic. Well, I was late to the service and left early to begin self-care, but I later watched the whole thing online. Not surprisingly, everyone who spoke of him had similar stories to mine. Saulz had the mentor thing down. I guess he used to say, “You can’t speak into someone’s life if you don’t have a relationship with them.”

Amber, Kara, and I also talked about another Bible teacher of ours, Mr. Herrington. Mr. Herrington used to walk around with a straight back and a yard stick. Sometimes he would shout, “Amen!” if someone fell asleep in class. Kara reminded us that he made a big deal about mind, body, and spirit, and he was always drawing three circles to represent them. But the thing I remember is that he came over to our house one weekend to teach me and my sister how to change a flat tire, since Dad was gone (and probably could have used the lesson himself anyway). I don’t think I’ve spoken to Mr. Herrington since I was a teenager, but I wish I could tell him how handy that knowledge has been. It’s gotten me back on the road more times that I can count.

Getting comfortable in your own skin takes time.

No one in high school ever brought up my sexuality, at least directly. Like, no one said, “It’s okay. Guys who wear high heels are welcome in heaven.” I mean, it was a Christian school, in the Bible Belt no less, so that’s to be expected. Unfortunately. Even if someone had said something, I probably would have lied. Regardless, those conversations and those role models would come much later. Getting comfortable in your own skin, it seems, takes time. Honestly, one of the biggest benefits I’ve realized from having both a life coach and a therapist has been being the recipient of what’s sometimes called “unconditional positive regard,” or simply, acceptance. In my experience, healing isn’t a straight line, but if there’s a starting point, I think it looks like being totally yourself in front of someone who doesn’t flinch when you share your secrets and still wants to see you again the next day.

Just to break things up a bit, here’s a card I received today from someone who “gets me.” My hope is that you have someone like this in your life too.

After dinner with Amber and Kara, I went to the last hour of a swing dance on the U of A campus, even though the shoes I was wearing didn’t have any laces and that makes dancing a challenge. We’ll see how my feet and body feel tomorrow, but I’m currently glad I went because I love (love) swing dancing. My friend Sydnie was there, and we probably danced together ten times. When everything was over, I was out of breath, a big ball of sweat, and–most importantly–happier than when I walked in. Like meeting up with my old friends from high school, I guess it was just another way to connect with someone, to accept each other in the moment.

Tonight Kara introduced me to a term I hadn’t heard before–FOMO. (Rhymes with Homo.) Anyway, it stands for Fear Of Missing Out, and I think that when I look back at high school, I often feel as if something important wasn’t there or that my life would have been better if. But when I left the dance, I saw a statue I hadn’t noticed before. Immediately, I thought it looked like a dancer, this brass lady with her head up and arms back, lit from the front by spotlights and behind by the moon. Then the word “surrender” came to mind. As I think about it now, I realize you can’t do anything about your past. It’s simply something you have to give up. But surely when you accept your entire life for what it’s been so far, this is healing and this is putting your broken pieces back in place. What’s more, those who play well with otters seem to be the glue that brings us back together, for no one is who they are today without the help of many compassionate hearts, those who believe in us and get us back on the road to ourselves.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some days, most days, are a mixed bag. We cry, we laugh, we quit, we start again. That's life. In the process, we find out we're stronger than we thought we were, and perhaps this is healing.

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